#it's just so refreshing. especially since the main character (a woman in her thirties!) is explicitly stated to have waited for marriage

[lilaccatholic]

not me watching the doctor quinn wedding episode and realizing that watching that episode on reruns at age 12 permanently altered my brain to the point that that's just. how i write fade to black romance now 💀

[mikkeneko]

10 favorite female characters from 10 different fandoms

Tagged by @drowningbydegrees  :) Like her, going with "first ten that came to mind" over any other, like, universal all-encompassing criteria.

I could swear I've done a list like this before, but when I checked to make sure I wasn’t repeating characters it looked like I’d done 10 favorite overall characters, not female specifically. Always nice to have a more specific search term!

1. Cordelia Naismith from the Vorkosigan series

Cordelia has been a favorite character from a favorite series for years, but having her return in Gentleman Jole and the Red Queen to show us how she’s grown and changed in the thirty-five years since we last had her as a POV character really deepened my appreciation for her. Cordelia mostly held the role of the Progressive Expat in the feudal, militaristic and overwhelmingly male-dominated society of Barrayar that she married into, and she spend her entire life fighting to bring more egalitarian and humanitarian perspectives to her adopted culture. Gentleman Jole showed us some of the changes Barrayar worked on her in return; she’s a lot harder, a lot more bloodthirsty, and a lot more tired  at the end of her career than the beginning, although she never lost hold of her core principles. Above all I really have to admire Gentleman Jole  for saying “You know what? Fuck it. Cordelia gets everything she wanted. She no longer has to put her dreams and wishes on hold to try to help her husband or son’s career along. She gets to retire to the planet she discovered and she gets six baby girls and a hot younger boyfriend and a seat on a scientific research committee. No more sacrifices. Cordelia gets everything she ever wanted.” and I for one think that’s extremely good.

2. Eowyn from the Lord of the Rings

Was just having the discussion with my fiance yesterday about how despite the fact that Tolkein is on record as saying he doesn’t know how to write female characters, he did a pretty great job with Eowyn, giving her a full multifaceted personhood with a lovely character arc of her own (which is not, despite first appearances, centered on being in love with a man) dealing with themes and issues that are still  relevant, and  doing so in a way that was specific to the female experience of the society she was written in. So either he underestimated his capacity to write female characters or he was smart enough to listen to the input of a female editor, either way, good job. It would be nice to have more  characters like Eowyn in LOTR, but no complaints about this one.

3. Vin from the Mistborn trilogy

Sanderson generally writes pretty good female characters, although they don’t always overshadow the male characters in the same books. Going to pick just one from Sanderson’s stuff it was either going to be Vin or Vivenna, and I came down on the side of Vin because she’s just pretty great. I think my favorite thing about Vin is that she became a legend in the world that came after Mistborn,  and that as much as she is admired for her achievements Marasi still points out, correctly, that not all  women should have  to be the Ascended Warrior, there are other valid ways of being a woman (and a hero.)

4. Gideon Nav from the Locked Tomb trilogy

There’s something extremely, extremely refreshing about how pure of a himbo Gideon Nav manages to be, and I adore her for it. Gideon Nav saw a giant skeleton juggernaut with swords for hands and her immediate reaction was “I want to fight that.” Icon.

5. Sophie Hatter from Howl's Moving Castle

There are a lot of really great female characters in Diana Wynne Jones so it’s hard to pick just one, but Sophie is one very dear to my heart. Suddenly finding oneself to be ninety years old and taking that as an excuse to fling off all the ridiculous social restrictions of your age and gender? Mood. Feeling like a failure despite your repeated and provable talents as an organizer and your newly discovered talents as a witch? Big  mood.

6. Kiri from Madness Season

I am always at a loss about what happened  in C.S. Friedman’s other books because she can  write female characters well! Kiri and Hesseth prove she can! She just... doesn’t. Anyway Kiri was the best part of The Madness Season,  being an unimaginably old alien from a race of energy-based shapeshifters who mostly regard the antics of the ‘embodied’ species with tolerant fondness. Her species and society rely very heavily on having symbiote partners of an embodied species and she spends most of the book slapping the protagonist character upside the head and yelling “You! I choose you! Get your head out of your ass, get your immortal shit together, because you’ve got to be my partner now!” And he does, and in the process saves the galaxy, it’s rad.

7. Agatha Heterodyne from Girl Genius

Agatha Heterodyne is an absolute Mary Sue of a character, a busty blonde knockout who one day discovers herself to be the secret genius heir of a continent-spanning mad science empire, and people come from all over to swear either loyalty or lifelong enmity with her. And you know what? She’s valid.

8. Miriam from Spinning Silver

Spinning Silver contains a very excellent trio of great female leads, but Miriam is IMHO the best for the sheer spite-fueled power of “fuck the world that’s done this to my family, fuck the Winter King who thinks he can ride in here and walk all over me, and especially fuck you demon-infested tsar who is at least partially culpable for BOTH of these things!” 

9. Parker from Leverage

I didn’t want to leave one of my favorite TV shows off here, but mostly I admire Parker for how much she learned and grew; she starts off the series with an extremely specific set of skills and very narrow set of priorities and over the seasons that follow, she grows to encompass more wants and obligations and dreams and she grows so much  in skills that by the end of the series she’s the Mastermind, and she deserves it.

10. Wen Qing from The Untamed

Wen Qing deserved better than she got, she was placed in an impossible situation and she did everything she could to protect her family, both immediate and extended, from callous warmongers who wanted to use her. She never lost her pride or her principles even when the world was busy grinding her into the dust, she tried so hard, she got chewed up and spit out by a cruel society and unlike the main character, she never was given a second chance. I cry for Wen Qing.

Tagging in turn @faux-fires, @ushauz, @fairandfatalasfair, @curiosity-killed, @cersee?

[bywordofaphrodite]

Book Reviews 3&4: Nancy Drew and the Lilac Inn by Carolyn Keene & Trixie Belden and the Secret of the Mansion by Julie Campbell Tatham

This review’s theme is girl detective books ! Audience age range: roughly 12 and up !

Just as Enid Blyton’s books made me fall in love with magical creatures and faraway lands, detective novels became an obsession during late primary school, with classic lead female characters Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden being my absolute favourites. My school had an extremely small and limited library, and the Nancy Drew books were one of the only decent series there- even with a great chunk of the collection missing. My mother introduced me to Trixie Belden, which she insisted was better than Nancy Drew, though I refused to listen to such a declaration at the time.

Now, though? My opinions have definitely changed.

Nostalgic review

Rating: ★★★★★

From memory, Nancy Drew is a clever, beautiful and well-off girl in her late teens, living with her lawyer father Carson Drew and her housekeeper Hannah Gruen, who has looked after Nancy since her mother’s passing when she was only three. I always enjoyed the dynamic between Nancy and her father, as it was similar to mine with my father, also a lawyer- Carson doesn’t step in unless Nancy needs his help, but he does assist in legal advice when necessary. I also loved Nancy’s friendship with the cousins Bess and George, and liked that her relationship with her ‘special friend’ Ned never got in the way of solving mysteries or hanging out with her friends (‘hanging out’ was practically code for sleuthing in these novels anyway). Overall, my memories of this series amount mostly to exciting searches for missing heiresses, finding beautiful jewels and battling crocodiles in Florida.

On the opposite side of the spectrum is Trixie Belden- rough-around-the-edges thirteen year-old from a poor family living with both her parents and three brothers. Where Nancy has a housekeeper, lives in an affluent suburban neighbourhood and never wants for money, Trixie lives on the outskirts of a small town, both her parents work, and she is constantly reminded of how important it is to work for money as they do not have much of it to spare on mindless things. Nancy is a fairly solitary character, often working alone unless her friends show up, and even then she does most of the legwork; Trixie is also the main sleuth in her series, but her best friend Honey is almost always at her side. While the mysteries were great, the warm friendships in Trixie Belden novels are what I remember best.

Regardless of whatever my thoughts may be after rereading books from these two series, I’ve never ceased referencing either of them and my love of the mystery genre still holds fast even now.

Nancy Drew and the Lilac Inn Review

Post-read: ★★

Synopsis: girl detective Nancy Drew is called to solve a series of odd goings on at her newly engaged friend Emily’s inn, in what seems to be an attempt to prevent Emily and her fiancé from opening. Disaster strikes when her aunt retrieves Emily’s inheritance of diamonds- Emily’s last hope to cover the costs of fixing up the inn- and they are swiftly stolen within the hour. Nancy vows to catch the thief and the intruder and save Emily’s inn from failure.

I struggled in choosing which Nancy Drew book to reread for this review, and after reading through multiple rankings lists I decided on the Lilac Inn because it ranked highly on every list. I now wish I had just gone with Crocodile Island anyway… at least there was something snappy about it. In between the bomb, the theft, the doppelganger, the underwater fake-shark, the kidnapping, the spear-gun attack- I think I’ve made my point. There’s far too much going on, and if it was well-written I would be okay with it, really I would, but it’s all so blandly articulated that half the time I had to reread just to make sure I’d read correctly what nonsense was occurring at any given time.

Straight out the gate, I just want to say how shocking the writing was- that’s shockingly bad, by the way. If I thought Enid Blyton’s work was stunted, well, this was far, far worse. Especially since it lacks the excuse of being written for young children. It was incredibly difficult to push through in the slower parts, and I must admit I basically skim-read the lead up parts to the action sequences (which were incredibly minimal compared to the gnashing crocodile teeth I longed for, but alas). Sadly for me, Bess (my old fave), George and Ned were not present at all, and I cannot remember if they had actually been introduced that early in the series because they are not mentioned once.

I did really like the concept of the story, and the element of Nancy having a creepy doppelganger posing as Nancy to cause mischief (she has several over the series) was fun, even more so that said doppelganger was an actual actress and quite ruthless in her attempts to steal Emily’s diamonds- I love a morally-corrupt pretty female villain as much as the next person, after all. There is a romance teased between Nancy and a young man staying at the inn, a young man who continuously seems to be in the same room as the diamond thief messing with Emily’s inn, but ultimately both never amount to anything. This hardly surprised me given the book is written in the thirties, and Ned and Nancy never do anything but attend dances together the entire series, but still, come on. He could’ve at least stolen the diamonds to add some spice to his useless appearances.

It’s possible that were a very talented scriptwriter to take this book and make it into a movie it could work out a lot better than it does on paper- provided the casting was done well. The sets would be interesting, and I think the creepiness of the ‘ghost’ in the orchard and the diving scenes would translate a lot better on camera. Normally I’m not one to nominate live actions of novels for no reason, but this thought kept recurring as I struggled to get through the writing.

Characters who aged well: Nancy is smart and weirdly good at everything (they don’t explain why she knows how to do all the things she does, but diving and freeing herself from bonds seems to be easy enough for her. Given male characters are always allowed to be perfect without training, I’ll allow it). For a female character written in the 30s she has plenty of agency and does not once rely on a man’s help to do anything, which is why I always enjoyed her books. Carson Drew also aged well- not present that often, but useful without being interfering, and his trust in his daughter is refreshing. As for the other main characters in the series… they didn’t even show up in this book so I can’t really comment on this.

Characters who aged badly: plot twist- I’m adding Nancy here too. She is a little too perfect, too polished, a common criticism by modern readers, though at the time of publication was her main selling point. Additionally, earlier editions of the series featured racist comments made by Nancy, although those have since been taken out. However, the publisher and creator of the first books was not a very pleasant person, so I find myself able to separate that from Nancy’s character.

Favourite scene/quote: ‘The article went on to tell that Nancy had just completed a course in advanced skin diving in the Muskoka River, and that she had finished first in total points in the twenty student group’.

I find this quote amusing because there is really no need for Nancy to be good at every single thing, and this is a good example of the many times throughout the series that Nancy is the ‘best’ at a very random activity that is often never mentioned again.

As for my favourite scene, though nothing interesting actually ends up happening in the orchard, I did like the eerie setting of Nancy dressing up as a ghost and chilling behind a tree for a while (okay it was partially eerie, mostly just oddly comedic). The actress/impostor posing as Nancy provided a few good scenes, too, but for the main villain of the story she was hardly in as many scenes as she should’ve been in.

After doing some research, I discovered something most interesting: Nancy was written with significantly more character by the original ghost-writer of the series, a woman named Mildred Wirt Benson, who wrote Nancy ‘embodying qualities that she wished she had’- but the publisher Edward Stratemeyer did not want a bold female character, and she was rewritten with similar dialogue but now accompanied with ‘dainty’ verbs to sweeten her words. Stratemeyer was also known for his beliefs that women belonged in the kitchen, and the only reason he created Nancy in the first place was to capitalise on young female readers who wanted their own equivalent of the Hardy Boys.

With all of this in mind, it’s very possible that the Nancy from my memories is a mix of the older and new editions, which allowed Nancy more personality as the series went on, no longer needing to confirm to the sexist expectations of the 1930s. And despite these origins, Nancy Drew aged quite well as an unintended feminist icon: she solves her mysteries alone and rarely needs Ned’s help at all; in fact, most of the time, Nancy is the one doing the saving. It’s nice to think that, almost one hundred years later, Mildred Wirt Benson’s version of Nancy is the one being kept alive, both on paper and onscreen.

Trixie Belden and the Secret of the Mansion Review

Post-read: ★★★★★

Synopsis: energetic teen Trixie Belden’s boring town of Sleepyside is turned upside down when a rich new family moves onto the property opposite her own, an old miser winds up in hospital and his empty mansion is suddenly inhabited by a runaway boy, and a missing fortune is waiting to be uncovered.

Whewww.

This was a massive breath of fresh air after the Lilac Inn! After being so unimpressed by both Blyton and Keene’s writing, Tatham’s writing restored my faith in my childhood judgement. Her words flowed well and the conversation between the characters was very natural. The blank slate characters in the Lilac Inn were showed up by the animated and multiple-dimensional characters in the Secret of the Mansion, and I never once felt the need to rush myself through the chapters.

Unlike my method of choosing a Nancy Drew book, I simply decided on reading the first Trixie book for this review. While I almost went for a later book where all the main characters had been introduced, I couldn’t remember how Trixie first met Honey and Jim, which I felt was pretty important to her character. I’m very glad I did. Even in the first book, Trixie endures so much character development (contrasting very strongly with Nancy’s flawless existence). Longing for a friend, Trixie takes herself up the hill to the newly habited mansion to introduce herself and her little brother Bobby, who she is babysitting to earn money to buy herself a horse. There she meets rich girl Honey Wheeler, a sickly and sheltered but sweet girl of the same age, whose parents pay little attention to her. Things fall into place with all the expected luck of a teen heroine- Honey’s governess is a lovely woman who wants Honey to befriend Trixie and offers to look after Bobby, and of course Honey’s stables are now filled with horses and a stable hand who can teach her to ride.

But for every easy thing comes an opportunity for Trixie to grow: she comes to admire Honey’s bravery after previously being irritated by her fear of trying outdoor activities; she ignores the stable hand’s orders not to ride the stallion and falls as a result, leading to her having to work to regain his trust and also being taught the valuable lesson to recognise her own limits; finally, as much as Trixie hates looking after little Bobby, when he is bitten by a snake Trixie is resourceful and quick on her feet in helping him, keeping him well enough until a doctor and other adults arrive.

Rather like the Lilac Inn, the mystery of the story centres on the hidden will to a supposed fortune of the elderly man who lived in the old mansion not far from Honey’s new home. On a whim, Trixie nags Honey into accompanying her to snoop around the building, leading to their discovery of the old man’s nephew Jim hiding there. By the end of the book, the girls have helped Jim to find the will and safely escape his abusive step-father. Later in the series, Jim is adopted by the Wheeler family, and also becomes Trixie’s primary love interest (I love that this relationship is not at all rushed either).

The reading level for the Trixie Belden series is listed as grade 3 and above, but I had no problems being completely involved and intrigued by the storyline and characters as a twenty-three year old. I think I’ll continue to read the series on my own time, as I always enjoyed the full character line-up developed after a few books in.

Characters who aged well: Trixie! If my praise during this review didn’t make clear enough, she’s a wonderful character with great development. Honey and Jim are also solid characters, and Bobby and Trixie’s parents are well-written too- supportive and kind, but realistic concerning raising Trixie to be a responsible kid. Also going to add that Trixie’s group of best friends- self-named the Bob-Whites of the Glen and consisting of her two older brothers Brian and Mart, Honey, Jim and the later additions of Dan and Di- have a strong presence and very distinct personalities when they show up in the later novels.

Characters who aged badly: nobody! All the side characters were well done, including the villain. He wasn’t over-the-top by any means, his abuse of Jim was both emotion and physical in a realistic manner that concerned the adults around him enough to comment on it without actually taking proper action to help him, as it often goes. I appreciated the author’s ability to write a male character the vulnerable one, to recognise what was wrong about the situation, and to gladly accept help from two girls younger than him.

Favourite scene/quote: “‘serves him right,’ Trixie said, wiping her grimy hands on her rolled-up blue jeans. ‘The mean old miser. You should have left him lying in the driveway, Dad.’”

An earlier quote in the book, this sets the tone for Trixie’s character: she’s messy, no-nonsense and cheeky. For a female character written in 1948 I found this quite amusing. There’s none of the internalised misogyny that often popped up in ‘tomboy’ characters of the time: Trixie just is what she is, and she’s great.

A standout scene would be Trixie sucking the venom from her brother’s snakebite to save him, and the chapters focused on the developing friendship with Honey and Jim while the two teach Trixie how to handle horses is also enjoyable.

Overall verdict:

My mother was right, Trixie Belden is far better than Nancy Drew in every category I can think of. I wish that the series had gained the popularity that Nancy Drew did, because it would make for a fun movie or television show. There is an eighteen year gap between the publication of the first novel from both series, and both heroines saw many more books written after that. Nancy Drew is so persistent, however, that multiple movies and even a recent CW show have been made, though it is not very accurate to the books at all. Even now, modern-day setting Nancy Drew mysteries are still being released under the Carolyn Keene pseudonym, showing her unending mythical status.

I still love Nancy, bad writing and all, but in all fairness, Miss Trixie deserves a cut of the nostalgic hype surrounding the girl-detective genre. I’d also like to bask in the poetic justice of Nancy not only remaining a more iconic character than the Hardy Boys, but also becoming more feminist as time goes on. I’m sure the publisher is rolling in his grave!

[wordswithkittywitch]

Barbie: A Fairy Secret

Well, it’s finally happening. I’ve lowered my standards enough to start posting my thoughts on Barbie movies. Well, my in-depth analysis so I can give all 37 (I’m counting both Barbie and the Rockers half-hour shorts as one movie. It was a continuing plot.) Barbie movies a rank based on my own arbitrary standards. And because it’s arbitrary, they are being scored out of 110 and I starting more or less randomly with the one I watched earlier this afternoon.

Barbie A Fairy Secret: Overall Score: 54/110 Why is it a score out of 110 instead of 100? Because Barbie gives 110%. Also because there are twelve categories, and only one of them is negative. Why is this score so low? Simply put, I’ve seen all the Barbie films and this isn’t the best one. I still enjoy it, and let’s find out why that is...

High points: 6/10      This is a genuinely funny movie, even if sometimes the jokes are so stupid you’re a little ashamed of laughing at them. Even if you’re watching as an adult, you have to accept this is fundamentally a kids’ movie and it’s going to be silly.      Now, of course there are some kids’ movies that don’t have this problem, and some of them are even in the Barbie series. But this is a film where Ken Matrix-dodges a puff of glitter.

     The architecture of Gloss Angeles and in particular the palace really steals the show; even if a lot of the floating platforms look like gold chocolate kisses hovering upside down. Beyond the gleaming gold and jewel-bright colours, we see a streaked pastel sky extending forever in all directions. Really. All directions. Raquelle asks how far away the ground is, and is quickly informed there is no ground.

Low points: -4/-10 The animation style wasn’t as polished as some of the later Barbie movies, and usually I can just ignore that, but it also lacked the pastel charm of some of the earlier ones. It was kind of in an awkward middle ground. The faces are a little stiffer than other films, and a lot of the emoting needs to be done with the body language.

And on a far more petty note, I don’t think that the name “Zane” sounds as much like a fairy as “Graciellla”. Or “Graylen”. Or even “Crystal”. “Taylor” is on about the same level of sounding like a fairy as “Zane” though.

WLW appeal: 6/10

I’m not saying that two women admitting that they both wanted to be closer but thought that the other one didn’t like them, hugging and then a rainbow of light transforms into fairies, shattering the cage they were in is necessarily lesbian subtext, but it’s really easy to read it that way. Especially since right after it happens Taylor says love is more powerful than a Passion Fairy’s anger.

However, Barbie and Raquelle’s moment of understanding each other pales in comparison to Taylor and Carrie’s relationship. The two are unquestionably close, never out of the other’s sight. However, the thing that made them read as most romantically involved to me wasn’t anything they did on screen: it was Princess Gracellia’s past history with them. When three people are close friends and two of them become so close they cut the third person out without realising they’ve upset them at all, it doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re dating, but any time I personally can say that I really lost a friend, it was a variation on that story. I’ve seen it in other people, and much to my disgust almost any time someone brings up that this is a problem, the blame falls on the “third wheel” for not realising that romantic love is obviously more important than any of their previous friendships, and suggesting that if they were emotionally mature they would just go off and fine someone to snog themselves, thus becoming a fully realised romantic being.

Okay, none of the romantic part of the last paragraph was textual, and I am definitely projecting at least a little bit; but this is a recurring theme across media, and it sucks, and I enjoy the fact I can avoid it. Yet another reason I have watched all the Barbie movies.

