#never thought I’d write a courtroom drama but there’s a first time for everything

[you-remind-me-of-the-babe]

I’m home sick and that sucks.

BUT! I’m writing the scene with Baz’s appeals hearing for Depth of Reason, so that’s at least something.

[annerbhp]

I loved your last Molly POV outtake! I would love to see her perspective on the moment she tells Ginny that loving Harry also comes with a cost. Did she know that Ginny didn’t fully understand what she meant yet? Love your writing! Thank you so much!

Look what you made me do. :) It doesn’t perfectly answer your prompt, but I hope you like it all the same. This kind of feels like third in what’s becoming the Molly series. The first would be The Kitchen Table and then the one from this week about Molly’s Reaction to Ginny’s Tattoo.

part iii:

The first time Molly stumbles upon one of Ginny’s secrets, she’s almost lost another one of her sons—not one of her body or blood, but close enough that it doesn’t matter because the pain and fear live in her all the same. And to nearly lose this brave, bright young man in a supposed time of peace, after facing so much… They are all still silently reeling with that near miss, dragging up with it still painful memories of other losses. But this time, they do not have to bury anyone, do not have to leave any more seats empty, never to be filled.

Everything is just beginning to settle again when Molly comes downstairs early one morning, peering into the sitting room to see if Harry is still asleep. He’s been having a hard time falling asleep and staying asleep as he’s been weaning off the pain potions.

This morning though, as she looks in on him, he is sound asleep. He lies on his back, his face relaxed in a way she has rarely seen since the curse that nearly claimed his life.

Lying next to him is her only daughter, on her side facing him, their hands entwined in the narrow space between.

Molly considers the scene for a long moment before turning for the stairs and going back upstairs, giving the ghoul a good solid prod as she passes.

Molly didn’t want Ginny to go to Ireland, to pursue a career as dangerous and untested as Quidditch. By mostly, she wasn’t ready to let go of the last of her children. It took her ages to realize her misstep. Ginny is not one to be contained or dictated to, and it is this very part of her that has kept her safe for so long. The same way she keeps things so tightly held to her chest, the way there is far more that she hides than she shares.

And so with great effort, Molly lets things lie, knowing Harry’s near death experience and Ginny’s budding career are complications enough.

Well, she pokes gently now again, just to judge reactions. She trusts them, that doesn’t mean she isn’t curious. But she has also learned the hard lesson of alienating her daughter, and isn’t eager to face that cold distance again.

As the weeks pass, nothing reveals itself, Harry back to his home and Ginny off far away to her dreams. Molly’s just begun to believe she read too much into it when it all finally breaks.

It starts with a book, if such a word can even be used to describe a pile of filth and lies held together with a binding. She reads it, mostly because no one is going to badmouth her daughter without her having something to say about it, but also because Ginny never talks about that year, and she’s curious.

When she finishes, she wishes she never picked it up in the first place. Because even if they are lies, there is a truth lying under all of it that wears the stoic mask of her daughter’s face, and some things begin to click painfully into place.

Ginny smiles and makes self-deprecating jokes that are honed with fine sharp edges that belie their ease. I’m fine, she says, smile fierce and dangerous.

Even when the ministry turns its hungry eyes on her, Ginny just lifts her chin and dares them to try.

This is when it finally all falls apart.

Ginny walks into the garden one evening, only to be followed a moment later by Harry, a grim look of determination on his face. To Molly’s surprise, Harry grabs Ginny’s arm, pulling her around, and for a moment it looks like he may yell, but instead he pulls her in to his body with something like ease and familiarity and kisses her.

Here we go, Molly thinks.

It’s awful watching Ginny tear him apart, shatter his poor heart right there in front of everyone, but what’s worse is the utter hopelessness in Ginny, these feelings she’s hidden so well from all of them.

*     *     *

Molly watches as Ron and Hermione speak furtively to each other in low tones, their topic clearly Harry. Agreement eventually made, Hermione disappears off after Harry, Ron joining the rest of her sons at the table where they currently squabble over the drama they all just watched unfold.

“What happened with Crabbe?” Molly asks, crossing over to stand at the head of the table, Arthur silently just behind.

She watches her children all glance at each other, as always, trying to decide how much to protect each other.

Ron shrugs. “No one actually knows. But fifth year he supposedly fell down a flight of stairs. He was in the infirmary for a week.”

“Wasn’t that right around when Ginny broke her collarbone?” George asks.

Ron nods. “A rogue Bludger, she always said.”

They look at each other, something passing between them.

“He was a bully,” Percy says, looking a little uncomfortable to be speaking that way of the dead, but clearly keen to exonerate his sister. “Even when I was at Hogwarts.”

George nods. “He hit Harry with that nasty late Bludger. The game we got banned. Remember?”

Ron nods.

Bill frowns. “So we’re saying that Ginny did something to Crabbe in revenge? Something that ended up putting him in hospital for a week?”

“He no doubt deserved it,” George says, valiantly trying to defend his sister, but Molly knows it’s probably more than that, to judge from the way Ginny spoke of it. The way she threw it on the ground in front of them all as if she herself were troubled by it still.

“We all make mistakes,” Molly says.

Hermione appears with a pop, walking back into the garden.

Ron pushes to his feet.

Hermione shakes her head. “He wouldn’t talk to me. He’s locked himself in his room.”

“Did he say something?” Ron asks, clearly noting how stricken she looks. “Anything?”

“About Ginny? No.”

“Did you two really not know?” Bill asks.

“He said they’d been together for three years,” George points out. “Kind of a hard thing to miss.”

“But that can’t be true,” Ron says. “I mean Cass. And didn’t Ginny date Michael?”

Hermione shakes her head. “I don’t know. I’ve only suspected for a couple months.”

“A couple months?” Ron says, sounding outraged.“And you didn’t say anything?”

“I wasn’t certain. I only suspected. I mean, they’re never together, and she’s over in Ireland, so I thought maybe…”

“I can’t believe you never told me!” Ron rails.

“Clearly Harry was going to great lengths to keep it a secret. I assumed they had their reasons. And I didn’t…” She falters, eyes filling with tears.

“What?” Ron says, his anger seeming to instantly soften as he touches her back.

“I didn’t want to make him mad at me again.”  

“’Mione,” Ron sighs.

“I mean Cass. If I’d known I would never—”

“We didn’t know,” Ron says.

She nods, still looking miserable. “He was really…upset. I haven’t seen him like that in a long time.”

Ron’s jaw tightens, like maybe he has some idea what that may have looked like, pulling her into a hug.

“Should someone check on Ginny?” Percy asks, glancing up towards her room.

“Go ahead, if you feel like getting hexed,” Bill says.

Molly lifts her wand. “Leave your sister be. We will eat dinner, and let this sort itself out.”

She gets some mulish looks, but no one argues.

Only once all of her sons have gone back to their homes does Molly finally climb the stairs to Ginny’s room, finding her sitting and staring at the wall like any movement would be far too painful.

The puddle on Ginny’s floor is littered with glass, but her face is the shattered, dangerous thing.

Molly tells her to come down, trying not to be alarmed when she acquiesces without a fight,mechanically eating.

Arthur speaks, and Molly reminds her this was a war they all fought.

Ginny sits at her table and bends, and Molly sees that she’s somehow talked herself into believing she doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve anyone’s love. Because the war may not have made her into a monster, but it made her believe it all the same.

*     *    *

Molly has to find the deepest well of patience within herself to sit in that courtroom and not hex every so-called responsible adult in that room. She focuses on her daughter, the intense pride she feels because there she is, under the calm surfaces and dangerous words: her reckless, brave, ruthless, beautiful child.

Even more telling, she thinks, is the way so many people rally to her side. So many young people, showing devotion to each other, refusing to be bullied or to budge no matter the authority of the court, and this is the thing to give Molly faith for a future better than the endless wars she has fought. The losses they have paid.

“Alright, dear?” she asks Ginny after she is released, the inquest and the book behind her, but gaping wounds still ahead.

Molly had stood in the hall and watched Harry and Ginny fight, rail and thunder against each other yet again, but also the way Harry was fighting for her, not against, that he will not be driven off by the things in Ginny that Molly herself has always struggled with. And Ginny, who seemed to shove him away with both hands almost as steadily as she held him close.

“No,” Ginny admits. “I’m not all right at all.”

That small truth tells Molly that she will be though, makes her believe it more than anything else.

*     ��*     *

Molly sits at her kitchen table with a cup of tea, the house quiet and empty. Not hollow, but simply waiting.

“Ginny never came home last night?” Arthur asks as he comes to breakfast, clearly alarmed at having found her bedroom as empty as it was when Molly first checked.

“It’s okay,” Molly says.

Arthur frowns. “How is that okay?”

Molly points to the family clock. Ginny’s hand isn’t on traveling or gallivanting about or even mortal peril. Instead, it is firmly pointing to one destination.

Home.

Arthur makes noise about Ginny hiding somewhere in the Burrow or the old clock needing a tuning.

Molly just smiles into her tea.  

[aerinmelina]

Growing up, I used to spend summers with my mom’s parents. They lived in a lakeside community which was also near an ocean, and I enjoyed fishing and swimming and boating and crabbing and such as a teenager.

Anyway. During the summer between my 6th and 7th grade years, my parents bought a house and decided to surprise me by having it all ready by the time I came home from my grandparents’ house at the end of the season. I remember walking into the house - I’d been there before, because it had previously been owned by friends of ours - and my mom said we were house-sitting when I asked her why we were here when our friends weren’t. She then led me from room to room and kept asking questions like, “Why do you think they put this in here?” and “Why do you think they painted this room pink?”

I wasn’t stupid. I know that Something Was Up. I just never imagined that my parents would have bought a house at all, let alone this one.

“Maybe they’re expecting a daughter?” I said. It wasn’t a baseless assumption; the couple who had owned the house previously were young and the wife had been pregnant.

“No, it’s because this is your room now!”

My thoughts at the time?

Pink. Oh my gosh. It’s pink. Whyyyyyyy.

Hang on. Is my mom letting me move in with this family? I mean. I’ll miss my dad and brother. But like. Why this family? I like them fine, but I don’t want to live with them.

(^^That is literally how far fetched I believed the idea of my parents owning a house was. They were terrible with money. The worst. And houses cost money. Lots of it.)

Anyway. My mom was offended that I was offended because my room was bright pink when, at the time, I was going through this tomboy phase and liked all things blue and black and she knew that and she painted my room anyway in her attempt to “girlify” me, which was not lost on me at all, and which I was equally annoyed with.

I digress. I had a new, pink bedroom in a new-to-us house. With a back yard. Which wasn’t next to a metal factory, so that meant my brother and I could actually play outside without like. Worrying about getting metal shavings imbedded in our feet. (Story for another day.)

Along with this move came a switch in middle schools. My parents fought hard to keep my brother in his elementary school, but they didn’t even ask to try and keep me in my middle school. I was 12. I would have to make brand new friends. I was pretty shy. I was not happy about this. At all.

I remember going to my new school to fill out enrollment forms and such. The school was literally 3 minutes away from our new house, just up the street; I would be walking to and from school every day, something which I was actually kind of looking forward to. If I could look forward to anything. I hated this. I didn’t ask to move. Our apartment had been just fine.

Anyway. Sitting in the main office at the new school, I was given a list of elective classes and was told to number them in order of my all-star favorite to please-don’t-put-me-in-this-class least favorite. The office staff told me that because I was enrolling so late, a lot of the classes had already filled up, but they would do their best to put me in the classes I wanted to take along with the standard courses that every student would be taking. I looked at the list. Choir :), Accelerated P.E. (wow that sounded like a nightmare), Art :), Metal Shop!!, Wood Shop!!, Drama (nah), Speech (Super Nope!!!), and a few others which I’ve forgotten by now.

My list went something like this:

Choir

Wood Shop

Art

Metal Shop

Accelerated P.E.

Drama

Speech

Speech was at the absolute bottom of my list. The office staff told me that the teacher for Drama and Speech was amazing, talked him up, and asked me why I didn’t want to take that class. I said I was shy and had a fear of public speaking. Duh. They kind of grimaced and looked at each other, then said, “We’ll do our best,” and sent my mom and I on our way back home.

I wasn’t surprised when I saw Speech on my class list a week or so later. I wouldn’t have it until second semester, thankfully, but I was already dreading it.

Seventh grade at this new school wound up being a lot of fun, if I’m being perfectly honest. I hated being the new kid at first, but made friends with another new kid who was way more outgoing than I was, and together we eventually made friends with more people. I have lots of stories to share there, but today I wanted to talk about Speech Class.

My speech teacher was, well… let’s call him Mr. Jones. He was outgoing, had clear expectations, was pretty mellow, and honestly? He was charismatic and the entire student body loved him.

I was a nervous wreck when I stepped into his classroom for the first time (and for most of the following times thereafter as well). For whatever reason, I had no problems singing solos in front of the whole school (and I did so twice that year), but the idea of public speaking was petrifying. And I even had lots of opportunities to practice that through both my church and school.

(I know I’m not alone in this sentiment.)

One of the first things Mr. Jones told us was that by the end of the semester, we would be able to deliver speeches and oral reports without using “filler words” such as “like”, “um”, and “er.” He also told us that our vocabulary would expand considerably, thanks to weekly tests he would be giving us (noooo). And we would be delivering speeches to one another on a weekly basis as well, on a variety of different subjects, and those speeches would increase in length as the semester drew on. All students were to compliment each presenting student on something they did well with each speech they gave, and critique would be solely left to Mr. Jones to provide. (Which was good, because let’s face it, 7th grade kids can be positively evil to each other.) Mr. Jones made it clear that we were not to judge or criticize anyone else’s speeches, and told us that he trusted us to keep each other’s speeches confidential. He explained that he wanted his classroom to be a safe place for us to talk about whatever we wanted; things we enjoyed, books we loved, problems we had, negative life experiences, positive life experiences, etc.

These were all very important factors which, honestly, influenced and changed my life for the better. I’ll get into that in a bit.

