#how to file trademark objection reply

[buttered-baguette-writes]

Fascination, Determination, Obsession

Part 3!

Harry was just a tad grumpy. Just a tad, he swore. He had fallen asleep at the edge of the forest, startled by sudden mass of students and teachers that flooded the halls when he woke and tried to make it to his dorm. He took as many hidden passages as he could, practically diving into the first one to avoid that new DADA professor. By the time he made it to his room, it was empty.

Dragging his feet, Harry changed into his uniform before heading to the great hall.

He was excited for the feast, just not the long ass sorting process.

Slinking through the open doors, he was relieved to see most of the eighth years squishing themselves together at the further end of the table. That left him and the two blondes sitting by the door lots of breathing room.

“Hi,” he said, smiling at Luna as he sat down across from her.

“Oh, you have Scattlewhisks too, Harry.”

“Maybe because we’re rooming?” Malfoy asked politely. Though it was quite obvious that he had no idea what they were meant to be talking about.

Luna had a thoughtful expression. “No, that’s not it.” The tops of her lips quirked up slightly.

“Surely I caught them from this buffoon.”

“You don’t catch Scattlewhisks. Crastes and Plutz though…”

And, gosh, Harry had missed her so much. He felt a little guilty about not getting in contact with her, but he knew she understood. That she didn’t mind. In fact, he heard she had spent a lot of her time off with magical creatures – those known and those not. They both had needed time to themselves. His face was fond as he listened to her, eventually turning to face the boy next to him.

Malfoy stared at him, eyes narrowed, trademark scowl in place as he looked seconds away from doing something questionable.

Harry tilted his head.

“If I find out I’ve caught one more imaginary—”

“They’re real,” Luna politely interrupted.

“—one more creature from you, I will kill you in your sleep.”

Harry tried – and failed – to hide an amused grin. “Sure, Malfoy.”

“I’m serious, scar head. They’ll find your glasses down your throat. Wand too.”

“Uh-huh.”

Before the blonde could retaliate (with physical violence), the first years finally filed into the hall and McGonagall began her speech.

Which, Harry paid no mind to. As soon as the food appeared on the table, his eyes started scanning for those treacle tarts he loved so much. He felt himself pout, realising dessert hadn’t also been put out.

“And now, for our first student…”

Harry glanced to the other end of the hall just in time to see the sorting hat completely ignore the poor, mortified first year. Instead, the ancient thing fluttered its way over to him. Harry mentally cursed himself and the bloody hat as it sat atop his head. Refusing to deal with the wide eyes from the rest of the school, he stared at his empty plate before closing his eyes with a roll.

“Harry Potter,” the hat spoke, its voice loud in the wizard’s head. At least it was a private conversation.

“Hat,” Harry replied, sounding sour.

“No need to be rude, I merely want to check in. A lot has happened.”

“No shit,” Harry grumbled.

The hat seemed amused of all things by the reaction. “If I told you now, that the choice was, once again, between Gryffindor and Slytherin, would you object to the latter?”

“No.”

“Hmmm. Live well, Harry Potter.” And with that the hat fluttered away, resting on the frozen first year like nothing had even happened.

Opening his eyes, Harry very pointedly looked towards the door to avoid everyone’s gazes.  This meant the two blondes were the only two in his view. They both have him a quizzical look that he waved off; the hall already having erupted with murmurs.

“Fucking hell. Just one year was all I wanted,” Harry grumbled, resting his head on the table. He dared a glance at Malfoy, glasses lopsided on his face as the bugger smirked down at him. “What?”

“The saviour is sulking. How, unbecoming.”

“Oh, sod off,” Harry said, but it had no real heat behind it. The middle finger he sent the blonde on the other hand…

Harry had really hoped – needed – this eighth-year thing to be different. For people to pay him less attention. To not be in danger. The almost-week he had spent there without the rest of the students had been nice. Yet the school was full, and every second things felt the same, his magic swirled and itched.

Malfoy’s snarky comments, however, were welcomed with open arms and Harry’s own attitude.

Harry huffed loudly, throwing his homework harshly onto the coffee table. He sunk into the soft chair, regretting his decision to come back to school. He hadn’t studied properly in over a year because he was, you know, on the run for his life. Besides, professors giving homework on their first day back was a cruel thing to do and Harry wanted none of it. Two lessons and already two parchments due within the next three weeks. He only had five classes in total, and it was looking to be both a blessing and a curse.

He fidgeted, chancing a glance over to Malfoy who was sat at his desk, already starting on his essays.

“So,” Harry started. “When’s our next lesson?”

The scratching of a quill on paper didn’t stop as the blonde replied, “Hmm, I don’t know.”

“Maybe today?” Harry’s tone was full of hope.

Malfoy scoffed. “You threatened a plant and then fell asleep during charms. I’m not sure that your brain has the capacity for the Arts anymore.”

“Hey, that Flytrap had it coming!”

Malfoy turned around in his chair, levelling Harry with an unimpressed stare.

“It’s not my fault the charms professor was trying to bore me to death. Besides, I had a bad sleep,” his words mumbled off towards the end. He didn’t have nightmares often anymore, but when he did, the night was long. His mind had been jittery because of the welcome feast, all those stares and whispers.

Something softened in Malfoy’s features and Harry realised he had forgotten to put up a silencing charm.

“Sorry,” Harry blurted out.

Malfoy waved him off. He turned back to his work, quill scratching away once again. “I rarely sleep at reasonable times.”

It was quiet for a minute before Harry spoke up again.

“So?”

“After lunch. In here.” Although the blonde didn’t turn around, Harry could hear the eye roll at the start.

He grinned.

Harry was sat in the same armchair from earlier. They had rearranged the chairs and coffee table slightly, meaning the boy-who-lived was now, of course, bathed in the afternoon sunlight.

Malfoy delicately sat across from him, placing a piece of blank paper next to an ancient Dark Arts book on the table.

“Before I teach you anything else, I want you to learn how to detect Dark Magic,” Malfoy said.

Harry pouted. “Isn’t that like, super basic?”

“Basic doesn’t mean easy. Once you learn it, a lot of other things become much easier. Dark Magic lingers, swirls, and lives in ways that normal magic just doesn’t.”

Harry didn’t know what he as going to say in response originally, because his second thought threw the first one out the window into a dumpster fire. “You said something like that before. About my magic?”

He watched Malfoy flush pink but put it down to the sun that was beaming in through the window.

“Yes. But, it can be hard to see the Dark in someone’s magical aura. Unless you know what to look for in both Dark and normal, they can hide each other.”

Harry hummed. “Can you teach me both?”

“Fine, but we are not talking about anything else to do with the Arts until you get them both. “

“Deal,” Harry said with a smile.

The thing is, Harry Potter isn’t exactly the best example of a patient person, as Draco was very quickly reminded.

During their second lesson of magic detection, the boy who lived twice whinged and whined when he had made zero progress. It was insufferable. Draco told him that it was normal to not have it yet because it was hard and to, “Stop complaining like a child, honestly.”

It took almost ten days before Potter finally started to pick up on things.

Draco had imbued Dark Magic into a plain piece of parchment and had set it next to a regular one. Something he thought was simple. Yet an argument broke out because Potter insisted that he was being messed with. Draco threatened to stop discussing the Arts with him – and also to strangle him. He almost had. The blonde had risen out of his seat and stood between Potter’s legs, poking a bony finger into his breastbone right below the hollow of the gits neck.

Potter had thrown his hands up in defeat, an almost pout on his lips.

Draco returned to his seat, arms crossed. Silence encompassed the pair as he watched Potter try again.

Eventually, the git pointed to the correct piece of parchment, stating that it felt different, but he still couldn’t actually see the magic.

“Good job,” Draco said. He ignored the goofy smile on Potter’s face. “That’s the first step. Now…”

After that, Potter got the hang of it pretty quickly. It was infuriating to a degree. It had taken Draco six months to learn to detect and see magic, but the overpowered git got it within two weeks.

Though Draco had something more interesting to focus on now. He had noticed Potter sat up straighter, or smiled like an idiot whenever Draco gave him any sort of praise. It had proven advantageous for encouraging Potter to stop complaining and keep on practicing. Being the Slytherin he was, he also knew it would prove beneficial for other reasons. But why had he never noticed before? Surely Draco would have noticed something as simple as that with everything going on, especially considering he had noticed practically everything else. Or was it a recent development? Draco was certain he had heard people praise the git before, though he never saw it elicit a reaction.

Well, he had seen Potter get flustered twice – once with Diggory and that Krum bloke. However, one had been Potter’s mentor/idol, and the other was a, quite frankly, kind of intimidating Bulgarian quidditch player. Those both made sense.

(If only he read between the lines).

“What colour is my magic?” Draco asked. He was sitting cross legged, leaning back onto his hands as his fingers dug into the dirt slightly. Potter was laying on his stomach across from him. They were as close to the Forbidden Forest as they could get without a teacher coming to scold them for breaking the rules – which meant no other student was game enough to approach them.

Potter tilted his head that he was holding up with his hands. “Blue and gray,” he said after a moment of staring.

Draco hummed. “What else?”

“Uh…” Potter squinted. “Green?”

Draco smiled. “Correct. Now—”

“Is your element water?”

Draco blinked owlishly at Potter. Then he scoffed. “You have one more guess.” He supposed water wasn’t a bad guess, per say, but he quite liked his element, so he still thought the mere idea was a bit rude. “Now,” he restarted his interrupted sentence. “Which of those colours is ‘normal’, and which is the representation of my Dark Magic?”

Draco was proud of his magic. It wasn’t full of any bright colours, but there were plentiful shades of green, blue and gray. He thought it looked quite pretty, always swirling about, almost mixing but not quite. If he was being honest, he had the nicest magical aura in his entire family.

Potter stared at him, chewing on his bottom lip in thought.

It was distracting.

Draco shifted.

“The green and darker grays are Dark,” Potter confidently said. He grinned up at the blonde when the latter hummed. “I’m a good student, aren’t I?” His tone was cheeky, knowing that the question alone would be enough to get on the blondes’ nerves.

Predictably, Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, Potter. We can move on to a different topic.”

And Potter just kept on staring at him before saying, “Call me Harry,” with a little please at the end.

The blonde stared back.

The thing was, Malfoy had become the most constant thing in Harry’s life. They had four out of five classes together, and Harry always sat with the blonde. They would still squabble in class, but they also managed to work somewhat well together – mainly in potions, as Harry let the other boy take charge. The pair spent most of their free time together in their dorm room, either in comfortable silence or talking or bickering. They had bonded over the Dark Arts and Harry was grateful for that.

The three weeks that school had been back had been more tiring than he thought was possible. Whenever he wasn’t with Malfoy, someone would try to approach him – to question his apparent friendship with the blonde or to give him thanks for his efforts in the war. (Like he had a choice, really.) He appreciated having Luna and Neville there with him sometimes – thankful they didn’t question his relationship with Malfoy – though a lot of people ignored them while trying to get his attention.

The schoolwork was so boring that Harry had contemplated dropping out multiple times. He, evidently, decided against it.

And then there was that new, overbearing DADA professor that made Harry want to commit several crimes. The man was still trying to get him to swap classes even though the year was well underway.

The point was, Harry enjoyed the time he spent around Malfoy.

He kept grinning up at the blonde.

“Ok, then.”

Harry rolled onto his back, smiling at the retreating sun instead.

“We should go inside,” Malfoy mumbled. He got off the ground and dusted off his pants.  After a moment of hesitation, he held out a hand for the dark-skinned boy. “Dinner should be soon.”

The smile didn’t leave Harry’s lips.

Part 2 // Part 4

[kanakkupillai-trademark]

Trademark Objection Reply: Best Practices for a Strong Response

How to Respond to a Trademark Objection Notice in India

Receiving a trademark objection notice can be concerning, but it’s a standard part of the trademark registration process in India. The objection notice is issued by the trademark examiner if there are concerns about your trademark application. Here's a simple guide on how to respond to it.

1. Understand the Objection Notice

The first step is to read the objection notice issued by the Trademark Registry carefully. The notice will specify why the trademark has been objected to. The objections are usually based on:

Section 9: The trademark lacks distinctiveness or is descriptive.

Section 11: The trademark is identical or similar to an existing registered trademark.

2. Consult a Trademark Attorney

If you need help with how to respond, it's advisable to consult a trademark attorney. An expert can help you understand the reasons behind the objection and guide you in preparing a response.

3. Prepare a Response to the Objection

Your response should include:

Counterarguments: Provide reasons why your trademark is distinct and doesn’t conflict with existing trademarks.

Supporting Documents: Include any evidence (such as sales invoices, advertisements, etc.) that proves the uniqueness or long-standing use of your trademark.

Legal Precedents: Reference any legal cases or judgments that support your claim.

4. Submit the Response Online

You must file your response within 30 days of receiving the objection notice. You can do this online through the Trademark Registry portal.

5. Attend the Hearing (if required)

If the Registrar is not satisfied with your written response, you may be required to attend a hearing. In this case, you or your attorney will need to present your case in person.

6. Wait for the Final Decision

After submitting your response and attending any required hearings, the Registrar will review your case and issue a decision. If your response is accepted, the trademark will proceed to publication in the Trademark Journal. If rejected, you may appeal the decision to the Intellectual Property Appellate Board (IPAB).

Key Tips:

Act quickly: Respond within the given deadline to avoid delays or rejection.

Be thorough: Ensure your response addresses all points raised in the objection.

Seek professional help: An experienced trademark attorney can significantly increase your chances of success.

By following these steps, you can effectively handle a trademark objection and move closer to getting your trademark registered.

[legal-dev]

Resolving Trademark Disputes: Understanding the differences between Objection and Opposition

Trademark disputes are very common and can rise when you’re running a business, it can significantly impact the success of your brand’s registration process. So, to protect your brand and to ignore such issues, it is important for you to get your trademark registered.  

Today in this blog you will understand the difference between trademark objection and oppositions helps in effectively managing these disputes. 

We will focus on how to handle such disputes through various services and online platforms, particularly in the context of LegalDev.

Understanding about Trademark Objection:

Trademark objection is a formal concern raised by the trademark examiner during the registration process. It occurs when the examiner spots a problem in the trademark application. Following issues can be the reason for trademark objection:

·        Similarity with existing trademarks

·        Non-Compliance with legal requirements

·        Lack of distinctiveness

Trademark Objection Filing:

If a trademark objection is raised, it is necessary to address that issue promptly. This process includes submitting a detailed response to the examiner’s concern. This response must clearly articulate how the application complies with the relevant regulations or how the concerns raised are unfounded.

Trademark Objection Reply Online: 

Nowadays most of the processes can be completed online which has made it convenient for everyone. Trademark objection reply online allows applicants to respond to objections digitally which makes the process more efficient and faster. Online method not only saves time but also helps in providing a streamlined approach which manages your application properly.

File Trademark Objection Reply:

To file a reply for trademark objection, you need to prepare a document which addresses each point raised by the examiner. It includes providing evidences or arguments to counter the objections to explain how the trademark meets all the necessary criteria.

What is Trademark Opposition?

Trademark opposition emerges after a trademark application is accepted and is published in the Trademark journal. 

In this process third parties are allowed, who believe that the registration of trademark will harm their rights to challenge the application. The opposition has an aim to prevent the registration of the trademark, as it could cause confusion or can dilute the value of an existing mark. 

Trademark Opposition Services in India:

Managing trademark opposition can be complex. Trademark opposition services in India offer expertise in handling these disputes. Such services help you in preparing and filing the opposition notices, they also represent parties in hearings, and also ensures compliance with all legal requirements.

Online Trademark Opposition Service:

As the technology is getting advanced day by day, online trademark opposition service becomes more and more popular. This service helps you in filing the opposition notices online and provides you tools for managing the process. 

It also provides you an advance way of tracking progress, and handling documentation efficiently. Online services streamline the opposition process, making it more accessible and manageable.

Key Differences Between Trademark Objection and Opposition

After understanding about trademark objection and opposition, now let’s move forward and read about the differences between objections and oppositions:

Purpose:

Objection: Trademark objection addresses the issues which are raised by the examiner related to the application’s compliance.

Opposition: It gives permission to third parties to content the registration based on potential harm to their existing trademarks or rights.

Process:

Objection: It involves you responding to the examiner’s concerns with the help of detailed replies.

Opposition: It requires you filing a notice for opposition, and you may also need to participate in the legal proceedings to demonstrate why the mark shouldn’t be registered. 

Resolution:

Objection: It is resolved through written responses and may involve hearings too if the objections are not resolved through correspondence.

Opposition: It can involve hearings before the trademark authority, with the potential outcome being the rejection of the contested trademark application.

CONCLUSION:

Managing trademark disputes, whether it is objection or opposition, is a difficult aspect of protecting your intellectual property.  By understanding the differences between trademark objection services in India and online trademark opposition service, you can effectively manage and resolve such disputes. For more personalized assistance and expert guidance, consider consulting with LegalDev, your trusted partner in navigating the complexities of trademark law.

[rinkushaw]

How to Respond to a Trademark Objection

Securing a hallmark is a vital action for any kind of company seeking to secure its brand name identification. Nonetheless getting a trademark registration objection can be a traffic jam in this procedure. Recognizing exactly how to successfully reply to such arguments specifically when managing a ""trademark objection record "" is necessary. This overview will certainly aid you browse the complexities of resolving a trademark objection consisting of particular circumstances like a "reply to trademark objection under area 9" as well as a "respond to trademark objection under area 11."

Understanding Trademark Objections When you make an application for a trademark registration analyzes the application to guarantee it follows lawful demands. If any type of concerns are recognized, an argument is increased. These arguments can be based upon numerous premises usually identified under various areas of the Trademarks Act.

Area 9: Objections under this area are typically based upon the absence of distinctness of the hallmark, showing that the mark is not efficient in setting apart the products or solutions of one business from an additional. Area 11: This area take care of arguments based upon the capacity for the trademark to cause with existing trademark or pending applications, or if it is considered deceitful or complicated to the general public. Steps to Respond to a Trademark Objection

Examine the Trademark Objection Report The primary step in resolving a trademark objectionis to meticulously review and also recognize the trademark objection report. This file details the particular factors for the argument consisting of recommendations to pertinent areas of the legislation.

Determine the Grounds of Objection: Determine whether the argument drops under Section 9 Section 11 or one more component of the Trademarks Act. Evaluation the Cited Precedents: If the argument is based upon prior trademarks examine the pointed out trademarks to assess the credibility of the objection.

Gather Evidence and Prepare a Response When you have a clear understanding of the argument collect all required proof and also prepare an extensive action.

For Section 9 Objections:

Proof of Distinctiveness: Provide proof that your trademark has actually obtained distinctiveness via usage. This can consist of sales numbers, marketing expenditures, consumer reviews as well as marketing research. Historic Use: Document the background of your trademark's usage in business to show its acknowledgment out there. For Section 11 Objections:

Comparison with Cited Trademarks: Conduct an in-depth contrast of your trademark with the pointed out hallmarks to highlight distinctions in look audio, as well as significance. Marketplace Differentiation: Show exactly how your items or solutions vary from those related to the pointed out trademarks minimizing the probability of complication.

Draft a Reply to the Trademark Objection Your reply to the trademark objectionought to be clear, succinct as well as well-supported by proof.

Organized Format: Follow an organized layout dealing with each factor increased in the trademark objectionrecord. Lawful Arguments: Incorporate appropriate lawful point of views plus disagreements to sustain your placement. Sustaining Documents: Attach all sustaining files and also proof to enhance your reply.

Send the Reply Send your reply to the trademark objectionwithin the stated time frame. Hold-ups can cause the desertion of your application.

Display the Status After entry, on a regular basis check the condition of your application to remain educated regarding any type of more interactions or needs from the trademark workplace.

Tips for a Successful Reply to Trademark Objection Specialist Assistance: Consider speaking with a trademark attorney that has experience in managing Trademark Objection. Their knowledge can be important in crafting a solid reply. Thorough Evidence: The even more thorough as well as detailed your proof the much better your opportunities of getting rid of the objection. Clear Communication: Ensure that your reply is simple to comprehend with clear plus sensible debates. Typical Pitfalls to Avoid Incomplete Responses: Failing to deal with all factors hoisted in the argument can bring about being rejected. Absence of Evidence: Insufficient proof to sustain your cases can weaken your action. Missing out on Deadlines: Not sticking to due dates can cause the desertion of your Trademark application. Conclusion Reacting to a trademark registration objection calls for a critical technique and also a detailed understanding of the lawful premises for argument. Whether you're crafting a reply to a trademark objectionunder area 9, area 11, or resolving various other worries increased in the trademark objectionrecord complying with the detailed actions will certainly aid you properly browse the procedure. Bear in mind specialist assistance can dramatically improve your opportunities of an effective end result guaranteeing your brand name stays safeguarded together with unique in the market.

By meticulously assessing the opposition record collecting durable proof and also preparing a well-structured reply you can properly respond to any kind of arguments together with progress with your Trademark enrollment. This persistance not just protects your brand name however additionally enhances its identification as well as worth in the affordable market.

[litem-legalis]

How much time does it take for trademark objection reply?

The time it takes to reply to a trademark objection can vary depending on several factors. Typically, once you receive a trademark objection from the trademark office, you're given a deadline to respond, which is usually around one to three months. However, this can differ based on the specific rules and procedures of the country where you've filed for the trademark.