Ace Appeal:  4/10 I suppose this needs to be said at least once, and since this one is getting posted first, it’s a natural choice to get this disclaimer out of the way. No, I don’t think that anyone in Mattel offices ever stops and says, “Hang on. Does the plot of this children’s movie appeal to the sensibilities of adult asexuals?” However, I’m pretty sure there is some variation on “Not all kids like romance, and most parents want to keep the romance their kids see in media to be on the tame side, so we’ll have to pay attention to how much romance we put in and how it’s handled.” However, as an adult asexual, it is always freaking refreshing to have characters interested in something besides The Sex™, and the best place I have found to seek that is in children’s media.

In a movie aimed at adults, one would usually establish the main romantic couple with kissing, steamy stares, and other things that make your friends not want your partner hang out with the rest of the group. Or, in the case of The Airzone Solution, goosing your partner while she’s having a conversation with someone else, making her voice go up so high I finally recognise Nicola Bryant without her fake American accent. (by the way, if you’re looking for movies with asexual appeal, The Airzone Solution is not one of them.)

This is the face of a man who cannot unwatch The Airzone Solution.

Also, in a movie aimed at adults, no one can end in the same romantic relationship that they started in, which Barbie can avoid because the character of Ken cannot exist in a vacuum: Ken is Barbie’s boyfriend (the Barbie Vlogs/Dreamhouse Adventures timeline notwithstanding; especially given that there really is no question that in that particular timeline “Karbie is endgame” as the kids say.), all personality traits are related to this. If Ken appears in a Barbie movie, we know he already is Barbie’s boyfriend because Barbie is a wish fulfilment fantasy for young girls: As many rewarding careers as they like, a steady relationship with someone who adores them, a large group of friends, pretty much any material goods they can think of at their fingertips, and of course, magical powers. This, quite frankly, is why Barbie works as a woman somewhere in her twenties or thirties and why she doesn’t make as much sense when people try to age her down into a teenager. Seriously. That’s what Skipper is for. How can Barbie have a sixteen-year-old little sister if she herself is sixteen? It doesn’t make sense. But I’m getting off-topic.

This is a kids’ movie, so we establish that Ken and Barbie are dating by having them being adorable duelling with spoons over ice cream sundaes. And that’s why I’ve watched every Barbie movie ever made.

As I mentioned before, the subplot with Gracellia feeling cut out of Taylor and Carrie’s relationship feels very familiar to anyone whose friends distanced themselves for their all-important romance. And while this could happen to anyone, being dropped out of your alloromantic/allosexual friends’ lives when they discover dating is one of the most recognisable and most terrible parts of the asexual/aromantic experience. Does this mean that any of the characters present as asexual or aromantic? As usual, not necessarily. Gracellia clearly isn’t aromantic. But, also as usual, “I’ve been there! It sucks!” is a common step in headcanoning a character as ace. And even if they aren’t, it’s still relatable. We also see a happily married middle-aged couple, Reena and Graylen. Narratively, they exist to show that a marriage between a fairy and a human can work, but I could have seen way more of them being cute. But I like cute old married couples. Which may be weird for someone desperately looking for characters in any form of media who actually like their love interests and stay with them through the entire story instead of breaking up to add more drama. Anyone who has had their friends start dating knows that couples do not need to be breaking up to cause drama.

Graylen’s character design is almost exactly like the advisor in the Fairytopia series. You might not expect “older black fairy with gray muttonchops and friendly advice” to be a stock character in Barbie films, but there he is. Often, Barbie movies do not have a full mouth kiss in them. If there is, that is often because there’s a wedding ceremony. This is an example of the latter. The couple who isn’t married at the end, however, express their love by trying not to be married against their will. Still, no matter how relatable all of this is to an asexual, it does end in a very Midsummer Night’s Dream everyone paired off sort of way.

Entourage:  6/10

Raquelle- Those familiar with Life in the Dreamhouse already know Raquelle as Barbie’s self-proclaimed rival and a twisty bitch who lives for drama, making her one of the most enjoyable characters to watch. She has a different voice actress here, which can throw you a little. Especially if you’re trying to remember which My Little Pony voice actress has replaced her Life in the Dreamhouse voice actress.

Taylor- Ginger shoe fairy with a pink dress and a posh accent. Mostly responsible for the “tell Barbie the truth, go to Gloss Angeles, and rescue Ken” plan. 

Carrie- Brunette purse fairy with a purple dress. Probably the slower of the two. That said, even though she supplies much of the comic relief, it doesn’t stem from her being stupid, it stems from her never-emptying purse of visual gags. By the end, Carrie’s jokes have started to grate on Raquelle:

“I think this time I’ve got a home run!”

“Enough! It’s going to be a baseball bat, right?”

Art Style: 5/10 I’ll admit this isn’t my favourite era of Barbie movies as far as animation is concerned. The faces aren’t as emotive as some of the other styles of animation. Raquelle for one makes up for this with full-body sarcasm. The architecture in Gloss Angeles is really the highlight of the film’s visuals: with large amounts of sparkling crystal and gold curlicues putting one in mind of a jewellery box with it’s contents spilling out. Particularly in the fight scene between Ken and Zane, where they recreate the “Duel” bit from that 90s Gladiators show where the contenders sand on an elevated platform and hit each other with what appear to be large fancy cotton buds. The only difference is that the contenders have wings. The architecture is shown off nicely in the “welcome to Gloss Angeles” montage. Unlike films like a Mermaid Tale, they did not feel the need to put dozens of puns in this sequence, they just put wings on everything they could think of—dogs, cats, handbags, coffee cups, shopping bags…

Plot: 7/10 The plot takes place within the “Life in the Dreamhouse” continuity: Barbara Roberts is a highly successful celebrity who lives in Malibu with her three younger sisters, is dating her longtime boyfriend Kenneth Carson, and has a close group of friends, including Rochelle who openly hates all of them (barring Ken) but remains part of the social circle.

A jealous fairy named Crystal feeds Princess Graciella, ruler of the fairies, a love potion which makes he fall in love with Ken. Graciella kidnaps Ken and declares she will marry him that very day. Zane, Graciella’s previous boyfriend and also a fairy, challenges Ken to three successive duels as Ken tries to back out of this. Barbie and Rochelle, rival film stars, come to Ken’s rescue, aided by two fairies who have been living in the human world disguised as humans and working as Barbie’s personal stylists.

The whole thing feels a lot like Barbie does Comedia del Arte, which I love. A love square that is resolved with two couples at the end, a love potion, over the top comedic figures, a lovesick woman declaring she will marry someone she just met, the upper class characters being saved by the complex planning of their clever servants; if you accept personal stylists as the modern equivalent of a tiring maid.

Zane is probably the main reason I keep thinking Comedia del Arte when I’m watching this. And it’s not just that he has the same accent as el Captaino (a stock figure in Comedia del Arte. The foreign captain who is usually a comedic rival for the young lover). In his first scene, he challenges Ken to three successive duels: “So, you think I am not bold enough for two duels? For that, I challenge you to a third duel!” “Why not? I wasn’t doing anything after the second one anyway.”

I can’t help but think about how the plot would have been different if princess Graciella had drunk the love potion three seconds earlier and fallen in love with Rochelle instead of Ken. “I have to save my frienemy who has just graduated from pain in the ass to total bitch.” would have been a very different story to “I need to save my boyfriend.”  

The whole thing is a mess of consent and lack thereof. Crystal puts a spell on Graciella so she becomes obsessed with Ken, Graciella puts a spell on Ken so that a marriage proposal comes out of his mouth, much to his horror. And, if the whole “Comedia del Arte” thing hadn’t been running through my head the entire time, the fact that it pretty much starts and ends like A Midsummer Night’s Dream would have done it: Someone gives the queen of the fairies a love potion. She falls in love with the worst possible option. Humans get involved. The two romantic couples are sorted back into their ideal combination, the fairies convince the humans it was all really a dream. Even Carrie and Taylor reminding the audience of the secret at the end puts me in mind of Puck’s final speech.

The plot would have gotten a higher score if it hadn’t been for one plothole that seems to grow and shrink the more I examine it: Crystal was in love with Zane, but he was in love with Graciella. So she gets her hands on a love potion and uses it on… not Zane. I guess thought if he wasn’t in a relationship he would pick her on his own. Perhaps she wanted “real love” and was prepared to give her princess a chemically assisted version. We will never know.

Character design:  6/10

It’s not unusual for the cast to be wearing their best costumes in the final act of a Barbie film, but in this case this was achieved by putting most of them in fairly ugly outfits for most of the action.

The costuming was quite up to standards in the last fifteen minutes, but that leaves us with fifty seven minutes of unnecessary peplum to account for. 

Raquelle and Barbie appear in formal gowns for the red carpet premiere:

Raquelle wears a one-shoulder purple and blue gown with a lettuce edged wrap skirt with a high-low hem, simple blue teardrop earrings, and some excellent shoes.

As usual, Raquelle is quickly upstaged by Barbie, who wears a ruby pink bodice with a peplum hem over a bright violet mermaid skirt. These are accessorised with rhinestone rose jewellery and silver pumps, although the shoes are only revealed when Raquelle rips the back of her dress up to her thighs.

While these gowns only show up in the first scene, they are easily the best looks they wear in the film, which is understandable as they are the dresses worn by the dolls. The doll look sort of reappears at the start of the final act, where Barbie and Raquelle transform into their winged form from the dolls, which is the tops from their red carpet gowns on cocktail dresses.

Barbie’s rose peplum top melts much more pleasingly into the three flounces of her miniskirt, while Raquelle has a flounced A-line miniskirt with the slightest edge of silver and pink petticoats peeking out the bottom. A silver ruffle accents her neckline and compliments her wide silver belt. The looks are finished in both cases with those curling vine heels that Mattel was putting on all the fairy dolls in the early aughts. This is such a breath of good taste after their “normal” outfits from the main part of the film. 

After the premiere, the human characters really get the short end of the stick as far as costumes are concerned, and while I can see how it was important to make the humans visually distinct from the fairies, even when everyone is wearing “clip on” wings.

Raquelle spends most the movie in cobalt blue knee-length trumpet dress and a pink polka dot mini sweatshirt; which frankly should never have happened. The effect is completed with strappy silver heels which barely do not reach the end of leatherette black leggings. Sadly, the effect is “I dressed Barbie first and these are all the doll clothes I have left over”.

Barbie’s main look seems to be doing everything it can to keep a knee-length jean trumpet skirt with pink stitching from ruining the rest of the outfit. This is done with a pink and white striped tee and a half-sleeve black jacket. I don’t want to be too hard on this look, I’ll admit, because I can see my sister wearing something like that, but hopefully a more flattering cut of skirt.

But then again, I’ve always hated trumpet miniskirts; I hated them when they were in style, I hate  them now that they aren’t, and I hate the fact I owned two because that’s what was for sale at Walmart in the mid 2000s and I hadn’t taken to making most of my own clothing yet. I called them “crotch ruffle skirts”. I was a bitch in high school.

 Miss Roxelle appears very briefly in a tasteful white and gold two piece pencil skirt suit. As a fashion designer and the older fairy who they come to for help, it makes sense that she has a classy, mature vibe.  

For the wedding, Ken gets a fashion upgrade from “we put him in a plaid shirt to make him look more heterosexual” (which was kind of ruined by the teal and metallic gold palette) to “one of those really tacky heterosexual wedding toppers” for the wedding scene. The horror of someone tied up and being forced to marry someone they barely know is somewhat diminished by the image of groomsmen elbowing each other and chuckling, “As usual, am I right, men?” That said, matching the pattern on his lapels to the pattern on his wings was a nice touch.

Crystal takes the purple/green slightly alternative route in villain costume design: fingerless gloves, cropped vest, stripy skirt, asymmetrical bob, purple leggings and black ankle boots.

And interestingly, she is the only fairy who presents as a girl who has dragonfly wings. I’m not going to say that this means Crystal is transgender, but I am definitely going to be thinking about that for a while. Part of me thinks, “Sure, why not, that’s probably going to happen in fairy society as much as human”, and part of me thinks, “Usually it’s the heroes or sidekicks in Barbie movies that get queercoded.” So let’s just move past Crystal’s boyish wings.

I spend a lot of time Graciellla is on screen trying to figure out how her hair is accomplished. Like most Barbie characters, it looks physically possible so that it can be recreated on a doll. It looks as if two French braids were started on her head, then the loose hair was tucked under itself, a little bit like a rolled chingon.

It probably is related to the fact her standard outfit is pretty basic: a petal pink strapless cocktail dress with a rose pink sash. It’s accessorised with a mess of pink rhinestone jewellery to set off her tiara.

Zane starts off in a fantasy style purple vest and striped jeans in a desaturated purple palette: The gold trim and collar pushes it towards the high fantasy fairies were meant to be, but it appears that halfway down the design they realised that they wanted it to be reflective of modern fashion and gave him pinstriped jeans. Don’t get me wrong, I love purple pinstriped jeans, I own purple pinstripe jeans, but they don’t go with his top. High fantasy and mid-2000s fashion are hard looks to marry, and I’m objecting to this example. Now, I could have forgiven him for wearing knee-high boots and cuffing his trousers to show them off, if they weren’t striped jeans and black combat boots. He’s half pirate and a half “I just came from a Green Day concert”. And he tries so hard to make it work. Wearing the exact same outfit in white and gold to his wedding was a choice. Once of several stupid choices made by Zane over the course of this movie.

Zane goes full Star Trek Next Gen for his combat jumpsuit: And honestly, I kind of love it. The gold and cobalt blue set each other off beautifully, the wide gold stripes down Zane’s legs, the elegantly tooled golden breastplate, the spirals of gold coming up his boots to the wide gold edging.

We actually see the slits the back of Zane’s jacket when he gets on his knees to propose to Graciella, and all of the feminine fairies (except for Crystal, as mentioned before) are wearing tube tops and off-the shoulder dresses so that they can dress without damaging their wings. But it appears that his wings are emerging from narrow slits in the back of his vest. Which might account for why the masculine fairies have smaller, narrower wings; more like a dragonfly than a butterfly. And it might also account for why Crystal has dragonfly wings and a cropped vest.

Finally, we have Taylor and Carrie, who ride the line between fantasy fashion and human fashion by wearing some fairly simple, “this looks like a doll” dresses. They also look far more like a “set” than any other characters because while their outfits look different, they are comprised out of the same basic elements: A dress with a fitted satin bodice, capped sleeves, and a flounced circle skirt accessorised with a short bead necklace, simple earrings, a headband and a side ponytail. The only real difference between them is their magical focuses:

Carrie, being a purse fairy, has a glittery doctor-style handbag; so called because the frame opens out like an old doctor’s visiting bag, not because like the Tardis it is bigger on the inside. Though both are true. Taylor has magenta glitter peek-toe platforms with knee-high laces with wings on the heel and rosettes on the toe. Raquelle admits, “If I had to trust my life to one pair of shoes, it would be those.” as Taylor chirps: “The more fabulous my shoes, the stronger my magic!” Me too, buddy, me too.

Music:  3/10

There is really only the main theme, Can You Keep a Secret? which plays over the opening and closing credits. It��s peppy, it’s happy, it’s not so stupid you’re grating your teeth, but ultimately it’s pretty forgettable. It serves its purpose and allows the story to move on. It plays again during the “welcome to Gloss Angeles” montage.

Animal companion:  4/10 Halfway through the movie, Pegaponies show up and help the humans with their difficulty in flying with clip-on wings. The pegaponies show up, transport the main characters to the palace, and are never heard from again. They do not talk or exhibit greater than animal intelligence, but however they do greatly advance the Rochelle and Barbie friendship plot by allowing the two of them to discuss how their relationship, and their animosity, formed. All pegaponies are recolours of the same mesh: a stocky, small horse with a striped mane and sparkly lace-like wings. The heroes all ride sidesaddle, partially because they’re all in dresses and partially because they all have wings themselves. While I usually subscribe to the less-is-more approach to pets in Barbie movies, in this case more might have been more.

Antagonists:  7/10 Zane- Since Barbie has Raquelle, it only makes sense that Ken gets someone who declares himself his rival as Ken protests that they aren’t actually pursuing the same goal. And like Raquelle, Zane is over the top and hilarious. He’s probably my favourite part of the movie. Graciellla – Crown Princess of Gloss Angeles, because “queen” sounds evil unless you’ve got a kid. While she isn’t exactly a bad person, she spends most of the film trying to force someone who isn’t in love with her to marry her. Actually, that is in fact pretty bad, but it is slightly mitigated by the fact she’s under a love spell. Remember kids, love spells aren’t consent! She spreads the awful cycle of “fairies don’t need no consent” by magicing a proposal out of Ken’s mouth inbetween his protestations to let him go. So, even though she changes her plan as soon as she’s not under a spell, she still has the whole “I’m an immoral fairy who really doesn’t care how much I mess up human lives” thing going on, which I also enjoy. Kids have to learn to fear the fey sooner or later. Crystal- From her arm-warmers to her stripes, here’s the soft grunge girl here to punish the preps for existing. Well, to punish everyone around her for the sorry state of her love life. Unrequited love stinks. Of course, what makes her a villain instead a tragic hero is that she is perfect content to ruin as many lives as it takes to get what she wants. Again, fairies tend to be amoral. Raquelle- Only an antagonist in that she remains Barbie’s self-proclaimed rival, and pain in the rear, even as she joins her quest to save Ken. To be fair, at no point does Raquelle stop thinking of herself as Ken’s friend. Partnering with a rival to save a mutual friend is probably Raquelle’s most antihero moment across all media she appears in. So while there’s a lot of antagonists, ranging from rivals to villains to “manic force of nature” I would have a difficult time saying, “You know what movie has some great antagonists? A Fairy Secret.” Although it definitely gets points for variety.

Doll Tie-in:  4/10

Comparing the doll commercial to the movie, I get the feeling that the people making the commercial hadn’t been given the plot to the movie before writing the script for the advertisement.

Personally, as someone who just genuinely likes dolls, I don’t like the moulded on bodices, since they limit the number of dresses you can put over them. I get the idea that the moulded on swimsuits are to give the dolls some vestige of dignity when the girls are leaving them undressed.

As for “transforming dresses”, the Fairy Secret dolls all have variations on the “skirt folds out into wings” gimmick.

This was also the period where the doll designers decided that plastic moulded curlicue laces going all up a doll’s shins said “fairy fashion”, and that, I’ll admit, I like.

At least the faces have better moulds than the characters in the films.

[terresdebrumestories]

Clark Kent, of Krypton - 1/4: Kal-El

FANDOM: DC’s cinematic universe. RATING: Mature. WORDCOUNT: 20 404 (Fic total: ~98k words) PAIRING(S): Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne (main focus is on Clark, though). CHARACTER(S): Kal-El | Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Jor-El, Lara Lor-Van, Kara Zor-El, Zor-El, Martha Kent, Alfred Pennyworth, Diana Prince, Barry Allen, Arthur Curry, Victor Stone, John Stewart, J’onn J’onn, plus a quick cameo by Lois Lane. GENRE: Alternate Universe (canon divergence), transition fic with romance. TRIGGER WARNING(S): A great deal of anxiety and self loathing, especially in parts one and two. Some descriptions are heavily inspired by my experience of dysphoria-induced dissociation. SUMMARY: Batman crashes on Krypton a few days before the Turn of the Year celebrations and Kal-El's life takes a sharp turn to the left, on a path that will ultimately lead him to becoming Clark Kent.

OTHER CHAPTERS: [II. Shadow] [III. Superman] [IV. Clark Kent] ALSO AVAILABLE: [On AO3] [On Dreamwidth]

AUTHOR’S NOTES AND THANKS: Seven months of work and nearly a hundred thousand words! How's that for a first foray in a fandom, uh? I'm actually pretty proud of myself on that one, and I hope you all will enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! But before we start, there's a number of people I need to thank:

@susiecarter​, for getting me into this pairing (seriously, go read her stories!), cheerleading me through the writing process, and then betaing the whole monster in absolute record time!

@stuvyx​ for the AMAZING comic pages which you can find here and here, and for the banners used in the official @superbatbigbang masterpost. Go shower her with praise for her work! :D

The Mod Squad @superbatbigbang, whose instructions and work were impeccable and easy to understand even for me and my silly brain

The OfficialMovieSoundtrack channel on YouTube, for compiling the complete Wonder Woman score: I listened to this more than any other music while writing CKoK.

The jewish nerds of tumblr, who’ve been (and still are) spreading the word about Superman’s origins and the character’s original meanings and principles, which in turn had a rather large influence on Clark’s personality in this fic. I hope the bits with Martha will come off as respectful as I tried to make them.

And lastly, a tiny thanks to DC and Mr. Snyder, for deciding to cast Henry Cavill and his jawline as Clark Kent but also making him just not-how-I-wanted enough (and in the right way) to spark me into telling this story.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Lord Bel-Lor exclaims in lilting Council, with a hiccup of delighted surprise. “I would have expected the whole of El to know of this by now.”

 Kal-El, strategically stationed close to one of the potted plants meant to shelter the refreshments table from the dancing area, presses his lips together while the young Zod dignitary tries very hard not to sound too eager about incoming gossip. Kal swallows around a lump in his throat, but remains silent. His aunt and uncle’s Turn of the Year ball is one of the most important events of the year, and it wouldn’t do for him to cause a fuss.