Mr. Jones’ class was tough. And I was terrified. I tried to drop his class, but was assured by the office that all of the other half-year elective classes were full; I didn’t have any other options. So I bit the bullet and decided to try my best. I would call no more attention to myself than I absolutely had to, I would try to not fail the vocabulary tests, and I would listen to others and provide sincere compliments. I would also - gulp - do my best at giving public speaking a shot.

I don’t exactly remember the method which Mr. Jones used in order to get us to stop using “filler words” in our speeches, but it worked. I don’t remember specific vocabulary words I was forced to memorize, but he was right; my understanding of the English language, and the number of words in my arsenal, greatly expanded. And I learned several important lessons:

Courage doesn’t mean that there’s an absence of fear. It means that you follow through with what you know is right, regardless of however much fear you are feeling.

Sometimes we are given tasks which we feel are way above our ability to manage. These are times when we must challenge ourselves to rise to the occasion.

(Going along with #2) You never know what you are capable of until you are put to the test. You’d be surprised at what you can personally accomplish.

Other people have different experiences than you; you can choose to listen and learn from their experiences, and you can 100000% do so without being a jerkface to them, too.

Teenagers are capable of respecting the people around them, are capable of empathy, and are capable of keeping confidentiality/maintaining bonds of trust. These are powers which teenagers do possess, and powers which they absolutely can control, utilize, and choose to exercise. (I was deeply impressed by my fellow classmates.)

One semester of a speech class didn’t cure my fear of public speaking. Not at all. But it did give me valid tools which I still use to this day. It gave me a lot of confidence in my capabilities to gather my thoughts on a piece of paper, organize them into a cohesive flow, and then be able to read those thoughts aloud without stumbling all over them. Mr. Jones laid the foundation for me to begin to think critically. To really consider my words before I write or say them. He drilled into my brain that I had a voice, and that it was a voice worth sharing and being listened to. Those are lessons I will never forget. And, because of Mr. Jones and everything I learned from him, I entered a career field which ultimately led to me speaking in public on a regular basis. I am a leader in my office. I provide training for our new and existing employees. I am aiming to become a manager within the next couple of years.

I’m still nervous when it comes to public speaking (especially during those times when I am speaking in a courtroom). I will probably always be nervous about it. I have been extremely close to vomiting from nerves in the past. But you know what? I’ve spoken before, I’ve survived, I’ve been successful at it, and I’ll do it again in the future. My confidence really started to blossom with my 7th grade speech class, where I received tons of practice, and that practice was further compounded by other speaking opportunities at school and church as well.

Mr. Jones was an excellent human being. He was well-loved for a million reasons. He believed in us, and we didn’t want to prove him wrong.

I believe in you, too. I say this, because I know that a lot of you need to hear it. I’m being sincere. I believe in you. You can do hard things. You can make it through.

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #413

Top Ten Episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation

So, the Star Trek: Picard of it all. At the time of writing I’ve only seen the first episode, and although it was a touch exposition-heavy, and bounced to a slightly distracting degree from one location and event to another (France! San Francisco! Japan!), it was really very impressive. It felt utterly like a sequel to the Next Generation era, whilst also feeling like something new (my wife compared it to Blade Runner). A more contemplative sci-fi experience, which suits the legacy of the series.

I’ve talked a little about Star Trek before. The Original Series is one of those things that’s baked into popular culture at this point, like Superman and Star Wars. I’ve no idea when I first heard of it, but I don’t remember not knowing who Kirk and Spock were. But I never watched it, even in repeats (not the way I watched, say, Batman ’66). I came to Trek through the films, chiefly The One with the Whales and, later on, Wrath of Khan and Undiscovered Country. The first thing I remember about The Next Generation was my cousins telling me that this week the captain is taken over by the Borg; I have a funny feeling that the first episode I saw was “The Best of Both Worlds, Part II”, with the whole “Resistance is futile” bit coming in the “Previously on…” section. And, to be honest, I wasn’t hooked. I didn’t really get into it until my teens, through repeats. But I saw enough for it to become my favourite of all Treks, and – like the original cast – I saw the movies and fell in love even more (Star Trek: Insurrection was one of the first films my now-wife and I saw together as a couple).

The 2009 reboot movie, and subsequent Kelvin Timeline universe, have been interesting and often entertaining, but they’ve not felt like “proper” Star Trek to me. A bit too flashy and gung-ho, more like space adventure movies; I feel like Trek should be more like Close Encounters and less like Star Wars. That’s not to say they weren’t enjoyable, just not Trek-y enough (and the less said about the second half of Into Darkness the better). I loved the original universe, with its sense of history and its forward momentum; my favourite stuff from the Kelvin ‘verse was the knowledge about life after Star Trek: Nemesis, with the destruction of Romulus and all of that. I wondered what Picard thought of it, how it played out politically, how the Federation had responded. Really, I just wanted to know what my favourite characters were up to. Was Riker still captain of the Titan? Did Crusher go back to Starfleet Medical? Was Geordi still being creepy on the holodeck? And did Data stay dead? With Discovery being another prequel series, I thought it might be a long time before we got any answers.

And so to Picard, a series I kinda thought I’d never see. Something I was very keen on was to go back and re-watch all of The Next Generation in preparation. I say “re-watch” but it turns out I’d seen a whole lot less of it than I thought, or at least had forgotten most of it. So it’s been a wonderful and rewarding experience for me, Code of Honor notwithstanding. I feel I’ve got a much better and more rounded view of the characters and the series than I ever had, which is nice. And it was fun in the first episode of Picard to spot some of the deep-cut references, from Bruce Maddox to Captain Picard Day.

Anyway, this is a really, really long preamble for me to say that this week’s Top Ten is my favourite episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation.

The Best of Both Worlds, Parts I & II (Season 3, Episode 26/Season 4, Episode 1): yes, both parts; it’s inseparable to me. Massive and dramatic but loads of great character stuff: Riker becoming captain, Picard as a Borg, Guinan… Star Trek’s Lord of the Rings.

The Drumhead (4-21): a brilliant examination of institutionalised prejudice, honour, justice… but really what sticks in the mind is arguably Picard’s best speech, when he explains the concept of a “drumhead trial”. Outstanding stuff from Patrick Stewart.

The Measure of a Man (2-9): another fantastic courtroom drama episode, another brilliant Stewart monologue. This also has the benefit of being an existential look at what constitutes life, and potentially seeds plot points in Star Trek: Picard.

All Good Things… (7-25): one of the greatest finales of all time, it has everything: Stewart on top form, trippy timey-wimey shenanigans, the Enterprise blowing up, Q… and an incredibly touching final scene. The sky’s the limit indeed.

Family (4-2): after the epic bombast of both Worlds, we come back down to Earth, literally, as a broken Picard recuperates at his family chateau and mends fences with his disapproving brother. An unusual but simply beautiful episode of TNG.

The Inner Light (5-25): boy, these are all Patrick Stewart showpieces aren’t they? Here Picard lives a full life in forty minutes as an alien probe shows him the death of a civilisation. Incredibly bittersweet and an episode that left subtle character ripples.

Sarek (3-23): bringing back an iconic Trek character is one thing, but giving him a tragic mental illness, one that feels very true but also suitably sci-fi, is a masterstroke. Brilliant performances from Mark Lenard and, yes, Patrick Stewart.

Chain of Command, Part II (6-11): Part I has some cool sneaky stuff and tense character work on the Enterprise, but Part II is where the meat’s at: a phenomenal Stewart cruelly tortured by a terrifying David Warner. Star Trek does 1984, superbly.

Remember Me (4-5): woah, a non-Picard-centric episode! Gates McFadden on fine form as Crusher questions her sanity on a ship with disappearing crew, the Twilight Zone premise artfully realised in a gripping bottle episode.

Q Who (2-16): arguably, this is where TNG really begins. The always delightful Q brings our heroes face to face with the franchise’s Big Bad, the Borg. Here they are unknown, terrifying, unlike anything we’ve seen before; the seeds of so many stories are sown.

This was quite a tricky list to formulate, to be honest. The top half was fairly set, but there could have been any of a dozen episodes bringing up the rear. Another bottle ep that I adore is “Disaster”, which manages to be goofy, great fun, tense, and have some superb character work. Similarly I’m surprised I didn’t find room for “Yesterday’s Enterprise”, another iconic episode and another of the timey-wimey ones I love so much. And Q only appears twice, both times in episodes that don’t really centre on his brand of off-beat humour. It’s also interesting that so many of my favourites centre around Picard, and so many of them seem to – at this stage – feature plot elements that are going to be referenced in the new series (Bruce Maddox, artificial life, Romulans, the Borg… I hope Q gets a look-in too!). Anyway, TNG is great, I’m loving Picard, and what more is there to say?

[frederator-studios]

Graham McTavish: The Frederator Interview

At the moment, Graham McTavish is in Malta getting his head torn off by a Werewolf. Jack Bauer once rammed a fire poker through his chest then slit his throat. He’s been set on fire, drowned, strangled, stabbed, speared, knifed, shot - not to mention, kneed in the balls, punched in the face, even slammed over the back with a log by an over-eager young performer. All in a day’s work for the Scottish actor, who’s played the baddest of baddies on a slew of excellent dramas-with-a-twist, from Preacher to Outlander, 24 to Castlevania. But Graham himself doesn’t view his characters as ‘villains’ - just passionate, complex people, of which Dracula (though he’d resent to be called “human”) is the embodiment. Read on for Graham’s take on playing one of literature’s most iconic, dangerous anti-heroes—from the relative safety of a recording studio.

Are you in LA long?

I’m flying out tonight actually, back to New Zealand. My kids are there, so I split my time. I’m doing Lucifer at the moment for Netflix as well as Castlevania, so I had to come back for a day, yesterday - I flew back just for that. (wow whaaa?) Yeah. I do a lot of traveling, but even for me that’s insane! It’s also unusual for the scheduling to work out perfectly, which it does the next few months. I have an episode gap now, then in October, I do a film in Malta, and the day that wraps, come back to LA to finish Lucifer, and the day after that, fly to Canada to do a film with Willem Dafoe about the Iditarod. I’ve got to learn how to mush a dog sled.

That’s awesome. It’s like getting sponsored to learn a cool obscure skill.

It’s definitely a nice side effect of being an actor. What other job would allow you to learn how to mush a dog sled, unless you were actually becoming a professional dog sled musher? It’ll be great.

How is it for you to switch between characters, with so little time between roles sometimes?

It really depends on your approach to acting. I approach from the point of view of a child. I have two young children, and the great thing about being that age, is they can switch from one thing to another in an instant. Very fluid. I think because I’ve never trained as an actor, I can see work as play. Some actors live as a cobbler for 5 years to play a cobbler, and that’s what works for them. Personally, I pretend. When I'm mushing dogs, I will give the illusion that I really know what I'm doing. That’s what acting is: an illusion that the audience willingly participates in. And everybody is complicit.

You didn’t have professional training?

No. I used to write comic sketches at school with a friend of mine, and we didn't trust anybody else to perform them, so we did. The Drama teacher at school asked me on many occasions to be in a play, but I always said no. Then on one occasion, he asked me to step into a play called “The Rivals” by Sheridan, filling in for an actor who’d fallen ill three days before the production was due to be performed. I said yes. To this day, I have no idea why I agreed. But I did the play, and was of course bitten by the acting bug.

After that, a local Dramatics company asked me to join them, so I did amateur theatre for a year. Then I attended Queen Mary College London University and majored in English literature. I was lucky enough to have a professor who loved Shakespeare and Jacobean drama, and he cast me in all of those plays. As an English Lit major, I was doing two or three Shakespeare plays a year, performing roles that I never would have been given if I'd been at Drama School. I'm not against it, but I don't think it's for everyone. I got my union card in Britain after doing a Beckett play, and then just started working professionally. I also did a lot of Repertory Theatre in the UK, which I think is a great training ground for actors. So it was all slightly accidental, the case with a lot of people.

How did you choose to play Dracula? What about that part compelled you?

I played him onstage once, a great experience. Dracula is the sort of character people love guiltily. If you get the opportunity to play that, it's a no-brainer. Just reading Bram Stoker’s book, your sympathy is with Dracula, in many ways. You live the story through him. It's such a wonderful ride to be playing a man whose been alive for hundreds and hundreds of years. Dracula plays to our secret desires, our secret fears. I think in all of us, there is a fascination with the idea of living forever. Fear of living forever, and fear of death; the Dracula myth plays on that edge. It’s so powerful because it takes something that we all have to face one day and says, what if you didn’t? But in gaining immortality, you lose something very important. Dracula is very enviable in some ways, but is also deeply sad and tragic.

How is it, playing tragic characters?

Among the few advantages of getting older is you have more life experience, including with tragedy. It’s inevitable. And you can draw on those memories. But you can also draw on your fears as well. I did a scene in Outlander, toward the end, where my brother is dying. I thought of my own father, and all the things I never said to him. Those emotions definitely informed that scene. When tragedy and death and loss touch your life, you carry those feelings into your future.

Are you an animation fan?

I love animation, I grew up with it. Along with books, it was my first experience of storytelling. Cartoons, as we called them; they fired my childhood imagination. It’s like how we were talking earlier, about children, and the profundity of animation to them. The first film I saw in a theatre was Walt Disney’s Peter Pan. I was five and had no question that those characters were real. To such an extent that when they took the posters down at the cinema, I got upset. I was like, “But where’s Peter? Where’s he gone?” Because I thought Peter lived in the cinema. I still get absorbed into great pieces of animation, when the artistry is powerful, and it’s part of my attraction to doing animated work. And this show, Castlevania, is particularly beautiful.

How were you introduced to the project, and did you have expectations going in?

I knew it was going to be great. I was recording Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles when the Voice and Casting Director, Meredith Layne, pulled me aside. She said she was on a project and couldn’t tell me much, but she thought I’d be a fit, and would I like to be considered? Meredith has great taste, so I said “Of course” and sent in a tape. And when I heard that Warren Ellis was the writer, that was a huge attraction. I love his comic book work, and fiction as well. The Crooked Little Vein is one of my favorite books. Really, it couldn’t not be great, and the more I learned of the creative team behind it, the more sure I was. Everything put into the show - the casting, directing, producing, animation - elevates it so hugely above anything comparable. I love that it occupies this unique space.