When crafting your reply, it's essential to thoroughly address the concerns raised in the objection. This might involve providing evidence, explanations, or making amendments to your trademark application to overcome the objections.

Once you've submitted your response, the trademark office will review it. The time it takes for them to make a decision can also vary, but it generally takes a few months. During this period, they might request further information or clarification.

In summary, the total time for replying to a trademark objection can range from a few months to half a year or more, depending on various factors such as the complexity of the objection and the responsiveness of both parties involved.

To know more about trademark registration, objection, infringement and opposition, visit Litem.in and grab more information about these topics.

[vakilsearch01]

What Is Trademark Objection In India

trademark objection Trademark Objection

Trademark applications must be rigorously scrutinized by the examiner after filing. It is possible for the trademark examiner to reject the trademark registration application that has been submitted. Trademark objections are what cause this rejection. It indicates that the examiner disapproved the application after reviewing it.

Why bother about Objection?

Trademark objections are too common and too frequent in India. A large number of trademark applications are filed every year. More than 60 percent of these applications face objections every year. Thus, you should be extremely careful when filing your application for registration. Regardless of the amount of time you spent drafting the application, the Objection to the trademark takes a short time.

The trademark objection process is complete as soon as a trademark examination report is created. In the report, the trademark is either approved or rejected.

Trademark Objection Reply

It is important to remember that trademark objections are not always fair. Due to this, there is a Trademark Objection Reply. Replies to TM objections must be submitted in a customized manner. Replying to the Objection is basically rebutting each statement made in the Objection. A reasonable response can counter the objection. In the event that the reply is accepted, the trademark is published. It is a matter of the hearing if that is not the case.

Consequently, you need a good reply to your trademark objection application, or else your registration efforts will be in vain.

Consult trademark experts to file Trademark Objection OR reply

Don't worry, there's no need to worry! The Registrationwala team is comprised of trademark advocates, trademark agents, and the best IPR experts in the industry. To counter a trademark objection, they prepare the perfect reply. Furthermore, trademark objection reply fees are also low, so you can also benefit from an affordable response. Therefore, our trademark experts are the ones you should contact if you want to get your trademark published in a trademark journal.

Ø  Eligibility Criteria for Trademark Objection

Ø  Following are the eligibility criteria for Trademark Objection:

Ø  There are two grounds for objecting to trademarks. Here are some of them:

Absolute Grounds:

·       The trademark does not possess any distinctive character.

·       The trademark tells the quality of the product it represents.

·       Whether deliberate or mistaken, the trademark offends specific communities.

Relative Grounds:

o   The trademark can cause confusion among public

o   Documents Required for Trademark Objection

o   To file a Trademark Objection, the following documents are required:

o   Authorization Documents

o   Examination Report of Trademark

o   ID Proof

o   Address Proof

o   Process for Trademark Objection

o   The process to tackle trademark objections is as follows:

o   Check the trademark application status.

o   Analyze. the trademark objection.

o   Draft a reply.

o   File the reply after checking and rechecking.

o   Get feedback for the reply for the said department.

o   The trademark journal will publish your trademark if the reply is accepted.

o   In the case of a rejected trademark reply, your representative will attend the trademark hearing.

o   Our Assistance to file the Trademark Objection 

o   The trademark objection process can be handled by Registrationwala from beginning to end. We provide the following services:

o   Initiating the process and collecting information

o   Drafting the application

o   Making changes to the draft if necessary

Filing the application

It is one of the leading legal consultancy firms in the field of trademark objections, providing a comprehensive range of services.

 If you would like your trademark objection removed, please contact us now.

[brand-registration]

Online Trademark Registration Procedure

Find the list of trademark registration procedures and this will help you to avoid the trademark objection. In case of such issues, you for how to file trademark objection reply.

Search the brand name online

It is a quick and effective method that any beginner can use to create a brand name that is intriguing, trendy and catchy at the same time. If most of the common names are already taken, picking a unique name to differentiate yourself from the competition is an absolutely smart decision. As a result, you should do a quick check to verify that you are not selecting a brand name that is already taken. The most attractive aspect of this situation is that you can create a brand name of sorts by inventing or creating certain phrases using a combination of words that are not exclusive to your industry.

Filing of Trademark Application

To complete the online registration of trademark, you need to submit the application along with the supporting documents listed below:

•           Company registration certificate

Your registered business requires you to submit a company director's identity and address verification. A PAN or Aadhaar card may be used as proof of ownership for a private company. Conversely, in the context of companies, address proof of the company is required.

•           Soft copy of trademark

•           Proof of claim of the proposed mark may be used in another country

•           The applicant must sign a power of attorney

•           Submission of Application for Brand Registration

To submit an application for registration, one is manual filing and the other is electronic filing (Form TM-A). If you prefer to file manually, your application for registration should be sent to the Trade Marks Registration Offices at Mumbai, Kolkata, Delhi, Ahmedabad and Chennai. After that, you have to wait at least fifteen to twenty days to get the payment approval. On the other hand, if you use e-filing mode, you can get an instant digital receipt and acknowledgment of your submission on the official website of the government. Once your trademark application is approved, you are allowed to use the trademark (TM) symbol next to your brand name!

•           Analyzing Trademark Application Procedure

After the application is sent, the trademark registrar will conduct an investigation to determine whether or not you have complied with the specified conditions and whether or not your brand name is in accordance with existing law. In addition, there should be no similarities or exact matches with any other brands already registered or in the process of registration. Because of this, we strongly encourage you to go with a creative moniker for your company.

•           Publication of your brand in Indian trade mark journals

Once the examination phase is over, your brand name will be published in the Indian Trademark Journal by the Trademark Registrar. This is undoubtedly the most important part of trademark registration. There shall be no challenges against the mark within three months of its publication. The Registrar of Trademarks will proceed with the process of issuing the trademark registration certificate when there is no opposition to the application.

•           Trademark Opposition

If a third party files an objection within three months of publication in the Trade Marks Journal, The Registrar of Trade Marks will provide you with a copy of the notice of objection. You have a certain period of time to file a statement in response to the objection notice sent to you. If a counter-statement is not submitted within two months, the trademark registration shall be deemed terminated and shall be rejected. If no one objects in the next three months, you will be exempted from this step and your trademark registration will be approved without delay.

•           Consideration of trademark opposition

As long as you file your counter statement within two months of the foreign company challenging the trademark registration, you will receive a copy from the trademark registrar. Both you and the opposing company must provide evidence to support your claim. After you submit your evidence, the Registrar will give you and the other party an opportunity to be heard. After hearing both the parties and taking into consideration the evidence, the Registrar will issue an order regarding inclusion or exclusion of the trademark registration. If your application for a trademark is accepted by the trademark registrar, they will begin the process of granting the registration.

•           Issuance of Trademark Registration Certificate

After 90 days, if no opposition is received or if your trademark application is accepted after a hearing on the trademark opposition, the Registrar will approve your application. After receiving your certificate, you can start using the registered trademark symbol next to your brand name.

Submission status

Getting an allocation number is as simple as waiting for the filing confirmation in the mail. Using this allotment number, you can keep tabs on the trademark objection processstatus of your application online. If there is no difficulty in submitting, you will know in 18-24 months if your application has been accepted or rejected. The longer it takes, the more likely a problem will occur. According to the date of submission, your application is given more importance. Even if your application is not granted, you can use the TM symbol next to your trademark after receiving your allocation number.

Register

If the registrar decides that your mark is acceptable, he will issue you a certificate of trademark registration. This provides formal confirmation that the trademark you are using exists and is now authorized. After the application is submitted, the license is granted for a period of ten years starting from that day. After such period has passed, you can renew the trademark. Renovation is something that can be done endlessly.

[rosesisupposes]

Objections, Your Honor

Two lawyers are across the aisle in open court once more. But today something is off, and no one is happy with the result.

read on ao3

characters: mainly Logan & Janus; background Virgil, Patton, Roman, Remus, Remy, and Emile

pairings: soulmate Loceit; QPP Analogical; QPP Moceit; romantic soulmate Royality; romantic soulmate Dukexiety; romantic soulmate Remile

content tags: non-traditional soulmate AU; courtroom drama; arophobia and acephobia; shameless self-pandering with legal arguments about the MCU; gushing about QPPs; couples therapy

reader tags: @royally-anxious @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby  @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse​ @thelowlysatsuma @adorably-angsty @max-is-tired @almostoveranalyzed @potestessemagishomosexualitatis  @mariniacipher @vintage-squid

word count: 10,386

⁂

The day it happened was no normal day for Logan. But not, of course, because of that.

He cared because it was a trial day. Months of motions back and forth, weeks and weeks of preparation, and today was oral arguments. He normally avoided open court, particularly against such an opponent, but nothing could be done.

His case files were impeccably arranged in his padfolio, his grocery list of arguments annotated in precise writing, blue ink dotting the page with emphases and connections, his notepad prepared at his left.

He glanced to his right out of the corner of his eye at his opposing counsel. He didn't want them to see him looking. But he sneered internally at the haphazard stacks of papers spreading across the table and the garish gold ink that looped and curved across sticky notes.

The judge finally came out, and Logan stood, crisply buttoning his tailored jacket as he did so. At the signal, he identified himself clearly. "Logan Finch for the appellant, Your Honor." 

And then, from his right: "Janus Alighieri for the appellee, Your Honor."

Logan rolled his eyes internally. Janus was, unfortunately, a very familiar foe at this point. But then, they were two of the most respected lawyers in their state, with opposing specialties and reputations for innovative tactics.

Logan was self-aware. He had another reputation, too: as a black-and-white thinker, unshakable, unalterable. He preferred to think of it as a particularly strong conviction. Versus "The Snake" against him, who coiled and twisted the facts of his cases to benefit his clients.

And of course, that was the issue today - Logan strove to show that his client had a straightforward, airtight argument that should clearly prevail, while Janus found miniscule details that he said should be enough to distinguish the case at hand and make it different from previous decisions, enough so to allow the case to be decided in his favor. He'd charmed the jury at trial, and now argued against Logan's appeal.

Logan prided himself on keeping a cool head, but listening to Janus' speech just got under his skin. His neat handwriting started to get messier and messier as he furiously scribbled notes of counterarguments and responses to his opponent's points. Then Janus turned slightly, just enough to see frustration's color burn in Logan's cheek, and he smirked.

Logan barely heard the gasp from the observers behind the bar, because he'd just snapped his pen in his grip.

He looked straight ahead, somewhere slightly to the left of the judge's head, but he saw very little, his furious thoughts too loud to allow any else to be processed. But the audience was murmuring and talking, far louder than any judge usually allowed - what was going on?

A clerk from behind him hurried up to the judge's dais and whispered urgently in her ear. Logan had yet to look around, but he was slowly coming back to himself, enough to be confused at this disruption in normal procedure. He refused to look over at Janus' probably-still-smirking face.

The judge cleared her throat. "Counselors, we will recess for the day. Please join me in my chambers now."

Logan frowned, but cleaned up the broken pen and gathered his file neatly back into his leather briefcase. He didn't look over, but he heard the flurry and crinkling of papers as Janus threw his notes into his own bag. Without glancing over, Logan followed the judge to the small office at the back of the courtroom.

"Mr. Finch, Mr. Alighieri. I do hope there's a good explanation for this breach in propriety, not to mention the code of conduct," she said sternly as they both stood before her heavy desk.

"Breach, Your Honor?" Janus asked. He sounded just as confused as Logan felt.

"As barred attorneys, you are expected to know the code as well as I," Judge Kasel said severely. "No soulmates may be involved in a trial together, except as co-counsel."

Logan's ears roared. "Your Honor, I apologize, I must have misheard. Soulmates? How is that relevant-"

"Mr. Finch, don't play dumb with me - the entire courtroom saw!"

"Saw what?" Janus asked. His voice was oddly distant and strained from its normal silky tones.

Judge Kasel stared at them in disbelief. "You mean to tell me you both managed to not see that? I'm quite certain the entire county saw the glow just now, through even the back of your suits!"

"Glow?" Logan asked. His chest was suddenly very, very empty, a vacuum of air or substance, and had he not been sitting he was sure he would have fainted.

"Yes, glow, both your marks on your shoulders. Given your mutual surprise, I will assume that this was indeed unknown, and will not declare this case a retroactive mistrial. But you will both need to send in replacements from your firms."

Janus spoke up, his voice tinny. "Replacements, Your Honor? I should think even in light of this- development, only one of us would need to withdraw-"

"Mr. Alighieri, while I appreciate your dedication, I will not delay this trial for the entirety of your bonding. I will give you both 3 days to propose counsel to take over, and scheduling will proceed with them."

Oh fuck. Bonding, Logan thought, unable to speak. That absolutely ridiculous expectation.

The clerk poked her head in. "If they need to speak privately, this side office is empty."

"Yes," Logan responded robotically. "Yes, I believe we need to speak."

They filed into the small room. The clerk closed the door behind her, whispering "Congratulations!" as she disappeared.

Janus sat in one of the chairs heavily. Logan remained standing, staring blankly at the bookshelves built into the wall.

"I can't believe this," Janus said finally. "We've known each other for years, how could we possibly be...?"

"Soulmarks frequently emit a barely visible glow from proximity alone, particularly when located on skin that is generally covered. Heightened emotion or situations with high levels of stress lead to brighter glows that were invisible or unnoticed previously," Logan recited dully.

"Oh yes, how could I forget, I'm talking to Encyclopedia Brown," Janus said, rolling his eyes. "Of course you've memorized that too." He unbuttoned his suit vest dexterously despite his trademark yellow gloves, slumping forward in his chair as he threw his vest over the arm carelessly.

"At least one of us actually has a factual basis for this event, rather than us both being in the dark," Logan snapped back.

"Yeah, your vast knowledge of facts really helped! Did your misguided quest to know everything somehow miss the detail of who's your fucking soulmate?" Janus said, nearly whisper-screaming.

Logan whirled to face him, a fiery reply already on his lips, when he suddenly saw a blue light showing through Janus' white shirt, bright enough to glint off the polished chair back and off the glass of the picture frames on the wall.

He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly. "Yes. That was a detail I had not learned. It felt trivial, unable to affect my work. But now that it has, we're better off resolving this."

Janus deflated too. "Yeah. We should. If we can just get through this part, at least we'll stop glowing like horny teenagers."

Logan focused on a tiny flag displayed on the desk as he spoke, not looking over. "I know of a very respectable landlord who rents bonding apartments in the city. Nothing overdone or kitschy, no 'honeymoon' suites, just furnished apartments for indefinite stays."

"Fine. Not like we can't afford it, whatever the price."

"I have some arrangements to make at home-" Logan began

"As do I, unless-"

"Unless what?"

Janus took a breath. "How would you feel about living with a snake?"

"I rather thought that was the entire idea," Logan replied coolly.

Janus shot him a withering glare. "I mean a python, you absolute cotton-headed ninnymuggin."

"Ah, my mistake," Logan said calmly. "That should be fine. A pet, I assume? Or your chosen co-counsel?"

"Let's get one thing straight, Finch," Janus said, rising to his full height, looking down at his infuriating opponent. "I don't like you. I don't expect or particularly want you to like me. We are going to be residing together up until, and only until, our illogical marks have decided in their weird cosmic energy to stop lighting up like neon signs whenever we experience strong emotion in each other's company. I fully expect to be pissed off the entire time, which will make figuring that out easier. But you do not get to speak to me that way, or I'll-"

Logan looked up to meet Janus' eyes. "Or you'll what, Alighieri?"

"I'll report you to the bar for breaking the code, and convince them you already knew," Janus replied smoothly. "And you of all people should know- I am very persuasive."

Logan's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "Fine. And yes, you may bring your python. I'll be leaving my cat at home, however."

"Fine with me," Janus said curtly, deflating back into his normal slouch.

"I will send you the details of the landlord I mentioned. I can make the arrangements within the hour."

"Sure. Wait-"

"What?"

"How are you going to send me the details?"

Logan paused. Their only real contact over the years had been in person or by professional communications. He could hardly use a process server or subpoena to give Janus his key. "Ah. Right. Your contact information, then?" He pulled out his notepad.

Janus pulled out his gold pen and scribbled his phone number at an angle, entirely crossing the college-ruled lines. Logan cringed but took it.

"I will contact you shortly, then. And I will may sure to look for pet-friendly apartments."

Janus nodded. "Right."

"Right."

They both paused.

"Uh. See you soon, then," Janus said, and left the room abruptly.

⁂

Janus had to hand it to him - the apartment was all Logan had promised. Clean, sleek, and spacious. The landlord had even left a spare heat lamp, so Janus' sweet Monty would be comfortable.

Best of all, there were several separate rooms in the suite - two bed, two bath, and two offices.

The kitchen was also well-furnished, and came stocked with staple foods. Logan had arrived, however, with extra bags of groceries.

"I brought my own additions," he said. "The landlord is a friend, but he doesn't buy from the shops I prefer."

He proceeded to pull out several large jars of kimchi, what looked like at least a gallon of soy sauce, and various bright packages that Janus couldn't read.

Janus resolved to take pictures and look up what these things were later. Not while Logan was standing here, glaring up and over as if daring him to comment.

"I've picked the smaller bedroom," Janus informed the shorter man calmly. "Monty is set up in there, so if you're weird about snakes, just avoid it. Actually, feel free to avoid it anyway. I've got a brief to write."

Logan made a noncommittal sound in response.

Hours later, Janus emerged from his office to eat something. His brief was finished, sent off to his senior partner. He hadn’t yet told the firm about the day’s events- only that the appeal would need to be handled by another partner with his associates’ help, he needed to take emergency leave, and he would let them know soon how long he expected to be unavailable. H

e found evidence in the kitchen that Logan had prepared, eaten, and cleaned up dinner for himself.  That was fine by him. He made his own food, grabbed a bag of candy, and retreated back to his room.

The next morning, he woke up at his normal late time, stretching in the sun. The kitchen once again showed evidence of Logan's presence- particularly the currently-soaking coffee pot.

When the sun started to descend once more and Janus had yet to see his new roommate, he grumbled. Guess he'd have to be the fucking practical one.

He blew Monty a kiss for good luck and stumped down to the rooms Logan had claimed. He rapped on the door. "Finch. We need to talk."

He waited. There was silence, then a slow drag of a chair. The doors cracked open.

"Yes? What about?"

"No. We need to talk. Or, fuck, I don't know. Be in the same room occasionally."

Logan sighed deeply, and opened the door more. "Fine."

Janus went to the living room and sat on one side of the couch. Logan followed him and settled on the chair facing him.

"So." Janus began.

"So what," Logan replied flatly.

"Sew buttons," Janus replied automatically.

"What?"

"Just something one of my friends says," Janus muttered.

"Ah. So what was it you want to discuss?"

"I don't know!" Janus snapped. "But I'd really like to get back to my life, eventually, and that can only happen if we bond." His lip curled.

Logan sighed heavily. "And how, exactly, do you propose we do that?”

Janus fell silent. He had very few ideas. Pop culture made it very clear that bonding was an extremely romantic event. First kisses. Proposals. Or, in the less sappy movies, it seemed to consist purely of falling into bed together. None of which appealed in the least, particularly not with Logan.

Logan stared expectantly. "Nothing? You just pulled me out with no ideas?"

"If you're the fucking brilliant one, you come up with one then!" Janus spat out the suggestion with a glare, but then he saw it - a soft gold glow shining through Logan's tee, reflected in the tasteful mirror behind him.

They both deflated again, glows reducing down to hidden beneath their clothes. 

Logan adjusted his glasses. "I. Ah. Apologize. I realize you are attempting to resolve this issue."

"But you're right. I have no idea how to," Janus admitted.

Logan took off his glasses to rub his eyes. "Unfortunately, neither do I. Perhaps just coexisting will be enough."

"How long will that take, though?"

"I haven't the foggiest."

They lapsed into silence.

Finally, Janus suggested, "Maybe we can do our work in the same room. Set up in the dining room with all our stuff. Coexist but in proximity."

Logan glanced over. "That seems relatively painless. Let us make an attempt, then."

⁂

Logan had not had any particular expectations for how well they could share a work space.

And yet, it was still far worse than he'd expected.

Janus talked to himself. As he read, as he wrote, as he researched. Not loud, but a constant stream of soft muttering, disjointed words and full sentences. 

It was the most distracting thing Logan had ever been suffered to experience.

"Will you please be quiet," he said tightly, after an hour passed with no signs of letup. 

"What do you mean?" Janus asked.

"That infernal whispering, please, could you stop?"

Janus looked at him quizzically.

"You're talking under your breath," Logan said. He felt a headache coming on. 

"Oh, am I?" Janus asked. "Sorry. I'll be quiet."

It lasted all of half an hour, and then the muttering started again. "SCOTUS said yes but that was a city sidewalk, 2nd says no but that was Lincoln Center, hm, decoration, use, separation, intent?" 

"You're doing it again!"

Janus looked slightly guilty. "It's barely conscious, it's how I process things. Could you just wear headphones?"

"I need silence."

"Noise-canceling, then?"

"Fine. Do you own a pair?"

But the headphones didn't help. The sensation was too odd, of being closed-in, and he kept bumping then as he went to lean against his hand. Finally, Logan stood. "I'm going back to my office. This experiment has failed."

Janus' eyes narrowed. "Well, thanks for deigning to sit in my presence for a full three hours before giving up."

"I'm not giving up, this is just not tenable!" Logan insisted. 