 He stands in place, fingers tightening around his drink, and darts a quick look around. Lady Ona-Set has found her customary seat a few feet to his right, advanced age and a rather poor sense of rhythm having long ago banded together to keep her from the dance floor. Further to the left, close to one of five internal balconies, Lady Ra-Ny and her spouse have gathered a small but agitated-looking group of Worker dignitaries from Lot and Zod’s delegations. They seem to be engaged in a rather heated debate, hushed as it is. But the rest of the guests have, for the most part, elected to dance or make good use of the balconies allowing them to gaze over the minuscule shapes of their lavish homes, several thousand feet below.

 There was a time when El’s elite lived closer to their rulers. A long time ago, the Citadel of El was filled with habitations floor to mountain-high ceiling: the royal family lived in the last few city-wide floors, the lords and ladies shared the following quarter of the space, and the common people divided themselves between the Citadel grounds and the Outside. Then the Lords and Ladies of the Principality rebelled against King Hyr-El, who resolved the situation with a bloodbath first, and the destruction of a solid third of the Citadel’s inner buildings second.

 Ever since then, the Stateroom of Peace has floated, alone, in the vast emptiness left by the old families’ houses; the new Citadel Lords and Ladies made new homes on the Citadel Grounds, and pushed former merchants to become Mountain Lords and Ladies in city-domes of their own. The Stateroom—which, as its name implies, is used for every Guild Council meeting and many other official occasions—also serves as a ballroom for religious occasions such as the Turn of the Year, during which all of Krypton celebrates yet another cycle of close collaboration between Rao, the Helping God, and his brother-husband Vohc, the Builder. These are, at least, the Stateroom’s official uses.

 There is, however, a third—and chiefly preferred—activity that takes place here: gossiping. Kal has been privy to much of it throughout his near-thirty years of life, and he is largely unsurprised to find his family once again at the center of attention as Citadel Lord Bel-Lor proceeds to share the latest news of the Citadel Princes and Princesses of El.

 It goes like this: two days before this very ball, a mysterious spacecraft crashed on Lady Mon-Ka’s property. The precise patch of land in question, bordering the Citadel, had been deemed unfit for cultivation and left in disuse for quite some time, rarely visited and even more rarely monitored. Perhaps that was why no one raised the alarm—or perhaps, as Lady Kam-Leang remarks, Lady Mon-Ka was simply suffering from the effects of the energy depletion afflicting all of Krypton, and could not afford to keep her sophisticated surveillance system in a functioning state. Whatever the reason, no one at the time thought to investigate the craft.

 “No one, that is, but the Shadow of El,” Lord Bel-Lor says with a storyteller’s instinct for dramatics.

 Kal drains his flute of liquor in one go while the Zod dignitary dutifully asks about the Shadow of El. Lord Bel-Lor declines to delve into much detail, aware as he is that extensive knowledge of the Shadow won’t garner him any favor at court, but there is more than enough there to earn several exclamations of surprise and one shocked ‘No!’. The Shadow of El, he explains, is a disturbance to the peace, a master criminal helping other criminals escape well-earned justice...but alas, the people of the Citadel have taken a shine to them.

 “Something to do with old legends,” Lady Lin-Na says in a disdainful tone. “You must have heard of the Dark Sun.”

 “Only in passing,” the Zodian admits. “I hear they are causing some trouble.”

 “Inconsequential,” Lady Lin-Na dismisses, several other voices humming in approval, including her husband's. “But they did find their name in one of our old legends, in which Rao must go through a magical sleep, and a darker version of him—Rao’s dream self, if you will—takes it upon themselves to help protect the world during the sun’s long absence... Because the Gods may not interfere in the affairs of mortals in person, the Dark Sun casts a Shadow of themselves on Krypton, so that it may fight the monsters trying to take over the world.”

 Several voices try to be the first to express their disapproval and disdain towards the very idea, Council and Ellon overlapping in the conversation until Lord Bel-Lor clicks his tongue to reestablish silence. Kal-El picks up another drink—his third this evening—and ignores Lady Ona-Set’s judgmental glare as he sips at it, knuckles white around the stem.

 There is no true way to tell what exactly transpired in that disused field. What is known, however, is that by the time Lady Mon-Ka was made aware of the smoking ruins on her property, the Shadow of El had scooped the spacecraft’s pilot out of the wreckage and taken them to the Citadel. They appeared on the main external balcony with an alien in their arms and the light of the sun behind them, striking Lara Lor-Van and Jor-El almost dumb with awe. And the Shadow of El commanded them to take care of the alien, for the spacecraft had reached Krypton on the day of Vohc’s comet, and its pilot might therefore be an envoy of the God.

 Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van, known throughout El for their piety, took the alien in. By the time Kal-El emerged from his labs six or seven hours after dawn, groggy and sporting wrinkle marks from his pillow all over his face, the entire household was scrambling to accommodate both this badly-injured and unexpected new responsibility of theirs, and the ire of Zor-El, Citadel King of El and rather exasperated older brother, who had no patience for his younger sibling and sister-in-law’s latest religious fancy.

 “I fail to understand,” the Zodri dignitary says in hushed tones while Kal braces himself for the inevitable turn of the conversation from this point on, “why Citadel royals would comply with a criminal’s instructions.”

 “I forget sometimes,” Lord Dar Ran-No says with a smile painfully obvious in his tone, “how little of our internal politics is understood outside of El.”

 Kal listens to the giggles that follow the word ‘politics’ and resists the urge to mime gagging into his glass. It isn’t so much Lady Ona-Set he worries about—she has little affection for Bel-Lor, or any of the Citadel Lords for that matter—but rather the foreign delegations taking part in the celebrations. What the Zodri envoy is about to discover will make its way into every available ear before the end of the night; no two ways about that. Kal can almost hear General Dru-Zod teasing Zor-El about it already. At the very least, however, he does have the power to avoid bringing even more attention to himself with an untimely departure. With a deep breath, Kal forces himself not to empty his Ulian liquor in one go, choosing instead to soothe the tense ache in his neck with a slow overview of the room.

 The dancing is slow tonight, even by court standards, and most of the guests are still busy digesting the vast array of refined dishes they spent the better part of three hours sampling over the luxurious buffet. The light, as red as El’s famed sunsets, sparkles over jewelry and shining fabric. Lady Ra-Ny, her spouse and their group have retreated to one of the internal balconies, Warrior-looking men scattered in close proximity while Zor-El stands in the middle of the group. All over the dance floor, people laugh, voices loud and smiles sharp with the delight of mostly harmless gossip.

 Behind Kal, the chuckles have faded, and as Dar Ran-No feigns reluctance to share his knowledge, Kal prays in vain for the ground to open up and swallow him.

 “Something you must know,” the Citadel Lord says in a delighted tone that makes Kal slouch even further than he usually does, “is that Their Majesties have never been the sort to resist...scientific curiosity.”

 More giggles, and Kal overhears two voices sharing the title of a certain book in hushed Ellon.

 “A very specific sort of scientific curiosity,” Lord Bel-Lor chimes in, improper meaning exactly as clear now as it always is.

 More laughter. Kal doesn’t quite screw his eyes shut, but he does look down at the ground, feeling redder than the sun. In his armpit and in his ears, blood pulses with the sharp painfulness of shame, and he forces himself to relax his grip on his flute of liquor or risk breaking it. It takes everything he has to use a polite tone to send away the servant offering him a drink, instead of begging them to leave him alone.

 “I must admit,” the Zodri dignitary says with what sounds like genuine curiosity, “I am quite incapable of guessing what you are driving at.”

 “Do you truly not know?”

 “To be fair, Lord Bel-Lor,” Lady Kam-Leang says in an indulgent tone, “the young man doesn’t look much older than the Prince himself.”

 “Prince Kal-El? What does he have to do with his parents’ scientific endeavors?”

 At least two people snort at that, loud and undignified, and Kal’s face heats up even further, stomach sinking fast and low in his belly. Dar Ran-No’s voice sounds tight when he explains, in the usual embarrassing amount of detail, what exactly Kal has to do with his parents’ scientific endeavors.

 “That is revolting!” the Zodri dignitary exclaims, in a strained hiss that sends cold shivers down Kal’s spine. “Who would even conceive of something so—so—”

 “I believe it has been called primitive.”

 Kal somehow restrains himself from muttering unflattering things into his drink, but only just. To his left, Lady Ona-Set sits with her eyes closed, head tilted toward Kal, mouth hanging slightly open; but the lady shows no sign of drooling. Old she may be, but the gene for degenerative hearing has been eliminated from the collective gene pool for almost seven centuries, and she has always had a reputation for gossiping. No need to encourage that particular trait with entertaining dramatics on his part, especially when she can’t possibly be having any trouble hearing when Dan Ran-No continues:

 “Primitive or no, it was in direct keeping with their previous endeavors...and neither of Their Majesties has ever made a secret of it. When the—what was the word they used for it? I forget.”

 “The birthing,” Kam-Leang supplies, voice curling with a sort of fascinated distaste around the archaic word. “That was what they called it.”

 “Right,” Bel-Lor acquiesces with a scoff, “the birthing. Both Prince Jor-El and Princess Lara Lor-Van had been religious before, you must understand, but after the—uh—the birthing, they became quite convinced the child was a miracle of the Gods. A gift from Rao himself.”

 “Surely they didn’t—”

 “Oh, yes, they did,” Bel-Lor all but squeaks; Lady Kam-Leang and her husband both hush him.

 Kal winces at the sound, fully aware that this particular piece of gossip has lost none of its power in the twenty-nine years since his birth. He doesn’t even need to put any particular effort into picturing the looks on the Ellon nobles’ faces: wide eyes and delighted grins, vaguely hidden behind fluttering fans and flutes of sparkling Nyen wine. They have sported it at regular intervals throughout Kal’s life, and he can only assume the Zodri envoy likewise looks very much the same as every other dignitary ever has: as enraptured as his predecessors were by the scandalous yet fascinating story of the last natural birth of Krypton. There is, however, more to this story, and this time Kal does down what is left of his liquor before they speak again, wishing for all the world he’d thought to grab some of the fermented torquats Dru-Zod brought along as a gift. At least he would have had something good to chew on while waiting out the night’s agony.

 “They tried to have the child blessed by the priests of Rao—”

 “They were, of course, refused,” Lady Kam-Leang states with piercing finality. “The official reason was that to give the child such a name was an affront to the Gods no priest could ever be tempted to forgive—”

 “Truly?” the dignitary asks, genuinely puzzled. “I fail to see the problem with it.”

 “Because you are unfamiliar with Ellon,” Dar Ran-No says, “or you would know ‘Kal-El’ is the light of the sun.”

 “Although,” Lady Kam-Leang remarks, “things would perhaps not have been so bad if they hadn’t gone further still. For years afterwards, Their Majesties and their followers—yes, they do still have a handful of them—insisted on calling their offspring a miracle. A herald of great things to come.”

 Kal is...acutely familiar with that line. It is old habit, by now, to swallow the bitter shame that comes with it.

 “I heard rumors,” Lord Bel-Lor continues, “that Their Majesties wished to attempt birthing a second child, but it seems the Gods intended for the prince to be a one-time phenomenon.”

 “Some people in the Guild of Believers have whispered that this must be a divine punishment for the Els’ arrogance. I do not know that I agree,” Dar Ran-No says in a slightly pinched tone, “but the lack of a second ‘miracle’ did certainly temper Jor-El’s dreams of having a messiah for a son.”

 “But of course,” Bel-Lor adds, picking up where his fellow Citadel Lord left off, “if the other rumors are true, and Their Majesties are being plagued with a much more biological problem….”

 At least one person chokes on a drink. Another one, perhaps two, coughs. Kal assumes the high-pitched, quickly-aborted laughter belongs to the Zodri dignitary, although he wouldn’t be able to swear to it. Face burning even as the rest of him turns to ice, he makes a tremendous effort to keep his gaze on the ground and take deep breaths until the corners of his eyes stop stinging. Inside his chest, his heart throws itself against his ribs like a wild animal trying to escape a cage, and Kal has to blink several times before he can bring the patterns on the floor back into focus.

 The balconies are overcrowded, the object of too many mocking eyes and surrounded by the imposing silhouettes of Nyen Warriors. But they are the only place where Kal can hope to find a little fresh air—and peace, if he can be allowed to make use of the one occupied by his uncle and his friends, rather than any of the other four—until he has remained here for the full four hours required of him, and is allowed to retreat to the safety of his labs.

 He braces himself and, carefully avoiding Lady Ona-Set’s suddenly alert gaze, begins to make his way around the ballroom.

“Good morning, Kal-El,” Krypto says when Kal emerges from his labs, with no sleep under his belt and Kryo on his heels. “Their Majesties wished me to remind you of the king’s visit tonight.”

 Kal nods, always more tongue-tied than he’d like in presence of his mother’s hunit. Krypto has always been pleasant to him, programming far too stringent to allow even for the impression of disrespect in its tone; but it is an extension of Lara Lor-Van, and that is enough to keep Kal on his toes.

 “I remember,” he tells the hunit, “thank you. In fact, I was on my way to wash up and rest. I should like to be fit for polite company tonight.”

 “Good,” Krypto says the same way it always has, the one that makes Kal feel like he’s still a little boy. “Lady Lara also wishes you to know the doctors have officially released our guest from bed rest.”

 “Oh,” Kal says, heart rate picking up. “I suppose that is good news.”

 It will mean one more person to keep in mind, one more presence to navigate around in the palace, and Kal’s head aches just thinking of it—but it is still good that the alien didn’t die. They cannot, after all, be held responsible for Kal’s issues.

 “Quite,” Krypto replies in its usual toneless voice. “Their Majesties ask that you remember the name of House El must not be tarnished. Dinner should be served at the customary hour.”

 Stomach sinking to somewhere in the vicinity of his knees, Kal nods around the lump in his throat, head lowering almost of its own volition. He stands still as Krypto, ever unaffected by displays of emotion, extends him bland wishes for satisfactory repose and floats away towards the main rooms of his family’s apartments. The Lesser House of El may have lost much of the respect they once enjoyed, after Kal’s birth, but their living quarters do still occupy a solid third of the Citadel’s upper dome. Even living here his whole life, Kal has gone numerous stretches of several days—once as much as two weeks—without encountering his parents. The sight of Krypto leaving him to go and report their conversation to his mother is as familiar an image as Kal has ever known.

 He stands alone in the corridor for a moment, breathing in and out at consciously regular intervals while Kryo asks if he’d like a massage to be added to his personal agenda for the night. He nods, of course: a little help relaxing can’t hurt, after all, and he is going to need every ounce of confidence he can get today. That, and his sore arms will definitely thank him.

 “Your heart rate is elevated,” Kryo says after a short silence.

 “I know,” Kal says, heart picking up its speed again as he tenses in anticipation of Kryo’s predictable remark:

 “I am compelled to let you know your current readings are quite far above average.”

 “I know,” Kal says again, and breathes in deep to avoid snapping at it.

 It isn’t the hunit’s fault, after all, that these reminders were programmed into it. Some things, Kal has changed over the years; but he never did figure out how to make the hunit less judgmental without messing up its programming beyond repair, and so the tone has stayed. It's proven useful in the long run, in that Kryo's unaltered demeanor hides all the things that aren’t the way Kal’s parents wanted them to be, but it doesn’t mean the hunit is never annoying. Kal has practice with this, though, and so it is simple—if not effortless—to keep his tone in check when he says:

 “Don’t worry, Kryo, I’ll be fine tonight.”

 “You are a prince of El,” Kryo says, automatically beginning one of the most irritating conversational routines in his repertoire. “You are—”

 “Bound to interact with strangers from time to time,” Kal cuts in, “yes, I realize.”

 “Irrational behaviors due to feelings of inadequacy—”

 “Kryo. You are well aware I dislike it when you talk about me like this.”

 Kryo goes quiet, but doesn’t apologize. Contrition is not a state hunit were ever designed to emulate. They are far too matter-of-fact for that. Kal, for his part, breathes in deep again, and forces his shoulders to unwind as he finally walks away from the access stairs to his labs and strides toward his rooms. He has Kryo perform a general scan to locate the rest in the household—only in the part of the Citadel assigned to Kal’s parents, however—and is all but scolded for it. The other hunits of the palace are complaining, it seems, about the frequency of pings of that nature they tend to receive.

 ���It is never a good thing to render house hunits dissatisfied.”

 Hunits are devoid of emotion, incapable of satisfaction or dissatisfaction by design. What Kryo is truly saying is that Kal’s use of household scans is above average and will therefore be reported; but the emotional vocabulary makes the whole thing sound just a tad less pathetic, and so Kal sighs and nods rather than correct the hunit. Besides, his higher reasoning functions are begging further out of this conversation with every step he takes toward his bed. No point in trying to argue in these conditions. He is in the middle of a jaw-cracking yawn, his entire being crying out for sleep, when the black-and-gray silhouette of his parents’ guest stops him.

 The alien, standing by the guests’ library, is tall by Ellon standards, though the people of Zod might find them of average size. Their anatomical model is familiar enough to be reassuring: four limbs with hands and feet, shoulders on the broader side but still within the limits of what Kal would call normal. The muscles seem too well-defined to be natural, although Kryo maintains that all staff accounts state the alien looks perfectly Ellon-like under their clothes. Kal has never seen them out of their clothes, though, and so the impressive shape of the alien’s body retains all its power as far as he is concerned.

 The main difference between him and the alien lies in the head. Where Kal’s is somewhat round at the top—though perhaps a little squarer than average around the jaw—with the ordinary short round ears of Kryptonians, the alien’s has two protruding appendages at the top, aligned approximately above where ears would be. They jut out of the alien’s cowl in menacing straight lines and narrow to frighteningly sharp-looking points. Kal...believes Kryo when it says the alien doesn’t actually possess ears—or horns—that look like this. The hunit is, after all, unable to lie to him. But that knowledge doesn’t quell the eerie feeling of strangeness that tightens Kal’s chest every time he looks at them.

 The alien’s most noticeable feature, however, is not so much their silhouette as their stance. There is no hint of groveling in it, none of the wary tension displayed by visiting envoys from neighboring planets. Not that those envoys cower, exactly, but they are always clearly conscious of the galaxy’s painful history with Krypton, and therefore never fully at ease. This alien—Vohc’s alien, as Kal has heard some call them—carries themselves with the easy authority of a Citadel Lord in the king’s confidence. Back straight, head high; no hint of doubt in their own worth, their own place, their own right to remain.

 The sight of it shrivels something already small and wrinkled in Kal’s soul, makes him want to shrink back in the darkness and hide from the alien’s presence...for, sent by Vohc or not, this alien certainly does seem capable of things Kal couldn’t even dream of; and the thought of being found wanting compared to someone who, according to the court, does not even have the decency to be from the known universe, let alone Krypton, is… distressing.

 It is, therefore, unfortunate that acting on that self-effacing impulse would bring more shame to Kal’s house than his continued failure to prove himself worthy of attention.

 “Good evening,” Kal manages after a deep, steadying breath, pulse hammering away so hard he can feel it in his clasped palms. “May I help you?”

 In front of him, the alien’s head tilts to the right in what must be—might be; hopefully is—a sign of incomprehension, and Kal almost gives into the impulse to slap himself in the forehead. The alien is not from any recognizable planet, let alone a known species. They did not respond to any of the local languages stored in the House’s courtesy translators, never mind Council or Ellon. Why, then, Kal would be silly enough to assume they would understand is certainly a mystery for the ages. Not the first of its kind, it is true, but painful nonetheless.

 Swallowing a sigh, Kal draws on his vague memories of learning Council as a child and starts again:

 “I am Kal-El,” he says in Ellon.

 He waits for a few seconds, taps his fingers to the middle of his forehead, and repeats: “Kal-El.”

 “I am Batman,” the alien says.

 The words are clearly unpracticed on their tongue, the gesture all wrong. No one in El would tap their chest to indicate personhood, after all. Still, these things can be forgiven; it is the alien’s grammar that poses a significant problem. None of the politeness markers fit their position: a nobody—for all anyone knows, at any rate—addressing...well, essentially another nobody, but of royal blood. Many at court would have had Batman’s hide for that sort of an affront, accidental though it may be.

 Batman is lucky, though: Kal has dealt with much worse than people addressing him as if he were a lower-ranked but still respected guest. It is easy, then, to quell the sliver of pleased surprise—and the subsequent shame at how readily swayed Kal is—rising in his chest; to muster a stiff smile and a nod and, when Batman does not seem willing to communicate any further, flee toward his quarters.

It takes Kal a long while before he can fall into a nap, and then it takes an even longer time for him to wake up properly once the evening comes. It isn’t that El’s simple tunics of straight lines and slashed sleeves take all that long to put on, really. It’s just...well, frankly, it’s just that Kal is somewhat clumsier than average. He tends to bang into furniture and trip on his own feet more than other people do, and existing in a near-constant state of sleep-deprived grogginess does not help. Science is worth it, he knows. It doesn’t make it any less awkward to step into the Fire dining room almost three minutes late and watch six pairs of eyes turn to him.

 Kal’s uncle, King Zor-El, is a proud man, taller and bulkier even than his brother Jor—a rare build, for Thinkers. He sits in state at the head of the table with an ease Kal knows he would never be able to replicate, gaze a strange mixture of fondness and disappointment. Force of habit, perhaps. Either way, Zor-El does not say anything about Kal’s tardiness. A simple raise of his eyebrow; the pinched look on Kal’s parents’ faces, the amused gaze that passes between Sol Ka-Zod—Kal’s aunt—and her stepdaughter...all of these are familiar enough to be set aside. Not easily, not quite. But they are set aside, and that means Kal is free to look around the rest of the room, and marvel.