What do you feel Castlevania’s Dracula uniquely brings to the character?

It’s his being human that makes it so interesting. When I portrayed Dracula onstage, there was no suggestion that that version of him felt love, or experienced empathy. But in this production, a woman, Lisa, takes him by surprise. She makes him feel, and turns his life around. I love that, because everybody can relate. You think your life is one way, then you meet someone who changes everything, opens your life up, makes you think about it differently - and makes it more enjoyable to be alive. And since Dracula is essentially dead, that irony is very clever.

Do you have a favorite representation of vampires in Media?

I'm a little biased, but I love the portrayal of Cassidy by Joe Gilgun in Preacher. It’s so unconventional. Herzog’s Nosferatu springs to mind, just incredible. Gary Oldman’s Dracula is wonderful. And I loved Let the Right One In, the original Swedish version. It’s genius. It took something familiar as a vampire story and gave it a whole new spin.

You work so much in the fantasy genre - is that purposeful?

Oh yeah. I love the variety. I've been a Viking, a Roman - twice - after always dreaming of playing one, I got to be one for a whole year. Growing up in the UK, you never imagine yourself getting to be a cowboy. On the first season of Preacher, there was a scene I rode into a western town: the whole duster coat with the Stetson guns, surrounded by horses and wagon trains, all the paraphernalia. I had to look cool and unbothered. I wanted to jump up and down in excitement. I was so, pathetically excited. I did a season of 24, and I’d been a huge fan. Every day I’d go up to the producers telling them I was a huge fan. After a while, they’d say, “Yeah, great, we get it. You like the show. You’re in it now, so if you could just be the character that’d be great.”

And I still get a pathetically childish enjoyment out of playing Dracula. What kid doesn’t want to play Dracula?! I once talked to Lance Henriksen, and he said one of the reasons he went into acting was to be thousands of people. You get to be a cowboy and a vampire and a dog musher and a Highlander in the 18th century and a dwarf in Middle Earth. I'd definitely rather do any of that than put on a suit and do a courtroom scene. Not that I wouldn’t! I’ve just never been asked. No one’s ever looked at me and said, “Let’s cast him as The Dad.”

Have you ever played a “Castlevania” game?

I am a terrible game player.

But, but - your voice is in like every game of the past decade!

Yes, I have done loads of video games. I did a franchise called “Uncharted”. Award-winning; incredibly popular. Never played them. I played one game years ago with my friend, called “Gears of War”. I was so bad at it. I'm the guy that shoots in a circle around his feet. I’m useless at them.

Your character's bad-assery makes up for it. Anything to say to fans of the show, in advance of season two?

I just really hope you enjoy it and get carried along with the story and and want to see more. That’s always the greatest thing, if you can get the fans to clamor for more ❀

Follow Graham on Twitter and Instagram

Thank you for the interview Graham! Without a doubt, you’re the kindest chronic bad guy I’ve come across. 

- Cooper ❀

(Craving another CV interview? Read Richard Armitage’s here.)

[clevernewdimension]

Exhaulted Part Seventeen

Parts: Prologue, One, Two, Three (M), Four, Five, Six (M), Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen (Coming Soon!)

Genre: Drama, Romance, Violence, etc.

Pairing: SehunxReaderxMinseok

Word Count: 6.1K

A/N: Been kind of hard to write lately with all that’s going on here in the US. So if it seems more rushed/lacking, I’m sorry. Just be kind to others a bit more lately. (Also added a reference to one of exosexo’s vines because they’re fucking GOLD.)

I stand there for a moment, my eyes wide as I remember what I just saw. I didn’t listen in on their conversation because I respect their privacy. I couldn’t help but feel my heart breaking. A lot more than I expected. Minseok told me Sehun loves me though… I know he wouldn’t play a cruel joke like that. I couldn’t help feeling bad about being upset, too, because they both looked really happy.

Sending me to get candy made total sense. How long has this been going on? Did anyone know but me? It’s not my business, truthfully, but I wanted answers. My hands started to shake, the pure intensity of my feelings lately and the stress of it all taking a toll.

I feel a tap on my shoulder, making me jump in terror. I let out a little scream before turning, seeing Yixing standing there.

“I’m so sorry,” He says, holding his hands up. He looked apologetic, a frown on his face. A folder in one of his, probably the paperwork he had to give to Minseok. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

At the sound of Yixing and my little scream, Sehun peeked his head out, “Everything ok,” He asks, glancing from Yixing to me. I nod, feeling my face heat up.

“Just… you know… thinking,” I mutter, handing him Minseok’s candy. “Just a lot of shit, you know? I-I should really tell Lina that I’m alright.”

Sehun gives me a curious look. He steps out, crossing his arms with a doubtful expression, “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“I’m fine just, you know, worried and I should really get to Lina and… um, food! Yeah, dinner! I should actually eat some dinner! Glad Minseok is fine and stuff,” I mutter quickly, waving a bit awkwardly before I turn on my heels.

Sehun’s eyes widen, the realization he just had was obvious. He reaches out, “Y/N-”

“Bye, I’m fine, see you later,” I say, quickly walking off as I get to the elevator. The doors open fast, thankfully, and I smash the close door button repeatedly as I hear footsteps follow me. “Come on,” I say, my heart beating fast. I see Sehun just as the doors close, starting its descent. I let out a sigh of relief, happy to know that this conversation wasn’t one I’d have to have right away.

I couldn’t stop the tears that came to my eyes as I was walking out the front door of the hospital. People passing by gave me looks of pity, probably thinking I lost someone. In a way, I suppose I had, but you can’t really lose something you never had. I tried to keep them from falling but to no avail. I put my candy in my back pocket, just walking off from the hospital. The sun was setting, soon the night would come and I’d be somewhere, alone and all by myself. I didn’t want to go back to Sehun’s tonight. I didn’t want to have to live through that conversation right now. I’ll figure it out later, as my feet carry me further. I get bumped into, sometimes getting awful looks, but I couldn’t care less at the moment. Just like they always do when I’m feeling too many feelings at once, my feet carry me. I end up by The Sugared Flower, where I decided to go in, ready to blow all my money on sweets. Sugar can mend a heart, right?

Standing there, talking with Cera was Lina. Cera was in her usual uniform, a bright pink apron over it. Lina was in a nice, black cocktail dress. Her hair up, probably having to go to another one of her family dinners. Cera sees me first, the smile on her face going to a frown. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

Lina turns, seeing me. She immediately walks over, taking me into a hug. It was comforting, so much so that the sobbing I’ve been holding back just came out. It’s just too much. Seeing my father yesterday, Daejung today, watching Minseok get hurt and then having my stupid fucking heart broken like that was just too much.

Lina gets me over to one of the cafe tables. I sit down, holding my face in my hands as I just continue crying. “I can’t do this Lin, God, I’m a fucking idiot!”

“Honey no,” Lina says, taking my hands in hers. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t,” I mutter.

This throws Lina for a loop. Her eyes wide, “Why?”

“It’s not my secret to tell,” I say, nodding thanks as Cera places some tissues in front of me. I watch as she smiles before moving and flipping the sign on the door to closed. “The mountain of shit just keeps getting higher and higher. First all this fucking stalking and Daejung shit, then I find out that my father is fucking Song of all people, and now this!”

Cera gasps, but then awkwardly goes back behind the counter.

“And that secret I wasn't supposed to tell,” I say before I blow my nose, wiping the tears from my eyes. “I can’t… Seeing Minseok get beaten like that was awful. And then what happened, and all of that added onto the rest of this shit, and Daejung hit me-”

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Lin growls as I clutch her hands as she gets angry.

“But that’s all just small shit! Distraction from him, from my dad! He left me for some bullshit reasons to fend for myself! So many nights I thought about him and hated him as I went hungry! Watching my mother die slowly I thoughts surely he’d have to see her, right? He did! It was just ME he didn’t really want.”

“Why didn’t you say anything to me,” Lin asks, looking in my eyes with heartbreak now as she shoves her anger to the side.

“Because more pity is what I want,” I say, laughing ironically. “But he went and saw her and he avoided me like I was a fucking plague! Guess I wasn’t good enough, huh?! Just some poor kid that’s more trouble than they're worth,” I say, tears falling from my eyes nonstop still. “Why did he leave me behind? Why am I not good enough for anyone, Lin?”

Lina scoffs at that question, “More like no one in this fucking town is good enough for you.” She touches my face, smiling sweetly at me, “You’re strong and brave, no one in this fucking world could have gone through what you have. You’re smart, in the top three in the best university in this hemisphere! And somehow, besides all that, you’re still so fucking kind and amazing somehow.” She sighs, “I’m sorry I can’t help, but I respect you a lot for holding the secret. You’ve got integrity, kid! But seriously, your father can go fuck himself! I don’t care if I’m saying that about the acting King!”

I see a large slab of fudge appear in front of me as I glance to Cera. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Darling, I do not mind closing ten minutes early for a friend,” Cera says with a smile.

Lina rubs my shoulder, a frown on her face. “I wish I could help,” She says, her phone chiming as I start to pick off a piece of the fudge, tossing it into my mouth. She takes a glance, before giving me a look.

“What,” I ask, wiping away my tears before turning to blow my nose, trying to get my emotions in order.

“Sehun’s texting me,” She says, as I try to act normally after hearing that. “He’s worried about you. Said you left in a huge hurry and spoke really fast and incoherently.”

“Lin,” I say, trying to hide my face, “It’s been a really shit day. Well, the latter half, anyways… The first part was great.” I was trying to distract from it, not showing how the mention of him made me feel uncomfortable. After having a few moments to let it out, I can collect myself and just lock away things for now. “I’m sorry, you’ve probably been worried about me… my phone was dead.”

“Jongin let me know how you’ve been, and Jongdae before that, since he was there with you before Jongin,” She says with a smile, noticing how I was changing the subject, but let it happen anyway. Lina is very understanding and willing to let something go for a little while until someone is ready to talk about it. I eat a bit more of my fudge, listening to Lina, and later Cera, tell me how their days have been in attempts to distract me.

Lina pats me again, “Come on. I’ll take you back to Sehun’s-”

“I’d rather go to my apartment, so I’ll walk” I cut in, thanking Cera as I go to pay for the fudge.

She shoves me back, to the door, “Nope. You needed a pick me up, sweetie. Besides, all your friend buying you gifts from here has made my business boom!”

I smile at her, though it doesn’t quite reach my eyes, “I’m happy for that.”

I give Lina a huge hug, “don’t worry about me, ok? I’m just going to get something for dinner, watch some dumb movies and book my tattoo appointment that I’ve been meaning to get when my phone is charged enough.”

She hugs me back, the look on her face shows she’s not entirely convinced, “Listen, Sehun is worried about you, and I can tell for some reason you don’t want to speak with him, but he’s worried about you. Minseok is too, both of them blowing up my phone. So for tonight,” She says, pausing to tap me lightly on the nose. “I’ll tell them to give you space. But you’re going to have to see them. If you need company, I’m sure there’s someone who can be there.”

“I know, Lin, I’m fine-”

She gives me a fairly sharp look, “No. You’re not. I can see through the bullshit this time, Y/N. You’ve never broken down like that in front of me. Ever. And tomorrow, you and I are going to talk. You don’t have to say the secret, but I just want you to let it all out for once.”

I was stunned as she gives my cheek a kiss like she normally does when she’s worried about me. She smiles, “Go get the junkiest food ever tonight and watch just the trashiest, dumbest movies. Or go get laid or something, just something to help with the tension, ok?”

I couldn't help but laugh at the last bit of advice, given that I’ve already done that before the whole shitshow in the courtroom happened. I didn’t feel like doing that again, I’d rather just relax for a while and let my mind sort out some shit.

The walk was quick, and I even stepped into the tattoo place to book the appointment since it was on the way. I got a huge pile of fries and a double bacon cheeseburger with extra pickles, ready to go and watch whatever I could.

When I entered my apartment, the place was clean. Someone had a cleaner come over, and I looked around. A note on the bar in front of the kitchen, along with the photo album.

‘Fairly certain Minsu would have killed me if I knew you lived like this and did nothing. - J.S.’

Holding the card in my hands, I tap it to the counter. I could tell he feels guilty, about abandoning me. He feels guilty, knowing that he could have helped and that I would have kept the secret about who I am. It feels nice for him to be trying, though part of me wants to just roll my eyes. Gifts don’t really make things better. Emotional conversations and working on a relationship does.

Where I once only had a bean bag chair, now was a full living room. Coffee table, couch, reclining chair and the bean bag. The kitchen was stocked again as I open my fridge, food all in it. I go to my bedroom, seeing a new mattress and bed. I smile, nodding. This was going to make moving back here much easier. So maybe a new bed helps thing to get going after all. Helps my back, anyway.

The T.V. in my room was large, and when I turned it on it was 4K, with deluxe cable and even a subscription to a streaming service. I’ve only seen things like this in my friend’s places, so seeing it here was a bit of a mindfuck for a moment.

So, needless to say, I ate in my bed, watching stupid comedy movies without a care in the world. At eleven, there was a knock on my door. I figured Lina sent someone to come and check on me. I open the door, peeking out.

The door then bursts open, making me stumble as Chanyeol and Baekhyun shuffle in. Chanyeol holding a variety of thing, while Baekhyun held a big stuffed animal. It was the cutest otter, as he shoves it in my hands.

“Um,” I mutter, looking at them, “Why?”

“We’re the ‘Turn That Frown Upside Down Squad’,” Baekhyun says with a smile as Chanyeol sets the basket of things on the bar.

“T.T. FUDS!,” Chanyeol yells, loudly as he grins.

Baekhyun goes to the basket, “We got face masks, we have manicure things, we have ice cream-”

“Popcorn, candy, and games,” Chanyeol cuts in, grinning wildly as he pulls me into a hug.

“We’re here for all your happiness needs,” Baekhyun says, hugging me too.  “We have everything,” He says, rather loudly in my ear, “Drinks for if you’re thirsty-”

“We can also help with the other kind of thirsty if you want,” Chanyeol says, winking as he pulled away. “Here with T.T. FUDS, we’re here to help you in any way we can!”