"Well, you asked for ideas, and I came up with one. If it's not working for you, you come up with a better one. Come find me when you're done thinking, I know it could take you a while."

He stood and grabbed an apartment key, and stalked out to walk off his frustration.

As he walked, he called his best friend.

"Hey Pat, it's me."

"Jan! Hi buddy, how are you?!"

He sighed heavily. "I want to go home."

"But you only just got there?"

"Yeah, and it's going shi- I mean, badly. Really badly."

"I'm sure you'll work it out," Patton said confidently. "You're a brilliant and wonderful human, and anyone smart enough to argue against you will be able to see that!"

"Thanks, hun," Janus said. "The fact remains that I also don't like him."

Patton hummed tunelessly. "It doesn't have to be instant, Jan. These things usually take time."

"Unlike you and Ro."

"Well, yes, but that's because we were meant to be!" Patton soft, his voice taking on that soft, besotted tone it always did when he talked about his soulmate.

"Isn't the whole point that all soulmates are meant to be?"

"Well, yes..." Patton faltered. "But it doesn't have to look like us, we're just hopeless romantics!"

"I know. How's wedding planning going?"

"We started watching movies for inspiration and got distracted with a Disney marathon," Patton said fondly. 

"But you had fun?"

"Absolutely!"

"Good," Janus said, meaning it. There were very few people, in his opinion, who deserved happiness the way Patton did.

He was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Pat- what if it was a mistake? What if we just have defective marks or something?"

"I'm sure that's not true!" Patton insisted.

"It just seems like - I mean, we're not even friends. Most people get to start from strangers at worst, but we've been antagonizing each other for years, what if, I don't know. Neither of us had a soulmate and so they glitched out?"

"You just need to find some common ground," Patton said confidently. "You can't both be so passionate about being lawyers without something more in common. I believe in you, buddy!"

Janus sighed. "Thanks, Pat. Say hi to Roman for me, tell him Monty misses him."

"Will do, nephew! Call any time you need, okay?"

"Love you, Pat."

"Love you tooooo!"

Janus realized he'd circled the block and was back at the apartment entrance. He steeled himself, then went back up. He repressed the petty urge to bang open the door to disturb Logan's quiet as much as possible.

Logan wasn't in the common spaces, but emerged not long after Janus returned.

"I feel I must apologize," he began. "It wasn't my intent to denigrate how you work. It is just clear that sharing a workspace is not going to be preferable for either of us."

"Yes, I'm aware I had a bad idea," Janus said, overly patient. "Kind of an odd apology, but I accept. Can I have lunch now?"

"Yes, of course. May I join you?" Logan asked.

Janus raised a distrusting brow.

"The idea of spending time in the same space was a good one. I thought we might try a context in which we don't need to focus."

"Fine."

They prepared food around each other, both managing to bite their tongues when they needed the same counter space or cooking implements, which Janus was proud of himself for. They ate in silence.

Janus heard Logan sigh in exasperation and braced himself for yet another snippy comment. Instead, he heard an unexpected question.

"Do you enjoy superheroes?"

"To eat? No, they upset my stomach," Janus replied drily.

"I mean to watch. Superhero movies and shows."

"Occasionally, yeah, why?"

"Perhaps we could watch one this evening. At the same time."

"Sure."

And they parted to continue working on their own.

⁂

Logan had been correct that, as far as superhero movies went, the MCU was a safe choice.

In retrospect, though, perhaps Civil War had been... less so.

It had started when Steve first objected to the Sokovia Accord plan- and Logan had scoffed.

Quick as a cat’s pounce, or an adder’s strike, Janus’ head whipped around. 

“You disagree?”

Logan glanced over briefly, screen light blinking off his glasses. “Well, of course. Didn’t New York and Sokovia show that some control is needed? Lawlessness leads to more civilian casualties.”

“And yet, if supers are controlled so much that risk of liability keeps them from acting at all, casualties would be just a tad higher, don’t you think?”

Tony and Steve’s voices raised on the screen as Logan replied, “What would the difference be of the villains and heroes if they all act with complete impunity?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did we lose mens rea when we switched over into Marvel-land?” Janus asked, voice clipped. “Isn’t the entire basis of our modern penal system based on culpability, not just the act or harm done?”

Logan looked down his nose. “Of course culpability matters. But you well know that one of the factors for absolute liability is when an act is inherently and extremely dangerous. Say, for instance, displays of superhuman force in a densely populated area.”

“So you don’t think there can be any space for personal judgment on the heroes’ behalf?” Janus asked incredulously.

“Look what that space did already! Does the name Ultron ring a bell?”

“So of course, the one who made a terrible call is the one who now wants to be restricted? That sounds like asking for the global government to save him from himself instead of taking responsibility.”

“Better that those with actual accountability be the ones bearing the responsibility!”

“Oh, yeah, and we can definitely trust this government’s judgment! A Hydra infestation was all part of the plan!” Janus’ voice was raising, far louder than the movie that still flickered on, ignored.

“There still needs to be rule of law! Steve wants to abandon it all for one person, and a war criminal at that-!”

“And that’s incomprehensible?”

“Of course!”

Janus fixed his supposed soulmate with a glare. “And you mean to tell me that there’s no one, no one, that you would be willing to burn the world down for?”

Logan opened his mouth to respond, but Janus continued quickly before he could. “No one who won’t fight for themselves, because they think they’re not worth it, but you know they’re so worth it that you would be willing to kill for them?”

Logan, about to spit out an impulsive reply, paused, momentarily speechless. As clearly as if they were sitting on the edge of the couch next to him, his best friend from childhood filled his mind. Virgil, who never believed their worth no matter how many times Logan and their soulmate Remus told them so.

Janus saw the pause and continued softly. “I’m not saying rule of law isn’t important. But the trouble with laws is they’re only as tailored as legislators make them. And they’re human, and therefore fallible. We need exceptions, for those situations that they didn’t imagine.”

Logan struggled for moment, then replied, just as quietly, “You’re right.”

Janus’ mouth fell open in shock, but just as he did, the tv’s faint blue glow throughout the room was washed over with two beacons in blue and gold, blazing from their backs.

At the sight, Logan’s face went from contemplative and open to stony. He stood abruptly and stalked off into his room. The door closed behind him with a decisive click, and Janus was left staring at the wood in confusion and anger.

⁂

“I just don’t get it!” Janus whisper-screamed into the phone. He was power walking through a nearby park, moving so fast he’d passed a skateboarder and a particularly leisurely biker. “Does he want to keep on glowing forever? What is his problem?!”

Patton made sympathetic noises in response, quite familiar with the sound of Janus in full rant mode. Roman was lying with his head in his lap, listening on speaker, so Patton was settled in to be as receptive to his friend’s complaints as he needed.

“I mean, we finally agreed on something, besides the fact that we want to get this fucking resolved, and then he just, what, shuts me out? Literally and figuratively? I literally can’t even catch him leaving to the kitchen for food now!”

Patton winced. “Not since? But it’s been two days!”

“Two and a half, yeah,” Janus replied. His voice suddenly sounded weary. “I can’t keep doing this. The trial’s going on without us anyway, I might as well just give it up and make sure I never have to argue against him again.”

At that, Roman sat bolt upright. “Janus, my dear esquire! You cannot abandon your quest! This is your soulmate!”

“Yeah, well. Maybe some soulmarks are broken. Or we just met at the wrong time. Maybe if we’d met in law school we would have been a team, but now it’s too late.”

Janus sounded contemptuous, but Patton could hear a distinct note of regret.

“Maybe...” he started, but trailed off, thinking.

“Maybe what, Pat?”

“Well, it’s just that I’ve heard of soulmates who, you know, take an abnormally long time to bond, or manage to un-bond after years together, but they can fix it. Do you remember my old roommate?”

Janus wrinkled his nose. “Patton, are you suggesting couple’s therapy? I’m fairly certain that only applies to couples.”

“Well, you’ve kinda been forced to be one, right? At least to figure out bonding? They could probably help, or at least let you know if it’s not worth the effort.”

Janus sighed. “No, you’re right, it’s a good idea. I just have no idea how I’ll get Finch to go along with it.”

“Might I make a suggestion?” Roman asked politely. 

“Sure.”

“Perhaps try calling him ‘Logan.’”

Janus rolled his eyes. “Worth a shot, I guess. Love you both.”

“Love you Jan!”

“Best of luck with the love of your soul!”

 Back in the apartment, Logan was pacing in precise squares in his bedroom. He half-expected the rug to be worn down by the repeated impact at this point. 

“L, I don’t know what to tell you, buddy,” the gravely voice on the phone said. “You really have only two options here: find a way to avoid him forever, which will probably involve having to turn down cases you’d like-“

“I bet he’d stay on them just to force me off,” Logan interrupted, growling. 

“That is a possibility,” Virgil replied, their voice overly patient. “The other option, though, is to work this out,” they continued. 

Logan scoffed.

“Lo, that doesn’t mean you’ve gotta turn into a Hallmark movie! But it’s clear this isn’t just going away, and it’s not like you’ve got nothing in common.”

Logan groaned. “Virge, I don’t-“

“I know, man. I know. But you can’t just hide in your room until he just decides to move out, which means you’re gonna have to talk to him at some point.”

Logan didn’t reply, just continued pacing. 

“You know I’m right, Lo,” Virgil said patiently. “You don’t have to say it, just promise me you’re not going to keep being a hermit, okay?”

Logan sighed. “I promise.”

“There we go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

About to hang up, Logan heard a voice in the background and Virgil asked him to wait.  Then, “Reme wants to say hi.”

Logan let out an exasperated sigh, but he was smiling. “Fine, I’ll allow it-“

“Loooogggyyyyy! How’s the soulmate boning going? Have you figured out that you’re a power bottom yet?”

“Hello, Remus. I take it you’re well.”

“Let’s just say I’m glad you’re my brother-in-law because I may have some need for a lawyer soon.”

Logan couldn’t conceal the grin from his voice as he replied, “As I know you know, I am not a defense attorney, nor would I ever be so unwise as to take you as a client.”

“Aww, you’re such a smart cookie! And by cookie I mean a snack, because mmmm-MMMm you’re a snacc!”

“Always glad to know I’m appreciated,” Logan replied drily. “Goodbye, Virgil. Goodbye, Remus.”

“See ya, L.”

“Byeeeeeeeeeee!”

⁂

When Janus returned, he was a bit taken aback to see Logan sitting in an armchair, reading. At the sound of the door, he looked up. 

“Ah, Alighieri. I- I wanted to apologize for my behavior.”

Janus paused. It was a good sign, but still so unexpected as to be unsettling.

Logan cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t have left you in a lurch. You did not cause this situation anymore than did I, and you have not been unkind. I have a suggestion for how we might move forward.”

Janus winced internally, thinking of another disastrous attempt at a movie or workspace. “I actually had a thought on that as well, but um. What was yours?”

Logan cleared his throat again. “Well, since we have been... brought into this situation together, but as a pair are struggling to adjust, it seems logical to consult with an expert, much as we would in our work. Therefore, we should consult a professional on personal relationships.”

“Oh, thank god,” muttered Janus. “Yeah, I was gonna suggest a couples counselor too. I think that would make sense. And I actually have a personal reference to a very experienced therapist.”

That settled, they found the earliest possible appointment, only two days later. 

“I do need to warn you-“ Janus said as they walked up to the office. It was their first time out of the apartment together, and it had been a very quiet walk over. “The methods of this therapist are- unorthodox. But they are highly acclaimed in their field.”

“Oh, are they an enby?” Logan asked. 

“Yes and no,” Janus replied. “You see, there’s two of them.”

“Two?”

“Yeah, they’re a couple therapist that is also a couple.”

“I don’t- well- I mean, that’s odd, right?”

Janus grinned. “Yeah, odd is a common word to describe them. But they’re highly praised and like I said, they were recommended personally.”

“Right,” Logan said, squaring his shoulders. “An open mind is helpful for effective therapy, after all.”

“That’s the spirit! I think,” Janus replied, holding the door open.

A gothy receptionist showed them to a private room with a comfortably large couch. Logan looked around in trepidation and slight alarm at the decorations. There were countless Funko-Pops, posters, stuffed animals, and an alarmingly high number of travel mugs from what looked like every single cartoon that had ever existed.

Janus was slightly more prepared then Logan, but he still jumped out of his skin by the sudden singing coming around the door. A deep voice was booming, “Duhhh duh-duh-duh-duh-da-DUH!” in a building crescendo that went on and on, until both lawyers were staring in a mixture of confusion and irritation.

Then a tall, lanky man slid in the door and lowered his glasses to wink at them both. “Hey babes. Welcome to therapy.” 

The singer followed him through the door, their bright pink hair a sharp contrast to their warm brown skin. “And thank you as always for the intro, honey!”

They smiled, big and toothy. “Welcome indeed! I’m Dr. Emile Picani, pronouns they/them, and this tall drink of coffee is my partner, Dr. Remy Picani, pronouns he/him! And you are Janus and Logan, correct?”

Logan looked a bit stunned still, so Janus took the lead. “Yes, I’m Janus Alighieri and this is Logan Finch, pronouns he/him for both. And I was referred by Patton Corwan-Augustus.” 

Emile smiled even bigger, if that were possible. “Oh Patty! Best roommate ever, I still miss his brownies. It’s lovely to meet you both!”

“Best roommate? What am I, chopped liver?” Remy asked, hand pressed to his chest. 

“Best friend, best coffee-maker, best of men and best of husbands,” Emile replied, and said husband immediately blushed.

Logan coughed politely. “Have you been married long?”

Remy smiled, still pink around the edges. “We’ve actually been married almost 10 years. The minute we graduated university, actually, when we knew our parents had not a shred left of financial control. We went through our PhDs together, which is why, of course, we’re qualified to help out other couples, because let me tell you, would not recommend.”

“Which brings us, of course, to you two!” Emile said brightly. “What is your goal in coming to therapy?”

Janus and Logan both began speaking at once.

“Well, it started in court-“

“It was completely unexpected, we’ve known each other for years-“

“-dreadfully embarrassing, not to mention the professional ramifications-“

“-it just feels like something’s missing-“

“-really want to just sort this out-“

“-just want to figure out the disconnect-“

“-and we can forget about the whole thing.”

“-want to make this work.”

They looked at each other, shocked, as their words both sank in.

Emile was tapping their Powerpuff Girls pencil topper steadily against their lips, eyes wide behind their pink-framed glasses. 

Remy, at their side, leaned back and took a long, loud slurp of his iced coffee, rattling the ice around until the room’s attention was on him. Then he looked up and said, “Hoooo-wheee.”

“So I’m getting a lot of differing goals here,” Emile said delicately. “Let’s start with you, Janus. Can you expand, please?”

Janus tried to speak, but felt like his voice had dropped into the cold pit that was suddenly his stomach. “I, um,” he started with a shaky breath. He barely noticed when Remy pushed a cup of ice water into his hand, but a sip steadied him somewhat.

“You can look just at me, if that helps,” Emile said softly. “Or at my buddy Kaa here.” They gestured to the stuffed snake on the shelf behind them. 

He looked like a fuzzy little Monty. That would do. 

“Thank you, Doctor,” Janus said, acknowledging the water from Remy. “So. We’ve been rival lawyers for years, because we’re both the best at what we do. It was shocking, to suddenly be glowing in open court, but I thought we just needed to find common ground that’s not arguing. That’s why I’m here, at least.”

“And Logan?” Emile asked, still in that kind voice. Logan wouldn’t meet their eyes, though, or anyone’s.

“I thought- we both seemed so upset by the news. Or at least, I was, and perceived you to be as well.” He didn’t look up as he addressed Janus, but his eyes shifted over and took root on Janus’ polished loafers. “My plan was to spend whatever time was needed to stop glowing, then get back to our respective lives.”

“Do either of you have a question you’d like to ask of one another?” Remy asked. “It can be as large or small scale as you’d like, serious or frivolous.”

Both men looked up at the lanky therapist, who’d actually removed his dark glasses, revealing slightly foggy-looking irises. “Logan, it looks like you have one.”

“Oh- yes. So, Alighieri- I mean, Janus. To be clear- you were not upset by the news?”

Janus took a breath. “I mean, I was shocked, and upset to be removed in the middle of a case. But not about the soulmate thing, specifically. And I have a question too?” He looked to the therapists, who both nodded.

Janus looked over, and saw the Logan was watching him in his periphery. “When you say you were upset about the news- was it about the soulmate thing, or about me as your soulmate?”

Logan actually sat up, looking shocked. “Oh, goodness gracious. Absolutely about the concept of ‘soulmate’ in general, not personal in any way. Did I-?”

“Well, yeah, a bit,” Janus said.

“I am- I am so sorry. I would have absolutely have been equally upset, no matter who I found to be an accidental soulmate.”

Janus felt his stomach unclench just a bit.

“Logan, what about soulmates in general upsets you?” Emile asked.

Logan’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and he stayed silent for a moment, then two. Finally, he said curtly, “I never asked for one. And no one asked if I wanted one, either.”

“No one asked if I wanted to be trans, and yet here I am,” Emile said with a cheeky grin. “We don’t always get a say over the circumstances of our birth.”

“But Emmy, you’ve found self-acceptance and happiness deriving from coming out,” Remy put in. “Logan, were you content with life before this reveal?”

Logan nodded. 

“So there was no sense of dysphoria prior, or absence of a euphoria that was gained since.” 

Again, Logan nodded.

“Couldn’t-“ Janus began. His throat felt a bit stuck. “Couldn’t there be something to be gained, though?”

Logan picked up a small figurine of Dexter from the table next to the couch, and fiddled with it in his lap as he spoke. “It’s not impossible, there could certainly be gains from a better acquaintance with you. But that’s not what a soulmate is supposed to be, is it? They’re supposed to complete you,” he said, his voice dripping in disdain. “Because you were incomplete before. Because you weren’t enough, alone, you were just waiting for the One. And of course, you can’t be trusted to find them yourself, some cosmic force determines it for you.”

Remy rested his hand in his hand, elbow propped on his knee. “Spill it, sis.”

Logan stared in confusion. 

Remy smiled. “It means, approximately, ‘continue, you’ve got something good to say’. I’m getting a lot here- but a lot of the frustration seems to be with the idea that forces you can’t control are messing with your life, is that fair?”

Logan shifted. “Well, yeah, but that makes me sound like a control freak.”

“Not at all,” Janus interrupted. “Of course you don’t want something incomprehensible to make decisions for you. That’s not controlling, that’s perfectly understandable and human!”

Logan managed a small smile in response.

Emile beamed. “I couldn’t have said it better myself!”

“But I am def gonna poke some holes in your thought bubble,” Remy said cheerfully. “Starting with this: what do you mean when you say a soulmate is intended to be The One?”

Logan stared in disbelief. “Come on. Really? Look at, I don’t know, any piece of media ever. Or at you two. Or at my- friend and his husband. Or any other pair of soulmates!”

Janus added, “I mean, that’s what’s intended, right? With the whole ‘marked from birth’ thing?”

Emile looked at them both very seriously. “Did you know that Remy isn’t The One for me?”

“But he’s your soulmate?” Janus gasped out.

Emile nodded gravely. “He is my soulmate. But he is not my only soulmate.”

“I was designated female at birth to very traditional parents. They wanted me to marry my soulmate at 18, like they had, and they assumed he’d be a man. But my other soulmate was a girl, and I loved her with all my heart. And when I realized I wasn’t a girl, I thought my parents might accept us more. I was wrong.” They took a breath. “We were separated. I don’t know what happened to her. But it was enough to know that my parents didn’t care about my happiness, soulmate or no.”

“I’m so sorry,” Logan said quietly, and Janus nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. 

“I was lucky, though,” they continued. “I found Remy only two years later. And he accepted me as I am, both my gender and my other soulmate. And the cartoons, of course.”

“I never got to meet her,” Remy said. “So we will never know if she was my soulmate, too. I choose to believe she wasn’t. I think she could have been Emile’s one and only, had they been able to stay together. And that doesn’t make me feel any less lucky to be Emile’s husband, nor any less loved by them.”

“And not to shock you even more, but not all soulmates are romantic,” Emile said. “I know that’s the media portrayal- but well, the media is also pretty straight. And cis. And white. And neurotypical. And-”

“What they’re getting at,” Remy interrupted, “is that common portrayals miss a lot of the variety and complexity of humanity as a whole, let alone the complexity of relationships.”

Logan was sitting very still, and not speaking. Janus was trying to wrap his mind around this, and spoke with uncharacteristic uncertainty as he asked, “So- for instance, um, you could have soulmates who are, uh, queerplatonic partners?”

Logan’s head snapped up, staring at Janus with wide eyes.

Remy grinned. “Yes, of course! I was worried I was going to have to do a vocab lesson, but you both seem to know what that is.”

“But-“ Janus began, brows furrowing.

“But that means-“ Logan muttered to himself.

“Why isn’t he my soulmate?” Janus asked, at the same time Logan asked, “Why aren’t they my soulmate?”

Lit by the twin glows reflecting against the wall, the therapist couple exchanged a pregnant look. Emile reached out and took a hand of each patient. “I know this is a lot to process, but I really want you to keep something in mind: a soulmate is not the only way we can love someone. It’s not the ‘best’ way or only valid way to love someone. The same way the platonic love you clearly both hold for a significant person in your life is no less valid than romantic.”

