#she's a bronze-age murder truck

[pandor-pandorkful]

Not exactly gender equality and I know it chafes some folk, but I'll never get enough of rough and buff fantasy barbarian action gals and their dainty and delicate man-princess pals (who are plagued by visions and prone to swooning and accidental bdsm encounters with the local nonbinary wizards and genderfluid mad scientists. :3c)

[brattyfics]

Cape Disappointment | Part One

Pairing: Miguel Galindo x Black!OC [Chantel Williams]

Summary: Miguel doesn’t rescue a damsel in distress because Chantel Williams is not a damsel in distress.

Warnings: None yet.

Chantel Williams was a lot of things. Quirky, witty, sarcastic. Condescending, impulsive, sometimes even chaotic. She could be all those things and more, but she refused to be anyone’s victim.

“I’m not a damsel in distress. I’m not a damsel in distress…” She chanted over and over in a low tone. 

On the side of a low traffic road, snow raining down on her head, Chantel willed the words to be true. Unfortunately, she remembered very little of what her Papa taught her about cars, eyeing the confusing parts under the hood with frustration.

Papa was a school teacher but he worked as a shade tree mechanic on the weekends to be able to afford dance classes for little Chantel. Teaching was his passion through and through. He would talk her ear off in the car on the way to recitals or while she did homework on the bench in his workshop. Being a bratty kid, she learned to tune him out when the topic didn’t interest her and not for the first time she regretted not soaking up more of Papa’s wisdom before he passed. 

If she had, maybe she wouldn’t be stuck on the side of the road with no solution in mind. Empty handed and no closer to fixing the car, she shuffled through the snow. It wasn’t much warmer inside the car despite the thick North Face coat she wore with a matching hat and pair of gloves. She was sure she resembled a wet dog as she shook the snow off, not wanting the ice to melt into water droplets that would surely sting. 

Just a week earlier, she’d splurged on the fanciest new smart phone after losing the older model at a dinner party. Even with all its promised features, it was useless. No signal and no nearby WiFi networks to connect to meant she couldn’t call her sort-of-sometimes boyfriend for help even if she wanted to. She couldn’t even call a tow truck! 

Pride. 

Another one of Chantel’s many traits. She liked to think of it as a positive thing. It kept her from being desperate, saved her from being dependent on others for her happiness. No one else seemed to agree her pride was a good thing. 

Among the naysayers was her sort-of-sometimes boyfriend, Adam. Pride was what had led her to take off from the Yurt they shared on their week-long winter break getaway to race back to her industrial loft in the heart of Seattle despite the weather advisory. She would never admit it to anyone else, but she realized her pride didn’t always serve her well. 

If not for her bruised ego, it would have been funny that her car had chosen to break down a few miles north of Cape Disappointment State Park. It was where she had been staying with Adam. The yurt was too far away to walk back to in the snow but still close enough that it only made sense to stay there for the night once the car issues were resolved. She wasn’t looking forward to ending the night with him. 

Remembering Papa’s belief in God showing up when most needed, Chantel sent up a quick prayer. She really hoped she wouldn’t have to wait long for someone else to come down the otherwise deserted road. Winters in Washington were fairly mild so she wouldn’t lose her extremities to hypothermia or anything crazy like that, but she’d certainly suffer by way of the shivers. 

Any sane person was cuddled up next to the fireplace in their cabin with a bowl of chili, or participating in heat-inducing sexual activities in their yurt to keep warm, not on the road driving. It was only natural for her thoughts to snowball into all the types of un-same people she could run into. 

Indigenous women from Washington and Canada went missing far too often on roads just like the one she had so conveniently broken down on. Chantel had a bad habit of researching everything there was to know about topics when they peaked her interest and she knew too much about human trafficking in the area to not feel a considerable amount of fear. 

“That would be my luck.” She muttered meanly to herself, resolving that whatever happened would be her own fault. 