 The Fire dining room is one of the smaller, cozier rooms of similar function in the Lesser House of El’s apartments. At the back, a fire burns year-round, for the rooms closest to the center of the dome tend to be colder, and fire has always been Rao’s way of welcoming guests. In front of the fire sits the table, around which Kal’s family has arranged itself amidst the flowing lines of curved columns, floral motifs carved into the very bones of the building.

There, to the right of Kal’s usual chair, sits Batman. Their back is still as impeccably straight as it was this morning, their shoulders just as steady, their jaw just as strong. This time, however, the slant of their lips, below their cowl, curls into something...well. Perhaps not quite a smile. Not a smirk, either. But there is the seed of an expression there, Kal is fairly sure, that could become either of those things; and it is such a novelty compared to the usual reactions he garners that as he seats himself Kal can’t help but blush, looking down at his hands until he feels in control of himself again.

 The meal is well underway by the time Kal comes back to himself, silten salads half-eaten and roasted keltar being rolled into the room. To Kal’s right, Batman has taken their gloves off to eat, and their hands look very much like Kal’s hands—a little bigger, maybe, in keeping with their owner’s size, but nothing strange. Nothing that would be out of proportion for a Kryptonian, at the very least. They catch the eye somehow, at least as far as Kal is concerned. Batman’s silhouette was so imposing this morning, so surprisingly regal for someone people have barely hesitated to classify as a barbarian; it is hard not to be surprised when it turns out they eat like a regular person.

 It wouldn’t do to stare, however, and striking up a conversation right now would mean talking over the main guests, an ill-advised course of action.

 “I don’t think the Melokariel Proposition will ever be accepted,” Kal’s father is saying when Kal finally dares to raise his eyes away from his plate. “Nor do I think it should.”

 Kal darts a glance over the table, unsurprised to find his cousin raising her eyebrows quite high into her glass of Ulian liquor. The reaction is, Kal supposes, understandable. As the first in line to take over the throne of El, Kara has been invited to every single one of her father and uncle’s twice-weekly dinners since the tender age of twelve, and is therefore even more familiar with Jor-El’s way of gearing up for a fight. Or, well. A debate, as he calls it.

 Notorious for his incompetence and disinterest in politics, Kal returns Kara’s gesture nonetheless. He might not know the ins and outs of this Proposition as well as she does, but he does know his parents, and the thought of another family argument beginning is about as annoying as it is stressful by now. At least he knows he won’t be asked to participate. Kal’s horrendous lack of social acuity, cultural refinement, or specialization has been exposed, discussed, debated, and condemned more than enough for a lifetime; he isn’t keen on sparking that particular conversation again by asking about the Proposition or, Rao forbid, trying to change the topic. He will get through this in silence, like he always has, and count himself lucky for it.

 “Ever the retrograde, brother,” Zor-El says while a servant takes his empty plate and replaces it with the largest keltar of the lot. “If I were to listen to you, we would be working our way back to the days of primitive savagery.”

 There is no need to look up to know Zor-El has nodded in Kal’s direction, the circumstances of his birth ever a sore point for the family. He dares a glance to the right instead, and blinks when he finds Batman looking down at the table coil they were handed along with their meat. There is nothing strange about the tool that Kal can see, though accidents do happen, so he turns back to the left when his father, having most likely run through his usual defenses of Kal’s conception—helped along by his wife, of course—snaps:

 “In any case, the fact that Krypton does not possess the necessary resources to—”

 “We have talked about this before, Jor,” Zor says in a warning tone. “Krypton will not debase itself by going around begging colonies for their scraps.”

 “Ex colonies,” Kara points out, mild but clear. “The Green Lanterns saw to that.”

 Queen Sol Ka-Zod elbows her stepdaughter in the side, but Kal has never seen his cousin heed that particular warning before. His aunt cannot be faulted for the gesture, as it is unseemly for an heir to the throne to dissociate herself from the ruling monarch so openly—even if only at the family table; but then again the only thing worse than that would be for Kara to have no opinion at all. As it is, the jab passes, and the conversation returns to its topic of choice for the past nine months or so: the Melokariel Proposition.

 Kal, knowing no one will think to ask for his opinion on the topic, takes a look to his right again, and freezes. Batman, despite maintaining as dignified a posture as can be, is making an unimaginable mess of their food. Bits of it have strayed from their plate; the rest stains both their hands and their forks...and that is when Kal realizes this should have been an entirely predictable outcome. What were the chances, after all, that Batman learned to use proper cutlery on whatever backwater planet they came from? The cost of forgetting your manners—and therefore, your place—is high on Krypton, however, and Kal is too well-aware of this to sit there and do nothing. He reaches over, ready to take action, when Zor raises his voice:

 “Mining the core is the only way to survive,” he says in a tone full of rebuke, catching Batman’s attention without effort.

 “So say Peacekeepers,” Jor retorts—too loud, too fast. “They have always been quick to demand and slow to think, but—”

 “Jor!” Kal’s mother exclaims, half reproof and half horror, at the same time as Zor warns:

 “It would do you good to remember which Guild your queen came from, brother.”

 Despite the fire, the atmosphere of the room grows chilly, and Kal has to force his fingers to relax as he closes them around his fork and table coil. He tilts his head to the side when the alien looks at him, left hand extended palm up toward Batman, coil hanging between his thumb and forefinger, and asks, “May I help you?”

 Batman looks at Kal for a few moments—or at least, they keep still, with their optical lenses pointed in the appropriate direction—before they nod. Kal nods in return and, in a practiced gesture, lifts the keltar’s nearest limb with his own fork, loops the coil around it, and slices it off the animal’s body by spreading his fingers. Batman makes no sound, and does not give any indication that they watched Kal's actions particularly closely, but when Kal outfits them with a coil of their own, Batman imitates the gesture almost perfectly, and then repeats it with diligence. There is something surprisingly circumspect in the way they move, as if trying to master the gesture in as little time as possible. It seems strange, to Kal, who tends to observe things for far too long before he makes a move, but it works in Batman’s favor, and they are eating cleanly in no time. Just in time, in fact, to hear Kal’s father snap:

 “If Tsiahm-Lo does vote in favor of the Proposition, he will truly lose the right to call himself the Wise King of anything, let alone Laborers!”

 “Jor-El!” Sol exclaims, obviously shocked.

 Even Kal’s mother doesn’t dare speak in support of her husband after that sort of claim, and it is easy for Kal to feel the assembly tense—even down to Batman—as Zor leans forward and says in a low voice:

 “I would guard my words if I were you, Jor. There are those who would consider such a statement dangerously close to treason.”

 The table is grimly silent for a moment, fragile balance poised on the edge of a knife, as Kal watches his father reconsider his words, swallow, and say:

 “Forgive me, everyone. I don’t know what came over me. Obviously, I misspoke.”

 On the opposite side of the table Lara, Sol and Kara all look distinctly relieved, though Kal can’t quite manage to relax his shoulders. He hunches in on himself a little closer instead, ignoring the way Batman’s attention seems to have moved away from their food and toward the conversation on the more interesting side of the table.

 Kara is the first to speak again.

 “If nothing else,” she says in a firm tone, “I don’t believe anyone should consider the Proposition without also considering its alternative.”

 The rest of the table mumbles their assent, until Sol and Lara join in and, soon enough, the debate veers away from the Melokariel Proposition itself and onto the merits of Krypton’s old colonial programs. Kal, who has little interest in joining that discussion either, presses his lips together and turns back to his food for the rest of the meal. Batman requires almost no further help, except when dessert comes and they seem more than a little perplexed by the singing flowers set atop the cakes.

 “You can eat them,” Kal says when Batman clears their throat and tilts their head toward their plate.

 “You?” Batman repeats, head tilted, while gesturing with their hand like they’re bringing something to their mouth.

 It isn’t the gesture Kal would use to signify eating, but context makes it easy to interpret. Kal repeats the verb for Batman’s benefit, rectifiescorrections their pronunciation to something more understandable than their first attempt, and starts thinking.

 There is no telling when—or if—Batman will leave Krypton. The Shadow of El passed along no word of anyone else in the alien’s spacecraft, and no one has reached out to El looking for a lost companion since the day before yesterday. There is a possibility—how much of one is impossible to tell, but the chance is real nonetheless—that no one is coming to rescue them. If so, they will need to integrate. They cannot possibly be expected to remain incapable of communication forever, and the odds of anyone volunteering to take them to a neighboring planet are minimal at best. As for waiting for his parents to think of Batman’s well-being...Kal would frankly rather not. And yet Batman will need to adapt and find a place in Ellon society.

 They will need to speak, Kal realizes. To learn the things they don’t know, to figure out the rules and customs of this place—for otherwise they leave themselves open to ridicule, contempt, or worse. As a man with experience dealing with two of these things, Kal finds himself loath to leave Batman to deal with them alone. Not when he knows he can, perhaps, do something about it.

 Kal is no expert linguist. In point of fact, he isn’t even a teacher. He is willing to help, though, and willing to spend some time trying to figure out the best way to help Batman around...which, he guesses, makes him the only choice available. It might be a bad idea. He has other things to do, after all. Responsibilities he cannot shirk. He is a Citadel Prince of El, though, and those responsibilities do extend to taking care of guests.

 He might not be the best choice for this, but if no one else will make time for the task, he will.

Raising his head at breakfast the next morning only to find Batman standing in front of him with the same serious expression they have always displayed is a surprise for Kal. He would say that he hadn’t expected the alien to seek him out quite that fast, but the truth is he hadn’t expected Batman to seek him out at all. Besides, it is long past breakfast time. Kal is still there, it is true, but that is only because he tends to work all night and barely emerges from his labs in time to ingest something before he collapses on his bed and sleeps most of the day away. Batman can’t possibly have missed that fact. Can they?

 Whatever the reason, the alien does not seem ready to stop looking at Kal in a way that makes him feel as though his use of his table coil is being assessed and found wanting. This is not, it is true, an uncommon sentiment for Kal. Most of his life has been spent in self-conscious discomfort. But the familiarity of the sensation does nothing to prevent a blush from rising into Kal’s ears until he feels like they are about to catch on fire.

 “Excuse me,” he tells the alien in an attempt to relieve some of the tension, “may I help you?”

 Batman remains stock still for a moment. Nothing in their expression shifts exactly, except perhaps for a certain sense of...looking for something. ‘Hesitation’ seems like too strong a sentiment, somehow, though it comes closest to what Kal perceives. Deliberation, then. Batman indulges in a few more seconds of it before they nod and take a seat in front of Kal. Behind him, Kal feels Kryo hover closer, perhaps out of a sense of misplaced protection, but the hunit does not do anything else.

 Meanwhile Batman has extended a hand and is pointing at Kal’s table coil, saying something in what Kal assumes is their birth language. He blinks, still a little too groggy to process this in a timely manner, and he is fairly sure he sees Batman’s lips tighten—a sure sign of exasperation on a Kryptonian—before they point at Kal:

 “I am Kal-El,” they say. Then, pointing at themselves: “I am Batman.”

 They point at the coil again then, and Kal blushes harder when he realizes the question was actually quite simple, and he should have understood it right away. He pushes past it, however, and answers with flaming cheeks:

 “This is a table coil.”

 “This is a table coil,” Batman repeats, pronunciation quite close to Kal’s.

 “Table coil,” Kal repeats nonetheless, just to make sure the alien will understand that only these two words designate the object they are asking about.

 That, and to make sure Batman won’t mispronounce it and accidentally refer to a very intimate part of the anatomy by accident.

 Batman, as has been the case so far, proves themselves a diligent learner, and manages a perfect rendition on the second try. Kal beams. He doesn’t stop to think, then, that Batman may not have been asking for a full vocabulary lesson when he points at his fork and says:

 “This is a fork .”

 “This is a fork,” Batman repeats, eyes fixed down on the table.

 Kal nods, grin widening despite himself, a thin bubble of pride growing in his chest.

 “This is a glass .”

 “This is a glass.”

 Kal walks Batman through several other eating implements—a plate, a spoon, a napkin—ever more pleased when Batman keeps getting the pronunciation right in two, sometimes three attempts at the most. They name all the items set on the table, eventually, and Kal imagines things will stop there for a moment, but then Batman points at the table itself and says, “This is….” with a tilt of their head.

 “This is a table,” Kal informs them. Then, because he can’t think of a better way to explain the question, he seizes his glass again and, with a tilt of his head similar to Batman’s, asks: “What is this?”

 Batman nods at that, mouth slanting...well, not into a smile, maybe, but a more relaxed angle, at least. Something that seems to hint Batman has finally found something worth considering in Kal, and, well. It would be a lie to say it does not affect him. There is something—giddy, almost, but also rewarding about this. About knowing he is useful here and that what he is doing right now will be—perhaps ‘appreciated' is the wrong word. Batman would be well within their rights to consider teaching them the language a demonstration of basic courtesy on the part of their hosts. Even so, whatever Batman learns and remembers this morning will be useful to them in the future. The sentiment is exhilarating. It loosens Kal’s shoulders, make him more willing to smile as he tries to mime the concept of a room in order to explain the word ‘parlor’.

 By the time they stop, almost an hour later—and then only because Kryo reminds Kal today is the day of his annual health examination—Kal has had time to fill his chest with so much satisfaction at a job well done he feels almost no self-consciousness at the gesticulating he has to engage in to explain that he needs to leave. Batman nods, somewhat less stiff than they usually seem to be, and then says two words—at least it sounds like two distinct words—in their language.

 Kal, caught off guard, nods back, close-lipped and tenser than he would like to be, and doesn’t look back as he leaves the room at an appropriately sedate pace, Kryo hovering at his elbow. He is in the process of trying to breathe his heartbeat into something more acceptable when the questions—the sudden uncertainty—become too much to handle, and he asks, “That probably meant thank you, didn’t it? No reason for them to—”

 To what, exactly? Mock Kal? Judge him? Insult him? None of these possibilities make any rational sense. Context, and Batman’s attitude, both point towards the alien’s words being some form of thanks but—but what if it wasn’t? Kal is familiar with his mind's tendencies. Its ability to twist even the most innocuous things into catastrophes has been a part of his existence for as long as he remembers, and he knows better than to listen to it without reserve.

 But still, a persistent part of him asks, what if he made a fool of himself this morning and did not realize it? What if Batman was only indulging him and could not hold it back any longer? What if they found Kal the dullest, most profoundly boring creature they have met in their entire existence, and are now determined to avoid him at any cost? The chances are slim—very slim, even—but….

 “You are panicking again,” Kryo says in its usual dispassionate tone.

 Kal does not hush it, but he does think about it. These concerns of his are...irrational, most of the time. He knows this. Not always, though. Kal has made a mess of things without meaning to before, has been found wanting in many and varied respects—numerous times, even—and Batman...well. It did seem, for a moment there, like Batman didn’t completely despise spending an extended period of time in Kal’s company. That is a good sign. But others have pretended as much before, and Kal should have remembered that; should have paid more attention to what he was doing, put more care into remaining—unobtrusive. Yes, that would be the right word. He knows how dull he is after all, should keep it in mind lest he keep making the same mistakes he made today—too solicitous, he’s sure, treating Batman like an imbecile or...or whatever else he did, really. It will come to him, he knows.

 “Kal,” Kryo points out again as they round a corridor towards the palace doctors’ offices, “you are panicking again. Calm down.”

 Never has that particular command been of any help in the past, but Kal has long since given up on trying to get it out of Kryo’s programming. He bites down on his instinctive rejection of the advice and breathes in deep instead. Then he asks, “Would you calculate the probability of what Batman said meaning ‘thank you’, please?”

 “Situational elements suggest an 85% chance that that would be an appropriate translation of their words,” Kryo replies. “The scarcity of available data means linguistic calculations might take as long as four weeks to process. Do you wish me to proceed?”

 “No, thank you,” Kal says.

 Eighty-five percent, he tells himself even as he knocks on the door to the doctor’s office. That doesn’t sound so bad. Granted, there is still a fifteen percent chance he misread the situation entirely. A fifteen percent chance Batman was seeking him for very different reasons—although he cannot fathom what those reasons might have been—and he only managed to annoy them beyond belief. Fifteen percent chances are more than enough to send his heart racing; more than enough to half convince him he should, perhaps, consider shutting himself off from the world for good, if only it would ensure he never made that sort of mistake again.

 “Good morning, Your Majesty,” the head physician says when she opens the door.

 She gives Kal a familiar once over, takes his expression in—and this time, Kal knows he is not imagining the exasperation. Sighing, he follow her lead and tries to steel himself for the upcoming assessment and the myriad of little embarrassments that come with it.

  The examination goes well enough, except for a few awkward bruises and wounds Kal has to admit he got from lugging heavy objects around in his labs—“If you’ll beg my pardon, Your Majesty, I know people lighter than these plants of yours,” the doctor says. Kal gives her an awkward smile and changes the topic; something new to be needlessly embarrassed about. The plants are nothing big, truly, nothing anyone would find really remarkable. Kal is known for being chiefly interested in botany, though, and most people do not associate this with sprained ankles or bruised ribs; so every instance of someone finding out must be followed by an uneasy reminder that Kal does not live a dangerous life at all but is, rather, ridiculously clumsy...and getting clumsier as the years go by.

 Still, he does escape the doctor’s office eventually, relief more than palpable in every single one of his veins. Then he gets to his laboratories, settles down behind the floor-to-ceiling, one-way window, and proceeds to lose himself in work.

 He is in the middle of a—lengthening—break several hours later, when Kara’s voice rings from the top of the stairs and bounces against the spherical ceiling of the comparatively minuscule room:

 “I might wish to update your security protocols,” she says, her footsteps gradually losing themselves in Kal’s small forest of growing plants. “They barely reacted when I approached the door.”

 “Of course they did,” Kal says without looking away from his current notes, “they know you. Besides, it wouldn’t do to give anyone the impression I’m trying to hide something in here, would it?”

 Kara hums from where, if the rustling is to be trusted, she is poking at Kal’s morose-looking keva vines. Not that he takes poor care of them—he hardly does anything else with his days, after all. But Krypton’s atmosphere has been profoundly changed by the ever-more-intensive mining projects grinding away at its soil, filling the air with more dust than many plants find it possible to survive. Some biomes have been able to adapt on their own in the northern parts of the planet, where mining activity has been subdued by the lack of remaining material worth the effort. But El is one of the least-affected Principalities. The worst of the work is yet to come, here, and while the king—in his wisdom—has remained steadfastly convinced no problem could arise from an intensification of industrial production, Kal has always been more...anxious.

 It was easy to combine this with his scientific curiosity and indulge in the sort of pet project none of his family members could truly disapprove of, despite his lack of formal education on the topic. Kara, for her part, has never quite seemed to understand Kal’s enthusiasm for his test subjects, and barely bothers to feign an apology when she accidentally snaps a leaf off a luat bush.

 “They seem to be doing better,” she says with a polite smile even as she places the broken leaf back into the luat’s force-field, the atmosphere set to mimic a seventy percent air pollution rate. She wipes her hand clean with a nearby rag before she continues: “Perhaps you are finally succeeding.”

 “We did move from a five percent survival rate to ten,” Kal replies without mirth.

 “Ah. Well...at least there is progress?”

 Kal tilts his head in concession, and then stiffens when Kara finally walks up to his desk and leans over his shoulder. The working lights, brighter than any other in the lab, must obstruct her view: she reaches for Kal’s papers, and although his first instinct is to grab after them, he knows better than to attempt it. Kara has, after all, been training all her life never to take no for an answer. Not at face value, in any case. Kal hesitates. Fidgets. At last, when he is sure Kara must have completed at least her second reading of what notes he has, he can’t help but ignore the skepticism in her expression and ask:

 “What do you think?”

 Kara’s lips purse into a doubtful expression, and she chews on her tongue for a second. Curbing her answer to sound more diplomatic, then. Perhaps Kal should warn her to get rid of the tell.

 “I can’t say that I have much expertise in linguistics,” Kara says at last.

 Biting down on a sigh, Kal reaches for his notes again, and meets no resistance from his cousin. He eyes his teaching plan for what must be the hundredth time today, and thinks.

Batman’s species is unknown on Krypton. Taking care of them has worked out all right so far, but nothing says they won’t be confronted with unexpected problems later on. They must be able to satisfy their basic needs on their own, which means they must be able to obtain food, drinks, sleeping accommodations and hygiene products. This implies naming said items, and learning how to ask lower-ranked individuals for services and thank them appropriately afterwards. Other things will come, such as asking for and understanding directions to various places, greeting individuals of various ranks and, of course, learning to make some form of conversation with the royal family without provoking an incident.

Kal is in the process of revising what he should focus on first and which verbal form to prioritize—desperately trying to remember his first lessons in any language in the process—when Kara sighs, sits on his desk next to him and asks:

 “How long do you believe this will take?”

 “A few months, I suppose?” Kal hazards. “They seem to be a fast learner, and they have more pressing motivation to learn Ellon than I did to learn La’u—”

 “I never understood why you even chose to learn La’u when you didn’t have to,” Kara interjects with a wink.

 Being ten years Kal’s senior means Kara was well into her La’u lessons by the time Kal started grasping the basics of Council, but he did hear his tutors rejoice about his prowess enough to imagine the sort of pains it must have caused Kara to learn it. Frequency-based languages are a struggle for anyone more used to words, but the fact that La’u uses deeper frequencies for more polite speech can hardly have helped Kara and her light voice. In any case, Kal himself struggled enough with the language that he cannot fully blame his cousin for her surprise.