Remy sat up straight. “I want you both to think about this when you go home. Your love for your QPPs is wonderful, and worth cherishing. And I know you are both lawyers, so here’s a question for you to brief. We cannot know the actual intent of whatever force gave you marks that respond to each other. So I want to you look for what evidence there might be, in each other, for your connection.”

Emile added on, “You have a link, and it’s worth exploring. It doesn’t have to ever be more important, more meaningful than another connection you have. But understanding it is critical to bonding successfully.”

“I think we should wrap there, for this week,” Remy added. “But you can talk about this, of course, without us.”

Janus and Logan nodded, and left. The walk home was as quiet as the walk there had been, but this time the air thrummed with thoughts and ponderings.

⁂

Janus and Logan made dinner with relatively little talk, only quiet asks to pass a spice or a cooking implement. It wasn't an uncomfortable quiet, but one where their minds were far too loud to vocalize just yet.

Janus quietly suggested putting on TV, and picked the game show network as a neutral, unobjectionable option.

They ate as they watched, still burdened with their own thoughts, but slowly started to murmur the correct questions under their breath before the Jeopardy contestants were able to.

Final Jeopardy, as luck would have it, was on Latin - but specifically, Latin as used in law. Both attorneys chuckled at the contestants' answers, some of which weren't even close to correct.

Janus directed a cautious smile in Logan's direction, and found it reciprocated. But as he saw that familiar glow start to reflect off the walls, he tensed, waiting for Logan flee once more.

For the first time, though, he didn't. His eyes widened as he took in the lights, but he didn't move to stand or leave.

"About today-" Logan began. "I don't know that I am quite ready to discuss it all, but I did want to once again apologize for my handling of this situation, and its emotional impact on you. It was entirely unintentional, but I regret causing you distress."

"Thank you," Janus replied softly. "And thank you for being willing and open to go to counseling. I learned a lot today, all of it important."

"I'd like to talk about it tomorrow, if you'd be willing," Logan added. "There are some additional details I need to share, but I don't think I'm able at the present moment."

"Sounds good," Janus nodded. "I'm going to turn in for the night. Sleep well."

"You as well."

But despite feeling tired, Janus found he wasn't at all sleepy. He ended up sitting up until the wee hours of the morning, stroking Monty gently and thinking a great deal.

⁂

The next morning, Janus woke up much earlier than his usual habit, but he needn't have worried - Logan was clearly waiting for him in the kitchen, sipping coffee and idly solving the entire Sunday crossword.

He looked up at the sound of Janus' door, and indicated the mostly-full coffee pot with a nod. Janus gratefully filled a mug for himself and lightened it thoroughly with cream, drinking deep as he stood angled so that he could offer critique and suggestions on the crossword.

"No, shush," Janus said, though Logan had not spoken. "It's gotta be White. Y'know, Betty? C'mon. Most-loved Gold? It's obvious."

Logan just smiled and penned in “White” in the horizontal boxes, immediately able to fill in the Down clues crossing them.

Once the puzzle was complete, Janus refilled his coffee and sat properly at the kitchen island. 

"So, if you're amenable-" Logan began. "I believe I'm prepared to discuss yesterday in more detail."

Janus nodded. "Did you want to start off?"

"Yes, I think I must. Because there was one detail that I wasn't quite prepared to share that I think will be quite helpful in securing a full understanding."

At Janus' encouraging nod, Logan closed his eyes to take a breath, and said, "The truth is, I'm an aromantic asexual. That's why the concept of a soulmate was so upsetting to me, particularly because up until this week I had assumed I didn't have one."

Janus looked down. "I'm ace, too, but not aro, and... yeah, same boat, mostly. I thought I wouldn't have one, but when we started to glow, I assumed it must be romantic. But that must not be the case."

Logan tented his fingers together. "So you're not aro, but you do have a QPP?"

"Yeah - I definitely can experience romantic attraction, but what I feel for Patton has always been stronger, and different."

"I'd like to hear about him, if you'd be willing," Logan said softly, and was rewarded by a smile that seemed about to glow as brightly as his soulmark on Janus' face.

"Oh, he's just the best," Janus gushed. "I met him at the perfect time in my life. I'd just been dumped by an asshole because he couldn't deal with the fact that the asexual part wasn't just me being a tease. I was feeling pretty low, post-college, all alone in a new apartment, and then this beam of sunshine turns out to be the kind of neighbor who brings cookies as a greeting. Even though I wasn't exactly receptive, he just kept coming back, even just to check up on me, and soon I found myself looking forward to it, and then inviting myself over in return."

Logan paused. "Wait, your ex broke up with you because you were ace? Was it a surprise?"

Janus rolled his eyes. "No, not in the least. I'd told him, and reminded him, and he'd just been assuming I would 'get over it,' the fucker. Right after the breakup, there were times I wondered if he was right, if I should have just powered through my repulsion to make him happy. But Patton was amazing about that, too. When he heard what happened - oh my goodness, he was so angry on my behalf, he looked like he was going to Hulk out. And then he made it his mission to make sure I was being validated in my identity and knew that I was eminently lovable both in spite of and because of my aceness."

Logan smiled. "That's wonderful. I can see why you love him so much."

Janus sighed happily. "And it hasn't changed even though he's met his allo soulmate. Roman knows that our bond isn't and will never be a threat to theirs, and he makes Pat so happy. They're planning their wedding right now, but they've already signed all the papers and it'll just be a party where they gush about each other in public."

Janus sat for a moment, basking in the glow of his affection for Patton, before he turned to Logan and asked, “You have a QPP too, right?”

“I do,” Logan said, a smile stretching across his face unconsciously. “Their name is Virgil. And they’re also married to their soulmate.”

“Tell me about them,” Janus said, when Logan fell silent. 

“They’re- they are just amazing. They’re my best friend, have been since about fourth grade. ” Logan’s eyes went a bit misty as he considered his childhood. “We bonded over being surrounded by idiots, after a debate simulation where we were on opposing sides.”

Janus smirked. “You mean I’m not your first? I’m heartbroken.”

Logan shot him a glare, but it had none of true anger’s heat.

“I guess we always had the feeling that we weren’t quite like everyone else. Besides the introverted tendencies, it wasn’t really a shock when they came out as nonbinary. They’d been online, discovering new terms, and in learning about their identity I ran into the aro and ace labels. I felt seen, do you know what I mean? And then Virgil just compounded that feeling by immediately understanding and accepting me. They call me a brother, just to explain that our relationship isn’t “just” friends.”

“What was it like when they met their soulmate?” Janus asked. 

“It wasn’t nearly as smooth as your experience seems to have been,” Logan admitted.

“Their husband is... unique. Prone to rather odd fixations and interests. But he’s also demisexual, and like us, had thought he wouldn’t have a soulmate. And part of his defense mechanism against that kind of rejection was, well. Embracing his off-putting side. Being disgusting for the sake of it. Grossing out others before they could judge him for his orientation.”

Janus grimaced. “I know that feeling, all too well. Donning a mask, so that a rejection won’t be of you, just your persona.”

“Exactly,” Logan said, nodding. “I don’t think it helped that both Virgil’s and Remus’ soulmarks were in their hair. They’d both dyed their hair many times over the years, but it wasn’t enough to hide it. And once they had shown up- there was no more pretending.”

“Was it hard for them?” Janus asked. 

“Accepting it was. But then they started actually talking and then it just- clicked. All those macabre interests that overlapped, the mutual obsession with MCR. They fell in love the minute they both let their walls down. And like you said- it never really changed what I had with Virge. They didn’t meet Reme until college, and didn’t get married until last year. So Virge told Reme that I was here to stay, and part of their life, and he accepted it without a blink. He’s a forensic archeologist now, to Virge’s forensic detective, so they’ve actually both been helpful in cases, too.”

“That’s... kind of adorable, in a weird way,” Janus said, scrunching his nose. 

Logan chuckled. “‘Adorable in a weird way’ is the best possible description for their relationship.”

Janus tapped his finger on the island. “That sounds so familiar, though, and I can’t quite place it.” He closed his eyes, murmuring under his breath. “Wait! Is Virgil’s husband an Augustus?”

“That was his surname, yes, though now it’s Angelico-“

“Oh my god!” Janus burst out. “That’s Patton’s brother-in-law!”

“What?”

“Roman Augustus! That’s his soulmate’s name! And he had a twin, but they had a falling out and haven’t been in contact for a couple of years. But he said he’d been in forensics!”

Logan blinked. “Well, it is certainly a small world. Not that Remus has ever talked about his brother, but I knew he had one.”

“That’s kind of crazy. What are the chances?” Janus asked, laughing. 

Logan looked pointedly over. “Do you really want to know? I could calculate them-“

“Thanks, calculator watch, but I’m good.”

They both chuckled quietly, sitting side by side at the kitchen island. 

“Hey, uh- thank you for trusting me, with the other day, and with this,” Janus said softly. 

“I owe you thanks as well,” Logan replied. “I don’t frequently have the opportunity to talk about Virgil in detail and it’s- it’s nice.”

Janus just beamed, returning the sentiment without words. 

In that moment, the sunlight of the room was tinged with colored light, gold and blue overlapping into rich emerald.

Logan hesitated, seeing it, but after a moment lifted his arm. Janus smiled and leaned in, accepting the offered side-hug.

“Hey Finch- I mean, Logan?”

“Yes Janus?”

“I may not be sure yet why we’re soulmates, but I’m definitely not disappointed that we are.”

A beat.

Then a soft murmur replied, “Neither am I.”

⁂

Later that afternoon, Logan returned from stocking up on more food to find Janus lying upside-down on the couch, lanky legs dangling over the back. His face was red enough to show that he’d been sitting there for a while as the blood rushed downward.

“I cannot imagine that is at all comfortable,” Logan commented drily, neatly putting away the packets of noodles and snacks he’d purchased.

“It helps me think,” Janus replied. “Especially when I’m trying to see something from another perspective.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “This better not have been a set-up just to make that terrible pun.”

Janus looked over, grinning. “It actually started that way, not gonna lie. I’d been venting to Patton about an oral argument simulation in law school and he suggested this as a joke. And then it actually helped.”

Logan huffed in what sounded suspiciously like a muffled laugh and came to sit more normally in a chair next to the couch. “So what is it that you’re trying to change your perception of so literally?”

“Our case, actually - Gomex.” At Logan’s quizzical look, he replied, “The partners aren’t letting me onto new cases until they know I’ll be back in person. I’m getting bored. So I thought, you know. Why not figure out what I was missing in this one.” He shrugged, an odd contortion for an inverted torso.

“You were missing something? But you won at trial.”

“And I was caught off-guard by your appeal - or at least, the part where it survived my motion to dismiss.”

Logan allowed himself a satisfied smirk. “Surprised you with my impeccable research, did I? All my rock-solid precedent pointing out the clear error in the original jury instruction?”

Janus’ legs kicked idly in the air. “Your research is always impeccable. Of course you were able to find precedent on-point for the general issue, you’re good at this. But the facts of the case are just so different that how could any of those past rulings be definitive?”

Logan leaned back in his chair, tapping the arm pensively. “Wait, so you really believe that? It wasn’t just a tactic to make Gomex feel like they’re getting their money’s worth for your legal fees?”

Janus finally righted himself, sitting upright with a leg balancing on the coffee table. “Well, yeah , of course I do. I don’t take the time and effort to go to trial for bullshit unless the client can’t be talked down from combat mode. Racking up charges for unnecessary trial prep is only fun when they don’t take my advice.” He looked quizzically at Logan. “So you really didn’t see the difference between Gomex and, what, Sourgoutsis?”

“No material difference, no. It’s in the right circuit, it’s recent and binding, and it established a test that clearly applies here.”

“But the test requires knowledge!”

“Knowing includes reckless disregard for the truth, and Gomex had that.”

“Oh, you can hardly say it’s reckless when all the claims were paid without issue for a decade!”

Logan leaned forward, counting off points on his fingers. “The guidance is updated each year. The commentary points out the changes. Gomex has to certify as a company that they accept all current guidance and direction. If they didn’t actually know they were submitting false claims, they should have known, and had a duty to know.”

Janus’ eyes were flashing, but more with excitement than anger. “But even the commentary didn’t clarify that these specific claims would no longer be accepted in the future. Doesn’t the agency have a duty to be clear about changes in accepted policy when the code is so vast and companies used past claims as standards for future approval?”

“But the companies are the experts in their own industries. They should know that these kind of differences are significant and material.”

Janus sat up fully straight, pointing enthusiastically. “That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“I figured it out! It is a matter of perspective. But not the perspective of side versus side, like I was thinking. It’s time.”

Logan leaned in, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Expand, please.”

Janus nodded, mirroring Logan’s pose even as his hands remained free to gesture. “So you’re looking at this as: company knows their procedures best, they’re the ones making profit off it, so their duty to know details is higher than the public agency. Right?”

Logan nodded.

“Here’s where I’m coming from - it’s not a question of if this company knew or should have known this distinction, or even if this industry has the expertise that the agency lacks. It’s about what this case would do to the Sourgoutsis test for cases in the future. If the agency doesn’t have to clarify a policy change now, why would it ever? If it’s not enough that companies rely on a long history of approval here, when will it ever be? Do you follow, Logan?”

Logan linked his fingers, tapping the tips of his forefingers gently. “So your concern is about using a history of compliance as evidence of good faith?”

“Exactly, yes.”

“But Gomex knew that the change meant the compliant history was no longer relevant.”

“Only because they had insider knowledge of the change process. Not from the public information.”

“Wait, so you agree that Gomex knew?”

Janus grinned sheepishly, baring all his teeth. “Well, we’re both off the case now, so- yeah. They knew or should have known their claims would get rejected and banked on the agency not noticing for just long enough.”

Logan gasped. “But you still went into court and got the jury to agree with you that they didn’t!?”

Janus shrugged pragmatically. “It’s not about Gomex, it’s about the precedent this will set. I’d rather one bad actor get away with it now than have who-knows-how-many claims get screwed in the future for a good-faith misunderstanding.”

“Especially if that bad actor is paying you millions to help them get away with it?” Logan asked with an eyebrow raised.

Janus raised one of his own. “So you’d rather let a bad test become binding because the agency is paying you millions to get it set in stone?”

Logan, about to respond hotly, paused. “I suppose that’s a fair assessment. I didn’t think it was that bad a test until now - I assumed the insider knowledge would be baked into the standard.”

“You gotta think cynically, Mr. Finch,” Janus said with a chuckle. “Picture the worst-faith application and work backwards from there, cause you know it’ll end up happening.”

“Hmm,” Logan said with a quiet laugh. “When you’re right, you’re right.”

Janus fluttered his lashes. “The great Logan Finch thinks I’m right about something. My life’s goal is achieved.”

“Hey, I think you’re correct quite a lot!” Logan objected. “Infuriatingly precise and pedantic, sure, but ultimately right. There’s a reason my firm sends me against you - no one else wants to fight what’ll be a losing battle half the time.”

“Only half?”

“Even you must admit I’ve been correct on more than one occasion,” Logan said with a smile.

“That is true,” Janus admitted. “Knowing that you’re going to be the opposing counsel always makes me up my game.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Logan said wryly. “I’d never admit it to the other partners, but you make me a better lawyer, Janus.”

The flattered glow of Janus’ grin was immediately dwarfed by two other, brighter bursts of light. Gold and blue pulsed from their backs in a flash, then settled into steady light. The colors lit the stylish room, blending to emerald as they pulsed in time with each man’s heartbeat. Logan looked at the glow reflected on the white couch cushions with wonder as he realized that Janus’ back  was no longer shining blue, but green. He caught his eyes and realized his own glow must have changed colors as well.

The lights pulsed more and more gently until they dimmed and went out, leaving Janus and Logan sitting across from one another just as the last of the sunlight fell below the horizon and the room went dark. 

The silence stretched for several moments, until Janus finally broke it with a bemused, “Huh.”

“So that was-”

“I think so.

“So now we’re-”

“Bonded, yeah. I think.”

“That would be a logical assumption.”

The silence returned, each man lost in his own thoughts. When they spoke again, it was at once.

“Maybe we should-”

“Perhaps we could still-”

“-make sure it’s permanent?

“-take a few days more?”

They shared a grin.

“A couple more days couldn’t hurt,” Janus said. “After all, it could be a fluke. We wouldn’t want to set a standard from a mere fluke.”

“Oh, of course not,” Logan responded with the same tone of amusement. “We want to confirm the integrity of the test.”

Janus stood to flick on a light, then turned as a thought occurred. 

“Wait, Logan - even once we go back, we won’t be able to be opposing counsel anymore. The soulmate code will still be applied, even though we’re not romantic or QP soulmates.”

Logan’s face fell for a moment, then lit up once more as he stood. “Well, we’ve got a couple days at least. I think the two best lawyers in the state might be able to argue that every precedent has an exception, don’t you, Mr. Alighieri?”

Janus’ smile mirrored Logan’s own as he replied, “Why yes, Mr. Finch, I think we might.”

[owlespresso]

Tremble, Duck & Weave . V

At last. Also on my ao3, which can be found here. If you’re interested in supporting my work or ordering your own, my commission terms can be found here and my ko-fi is here. Before we begin, please make sure all cellular devices are off. Thank you, and enjoy the show.

If Aymeric were to afford his late father one compliment, it would be his impeccable organizational skills. The perfection of each neat, abet packed drawer and cabinet makes it much easier to toss out items and documents he has no use for. He disposes of letters and paperwork and gauche items that only serve to take up space, skimming through texts and wrinkling his nose at every lie he sees. If nothing else, the archbishop kept his story straight, consistently assuring local leaders of his virtue and desires for a simple peace.

Never does he betray his wretched greed, nor does he betray earthly desires, nor does he disclose the truth of his earthly relationships.

“Never would I forsake my sacred oath for the sake of such petty indulgences,” one letter insists. Aymeric, without even processing it, reads it in his fathers voice and hears every lofty intonation, feels the faux passion oozing from every word. “The Scion of the de Borel family is not my flesh and blood.”

Aymeric’s lips curl into a deep frown, cold fingers tensed on the parchment. Another fruitless attempt to deny him of his true heritage, another desperate attempt for the archbishop to preserve his saintly image. Aymeric doesn’t know what’s more pitiful, the ceaselessness of his father’s denial or the fact that he had to interact with this man every day.

A loveless man, Aymeric thinks, crinkling the paper. There’s no reason to linger on a man long dead, not when he’s already resolved to be different, to be better.

His brows pinch into a firm scowl, lips pursed in a deep frown. His tumultuous thoughts near split his head, every letter and possession an unfortunate reminder—

A knock breaks the stifling quiet and forces his spine rigid. As with every spontaneous visit he receives, he schools his demeanor into something friendly and relaxed, something unemotional and civil.

“Come in,” he calls mere moments later.

The tall, dark doors open. Zephirin’s form, adorned in rich blues and gleaming white, stands out stark against the darkened shadows of the hall. He cuts across the tiled floor, greaves clanking with each long step.

“Pardon the interruption, my lord,” Zephirin regards him with trademark impassiveness. “I have information of the utmost importance to share with you.”

The prompts Aymeric to raise a brow. Long has he worked aside the men of the Heavensward, but never has he grown confident in his abilities to read Zephirin. However, he has always been sure that his father kept an array of secrets, any of which could pose a threat to himself or Ishgard. Due to the recency of his ascension, he made the bold choice to not yet question any of the ward. He would attract more flies with honey than with vinegar. Giving them time to adjust, know and trust him would bear richer fruits than pressuring them to spill his father’s precious secrets. Perhaps that patience is finally paying off.

“You may speak,” Aymeric nods, fingers pressing the papers on the desk flat to the polished wood.

“My lord, I assume you are privy to the existence of the Ascians?” Zephirin’s inquiry nearly makes his brows raise, yet he keeps firm hold of his expression, a face of practiced, steady neutrality.

“I am.” Immortal creatures who were a source of strife to every nation and settlement, known for inflaming local beast tribes into summoning deadly primals. “Why, pray tell?” He wouldn’t put it past his father to break bread with some of the world’s most notorious troublemakers, and he knows better than to hope otherwise.

The migraine blossoming behind his forehead thuds into the foreground. The very last thing Ishgard needs is pressure from another faction. Not whilst they’re in the middle of a transitional period. He knows that change must be introduced slowly for the people to accept it. He already has the Dravanians clawing at the wall every chance they get, and the alliance still knocks on the city’s gates semi-regularly. Aymeric is not an easily agitated man, yet there is only so much he can take before his hinges rust and his temper runs out.

“Before the Archbishop’s untimely death, they approached him offering an alliance,” Zephirin is watching him carefully, closely, measured in his words and demeanor. The timbre of his voice is neutral and passive. “He accepted with the intent of ascertaining their true goal and betraying them when his plans reached fruition. It is my full belief that he never intended to truly ally with them.”

Of course, Aymeric says to himself, Thordan would keep such a crucial secret from him. He wonders if the wretch he barely called a father is laughing at him from the hells below, for now he will surely be expected to continue this trite charade with the Ascians. It is likely that they will approach him openly, expect him to break bread with them despite their transgressions against the star as a whole.

He fancies himself a man with a long fuse, but the sudden revelation makes his fingers curl. He leans forward with the weight of sudden news, flattening his hands against the desk.

“It is a pity he did not disclose the details of something so completely crucial to the future of our nation,” Aymeric takes in a deep breath and sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “The Ascians are not to be easily trifled with. Regardless of his ability to to predict and handle them, I should have been informed much, much earlier.”