I stand there, looking at them both as they hold out their arms in a grand display. I couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled out, starting to laugh hysterically. I rested against the bar, giggling so hard that I was crying. So, this is who Lina sends when someone is sad, hm?”

Through my giggling, they pull me into my room, as we sit there and finish the movie I was watching. It was nice. I sat there, watching a movie as they both got out the stuff for a manicure and a face mask. Baekhyun places a mask on me, putting one on himself too.

“What color you want,” Chanyeol asks, smiling and eating a few of my leftover fries.

“Purple,” I mutter, feeling kind of weird being pampered. They paint in silence for a bit, letting me relax and think.

Baekhyun got out the multitude of purples, making me pick one out. I picked the dark one and they both got to work. I sigh, laying back and looking at the ceiling. The memory of Sehun and Minseok kissing couldn’t leave my mind.

“Do you think you can love more than one person,” I ask, throwing caution to the wind. Might as well see what they had to say.

Baekhyun just smiles, a playful gleam in his eyes, “Y/N, we’re flattered, really-”

I hit him lightly with my other hand, making sure not to mess with the wet polish.

Chanyeol doesn’t even stop painting my toes for a second as if it was the most usual question someone has ever asked him. “Yes,” He says, smiling brightly.

“Do you love two people, Y/N,” Baekhyun asks, smirking. “Because you know if you do I’d love to know who has stolen your heart!”

“You don’t think it's weird,” I ask, thinking. Perhaps Sehun does love me, like Minseok says, but also likes Sehun too? “I’m not talking about me-”

“If you say so,” Baekhyun mutters, shaking his head.

“What’s with that? The ‘If you say so’ bullshit,” I ask as Baekhyun finishes my fingers.

Baekhyun and Chanyeol sharing a look. Chanyeol gestures to Baekhyun, who sighs. “It’s no secret that Sehun loves you, and it’s also no secret that Minseok is feeling the same for you,” Baekhyun says, nodding.

I sigh, hearing that, looking away.

“But we know… other things,” Chanyeol says. A glance from Baekhyun makes him turn back to painting the last two toes.

“You care for them both, very deeply,” Baekhyun says, “Now. Are you asking because you think one or both of them love someone else, or because you feel the same about them both?”

The night with Chanyeol and Baekhyun was nice, after the conversations. More junk food, bad movies and just overall a lot of laughs. They left after a bit, hugging me and telling me not to worry. I, finally, was alone with myself and my thoughts. I couldn’t sleep because of it. Anytime my eyes closed, I see Daejung, felt like I was in the courtroom and heard Minseok’s screams. I spent most of the night looking at pictures of my mom, just trying to keep my mind off of things.

I’ve never been good at that, honestly. When I feel overloaded I just overthink things. My mind is just a beehive that won’t stop going around and around in circles. My mind, while my greatest weapon, was also a curse a lot of the time. At least I’m not doing that and going hungry at the same time anymore.

At four in the morning, I couldn’t stand being alone with myself cooped up in my apartment anymore. I grabbed my keys and my phone, not bothering to put on any other clothes other than a bra and a hoodie. Slipping on shoes, I leave my home. At four in the morning, there was barely anyone out. A few people leaving for their home after a night out, some starting early preparations for work.

It was quiet as I walked down the street. In a way it was nice, being awake before the city woke up. Peaceful, even. Some people up getting ready for the morning rush, but overall there was really no one. Some food stalls and trucks selling food, mostly too drunk and exhausted party or club goers.

Soon enough, I found myself at the beach. I sit on a bench right before the sand starts and I just stare out at the water. People fishing already out and leaving for the sea. This time alone giving me time to think some more. My thoughts know nothing except circles and the constant spinning of them lately.

How do I feel about Minseok? He protects me, cares for me and is kind. He was so hurt when he thought he took advantage of me. The time I spent with him at his place was lovely, and I could honestly have felt like I could have stayed there forever. The way he reacted to when I was in the courtroom, too. He begged me to not be there, to leave and look away. I stood up to Daejung without any fear for him. Most importantly, I admire his want and need to help others. He just wants justice to be just.

But there’s a way Sehun understands me that no one else does or likely ever will. He let me see him at his most vulnerable, and I did the same. I know the truth that no one does, not yet, anyway. If the relationship between him and Minseok has been going on, that means he hasn’t even told him. When he said he wouldn’t tell anyone, I believe him. He trusts me deeply, and I trust him too. He’s been there when I needed someone. Sehun always protects me first, standing immediately and ready to do anything.

Being next to Sehun makes me feel like I’m not broken. That just because those things happened to me doesn’t make me worse or like I’m beneath anyone. Being next to Minseok makes me feel stronger. His belief in my strength showed when it mattered most.

Today was oddly cold, even as the sun started to peek out from the horizon. The sky turning brilliants purples, pinks and oranges. The city behind me started to wake up, the sounds of cars and traffic echoing all around.

As the sun fully comes above the sea, my feelings became clear. Baekhyun’s words made much more sense. I love them both. For different reasons, but over all, because they are both good and kind.

I don’t want to hurt them, though. I’m not worried about them hurting me in the slightest really. Pain is familiar. It hard, sure, but I'm used to it and can even sort of thrive in it like I’ve done for years. It’ll hurt and I’ll cry, but that’s just what happens. I know pain and moving on and forward past it. Despite it.

Happiness and love are what I don’t know. I know the love of family from my mother, but romantic love is something I thought didn’t really exist after Daejung. He never really loved me, and I don’t think I loved him either. I was just surprised that someone like him was taking an interest in me. I’ve been ignored for ages and, besides Lina, no man ever cared about me because I don’t offer power or money.

A lot of relationships here in the capital are not from love but about what they can gain. What can be gained from this union? Just a few months ago a CEO’s son married the daughter of the police captain. In return for taking his daughter away, he promised to cease all investigations into his company. He hated his daughter because she dared to have her own thoughts. Lina told me about it since her family went. Thankfully it seems like the daughter and the son are great friends, so it isn’t the worst thing to happen.

Marrying for love was mostly a notion for the lower classes. We don’t have anything to gain, really, from marriage. The only notable people who married for love were the Queen, Acting King Song, and, in the future, the princes. Everyone else sees it as a business deal, like centuries ago. Technology advances so far and yet people can be often stuck in the past.

My stomach lurches, growling loudly. The sun was up and the city was bustling with life now. I feel something touch my shoulder. I jump at the touch before whipping my head quickly to see what it was. I turn just in time to see Jongdae hopping over the back of the chair. I feel some else sit down at my right, and I turn to see Jongin.

Jongin frowns, touching my chin lightly, “You have a small bruise.”

I shrug, “Well, Daejung did slap the hell out of me.”

Jongdae hands me a paper bag, “Breakfast. We saw you sitting here after getting a bite ourselves and figured we’d see if you’re alright.”

I smile, “Thanks.” I quickly open the bag, getting the breakfast burrito out and starting to eat it quickly.

Jongdae laughs, “Someone was hungry!”

I just nod, eating more as I look out at the ocean again. “How did you know I was here,” I ask between bites.

“We didn-” Jongdae starts.

“Lina told us,” Jongin says, cutting his cousin off. Jongdae reaches back, lightly slapping the back of Jongin’s head. “What was that for?”

“For telling her that, idiot,” Jongdae yells, making me wince and over my ear. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s fine. And I’m not mad, Lina knows me very well.”

“Good thing too, because you weren’t answering your phone,” Jongin says as I finish off the first burrito.

With my mouth still full, I say, “I probably should have taken it off of silent.”

Jongdae laughs, putting an arm around my shoulders, “Yes, that would help, you know! We’ve been trying to find you since five! Minseok needs proof of what Daejung did to you. He needs permission for your medical records and anything else.”

I bite my lips, pausing for a moment. “Alright.”

“He would have told you himself, but apparently he thought it was best to leave you be for a while,” Jongin says, picking off a bit of the tortilla and eating it. “I asked Sehun to come with me, since, you know, you and him kind of get one another, but he said no.”

“Strange,” Jongdae mutters, “Since, you know, normally he has no problem helping people with things like this.”

“ESPECIALLY since it’s you,” Jongin adds, as they both give me a look of curiosity.

“Perhaps he was helping Minseok at the hospital,” I say, eating the last of the breakfast they bought for me.

Jongin shakes his head, “Minseok went from the hospital straight back to the courthouse to start working. Junmyeon just pulled him away from his work so he can go shower. Have to get dressed to the nines so the announcement can be made and let the country know that Kim Minseok is now the royal lawyer. Or look as good as you can with a black eye, really.”

“I swear,” Jongdae says, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, “He’s determined to overwork himself to an early grave.”

I just smile a little, “Minseok is very serious about promises, you both know that. He promised Sehun and me something. He doesn’t back down from promises.” I stand  stretching a bit, “Alright, let me go back and take a shower and get dressed really quickly.”

Jongdae pulls his keys out from his pocket, “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

The ride to my place was quick. I bid them goodbye before I got dressed as quick as possible. My usual shorts and shirt with no sleeves combo, with a hoodie on for comfort. Minseok complained a bit in a huge group text that the courthouse is ‘the coldest place on the planet, both physically and metaphorically’.

In the kitchen is a loose floorboard. I hid all the pictures and videos that Daejung took of himself hurting me and hid it there. If you didn’t know it was there, you would never have known. The black bag felt heavier than it was as I took it with me. I placed it in a backpack before heading to the courthouse. It was only about a fifteen-minute walk until I was there, opening the door. The receptionist there greeted me and said I was expected and that I could go right into the Royal Lawyer’s office.

Now, Minseok’s office.

With one hand on the knob, I take a deep break before knocking. A moment to collect myself before I heard his voice.

“Come in.”

I open the door, seeing Yixing there alongside Minseok and Junmyeon. Minseok was at the computer, working while the other two were taking everything of the previous Royal Lawyer’s things and placing them in boxes.

Minseok looks up from the top of his glasses. He smiles, at first, before the expression shifts. He looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Hello, Y.N.”

“Hi,” I say, before walking over and sitting on the chair in front of the desk. I slip the backpack off, taking the black bag out of it. I sign, placing in on the table in front of him.

Minseok grabs a clipboard, handing it to me. “This is to give us permission to have it and to say we didn’t take it from you. Also, the paper to give us access to your medical records is there, it’s the top one.”

I sign the paper, taking it and handing it to Minseok, who simply just slides it to Yixing. “Can you file this at the hospital for me when you leave? Tell them that it’s urgent, and I’d request it be sent to me as soon as it possibly can.”

Junmyeon tosses a picture of the Royal Lawyer in the box. It was him and Daejung’s family at a vineyard. The sound of glass crashing was loud and piercing. “Oops,” He mutters sarcastically, a smile on his face.

“Minseok, please decorate this place better than a wannabe villain lair,” Yixing says taking the paper and folding it neatly into thirds. “It’s so dark and gloomy…”

“Going to be a bit busy for a bit,” Minseok mutters, pushing his bangs out the way as he keeps typing.

I quickly finish the paperwork, setting the clipboard down. “There you go,” I say, biting my lip, “Um… yeah.”

Minseok slides to the left with his chair, looking at me. His hand takes the bag, before nodding. “Some people will have to see these. A jury, his lawyer, some other people. You’re fine with this, right? I want him in jail badly for what he did, but it has to be done the right way.”

I nod, “Yeah. I’m fine with that. Just… when it’s all done and it get’s locked up with other evidence, make sure I never have to see this bag again.”

Minseok smiles, “I swear, Y/N. Never again.” His eyes kind as he takes my hand, giving it small pats. I nod, knowing he’s a man of his word.

The door bursts open, revealing Jihae’s lawyer. His hair slicked back and an expensive suit on, the same one from yesterday.

“There is a thing called knocking,” Junmyeon says, giving him a glare. “Next time, I expect you remember. Royal Lawyers should be respected.” His tone of voice was harsh and cold, in a way I’ve never heard him speak before. His body tense as he glares at the man.

His eyes meet Junmyeon’s, the smile faltering for a second at the presence of the crown prince. Looking away, he takes a moment to collect himself. He then turns and smiles, placing a paper on Minseok’s desk. “My client agrees to turn on Daejung and the previous Royal Lawyer, Park Jungil. She also is willing to tell you every corrupt person she’s ever had contact with within the government, but she wants certain terms met.”

Minseok’s kind glances he’s been giving me turn to stone as he stands, taking the paper, “I suppose we couldn’t expect her to do anything out the kindness of her cold, black heart, hm? She’s willing to turn on them as well as other people she knows and has proof that has taken bribes and have blackmailed others,” He says, summarizing the paper. “I’ll bite. How many are we talking?”

“Over three hundred,” The lawyer says. Yixing lets out a small gasp, and I realize I did the same. That’s a large number of people. “And she’s willing to turn them all in for probation and… well… the special demand of outing Y/N as officially a princess.”

Minseok glares at him. Junmyeon stops what he’s doing, looking back at the lawyer. Yixing places a hand on my shoulder, shaking his head. “Forget that!”

“She won’t budge on it, trust me, I tried,” The lawyer mutters. He looked tired, stressed and like he’s wanted to rip out his hair arguing with her on this.

“I can’t just let her blackmail someone,” Minseok says, shaking his head.

I bite my lip before looking at Minseok, “Minnie, it’s three hundred people. It could lead to more! You want to get the traitors out, this is the best chance you have.”

He looks at me, “But you don’t want to be a princess.”

I nod. I don’t. I don’t want to have to be a certain way, prim and proper. A doll to be paraded and used for political gain. I was willing to, though, if it leads to cutting out a large portion of the rotten core of this country. I nod. “I can be one officially for a little while until the trial is over and then I can renounce the title,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re sacrificing so much to help me, it is the least I can do.”

Minseok looks at me, his eyes full of worry. He tries to keep a professional look about him, but he was struggling. “Are you sure,” He asks quietly. “You’re just giving her what she wants. She wants to ruin you and she knows that the best way to do that is to force you to be what you’re not.”

I nod, “Minseok… I can’t just sit here and live with myself if I knew there was something I could do to help the people like me who have suffered because of people like them and I didn’t.”