It wasn’t like a whole lot of people would come looking for her anyway. She had a large group of friends in Seattle, but she kind of had a reputation for taking off without saying much. She hadn’t even told anyone about the weekend excursion to Cape Disappointment! The family she had left she wasn’t close to, and by the time Adam realized she hadn’t made it back home it would be too late. 

Yellow headlights bathed the narrow road, the light blinding her the closer it got. Her hazard lights blinked red, signaling that she was broken down, but Chantel second guessed whether she wanted the help. 

“I’m going to be a sex trafficking victim all in the name of independence. Way to go, idiot.” 

Her fingers fumbled around in the gigantic backpack she’d been using as a purse for the weekend, hastily pulling at the zippers until she found what she was looking for. A purple taser she purchased on Amazon for a whopping ten dollars. She doubted it would stop anyone in their tracks, but it was better than nothing. 

It turned out the man who knocked on her window wasn’t an axe wielding serial murdering rapist, or at least he didn’t appear to be. She tucked the small device into her side as the ridiculously handsome middle aged man with a salt and pepper beard smiled at her through the foggy glass. 

He looked harmless enough, sporting a pair of smart designer glasses and what Chantel knew to be a really expensive cashmere turtleneck sweater underneath an equally expensive Canada Goose coat. She wasn’t shy about looking him up and down as she assessed the risk. What if the male model was a decoy?

His neatly manicured eyebrows twisted down in confusion and she thought it was one of the cutest things she had ever seen. 

She rolled down the window with a nervous smile.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” 

She hated how breathy the words came out but he was truly stunning. 

Tall, fit, well-dressed. 

“Are you alright? It looks like you’re having some trouble.” 

A gentleman.

“What would make you think that?” Chantel spoke before she thought it through, but the stranger didn’t seem to take offense if the amused smirk on his face could be trusted. “I’m kidding. Yeah, no. I’m not alright. The car was making weird noises so I pulled over and now it won’t turn back on. I looked under the hood but I have no idea what’s wrong.”

He nodded attentively while she spoke, watching her lips with interest. She noticed him staring and licked them.

“I don’t know how much of a help I’ll be.” His bronze skin reddened with the admission and she wondered if he was blushing or if the cold was getting to him. “I don’t know anything about cars but I can give you a ride wherever you want.”

She’d like a ride alright. In his cushiony truck that may as well have been a royal carriage considering the circumstances. Or on his handsome bearded face that she couldn’t stop staring at. 

Chantel wondered if he could tell what she was thinking. 

Movement caught her eye and she noticed an identical black SUV pulling off the road to park behind the one Prince Charming departed from. Her hand squeezed around the taser instinctively. 

Was the sexy stranger bait to catch naive, unsuspecting girls? 

“...but I’m sure we’d both rather leave it to the professionals.” He gestured back towards the dark truck and paused, noticing they weren’t alone. Her breath caught in her chest when four bulking men slammed their doors shut and started walking in their direction.

“I apologize. That’s my security team. I left without telling them.” 

Hmm. A kindred spirit. 

Who was he to have a security team? Was he telling the truth? Or just stalling? 

She wanted to believe him. To trust that it was in human nature to help one another without some ulterior, sinister motive. 

Did she even have a choice? How long would she have to wait on the next passerby? There was no guarantee they would be any better than the (so far) kind stranger and his friends.

Chantel Williams was a lot of things, but she was not naïve. With surprising coordination, she swung the door open, knocking the man back several steps. Her boots crunched as she landed in the snow. 

“Back up or I’m going to tase you!” She warned, putting space between herself and the stranger while keeping an eye on the approaching men. 

The corners of his mouth turned up as he fought back a smile. 

Chantel scoffed. He wasn’t taking her seriously. 

“I’m not fucking around!” She insisted, charging up the small device. The buzz felt more powerful than she remembered. The man seemed to think so too, changing his approach. He spoke in a soft tone. “Can we slow down?” 

“Don’t patronize me. Just back up like I said. No, this way!” She ordered until he stood across from her with his back to his men. 