“My sincerest apologies, my lord,” Zephirin begins, the barest hint of apology seeping into his otherwise blank expression. “The Knights of the Round—”

“No. I am not in the mood to entertain trite excuses,” Aymeric replies, tone clipped as he restrains himself. There’s much he wants to say, but Zephirin needs not to be the target of his misplaced aggression. “Go. There is much that still has to be done before the day’s end. I will see to the Ascians this evening. Go about your normal duties until you are needed.” A newfound tension sweeps over his entire body and mind as he returns to the long road ahead. Perhaps some of his father’s files will shed some light on the situation.

- - -

The morning descends upon you with firm vengeance. Though your wounds have for the most part aided by Ishgard’s finest astrologian, the aches and phantom pains still wrack you. The plush blankets that curl around your body make up a warm nest you never hope to leave. The mattress is soft and gentle on your back. Still, it is a comfort most difficult to enjoy whilst there is so much work to be done.

Thus, you tumble out of your nest and barely catch yourself on your feet. Your morning routine is scarcely different from the one you had before your ejection from Ul’dah, yet the pain slows you. The cold claws settled within your muscles and bones make it difficult to move with your former swiftness. Climbing out of the shower is pure agony. Even though you’re inside, Ishgard’s vicious climate thwarts you at every turn. Only when you’re clothed are you at last at ease.

The Ishgardian garb is made of lush cottons that loosely swaddle you, easy on the body and meant to avoid aggravating your skin. Your hands duck into your sleeves, absentmindedly playing with the fabric as you descend the stairs.

Artoirel awaits you at the bottom, leaning casually against the banister. He sweeps out from his resting position with a smile at the sight of you, expression warm and welcoming.

“Good morning,” he says. His posture is casual, but his gaze is searching as it rolls you up and down. Curious, explorative. “How are you?”

“Good morning.” You withdraw into yourself ever so slightly, doing your best not to wilt underneath his gaze. “I’m well.”

“Haurchefant is tending to his duties today, but I do hope I can measure up to him in the realm of being pleasant company. Would you grace me with your presence for today’s breakfast?”

And to that, you have no objections. Artoirel cuts an intimidating figure, physically, but his gentlemanly attitude softens his sharp features. He’s something you’d expect from a wealthy prospective suitor in a romance novel.

Breakfast is a wide array of Ishgard’s finest dishes—foods hearty and rich in nature. It’s a struggle to not scarf down your portions, but easy conversation with Artoirel helps you space out your bites.

It’s all pleasantries at first. He attempts to dive beneath who you are outside of your status as the Warrior of Light, asks about your skills and your hobbies, what you enjoy doing outside of slaying gods and monsters alike. He’s picture perfect. Even the bites he takes of his foot are petite and polite, not a crumb to be seen on the corners of his lips. His expression flexes, the space between his eyebrows wrinkling. He looks like he’s grasping for words, lips pursing as he stares down his remaining food.

“Have any of the nobility made a bad impression on you?” he asks out of the blue, a piece of bacon perched atop his fork.

“No. Not yet, at least,” you look down at your potatoes, eyeing the way the chandelier light bounces off the silverware. It’s a surprising line of conversation to go down, but his concern touches you.

“Full glad am I to hear that. I would hate for any of my more… judgmental peers to sully your experience,” his voice is soft and delicate, a type of gentility that makes your heart squeeze. “However, I must encourage you to be cautious. Ishgardian high society can be… especially brutal to the few foreign guests we receive. Should you encounter any hostility, do not hesitate to inform me. I cannot guarantee any consequences for those in rival houses, but be assured that we at House Fortemps do not share the same sentiments.”

It’s reassuring to hear him so concerned with your reputation and well-being. You’re a new stranger to Ishgard, and there’s no doubt that everyone from the high borne to the lowly of the Brume can tell. Being thrust into such a foreign environment after what you endured has made you feel lost and overly dependent on your connections here. And… perhaps you are. But Artoirel’s devoted sentiments soothe you against your better judgment.

You don’t think much of it now, nor do you think much of it when you’re called down for lunch. Or dinner. It’s only right for the count to call all the residents and guests in his home for meals.

Emmanellain joins you for dinner that night. His eyes glint cleverly, his very presence incessant in its curiosity.

“To think, the champion of the ixal could be felled so succinctly!” he crows after you recount your deadly battle with Garuda. “Ah, I remember Haurchefant arriving home with stars in his eyes, that night. Word of your grand exploit was all he wished to speak of—well, besides your form… and the lovely curves that adorn said form.”

Ah. Long have you been aware of Haurchefant’s growing… intrigue in you, but never has it been so plainly observed by another. How much had he said about you? Your cheeks warmed as you thought over the possibilities, distracted from the raise of Artoirel’s voice as he reprimands his brother.

Haurchefant doesn’t return. Artoirel helpfully informs you that he’s seeing to his very last post at Camp Dragonhead before he returns to fully join the Heavensward. His absence leaves you feeling emptier than usual.

And when you cannot sleep, you occupy yourself with studying Ishgardian history. Much to your frustration, you can’t lift more than four of the tomes at once without your arms and shoulders screaming in protest, so you begrudgingly settle for three. You read throughout the night and find that the founding of the city state alone is enough to cover two-hundred or so pages.

A few hours before dawn, you dim the light and settle back against the pillows, filtering in and out of consciousness until you need to use the bathroom.

You eat breakfast with Artoirel again that morning, and promptly decide you need to take a walk for your own sanity. Manor Fortemps is a splendous place to live, but you can only stand being cooped up for so long before you lose your mind. You make sure to throw on a scarf and some knitted gloves that had been fetched for you, all bundled up and equipped as diligently as possible against the merciless cold.

Though you still don’t have a handle on the city’s layout, you believe asking for directions will serve you just fine. The manor is practically a landmark. Any local worth their salt should be able to point you in its direction. You assure yourself as you make your way towards the grand double doors.

“Oh, are you taking a walk?” Artoirel’s voice pipes up, the lord’s head peeking out from behind a nearby corner.

“Yes. I just wanted to get some fresh air, is all,” you inform him with a small shrug. He steps fully into view, his gaze soft and his smile sweet as he regards you.

“Ah, I was just about to head to the astrologicum. Would you care to accompany me?” He tilts his head ever so slightly as he inquires, leaving you struggling for an answer. On one hand, you likely should visit. If you weren’t mistaken, the man who treated your wounds is an astrologian. On the other… your entire stay in Ishgard has been a procession of well-meaning individuals constantly fretting about and crowding you. Even a moment outside alone would help combat the ceaseless, crushing sense of helplessness it has left you with.

Before you can even answer, Artoirel glances past you, gaze sparking with recognition as he spots one of the housekeepers.

“Ah! Adrienne, the Warrior of Light and I are about to take a visit to the astrologicum. Should Emmanellain return before us, kindly to tell him that the tarte tatin is to be shared. I will not have a repeat incident of last week.” His voice carries a firm edge to it at the end of his sentence, exasperation barely kept from breaching the surface. He shakes his head the housekeeper says an affirmative and scurries off, turning back to you with a sheepish smile.

“My apologies. The last time our chef prepared tarte tatin, he sneaked in and pillaged the entire share before dinner even started,” Artoirel shook his head with a sigh. “At times, I can’t help but think Honoroit is more suited to his position than he is… but that’s nothing for you to worry about.” He dismisses the matter with a wave of his hand as he throws his coat over his shoulders. A shame. The nosier part of you wishes he had continued. It’s no secret that his younger brother is a divisive subject among the family due to his immaturity and habitual slacking off, but you’ve heard quite little of the boy who follows him around like a lost puppy.

“I have an acquaintance at the astrologicum who was hoping to meet you.” Artoirel, for the most part, seems genuinely oblivious to your internal monologue. He holds the door open like the truest of gentlemen and sticks close to your side as he swans elegantly down the street. Even his walk is refined, long legs sweeping nimbly over the concrete.

You try to keep your crestfallenness hidden as you follow, hoping Artoirel’s insistence is simply him overcompensating in an effort to be a good host. You’re in no shape to deny him at the moment—he’s the count, and he’s so graciously allowing you to stay in his home. Should he decide to shove you out the front gates, you’ll surely have nowhere to go.

You don’t know how you haven’t realized the potential danger in that until now.

- - -

You accompany him to the astrologicum to placate him.

You try to take your leave after dinner, hoping he’ll be too busy finishing off dessert to notice you slinking towards the living room. He does, of course. And he continues to do so. Every attempt you make to leave on your own winds up inevitably thwarted underneath his watchful gaze.

He accompanies you on walks, and you accompany him on small errands whenever he offers, figuring fresh air with him is better than none at all.

“Foot traffic is high this time of day, especially after the archbishop mandated a longer break time for the construction workers down at the lower Ishgard. I dearly hope the noise has not kept you from your sleep.” Artoirel sighs as he accompanies you through the crowd, a palm flat to your lower back.

“Forgive my intrusion, but I cannot help notice that you have been favoring your right leg. Perhaps it would be a better idea to remain inside and rest? I imagine Urianger will be quite cross with Haurchefant and I if your recovery is hampered in any way.” Artoirel says imploringly, his eyes sweet and his lashes long as he bats them.

“We have a gazebo in the gardens if you would like somewhere to enjoy a spot of fresh air,” he informs you passively over the dinner table. “Not much grows out there these days, but it has been swept down and cleaned up for your use.”

It doesn’t reassure you. The next two days are fraught with uncertainty as you await Haurchefant’s return. Conversations with Alphinaud and Tataru are a brief reprieve from the blossoming paranoia, but you deign to not tell them the truth. There’s no doubt that Alphinaud will march straight to wherever Artoirel happens to be and demand answers.

If this is all some massive understanding, you don’t want to risk jeopardizing your relationship with your host. You keep Artoirel’s suspicious insistence on keeping you cooped up a secret, even as the stress it invokes worsens your condition.

However, you are nothing if not resourceful. The balcony door to your room has remained unopened throughout your short stay. Exiting from the second level had been beyond your capabilities given your current status, but desperate times call for desperate measures. (And trapped creatures often make irrational decisions.)

Your muscles strain under the pressure of holding yourself up as you lower onto a conveniently close ledge, and then onto a trash can nestled against the brick wall. The loud rattle of the metal lid against the can makes you flinch, but the side street is blessedly empty.

Just like that, you’re free. The phantom pains grip you tight and dig into your ilms of muscle, causing you to buckle. One of your hands finds purchase against the textured brick wall, gasps rattling in and out of your lungs as you struggle to steady yourself. Spikes of frigid pain lash out at your head, the space above your eyes throbbing as you attempt to reign it all in. Your thick gloves keep your nails from grating along the brick, something you find yourself suddenly grateful for as the pain begins to clear.

You focus simply on pulling the breath in and out of your lungs, the cold air drying your throat. The rest of the world dims as you refuse to focus on it, the agony ebbing away into blissful nothingness. Only then are you able to straighten up, gaze clear as you look down the long alleyway. Ishgard’s steep spires and long roads suddenly seem to curl around you, the prospect of navigating them alone somehow intimidating.

Weeks ago, you would have been fine with exploring without a chaperone.

You’re only going on a short walk, you rationalize. Your body moves accordingly as you urge it forward, heading out of the alleyway and onto the streets proper. Each step forward is another to be proud of, you try and tell yourself, but the words ring feeble and hollow in the void of your consciousness.

- - -

Estinien, for better or for worse, has grown accustomed to traveling near exclusively via rooftop. The streets below are littered with strangers who are able to perceive him. It’s daunting in ways he refuses to admit to. The stench of raw Ishgard rubs foul against his nose when he mingles among the masses, an affront to his sharpened senses. At least the beast inside of him knows it does not belong.

Powdery snow drifts from the grey sky, dotting his hoarfrost lashes, threatening to blur his vision as they nearly melt on impact. Here, legs perched upon the thin ledge of a building’s high spire, he can comfortably separate and spectate the writhing populace. Idle people-watching has become a disturbingly frequent indulgence in between his missions and tasks.

It helps distract him from the red vines that curl around the tall buildings, from the patches of disembodied flesh that decorate the cobblestone ground. Features of Ishgard only he can see—the beast trying its hardest to convince him to leave.

Perhaps it is the human part of him that remains that enjoys this passtime, desperate for a vicarious taste of old normalcy. Of belonging. He despises it. He is no longer soft flesh and natural composition. He is hard edges and scales, branching horns and gnashing teeth all wrapped neatly under the illusion of humanity. If his glamor were to be dispelled, they would surely throw rocks and knives and weapons of every sort in his direction despite all he has done to protect them.

So he broods, and he is willing to admit that he broods. He consumes the crowd beneath him with wide sweeps of his piercing gaze.

An old woman hands over a coin purse in exchange for a pair of mittens. A child in the middle of a game of tag slips on a patch of ice, tumbling onto his knee. He hears the resulting yelp, despite his distance. The beginnings of warm, childhood nostalgia creep up on him. His jaw tightens as he prepares to beat it back—oh.

He notices someone decidedly different from the rest of the crowd. A figure that stands fulms and fulms apart, one he has seen before. The Warrior of Light. You look decidedly healthier than you had the last time he had laid eyes upon you, sheltered in the cloistered bookman’s keep. You had been crumpled by your injuries, a mess of an individual dragged in, hanging onto life by a mere thread.

You’re walking around, at the very least. Still a tad gaunt. The bags underneath your eyes are new, but he supposes you have plenty to lose sleep over after everything you have been through. He is no stranger to loss. He knows how it can rip a person’s core out, make them a shell of their former self. He sympathizes.

He dismounts his perch, climbs across roofs and spires as he follows you along, glued to the shadows. No one regards him, his armor stained deep grey with the intent of better camouflaging him.

There’s a noticeable stagger to your steps as you visit different merchants, not bothering to actually head inside any of the storefronts. Perhaps the cold is harsh on your injuries. Why, then, are you not inside? He imagines Haurchefant would be on you like a mother hen, though he recalls that the youngest Fortemps child has been sent to Camp Dragonhead for the next few days, overseeing the change of leadership.

A pity, then, that he is not able to stop you as you aimlessly float from stand to stand. With each moment your movements become more labored, more encumbered despite you having nothing on your person. It’s easy to follow you from his position so high above. Eventually, you split off from the crowd, your eyes wide and your arms drawn tightly to yourself. You stumble up the stone steps, across the street and into one of the thin alleyways, thoroughly closed off from the rest of the populace.

It is not sympathy or concern that makes him dismount his perch. The frozen air whips through his long locks and lashes at his eyes as he descends, body instinctively contorting to stick a perfect landing.

It is a curiosity that plants him so firmly before her, a need to know the woman so vaunted and pursued for himself. You, who have so immediately commanded the adoration of Ishgard’s most coveted and quiet astrologian.

You startle as he lands, the sound of the impact ricketing up and down the otherwise empty alley.

- - -

Fatigue jolts up and down your anguished limbs as you trudge through the crowd. Initially, it hadn’t been so bad. Sure, you had been a tad tired after your escape, but your condition quickly snowballed down the slope. Ishgard’s cold seeps into your body even though your thick, cushy clothes. Your capricious escape leaves you in a poor state by the time you reach the marketplace.

Hells, you wouldn’t be surprised if you managed to exacerbate your wounds in the process. Still, you flutter from stand to stand, half-heartedly looking over merchants’ wares until the whimsy to move on strikes you. It helps distract from your new, pounding headache.

One of the most appealing booths has little puppets that are hand-sewn. An array of cute, fuzzy characters is lined up atop the wooden table, alongside some plain stuffed animals. Had you actually brought your coin purse, you undoubtedly would have purchased something. One of the aforementioned plushes is a grey-pelted fox wearing a stone-faced expression, something about it reminding you of ser Aymeric.

Unfortunately, the pain grows too great. Its bitter grip ensnares you, making your breath shorten and your body tremble as you continue your trek. You’ve overstayed your welcome. You should return home. To Manor Fortemps.

You split from the crowd, heading in the direction you believe is right. It’s difficult to keep your full mental faculties whilst so distracted, so you stumble down the alley and hope for the best. The dark brick walls make the path thin and constricting.

It’s by pure chance that you manage to see a flash of red above you before it lands. It’s a fluid blur of motion, a figure descending from the heavens that you don’t quite comprehend until it lands.

Brilliant plates of red armor wrap the broad figure’s body tight. The odd pikes that extend from its form and the angular nature of the sculpt let you know this is a dragoon, albeit unlike anyone you’ve ever seen before. The helmet is absent, allowing you to fully view the individual’s face.

He possesses hardened, sharp features. A cut jawline and a nose with a high bridge. His eyes are narrow, irises a shade of icy blue. It’s the whites of his eyes that take you off guard—stained a deep crimson. Long strands of snowy hair frame his face and brush against his jawline. All things that catch your attention for a fraction of the moment, but what draws your alarm are the two, blackened horns that arch from his skull, curling backwards slightly, raised to the sky. His cheekbones are adorned with glimmering, black scales. They gleam red where the light catches off them.

Sickly, red lines akin to veins scatter across either cheek from his eyes. It’s nothing you’ve ever seen before.

You don’t see it as much as you feel it, waves of inky black void that roll off him like fog or flame. He is the picture of everything Ishgard fears all at once, the corruption of their own people by the dragons who have kept them in stalemate for hundreds of years.

Your breath stalls in your lungs, every muscle in your body seeming to tense as you struggle to comprehend his visage. Upon closer inspection, his form is absent of the gauntlets most dragoons wear. Another thick layer of scaling coats his arms from the elbows down, the tips of his fingers curling into sharp claws.

“The Warrior of Light,” he addresses you contemplatively, but his expression belies disappointment. “I had not expected to see you out of your sickbed so soon—though it looks like you’ve flown the nest before you were ready.”

“Who—what are you?” you stammer, coherency returning to you in staggered stages. You hunch against the cold, brick wall, eyes near the size of saucers as you stare him down. You don’t dare shift your gaze away from him.

The droll disappointment that colors his features vanishes, giving way into momentary surprise. One side of his mouth quirks into a crooked, shark-like smile. Even his teeth are refined into sharp points, better for ripping into flesh and chewing bone. He barks a cold, humorless laugh.

“So you can see me,” he remarks idly. The edges of your consciousness begin to burn and fray. The inky splotches that swim at the edges of your vision threaten the view you have of him. “You have truesight yet the first thing you see with it is this wretched form. I almost feel sorry for you. Aymeric was correct in his assumptions about you, though that’s for better or for worse,” he remarks as you feel yourself start to sway. Your hands grow numb. A slow tingle takes your fingertips and strokes down to your palms, sweeping to the rest of your arms.

Any panic that you might feel is swept under the growing void, too exhausted to muster even a drop of emotion.

The last thing you hear before you take the plunge is the clanking of his greaves against the stone ground.

[mandarinmuffin]

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Planning to establish a company or expanding your existing business? Thinking to acquire Trademark registration of the same day? Is other company misusing your invested trademark as its own identity?.

What is Trademark? A trademark is a graphic form of a visual symbol which represents a business brand and distinguishes the identity with other traders. It may be in the form of a logo, signature, name, label, word, letters, numerals, shapes etc. Trademark symbolise the identity of the business so company decides it after making research to make the trademark unique and attractive. Being an intangible asset or intellectual property, it is used to differ products or services from other similar products or services generated by a separate organisation.

Though trademark is not compulsory by the law or government, Yet It symbolises the brand, identity & Quality of a firm.

When can a Trademark not be registered? Trademark supposed to be an asset of a company. So a trademark similar or copied from other organization will not be registered.  so it should not be similar or copied from other companies. Apart from this, a trademark which is illusory, offensive, identical, containing prohibited elements etc. Can not be registered by the Law.

Why to register a Trademark? Being an important asset, it needs to be registered to restrict the other business owners to use your own business identity. It protects the company rights or Investments which it had invested in a Brand or Logo. An example can be highlighted with the help of giant companies like siemens, Apple, Pepsi and Coca-Cola belonging to same industry yet signifying separate brand. Likewise, we can find numerous examples of live companies bearing trademark as a brand like LG, Godrej etc. Trademark, as a business identity, distinguish a company with other companies a brand. Once registered, company get recognition by trademark, along with the business name. Trademark serves a badge, brand, quality, loyalty, goodwill statement,

How to register a Trademark? Registering a trademark does not consist complicated procedures, just to follow the simple procedures. Trademarks are registered under the trademark act, 1999 by the controller general of patents design and trademarks, Ministry of Commerce and Industry, Government of India to sue the other traders in case of infringements of company trademarks.

Who can apply for registration of Trademark? Any individual, proprietor, company, partnership firm, a legal entity can apply for the registration of the trademark and can use symbol ‘TM’ till the registration is approved. Once trademark gets registered, the company may start using ® after getting certification. The whole process may take up to 2 year or 18-24 months. Registered trademark is valid for 10 years which needs to be renewed later. A trademark is a guarantee of service, products, quality, and advertisement. So should be taken care of misusing the same. Trademark should not be similar to others

Documents required filing an application to register a Trademark? To file a trademark application, one need to attach the following documents:- Trademark or logo copy, Applicant details - Name, address proof, Nationality proof Company details, Products or services which are to be registered A signed copy of the Power of attorney on a 100Rs. Stamp Paper First date of using the trademark before getting or applying for registration

The company may perform the work on its own or through legal representative owned by the company. It may also delegate the work to some experienced consulting firm having expertise in Registration work.