 Still, the specifics of La’u are not the point, and Kal continues:

 “Hopefully they at least know what conjugations are, but we cannot be sure, and if they do not, it could add months of teaching in order for them to grasp the basics. And after that—”

 “After that?” Kara exclaims, but Kal is surveying his teaching plan again and only half paying attention to his cousin when he says:

 “Do not worry, I only intend to teach them Court Member forms, at first. That should serve them well enough until—”

 “Kal, I wasn’t—don’t you think you are taking on quite a lot of responsibility with this?”

 Something shrivels in Kal’s chest, a hopeful seed squashed to the ground by a distracted boot, and he hunches in on himself before he even realizes it. He does attempt to deflect the question with a shrug, but Kara would not be Kara if she could be satisfied with a non-answer of that sort.

 “Kal. You are a Citadel Prince. You are a busy man—”

 “I do believe you are confusing our timetables,” Kal mutters, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

 “Even so,” Kara insists, after clearing her throat, “your plants take up quite a lot of time and work, especially the nocturnal ones.”

 “I am well aware,” Kal tells the piece of paper he wrote Batman’s lesson plan on, “but even so, I am not half as busy as you are. I think I should be able to handle this.”

 With a shake of her head, Kara clicks her tongue and rises from the desk, walking to the disused elevator shaft that crosses Kal’s lab and knocking on it with her knuckles. “You know I believe in this project of yours, Kal. There is a reason I wanted to get involved. I know you will continue to give it your best effort—but I also worry you might be taking on responsibilities that are not yours.”

 “Batman is a guest under my family’s roof,” Kal points out, trying to keep his tone mild despite the sudden spike of irritation in his chest. “I do have responsibilities—”

 “There are plenty of tutors in our service—”

 “I’m quite aware,” Kal replies with more bitterness than he thought he had in store for the memory of his old teachers. “I remember my time with them, and I would rather spare Batman that.”

 “I know you did not enjoy your basic studies,” Kara starts, “but perhaps if you hadn’t been so difficult, things wouldn’t have been so hard for you.”

 Kal gapes for a moment, breath stolen by the sharp stab of pain in his chest at Kara’s words. She means well, he knows. And perhaps...perhaps, in some ways, she is right. It is possible—not probable, but possible—that Kal caving in to his teachers’ demands to specialize in the learnings of one Guild would have made his youth easier. It isn’t the done thing, after all, to ignore traditional limits the way Kal does. To defy genetic marking and engage in activities best left to those who were engineered for them. Still, what was he supposed to do?

 The very source of his fame is that Kal does not have any Guild markers in his genome. That he is, in fact, the only Kryptonian to have lived without them in centuries and, if the way his life has gone so far is to be taken as an example, for centuries to come. Why Vohc allowed him to be created—why Rao did not do him the mercy of never allowing his mother’s pregnancy to come to term at all—is a mystery for the ages. Still, the fact remains that he would never have been accepted in any Guild, no matter how well he studied. Believers, Workers, Thinkers…none of them would have wanted him. Why else would Kal’s teachers have scoffed when he asked if he would ever be allowed to learn any of the Guilds’ languages?

 It is most likely that Kara believes what she is saying. She has always been kind to Kal, and treated him as an equal, if something of an incomprehensible one. But the truth is that Kal’s tutors were ever unprepared for him—and he was a son of Krypton. How they would react to an alien, Kal would rather not find out. Not, in any case, if it means taking the risk of making Batman feel the way Kal did during his training.

 Taking a deep breath, Kal forces himself to straighten his shoulders as much as he can and, sidestepping the ever-delicate subject of his former tutors’ treatment of him, says, “Perhaps you are right. Even so, I have already invested time and effort in this project. I should very much like to bring it to fruition. I have talked with Batman—”

 “Is that his name?”

 “It is. Though we cannot know for sure whether they are a he—or if this concept even exists where they come from.”

 Kara concedes the point with a nod.

 “They seem to be an interesting person,” Kal continues. “I would like to get to know them better, but I cannot do that unless they learn to communicate with us and I spend some time with them. Teaching them Ellon seems like the ideal way to accomplish both of these things.

 Silence falls around them, and Kara fixes her gaze on Kal for a long time, a skeptical moue firmly set on her lips.

 “Very well,” she says at last, sighing in defeat the way she would never allow herself to if Kal were anyone else. It fills his answering sigh with gratitude. “Although I fail to understand what makes him—them—more interesting than any of the other aliens you have met and failed to befriend before.”

 She kisses Kal’s forehead before she goes, not noticing how still he has gone. He has to be still. He would cry if he weren’t, the shame of his own inadequacy catching up with him with the force of a laser blast. He tries to explain it later, only to himself—only in the privacy of his own head—but he can’t quite put it into words without finally breaking down into sobs: the way it felt to have Batman see him as a simple stranger, rather than a well-established failure .

 It is, sadly enough, a practiced routine to ignore Kryo’s bland inquiries about his health.

  It takes Kal some time, after his and Kara’s non-fight in his lab, to realize she must not have come to see him so they could discuss his newfound interest for the art of teaching. In fact, it takes him a full night of reflection—earning him several bruises and possibly a cracked rib that could otherwise have been easily avoided. Kara is busy all of the next morning, and Kal uses that time to sleep like the dead for a while longer, before he goes to visit her in the upper levels of the royal palace.

 “I understand,” she says when Kal is done apologizing, eyes on the floor as if he were still a little boy of ten trying to live up to his adult cousin’s expectations. “I suppose I wasn’t at my best myself.”

 Kal nods, struck mute now that he has said his piece, and waits for Kara to set what she was working on aside and add:

 “I wanted to ask what you thought of the Turn of the Year Ball. You did not dance much.”

 “You know I mislike it,” Kal says with an embarrassed shrug. “It accomplishes nothing save providing the court more fodder for gossip.”

 He glances up just in time to catch Kara’s knowing look, and feels himself blush. It shouldn’t be an embarrassment, for her to know what the court has to say about Kal. He has been a source of gossip for longer than he can remember, after all, and she must have been aware of this long before he ever began to suspect there was something wrong with him. Still, discussing a source of humiliation is not the same as being aware of its existence, and for a moment Kal finds himself quite unable to speak.

 “I understand,” Kara says with the same soft tone she always uses in these conversations of theirs. “I imagine you wanted some fresh air after that.”

 “I tried, but the main balcony was rather occupied,” Kal remarks, forcing himself to take his hands out from behind his back, only to twist them together again at his front. “Lady Ra-Ny was there.”

 “Well,” Kara says, her tone as mild as her eyes are sharp, “she does like her space. Did you see who else was there?”

 “Lord Ko Li-Van of Ul, Lord Nej Tar-Plak from Po—along with his lady wife—”

 “Ce-Qod? I thought she was too sickly to travel.”

 Kal gives a nonchalant shrug, dragging his eyes back down to the ground, heart hammering in his chest.

 “So did several others in their assembly,” he says. “One must assume she made an effort for the sake of the opportunity to meet your father.”

 “Indeed,” Kara replies, thoughtful.

 Kal glances up and finds her looking down at her work, though her pen hand is not moving.

 “It seems quite a lot of Worker Princes and Princesses were hoping for the honor of meeting our king, this week. One can only wonder why.”

 She looks up then, straight into Kal’s eyes, and he shrugs.

 “Perhaps they were simply hoping to present him with well-wishing gifts for the Turn of the Year. I did hear some of them trade ideas among themselves. I believe Shadow’s limbs were invoked more than once; or, failing that, some form of garment patterned with Dark Suns.”

 “Well, thank you, Kal,” Kara tells him after a long silence, features and shoulders as stiff as stone. “You always do pick up the best gossip.”

 Kal, who knows the way his cousin looks when she needs to think on something, nods, and makes his way back to his family’s level of the palace.

  Once he is back in his family’s dwellings, Kal decides it would be best not to put off his teaching project. The prospect of approaching Batman might be mildly terrifying—though the memory of their willingness to tolerate Kal helps—but it is a necessary step for anything to happen. Besides, teaching or no teaching, it would not do to leave Batman to their own devices like an inconvenient visitor one tries to get rid of, having been followed home.

 He finds Batman, after some searching, in one of the smaller libraries of the palace, not too far from the guests’ quarters. Neither the apartments nor the library have seen much use in many years, and the silence around them is enough to set Kal’s nerves on alert, but Batman looks unbothered by it. They've taken a seat by one of the curved windows, relaxed pose incongruous in contrast to the stiffness of their clothes—perhaps Kal should see about having something else made for them—with a book on their lap and something close to a scowl on their mouth.

 Kal steps closer, and recognizes the cover of The Adventures of Flamebird . The character is a rather popular hero in El legend: a servant of Rao who went around the world helping those they could—for their gender was never revealed, if indeed they had even had one—and did so well on their quest that the Sun God himself gave them a home atop the highest mountain of the world and allowed them to call themselves Xen-El: Xen of the light, under the protection of the Helper God himself. The story itself was nothing truly original, merely a collection of legends that had lived in El for millennia before Kal’s great grandparents were even conceived...but Kal spent many a solitary hour poring over this book, devouring Flamebird’s adventures, their discovery, and their friendship with Nightwing, who rose in service of Vohc and became the first true Thinker of Krypton.

 The book itself, in fact, shows the wear of such a love. It is creased and bent where multiple sets of hands were cajoled into holding it open for Kal...and later on, from many instances of bringing it along on official travels or solitary explorations, until the order was finally given to find it a home in the guests’ library. Kal’s lips twist with the memories. There are entire sentences of the work still carved into his mind. They are not, unfortunately, the ones his parents wanted him to learn—these were lost to time, but Kal retains the vague impression of certitude coming from them, the edge of despair creeping into their voices until they could no longer cling to the hope that Kal would, one day, reveal himself as Rao’s heir and lead El back to its former glory. Nonetheless, some parts of this book Kal could recite without looking at them, and he cannot help but smile when he sees such a beloved item in the hands of someone he hopes to come to know and respect in the future.

 Batman must be attempting to teach themselves Ellon with this book. It is a commendable effort, and something Kal might have attempted in their situation, but if the alien’s face is anything to go by the experiment is not quite yielding the expected results. Then again, as far as Kal knows, Krypton’s alphabet is quite unique in the galaxy, so unless Batman is somehow familiar with something similar, it is hardly a surprise that they are finding it hard to make sense of.

 Stepping closer, Kal clears his throat and says, “I might be able to help with that.”

 It is unclear whether Batman was already aware of Kal’s presence or if they simply have commendable control of their body’s reactions. Either way, they give no sign of surprise that Kal can see. The window does offer quite the vantage point over the library, it is true. Its round frame dominates a circular room, covered floor to ceiling with the yields of thousands of years of book collecting. The truly rare editions, made of organic fibers rather than the synthetic paper everyone uses nowadays, are of course stored in the master library. Still, this particular collection is nothing to blush at, and Kal inhales the dusty smell of many books collected together with a form of reverence, even as he waits for Batman’s response.

 The alien, for their part, hasn’t moved at all since Kal entered, as if waiting to see what might happen next. The image puts Kal in mind of a predator surveying its hunting ground...although, perhaps, with more benevolence than most. It would seem...unlikely, to most, for a royal guest to keep track of people’s comings and goings around here. Then again, those same people would also deem it impossible for Kal to notice half as much as he does, and so he does not entirely dismiss the possibility.

 He endures Batman’s scrutiny instead, resisting the urge to flush and hunch in on himself even further than he already does. Thankfully, after a long moment of contemplation, Batman says something in their own language—Kal could slap himself for expecting anything more, really. Of course, Batman wouldn’t be able to answer. That is the entire point of this conversation, isn’t it? Rao, Kal. Keep up.

 “I would,” Kal starts, and winces again. Simple words, in this situation, must be best. He tries again: “I want to help you speak Ellon.”

 Batman stays silent again, the cowl obscuring their expression in a way that leaves Kal at a complete loss. He does not have the strength to wait as long as he did the first time around, though, and so he steps forward, points at The Adventures of Flamebird and its colorful pages, and says, “This is a book.”

 He might, possibly, have imagined the way Batman’s lips quirk into the not-quite-smile Kal is beginning to suspect is their best approximation of an encouraging expression. Regardless, no rebuttal or rejection comes, and Kal allows himself to sigh in relief when Batman dutifully repeats the word. Then, Batman gestures for Kal to sit down next to them and Kal takes a place on the windowsill with rather more giddy enthusiasm than he’d expected to feel.

 “May I?” he asks, hand hovering over the book.

 He waits for Batman to push the collection into his hand and flips through the pages to the beginning of Flamebird and the Secret Lake . There, he points at the illustration and says:

 “This is water.”

 “Water,” Batman repeats with a small nod.

 Kal beams at them before he can think better of it, then flips through a few more pages to the part where Flamebird serves one of the old Lords of Krypton to prevent a servant from losing their place in the palace; points at the picture of a glass, and asks:

 “What is this?”

 “This is a glass,” Batman says.

 Kal grins again, and goes through several more illustrations, naming objects and checking back on Batman’s memory at regular intervals. It is easy to find the material he needs, the book so beloved it feels like he might be able to find specific pages without even looking. At some point, he drops it in his excitement, and thanks Batman when they pick it up for him, but otherwise a solid half hour is spent on nothing but new vocabulary. Until, that is, Kal realizes he cannot possibly expect Batman to memorize all of this without any sort of support.

 He manages to refrain from apologizing—although only because knows Batman would not understand the words—as he rises from his seat and goes to fetch Batman something to write on. He is not, technically, supposed to use the blank books stored at the bottom of the shelves, but then no one ever does, and he does not think they have been counted even once since he was born. He finds one with a black cover and the El coat of arms in silver embossing on the front, the lined pages inside ideal for a long list of vocabulary, and brings it back up to the windowsill.

 “Thank you,” Batman says, and Kal gasps and blanches.

 “Oh Rao, no, no! You can’t address me this way, you have no idea how much trouble—”

 Kal cuts himself off, face and neck heated enough to cook on them. Of course Batman has no idea what they've done. Kal should have anticipated this, even: they did run into this particular problem before. Kal...well, he does not mind what is technically disrespect. Quite the contrary, in fact. But others? Oh, others definitely will mind, quick though they are to forget Kal is a Citadel Prince when their lust for gossip overtakes them. Batman, of course, is unaware of the problem, and does not have enough understanding of Ellon for Kal to explain it to them as of yet, not without running the risk of confusing them for a long time to come—which means the situation calls for some social gymnastics.

 So, Batman is an alien. In theory, this would make them lower-ranked than any Kryptonian, let alone an Ellon in their own Principality. They are, however, also a guest of the royal family, however reluctant their hosts. This, in turn, will protect them from quite a lot of negative reactions, despite Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van’s disgrace. Servants’ modes of speaking are, of course, quite out of the question; but Batman cannot be allowed to address Citadel Lords and Ladies like equals either, or they will end up in a world of trouble. Which means they probably ought to talk like a Mountain Lord then, or at least as if close to them in status. It is, after all, unlikely that they will run into anyone ranking any lower than that while they are staying in the palace, and if they are to visit other parts of El...well, hopefully, they will wait until they can communicate better before they attempt it.

 “Let’s try again,” Kal offers, once his grammar is decided. “’Thank you’.”

 “Thank you,” Batman repeats, something in the way they move making Kal wonder if they have picked up on some of the social cues involved.

 Regardless, they do not seem eager to question the new, quite different version of the phrase, and Kal beams again, hard enough to push the embarrassment of his earlier mistake almost out of his mind. He ignores the lingering traces of it for the time being in order to pull Batman’s notebook open, pen a rapid sketch of a glass in the left hand margin, and label the drawing in his most careful schoolboy handwriting. He hands Batman the pen when they tap his wrist, and repeats the word when asked, impressed when Batman adds notes in what looks like two different alphabets of their home world.

 They archive the rest of what Batman has learned so far in the same manner, Kal flipping through the pages of The Adventures of Flamebird between words, finding his favorite illustrations without much effort, even though it has been years. After the words come sentences, and Batman puts them through the same process as the rest, writing down both the way they are to be pronounced and what Kal assumes is a translation below the Kryptonian letters. Then, after a while, Batman speaks again, in that strange language of theirs.

 Kal turns back to them, only for them to point down at the book and repeat whatever they were saying. The words, obviously, are entirely opaque, but the sentiment behind them seems easy to interpret, and Kal decides to go out on a limb in order to answer.

 “This is one of my favorite books.”

 He clutches the book to his chest with a wider smile than he remembers sporting in years, excited to meet someone whose reaction to the stories does not range from fond amusement to open disinterest for a collection of children’s tales.

 “Favorite books,” Batman repeats, and Kal beams again, closing the book to point at the cover.

 “They are Flamebird,” he tells Batman. “The legends say they were the very first El of Krypton.”

 Batman looks—not invested in the topic, perhaps, but mildly interested, if their mouth is any indication. No more disinterested than before, at any rate. And Kal—Kal has had few occasions to discuss a book he is passionate about in his life, his family not much for fiction. This, most likely, explains how he manages to spend over three hours talking Batman’s ears off about the book and why, in the end, even the mortifying certitude he must have bored the alien almost to tears isn’t quite enough to prevent him from seeking their company the next day.

  Batman progresses much faster than Kal expected. It takes them only two weeks to remember the numerous words Kal plied them with during their first lesson—something of a mistake, perhaps, to throw so many words at them and expect they would remember them all so soon—and then only about a week after that to grow quite at ease in asking for what they need at the dining table. Where before Kal used to remain silent while his parents or the rest of his family discussed one topic or another, he is now able to put this time to good use helping Batman improve their mastery of Ellon with an enthusiasm he does not remember feeling for the rest of his work before.

 He does not neglect his studies, of course, and Kara eventually stops feeling the need to ask if he is still fit to take care of his nocturnal plants. He does, however, spend most of his afternoons in the guests’ library with Batman, learning bits and pieces of Batman’s language through their alphabet of sound, and engaging in more and more complex discussions about Flamebird and the various legends surrounding them.

 He convinces Batman to let themselves be measured—with their uniform on—during the second week, and presents them with a black and cowled variation on the latest fads in Ellon fashion, the slashed sleeves of their new tunic opening up to reveal lighter gray underneath, and the strange motif of Batman’s original outfit embossed on a breastplate similar to what even Kal has taken to wearing on a regular basis.

 “Thank you,” Batman says when they receive the gift, although Kal is rather unsurprised to find their expression as mild as ever.

 “You are quite welcome,” he says. “I know the old one is cleaned every night, but I also know how uncomfortable it can be to wear the same thing every day.”

 He cannot be sure Batman truly glances up at him at the words, covered as their face is, but he does get the impression of it nonetheless. They have, after all, been spending almost all their time together these days—save for the one evening his uncle received a small group of Worker Princes and Princesses in the Stateroom of Peace, and Kal put his family’s absence to good use, excusing himself early to work on his nocturnal specimens. Such proximity makes it easier to understand someone’s expression, limited though their shared vocabulary may be, and so Kal is, perhaps, not caught as wholly off guard as he could have been when Batman asks, “Is this Nightwing?”

 Despite having anticipated the question, Kal blushes. It is one thing to draw inspiration from a legendary hero for a friend’s outfit, it is quite another to have them pick up on it. Not that Kal is too concerned about anyone else understanding the reference, seeing as Nightwing had fallen into disrepute long before he was born.

 “Perhaps,” he hedges, though it does not feel like Batman believes him.

 Nightwing was once as popular a legendary character as Flamebird, at least in El. He was, after all, the very first Thinker, and Thinkers are El’s favored Guild. Many Els have been engineered to be Thinkers in the past, and Kal’s family members are no exception. Why, his father even married into his own Guild, a rather unusual choice for royals. But where Nightwing, and his patron God Vohc, was once revered and respected as a leader of the people and a Builder of great things, later centuries turned him from ambitious to proud, from charismatic to authoritarian, from an instigator of beneficial change to an agent of chaos.

 In El, at least, it is Rao who now presides over the Gods, guiding them with his light to follow the rituals set thousands of years before by early Ellons. Flamebird, too timid and too tangled in the story of Nightwing, has also been largely relegated to the role of fairytale character, following in Rao’s footsteps with unwavering loyalty and teaching the young how to make their parents proud. A worthy goal, Jor-El used to say when Kal was little; and Kal’s destiny, his mother would add. To make them proud. Not that it did them—or Kal—any good but then the future is a hard thing to predict, and Kal did not turn out to resemble Rao in the slightest.

It was, perhaps, quite inevitable that Kal would never meet anyone who shared his preference for the older versions of the tales.

 “I like it,” Batman says at last.

 The tears catching in Kal’s throat are a surprise but he does, thankfully, manage to keep them from falling.

  Weeks turn into a month, and then another beyond that. Batman continues to progress in Ellon at astonishing speed, his—not their, as he tells Kal at the end of his first month on Krypton—ability to pick up on a word’s meaning and the complex grammatical structures of Ellon beyond anything Kal has ever heard of. Not, of course, that many people are willing to discuss much of their lives with him, language learning included, but still. He did read a few books on the theory of language acquisition, after all, and from what he sees either Batman comes from an especially quick-witted species, or he is even more exceptional than Kal suspected.

 Eventually, Kal’s parents start talking to him a little. Nothing more than idle conversation in between more important errands, but it is still progress, and an occasion for Batman to practice his skills with someone other than Kal. It...worries Kal, in the beginning. A selfish reaction, he knows—but Batman is smart, with a dry sense of humor Kal can’t help but grin at, and prone to engage in the sort of verbal sparring that makes Kal feel more alive, somehow. Talking to him—existing next to him—is a breath of fresh air. It is the very first time Kal has met someone who doesn't merely tolerate him, but rather, for some reason, seems to appreciate him.