Junmyeon looks at me, “Royalty isn’t as cracked up as everyone thinks.”

“I know, but I have to do something, right?” I smile, patting Yixing’s hand that was on my shoulder lightly, “Besides, I have friends who will help me if I need it, who will make sure I don’t completely fall apart.”

Minseok sighs, setting the paperwork down. “Then I’m going to make this and anyone connected to its top priority. That way, you don’t have to suffer for very long.” He gives me a sad look, “That means your’s and Sehun’s cases will need to be put on hold unless they’re connected to all of this somehow.”

I nod, “Don’t worry about that. You worry about getting those assholes and making them fucking pay.”

A genuine laugh leaves his mouth, and for a moment I forget all of the weight that was going to be put on my shoulders. “Cursing isn’t princess like,” He jokes, a sad smile on his face. “Alright. Let’s get started, then.”

[laurenredhead]

Thoughts About Opera, and Half-a-Review

I have been thinking about writing a blog on something like this for some time. At various times I’ve written reviews on this blog, some of which have been quite well received. In principle, I like writing reviews: it is a good way to share new music with people and also to offer a way into new music for people who are less familiar with it. But there are some downsides, too: people send things to you that you don’t have time to review, or that there might be reasons not to do so. For me, one such reason is that I tried to feature mainly music that was not very well known and so I didn’t want my blog to be just a medium of extra publicity for releases that already have a lot of that behind them and don’t need my voice to promote them more. Another reason not to write so many reviews became the expectation that I might review everything I listened to or saw, leading to a never-ending to-do list that took time away from writing other things.

Nevertheless, holding back on writing reviews doesn’t meant that listening to music and attending performances doesn’t generate thoughts about music that I’d like to share. I’ve also found that lately many of these thoughts have come from performances that are outside the kinds of things I would have usually reviewed: namely, opera. I’ve always enjoyed opera, but over the last few years the number of opera performances I attend has been steadily increasing. This is both because of time and opportunity since I can now go after work. I used to limit myself to productions of more contemporary works but now try to see everything from he twentieth century or later and early (usually baroque) operas as well. The bit in the middle is where I personally lose interest in the music as opposed to any specific reason to avoid these.

I have also attended a few smaller productions where possible; particularly at the Tete-a-tete festival. In the past year some of these have been created by composers I supervise - meaning it would be unfair to discuss them in detail on this blog - but others have just sparked my interest in different ways. As you might imagine, there’s a lot of variation between the different types of music I see, and also in what is possible for productions in different venues and with different approaches and budgets. This might lead some to question whether all of these productions are in fact operas. I don’t want to dwell on this question very long: the kinds of criteria that are often suggested as limits on “opera” in such discussions are clearly unhelpful - singing style, ensemble size, types of plots, and use of particular types of staging have all been mentioned at various times in the past. Clearly all of those things limit who can make opera and who attends it, by definition, as well. While a more nuanced discussion might also be had, for the purposes of this blog I will proceed as follows: things that say they are an opera are an opera. Robert Ashley’s operas are operas. Operas that are entirely digital (such as A - a shadow opera by Cecilia Ore) are operas. Feminist flash operas are operas. You get the drift.

Many of the things that have inspired me about opera have not come from specific types of productions, venues, or periods of music. Limiting my listening by any of these things would therefore limit the potential for inspiration. And may of my observations are probably very banal: exciting musical experimentation is found often in some of the music earlier works (much more so than some more recent ones), drama and musical complexity are not all linked (and “complex” new music doesn’t kill off drama but often effectively carries it), text is very important and quite often bad in operas of any period. While I’ve really enjoyed some innovative staging concepts, I also feel that staging can be used to apologise for certain performances and things that look visually impressive aren’t always the most effective presentations of an opera even though they may be beautiful. Not everything goes well all of the time, of course.

These kinds of observations can, in reviews of some new operas, become a litany of complaint. If the largest and best-funded opera houses can’t make the right choices with access to top creative professionals, technology, and everything else besides, how might smaller and newer productions do this? Indeed, how might they be legitimately considered as opera by those who may hold the narrow criteria I mentioned above? Before I give an example of what I believe to be one such successful production, I want to state that I don’t think there are right answers to these questions. There are probably lots of “right answers” that find good audiences, but nevertheless audiences who don’t consider themselves to be opera audiences and so never concern themselves with questions of what opera can achieve. While this is also fine, I do think that it is important to be concerned with the futures of those pieces as operas, too. However, the example that I will describe briefly probably sits a lot closer to classical opera than those examples.

Another caveat before I launch into the description: when watching this piece I didn’t expect to write a blog about it. I didn’t keep the programme or any notes. So I don’t have all the correct details of the musicians. For this I apologies: all errors are mine.

In November I was grateful to be invited to attend the London preview of Stephen Crowe’s most recent opera. For those who don’t know his work, Crowe is a composer of a number of operas in some different styles. This isn’t the first piece of his I have seen, but that didn’t necessarily tell me what to expect from the performance. The work is titled Lady Chatterley’s Trial and follows the obscenity trial of the book, including some extracts. Rather than a completely historical re-telling, the trial contemplates a number of perspectives from expert witnesses who appeared (including Richard Hoggart) and ideas about the book (such as something written by T. S. Elliot that was not included in the original trial itself). The singers are accompanied by piano, and the courtroom exchanges are antiphonally punctuated by a chorus who sing passages that reflect on the feelings of the book’s central character, including emphasising her loneliness; an effective juxtaposition between the focus of the trial and the themes of the book that it overlooked.

(Photograph: still from Lady Chatterley’s Trial, image by Reece Straw, used with the composer’s permission)

On the whole I found this a good opera plot. It was not in itself difficult to follow but offered humour, pathos, and things to think about. As the “trial” aspect was more of a discussion between a single lawyer who at times argued for both sides and the witnesses - who considered further questions of literature, meaning, and human experience, as well at the actual book - there was plenty to engage with beyond the notion of winning or losing that might be associated with a courtroom drama. The music itself was very effective in delivering this. Crowe’s aforementioned range of styles found themselves in the piece at various points in a range from pastiche that could have been contemporaneous with the novel to music that was much more modern. Despite this complexity, the vocal lines remained very sing-able and easily articulated which meant that the twists and turns of the plot were never lost.

Beyond this, I think that a success of this piece was that it worked extremely well for its forces. Rather than a piece for large forces that felt scaled-down (in the possible hope of scaling up in the future), this is music that was written for and worked for its setting. The chorus comprised four voices: countertenor, alto, tenor, bass, who often sung in quite intricate contrapuntal lines that were well articulated as individual voices but that could have been lost in a larger group. The piano part demonstrated the piano’s range of colour rather than the ability of the piano to fit the orchestra’s range onto its keys. Even the venue - Toynbee Studios - was well-chosen to represent the courtroom without the need for a wide variety of props. The clarity of the vocal writing (already mentioned) made surtitles unnecessary (these were used only for the chorus and quite simply and effectively integrated into the set).

(Photograph: still from Lady Chatterley’s Trial, chorus, image by Reece Straw, used with the composer’s permission)

So, I found a lot to enjoy about this piece and much of it is the result of the effectiveness of the combination of the text, music and staging. I would recommend it to you. What I am left to wonder is the future of works such as this: it doesn’t need to be scaled up for presentation in a large opera house, but to be re-presented in other suitable settings. The lack of potential ensembles to consider works like this as “repertoire” is therefore a problem: it highlights that opera should not be about ever larger/more expensive productions but repeating effective dramatic productions. Works like Lady Chatterley’s Trial are complete in themselves as opera and deserve to be heard again as opera and not as stepping stones to future, larger works.

There are not any special conclusions to this discussion except to say that this final point - I think - warrants further consideration. While opera in some ways looks over-funded in terms of its share of public money vs its audience, only a tiny percentage of that share is finding its way to small-scale work compared with the maintenance of large opera houses. Composers such as Crowe may be the future of opera at those large houses, but even if that is the case it doesn’t particularly matter: work on the scale of Lady Chatterley’s Trial is not just the future of opera but its present, and as such I think needs to be more present in how opera is presented and discussed.

[darkhymns-fic]

Murder with a Side of Lies (Ch. 7)

Undyne is taking the lead on the case, and Mettaton reveals his final witness.

Will she finally be able to face up to her past?

Fandom: Undertale Characters: Undyne, Mettaton, Sans, Asgore Dreemur, Papyrus, Alphys Rating: PG Chapters: 7/8 Mirror Links: AO3, FF.net Notes: The sequel to Kidnappings in the Early Evening by Sky. A fusion of detective noir fiction and courtroom drama! All stories, art, etc., related to this main story will be under the tag #undertale noir. (chrono)

Suggested reading music.

First Chapter Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Dealing with Family

First things first. Let’s get one thing straight. This is Undyne’s personal notepad, and you DO NOT have permission to read this. That means you, Papyrus! Even you, Alphys! NO ONE is allowed to read this but me.

I mean it. Final warning. I don’t care if you’re a random passerby who found this page somehow, or even if you’re from a different universe reading somewhere you think you’re safe! If you read this, I will find you and pound you into oblivion!!!

Yeah.

Yeah, those warnings probably scared everyone off by now.

I need to write my feelings down. No matter how stupid or gushy or mushy it sounds, that’s what I have to do. I’ve been running away from my thoughts and my feelings for too long. It’s time I faced what’s been bothering me. I am going to write down how I feel NO MATTER WHAT! No lying to myself! If I want to get stronger, I have to do this.

Seriously, if anyone is reading this, I really will pound you, got it?! Not the ‘haha how funny’ kind of pound either. The kind of pound that leaves you six feet under the ground!

Hmm. That rhymed. Nice. Well, whatever.

.

.

.

The night spent at Alphys’ was great. It felt like old times again, not that it was even that long ago. We laughed and ate terrible pasta and watched TV. Like old times, too, there was that tight anxiousness that lay at the pit of my stomach. A little worse than usual, sure, but I think I hid it well.

I left early in the morning while they were sleeping. No car today, I had to leave that with Papyrus. I wasn’t sure if The Family would really come after Alphys, but I know they had seen her note. I wasn’t sure what The Family was capable of anymore. There were too many unknowns and I-don’t-knows when it came to them now.

Fortunately, I know I can trust Papyrus. Now that I got it in his head to hightail it out of there at the first sign of trouble, I’m certain they’ll be okay, no matter what happens.

Walking through the streets, though, that gave me too much time to think. Worse yet? It stopped raining. Of all the days! I had to take one of my cigarettes to soothe my nerves. The lack of rain felt like an omen, but I knew that was all in my head.

I’ll never quite understand how anyone can dislike the rain. Now that it was gone, the city felt so quiet. Musty yellow rays of sun shone down in my eye, practically blinding me at every turn. Without the rain, the world just looked damp and old. Gross stale puddles from the night before remained on the sidewalk, accumulating whatever filth was left instead of getting washed away.

Ngah! Enough talk of the weather! It doesn’t matter, and I don’t care if it’s raining frogs and asteroids!

I should use this time to go over the case.

My top suspect should be pretty obvious at this point. I don’t know for sure, but it seems everything is pointing towards him again. Could it be another framing? I wasn’t so sure.  The golden petal, the three hot marks on the garbage container and, last but not least, the glass shard.

At the time, last night, I didn’t think of what it could be. A shard pulsing with magic, felt like electricity. What else could it be used for? I’ve never paid much attention to Alphys’ work place, but I’ve seen jars like it before.

I’m certain I knew what the jars would have been for. It wasn’t a nice thought. I don’t feel like writing that one down.

Still, this wasn’t exactly a dusty knife with prints belonging to the killer. None of this junk was a guaranteed win. But, I think I can appeal to him. I hope I can.

Hm. If he even shows up. Guess if he doesn’t, I could always call him to the stand, right? That’s a thing lawyers do? Ngah, what did I get myself into?!

No sense in worrying now. Before I had realized it, I had made it to the courthouse. My heart was pounding, my palms were sweaty. Weakness, I know. It’s best I admit to it rather than ignore it, then maybe I can overcome these feelings.

The lobby was jam packed again with monsters, chattering and gossiping away at how this dramatic mystery might end. Most assumed Catty did it, still. 

Right, Catty. I’ll be honest, I mostly forgot about her. A little cruel, I suppose, but I have bigger fish to fry. That didn’t come out how I meant it to.

“Oh! Like, hey! Like! Helloooo!” Catty purred, calling me over across the way.

Since I’m being honest, I’ll admit one more thing. I wasn’t a fan of Catty. Don’t get me wrong, she’s cute in a literal trashy way, but god the way she talks.

“Um, helloooo?!” Catty tried again, sounding mildly annoyed and confused at the same time. “Like, detective or lawyer lady, or whatever!! I’m, like, over here!”

I sighed. Fine, I guess I should go talk to her. “Yeah?” I asked through a puff of smoke.

Her yellow feline eyes glanced over me, looking side to side. “Um, like, where’s the bone guy? He didn’t, like, totally flake out on me, did he? Oh. My. God! That would be so totally lame!”

I could tell she was going to keep going on and on about it.

“He’s working on your case outside the courtroom,” I lied, stopping her endless banter. “Papyrus would never flake on anyone, trust me. I’ll be defending you.” I couldn’t help but show a little anger in my voice. I didn’t like the accusatory tone she held towards Papyrus.

She raised an eyebrow at that. “Oh. Like, okaaay, I guess.”

I didn’t feel the need to say anything else to her. She stared up at me, expecting something.

“Um, like, you must be feeling totally confident, right?” Catty asked with a wave of a paw, her chains jingling. “Yesterday you guys, like, totally owned!! Like, when Mettaton was all like--”

“Yeah, I feel confident,” I lied again. Think she saw through that one. I wasn’t exactly in a chipper mood. Damn, already need another smoke.

Catty frowned. “Well, I, like, totally believe in you!” Her voice strained. She was lying, too. I didn’t blame her. I knew I wasn’t instilling much confidence. I’d protect her though, even if I didn’t like her. No one deserves to have a murder unjustly pinned on them.

“Yeah,” was all I said back.

No point in standing around all awkward like. I gave her a quick wave and made my way back into the courtroom, wanting to have some time to prepare, and even more wanting to get away from her and the others.