The process of Trademark and its Registration? As we mentioned, Trademark is the visual form which is usually taken as Logo of a Company. A logo is designed through a Graphic Designer or any Photoshop maker but one should follow the strict guidelines before designing a logo.  A company must carry a research through trademark agent to verify the similarity of the trademark. These agents check the trademark office to ensure the credibility of the trademark or never registered by some other company. This verification can be done through any mode I.e., online verification & offline verification. One may adopt both the procedures to double ensure the accuracy and uniqueness.

Once trademark verified through trusted resources, Company may work further. In the case of duplicity, it needs to get it re-design again and will have to conduct the same research again till exclusive trademark found. Once uniqueness achieved, Company or representative must require drafting an application along with the requisite documents. After filing an application, the company may use ‘™’ till the approval received.

Once the application reached to Trademark office, they will check the data to avoid duplicacy. In the case of duplicate application, last application can be rejected. Otherwise, the mentioned trademark will be published in Trademarks Journal for 4 months to check any voice raised against the said trademark. If anyone creates objection, Trademark will be in issue for hearings till the issue get resolved. Once all the clarifications received from legal sides, Trademark can be sent for registration and will be approved within 6 months. Application status can be checked or reviewed online through application number assigned to the trademark owner.

Trademark being an intellectual property and intangible asset holds an important place in business for at least 10 years which is to be renewed after 10 years. A company may renew the same trademark or can apply for the new trademark while following the same process mentioned above.

Trademark registering firms usually have their qualified staff who adhere the whole process responsibilities on behalf of the company with a certain amount of consulting fee or charges. Hearing charges, reply charges (in a case of opposition filed), may be separate apart from the Trademark registration charges. Opt for the experienced legal representative or trademark consulting firm to handle the whole registration process till approval.

[veridium]

fake happy

Well, whaddya know! The College AU is back, baby! Unfortunately June was pretty much hell in a handbasket, so writing took a backseat. But, we are far from done. Thank you to everyone for sighting tight, and to @bitchesofostwick for being a very patient co-author. 

So, where were we? Ah, yes, the holiday weekend from hell. On with the show! Title bought to you by a great Paramore song.

masterpost // last chapter

--

“Hey baby cakes!”

The moment she hears the shrill greeting whilst getting out of her car in the sandstone-colored driveway, Olivia knows she’s in a chapter of Dante’s Inferno. All the calmness she had with Ellinor earlier that day is gone; it is easier said than done enduring four days in the house of Paula Sinclair.

“Hey,” she rushes over her shoulder, pulling the side lever to release the trunk where her bags are kept. Just two, one of clothes and toiletries and the other books and supplies to do assignments. She’ll need the preoccupation as an excuse for the gauntlet of trials her Mom will invite her to.

As she’s filing her luggage out onto the driveway, she sees her Mom’s shadow approaching. She glances and sees her in all her glory: an olive green sundress with one of those straw pool hats. She was probably out basking in the sun all afternoon before this. Olivia is surprised she thought to put down whatever spiked beverage she must have had with her to come outside and greet her only child. 

“Did you have a safe drive? You certainly did not rush to get home safe,” Paula says, halting and crossing her arms. 

Olivia slams the trunk closed and huffs, slinging one bag’s strap over her shoulder and the other on her opposite forearm. “I woke up late, and had to help Ellinor pack.” Sorry, Ellinor. 

“Ellinor! I will miss her this year.” A lie said out of convenience. The whole time Ellinor stays with them, Paula shoots her peculiar questions about her personal life or her political views. Ellinor knows better now after these last couple of years how to play them off, but Paula can’t help but size people up. It’s how she cultivates all her complaints.

“I will, too,” Olivia lets out as she makes her way to the front door, past the splendorous potted plants and fake green grass turf. Her Mother saunters behind her through the open door. 

Once inside Olivia notices what’s missing, and sets her smaller bag down. 

“Wh--”

“No no, do not just leave that there! Take it to the mud room or your bedroom.”

Olivia bites back a groan and turns around to face Paula as she shuts and locks the large-ass, gaudy-ass front door. “Fine. Where is Nemo?”

“Nemo?”

“...the dog, Mother.”

“Nemo! Oh, psh,” she waves her acrylics. “He is off in the yard. I kept him outside because the carpet steamers came this morning. You know how his muddy little paws are! Now, do I not get a hug?”

Olivia tenses up from head to toe, seeing her Mother coming in for the hug she didn’t wait for permission for. At least Nemo isn’t mysteriously gone -- she’s read too many horror stories online of people’s parents being complete monsters about their old family pets dying, and not telling the children who live elsewhere -- but Paula keeps Nemo out in the yard for days at a time when she gets the carpets cleaned. He will need company, and not just the husband going out and practicing his golf swing adjacent to him. 

Oh, right, there’s a husband around here.

Paula hugs her with her arms draped over Olivia’s shoulders, rather than around her waist like a good bear hug. Something Dad would know how to do.

“I imagine Fred is off shooting, stuffing, or smoking something,” she mutters over her Mother’s shoulder, to which Paula gently swats at her shoulder and guffaws. 

“No, silly! He’s in the yard with Nemo, your fellow prisoner,” she teases, picking up on Olivia’s dread with her trademark passive aggression. Only three minutes in the door, a new record. 

“I didn’t say he couldn’t do those things out in the yard.” Lord knows he has before. 

“Where do you think our holiday meal comes from every year?” 

“COSTCO, like God and Uncle Sam intended, right?”

“Ugh, Olivia, your humor changes every year you’re at that College. Don’t be so morose.”

She takes a breath and picks up her eyesore of a bag so that it does not further desecrate the sanctity of the foyer, and makes for the curved staircase just across the pristine hardwood. “I’m just tired from the drive, Mom. I’m going to go upstairs and get settled.”

“Okay, and come downstairs soon! I wanna catch up, okay?”

“Yeah, okay!”

She glances behind her but her Mother is already vanished. Sure, catch up, but not too quick! Releasing her bated breath she lurches up the rest of the stairs. The place is heavily renovated from the home it originally was when her parents bought it. In the beginning they didn’t have much -- well, much compared to what Paula has now -- and so their first nest was a fixer upper. Year after year, corny wallpaper became fresh painted walls, and thick upholstered couches handed down from in-laws became brand new installations from the boutiques downtown. Two additions to the place upgraded it from a modest family home to a wannabe mansion. Olivia grew up in this ever-changing little kingdom of improvements, but only when she was a newly-minted adult did she realize she was one of its fixtures.

The one comfort had always been that her Father dwelled there with her. He brought heart and humanity to the kingdom of objects: his muddy shoes by the front door, not the “mud room.” His fishing rods hung up on the garage rack. His barbeque out in the yard. They weren’t all state-of-the-art, but they were his. But, by now, they, too, were all gone. ‘Improvements’ in every stead, including his.  

Olivia had one sacrosanct place left, and that was her childhood room. Walking down the hall decorated with big, framed portraits of the family -- none of her Father, though, to be sure -- she found her door, the second one to the right in the west hallway. “West” being the original upstairs hallway, the only hallway, before construction added the one referred to as the “East.” She pushed the ajar door open and slid in to see it as she remembered: the bright lavender purple walls strewn with posters, pictures, and a tapestry up behind her bed. The pearly purple carpet smelled of the carpet cleaner, but it did not mask the smell of vanilla she expected. On the opposite wall from the door, her princess bed complete with ivory white canopy was freshly made. Her bedspread was white, with pillows in alternating shades of green and lilac. Years ago she fought endlessly for her Mother to let her paint her room a darker color than the baby pink it was first. Thanks to her Dad, they “compromised” with purple. Sadly, Paula took that as “the lightest shades of purple” and so it was.

In the details, though, there was Olivia’s rebellion. The posters, Paramore, My Chemical Romance, and an old one from a Sheryl Crow concert she found on Amazon, contrasted the brightness with a grit. To the left by her small balcony doors, her vanity mirror and stool were covered with polaroid pictures, concert tickets, movie ticket stubs, and bracelets. She had taken all of her incriminating, “immodest” makeup with her to college, so all that remained were an old bottle of sunscreen, some pastel eyeshadow palettes, and lip glosses. So many lip glosses. 

Olivia dropped her shit in the middle of the floor and made for the reading chair in the far corner, where she collapsed into a curled, reticent ball of conflicted emotions. She predicted this -- she dreaded this -- and now, here she is. The first day is always a test of anxiety, more so than enduring mistreatment. Paula is always good on the first day -- great, sometimes. She is generous, and outgoing, and doesn’t sweat the small stuff. The grueling part comes after the first night ends and she realizes she has to do something with her daughter who isn’t just in for dinner and giggling. That’s when she remembers how she actually feels, and who she actually is. And with no one like Ellinor to buffer and provide excuses for her not standing in one place for too long, it’ll be particularly concentrated. 

She slides limply against the plush chair and closes her eyes. It was a stressful drive full of hasty college kids getting home to their more harmonious families. Olivia was in no rush, though. Three trips through various drive thrus surely added time.

Her phone goes off, and she slips her phone out of her back jean pocket. 

Ellinor: You ready to walk the plank yet?

Smirking, Olivia replies: 

-- I am already keeling over the edge. How is your family?

Ellinor: I nearly did a drop and roll out of Lyssa’s car on the way here, but they’re bearable. They are who they usually are. No surprises, this holiday season! 

-- One of these years we’ll be successful enough to buy everyone therapy for Christmas. 

Ellinor: No shit, I’m making them pay for mine first. 

Olivia is replying when another notification comes up, an instagram like this time, from Maryden. Grinning she taps on it. Maryden finally saw the group pic they all took at the fair: her, Ellinor, Cullen, and then Olivia and Cass in the bottom corner. Olivia had made Cass hold the phone due to height advantage. Her grin expands before it sinks fast. 

Ah, fuck. 

She pulls up her messages again and sees the one Cassandra sent her while she was driving and unable to check. 

Cassandra: Text me when you arrive safe. ❤️

The heart emoji. Olivia’s cheeks turn hot, and she hastily types. 

-- Here in purgatory! 

The sound of a man shouting something, and then laughing, rings from the balcony windows. Fred must be huffing and puffing about something amusing, like meat or guns. She can’t wait for all his odd comments and attempts to “relate” that almost always devolve into him talking about whatever season of sport he’s onto and her nodding along. Poor man. He makes sea sponges seem like sophists. 

Soon after sending, Cassandra replies, an opportunity Olivia doesn’t predict: 

Cassandra: Awesome. my Uncle has stopped us for gas, still about 40 minutes out. 

-- That’s good. Hopefully you won’t get stuck in rush hour. 

Cassandra: My Uncle sucks at navigating traffic, so I wouldn’t bet on it. 

-- Lol

Cassandra: You alright? 

Olivia is sort of surprised by the question and its sensitivity, albeit direct. 

-- Just tired from the drive, that’s all 

Cassandra: You love driving. You would drive the entire stretch of the coast highway without blinking once.

Damn, Cassandra. A bold insight. A correct one, too. 

-- 🤷🏼‍♀️

Five seconds after she hits send, Cassandra calls her. She nearly drops the phone on the floor, and her slack posture goes full vertical. She checks that the door is closed, only to decide to leap, rush, and lock it just in case. Then she hurries to the farthest corner of the room and hits answer right on the last ring. 

“No, Detective, I will not submit to the polygraph.”

Cassandra’s voice rings almost playfully. “Very well, we have other ways of making you talk.”

There’s the hot blush again. “Uh, a-alright, who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?” She hushes a bit, and hopes Cassandra doesn’t notice. 

“Nothing! My Uncle is in the gas station doing who-knows-what, so I’m stuck in here, boot and all.”

“I’m not kidding, I saw that Liam Neeson movie, I know how this goes. I have a special set of skills--”

“What do I have to do? Express my distaste for something? Quote Plato?”

“...It would be reassuring.”

Cassandra laughs coyly, and despite everything, it livens her spirit. She didn’t expect Cassandra to be in so playful a mood traveling back home. She was cool but unhappy about it that morning when they parted ways, entertained only by Olivia’s presence and a strong cup of coffee. Without the ability to drive due to her ankle, her illustrious but mysterious Uncle had to be the one to pick her up and take her back to her family. 

“I was just calling to check in on you.”

“I thought that was what the texting was for,” Olivia replies more curtly than she intends. She gnaws at her bottom lip.

“Sometimes it is worth the extra effort to call.”

“That is very un-millenial of you, you know. Horrifying.”

“Maybe so. Ugh, what is that man doing?” there’s sounds of Cassandra rustling against the leather seat, probably checking in through the window. “Probably searching for that expensive jerky he gets at Trader Joe’s like it will just magically turn up at an ARCO.”

“Who’s to say it won’t? People of all walks of life can enjoy finer things.”

“Yes, but not just the ‘finer’ things,” she then huffs. “Look, I don’t have much time, so if you aren’t in the mood to talk about what is bothering you, I can let you go and we can talk later.”

“I don’t know if I will be able to. My Mom wants to ‘catch up,’ which in her language means I get a hundred questions and the occasional asinine one from Fred.”

“Fred’s your stepfather, right?”

“He’s...my Mother’s husband.”

“I see.”

She mulls her teeth and looks around aimlessly. Cassandra goes ‘hm’ but nothing else. 

“How are you able to talk so much?” Olivia asks, diverting the subject. “Aren’t you worried your family will pry?”

“The good thing about holidays in my family is there are so many people around, you can get a great deal of private time if you are smart enough. Which is exactly what I intend to do. Ugh...he...oh, sorry. I thought my Uncle was coming back, but it was just another man.”

“Yeah, but you said they have superhuman abilities for nosiness.”

“They do. And I have superhuman talents of evasion. They’ll peck and prod about the ankle boot, though. Usually I can slip away to the gym or for a run to get away from them but...of course...can’t do that. Doctors don’t trust me to set foot in a weight room and it’s been weeks since my injury.”

“Cass, it’s been two weeks, almost precisely.”

“I said weeks, didn’t I? Look, overextending is not the same as knowing my limits. They’re the medical professionals, but they don’t live in this body 24/7.”

Olivia grimaces with sympathy, though she can’t say she agrees given how easy it is for Cassandra to throw herself into things without caution. “Uh huh.”

“Ugh, forgive me. I won’t be able to talk everyday, but I would like to try sometimes, okay? I promise it won’t all be about my messed up ankle.”

Olivia smirks. “You’re being very…”

“Very…what?”

Olivia stalls. Is it an asshole thing to do, saying your girlfriend is being more sensitive and caring than usual? Maybe not “more,” but in a different way. An unusual way. She could have really taken Olivia’s hurt feelings over how she acted about her injury. She could be really trying. But now, in the lion’s den, Olivia’s unsure about whether the timing of it is...well, ideal. 

“Nevermind, I lost my train of thought,” she excuses. “I appreciate you.”

“It’s no trouble. Now, I think my Uncle is coming back. Ugh, he got a whole bag of things...probably for me. Seeing me with my boot triggered his overprotective nerve extra hard.”

“Oh, no, sour patch kids! The torture!” Olivia teases. An ounce of her regular self bleeds through. 

“Very funny. I will text you later. Be safe, alright?”

“Alright. You, too.” She then remembers and slips it in before they hang up: “L-let me know when you get home, too, okay?”

“...O-okay.” There’s a pause, the kind of awkward pause when the thing you say -- the particular thing -- happens. But since they aren’t there yet, it’s full of pause and anxiety. 

“Okay,” Olivia takes her turn to smooth it over. “Bye!”

“Bye.”

Hanging up kills the feeling of safety. She looks into the big oval mirror at her dresser vanity and watches her grin crack, then disappear all-together. The scene in her reflected surroundings loses its luster. Even with all the impossibilities, she kind of wishes Cassandra was with her. It almost makes her laugh at herself: what, would she have driven up with her in the passenger’s seat, hear “hey baby cakes!” and smile, saying “hey Mom, here’s my girlfriend! You’re suddenly not biphobic, right? Oh and by the way she’s a Pentaghast, so, there’s that!” and they all retire to the sitting room for tea and introductions. Right. 

She turns and sees her unpacked bags, her only company. She rubs her forehead slowly with the back of her hand. She has experience being left to her own devices with her Mother. Hell, she has a lifetime of it with her. A long weekend won’t be anything particularly gruesome, and if it is, well, she’s survived them before.  

Fifteen minutes later she has everything organized and put away -- she won’t unpack much, anyway. A quick change into some leggings and a t-shirt, a toss of her hair into a ponytail, and she’s ready to face the music. She’s careful to shut her bedroom door before she descends down the hall and the stairs, betting that her Mother is out in the yard on one of the lounge chairs. She finds her there, indeed lounging, with that missing cocktail restored to her.

Unmoved but always observant, her Mother inquires: “Settled in?” 

Olivia puts on her best polite grin and sits down on the lounge chair five feet away. On the grass, Fred is dressed in pastel blue polo and cargo shorts like the overgrown fraternity pledge he is, throwing a frisbee for Nemo. Nemo, the 10 year old yellow lab, who can scarcely go up the stairs without being winded these days. Too bad for Fred the minute Olivia shows herself, the grey-faced dog bounds in his own way over to the long last playmate.

“Nemo! You little prince!” she smiles, crouching down to embrace him. His tail is wagging a million miles per hour, and he fills her face with old dog breath. His tickling gets her to finally laugh. 

“Good grief,” she hears her Mom say, “Olivia, don’t let him lick your mouth!”

“I’m fine!” she says through her giggles, rubbing his chest and back as she stands upright. “It won’t kill me.”

“Ugh.”

That joy was short lived. She returns to the chair she chose and does her best to make as little eye contact as possible as she sits and sprawls her legs out. Nemo follows circles around her, tail still going.

“Do we know what the plans are for Thanksgiving?” Olivia asks, expecting the same answer as always. Dinner at home with Fred’s relatives and those in Mom’s family who she isn’t on the outs with, all above the age of 35 for the most part, and vote like it. Another dinner she’ll have to dress way too modestly and matronly for her age in order to fit in for the group photo.

“Well, that is what I wanted to surprise you with,” Paula answers. 

Olivia side-eyes her Mom, and delays opening up her phone to scroll through Twitter. “What?”

“We will be having dinner with the family as always, but earlier this week we received a surprise invitation for us to attend a holiday party later on this weekend.”

“You aren’t going to spend the holiday campaigning, are you?” 

“‘Campaigning’ has a broad definition, Olivia, and it is never a bad idea to become more familiar with one’s community constituents.”

Olivia frowns and resumes scrolling. Great, likely another fundraiser or gala, not something substantially humble like volunteering time with those genuinely in need, who are also her “constituents.” She saved the label for those she could depend on to write a donation check -- the other 80% of society barely existed. 

“I assume then you are expecting me to go?”

There’s a sound of Paula’s magazine of choice turning a page. “What do you think the surprise was?”

“That as much as you would like me to come, that you respect my choice not to so that I can have a quiet, restful weekend at home before Finals are in full swing?”

No response for going out on that limb. The proverbial crickets chirp, and Olivia knows her point was deliberately missed. 

“Or,” she corrects herself, “that you want me to go.”

“Yes, silly girl. And for your information, even if I didn’t want you to come, the invitation specifically noted you.”

“P-pardon me?” She looks up.

Paula shakes her head and smiles. “When were you going to tell me you were making friends with the Pentaghast family?”

“I...I-I’m not!”

“You must be, there was a handwritten note in the card, your name and all.”

Olivia can feel a stroke coming on. The heat of the day now feels like a vise around her throat, a semi-truck on her chest. She jerks up and turns to look at her Mother dead on, who is still flipping through her latest issue of Vogue, sunglasses and sunhat and all. 

“So...so they wrote me in? Me, specifically?”

“Yes, that is what I said! Goodness, calm down, you’ll give yourself a heat stroke.” 

Too late. “Why? Aren’t they one of the big blue families? Why would they want to invite y--”

“Are you insinuating that I do not belong in a bipartisan space? Olivia, I work in one for a living. This whole business of networking is par for the course. In fact, it is a long time coming. The Pentaghasts should be taking the ‘other side’ more seriously. I have been in this town’s political realm for seven years, now. They cannot always hide behind their old money and liberal hypocrisy of “inclusion.””

There is that rhetorical savvy and venom. Quintessentially Paula. Olivia falls back on the lounge chair and stares out into the lawn, mouth open and words lost. Where to begin? Hey, Mom, don’t think so highly of yourself, they’re only inviting you to get to me! Because they want to sniff me out as one of their many daughters’ lovers! You’re full of shit!

“Do I have to go? I am serious about wanting rest. This semester has been a lot, an--”

“A semester that I paid for,” Paula cut in, turning yet another page. “It is restful to be with your family. You should consider yourself lucky, Olivia, that spending time with us is so comfortable. You have this nice home to come back to, and good people to spend time with, and beautiful parties to go to. A girl your age in a lesser position would claw someone’s eyes out for the chance to live the life you get to. Is it so really so demanding?”

The shots to the gut have started early. So much for the easy first day. She wishes even more she could pop her Mother’s balloon, but it would mean ultimate disaster for her in the end. Out in the open Fred is still trying to get Nemo to chase the damn frisbee, clearly aware that he should stay away from the two debating blondes. Olivia rolls her lips shut and tries her hardest to swallow the hunk of pride at the back of her throat, but there’s no room in her stomach. It’s completely filled to the top with anxiety about what it means to be going to this party. 

Then it hits her: Cassandra is going to shoot through the roof. 