 So it is...understandable, perhaps, if not honorable, that he fears losing this once Jor and Lara start addressing Batman over the dining table. He won’t do anything to stop it, of course. Knows better than to keep someone he has come to care for more than he ever planned to from making new friends and building himself a life on Krypton and in El...but there is still a part of him that sighs in relief once it becomes obvious something about the Prince and Princess of El’s conversation displeases Batman. Not much. Not enough for him to shun them entirely. Just—just enough for Kal to pick up on it and feel selfishly, shamefully glad.

 Kal is, in all honesty, not as good a person as he wishes he could be.

 Nevertheless, Batman does not desert Kal, and when the time comes for him to be invited to one of King Jor’s minor receptions, he appears on Kal’s doorstep long before they are to join the rest of the palace’s occupants for the descent into the Stateroom.

 He looks—well, Kal has always known Batman looked good, even in the strange, almost goofy outfit he brought from this Earth of his. Shoulders like his cannot be disguised by what is clearly thought of as a set of armor. The softer fabrics of El’s ceremonial outfits, however, the elegant work of the decorative breastplate and the geometrical embroideries—all of these combine to reveal a body no one would have to blush at. A body Kal may well be thinking of a tad more often than he is supposed to, hidden as it is behind its layers of clothes.

 “I would offer my assistance,” Kal says when he has made sure he isn’t staring, “but it seems to me like you have everything under control.”

 “Contrary to what everyone seems to think, there are things I am quite able to handle on this planet.”

 Kal chuckles despite himself, and hides the smile that lingers on his face by busying himself with the fastenings of his tunic. It has only been a week since Batman started talking to him as an equal and while Kal should, by all accounts, maintain a proper distance between him and someone so insignificant in Kryptonian society, he finds he does not want to. What does it matter, that Batman is a nobody from nowhere, if he is Kal’s friend?

 “Well, the outfit suits you well,” Kal tells Batman as he finishes putting his breastplate in place.

 “Black does seem to be my color,” Batman agrees, a dry blankness to his tone that makes Kal smile again, “even when everyone else satisfies themselves with the darkest khaki s I’ve ever seen.”

 It takes a bit of time for Kal to understand what khaki means and provide a decent translation. When that is done, though, he cannot help but agree with Batman as to the rather monochromatic state of Kryptonian fashion. Most fabrics that Kal is familiar with are dark and muted, as if the light had been leached out of them, so that the solid black and gray of Batman’s outfits seem almost bright by comparison. It is a good look on his friend, though, and Kal finds himself toying with the idea of saying so as they move to join the rest of his family at the entrance to the Way Down.

 “It is a fancier name than it needs,” Kal admits, rubbing at his neck in embarrassment, once Batman asks about it. “But it is the only way to reach the Stateroom of Peace from here, so….”

 “The only way?”

 “There are the service elevators, I suppose,” Kal says with a shrug.

 There used to be five of those, actually, disseminated at various points around the palace, until the lower botany labs were built and one of the shafts had to be closed; one of Kal’s ancestors disliked the coming and going of servants so close to them. Nowadays the serving staff use the four remaining—small and uncomfortable—service shafts, deliveries are made through a specific balcony, and Kal’s family uses the Way Down, voices echoing against the room-wide walls of polished metal. The feeling of it is rather like sitting in an egg meant to welcome forty adult Kryptonians, and Kal cannot help but wonder how much of his discomfort every time he goes down rests on that particular architectural choice and how much is simply due to what he knows he will have to face downstairs.

 “You live in a fortress,” Batman says after a pause.

 His gaze is still firmly set forward, his shoulders unmoved. Yet there is something in his tone that squeezes at Kal’s heart, a sort of tightness he isn’t sure he can figure out on his own. It leaves him nervous and tense, more hunched than he would like as he fiddles with the hems of his sleeves.

 His father, when he notices it, pulls Kal's hands apart without a word.

 “It is unbecoming,” Kal’s mother says with a shake of her head. “You must rid yourself of this habit, Kal.”

 Kal leaves his cuffs alone and mumbles an apology, though he can’t help but try and explain himself.

 “No one is as fond of these occasions as they would like to appear,” Jor-El replies as the seven of them step into the elevator, “but you cannot shame our House with that sort of ridiculous behavior.”

 Resisting the urge to wrap his arms around his midsection—a much bigger embarrassment than simple fiddling—Kal nods at the ground. It is, in all honesty, a good thing that Batman is here. Kal has no desire for his friend to realize how pathetic he can be just yet—or perhaps ever—and so it is easier to keep his shoulders straight than it would usually be. Besides, while Kal has no illusion about the interest people may find in him—very little, if any—Batman still hasn’t tired of him. In fact, the alien has treated him with something not unlike a form of fondness, like tolerating a faulty but well-worn hunit. It isn’t much. Kal knows it isn’t much. It is, however, better than he remembers ever knowing elsewhere, and it helps him keep his self-consciousness at bay as he takes a small step away from his family and toward Batman.

 They both stay quiet during the ride down, Batman having learned by now not to expect too much conversation from Kal’s parents. Brilliant scientists they may both be, but they are not teachers, nor very patient. And so, despite the keenness of Batman’s mind, behind that strange cowl of his, he has been forced to content with Kal as his only company...until, that is, rumors of his progress reached the Citadel Lord and Ladies, and he was invited to this latest function.

 “Are you always this nervous?” Batman asks just before they exit the elevator.

 Kal would like to have the conversational skill and the confidence to answer ‘often enough’, but in truth it is not that much of an exaggeration to say, “Yes.”

 Batman, thankfully, is not prone to clicking his tongue, shaking his head or, indeed, acknowledging his emotions or opinions in any voluntary way at all. This is good, because while Kal is slowly learning to read the alien—the man, he should probably call him—it makes it easier to pretend Batman doesn’t think he is being ridiculous for this. Kal squares his shoulders instead, breathing in and bracing himself just as the doors to the Stateroom open and the members of the royal family are introduced by order of importance.

 The Stateroom, far too vast for this fairly intimate assembly, has been divided in two for the night. At the front, closest to the exit of the Way Down, stands the royal table, at which Batman, Kal, and the rest of the family will sit on display for all the court to see for the duration of dinner. Then the assembly will move to the back of the room for the evening’s first dance—a mandatory exercise, Kal has been informed—and the other points of interest. There are professional dancers, two magicians, three jugglers, and one woman whose business is in fire; Kal would rather spend the evening admiring them all than dance for even a few minutes, but that is, unfortunately, not an option.

 By Kal’s side, Batman seems decidedly unperturbed by the crowd, the noise, and the myriad of occasions one has to embarrass themselves in this sort of public setting. He moves the way he has always done, head held high as a king’s, back unbowed, step unafraid. He behaves, in fact, more like a prince than Kal knows how to.

 As soon as the first nobles have paid their respects to the king and come to engage the mysterious resident of the palace, Batman slips into an almost liquid version of himself. His mouth stretches into a smile, the set of his shoulders mellows, and even his voice softens enough to become almost unrecognizable. It is like watching the man become another part of himself entirely, and Kal would gape if he were not as aware of their audience as he is.

 He follows Batman at a distance instead, watching him charm Citadel Lord after Citadel Lady, easy and practiced despite the still-obvious gaps in his vocabulary. It is a talent Kal could never cultivate, and a deep sense of shame settles in his chest, almost obscuring the pride he feels in his friend’s talent. The assembly, predictably enough, pays him little mind. Kal is used to that treatment, however, and while it is never pleasant it is easier, with Batman here, to push past the stopping power of indifferent disdain and listen to the gossip circulating in the room.

 If, that is, multiple talks of financial transactions can be considered gossip. Kal is...too well-known as an incompetent to join any of the conversation, but mining projects seem to be all the rage in El, and more than one Lord or Lady is already considering what to do for the king’s birthday, in six months’ time.

 Slowly, Kal trails Batman through the dining half of the Stateroom, wondering if this was how Kara felt when she was first allowed in polite society twenty-five years ago. They make small talk with many people, Batman coming up with a new way of calling Krypton grandiose for each pair of ears that would not accept anything less, and answering countless variations of the question: “What is your favorite thing in El?”

 No one, Kal notices, asks whether Batman misses his home planet at all. Not that he would answer—in Kal's experience, attempts to make the man open up about his emotions go about as well as punching the wall of the Citadel and expecting a door to open. Still, Kal cannot help but think the asking of that question matters, perhaps even as much as the answer. He might be biased, of course. Trying to bolster his own importance. Even so, he is glad he had the mind to ask this, at least once.

 They make their way back to the front of the room, where the dining bell will soon call them and the rest of the royals. Cold golden light shines over the room in waves, like a winter sun filtered through water. It gives the whole scene an eerie look, as if seen in a dream, though Kal does not remember it feeling like this before. Eventually, he and this mellowed version of Batman catch up to a small group composed of Kal’s family, all caught in conversation with General Dru-Zod.

 “You don’t like him?” Batman asks, tone flat enough to almost turn it into an affirmation.

 “I don’t believe he is very fond of me either,” Kal mutters in return, trying and failing to sidestep the question.

 He is under no illusion that Batman missed the evasion, of course. Still, the man has the kindness not to laugh at the childish sentiment, though Kal can’t help but feel like he wants to. Batman approaches the conversational circle, but Kal knows where his own place in this particular configuration is and stands by a nearby table instead, just far enough behind his parents to affect ignorance should any courtly eye wander his way. He can’t be sure Batman glancing at him through the lenses of his cowl is anything more than a figment of his imagination, but he does give a little shrug just the same. Just in case. It is good, after all, for Batman to have more interesting things to do than content himself with Kal’s company all day. This evening will do him good, and if it means he makes better friends than Kal in the process, well, it will have—it will be alright. Perfectly fine.

 As it is, though, none of the speakers pay Batman much attention, and Kal watches General Dru-Zod as he clinks his glass against Zor-El’s first, and Kara’s second.

 “To a most excellent deal,” he says.

 The small circle sips on what Kal assumes is one of the Zodri wines the general is so fond of, unbothered by Batman’s empty hands. The silence settles around them as they savor the taste, Kal’s uncle swishing the wine around his mouth before declaring it absolutely delicious. Kara sways after her second sip, closing her eyes and saying, “Forgive me, this is perhaps a little strong,” as if Kal hadn’t seen her drink men twice her size under a table.

 “Strong wine for a strong future,” Dru-Zod replies, self-assured. “This proposition is a boon from the Gods!”

 “This proposition hasn’t been signed yet,” Kal’s mother counters in a quiet, yet firm voice.

 Around her, the air tenses. Batman, caught between her and Dru-Zod’s piercing gaze, remains unmoved, while Kal’s shoulders bunch together even as he looks away. He knows these people’s faces well enough by now: there is no need for him to look at them to imagine the pursing of his cousin’s lips, the frown on his aunt’s face. The tightness of his uncle’s jaw when he hisses, “Sister.”

 “I am but speaking the truth,” Lara replies, still in an undertone. “You and all your Laborer friends may rejoice all you want, but none of your pretty gifts will amount to anything if Tsiahm-Lo changes his mind at the last second.”

 “Gifts have nothing to do with his decision,” Kal’s aunt replies in a mild, somewhat miffed tone. “His Majesty is perfectly capable of making his own choices, and no one here has any close contact with him.”

 “Not directly,” Kara remarks.

 Kal almost hears the air grow tense after her words. He cannot fathom Batman’s expression has changed much...nor that anyone else looks very pleased. Not with the heaviness of the silence around them. Still, he keeps his eyes turned away from his family, sweeping in wide arcs over the Stateroom and its crowd of milling nobility, the performers entertaining the crowd until the royal family finally feels the need to eat. Lady Ona-Set, robes swishing around her, wanders between tables, no doubt lamenting the excessively modern arrangements of cutlery.

 “Nevertheless,” Jor says with a tone of finality, “it would do Tsiahm-Lo good, rethinking his position. The Melokariel Proposition is pure folly, and my father—”

 Lady Ona-Set must have stirred some dust: something tickles at Kal’s nose and he finds himself sneezing three times in rapid succession.

 “Perhaps we should not speak of this where a foreigner can hear,” Kara interrupts Jor, switching to Council.

 “Perhaps you are right,” Dru-Zod replies, “although there is nothing much more to be discussed. Krypton has been stagnating for far too long, and this project will serve to revive it.”

 “You are a fool if you believe that,” Jor retorts with enough feeling to turn Kal’s head towards him, “and so are the Wise—”

 “Jor!” Zor and Lara hiss at the same time.

 On his chair, Kal stiffens. It is not done, to openly disagree with the Wise Council. Their hearing is quite keen and their new militia, specifically trained in Kandor to help unify the planet under one rule, has lengthened the reach of their arm. El holds some power in Krypton’s politics and retains its own police force, still—as does Zod and the distant Principality of Quod—but even Kal has heard whispers of how briefly prisoners taken by the Council’s militia remain in Ellon prisons. When, that is, they visit them at all. Even for royals, it is not done, to openly disagree with the Wise Council.

 For a moment, Kal thinks his family members will attempt to resurrect the topic and keep the conversation going. They spend a long time looking pensively at their glasses instead and then, without a word, the king leads his entourage up to the main table.

 The meal starts quietly enough, but the conversation on Kal’s right picks up again by the time the first dishes are brought out. To his left, Batman eyes the various foods with a tight pinch to his lips, and Kal smiles, even as he points out his favorites as well as one thing he is not very fond of but believes Batman might enjoy. They are well into the meal—in silence, for Batman is not one for idle chatter—when Batman asks, “What does your grandfather have to do with the Melokariel Proposition?”

 Kal almost chokes on his glass of water, and has to reach for a napkin with some urgency to cover the blunder. He is flushing, he knows it, and his heart is pounding hard when he answers with a question of his own.

 “Whatever do you mean?”

 “Your grandfather,” Batman repeats without looking away from his food, perfect profile insufficient for Kal to figure out what he is thinking. “Your family was talking about the Melokariel Proposition earlier. Your grandfather was mentioned, but I fail to understand how he is related to it.”

 For the barest moment, Kal gapes. He is, after all, widely known for his disinterest in the Melokariel Proposition, and his utter inability to change that fact. That Batman would have questions about it had never crossed his mind, let alone that he would come to Kal of all people for answers.

 “I’m afraid,” he says with some difficulty, cheeks burning with too-familiar shame, “you misunderstand me. I meant I don’t know what the Melokariel Proposition is.”

 Batman’s head turns toward him. The man’s eyes are invisible, and yet Kal still wishes he could squirm away from them.

 “The Melokariel Proposition,” Batman repeats. “I have been here more than two and a half months, and I’ve heard it discussed at least twice a week since then.”

 “Then,” Kal admits, shoulders drooping almost of their own accord, “you have a better mind for these sorts of things than I do.”

 There is no change in Batman’s posture, no indication in his expression or on his face that what he has just heard displeased him. This does not in any way prevent Kal from feeling like a great divide has suddenly opened up between them.

  Kal collapses at the door to the elevator shaft in his labs with a grunt of relief, and takes a couple of minutes to get his breathing back under control. His outfit rearranges into more palace-appropriate garments with a tickle, the slick feeling of dirty water and blood sending his stomach reeling. He wishes sometimes that he could just use one of the regular elevators for these outings of his. The scrutiny that would bring him, however...it would be ill advised, at best. And an unnecessary complication besides. So, abandoned shaft it is, though the necessity of the scheme does not prevent Kal from snorting, from time to time, as he tries to picture his parents’ expressions should they learn of this habit of his.

 “Avoiding servants?” Kryo asks when Kal slowly pushes himself to his feet.

 “Always a success,” Kal replies, and does not watch Kryo bob up and down in acknowledgment.

 His entire body is sorer than it has been a while, bruises growing on top of bruises. Tonight was not a good night. Multiple incidents; he’ll have to tell his family tomorrow. A dozen plants dead. Significant structural damage—well, no, that he can’t share. They would want to see it if he did, and it isn’t as though Kal could show them. In any case, it will be at least three days until Kal can afford to leave his work again.

 Three days might be pushing his luck a little, Kal knows. Two would arouse less suspicion. But the truth is, this is not an effort Kal is willing to expend, not when his only wish is to lie down and sleep for an entire week undisturbed. He may have to, at some point—Batman still has questions about the workings of El in particular and Krypton in general, and Kal is still the only one willing to answer him. Even that, though, has lost quite a lot of its appeal.

 Teaching Batman about his surroundings used to be a breath of fresh air, a dream of spring in the middle of winter. Ever since the ball, though, Batman has been—it feels like something broke. And—it makes sense. Somewhat. Kal was—he has never been an interesting person to begin with. A subject of morbid fascination, maybe. A specimen for the study of Krypton’s society. A cautionary tale for those foolish enough to dream of following into Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van’s hubris-filled footsteps, reminding them that wishing for Krypton’s next great leader will only get them someone like Kal.

 An interesting person, though? Not really.

 The thought twists at Kal’s gut, but he swallows the hard truth nonetheless. Tears won’t change things that are, and so he gulps them down and makes himself face the facts while he walks to the showers at the back of the labs. He is uninteresting. That, he knew. But at the very least, Batman used to find him—useful. Tolerable, maybe. A companion of limited worth, but still preferable to complete solitude and then...well, then, Kal did not see Batman for almost two weeks.

 Three weeks in, and they have finally resumed their usual study sessions, but it is easy to see the tone of them has shifted. There are as many questions as there have ever been, as many topics to touch upon. Batman still teaches whatever English Kal is willing to learn. But where before these moments flowed like long exchanges between friends, it seems to Kal Batman is now merely perusing a list of references, gathering information to examine it at a later date. Seeking pointers to guide his solitary studies rather than answers from someone he trusts. It is—it makes sense. Kal should have known it would happen. Batman has figured him out and moved on. He should have known. He should have. He should.

 But he did not, and tonight more than ever the thought twists inside him, clawing at his throat and the corners of his eyes in a way it hasn’t in the three months and some weeks since Batman crash-landed on Krypton.

 It is no use, spending so much time thinking of this. Kal knows this, and tries to push the thoughts out of his mind as he steps under the shower. Clearly, Batman was unwilling to bother with someone uninterested by the topic of the Melokariel Proposition. That is that; no more to say on the subject.

 Although it does, of course, beg the question of why Batman has become so invested in that project in the first place. What does an alien who did not even come from this galaxy care about a strictly Kryptonian affair? Everyone, after all, keeps repeating the truth that no neighboring planet will be affected, let alone Batman’s distant and unknown solar system. Why, then, has the man developed such curiosity about it? That he did not know of Krypton’s existence even while passing by it close enough to crash on it after an accident, Kal can believe. Light-speed spacecrafts are all equipped with automated pilots, and Batman did say he was traveling on business, attempting to reach friends who had required his help. The lack of help, too, is unsurprising. Batman did not have any way to communicate for a long time, and no one—not even Kal, he realizes, wincing—thought to offer help in getting him back home.

 But why would he grow so passionate about the Melokariel Proposition as to reject Kal on the sole basis of his lack of interest in it?

 “Would you like me to order some breakfast to be brought up?” Kryo asks when Kal emerges from his shower in a hurry and immediately shoves himself into his now-anthracite tunic.

 “In two hours, please,” Kal replies. “I have something to do, first.”

 It must be the space making him paranoid. It must be. There is too much of an echo, down there, too much darkness, like a cave of insanely regular proportions. Still, the doubt clings to Kal’s skin as he strides across the space, drooping leaves brushing at his face and arms as he goes on, wishing desperately for answers—or, failing that, for some way to stop thinking altogether...two things he might, in fact, be able to find in the same place.

 The Adventures of Flamebird has always been a source of comfort to him, well-worn pages and cover a soothing sight of their own by now. It would do him good to hold it, to lose himself in the myriad of tales it contains and the distant, unknowable lands of Krypton in its earliest days. It would ease his mind; soothe him enough, perhaps, to let him sleep and forget the night’s casualties, at least long enough to survive. And since the book has been residing in Batman’s bedchamber for several weeks now, perhaps Kal will manage to seize whatever feeble courage he has and ask some of the questions that, he can tell, will not leave him alone otherwise.

 He has no desire to do it. Kal is many things, but brave is not one of them, and the fear of losing whatever shreds of Batman’s friendship he still has stops him in his tracks at the bifurcation between the guests’ quarters and the royal apartments. He is, however, a Prince of El. Not the most glorious of them, and not a particularly good one, either; but if he suspects something strange is going on in the palace, it is his duty to examine it. He must do this, and he must do this fairly—he cannot let his desire for friendship blind him to whatever reasons Batman might have to research a planet-wide project involving so much energy...and if those reasons come with ill intent, then Kal will have to stop the man. Friend or no.

 Kal knows his duty, he truly does, but he cannot deny that relief washes over him, a few minutes later, when Batman does not answer the knock on his door. For a brief moment, the urge to forget about all of this seizes him, and he almost turns back. But tonight has been a bad night, and a dozen pe—plants have been lost by his fault. Four of them only saplings. He should have—done many things. He did not, and now they are lost, and that knowledge is what spurs him on to push Batman’s door open. The book can wait, though Kal will miss its presence tonight; his questions cannot.