Behind him, they speed up their approach but they could only move so fast in the snow. Following her gaze, the strange man looked over his shoulder and gestured for the men to stall at the front of his truck several feet away. One of them shouted at her to put the taser away from his position. He sported two braids and a cut in his brow. Chantel shouted back at him to ‘shut the fuck up’

Mr. GQ gave another signal and like he was the conductor of an orchestra, all noise ceased. Well, all external noise at least. Chantel swore she could hear the sound of her heart ringing in her ears. 

“Hey!” He demanded her full attention. His hands were up in a defensive position. “What are you looking for here?” 

It was a great question but she had no answer for him.

Trouble maker. Fire starter. Full-time agitator.

Chantel was that way even as a child, responding to normal adolescent teasing with violence. Sharp bites in the classroom or royal rumble style fights on the playground were her specialty in grade school. She made anyone stupid enough to provoke her regret it whether big or small, male or female. That wasn’t to say she was organized or calculating in her plans. She acted and dealt with things as they came. 

She had no idea what the endgame was when she pulled the taser, but she had to stick with it. The crowd of onlookers made her feel more justified in her rash decision.

“I don’t think you really want to hurt me.”

“Now, what would make you think that?” Chantel asked incredulously. He didn’t know her from Eve. 

She was even more steadfast in pointing the taser in his direction but he didn’t seem phased.

“When you want to hurt somebody, you don’t wait around or warn them. You just do it.”

“Are you suggesting I should’ve tased you?”

He shrugged as if they were discussing the weather.

“That certainly would have been more effective.”

Was he serious?

“I mean I still can. If you keep talking I just might.”

He had the gall to laugh in her face. 

Hysterically. 

And it wasn’t fleeting or sarcastic. It was genuine laughter from deep down in his gut. She hated how beautiful he was, even in the middle of showing blatant disrespect for her ability to harm him. 

“Seriously?” She griped, fighting against the way her face muscles twitched. 

Giggle box.

When somebody at church mispronounced a word during the announcements or when her aunt murdered a hit song, she giggled uncontrollably. Papa chastised her for it, but it couldn’t be helped. When the urge struck and she got that itch in her throat, she had to laugh.

So naturally, like two birds of a maniac feather they shared a laugh in four (and counting) inches of snow.

***

GENERAL TAGLIST

@woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @everyhowlmarksthedead @yourwonkywriter @trulysuccubus

MIGUEL TAGLIST

@thesandbeneathmytoes @taylortheeshowpony

[intergalactic-zoo]

If you've been in comic circles for some time, chances are pretty good that you're familiar with "Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex," the essay Larry Niven wrote in 1969 on the subject of Superman's potentially lethal sex life. If you haven't read it, then you might have gotten the jist of it from that scene in "Mallrats." 

It makes sense to me that such an essay, crass and silly though it is, would be written in 1969. That's the tail-end of the Silver Age, where Superman's power-creep had reached such levels that his hair was indestructible, he could break the time barrier under his own power, and he could juggle planets like helium balloons. 

So it was a little surprising to learn this week that Vladimir Nabokov wrote a poem with a similar sentiment way back in 1942. Nineteen forty-two! Six years before Kirk Alyn would bring the character to life, submitted in between the release of the seventh and eighth Fleischer cartoons, back when Superman wasn't consistently flying in the comics, the guy who would go on to write Lolita was speculating about the impossibility of relations between humans and Kryptonians. 

The letter he wrote when he submitted the poem to The New Yorker has big "uwu pwease pay me if it's not too much twouble" energy. 

I am sending you a poem on the troubles of Superman of the Funnies (with, if necessary, apologies to his, or rather its, makers). I should like to repeat that I experience most horrible difficulties and distress in wielding a language new to me – after 25 years of good old Russian. If, however, the poem is acceptable – not too ungrammatical as a whole and not too risqué about the middle of its favours – might I perhaps humble [sic] request a honorarium as adequate as possible to my Russian past and my present agonies?

The story of how Nabokov's poem, "The Man of To-Morrow's Lament," came to be rediscovered after all these years, and how it ties into his son's love of the character at the time, is a pretty interesting one, which you can read about at the link (if you have a subscription). But the poem itself, well...read on.