“Fine, Mom. I’ll go.” The clock then starts ticking for her to find a covert way out of it beforehand. She’s dove deep into her head, and only catches half of her Mother’s pleased response. 

“--something classy, the party is black tie optional.”

“Okay.”

“I also have an appointment for us to get our nails done tomorrow at 11, so do not sleep in too much.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. She does another fake smile as she pulls up her messages on her phone in order to deploy the distress signal: 

-- Change of plan, I need you to call me as soon as you are able. Your family sent an invitation to mine for their big party this weekend. My Mom is insisting we go. Code red. 

[honekitteh]

FIC: Countdown - Chapter 3

Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: M (this chapter) Genre: Angst, H/C, Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Humor,  Canon-typical levels of poor decision-making Synopsis: A distress call leads the Jedi Battlemaster to Ziost, but time is running out.  Follows the storyline of The Rise of the Emperor and inserts missing scenes.   Warnings: See Chapter 1; corpses

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Crossposted to AO3

“Again?” I flinched slightly but held my ground, waiting. “No. I don’t think so. When this world turns to red and you choke on torrents of blood, remember that this was your chance to flee.” Master Surro then put her hands to her head as she continued speaking. “A chance I… gave…” She collapsed to the floor, the silver of her eyes giving way to a more natural hue. She took a few deep breaths. “There is no… contemplation… there is only… duty…” she screamed and then collapsed further into an unconscious heap.

The forcefield was between me and the Jedi Master. I wanted to reach to her, to help. I wasn’t entirely sure what I could do at that exact moment.

“We’re wasting time here,” Kovach interrupted my thoughts with rational logic, “The armory’s safe. You go ahead. I’ll be close behind.”

I nodded to Kovach and then looked back to Master Surro. The Sixth Line Commander was no longer there, vanished somehow. I frowned, wondering how she’d managed to get up and slip out in the split second I had turned to speak to the Agent. The stealthier ways of the Force tended to elude me on most days, requiring a bit more concentration than today’s events appeared to allow. I sighed a bit and looked over the next objective. I needed to scan for the air defenses around the Outpost so we could take them down. This required a set of quality micro-binoculars. Thankfully a pair of them were readily available and Kira and I picked them up, attaching them to our belts and then we wrapped back up for the cold outdoors.

I tried to walk more carefully this time, avoiding large piles of snow and more slippery areas. Sadly, I wasn’t entirely prepared to trip over a dead imperial officer. Which, of course I should have been prepared, there were quite a few of them. I heard static coming from this particular corpse’s comm. I knelt carefully, adjusting my scarf over my nose, despite the stench of death and decay not quite setting in due to the body’s newness with its current state. I picked up the comm and listened to the voice over.

“If anyone can hear me: I have received clearance, but air defenses are not reading me as friendly. I cannot land. Repeat: I cannot land.”

I frowned slightly and picked up the dead imperial’s data pad. According to Imperial regulations, evacuation protocols for this area required the use of a nearby emergency landing field. The former Emperor’s new friends seemed to have interrupted the evacuation proceedings and disabled area landing beacons, surprising no one.

“Teeseven, I’m forwarding you some coordinates. I’ll be rerouting the data we get as we scan the air defenses, but until then, I need you to see what you can do to repair these Landing Zone Beacons.”

The droid beeped acknowledgement, then pointed out that Evacuation Droids were also not properly deployed in the area.

“Kira, see what you can do about those Evacuation Droids.”

“On it, boss.”

I took up a small perch on the wide railing outside of one of the buildings and scanned the horizon. There were four air defense satellites that I needed to scan to secure the link. I was going to scan those links, reroute them to T7, who would then connect them back towards the Administration Office Agent Kovach had indicated as our next meet up point.

“That’s one Evacuation Droid reassembled and back on task,” Kira announced over the commlink, “It’s still a right mess out here.”

I sighed as I studied the next satellite and turret. “I don’t think this is going to be over any time soon.”

“Lord Scourge doesn’t think we should linger too long. He says it’s too late.”

“What do you think we should do, Kira?”

“Have we heard anything from Theron yet?”

“No. Nothing.” My heart fell at the thought, but I just had one more satellite to find.

“Well, I think we should stay. Not just to make sure he’s okay… but all these people. None of them deserve this.”

“I agree.”

“To hell with Scourge’s ‘practicality.’”

“Watch behind you!”

Kira startled and suddenly force pushed a group of soldiers away from her, knocking them down.

“Unconscious?”

“Yes.”

“Okay good, let’s try to avoid killing anymore people if we can at all help it.”

“Already on it, boss.”

T7 beeped an alert. I looked up at a display. Emergency Form 98BG-HM7 was filed. This designated the current emergency as a hostile invasion by ground forces. Power was routed to the ground defense network to repel the invaders. The readings on the power draw indicated that the ground defense network was not in place. T7 made a comment about the protocols were not being kept. Honestly, I thought it was good that the ground-defense turrets were offline. I didn’t need additional bolts to deflect and dodge.

Once both T7 and Kira acknowledged their tasks were completed, we made it to the Administrative Office. We quickly made our way to the appropriate console and shut down the air defense network. Agent Kovach was not far behind and took over the console from me once my task had been completed.

The relief in his voice was evident. “I can confirm it: defenses are down. Between those weapons and the armory, a lot of their killing power’s out of their hands now.” Both Kira and I shared a small sigh of relief. Agent Kovach continued on, “Should be able to start evacuation efforts as well. The fewer potential targets on Ziost, the better.”

I nodded and leaned back against the wall as the agent worked on the console.

The squish of the door opening startled everyone in the Administrative Office. Kovach drew his blaster and Kira drew her saber. I, on the other hand, just froze.

Looking every bit the walking disaster we had expected, Theron Shan walked in the door with a smirk saying, “Hope you haven’t had too much fun without me.”

There was a collective sigh of relief and Kira just rubbed her face with her palm.

I approached him slowly. “Thought I’d lost you. Nice to see I was wrong.”

“Yeah,” Theron offered a small smile, walking slowly towards me as well, “Circumstances aside…”

“Sir…” Kovach cut in. “I thought it would be wise to disclose my role in all this, so I did. I hope that’s all right.”

“Sure, of course. Saves us the trouble of playacting our way into an alliance in front of someone we can trust.”

My face heated up a bit and I took a glance down as Theron’s gloved hand brushed mine. I then studied the array of bruises around his face. I was sure there were more hidden somewhere underneath his trademark red coat and light green shirt. I very nearly reached towards them, before glancing towards where Kovach was. The Agent had moved back to the console to monitor the current situation and wasn’t really looking back to where Theron and I were. I sighed slightly and said, “You look a little worse for wear, Theron.”

“Yeah. Tell me about it,” Theron replied with a sigh, lightly hooking my pinky with his own, after sharing a glance at the Agent’s location. “Way things are out there; I can’t believe I even made it this far.”

I glanced down at our hands, hooked together by pinkies, and allowed myself a small smile before looking back at him.

“Soon as I crashlanded, the Emperor’s puppets started coming for my shuttle, just like that. Maybe figured on some easy kills inside.”

I frowned but nodded. If I was honest with myself, which sometimes was not the case, I was just glad he was here.

“Did the only thing I could think of,” he continued, “Rigged the ship to overload, fry everything in and around it. Tried to shield myself but still scrambled half my implants.”

I furrowed my brow. “And that stopped the attack.”

Theron rose an eyebrow at the statement. “They went down, yeah. Some of them got back up, but they seemed out of it.” Theron thought about it for a moment before adding, “Not possessed—dazed… OW!”

“Good to see you too, Theron,” Kira smirked at him, twirling the now empty kolto injector in her fingers.

Theron opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by Agent Kovach shouting, “Intrusion!”

Theron shot a glare at Kira and rubbed his neck after letting go of my pinky. He then moved over to the console next to the other agent. “Vitiate’s pawns…?”

Kovach nodded, then tilted his head. “I have a thought.”

I raised an eyebrow watching the agents work on the console. Looking over on the view screen I saw a couple of Imperial soldiers approaching the building. With a push of the button, Kovach had them electrocuted. The agents then stepped away from the console and went out to the door to investigate. After a few moments, the two of them dragged the stunned imperial soldiers up to the conference table.

Kira moved over to help them put bindings on them as they situated them in their chairs. She smirked over at Theron, “Don’t holo, don’t write.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Been a little busy…” he muttered trying to keep the unconscious Imperial from flopping out of the chair in a heap. The Imperial looked to be one of their officers as opposed to a normal soldier, at least if the markings on his armor gave me any indication. Probably a Lieutenant if I had my imperial officer designations properly memorized.

“Takes like two seconds to say ‘hi,’” Kira continued.

“Kira, now really isn’t the time,” I said with a heavy sigh.

“Fine,” she pouted slightly, but her tone was light and playful.

Theron gave me a slight glance of thanks, but there was an apology behind his eyes I could sense. I just shrugged and gave him a tired smile. He stepped back after securing the Lieutenant and looked across the rest of us. “Be ready for anything…”

The Lieutenant and his fellow officer started to slowly wake up. Blinking a few times, he began to speak as he took in his surroundings. “That was a… a nightmare… What’s?” His gaze started to come into focus, he glanced over between the agents, then his eyes landed on me, and glanced down to my lightsaber. “Is that what this was? Some kind of gutless Jedi mind trick?”

My eye twitched in response and I frowned. Shaking my head, I went to take the bindings off the two officers. “Go, get somewhere safe if you can. Off world would probably be wisest.” The Lieutenant nearly protested for a moment, but I quickly cut him off, “Now, before I change my mind.”

“Change your mind to what?” Theron asked, frowning slightly.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Either keep them bound or execute them. I’d rather not either.”

“Executing them would’ve been pretty cold.”

“And wrong.”

He nodded slowly.

“Though it would’ve given us two less people to have to fight later,” Agent Kovach mentioned as he was studying his console. Theron, Kira, and I just stared at him. He seemed oblivious to it and continued, “So now we know, shock them unconscious and the tie is severed—for a while, at least.” He continued working on the console, his mind obviously working quickly. “Hit enough of them hard enough and they’d be out a good, long while.”

“Yeah, but how do we do that?” Theron fidgeted his feet for a bit, also trying to sort out the problem in his head.

“I have some ideas. I need to consult the New Adasta municipal systems.”

Theron raised his eyebrow at that. “You going to need a hand with that? Some backup?”

“No,” Kovach responded, “I’ll be in touch.” He picked up his data pad and left the Administration building without a further word.

T7 wandered over to take Agent Kovach’s place on the console, Kira right behind him as he plugged in. He beeped confirmations of what was going on around the Outpost.

I watched them for a moment as Theron approached me. I felt my ears heat up a bit as he brushed my hand.

He also gave a glance over to Kira and T7 before looking back at me. “Kovach has been amazing. I just wanted eyes and ears inside Sith Intelligence, and he gets himself saddled up next to Lana.” He chuckled slightly. “Lana Beniko, Minister of Sith Intelligence. Who’d have thought it right? When I met her on Manaan, she was in over her head. Seemed to be at least.”

I smiled, stepping closer to him. “I know what you mean. She’s not always what you’d call direct.”

“You don’t have to tell me. My bruises still have bruises thanks to her little deception on Rishi.”

I reached towards his face, lightly tracing my fingers along the bruises around his implants. He flinched at my initial touch, so I withdrew my hand. The kolto Kira had injected into him seemed to be starting to work its magic, albeit slowly.

He shook his head at me. I frowned a bit and tilted my head. He made a small motion to his implants and I reached back to touch the bruises. This time instead of the flinch, he leaned into the touch with a sigh. “Still,” he continued, closing his eyes slightly, “Who am I to talk? I should have never sent my team here.”

I frowned shaking my head, leaning in closer to study his injuries.

“I made a bad situation worse, and now…”

“Shh… It’s not the time for blame…”

He smiled lightly, leaning in, his lips lightly touching mine before a beep from the holoconsole startled both of us and we quickly moved at least a meter and a half apart. “… And now I’ve got a priority holocall.” He sighed heavily, his voice heavily dripping with sarcasm, “Great.”

I thought I heard a small giggle and I shot Kira a glare as Theron answered the call. Then I blinked as the Republic’s Supreme Chancellor, Saresh, appeared on the holo.

“You’ve been busy, Agent Shan.” Her voice was accusatory. I blinked and looked between the two of them.

“Chancellor?” He seemed confused. His emotions were a whirlwind of guilt, surprise, concern, and frustration. I tried to clear my mind of my own thoughts and emotions as well as trying not to absorb everything he was feeling at that exact moment.

“An off the books mission to Ziost. A secret team of Jedi that—I don’t even know where to start with you about them—.”

I blinked and looked over at Theron.

He spoke rapidly in response, “Everything’s happened so fast. You don’t realize—.”

“No, I do realize. I realize that you declined to inform me of a prime opportunity to cripple the Empire and face the Emperor head-on.” Oh… no… I shook my head rapidly, my eyes widening. Saresh either did not notice I was there or did not deem to acknowledge my presence. I suppose it didn’t matter because she kept speaking. “We’re taking advantage of the chaos on Ziost, starting with New Adasta. I expect your cooperation.”

Theron’s face paled. “Wait. Please, before you send the order–”

“You don’t seem to understand, Agent Shan. There’s nothing to argue.”

I stared at the Chancellor, my eyes wider than they had any right to be. I muttered under my breath, “What?”

“Our ships are in orbit,” the Chancellor continued, “The invasion’s already begun.”

The holo communication blinked off. Theron pinched the bridge of his nose and rested one hand on the edge of the console looking down.

My thoughts were going a kilometer a minute. My hands balled into fists for a brief moment, then I released them. I repeated the motion for a good few minutes while I tried to settle down my own thoughts. When they started to coalesce, the just under the skin irritation would not leave. “Well this is just fantastic. Now I have to clean up an even bigger mess,” I growled.

Theron didn’t look at me but muttered in response, “Great, yeah just go ahead and clean up after me.”

“Wait what?” I responded startled, “I was talking about the Chancellor’s brilliant idea to send more soldiers to the slaughterhouse. That’s got nothing to do with you.”

He whirled around at me. “I’m the reason she’s here in the first place.”

Okay, he had a point. “Demented soldiers; slave and civilian populations under fire? You should have called me first.”

“I didn’t know for sure. I had to get more intel before I brought you in on it.”

“And now the Sixth Line are under his control.”

He looked down. “I know…”

“Why didn’t you contact me first? You knew I had experience with this.”

“I didn’t want to bring you in unless I was sure.”

“Are you sure now?”

“Going in alone? You could’ve been hurt or possessed!”

“And you could have died!” I snapped.

He blinked at me. I blinked and looked down and tried to calm my own breathing. “Jyana…” he said softly after what felt like about five or so minutes.

I was silent for another moment before stating simply, “I’m going to New Adasta. Teeseven, stay with Theron. Kira, with me.”

T7 beeped an acknowledgement in a confused and concerned tone while Kira just nodded and tossed her large bag of kolto at Theron.

He was startled by the toss and it caught him in his face. He barely managed a quick and smooth recovery and did not end up dropping it to the floor. He looked back up from the bag as I had already made it to the door. “Jyana…” Theron continued.

Without looking behind me I just pulled up my hood and walked out into the cold breeze of the Ziost Outpost.

[writing-royza]

Tainted Blood, Tainted Soul: Chapter Twenty-eight – The Last Stage

A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! I'm terribly sorry for all the delays lately; getting ready for conventions has had be too busy to write. But con season is done for me until October, so I should be able to get back on a steadier schedule! Thank you all for being patient. Enjoy!

I do not own FMA.

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Chapter Twenty-Eight - The Last Stage

CITY OUTSKIRTS, JADAD, ISHVAL

1423 HOURS, APRIL 27TH

For the second time in a week, vehicles bearing the Amestrian military crest entered through the massive arched gate, led by a lone horseman, proceeding cautiously up the avenue. The pair of trucks sent rumbling engine vibrations echoing from building façades, drawing a few stares from pedestrians, but far fewer than their predecessor's arrival.

As before, they drew up in front of the open entrance to the library, all the travellers disembarking as soon as the engines were turned off. None moved faster, however, than the black and white blur that shot from the lead truck, barking happily at the sight of his mistress.

Crouching, Riza allowed Hayate to fling himself bodily into her arms, smiling as he licked frantically at her cheek, whining softly. "I know, boy, I know," she murmured, one hand holding him to her, the other ruffling his ears. "I missed you, too." She glanced up at the others just beginning to approach, and gently nudged Hayate to stay put as she got to her feet.

As the ranking officer present, it was Alex Louis Armstrong who stepped forward, offering her a crisp salute that she returned with perfect precision. "Reinforcements arriving as requested, Lieutenant," he said solemnly, his tall frame blocking out the afternoon sun to cast her in shadow.

"We're grateful you could come, Major," she answered formally. Taking a step to the side, she turned partially to indicate those waiting just behind her. "You already know Major Miles, and you know Scar, of course," she said, conscious that she was omitting that the two had met via a fight in the streets of Central. "The other gentleman is Scar's teacher, and our liaison with the Ishvalan priesthood."

Armstrong bowed deeply, the sun glinting from his shaven, shining scalp. "An honour," he intoned, before straightening, and indicating the rest of his party. "I have with me Second Lieutenants Falman, Breda, and Catalina, specialists in research, strategy, and combat, respectively. I have also brought our communications specialist, Master Sergeant Fuery." He drew himself up to his full, considerable height. "And I am Major Alex Louis Armstrong, of the Central Investigations Office."

The Master stepped forward, answering Armstrong's earlier bow with one of his own. "You are well met, Major," he said in greeting. "We know you have important work to do, so we won't put your group through the formal welcoming. However, if you will consent to it, we will offer a blessing on your work to be done here."

Armstrong seemed slightly taken aback, but only momentarily. "I have no objection," he answered after a moment, and then, in an aside to Riza as the Master turned to an acolyte, he added, "Where is the Colonel?"

"Get through this first, sir, and then I'll take you to him," she answered in a low murmur, before taking several steps to the side. Hayate followed at her heels, loath to part company. From the corner of her eyes, she saw both Rebecca and Breda giving her quizzical looks and she waved their concern away with a single motion of her hand.

The Master stood forward on the library steps, flanked by three acolytes on one side and two on the other. He spoke briefly in Ishvalan, some kind of prayer, by the tone, and then switched to Amestrian. "Our God Ishbala, we ask your blessing, your protection, your guidance, and your strength on those who come to aid your people, on those who have journeyed so far for such a noble purpose. May the work they do be to the benefit of all, and may they go in safety."

As one, the five acolytes stepped forward, each of them placing a protection charm around the neck of a new arrival. Taking a step back, they bowed, then turned and filed into the library, leaving the Master alone on the steps. He smiled. "I'm sure you're all anxious to get settled, so I won't delay you any farther." He nodded to the trucks. "Leave your vehicles here, and my people will see to unloading them. Lieutenant Hawkeye will show you to the quarters we have allotted for you."

He bowed, and disappeared inside, leaving the group of seven Amestrians alone in the plaza among a smattering of Ishvalan pedestrians.

Riza took a moment to survey the array of expressions on the faces before her – ranging from wariness to confusion – and gave a small smile… albeit one that wasn't entirely heartfelt. "If you'll follow me? I have all the information for your lodgings and the Reconstruction Authority offices at the accommodations given to the Colonel and I."

She didn't wait for the reply, merely turning and starting for the pedestrian arch that led north out of the plaza. There was a pause of a few seconds before the others got themselves in gear after her, footsteps shuffling the sand as they moved. One set detached themselves from the group at large, hurrying to catch up, and Riza was not surprised when Rebecca fell in beside her.

"What's going on?" the brunette demanded, ignoring military protocol as she usually did when it came to Riza. "You and Mustang are practically joined at the hip and yet you show up to meet us without him?"

"The Colonel is otherwise occupied at the moment," she answered, knowing the words sounded stiff and forced, but not knowing what else to say. She could hardly explain herself properly when there were civilians around, especially civilians who had no idea what had been happening behind the scenes in the city. "He sent me in his place."

"Occupied how?" Fuery asked curiously from behind her. "Has something happened in the case since we left?"

Riza's reply of "You could say that…." was so quiet that only Rebecca heard, and from the grim look on her friend's face, she instinctively knew better than to ask what she meant.

---------------

GUEST ACCOMMODATIONS, JADAD, ISHVAL

1450 HOURS, APRIL 27TH

Curiosity was the primary expression on each face as the newcomers followed Riza through the door into the small adobe house. Armstrong had to duck substantially to fit his six-foot-nine frame through the entry, and when he stood straight again, his lone blond curl came dangerously close to brushing the ceiling.

"Not bad," Rebecca said, her eyes roaming over the entryway, and the kitchen and dining nook off to one side. "Kind of… homey, for the desert."

"Ours are going to be similar?" Fuery asked, closing the door behind the group as the last one to enter.

"The Reconstruction Authority has given you clearance for two of the houses in the immediate vicinity," Riza explained, pausing to scoop little Hayate into her arms; he settled immediately against her shoulder. "Falman, Fuery, and Breda will have the use of one; Major, you and Rebecca will have the other, unless you have any objections?"

"Not objections so much as questions," Armstrong replied. Standing straight, he fixed her with a firm, disciplinary stare that was not unlike his eldest sister's trademark look. "You still haven't answered the question from earlier, Lieutenant. On where the Colonel is and what exactly has him, as you put it, 'otherwise occupied.'"