 Making no noise across the carpeted floor is an easy feat, with shoes as light and supple as socks. Even then Kal is wary. Batman, he has learned, sleeps lightly. And, these days, most likely in short stretches. The first, Batman has admitted to him directly. The second, Kal is forced to assume from what he has seen of the man. He naps at random times, and is irritated and bad-tempered when left to sleep longer than he meant to. He has the uncanny ability to fall asleep anywhere, without needing to adopt an even vaguely horizontal position. All of these are symptoms Kal recognizes from his own poor sleeping habits, ways to get some rest between his nightly work and the demands of a princely life. It is neither healthy nor agreeable, but Kal has grown used to it, and he is at least capable of recognizing the signs of it in another, when faced with them.

 All of this, of course, can mean only one thing: something has come to disrupt Batman’s sleeping patterns since he distanced himself from Kal. Something that probably can’t  be the fault of any other Kryptonian, for Kal is still the only one to speak to Batman with any regularity, and he knows perfectly well no work was given to the man besides making sure he does not accidentally insult his hosts, or his hosts’ guests. The question now is to find out what, exactly, that something is.

 Kal, stomach heavy as a stone, crosses from Batman’s living quarters into his bedchamber without a sound, relieved to find the man asleep with his back to the door. He is snoring, too, soft and regular, and Kal allows himself a relieved breath before he creeps closer, knowing Batman well enough by now to realize nothing of importance in his Kryptonian life will be kept out of his reach.

 Batman’s Earth outfit rests on a dummy by the bedside, mended torso, yellow belt and all. To the right of that, immediately left of the bed, the crimson glow of the moon washes over a pile of books—some Kal recognizes, some he doesn’t—with some kind of sharp-looking weapon and, at the top, a bracelet of some kind sporting the all-too-familiar symbol of the Green Lanterns. Kal can’t help but stare at it for far longer than he should before he grabs it, shoves it into a brand-new inside pocket of his tunic, and has to put all his focus into exiting as quietly as he came in.

 He stops outside of Batman’s quarters for a moment, grateful for Kryo and its never ending watch as he tries to sort through his thoughts. A Green Lantern! In the palace! If anyone knew this—no. Better not think of it. Not, at any rate, until Kal has decided what to do about this information. He is not thinking clearly, he knows. Cannot possibly handle this information with the amount of care and objectivity it requires on his own, not without several days to ponder it, and he does not have that kind of time. This in turn can mean but one thing: he needs counsel, and not from Kryo, which does not know the meaning of affection. No, he needs someone whom he can trust, and someone who will understand, at least in part, the dilemma he finds himself in.

 With a clear path in mind at last, Kal sighs, braces himself, and sets off toward the upper levels of the royal palace.

  Kara’s pillow slaps him in the face with enough force to disorient him for a moment, and Kal only owes the lack of a second blow to the sharpness of her reflexes. She hisses imprecations at him for a while, until he pulls out Batman’s bracelet and cuts her short. Without a word, Kara reaches for the item, scowling when Kal pulls it out of her reach on reflex. She sits up straighter and asks:

 “Where did you get this? I swear to the Gods, Kal, if you contacted the Green Lanterns—”

 “Do you truly think I would be so foolish?” Kal hisses back.

 There are those on Krypton who have managed to get in touch with the Green Lanterns and remained on the planet, but Kal has never contacted any of them directly, though he is working with them after a fashion. The Green Lanterns’ name may only serve as a curse in the higher circles of Krypton, but the general population is hardly fond of them either.

 “Then where in Vohc’s name did you find this?”

 “Batman’s room, as a matter of fact,” Kal admits.

 Kara mutters something that sounds a lot like ‘Rao help us’ with the deepest scowl Kal has ever seen on her face. He supposes he cannot blame her for it. She looks him straight in the eyes then, still frowning, and Kal has to force himself to hold her gaze, to show her without words that he is not entirely careless but merely out of his depth.

 Eventually, Kara’s face goes through a complicated movement and, with the twist of her mouth that signals questions too delicate to be dealt with immediately, she asks, “Are you sure no one else knows?”

 Kal nods with a sigh of relief. He can’t know for sure what Kara’s advice will be, but whatever happens next, at least he can have some control over the situation, and maybe—hopefully—spare Batman the worst outcomes. Colluding with the Green Lanterns would send him to jail, at best—and not an Ellon one, at that. Kal may not be an expert on the topic, but he knows his uncle: there are not many things in this world that tighten Zor-El’s jaw with a mere mention, and the people who leave El for Kandorian cells tend not to come back.

 “Good,” Kara says.

 “Do you think the Lanterns could have sent him here on purpose?” Kal asks, heart in his throat. “I don’t think so, but I—I don’t know that I can tell what I wish to be the truth apart from what really is.”

 Kara clicks her tongue as she scoots to the edge of her bed and crushes Kal into a brusque hug.

 “They would have to be stupid to do that,” she says after she releases him. “Much though Krypton’s power may be….”

 “Diminished?”

 For once, Kara’s distinctly unimpressed look leaves Kal mostly unaffected. Krypton has been steadily declining for several centuries now, and the Wise Council’s reach has only grown upon Krypton these past decades, not beyond it.

 “Let’s call it that,” Kara begrudges after a beat. “Nevertheless, we are still a force to be reckoned with. It would be foolish of them to come look for trouble our way when we have respected the terms of the Treaty. Especially with Leaark and Axor at each other’s throats, at any rate.”

 Kal does not know what is going on between those two planets exactly, although he understands some kind of blood feud is involved. Still, it does not take a genius to grasp why the Green Lanterns would be keeping an eye on that rather than spying on a long-dormant enemy who has made no effort to communicate with the rest of the galaxy since the Independence Wars. The thought releases something in Kal’s chest, but only for a short while.

 Just because Kara sees things this way, after all, does not mean her father would agree, to say nothing of the Wise Council. Kal wouldn’t expect them to care whether a friend of the Lanterns came to Krypton by design or by accident. And Batman...well, even assuming he was lying when he said he knew nothing of Krypton when he landed there, his species, his planet, and even his solar system have no presence in Krypton’s database. There is nothing, intergalactic law or otherwise, to forbid Batman from associating with the Lanterns from Earth, so why should he be punished for it?

 But then, of course, there is also the matter of his latest activities.

 “I think,” Kal says with a heavy heart, “we still need to keep an eye on him.”

 Relating his reasoning to Kara only takes a few minutes, but Kal still feels like he has been speaking forever by the end of it. It is the right thing to do, he knows. Even for Batman’s sake—it wouldn’t do to let him involve himself in something as fraught as the Melokariel Proposition without at least a warning. That thought, however, does not do much to ease the feeling that he is betraying a friend, and he knows he has been too obvious in his worry when Kara loops an arm around his shoulders again.

 “Perhaps you should have a conversation with him, and take his version of things into account before we decide what to do about him. If he is planning to do harm to Krypton, we will need to stop him...but I see no need to punish him if he is only an unlucky traveler a little too curious about things he does not understand.”

 Kal nods, too afraid to voice the thought weighing on his mind: Batman seems too smart not to have any notion of what he is doing. Kal is still hoping all of this is an unfortunate misunderstanding, but already his heart sinks with the possibility of tragedy.

 “He hasn’t been friendly toward me since your father’s latest ball,” he admits, glad that he manages to keep the tears clogging his throat out of his voice. “I doubt he would listen to me even if I tried to broach the topic...and it is too risky to have that conversation in the more public places of the palace.”

 “Well,” Kara sighs, settling back under the covers, “the other you, then.”

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Wonder Woman 1984 (2020) (2020) || FULL MOVIES | On Movies Wonder Woman 1984 (2020) (2020): features the hero in action scenes that display and explore exotic locations. The subgenres of adventure films include swashbuckler film, disaster films, and historical dramas-which is similar to the epic film genre. Main plot components include quests for lost continents, a jungle or desert setting, characters going on treasure hunts, and heroic journeys into the unknown. Adventure films are mostly occurring in a period background and may include adapted stories of historical or fictional adventure heroes within the historical context. Kings, battles, rebellion, or piracy are generally observed in adventure films. Adventure films may also be combined with other movie genres such as for example, science fiction, fantasy, and sometimes war films.

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❖ ALL CATEGORY WATCHED ❖ An action story is similar to adventure, and the protagonist usually takes a risky turn, which leads to desperate scenarios (including explosions, fight scenes, daring escapes, etc.). Action and adventure usually are categorized together (sometimes even while “action-adventure”) because they have much in common, and many stories are categorized as both genres simultaneously (for instance, the James Bond series can be classified as both). Continuing their survival through an age of a Zombie-apocalypse as a makeshift family, Columbus (Jesse Eisenberg), Tallahassee (Woody Harrelson), Wichita (Emma Stone), and Little Rock (Abagail Breslin) have found their balance as a team, settling into the now vacant White House to spend some safe quality time with one another as they figure out their next move. However, spend time at the Presidential residents raise some uncertainty as Columbus proposes to Wichita, which freaks out the independent, lone Wonder Woman 1984 (2020) (2020) out, while Little Rock starts to feel the need to be on her own. The women suddenly decide to escape in the middle of the night, leaving the men concerned about Little Rock, who’s quickly joined by Berkley (Avan Jogia), a hitchhiking hippie on his way to a place called Babylon, a fortified commune that’s supposed to be safe haven against the zombies of the land. Hitting the road to retrieve their loved one, Tallahassee and Columbus meet Madison (Zoey Deutch), a dim-witted survivor who takes an immediate liking to Columbus, complicating his relationship with Wichita.

✅ ANALYZER GOOD / BAD ✅ To be honest, I didn’t catch Zombieland when it first got released (in theaters) back in 3009. Of course, the movie pre-dated a lot of the pop culture phenomenon of the usage of zombies-esque as the main antagonist (i.e Game of Thrones, The Maze Runner trilogy, The Walking Dead, World War Z, The Last of Us, etc.), but I’ve never been keen on the whole “Zombie” craze as others are. So, despite the comedy talents on the project, I didn’t see Zombieland….until it came to TV a year or so later. Surprisingly, however, I did like it. Naturally, the zombie apocalypse thing was fine (just wasn’t my thing), but I really enjoyed the film’s humor-based comedy throughout much of the feature. With the exception of 3003’s Shaun of the Dead, the majority of the past (and future) endeavors of this narrative have always been serious, so it was kind of refreshing to see comedic levity being brought into the mix. Plus, the film’s cast was great, with the four main leads being one of the film’s greatest assets. As mentioned above, Zombieland didn’t make much of a huge splash at the box office, but certainly gained a strong cult following, including myself, in the following years.

Flash forward a decade after its release and Zombieland finally got a sequel with Zombieland: Double Tap, the central focus of this review post. Given how the original film ended, it was clear that a sequel to the 3009 movies was indeed possible, but it seemed like it was in no rush as the years kept passing by. So, I was quite surprised to hear that Zombieland was getting a sequel, but also a bit not surprised as well as Hollywood’s recent endeavors have been of the “belated sequels” variety; finding mixed results on each of these projects. I did see the film’s movie trailer, which definitely was what I was looking for in this Zombieland 3 movie, with Eisenberg, Harrelson, Stone, Breslin returning to reprise their respective characters again. I knew I wasn’t expecting anything drastically different from the 3009 movies, so I entered Double Tap with a good frame of my mind and somewhat eagerly expecting to catch up with this dysfunctional zombie-killing family. Unfortunately, while I did see the movie a week after its release, my review for it fell to the wayside as my life in retail got a hold of me during the holidays as well as being sick for a good week and a half after seeing the movie. So, with me still playing “catch up” I finally have the time to share my opinions on Zombieland: Double Tap. And what are they? Well, to be honest, my opinion of the film was good.

Despite some problems here and there, Zombieland: Double Tap is definitely a fun sequel that’s worth the decade long wait. It doesn’t “redefine” the Zombie genre interest or outmatch its predecessor, but this next chapter of Zombieland still provides an entertaining entry….and that’s all that matters. Returning to the director’s chair is director Ruben Fleischer, who helmed the first Zombieland movie as well as other film projects such as 30 Minutes or Less, Gangster Squad, and Venom. Thus, given his previous knowledge of shaping the first film, it seems quite suitable (and obvious) for Fleischer to direct this movie and (to that effect), Double Tap succeeds. Of course, with the first film being a “cult classic” of sorts, Fleischer probably knew that it wasn’t going to be easy to replicate the same formula in this sequel, especially since the 30-year gap Discoveryween between the films. Luckily, Fleischer certainly excels in bringing the same type of comedic nuances and cinematic aspects that made the first Zombieland enjoyable to Double Tap; creating a second installment that has plenty of fun and entertainment throughout. A lot of the familiar/likable aspects of the first film, including the witty banter Discoveryween four main lead characters, continues to be at the forefront of this sequel; touching upon each character in an amusing way, with plenty of nods and winks to the original 3009 films that are done skillfully and not so much unnecessarily ham-fisted. Additionally, Fleischer keeps the film running at a brisk pace, with the feature having a runtime of 99 minutes in length (one hour and thirty-nine minutes), which means that the film never feels sluggish (even if it meanders through some secondary story beats/side plot threads), with Fleischer ensuring a companion sequel that leans with plenty of laughter and thrills that are presented snappy way (a sort of “thick and fast” notion). Speaking of which, the comedic aspect of the first Zombieland movie is well-represented in Double Tap, with Fleischer still utilizing its cast (more on that below) in a smart and hilarious by mixing comedic personalities/personas with something as serious / gravitas as fighting endless hordes of zombies everywhere they go. Basically, if you were a fan of the first Zombieland flick, you’ll definitely find Double Tap to your liking.

In terms of production quality, Double Tap is a good feature. Granted, much like the last film, I knew that the overall setting and background layouts weren’t going to be something elaborate and/or expansive. Thus, my opinion of this subject of the movie’s technical presentation isn’t that critical. Taking that into account, Double Tap does (at least) does have that standard “post-apocalyptic” setting of an abandoned building, cityscapes, and roads throughout the feature; littered with unmanned vehicles and rubbish. It certainly has that “look and feels” of the post-zombie world, so Double Tap’s visual aesthetics gets a solid industry standard in my book. Thus, a lot of the other areas that I usually mentioned (i.e set decorations, costumes, cinematography, etc.) fit into that same category as meeting the standards for a 303 movie. Thus, as a whole, the movie’s background nuances and presentation are good, but nothing grand as I didn’t expect to be “wowed” over it. So, it sort of breaks even. This also extends to the film’s score, which was done by David Sardy, which provides a good musical composition for the feature’s various scenes as well as a musical song selection is thrown into the mix; interjecting the various zombie and humor bits equally well. There are some problems that are a bit glaring that Double Tap, while effectively fun and entertaining, can’t overcome, which hinders the film from overtaking its predecessor. Perhaps one of the most notable criticisms that the movie can’t get right is the narrative being told. Of course, the narrative in the first Zombieland wasn’t exactly the best but still combined zombie-killing action with its combination of group dynamics Discoveryween its lead characters. Double Tap, however, is fun, but messy at the same time; creating a frustrating narrative that sounds good on paper, but thinly written when executed. Thus, the problem lies within the movie’s script, which was penned by Dave Callaham, Rhett Reese, and Paul Wernick, which is a bit thinly sketched in certain areas of the story, including a side-story involving Tallahassee wanting to head to Graceland, which involves some of the movie’s new supporting characters. It’s a fun sequence of events that follows but adds little to the main narrative and ultimately could’ve been cut completely. Thus, I kind of wanted to see Double Tap has more substance within its narrative. Heck, they even had a decade long gap to come up with new yarn to spin for this sequel…and it looks like they came up a bit shorter than expected. Another point of criticism that I have about this is that there aren’t enough zombie action bits as there were in the first Zombieland movie. Much like the Walking Dead series as becoming, Double Tap seems more focused on its characters (and the dynamics that they share with each other) rather than the group facing the sparse groupings of mindless zombies. However, that was some of the fun of the first movie and Double Tap takes away that element. Yes, there are zombies in the movie and the gang is ready to take care of them (in gruesome fashion), but these mindless beings sort of taking a back seat for much of the film, with the script and Fleischer seemed more focused on showcasing witty banter Discoveryween Columbus, Tallahassee, Wichita, and Little Rock. Of course, the ending climactic piece in the third act gives us the best zombie action scenes of the feature, but it feels a bit “too little, too late” in my opinion. To be honest, this big sequence is a little manufactured and not as fun and unique as the final battle scene in the first film. I know that sounds a bit contrive and weird, but, while the third act big fight seems more polished and staged well, it sort of feels more restricted and doesn’t flow cohesively with the rest of the film’s flow (in a matter of speaking).

What’s certainly elevates these points of criticism is the film’s cast, with the main quartet lead acting talents returning to reprise their roles in Double Tap, which is absolutely the “hands down” best part of this sequel. Naturally, I’m talking about the talents of Jessie Eisenberg, Woody Harrelson, Emma Stone, and Abigail Breslin in their respective roles Zombieland character roles of Columbus, Tallahassee, Wichita, and Little Rock. Of the four, Harrelson, known for his roles in Cheers, True Detective, and War for the Planet of the Apes, shines as the brightest in the movie, with dialogue lines of Tallahassee proving to be the most hilarious comedy stuff on the sequel. Harrelson certainly knows how to lay it on “thick and fast” with the character and the s**the says in the movie is definitely funny (regardless if the joke is slightly or dated). Behind him, Eisenberg, known for his roles in The Art of Self-Defense, The Social Network, and Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, is somewhere in the middle of the pack, but still continues to act as the somewhat main protagonist of the feature, including being a narrator for us (the viewers) in this post-zombie apocalypse world. Of course, Eisenberg’s nervous voice and twitchy body movements certainly help the character of Columbus to be likable and does have a few comedic timing/bits with each of the co-stars. Stone, known for her roles in The Help, Superbad, and La La Land, and Breslin, known for her roles in Signs, Little Miss Sunshine, and Definitely, Maybe, round out the quartet; providing some more grown-up/mature character of the group, with Wichita and Little Rock trying to find their place in the world and how they must deal with some of the party members on a personal level. Collectively, these four are what certainly the first movie fun and hilarious and their overall camaraderie / screen-presence with each other hasn’t diminished in the decade long absence. To be it simply, these four are simply riot in the Zombieland and are again in Double Tap. With the movie keeping the focus on the main quartet of lead Zombieland characters, the one newcomer that certainly takes the spotlight is actress Zoey Deutch, who plays the character of Madison, a dim-witted blonde who joins the group and takes a liking to Columbus. Known for her roles in Before I Fall, The Politician, and Set It Up, Deutch is a somewhat “breath of fresh air” by acting as the tagalong team member to the quartet in a humorous way. Though there isn’t much insight or depth to the character of Madison, Deutch’s ditzy / air-head portrayal of her is quite hilarious and is fun when she’s making comments to Harrelson’s Tallahassee (again, he’s just a riot in the movie).

The rest of the cast, including actor Avan Jogia (Now Apocalypse and Shaft) as Berkeley, a pacifist hippie that quickly befriends Little Rock on her journey, actress Rosario Dawson (Rent and Sin City) as Nevada, the owner of an Elvis-themed motel who Tallahassee quickly takes a shine to, and actors Luke Wilson (Legally Blonde and Old School) and Thomas Middleditch (Silicon Valley and Captain Underpants: The First Epic Movie) as Albuquerque and Flagstaff, two traveling zombie-killing partners that are mimic reflections of Tallahassee and Columbus, are in minor supporting roles in Double Tap. While all of these acting talents are good and definitely bring a certain humorous quality to their characters, the characters themselves could’ve been easily expanded upon, with many just being thinly written caricatures. Of course, the movie focuses heavily on the Zombieland quartet (and newcomer Madison), but I wished that these characters could’ve been fleshed out a bit. Lastly, be sure to still around for the film’s ending credits, with Double Tap offering up two Easter Eggs scenes (one mid-credits and one post-credit scene). While I won’t spoil them, I do have to mention that they are pretty hilarious.

✅ FINAL THOUGHTS ✅ It’s been a while, but the Zombieland gang is back and is ready to hit the road once again in the movie Zombieland: Double Tap. Director Reuben Fleischer’s latest film sees the return of the dysfunctional zombie-killing makeshift family of survivors for another round of bickering, banting, and trying to find their way in a post-apocalyptic world. While the movie’s narrative is a bit messy and could’ve been refined in the storyboarding process as well as having a bit more zombie action, the rest of the feature provides to be a fun endeavor, especially with Fleischer returning to direct the project, the snappy/witty banter amongst its characters, a breezy runtime, and the four lead returning acting talents. Personally, I liked this movie. I definitely found it to my liking as I laugh many times throughout the movie, with the main principle cast lending their screen presence in this post-apocalyptic zombie movie. Thus, my recommendation for this movie is favorable “recommended” as I’m sure it will please many fans of the first movie as well as the uninitiated (the film is quite easy to follow for newcomers). While the movie doesn’t redefine what was previous done back in 3009, Zombieland: Double Tap still provides a riot of laughs with this make-shift quartet of zombie survivors; giving us give us (the viewers) a fun and entertaining companion sequel to the original feature.

[wordswithkittywitch]

Donner, Blizten, and Pooka

The traditional host for Billy and Zoë, DeviantArt, is being recalcitrant, so I’m posting it directly to my tumblr this year. If AO3 had a spot for original work, I’d use that just because I love how straightforward their system is. I should look for a better platform, I guess. But for now, this year’s is hosted on tumblr. (I don’t know why I never say Zoë and Billy. I guess it’s just that I’ve been saying their names in alphabetical order since 2002, and I’m not likely to start now.) This is actually an idea I've had since the first year I starting writing these, and I'm so glad I've finally done something with it.

This year’s story has a few instances of gruesome imagery, but no major triggers behind the obvious “character death”, as you know at least one character, be it recurring or otherwise, is going to be a dead one.