The Man of To-morrow’s Lament

I have to wear these glasses – otherwise, when I caress her with my super-eyes, her lungs and liver are too plainly seen throbbing, like deep-sea creatures, in between dim bones. Oh, I am sick of loitering here, a banished trunk (like my namesake in “Lear”), but when I switch to tights, still less I prize my splendid torso, my tremendous thighs, the dark-blue forelock on my narrow brow, the heavy jaw; for I shall tell you now my fatal limitation … not the pact between the worlds of Fantasy and Fact which makes me shun such an attractive spot as Berchtesgaden, say; and also not that little business of my draft; but worse: a tragic misadjustment and a curse.

I’m young and bursting with prodigious sap, and I’m in love like any healthy chap – and I must throttle my dynamic heart for marriage would be murder on my part, an earthquake, wrecking on the night of nights a woman’s life, some palmtrees, all the lights, the big hotel, a smaller one next door and half a dozen army trucks – or more.

But even if that blast of love should spare her fragile frame – what children would she bear? What monstrous babe, knocking the surgeon down, would waddle out into the awestruck town? When two years old he’d break the strongest chairs, fall through the floor and terrorize the stairs; at four, he’d dive into a well; at five, explore a roaring furnace – and survive; at eight, he’d ruin the longest railway line by playing trains with real ones; and at nine, release all my old enemies from jail, and then I’d try to break his head – and fail.

So this is why, no matter where I fly, red-cloaked, blue-hosed, across the yellow sky, I feel no thrill in chasing thugs and thieves – and gloomily broad-shouldered Kent retrieves his coat and trousers from the garbage can and tucks away the cloak of Superman; and when she sighs – somewhere in Central Park where my immense bronze statue looms – “Oh, Clark … Isn’t he wonderful!?!”, I stare ahead and long to be a normal guy instead.

Vladimir Nabokov June 1942

It's kind of wild just how much Superman discourse is presaged here, how many story and character beats we'd see play out over the next eighty years. 

It's been an increasingly long time since I did any kind of regular poetry analysis, as evidenced by the fact that I needed to Google "thing where a poet ends a line in the middle of a sentence" in order to talk about how much enjambment there is here. Honestly, I do like a good rhyming couplet, and I appreciate Nabokov's commitment to using them throughout here, even if it means overusing that technique. 

The references to the war in the first stanza are interesting; Andrei Babikov's commentary in The TLS suggests that this is an attempt to compare the character with Hitler, emphasizing the comment about the forelock (and drawing comparisons to Chaplin's "Great Dictator"), but Hitler's forelock—if you can really call it that—has very little in common with Superman's trademark s-curl, which doesn't merit mention in Babikov's discussion. To me, this reads more like an acknowledgement that Superman may be selling war bonds and punching Nazi ships and even hoisting Hitler up by the scruff of the neck, but he's a character from the realm of Fantasy, not Fact, and he's powerless to do anything about the real issue. Even in the comics, they might show Superman knocking around tanks on the front lines, but Superman's only encounter with Hitler himself notably came in the pages of Look Magazine two years . Superman's service in the war was limited to four-color fictional Nazis. 

But as much as I like the imagery of the dark-blue forelock, calling to mind the coloring of classic comics, I'm more than a little disquieted by "young and bursting with prodigious sap." The earth-shaking imagery in the rest of that second stanza got a laugh from me. I appreciate that it's less graphic than the Niven essay, "blast of love" aside. 

Stanza three predicts so many Superbaby stories, particularly from the Silver Age, but even "Letitia Lerner, Superman's Babysitter" has these same elements of an indestructible toddler causing mischief and mayhem. But also it speaks to Nabokov's own anxieties as a parent. 

The closing stanza, though, is where things get a little eerie. "No matter where I fly, / red-cloaked, blue-hosed, across the yellow sky, / I feel no thrill" might as well be "I can't stand to fly / I'm not that naïve." The desire to be normal, in part to have normal relationships, is a major character trait in "Superman II" and "Smallville." Honestly, almost every instance we've seen of Clark Kent being morose and brooding over the last eight decades is predicted right here in this unpublished poem. 