Ugh.

I could already feel another headache coming on. The courtroom appeared to have gone under some significant repairs overnight. I think it looked better in ruins over what they turned it into now.

Desks were replaced by ‘stylish’ Mettaton brand desks. A sickening chrome mixed with black and pink stripes across. Any cracks or holes in the wall from the previous day were hastily covered by Mettaton posters advertising even more of his terrible shows. There was even one advertising this very case! Why was he advertising this case in the actual case? How did that make sense!?

Ngah, best not to lose my cool over something so stupid.

The witness stand was just a flat-out stage now. More stage lights could be found scattered throughout. I even spotted a net holding various Mettaton colored balloons over the prosecution’s desk. There wasn’t a single balloon over my head. The thought that I could win never even crossed his mind. What was once a decent attempt at a serious courtroom was made into a complete mockery by that egomaniac, Mettaton.

“Places, places everyone! ;)” A sweat-filled voice rang through the building. “Court will soon be in session! Take your seats! Remember to buy your M.T.T. Brand Court Snacks™ before the trial begins and not after! ;)”

Looks like this whole court business is turning out to be quite lucrative to everyone involved.

Bustling into their seats up on the gallery, I noted our oh-so-wonderful judge had magically appeared at his seat. As if he was always there. Boy, that joke certainly didn’t get old. We flexed for the judge, signaling the “show” was starting. I wasn’t really into it this time.

“hey,” Sans said, the light in his eyes staring at me hard. “where’s my bro?” If it weren’t for that grin, I’d say he sounded a little critical there.

He must’ve felt pretty powerful up there, looking down on me.

“He’s busy,” I said.

It was so satisfying watching those eyes of his flicker. A moment of worry. That mysterious (dangerous even) look defeated so quickly. I admit, I felt a little bad using Papyrus to mess with his brother, but I needed this.

“that so,” Sans replied, unhappy, yet still smiling. Like usual. “well, hope it doesn’t get too gorey in here without him.” Wink.

Ngah! That stupid skeleton! Cruel like usual, too.  Fine, I deserved that!

I clenched my fists in a clear reaction to his ‘joke.’ My best plan of action was to simply ignore him. Nothing a comedian can’t stand more than a silent audience.

Speaking of annoying monsters, it looked like Mettaton was late again. ‘Fashionably late’ I’m sure. I sighed in frustration. I could feel the black puffs of smoke rising through my clenched fangs. How late is fashionably late anyw-

“OOOOOHHHHH YEEEESSSSSSS!!!!” 

Guess that explains that.

The metal prosecutor burst through the same wall as last time, only this time he simply ripped through a poster of himself. It wasn’t as dramatic without the debris, and it certainly wasn’t as interesting a second time.

Of course, the crowd ate it up though. Cheering, clapping, screaming his name. What did people see in that guy? He posed and bowed (somehow) in that boxy body of his, stage lights flooding and dancing around his glittering form.

“Sorry to keep you all waiting, my darlings!” His voice buzzed through a microphone charismatically.

He wasn’t sorry at all.

Once the applause finally started to die down, Mettaton turned to face me across the room. Yellow and red lights blinked in thought. “My my! Weren’t there two loser defense attorneys going against me before?” His voice was so genuine, I truly believed he forgot already. “What happened to the bony one? Did he realize he couldn’t face my fabulous façade? Run away scared?”

My blood was boiling. It was one thing to insult me, but another entirely to insult Papyrus. I opened my fangs, ready to retort.

“watch it, metts,” Sans said cooly. Even though it was breathed out like a lazy sigh, it came out as more of a threat than even I could have mustered myself.

A tiny recoil of his hand, something Mettaton wasn’t used to. “My apologies, your honor! I’ll be sure to save my witty remarks for the brute from now on!”

Sans’ eyes returned, smile wide and cheerful. “go nuts.”

That was at least one thing I could respect Sans for. His love for Papyrus. I’d receive no such special treatment, but I didn’t need it or want it.

“Well!” Mettaton cooed, rebooting his acting abilities. “It matters not who I’d go against anyway!” With a dramatic motion, he reached into a compartment in his body and pulled out a delicate tea cup. “My next witness will prove Cannibal Catty is guilty to a tea!”

“nice.”

Just like that, Mettaton was back in good graces with Sans. While even I was mildly impressed, I could only feel that anxious weight in the pit of my stomach again, knowing what it meant. Could I really do this?

“Without further ado, I present to you, As--- Drem—[The writing blurs here] !!!”

Him. I knew it.

Tray in hand, teapot and teacups at the ready, the goat monster made his way up to the witness stand warmly. He still wore his usual pinstripe suit, signifying his role as leader of the group, The Family. “Thank you, you are too kind, Mr. Ton.”

Mettaton ignored the mispronunciation, most likely used to it by now after their many dealings together. “Oh, darling! You don’t praise me enough!” The robot laughed mechanically. “But, sadly, this trial isn’t completely about me!” Motioning his hand to the tray, Mettaton asked, “What have you got there?”

He smiled again. So sincere. So caring. It sent a stake through my heart. My throat wrenched just at the sight. “I’ve brought tea for you all,” he said. “It’s been quite a lively case, and the three of you deserve a reward for working so hard.”

Of course, he’d bring tea. When hasn’t he offered tea?! Why didn’t I expect this?! I was unprepared. Foolish.

He lumbered gently to each desk, placing a steaming cup delicately down before Sans and Mettaton. He had to reach up ever so slightly to reach Sans, but he didn’t mind. I couldn’t read the judge’s expression. Didn’t have time, anyway. My heart was pounding. He saved me for last.

“Howdy, Undyne,” he greeted quietly, his massive form looming over me. His smile was never fake, never a lie, yet it strained all the same. “It’s your favorite. Scalding hot, too, just how you like it.” His paw quivered ever so slightly as he placed the drink before me.

I said nothing. Couldn’t say anything. He didn’t mind. Never did. He went back to the witness stage, placing the tea set away with a careful clattering.

Let’s get this over with.

I took a gulp of the tea. Suddenly I’m flooded with memories. Sweet, warm memories, filled with honey. Never a foul taste, never a foul memory. Yet, I still suffocated. I drowned in those happy times. There was no escaping it, no room for movement. I was buried deep below the earth, warm laughter, pleasant feelings, unfathomable love boxing me in.

The tea burned my throat, scarring the scales deep inside.

I threw the priceless china at the floor, shattering it to pieces.

He flinched at the sound. “Was it not to your liking?” Despite such a violent act, such an insult to his very being, his voice was still so soft, so understanding. It was maddening.

My voice could barely reach over a whisper. Pathetic. “It was perfect.”

A deeply sad frown still etched itself on his muzzle. Fortunately for us, Mettaton wasn’t one to notice anyone but himself.

“Wonderful tea as always! Simply wonderful!” Mettaton’s cup was nowhere to be found, nor was the knowledge of how he could have even drunk it. “However, as much as we’d all love to sit around drinking teas, we really must get on with the show!”

Sans nodded, his cup empty as well, somehow.

“Now then,” Mettaton cupped his hands together in a serious fashion, pretending to be serious. “I’m sure most everyone knows you, but if you could state your name and occupation for us all?”

Nodding solemnly, the witness answered, “I am A—rr.” Damn it. Hands won’t steady themselves. “I’m the leader of an organization called The Family. We’re a charity for monsters in need.”

“My my, and I can personally attest that he’s a great monster!” Mettaton said, spotlights rushing to him like hungry ants to a scrap of food. “Not only has the old goat gotten me out of quite the debt, he even helped pay for the courtroom’s renovations!”

He held up an index finger, politely trying to get the prosecutor’s attention. “Ah, you are most welcome, Mr. Ton. We never did quite discuss how you’d like to pay back-”

“Oh! Such a generous man!” Mettaton shouted, the spotlights on him glowing more intensely.

He smiled nervously. “Uh, yes, thank you for your kind words, but-”

“Modest, too! Ah! How blessed all of monster kind is to have you!” The lights were absolutely blinding.

He gave up with a quiet sigh, twiddling his big furry claws to himself.

I had enough time wasting. I slammed a fist down onto the desk, denting the ugly thing. “Enough! We know how great he is! Get on with it, robot!”

A smug tone worked its way into Mettaton’s voice box. “Oh, so the caveman can speak!” A chuckle. “Very well. Mr. _em__, you were a witness to the Cannibal Catty’s crime, were you not?”

He looked down at the floor. “Yes.”

“Can you please tell us what you saw that day?”

“Hm. Yes.” He kept his eyes to the floor, but they glittered with dark memories. No one could doubt his sadness for the loss of life. “I was in the alleyway in question that night.”

“What were you doing, if I might ask?”

“Throwing out garbage.” He continued his testimony, his voice deep and stoic. “I did not witness the actual death of Mr. Pants, but I did stumble upon a Ms. Catty eating burgers.”

Mettaton feigned interest beautifully. The audience was in the palm of his hand. “While that is certainly a strange sight, what did you do? What made you think something was wrong?”

His expression was grim. A mix of sadness and anger. “I am an old monster, Mr. Ton. I have seen my share of tragedy.” The anger flickered out quick enough, though. “I recognized the dust of a fallen monster.”

“Interesting, interesting!” Mettaton had heard all of this beforehand, of course. “What did you do then?”

His face was shadowed, unreadable. “What else could I do?” He sounded desperate almost. “I called the police, after apprehending Ms. Catty, of course.”

Even without a mouth, I could tell Mettaton was smiling gleefully. “Ah! What a hero, you are! Is there any doubt in your mind that Cannibal Catty did not commit the crime?”

Expression still hidden away in darkness, he said, “I have no doubts that--,”

“Objection!” I shouted, startling the witness out of his gloomy mood. His eyes were wide with a very real shock. “This is baseless … uhh…. speculation!” I faltered over my words. I’m not a lawyer, okay?! “The prosecution is…. leading the witness!” Damn, Papyrus would have handled this a lot better.

Surprisingly, Sans was cooperative with me, for once. “got a point, metts.”

With a pout, Mettaton waved it off. “Fine, fine! Strike it from the record, or whatever! Everyone was thinking it, anyway!”

Sans looked around the courtroom, craning his neck lazily. “don’t think we even have a notary.” He paused. “guess i’ll take note of that for next time.”

Hopefully there won’t be a next time.

“Regardless, darlings!” Mettaton held a microphone close to his blinking lights. “I think it’s contextually clear Cannibal Catty is guilty! The witness is a valuable member of society, and I think all of us can attest to his trustworthy testimony!”

I wasn’t being as aggressive as I should have.

“Why don’t we end this farce, now, your honor?” Mettaton added. “The defense obviously has nothing to add!”

The goat monster was quiet. Unhappy. Even under the spotlights, he still managed to find darkness. For a split second, his eye glanced at mine. I knew everything. He knew it, too.

That room. Inside his home. The humans. I remember it. I always knew it was there. Too afraid to speak up, too afraid to stop him. I let it happen. Mostly because I couldn’t believe it. But I said I’d stop him! I said I’d stop running away! I thought I had gotten over this weakness!

Before I knew it, I found my head down on my arms, lost in a tornado of thoughts and feelings. That goat monster. He meant everything to me, damn it! God, how pathetic I am, but he’s as close to a father as I ever had! How am I supposed to send someone who cared for me to jail? How could I believe he killed another monster?! That he hurt those human kids!? It didn’t make sense! That fluffy wimp couldn’t hurt anyone!

He raised me to be who I am today! If he has this darkness in him, if I admit to that, what does that say about me? Doesn’t that mean I do, too?

“Undyne.”

I snapped my head up, the voice deafening in my mind. Was it him?

It was Sans. “get a hold of yourself.” For the first time, he sounded serious.

This guy was going to help me?! Sans of all people?! I knew that punk wanted to stop him, too, but he was that desperate? Give words of encouragement to me? Ngah! I didn’t need help from a loser like that!

Damn it! I’m too afraid to even write his name down let alone say it! No more!

Asgore. Asgore. Asgore. Asgore. Asgore. Asgore. Asgore.

I pounded the desk with a curled fist, gritting my teeth.

“Asgore!”

I saw him jump at my voice. He was just as surprised as I was. No, it hurt him more than it did me. Good.

“You’re not getting away that easy!”

I put a leg up on the desk, denting it again. It felt good to break this ugly puny thing. “I demand I get my chance to cross-examine the witness or whatever!”

Mettaton’s surprise at my sudden mood change didn’t last long. “Such a way with words, this one,” he sighed. “I have no problem with it. She’s no threat to my case.”

The judge chuckled. “good luck, undies.”

Pah! I don’t need luck! Adrenaline pumped through my veins. Justice was on my side!

“Asgore!” I roared again, sending a tiny shockwave through his body. “Your story is full of holes! Just why would you be out throwing trash away at that time of night?!”

My accusation struck true again. He hid himself away in darkness, his stance stiff and rigid. Had he nothing to say?

A loud clapping brought all attention back to Mettaton. “Is throwing one’s garbage out a crime? What does it matter if it’s at night or day?”

I shook my head, fists clenched, claws biting into my scales. The pain fueled me. “Maybe not, but throwing away your trash in a different alleyway than the one nearest to your home certainly is suspicious, isn’t it?”

An electric spark. A miscalculated blink of his lights. “What?!” Mettaton growled, his fabulous voice losing its usual flair.

Asgore said nothing. Made no motion.

“That’s right!” I continued, feeling unstoppable. “I’ve been to Asgore’s little flower shop! Directly across the street, he’s got an alleyway with a dumpster right there!” I let the words settle in, watched as the confused crowd of monsters murmured to themselves for a moment. “Why would he go to a different alleyway to throw his trash away?!”

Delicate hands curled into a fist of anger. “That’s! …” Mettaton tried to counter, but even the most powerful computer couldn’t answer this.

I crossed my arms, feeling proud of myself. I cast doubt into the courtroom, and luckily, that was all I needed now.

“A simple answer,” a deep voice said. Asgore stood tall, but his head kept low. The light of the stage shimmered upon his horns, producing the illusion of a cruel grin. “The material I was throwing out was odorous. Throwing it out in the dumpster near me would create a powerful stench.” There was no sadness in his tone. There wasn’t anything.