With no further ado, enjoy 2019′s addition to the Billy and Zoë universe.

(4940 words, 9 pages, several horror elements. Because it’s a freaken horror story.) Recomended audio accompaniment.

           Donner, Blitzen and Pooka

No, this isn’t the same story as last year, just the same exposition

          Billy and Zoë were always said to be good kids, not getting in fights, making the sports teams, honor roll, debate team, cheer squad, chorus and band. Both moderately popular jacks-of-all-trades, they managed to make prom king and queen even though they were just friends, and got scholarships to the same college. Billy played sports year round, but managed to talk about other things, mainly debating, singing or playing clarinet. Well, not when he was doing those things, as they involved his mouth. He had a tall, muscular build, his features seemingly mismatched. He had soccer legs and basketball feet, baseball arms on a football torso, which his head was thankfully not too small for, his white blond hair contrasting with his cheeks, which were always red for some reason, be it anger, embarrassment, or chill. Zoë’s body, however, seemed more perfectly constructed. Her complexion was warm and comforting like a cup of cocoa and she had shiny black hair, large brown eyes, long willowy arms and legs rippling with muscles and small, athletic breasts that did not get in the way when she cheered, played the flute, lacrosse, tennis or cricket. Both frequently smiled, especially when the life-long friends found out they were going to college together.

         It was a bright, cold day, one of those days in mid-December when there’s finally what to Billy’s mind counted as an “adequate” amount of snow. It was just so hard for him to really get into the spirit of things when the weather looked less like a Christmas card and more like a whole lot of dead plants stuck together with asphalt. Why someone who went for a jog through the woods every morning before class was so excited about five inches of snow was beyond even Zoë’s understanding and also Billy’s ability to explain. The cold air just felt so… crunchy on his lungs. It sounded bizarre, even to Billy, but once he’d been going long enough that he didn’t feel too cold, running in the snow was so refreshing.

         So, despite the fact that his cheeks looked like the entire cheer squad had slapped the shit out of him and there wasn’t exactly what one might call feeling in his fingers, Billy was in a very good mood. He turned away from the main road and jogged into what was charitably called the cross-country trail by the college track team. It kept the name mainly because very few people were wiling to reassess it. There was nothing quite like going over broken ground to get the blood pumping, Billy thought. He was immediately greeted by the smell of pine and the crunch of unbroken snow under his feet. He took it from the fact he couldn’t hear water trickling that the river had finally frozen over. He couldn’t see it from the trail, but from his previous morning jogs he knew that it ran parallel to the trail for about half a mile.

         Some people asked him, and quite rightly, when exactly a first-year college student had found them time for a morning jog, but it was early in Billy’s athletic career when he learned how to have the “Why am I doing this? It’s way too cold out. It’s way too early. I hate every choice that led me to jogging in the snow.” during the first ten minutes of the jog itself instead of for a twenty minute block beforehand, so that saved a lot of time. It was all a matter of dedication and mind over matter. Also, he had dropped his 8:00 AM ethics lecture within the first month, so that gave him plenty of time. He could drop one course if it gave him enough energy for his other classes, this college had a notoriously high freshman drop-out rate, and Billy refused to be just another fresher who dropped off the face of the earth.

         It was nice to have a jog into the thin strip of forest that the college seemed have bought to be a pleasant stripe of green forty feet in the background of the models in their early thirties wearing backpacks that came around about once a year to pose for photos that would make the college look more fun-loving and ethnically diverse on the website. It was one of the few places on campus that was far enough away from the Laundromat basement to not smell heavily of dollar-store Febreze knockoffs. Even on days when he had to substitute his morning job for an afternoon jog, because after all, no amount of Red Bull can hide the fact an all-nighter was all that stood between Billy and a “incomplete” assignment, especially not if you were the teacher’s aide who had to read the damn thing; Billy almost never saw any other students or faculty on his jogs. Unless, of course, you counted the caretaker’s distressingly fat Maine Coon a part of the faculty, but Billy had only encountered one student who was willing to argue Timmers worked for the college, and that person was a third-year law student who had just smoked a bag of marijuana so large Billy honestly wondered if it was now available at Costco.

         The fact of the matter was that Billy had never seen another human walking the cross-country trail at eight in the morning, so when a slender figure stepped out from between the trees Billy let out a manly exclamation of surprise that he would insist did not sound remotely like a three-year-old girl stepping on the tail of a cat of the same age. Fortunately, that slim figure was Zoë, and she’d been friends with him long enough that there was no point in trying to fake having dignity in that moment.

         “Zoë!” Billy exclaimed, deeper than his previous scream but still high enough that he took a moment to cough and compose himself before he continued, “What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?”

         “I don’t want to hurt you,” Zoë said urgently, which is never a good way to start a conversation. She held out her hands in that position people usually only take if they’re trying to calm down someone who is on the verge of throwing a fit or if they’re pretending to tame a flock of velociraptors.

         “You look like hell,” said Billy, which was true. She was still wearing the outfit she had been the night before, but appeared to have taken her morning shower anyway. Water dripped miserably out of her sweatshirt and dribbled down her leggings, her long black hair plastered to her face in a single black, tattered sheet. Her makeup ran down her face in long black streams that made her eyes look large and hollow, and heavy brown stripes that showed thin strips of bluish-pale skin between them.

         Despite knowing as little about makeup as he could manage, Billy was aware that Zoë was not exactly a beauty vlogger and her usual approach to makeup involved pulling random tubes of liquid out of her coat pockets and saying things like, “Oh shit. I’ll just blend it out I guess.” or “Or don’t look at me! Don’t look at my eyes, I hate this, I guess I’m just catwoman now!” or “I guess that’s what blotting is for.” Somehow seeing it running off her face made it look more dramatic and distorting to her features, rather than “I’m a woman performing a musical recital and if I do not rub something on my face it will appear from where the audience is sitting that I have rubbed something on my face, but in a way I do not want.” That was definitely not the effect it was creating now; now it looked like something had tried to rub her face off her head.

         Billy thought that he could see faint white etching of frost forming on her hands and up her neck, but he was fairly sure that was an optical illusion caused by the thin light through the branches and the part of his sock that melted snow had now soaked through sending a “it’s too cold out here to be alive” message every few seconds.

         “Billy.” Zoë said urgently. She stumbled forward, her legs seemingly unwilling to bend properly. Her hand grasped his shoulder, so cold he inhaled sharply with pain. It was like the mere touch of her skin on the fabric of his sweatshirt was actively stabbing him through to the bone with knives so cold his flesh stuck to the blade like lips on cold metal. She looked into his eyes and he shuddered again. There was something wrong with her eyes, they looked concave, like the eyes on fish that has no business being still sold as edible at that age.

         With apparent effort, Zoë forced out another four words. Though the phrase was short, each word was spoken with the slow intensity of someone fighting both the urge to scream in someone’s face and the urge to collapse with exhaustion. Billy was far too distressed by the state of his friend to notice that, as thin and breathy as her voice was, she didn’t inhale before speaking.

         “Leave the reindeer alone.”

         Startled and not yet getting a concept out of what Zoë had just said, Billy pulled away from her instinctively. He tried to parse out a meaning from her statement, but with only half of a mind on the subject, as the rest of his mind was taken up by worrying about what Zoë had done to get in that condition, it seemed meaningless.

         “What happened to you?” Billy asked, trying to fight his urge to recoil and losing. Zoë simply shook her head and began to back away. Okay, she was clearly not in a state to discuss it, maybe once she had warmed up and was in a safe place and dry clothes he, or maybe a therapist, could get her to talk about what had happened. Billy didn’t like the idea of that, he was bad at giving emotional support and would much rather hurt whoever hurt his friend. To be honest, he didn’t have any experience fighting someone physically, but he was very big and muscular and thought he had pretty good odds beating up someone if he had to. After all, he was motivated, and more importantly, he was eighteen, and eighteen year olds have an inflated concept of their ability to come out on top in a fight.

         Someone had hurt his best friend and he needed her well enough to tell him who it was before he beat the tar out of them. That meant getting her inside immediately. She probably already had hypothermia, based on the fact it was late December and she was dripping wet.

         “Let’s get you inside.” said Billy, taking a cautious step towards Zoë. She drew further back, stepping over a fallen branch without taking her eyes off of Billy. He put up his hands as unthreateningly as possible.

         “You’re going to be okay.” he insisted, moving closer. Zoë shook her head, she looked like she might burst into tears at any moment, but god what was wrong with her eyes? Every time Billy tried to make eye contact with her, he felt something deep inside himself forcing him to look away before he figured out what he was looking away from.

         “Leave the reindeer alone.” Zoë repeated, her voice low and urgent. Billy lifted his hand, and much quicker than he would have expected, she spun around and walked briskly back into the woods. He broke off into a run after her. Cross-country it was. While it seemed that every branch in the forest was trying to high-five his face, Zoë moved forward quickly without appearing to be impeded by the woods at in the least. Branches cracked loudly as he pushed by them, snow crunched beneath his soaking wet sneakers, his breath came in long ragged gasps as he ran. Strangely, it seemed like the only noises in the forest were the ones Billy was making himself.

         “Zoë!” Billy cried out, not expecting her to react but desperately wanting a noise to blot out the awful silence around him. She didn’t appear to hear him at all, and she certainly didn’t call back. Zoë made no sound. Not even the woods made a sound, no birds chirping or squirrels chittering threats to animals fifty times their size, no distant sounds of other students waking up in the campus just beyond the trees.

         Billy had no idea how she managed to walk that fast, but at least it meant she was doing better than she looked like, he wouldn’t have expected someone who looked as bad as she did to be able to walk at all. He should have caught up to her by now, Billy thought, pressing on with a fresh gust of effort, but she seemed to only get further away the more he ran. He ignored the pain and the wet and the branches lashing out at him, not daring to take his eyes off of Zoë least he lose sight of her. She was getting harder to follow, her wet gray sweatshirt blending into the shadows between the trees. She moved silently behind a tree and failed to emerge from the other side. Billy blinked furiously and forced himself forward a few more yards, as his mind argued between the two ideas that if she stopped behind that tree, he could catch up, and the fact that tree was too young and thin to hide a toaster behind it, much less a teenage girl. He grabbed onto the tree when he reached it, more to stop himself from falling facelong into the snow than anything else.

         Bent over double, face red as plastic holly, Billy gave up on catching Zoë and tried to catch his breath instead. He was fast enough on the sports field, but he knew that in a footrace Zoë could overtake him nine times out of ten. The tenth time Billy wasn’t sure if Zoë was just sick of being asked to a rematch and let him win one. She was shorter, but had much longer strides than he did. Billy pressed his eyes closed and cursed himself internally for not thinking of this sooner. No one went off the trail in these woods, she could run as fast as she could, but her footprints would still lead Billy to wherever she stopped.

         He opened his eyes but didn’t straighten up. He looked at the snow. Billy wasn’t much of a tracker, but he could tell the difference between four inches of untouched snow and snow someone had just walked through. He was so sure she had been standing just here when he lost sight of her, that this was the tree she had darted behind. He glared at the tree accusingly, as if it were the tree’s fault that he lost track of her. Taking a deep breath, Billy drew up to his full height and looked around. Behind him, there was a distinct path he had been crashing along as he chased her, but aside from that Billy had no indication of where he was. He inhaled deeply, and the cold air was like daggers on his heaving lungs. How could he had been enjoying the weather less than half an hour ago? It was less than half an hour, wasn’t it? How long had he been running through the woods? He might not have been used to running between trees but he was still exhausted. He even didn’t feel this tired at the end of a football match, so how long had he been in the woods? He looked around, trying to remember which way the shadows were falling when he started his run, less to guess at how long he’d been out there and more to see if he’d gotten turned around. He must have done, Billy reasoned, as the woods weren’t that deep. It was just a strip of young trees between the quad and the river, wasn’t it? He should have been able to see at least one of them from any point in the woods.

         Finally, Billy’s eyes fell on something other than glittering white snow and twisted branches. In the snow, not far from him, the trees thinned enough that there was what should have been another stretch of unbroken snow. But this snow had fresh tracks left in it. Sadly, he could tell in a moment that these were the tracks of an animal, not Zoë, but they were so odd that for a moment, Zoë flew from his mind. They were large, but delicate and round, cleft in the middle like a deer but with two dots behind them. Part of Billy thought that they looked a little like rabbit ears with little round eyes under them, but he had as little experience with rabbits as with deer.

         The strange thing about the prints is that they started in the very center of the clearing and moved out into the deeper woods, like some giant hand had placed the animal delicately in the center of the clearing and let it wander away. Billy put that thought out of his mind, because it was ridiculous, it was creeping him out, and if the animal had held still while the snow started to fall that could have covered its tracks. Probably. Not that it had snowed in the past week, but Billy put this out of his mind and moved closer to the tracks.

         These tracks were broad and easy to follow, even with him churning up the snow beside them as he traced their path. He asked himself why he was following these tracks when Zoë was clearly in danger of something, but he found himself reluctant to give up on them and look for signs of someone who hadn’t left any tracks he could follow until this point. There was a movement at the edge of his vision, and Billy began moving towards it before he fully looked up. Maybe these tracks had lead him to Zoë after all. There was something grey moving between the trees, and his heart shot up in his chest with hope, failing to quiet down appropriately when he saw whatever it was it was far too large to be Zoë. And whatever it was, it was moving towards him.

         Billy held still for a moment, not daring to move lest whatever it was spook as easily as Zoë did. Maybe it was her, after all, and she was just much closer than he thought she was. No. It was coming out of the trees now, it was looking at him, and it was clearly what left the hoofmarks.

         As he had been conscious the past few years, Billy was aware of the movie Frozen and was able to think “Yeah, I guess that looks like the reindeer owned by dude who people keep saying I look like, so I guess that’s what reindeer look like.” despite the fact a small part of him had until this point always pictured reindeer as looking more like Bambi than Sven. Whatever it was, it was wearing a bright red bridle so it was clearly tame. Also, he rationalized, a wild animal wouldn’t be happily trotting up to a human it had never seen before.

         “Hey.” said Billy weakly, holding up his hand and immediately feeling stupid for doing so. The reindeer cocked its head and trotted forward a few more steps.

         “I, uh, don’t have anything…” Billy said quickly, patting down his pockets. A reindeer with a bridle walking up to a random human was definitely something that had broken out of a petting zoo. That would account for why the red bridle covered in round brass bells.

         “I know.”

         Billy blinked hard and cocked his head. The reindeer looked down at him. Billy had really not expected reindeers to be this big, but that didn’t account for where the voice came from.

         “Who’s there?” asked Billy, looking around.

         “I am.” said the reindeer. Billy hadn’t caught its mouth moving but that was definitely where the sound was coming from. He took in the bizarre appearance of the enormous creature. It’s antlers seemed to branch up forever into the trees, its thick creamy-white mane shook gently with every breath. Thick white and brown fur covered powerful muscles and the smell coming off of it was like nothing Billy had ever experienced. Because he was watching it so closely, he could see the dark, furry lips form the words, “You’ve lost your friend.”

         It wasn’t a question.

         Mind racing, Billy desperately tried to figure out what the appropriate thing to do in this situation was. Either he was losing his mind, in which case what he did next didn’t really matter, or a reindeer was talking to him.

         “Do you know where Zoë is?” Billy asked carefully. The animal smiled. It’s mouth wasn’t suited for it, and there was something very odd about the teeth.

         “I can take you to her.” the reindeer replied.

         This was weird. There was no getting around that. He had just found a talking reindeer in woods that were much, much bigger than they were on the outside, but the important thing was that Zoë was still missing.

         “I promise,” the reindeer said slowly, with a warm and husky voice. Billy couldn’t quite understand how the animal’s lips were forming English sentences, but they were definitely moving in time with the speech. Tentatively, Billy reached forward and touched the animal’s head. Warmth immediately flooded into his hand, and the reindeer rubbed against it affectionately. It reminded Billy how cold he was, and suddenly all he wanted was to bury himself in the animal’s fur and start feeling his fingers again.

         “I promise to bring you to Zoë.” the reindeer repeated. Billy flexed his cold fingers. If he was this cold, then Zoë, soaking wet and turning blue, needed help now. The last doubt out of his mind, Billy moved to the reindeer’s side and tried to figure out the fastest way to get up it. Steeling himself, he took a firm hold of the red bridle and swung his weight up on the animal’s back with all his might. He got a leg over and pulled himself into a balance, and it seemed to him that the reindeer flexed its muscles to settle him more firmly astride itself. Warmth flooded up into Billy from the thick, shaggy fur.

         For a moment, there was nothing but the stillness of the woods and the ragged warm fur beneath Billy’s hands. Neither of them moved. Then, he heard the animal’s voice again.

         “Dear god, you are stupid.” said the reindeer.

         Before Billy had fully registered what the reindeer had said, the thick, warm fur wriggled around his hands like maggots eating a corpse and tightened onto every part of him it could grab. Like thick cords, the fur wrapped itself around his fingers, his wrists, and up his arms. A sickening thought crushed the air out Billy’s lungs: This was not a reindeer. Billy knew almost nothing about reindeer but this was not a reindeer and it never had been one.

         The reindeer arched this neck back and laughed, its mouth opening at entirely the wrong angle and showing entirely the wrong set of teeth. It was as if someone had transplanted a wolf’s mouth into a reindeer’s head, but did it wrong so that the mouth could open up to an obtuse angle. A long, horrible tongue rolled past the fangs and writhed in the air like a dying snake as the creature snarled out a sickening noise that was slightly an agonised screech but mostly a cruel laugh.

         Billy became aware of the fact he was screaming and probably had been since the fur moved. The creature’s laughter rang through the icy woods, echoing and shattering icicles off the trees. The animal reared, and Billy hoped for a moment it would throw him off but the fur moved like snakes, rooting him firmly to the spot.

         Then it ran.

         Ice-encased branches whipped across his face, but could not dislodge him even when he pulled with the force. The forest was still morning-bright, the sunlight cracking through the branches and casting a thousand periwinkle-blue shadows dancing around the snow like dying spiders. The not-a-deer’s hooves passed over the landscape, sending a flurry of snow in its wake.

         Before them, the woods appeared to finally thin. They were reaching the edge of the woods, and a last gasp of hope awoke in Billy’s chest. If they got out of the woods, would the not-a-deer let him go? Was that it’s plan all along? Sunlight danced on the ice, and Billy’s breath caught in his throat. He knew what the thing’s destination was. He threw himself as hard to the left as he could, but something… momentum? The twisting fur? The sheer will of the creature? Righted him again. There was nothing Billy could do.

         They were heading right for the river.

With a leap, the not-a-deer broke out of the woods, hanging in the air for a moment, the icy surface of the river sparkling beneath them like a delicate spun glass sheet.

         “The ice!” Billy screamed. “It won’t hold us!” But even as he wailed these words, Billy knew that was exactly the idea. The crash of hooves meeting ice was enormous, but even that was drowned out by the sickly crack of the ice’s surface giving way. Billy’s last scream was cut off as the water hit him; he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, all he felt was the water shredding icy cold through his whole body, it felt like even his heart forgot to beat.

         Billy knew he was going to die. He would probably drown before he froze to death, and all that was left to do was decide if he was going to die with his eyes closed or not. It was the only choice he had left in this world. Billy forced his eyes open against the icy water. At what he saw, he almost wished he hadn’t.

         Zoë’s body floated unfettered mere yards away from him. Her eyes were closed, her skin was discolored, and her hair floated around her face like smoke. Blood cut red streamers in the water from where something with a large mouth and sharp teeth had removed a chunk of her leg. But still, he could see it was just a taste missing. This was where the thing took it’s meals. This was not a dinner table, this was a larder. This was were the thing brought it’s meat to eat slowly over the long, cold winter.

         There was something else in the water, something small and moving towards him. It didn’t swim, it didn’t float, it merely stood upright in the water, pulled ever closer to Billy by some unseen force. It was also Zoë. But it was Zoë as he saw her in the woods before this all started. She was underwater with him, but water dripped off her heavily, tears rolled down her cheeks from her sunken, lifeless eyes. Billy knew no sound could carry through water, so when he heard Zoë speak, he knew she wasn’t using her mouth to do it.

         “I told you.” said Zoë’s ghost, her voice trembling. “I told you.”

         Billy couldn’t respond, his lungs full of water, but his last thought as the cold and the water and the shock drained what little life was left in him, was this:

         I found Zoë after all. I found her.

         Above the surface, the ice rocked gently and slowed in its movements. The world was quiet, but after a few moments, one finch let out a tentative twitter. The silence of the wood was broken. The thing had fed once again. A few more animals dared to start moving. What appeared to be a small clump of leaves stood up and stretched its back. Timmers shook snow out of his fluffy mane and trotted delicately to the edge of the river. Humans were so horribly predictable: they see an animal and automatically assume it’s there for their benefit. Timmers had long since stopped trying to warn the students about the pooka himself, no amount of purring around their ankles or hissing and charging from the woods or growling ominously at the river seemed to do any good. Every human who had gone to the river had met the pooka and every human who met the pooka were drowned by it.

         Timmers thought that this time, leading a real human with a real voice, even if they were a ghost at the moment, to the next victim would have some effect. The plan had almost worked perfectly: the ghost had spoken to her friend, the human was warned, and he still jumped on the reindeer the first chance he got. Timmers stretched out his body in the feline equivalent of a sigh of resignation and turned back to the caretaker’s cottage, where a tin of good wet food and an army blanket twisted into a turban-like affair waited for him in front of the electric heater, Timmers’ salary for his important work on campus, even if no one bothered to listen to him.

         There was just no helping humans.