Overall, it's an interesting artifact. It shows that some ideas, some sorts of discourse around this character, are older than we might realize.

And, I suppose, so is erotic fanfiction. 

[imjustthemechanic]

The Stone Knight

Part 1/? - Two Statues Part 2/? - A Curious Interview Part 3/? - John Doe Part 4/? - Escape Attempt Part 5/? - Making the News Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - More Impossible Part 8/? - The Shield Thieves Part 9/? - Reality Sinks In Part 10/? - Preparing a Quest Part 11/? - The Marvelous History of Sir Stephen Part 12/? - Uninvited Guests Part 13/? - So That’s What It Does Part 14/? - The What and the Where Part 15/? - Gearing Up Part 16/? - Just Passing Through Part 17/? - Dinner with Druids Part 18/? - Kracness Henge Part 19/? - A Task Interrupted Part 20/? - The Red Death Part 21/? - Aphelion Part 22/? - The Stone Giants Part 23/? - Nat the Giant Killer Part 24/? - An Interrogation Part 25/? - Guilt Part 26/? - Rushman’s Brilliant Idea Part 27/? - Hunter in Hiding Part 28/? - Ridiculous Part 29/? - The Guy from Barton Part 30/? - Sherwood Forest Part 31/? - Buckeye’s Fall Part 32/? - Robin Hood Part 33/? - Fantasies and Consequences Part 34/? - Swords of Damocles Part 35/? - The Road to London Part 36/? - View from the Top Part 37/? - Storming the Castle Part 38/? - Beneath the Chapel Floor Part 39/? - Jurisdiction Part 40/? - Royal Assent Part 41/? - The Calm Before Part 42/? - Gear Up Part 43/? - The Siege Begins Part 44/? - Rise of the Colossus Part 45/? - David and Goliath Part 46/? - Up From Below Part 47/? - Totenkopf Triumphant Part 48/? - The Last Battle Part 49/? - Recovery

Almost done.  Then I can write some real fics.

            There were a couple more changes to the Tower grounds that Nat could see as she looked around.  The open excavation next to the base of the chapel apse was gone, although the mechanical digger was still sitting there waiting to continue working on it.  A blue velvet hat and robe of some sort were draped over the mechanical arm.  The hat had a few white feathers on it, and a raven was perched there, tugging on one as if not entirely sure what it was.  Other ravens were back, too, Natasha realized, perched on tree branches and turrets and croaking to each other. 

            That was a good sign, she thought.  Apparently England wasn’t due to fall today after all.

            “Can I ask you something weird?” she heard Sam say.  “Although, maybe it’s not weird… I’m not sure what weird is anymore, honestly.”

            “Certainly,” Sir Stephen replied.  “What is your question?”

            “Are the ravens talking?” asked Sam.  “Because they… they sound like they’re saying stuff like, well, that happened, and you think they’re still going to feed us today?”

            Everybody was quiet for a moment.  Nat couldn’t hear anything in the ravens’ croaking, but she could hear the sound of somebody sobbing.

            “No,” Sharon said.  “They’re just making bird noises as far as I can tell.”

            “Oh,” said Sam.  “So it’s just me, then.”

            “I think so,” said Sharon.

            Nat approached the digger and opened the door of its little cockpit.  Professor Gates was sitting there.  He was now dressed in a white tuxedo for some reason, and he had his face in his hands, bawling his eyes out.

            Nat knocked on the window.  “Excuse me?” she said carefully.

            Professor Gates raised his head and wiped his eyes on his sleeve, then gazed up at the soaring Grail tower and his chin trembled as if he were about to burst into tears all over again.  “Look at that!” he wailed, gesturing towards the tower.  “I mean, it’s very pretty, but it’s not Roman, it’s not Norman, it’s not medieval… and everything that was is just gone!”