I knew he’d fight back, but I didn’t expect that. “Just what were you throwing away, then?!”

“Fertilizer.”

I lost my balance. “Fertilizer?!” I repeated loudly, dumbly.

Asgore nodded. “Manure, if I’m to be technical. I’m sure you know what that is.”

I growled. “That’s what you’re trying to feed us right now, yeah!”

“nice one,” Sans chimed in. Gah! Shut up!

Ignoring both of us, Asgore went on, completely unfazed. “I accidently bought too much. It’s a fire hazard, you know.” He held his palm open, and a flame appeared. “And I’m quite versed in fire magic. I couldn’t risk endangering my neighbors or my customers, so I tossed the bags away in a more remote part of the city, hoping the smell wouldn’t bother anyone.”

“Lies!” I shouted angrily. “You would never lose control of your fire!”

“It is better to be safe than sorry,” he said, emotionless.

I was losing my cool. “I didn’t see a single bag of fertilizer at the scene of the crime! I didn’t smell it either!”

Suddenly, I found a finger wagging in my face from Mettaton’s outstretched arm. “Darling, darling! What is this court to do? Debate over a bag of fertilizer all day?” He tsk-tsked me. “Mr. Dreemurr has explained himself sufficiently. I see no need to keep pursuing this line of questioning!”

“But-!”

“no butts, heh,” Sans chuckled, loving the potty talk. “move on, undies.”

Ngaaah! How infuriating! All that for nothing! Whatever, I wasn’t about to give up that easily.

“Fine.” I clicked my claws together, creating a spark for a much needed cigarette. Asgore’s stoicism broke for a moment, his mouth creased with worry over my health. After everything, he still cares for me.

The arid heat scorched my already burned throat as black clouds puffed from my gills. Ngah. If only yelling, screaming, and punching could win this case! This was way harder than a physical fight! Somehow, I need to prove that Asgore isn’t this golden hero monster who can do no wrong. How was I supposed to do that when I could barely believe it myself?

I could mention the kids. Mention the room.

The rows of beds, the quiet shuffling, how still those small bodies were…

I don’t want to revisit that memory. I’ll lose myself if I do.

To anyone else, Asgore appeared to be a strong, proud leader, mourning the loss of life he witnessed. That was true. But his eyes told more to me. ‘Please don’t,’ he silently begged.

Well, even if I wanted to, it wouldn’t matter. I have no evidence to prove it. Or … maybe I did? No, it wouldn’t be relevant at all to bring that up. I’d be struck down.

“We’re waiting, darling.” Mettaton mock pointed to a non-existent watch on his wrist. “Don’t tell me you’re finished already?”

Well, I’ve got nothing. Might as well take a shot in the dark.

“I’m just getting started,” I bluffed, grinning like a fool. “So, Asgore, how can you be so sure Catty was the killer that night? By your own words, you said you didn’t witness the actual murder.”

“Oh, come now!” Mettaton exclaimed, vocally unimpressed. “Grasping at straws!”

“Let me finish!” I growled. “How can anyone be sure it was Catty who killed Burgerpants? What if someone else killed him before she showed up?”

Slamming a robotic palm on his desk, Mettaton screeched, “Objection! This is baseless speculation!” His blinking lights shone a deep angry red. “Although, not a surprise from such a base woman.”

“harsh,” Sans chuckled, chiming in unnecessarily again.

I shrugged, ignoring the insult. “Fine, sure, maybe. But all I’m asking is if Fluffybuns here can tell us anything more! Wouldn’t want to condemn Catty without all the facts, now would we?”

“fair enough,” Sans yawned. “answer to the best of your ability, gorey.”

My question didn’t faze him in the slightest. “I’m certain,” Asgore said solemnly. “I made multiple trips to the alleyway in question, merely minutes apart. I saw absolutely no sign of anyone else.”

A solid answer, but it left him open to counter attacks.

“Convenient,” I said through a puff of smoke, unnerving him slightly. “Now, I’m not going to pursue your fertilizer story anymore, even though we all know what a load that is.”

Mettaton let out another huff, threatening to interrupt at the slightest misstep.

“You sure no one else was there?” I asked again, unable to hide my confident tone.

Asgore was skeptical. Something was amiss, but he had no choice in the matter but to answer. “Of course.”

I laughed. I had no idea what I was doing, but no one else knew that. “Well, how do you explain this?!” I shouted dramatically, mimicking Papyrus to the best of my ability. With a cool flair, I held a soft golden petal that we had found in the alleyway last night.

For whatever reason, that gave an intense reaction from Asgore.

As if a punch had landed in his gut, the goat monster reeled, his shadowed face falling under the spotlight for all to see. Shock, sadness. Guilt. Suddenly his age was apparent, his knees trembling, his eyes old and grey. “That…” his voice shook and stuttered.

“Goodness me!” Mettaton yelled with a clap. “How you managed to think such a piece of evidence was relevant is astounding! I’m genuinely impressed with your foolishness!”

For once, that robot was right. It meant nothing to me, but it nearly broke Asgore. My attack went through somehow, and that was all that mattered.

“What is this gaudy little thing?” Mettaton asked, grabbing at it with his stretchy arms. “A flower petal? Good grief, darling! You’ve established Asgore was at the scene of the crime!” His voice box was overflowing with sarcasm. “You realize he owns a flower shop, yes? A flower petal could have easily fallen off his person!”

I shrugged again, grinning still. This only infuriated the prosecutor. “Guess so, huh?”

Yet the effects of the evidence still left its mark on the flower shop owner. His face hidden in the shadows again, but he was no longer stiff and rigid. His breathing was erratic, his body weak. I hit a sensitive spot, for sure. It pained me to see him like this, but it had to be done. For Alphys’ sake. For everyone’s sake.

“So, you’re just wasting the court’s time, then?” Mettaton’s screen animated into a skull and crossbones, irritated over his loss of control. “Your honor, this nonsense has gone on far enough!”

“Hang on.” Now was the time. I spat my cigarette onto the floor. Wouldn’t need it. “Don’t you get what I’m saying? I think we have proof enough that only three people were at the scene of the crime during the murder. Catty, Burgerpants, and Asgore.”

“So what?!” Mettaton gripped the edge of his desk, his metal fingers cracking and piercing the metal exterior. “We already know all that!”

I frowned, focusing my eye straight onto Asgore. It pierced him like a dagger. “Somebody killed Burgerpants at that time, and I don’t think it was Catty. Looking at all the evidence, through all the testimony we’ve received, there’s only one other suspect.”

Like an angry lightbulb flickering in his chassis, the idea finally sunk in. Mettaton nearly exploded. “You’re insane!”

“Asgore Dreemurr.” I pointed the tip of my claw towards his hulking form, the nail gleaming like a sharpened spear. “I think you murdered Burgerpants!”

No response from him. No reaction.

“Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense!” Mettaton howled like a mad dummy. Electricity jolted around the air, threatening to zap anyone that came close. “I’ve seen some terrible dramas in my day, but this takes the cake! What kind of idiot would believe a tale like this?! What kind of fool would even create a story so asinine!?”

The onlookers in the gallery were also in an uproar. Some angry, most confused. They couldn’t believe Asgore would do something so horrible, and I didn’t blame them for thinking that way.

“Do we even have a judge?!” Mettaton shouted, spewing battery acid. “Certainly would be nice to have someone rein in the crazy!”

“i’m gonna allow her to pursue the idea,” Sans said, eyes dim. “she better watch her step, though.”

A hand twitched in pure rage as the robot malfunctioned. “Madness! Absolute madness!” Mettaton pointed towards the little skeleton, animated lights seething with hate-filled crimson. “I’ll have you disbarred when this is over!”

“that’s fine,” Sans shrugged. “like i said, i never was one to judge anyway.”

I didn’t think it was possible, but Mettaton grew only angrier. Scorching hot steam hissed through his seams, gears grinding at an impossible pace. “I’ve had enough of your terrible jokes! I demand you put an end to this farce right now! Declare her guilty, I say!”

“be quiet.” It was all he had to say. Sans’ tone told all. Another peep out of Mettaton about this, and he’d be ungracefully kicked out. Humiliated in front of the entire city.

The threat was real.

“Fine,” the robot huffed, lights blinking regularly again. “But I will still call her out on whatever garbage she spews.” 

“that’s fine.”

Never thought I’d find myself respecting that puny skeleton up there. Only a little, mind you. He and I had the same goal. He wasn’t doing it for me, or for anyone else, but himself. Luckily, I didn’t need his help anyway.

“Well?” Asgore asked, shadowed, defiant, and sad.

“Those ‘claw’ marks on the dumpster,” I started off, finally facing him. “Catty’s claws couldn’t have done that. Three lines running hot through the metal.”

He knew what I was implying. He simply frowned.

I growled, angry that he wouldn’t face me. The Asgore I knew was a pushover, but he was no coward. “I’ll spell it out for everyone, then. Those weren’t claw marks. It was the mark of a flaming hot trident!”

My words resonated with the gallery. Monsters chattered away to themselves again, arguing what the truth could have been. Some knew Asgore used a trident, some were still adamant he’d never hurt anyone with it, some even suggested Burgerpants must have attacked.

“Why?” Asgore turned to me, stern.

Why? Why what!? Why was I doing this to him?! Had he finally given up?

The old man sighed, reading me all too clearly. “You’re forgetting something, Undyne.” I didn’t like him saying my name. It felt wrong. “Why would I hurt Burgerpants?”

Ugh! Why don’t I think these things through? Damnit, why would Asgore ever hurt another monster?!

A robotic laughter echoed across the walls. “Oh, darling, I tried to warn you! Your line of reasoning was flawed from the start! Now it looks like you’ll have to be humiliated once again!”

I clutched my spear. It must have materialized out of a reflex to the pain. It wasn’t physical, but it still hurt.

But wait. Asgore’s hurting me! I’m a monster! (Duh.) Why would he hurt me? Why did he hurt me?

The answer was obvious.

The human children. Their souls. His soulless son. Asgore would stop at nothing to help his kid. He’s a grieving father who would do anything, even hurt innocent children, even hurt-

Of course.

“You had no choice,” I said finally. The words struck true. A terrible blow to the father.

Mettaton didn’t understand. How could he? “What? Darling, are you implying it was self-defense? Lunacy!”

I ignored him, watching as my words broke through Asgore’s armor. “Burgerpants stumbled onto something he shouldn’t have seen.”

The poor old monster’s façade was crushed. His eyes glimmered, his paws trembled. “I… I have nothing to hide,” he said hopelessly. “You have no evidence.” His voice was quiet, weak. He knew he was defeated.

My heart wrenched. I struggled with the thought of letting him go, again. Asgore was a good man. He didn’t deserve everything that had happened to him. He’d done so much good for all of monster-kind! What would we do without him? Maybe it was for the best to let him be.

A memory of Alphys’ pale heaving body threw itself into my mind. The stress Asgore caused her, the horrible things he had her create. Those human children. Burgerpants wouldn’t be the last. It had to be done.

“I do,” I said firmly with a nod. Asgore grit his teeth, clenched his furry paws into fists. Bracing for the pain.

“This shard of glass explains everything.” I pulled it out for all to see, feeling the strange zapping pressure against my scales as I held it.

Mettaton was no fool. While the glass shard meant nothing to him, he saw the effects it had on Asgore, his key witness. “What, how?” His voice had lost its dramatic flair, however. He too saw my victory approaching.

“It’s a special glass,” I continued, staring deep into its reflections, watching memories of a time long gone pass by. “Made by Alphys. It’s part of a jar used to hold souls.”

Asgore didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Shame weighed heavy on his shoulders, crushing him.

“I found it in the alleyway,” I continued, looking out at monsters all around. They were in shock. “One of two things must have happened. Either Asgore had decided to give up what he was doing with the souls, or he was capturing another.

“Things didn’t go as planned. Burgerpants came to see Catty, unknown to Asgore. He saw Asgore with the soul or souls. Like Asgore said, what choice did he have? No one could know what he was doing. It would ruin everything he had worked so hard for. Remember how Alphys couldn’t find the time of death? Fire magic was used on Burgerpants. The dust was unnaturally warm, making it impossible to know when it happened.”

“Souls?” Mettaton interjected, curious. “Everything he had worked for? Darling, I’m afraid you’ll have to fill us all in.”

It didn’t matter that Mettaton didn’t know, or that the gallery was still confused. It was over anyway. I won’t revisit that memory. Not again.

All that mattered was the big guy realizing it was all over.

“I did it.” Asgore stood tall again, out of the shadows this time. “Undyne’s right about everything.” His voice strained momentarily, but he still managed to say it. “I killed that poor little cat monster. Pinned it on the sweet young lady. I was desperate. I had hoped the justice system would be lenient on her, seeing as nothing of the sort has ever happened before.”

The courtroom was still. Even Mettaton was left speechless – for a moment at least. “But what of the souls?” he asked again.

“That is for another time,” Asgore sighed. “The important issue now is that Ms. Catty walks free.” While shame and guilt still weighed him down, Asgore stood tall, facing us all with fiery, determined eyes. He wasn’t angry.

This was the monster that lead me. This was the man who helped me find my sense of justice. This was the Asgore I had loved like a father. Finally, we could both stop running away.

“I think it’s time for the verdict, judge,” I said, feeling both a sense of pride in my heart and hurt.

“guess so,” Sans said with a grin. “after viewing all the evidence in the murder of burgerpants, i find catty guilty.”

“What?!”

“just kidding.” He winked, smirking like the idiot he is. “i find catty not-guilty.”

“WOOOOO!” A voice screamed from the gallery, causing a fierce eruption of cheering from the gallery. “UNDYNE YOU ARE ALMOST THE GREATEST! THE GREATEST STILL BEING ME, PAPYRUS!” Oh, geez, when did he get here?! Papyrus (with Alphys close by his side) was throwing confetti all over the courtroom, spreading us in a gaudy glittering snow.

I guess I should go see them.

The courtroom lobby was as bustling as ever. Monsters of every shape and size couldn’t keep their mouths shut anymore, gossiping loudly with each other.