"She probably hasn't told you because she's not sure what to tell you," a new voice chimed in, from the direction of the open living room.

Riza breathed a soft sigh, then turned toward Roy's voice, motioning the others to follow. "It happened shortly after I finished issuing the orders for you all to join us here," she said, moving down the short hall from the entryway into the living area, its normally sunlit walls dimmed by curtains drawn across the window. Enough light remained to see clearly, but when the room came into the group's view, it was immediately apparent that something was wrong.

Roy sat in chair across the room, his posture not quite straight, and almost… listless. Riza felt her stomach shift in nervousness as his eyes, seemingly blacker than usual in his abnormally pale face, lifted from the sheaf of looseleaf notes in his hands. His lopsided grin was still boyish, but lacked convincing strength.

There was a hissing intake of breath from Breda, and then cold silence settled on the room, the new arrivals clustered near the hallway, all five staring in mute shock at the man in the chair. The man, who, quite literally, paled in comparison the Roy Mustang they knew.

After a long, tense moment, Roy sighed and held the papers out to Riza. "The others said they would be back before too long, but they left that for us to look over and bring everyone up to speed," he said, fatigue pervading his voice. "At the very least, it gives us the information we need to formulate a proper plan of attack."

She took the small stack, nodding solemnly. "I'm glad to hear it, sir. Especially now that we have the reinforcements we need to carry out any plan successfully."

"Looks like you could use us," Breda observed doubtfully, the first to find his tongue after the initial shock. "No offense, Chief, but you look about ready to drop."

Annoyance flashed across Roy's face, and Riza felt something twitch guiltily in her chest. Another new symptom could only mean progression. Progression meant the Roy she knew was taking another step away from her… and was therefore one step closer to a slip that could plunge him down into a prison of his own mind's making. And who knew what kind of personality would take his place?

Thankfully, whatever instant of anger had shown on his face lasted only that long: an instant. When he spoke, his voice was just as calm as before. "I can handle it," he assured his master strategist. "I'll be fine by tomorrow. I'm already better off than I was yesterday."

Armstrong's brow furrowed more sharply as his concern deepened. "You were worse than this yesterday, sir?" Blue eyes went from Roy, to Riza, and back again. "I suppose we can be thankful for that, but… what exactly is this?"

"Another question, if I may?" Falman half-raised a hand for attention as he spoke, then pointed to his own charm, the others around him, and finally to Riza's. "Why are we all wearing these… but the Colonel isn't?"

Roy looked his First Lieutenant, his smile wry but without much humour. "Do you want to tell them, or shall I?" he asked, his voice already weary at the thought of it.

Riza settled to a comfortable seat on a large cushion, motioning the others to do the same. She settled Hayate on her lap, the little dog already starting to blink sleepily after all the excitement. "I can. But you'll all want to sit down; we're going to be here for a while."

---------------

GUEST ACCOMMODATIONS, JADAD, ISHVAL

1242 HOURS, APRIL 25TH

For what felt like an eternity, all the two of them did was stare at each other in blank shock. Slowly, feeling like he was in a dream, Roy lifted one hand to the slowly fading sting on the side of his neck, feeling dread begin to pool in his chest as his fingers touched something warm, damp, and sticky.

He knew, even before he pulled his hand back to study his red-stained fingertips, that it was blood.

No sooner had his gaze settled, wide-eyed, on his fingers, than Riza scrambled from her spot on the bed and bolted out of the room and across the hall to the bathroom. Still feeling a sense of disconnect, Roy didn't move, didn't react as he heard the water run, heard her rinse and spit.

She… bit me. Okay. Don't panic yet, he told himself. Forcing the worry and dread back, he got to his feet and followed her, only to find her with her hands braced on the bathroom counter, her head bowed as she stood over the sink. Strange, he thought, the words coming to him as though from a great distance, this is the second time in less than two weeks I've followed her as she bolted into a bathroom to spit out blood.

She didn't register his presence behind her, evidenced by the way she jumped at the sound of a short length of toilet paper being torn from the roll. She whirled, and Roy put his hand up. "It's just me."

His voice sounded flat and mechanical, even to him, and it certainly didn't do much to dispel her worrying. Brown eyes darted to the side of his neck… and she was abruptly herself again. Riza took a sharp breath in through her nose, letting it out in a businesslike huff as she squared her shoulders.

"Let me see," she said quietly, moving aside to let him lean back against the counter. She took the folded piece of tissue Roy passed to her, then stepped close, reaching up to dab away the blood.

"If it's any consolation, it doesn't hurt," he said, staring at the way her hair fell smoothly behind her shoulders. It had been tickling his nose mere moments before she bit, he had felt it brush over his forehead, over his chest as she ducked her head to sink those pointed teeth into his exposed neck –

"Maybe not," she pointed put, her tone dark and guilty, "but I'd say we have a bigger problem on our hands."

"Didn't your father always say I'd get you into trouble one day?" He grinned unsteadily as she looked up, her eyes blank with surprise that he would or could make a joke at a time like this.

"Roy, I'm the one who's just gotten you into trouble," she pointed out. Her eyes strayed to the marks on his neck, staring at them in muted horror. "I don't… I didn't mean to–"

"Sshhh, I know you didn't," he soothed, taking the tissue from her hand and tossing it into the wastebasket. "Maybe after an extended period with the vampire persona in charge, it was reflex?" He tugged gently on the pouch around her neck. "With this on, it should block most vampire effects, shouldn't it?"

"Most, yes," she agreed, then shook her head. "But not the weakness in sunlight, not the paleness of the skin… and maybe not the transmission of vampirism through a bite." She looked up, the guilt heavy in her eyes. "I suppose we won't know for sure, until…."

"Until the symptoms either show up or don't." His lips pressed into a grim line. "Well then, I suppose we'll just have to wait and see. It shouldn't take long; Kimblee bit you in the middle of the night and you were deep into the fatigue the next morning. If there's anything working at infecting me, I'd say we'll know by dinnertime."

She regarded him a moment, then nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right… and it's not as though we don't know how to fix it, if you are infected. Once the vampire that turned a victim is taken out, then –"

His eyes widened at her implication, and his hands went automatically to her shoulders. "Why would you say something like that?! Riza, I'd sooner live ten lifetimes as a vampire than have you sacrifice yourself like that so I could live a normal life!" He faltered a moment, slightly confused by the way she was staring at him in surprise. How could she think that he wouldn't fight to keep her safe, even from herself?

"I…." He hesitated, then started again. "After the last six months, after I only just got you back from being under Bradley's thumb…. I don't want to give you up again. Not even for something as serious as this."

She was smiling by the time he finished his explanation. "You think I would voluntarily leave you after those six months?" she asked, her hands lifting to gently slip his from her shoulders. "Don't forget that I only just got you back, as well. No, what I meant was that to cure you, the vampirism on me has to be lifted. To do that, we have to destroy Kimblee. Destroying him destroys my vampire self, which is responsible for turning you. Does that make sense?"

"A chain reaction." Relief flooded his chest, and he grinned awkwardly. "Sorry, I hadn't gotten that far yet."

"That's all right." She eyed him again, this time with a measure of satisfaction. "You know, you're taking this very well, for a man who might start transforming into a blood-hungry supernatural creature in the next few hours."

His grin was unsteady, but genuine. "Well, I'm much less calm on the inside." He shook his head. "What are we going to tell Scar and Miles, not to mention the others?"

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GUEST ACCOMMODATIONS, JADAD, ISHVAL

1525 HOURS, APRIL 27TH

"The symptoms started later that night, around nine," Riza said, wrapping up the story. "We suspect it took longer than we thought because my full vampire persona hadn't emerged when he was bitten. The bite still had the ultimate effect of infecting him, but it was a small amount and thus worked more slowly."

Roy had not moved from his chair; if anything, he seemed to have sunk farther into it. "About nine, I fell asleep on the couch, and I don't remember waking up until noon the next day." He looked to his Lieutenant. "Hawkeye tells me she got Scar and Miles to drag me to bed, which I might have paid money to see." He lifted his left foot and let it drop back to the ground. "At least now I can do that without having to take a nap afterward."

"The first symptom is extreme tiredness," Riza explained. "While the vampirism leaches your body's energy to feed itself. After that, as you may have noticed, is annoyance and flashes of anger, which he's just started to exhibit."

"You don't have to treat me like a museum display," Roy muttered, half under his breath, as though in demonstration. Riza shot him a sidelong look, which he caught, and he immediately dropped his gaze. "…Sorry."

"You always did wear strong emotions on your sleeve, Chief," Breda said, forcing his tone to sound light. "But how did you come to be bitten in the first place?"

Riza had her answer ready, and delivered the reply calmly. "I had dropped a glass and broken it, so the Colonel offered to fix it with alchemy. Secretly, of course, since the Ishvalans don't approve of the practice," she lied. "I must have stood too close when the transmutation activated; and for whatever reason, the proximity to the energy transfer caused the vampire persona to show through, not much, but enough. Just long enough for me to bite him."

Rebecca frowned. "I thought you said your vampire side was suppressed?"

"It was. It is." The blonde Lieutenant's lipped thinned in self-recrimination. She reached up, touching the cloth pouch that hung around her neck. "Falman, you asked about these. All of you were given these when you arrived and told they were a token of blessing. They're actually an Ishvalan religious charm we've developed as protection against vampirism."

"Ohhh, I get it." Fuery's eyes lit with understanding behind his glasses. "They protect us by being repellent to vampires, and they keep your vampire side suppressed the same way."

"Exactly." Riza glanced to where Roy watched her, his eyes seeming to grow darker in the shadows of the room. "You also noticed that the Colonel isn't wearing one. We don't know what would happen if a fledgling vampire were forced to wear a charm; it could be the new persona wouldn't be strong enough to withstand the suppression, and if it were harmed or destroyed at such an early stage, it might take the host with it."

"I see…" Armstrong rumbled. "His vampire self is being allowed to develop so that it can later be suppressed with a charm at a lower risk to his body. Risky, admittedly, but the smart move to make."

"A smarter move is letting you all know what we're up against." Roy's gaze shifted from person to person, watching for reactions. "You all know that the serial killer from Central and East City is a vampire. That's been made abundantly clear. But what you may not be aware if is that this vampire is a blast from the past. Five pasts in particular: Scar's, Miles', Armstrong's, Hawkeye's, and mine."

"As for the rest of you," Riza said calmly, tightly gripping one hand with the other to help keep herself collected, "you all at least know the name Solf J. Kimblee."

There were more than a few soft gasps and suddenly clenched jaws in the room. Armstrong immediately stiffened, standing taller and coming perilously close to cracking his head off of the ceiling. Fuery gulped audibly.

"I thought… he was dead?" Falman asked, sounding uncertain, as though his own flawless memory might be playing tricks on him.

"So did we. He was eaten by Pride after failing to stop Alphonse on the Promised Day and being left mortally wounded," Riza explained. "However, vampires have a tendency to be classed as undead, which is what he became after Pride was destroyed. There's some very complex, very dark alchemy involved that I don't fully understand, but suffice to say that this vampire version of Kimblee is made up of what's left of Gluttony's hunger, Pride's arrogance and hatred for humans, and Kimblee's own psychotic personality."

"Great," Rebecca muttered. "So it's not just a vampire serial killer, it's a psychopathic vampire serial killer. I think I'd rather have Homonculi and those creepy, soulless white creatures you guys talked about."

"All of this begs the question," Falman interjected, "of just what we're planning to do about the vampire problem. How do we stop him?"

"The consensus so far is that we'll have to kill him," Roy answered, his tone heavy with weariness. "There's exactly one way to keep him confined, but it amounts to putting him back in prison. A very arcane and unconventional sort of prison, but prison nonetheless. And simply locking him away doesn't fix the problem that Hawkeye and I would both still be vampires."

Fuery spoke up, sounding slightly unsure, but gathering confidence. "From everything I've read… if you kill the vampire 'sire,' the one who turned a victim first, then you remove the vampiric curse – I guess it's a curse? That's what all the books called it. – on the people he turned, and once they're no longer vampires, the people they turned change back, and so on. It's a kind of cascade failure."

"Our thoughts exactly," Roy said, with an approving nod.

"How do you kill something like him?" Breda asked, the introspective look in his eyes suggesting he was already trying to think of a solution. "Vampires are supposed to be immortal, aren't they?"

"Not this kind," Riza assured him. "They're certainly extremely resilient, and I wouldn't trust them to fall immediately from a gunshot or explosion… but the damage from such a wound would kill them eventually."

"The trouble is that they could still cause quite a bit of damage even while mortally wounded," Armstrong added, and Riza nodded in affirmation. "So whatever method we use to bring him down will have to ensure he falls immediately."

"I don't know about you," Rebecca said, her nose wrinkling in distaste, "but I can only think of one way to do that."

"We've had a few days to talk it over, when I wasn't nearly passing out," Roy said. His dark eyes glittered at the thought of what needed to be done, and while Riza didn't entirely like it, she knew it was the vampire persona reacting, not his own mind. His voice was strong in the quiet room when he spoke again. "Like you said, there's not really much other choice.

We've got to take his damn head off."

----------------

RESIDENTIAL NEIGHBOURHOOD, JADAD, ISHVAL

1607 HOURS, APRIL 27TH

"It took you a little longer than we thought to reach the city," Riza commented, walking with Rebecca along the short, sandswept street to one of the houses allotted for the reinforcements' use. "What held you up?"

"One of the trucks got a flat about a day out from East City," the brunette answered. Her eyes roved constantly around the street, taking in the architecture, the people, and occasionally her friend. "We paused long enough for Armstrong to repair it with alchemy, but getting those things on and off the axles takes time. Aside from that, the only stops we made were for bathroom breaks, meals, or refuelling."

"I see." Riza gave her a sidelong glance, keeping her voice quiet. "And were you able to bring the special request I asked about?"

"Of course." Rebecca grinned. "It's all in a crate at the very back of the truck, away from any prying eyes. I labelled it as spare truck parts, so as not to raise suspicion, and so that whoever unpacked it on this end would leave it where it was."

"Well done." She smiled, a real, genuine smile she hadn't felt up to giving for a day or so. "I knew I could count on you."

"Who else?" Linking her arm through Riza's, she tugged on the sleeve of the brown, homespun dress. "Now, when are you going to hook us up with clothes like this? Armstrong stands out enough already, and even though we're all in civilian clothes, the rest of us could stand to draw a bit less attention."

Riza eyed her friend's dark brown curls with doubt. "I don't know how well your hair is going to fit under a headscarf, but there should already be Ishvalan clothes in your rooms in the guest accommodations. The waist sash can be a bit of a trick to tie, since the tie doesn't show, but I think you'll get the hang of it."

They continued with their small talk until they reached the house, similar in construct and layout to Roy's and Riza's. Opening the door and stepping inside, the two women found Armstrong already there, unpacking in a room clearly meant for him, due to the larger than average bed.

He emerged, having to duck the low doorjamb, his blue eyes watching Riza with concern. "Lieutenant, would you happen to have a moment?"

"For you, Major? As many as you need." She looked to Rebecca, lowering the hooded portion of her headscarf to lie around her shoulders. "I'll catch up to you in a bit."

"Fine, but don't blame me if I end up wearing these clothes inside out and backwards." Flashing a grin to show she was kidding, Rebecca headed off toward the house's other bedroom to explore the new surroundings.

Riza followed Armstrong back inside his room, waiting by the window as he closed the door behind them. When he turned to face her, his face was lined with the kind of worry only a man with four sisters could exhibit. "You seem to be much recovered from… your time away from the Colonel," he commented.

"You can say I went rogue, sir," she answered, her smile small and rueful. "It's essentially what I did, even though I wasn't exactly in my right mind."

"You weren't," he agreed. "And that's partly why I wanted speak with you. I know from my own breakdown during the civil war that being out of your right mind can have a strong effect on a person." He looked at her directly. "You seem much recovered. Are you?"

This time, her smile was reassuring. "Yes, sir. I'm still adjusting to the fact that I essentially have a split personality, but knowing that it's suppressed helps." She sobered, watching him with the same scrutiny he was directing her way. "But I'm guessing you're also concerned about how I'm handling the Colonel's situation?"

He smiled. "Astute, as always."

"I'm handling it guiltily," she admitted. "Given that I'm the reason he's becoming what he is. But I'm handling it all the same." She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "At the very least, I know what to watch for, to know when he's growing strong enough to withstand the suppression of the protection charm. Getting it on him may present a challenge come time to do so, but I'm confident we can handle it."

He was watching her with curiosity now, moving to sit on the side of bed. "And just what are you watching for?"

Riza took a deep breath, ordering the symptoms in her mind. "An uptick in anger or aggression, an increase in physical strength, insomnia, lowered pulse and breathing rate, drop in body temperature…." She hesitated briefly, then added, "I'm not sure we'll actually notice this one, but from my own experience, an increase in libido goes with it all."

Those same blue eyes widened briefly, blinked once, and then returned to normal as he accepted what she had said and let it slide past. "I see. Well, since you've told me, I can help keep an eye on him as well. And I suppose Scar and Miles know what to watch for?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Then we're well on our way to being fully prepared." He stood, offering a hand to her. "We're all behind you. You know that."

Reaching out, allowing her hand to be engulfed in his much larger one, Riza nodded. "Yes, sir. And I think I speak for both the Colonel and myself when I say that we fully appreciate it, and that we're extremely glad to have all of you here."

Armstrong didn't have a chance to reply as there was the briefest of knocks on the door, and then Rebecca breezed inside. She had on one of the homespun dresses, minus the waist sash, and had successfully mimicked the sweep of the headscarf as she had seen on Riza. However, as predicted, the sheer volume of her hair was causing the lightweight fabric to billow outward instead of falling neatly.

"All right, Major, you've had your turn, and now it's mine again," she said. "I need my friend to come braid my hair so that I don't look like I'm trying to smuggle pillows with my head."

Riza smiled, clamping down on a laugh, as she looked resignedly to Armstrong. "Sorry, sir. Duty calls."

[compliancecalendar]

How to Get a Trademark (TM) Registration Certificate

A Trademark is one of the pivotal branch of the Intellectual Property. Patents, Copyright, Geographic Indication, Trade secret are some of the examples of the IPR. Trademark is also one of them, it is a unique mark, word, logo combination of all of them or can even be an identified smell. All the provisions related to the Trademark are under Trademark Act 1999.

Now the question arises is it worth to register your trademark?

What is point in building your hard-earned brand and then let others use your distinctive idea for their benefit. Do you wish to become the king of your own business? If your answer is yes, get your brand registered today and protect before it could be misused by the third party.

In this write-up you will read about the advantages for Registering a TM and the procedure to apply for the Trademark (TM) in India.

Advantages of Trademark  

Builds Brand Loyalty and Goodwill

Trademark helps in building loyalty and trust in the eyes of the customers. The quality and the services which you offer get to be known by the trademark. It helps in creating long-term customers and building trust towards your product.

Differentiate the Product from others

The main purpose of the Trademark is to differentiate the brand identity from the other goods which creates unique identity of your brand and which further helps to communicate your vision, quality and other features of the product.

How to Apply for a Trademark and get the Registration Certificate

The first step is to search the availability of your proposed mark and if the mark is available file an application in the form TM A along with the fees on the trademark portal at https://ipindiaonline.gov.in/eregister/eregister.aspx

Certain documents are also required to file the application in order to register the trademark

PAN Card/ Adhaar Card/ Passport of the Applicant

The Incorporation Certificate of the Company/LLP

Proposed logo/ mark

Start-up recognition Certificate (if registered as a Start-up)

Power of Attorney (In case the TM is applied by the agent)

After successfully submitting the application for registration along with the prescribed fees you can download the fee receipt and the department shall issue the Unique Application no. to track the status of the filed application form.

“Formality Check Pass” status shall be shown on the website once the application is duly submitted and further the status change to “Marked for exam”

After this the next step is the issuance of the Examination Report, if the application gets approval by the TM department it further proceeds to Publication in the Trademark Journal but there is an Objection raised by the TM department the reply has to be filed within 30 days from the date of which the examination report has been issued.

You might be thinking what does the Trademark Objection means?

Trademark objections are raised by the TM department whenever it finds that the proposed trademark is unfit to get registered either on absolute or the relative grounds as per the rules laid down in the Trademark Act 1999.

Section 9 and Section 11 of the Trademark Act 1999 deals with the different category of trademarks that can be raised and the applicant is bound to file the reply as to proof why the proposed TM is fit and eligible to get registered in the register of trademark.

However, when the registrar gets satisfied with the reply filed by the applicant, he shall proceed with the application to publish in the Trademark Journal, or it can abandon the Trademark to get registered.

Once the proposed mark gets registered in the trademark journal it is open to the public to raise opposition against it within the time span of 4 months. If everything goes well and there is no opposition by the public. The trademark department shall issue the Trademark Certificate. On the other hand, if the opposition has been raised the department shall put the application under review.

FAQS

Q1. Do we need to renew the trademark or it is available for lifetime?

Ans. Trademark is valid for 10 years. However, you can renew the TM by submitting the renewal fees as per Trademark department.

Q2. What are the stages of Trademark Registration?

We have tried to cover all the important points to register a trademark in India. If you are willing to get your trademark registered, we at Compliance Calendar LLP have the dedicated group of professionals who are experts in the Trademark laws and can give you complete handholding for the same. If you have any query or doubt, feel free to contact us at 9988424211 or email us at info@ccoffice.in.