“I can’t believe Asgore did it! What a twist!”

“Don’t be dense, it was all just a play, Asgore just acted the part.”

“I don’t know, I think this might have been real???”

“Asgore would never hurt anyone! (Ever!)”

Hm. Looks like there’d be some lasting after effects for my actions. I guess I never thought past this moment. Without Asgore, what would happen to The Family? To all the monsters in need throughout the city?

Did I do the right thing?

“UNDYNE!” A booming voice called out, clearly heard over every single other monster. “YOU DID THE RIGHT THING!”

Good ol’ Papyrus.

Dragging along a cute dinosaur girl, Papyrus dashed through to see me, holding onto his precious fedora with all his might. “YOU WERE SO COOL IN THERE!” He paused, thinking something over. “PERSONALLY, I’D HAVE BEEN COOLER, BUT THAT’S JUST MY OPINION.”

His goofy words were as soothing as cool rain. A loud thunderous cool rain, but soothing still. I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Pap. But, what are you two doing here?”

Alphys looked up at me with those sweet eyes of hers, glasses fogging up with not-so-hidden excitement. “P-Papyrus k-kept saying how great the G-Game of Bones TV show was!”

“OH, IT REALLY IS!!”

She scowled. “T-the manga is better!!” A fist clenched in anger, but Alphys managed to take a deep breath and calm herself. Her troubles were over, after all. “A-anyways, I couldn’t s-stand it. I wanted to go out. P-Papyrus suggested going to see the trial.”

Papyrus posed heroically. “HOW COULD I LEAVE MY APPRENTICE HIGH AND DRY IN SUCH A DIRE SITUATION?!”

“Partner,” I corrected, unable to stop grinning.

“APPRENTICE PARTNER, RIGHT!” Papyrus nodded, so sure of himself like always. “WE FORCED OURSELVES IN! SOME WHIMSALOTS TRIED TO STOP US, BUT I REMEMBERED YOUR HEROIC IDEALS AND I RAN STRAIGHT PAST THEM AND INTO THE GALLERY!”

“H-he dragged me along the entire way!”

“SAFELY DRAGGED!” Papyrus corrected happily. “WHEN WE GOT THERE, THOUGH, THE TRIAL WAS ALREADY OVER! WE SAW THE VERDICT! I’M SO PROUD OF YOU, UNDYNE!”

Ah, so he missed most of everything. Good. I’m glad. Papyrus doesn’t need that in his life.

“Like, oh. My. GOD!” a girlish voice appeared behind me. A light pawing at my back. It was Catty, free of her handcuffs. “You, like, totally did it! Thank you, like, soooooooooo much!!”

I opened my mouth to respond. “IT WAS NOTHING, M’LADY!” Papyrus said, tipping his hat towards her.

Catty blinked, looking sick for a brief moment, but shaking it off. “Uhh, like, whatever! I’m, like, just soooo totally glad I’m, like, free!”

“Like, oh. My. GOD!” Another overly girlish voice floated towards us. “Like, Catty! Like, girlfriend!”

Oh lord, it was Bratty. That alligator (crocodile?) girl.

A horrible screeching noise pierced my ears. “YAAAAAAAASSSSSSS!!!” They screamed in unison, greeting each other in a tight hug.

I had a strong urge to smoke.

“Like, Bratty!!” Catty was nearly crying with excitement, pawing at her friend’s blonde hair. “Where have you, like, totally been all this time? Like, it was soooooo lame not seeing my B.F.F.!!!”

Bratty frowned. “Like, I totally would have come! But, like, tickets were sooooooo expensive!”

Wait what!? “Tickets?” I interjected. “You shouldn’t have had to pay for tickets.”

“YES, YOU SHOULD HAVE RUN PAST THE GUARDS, LIKE ME! NYEH-HEH-HEH!”

With a scaly shrug, Bratty said, “Well, like, they were selling tickets to the show! And, like, the only ones left were from this TOTALLY shifty skeleton! He was, like, charging waaaay too much! It was soooo lame!”

God damn it, Sans.

“But, like, it’s totally whatever!!” Bratty went back to smiling, hopping excitedly with her friend. “I saw it, like, all on TV! It was, like, soooo rad!!” She paused awkwardly. “Well, other than the whole, like, Cannibal Catty thing.”

Yeesh. That’s right. Even if she was innocent, she still ate some of her own monster pal. That’s rough. Most of the city knows of it too.

Catty tried to play it off, but was still shaken by it. “L-like! Let’s not, like, call me that! It’s, like, totally lame!”

Not going to lie, if I, like, have to hear them speak any more, I’m going to, like, totally shoot myself. I cleared my throat to get their attention. “Glad we could help,” I said, begging mentally for them to leave.

My words appeared to have the desired effect. “Do you, like, want to go find a dump to look for some junk, girlfrand?”

Catty’s golden eyes lit up brighter than the sun itself. “Like!!! My god!! Do you even, like, need to ask!?”

“Let’s, like, totally go!!!” They squealed in unison, dashing out of the courtroom. I let out a sigh of relief. I was glad to save an innocent girl, but even gladder to see her leave.

“Darlings! Oh, darlings!” an electric voice called out to us.

Please, no.

Pushing aside his adoring fans, Mettaton rolled up to us on his lone wheel, signing autographs for nearby monsters all the way. “What a delightful show we put on!” he cooed.

Gotta admit, this wasn’t the reaction I expected. “You’re not mad?” I asked, skeptical.

Scribbling his name on a Woshua’s head, (the Woshua was mortified) Mettaton’s lights blinked happily. “Darling! Of course not!” He waved me off nonchalantly. “We gave our audience the show of a life time!”

“But you lost.”

A light on his chassis blinked out of rhythm. A tiny malfunction of his robot arms. Someone’s autograph read ‘Meton’ on accident. “Oh my! It was all an act, darling!” The robot proclaimed with a twirl. “Why, you must try it sometime! It might throw a bit of culture into your little caveman act!”

Heh heh, yeah, he was still mad. Cruel as it may have been, I enjoyed watching him try to keep his cool. “Sure,” was all I said in reply.

Gears grinded, but Mettaton turned his attention to my girlfriend. “Alphys, darling, I expect you’ll be well enough to come back to work, tomorrow?”

I could tell she wanted to say no. “O-oh, yes! I-I’m much better, now! T-thanks, Mettaton!”

He clapped happily, signing a monster baby absentmindedly and handing it back into the crowd. “Wonderful, darling, simply wonderful! Be sure to wear your new Prosecutor Mettaton pin! It’s mandatory for all employees!”

Alphys flinched, not responding right away. “B-but…”

“So glad to see you’re happy again, my dear sweet Alphys!” Mettaton cooed, signing Papyrus’ face for a second time. “I’ll see you, tomorrow!”

Before she could continue, the robot rolled away, spotlight following him out the double doors somehow. She sighed. At least her only problems now were dealing with that egomaniac ‘friend’ of hers.

“WHAT A NICE ROBOT,” Papyrus grinned, ink staining his skull. “HE ONLY CHARGED ME FIFTY GOLD FOR THIS, TOO.”

He was such a goofball.

It was nice seeing everyone get their happy ending. Well, everyone except Asgore. I couldn’t find him in the crowd of monsters. He must not have wanted to show himself. Either that, or he’s in custody.

What’s going to happen to him?

“AH, UM, UNDYNE!” Papyrus slid as subtly towards me as he could. Which was not subtle at all. “IS…IS THAT A NOTEPAD YOU’RE WRITING ON?”

I blinked. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Thought you said all real detectives use these?”

He was really trying his best to look cool, but his sweat and terribly shakey smile told everyone else otherwise. “YES! OF COURSE!” He kept looking at it, with this strange hunger in his eye sockets. “IT’S JUST… I LOST MY SPARE NOTEPAD.”

Oh. I see. “Wanna borrow mine?” I asked with a smile, reading him like a book. Or, well, like a notepad.

“OH, GOD, PLEASE, LET ME!”

I’d never say it to him, but I do love that weird gangly skeleton. Well, this notepad had its use. I think it helped me figure things out. Before I hand it over to Papyrus, I’m ripping the pages out.

See ya.

Notepad!!! It’s been more than twelve whole hours! It was so horrible not writing down my every thought, action, and feeling!! I mostly had to narrate myself out loud to Alphys, and she hated it! I don’t know why?! My grizzled detective writing style is very cool!

Anyways, you won’t believe it! Undyne won the case, all by herself! I’m so proud!! Even when we were inside, talking to Bratty, Catty, and Mettaton, she never pulled out a cigarette! She’s certainly on her way to being a real detective, like me!

“You look happy,” Undyne said with a grin, picking up Alphys and holding her on big beefy shoulders.

“WHY WOULDN’T I!” I proclaimed, scribbling frantically. “ANOTHER CASE SOLVED THANKS TO THE GREAT DETECTIVE PAPYRUS! NYEH-HEH-HEH!”

My partner smiled at that, as if hearing a joke. “Yeah, you did really well, Pap.”

“C-can we just go home and r-relax, now?” Alphys pleaded, clinging to Undyne’s biceps, trying not to lose her balance. Undyne would never drop her, of course!

“AH, MAYBE YOU CAN!” I said. “THE GREAT DETECTIVE PAPYRUS IS ALWAYS NEEDED! THERE’S NO TIME TO RELAX!”

Undyne looked lost in thought. “You sure? You never want a vacation?”

“NEVER!” I answered without a beat. Undyne frowned at that, and I couldn’t help but feel guilty. I guess she wasn’t as great of a detective as me, so it’s only logical she might want time off. “AH, WELL… I SUPPOSE A VACATION COULD BE NICE.”

“That’s better,” she nodded. “Let’s go home and watch some Game of Bones again.”

“W-with Papyrus?...” Alphys looked unhappy. Why?!

Undyne couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh. It felt honest and true. She really was looking like her old self again. It warmed my bones!

“I’D LOVE TO JOIN YOU!” I said, opening the front door for the ladies. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do!

Ah, it was raining again! How nice for Undyne! The pitter patter of the droplets, the cool air, and the beautiful reflections were back. Undyne’s eye lit up and she dashed into the pouring rain, Alphys screeching, holding on for dear life. They were drenched in an instant.

It looks like things are going well for her. I’m so happy!

Undyne was happy, too.

Case closed!

Another case solved! But wait, is this really the end? There seems to be more pages left in this stray notepad...

[kp-reading-blog]

The Killdeer Connection by Tom Swyers is an Unputdownable and Unforgettable Thriller

The Killdeer Connection by Tom Swyers is an Unputdownable and Unforgettable Thriller. Pick up your copy today and find out why this novel was selected by Kindle Scout!

Praise for The Killdeer Connection

"Unputdownable!"

“This author is just as good if not better than John Grisham.”

“Mystery, thriller, suspense, action, it has it all!”

A Message from Tom Swyers

 I’m an attorney and a former judge. I write thrillers in the Lawyer David Thompson Series. My debut novel, Saving Babe Ruth, is the prequel in the series and is based on a true story. It was a 2015 recipient of two Benjamin Franklin Book Awards for “Best First Book, Fiction” (first place) and “Best Popular Fiction” (second place).  My second novel, The Killdeer Connection, is the first book in the series and was selected as a 2017 winner in Amazon’s international Kindle Scout writing competition. Either novel can be read as a standalone.  If you like engaging, realistic, original thrillers, try reading one of my books.

About The Killdeer Connection

Worn-out lawyer David Thompson is on a mission to prove his innocence. Falsely accused of murdering his friend, he must desert his family and seek out a secret society of bird-watchers in a desperate search for the truth. When the feds talk of adding a terrorism charge, the death penalty looms and Thompson is on the run from both the law and the real killer. With Thompson out of the way, his family becomes a target. Thrust on a riveting thrill ride through the oil fields of North Dakota, Thompson's quest to save his own skin explodes into a race to save both his family and the nation from a deadly tidal wave of terror. But he may be too late...

Don't miss this action-packed, realistic, and thought-provoking legal thriller filled with mystery, family secrets, conspiracy, financial intrigue, captivating characters, deception, prejudice, greed, courtroom drama, and a bird!

An Interview by David Thompson from The Killdeer Connection

What is your greatest fear?

The lethal injection needle. The feds want to slip it to me.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

I’ve never thought about it and probably never will. Too much introspection can lead to mental health issues.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?

Where do I begin?

Which living person do you most admire?

The people I admire most are dead.

What is your greatest extravagance?

My 1974 pearl-white Ford Mustang. My wife Annie gave it to me.

What is your current state of mind?

Scared. I’ve been set up. I think someone is out to kill me. The police want to pin a murder on me.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

Patience.  These questions bring that to mind.

On what occasion do you lie?

I’ll lie to protect my family.

What do you most dislike about your appearance?

I look middle age. People think I’m ready to retire but I can out run, out hustle guys half my age. 

Which living person do you most despise?

Dick Pottenger. He’s a lawyer I worked for decades ago. They don’t call him “Dick Pot” for nothing. I’ve got a score to settle with him.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?

“Yes” and “no.” I like to keep my conversations short and to the point.

What or who is the greatest love of your life?

My wife, Annie and my son, Christy.

Which talent would you most like to have?

The talent to create money out of thin air.

If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?

The Universe. Then I’d know everything about anything.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

I’m not exactly sure, but reading this question gets me close.

What is your most marked characteristic?

My ability to survive.

Who are your favorite writers?

You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I have time to read.

Which historical figure do you most identify with?

Jesus.

What is it that you most dislike?

Stupid questions.

What is your greatest regret?

Doing this interview ranks up there.

How would you like to die?

Happy.

What is your motto?

There’s plenty of time to rest after you’re dead.    

Who is David Thompson

Middle-aged lawyer David Thompson is trying to make ends meet in a small town in upstate New York where he lives with his wife and teenage son. His estate and elder-law practice is routine, but trouble always has a way of finding him. When a nationally recognized expert in petroleum research says he’ll be an expert witness for his injured client, Thompson decides to take the case himself even though he has no experience in personal injury law. When his expert witness is killed, his case suffers a huge blow, but that’s just for openers. The feds and his friend, the chief of police, think Thompson is the murderer.