            “I’m sorry,” said Nat.  She’d been worried about whether any of them would live through this… maybe while interacting with the Grail she should have spared a thought for putting the Tower of London back together.  But would it have been the way it was, or the way she thought it ought to be, and how would they ever know?

That was the problem with a lie… no matter how beautiful it was, it couldn’t teach you anything.  History was an ugly, ugly story, full of sickness and war and murder, slavery and conquest and rape.  But those who did not remember the past, who glossed it over with pretty lies, were doomed to repeat it.

            “I’ll… I’ll get over it…” said Professor Gates, hiccupping.  “I mean… no I won’t.  I’ll never get over it.  But I’ll find something else to do.”

            Natasha didn’t feel like she could do much for Professor Gates, so she patted him on the shoulder and shut the door of the digger again, in order to give him some privacy, before she rejoined the others.  They were still talking about birds, while Clint sat on the grass a few yards away, texting his wife.

            “There is a tale,” Sir Stephen was saying, “of Sir Sigurd, who slew a dragon and after tasting its blood was able to understand the language of birds.”

            “Yes!  He’s in Wagner’s operas!” said Sam.  “I found him in a storybook when I was, I don’t know, six years old, and I thought that talking to birds would be a great superpower to have.  Birds can spy on anybody, go anywhere, they can bring you lunch… then I went to school and the kids told me talking to birds was something Disney Princesses did.”

            “Another child’s dream crushed by gender roles,” said Sharon, mock-tragic.

            The joking around wasn’t all that lighthearted… they were exhausted and anxious and relieved, and humour, even humour that wasn’t all that funny, was a good way of coping with that.  Nat joined in the giggling, but as it quieted, they realized they had run out of things to say on that particular topic.

            “So,” said Allen.  “What do we do now?”

            “I don’t know about anybody else,” said Nat, “but I feel like I could sleep for a week.”  The nearest horizontal surface was the digger’s shovel, and she let herself tumbled dramatically into it.  She swirl of her tulle skirt helped, and she didn’t care at all that the shovel was full of dirt that would get all over her outfit.  It wasn’t her outfit anyway, and she wasn’t planning to lie there more than a few minutes.  Nat was picky about her sleeping arrangements.  She needed to be in a place where she could be sure nobody would sneak up on her.  Out here in the open, with nothing above her but sky, it just wasn’t going to happen.

            Then, however, she felt something soft drape over her.  When she opened her eyes a crack, she saw that Allen had taken the robe down from the shovel’s arm and was now tucking her in.  He made sure the warm fabric was close around her so no cold air would get in, then gently brushed a few strands of hair away from the corner of her mouth and sat down on the digger’s caterpillar track to watch over her.

            Natasha smiled to herself.  She still wouldn’t actually fall asleep here – but in that moment, somehow, she felt perfectly safe.

            A few days recovery, both physical and psychological, would be necessary for the people who’d been involved in the Battle of the Tower.  A little more was going to be needed for London.  The entire City borough, along with parts of Southwark and Lambeth, had reverted to a quasi-medieval state, with cobbled streets and stone and timber buildings.  The Tower Bridge was still standing on the far side of the Thames in its Victorian form, but the near side had been replaced by something that resembled a church spire, with a huge set of wooden cogs pulled by oxen to raise and lower the bascules.  Other bridges, in true medieval style, had houses built along both sides of them.

            A lot of rebuilding would be necessary.  The first thing to do would be to re-lay the vanished utility pipes and electrical wires, then re-pave the roads and get the underground working again so that the city would be able to function.  The Queen gave explicit permission for the Red Death’s buildings to be torn down and the materials re-used in any way the workers saw fit, which Natasha approved of.  That was how this country had always worked.  The stone age peoples of Britain had built henges and barrows, which their bronze age successors had used as their own temples and burial sites.  Celtic tribes had built settlements, which the Romans had turned into cities.  Roman temples had become Christian churches.  Villas had been torn down and the stone re-used to build monasteries, which had in turn been taken apart by Henry the Eighth to build palaces, which were now used as government buildings.  The history of Britain was not just a history of immigration, it was a history of recycling.

            Having given that order, the Queen had the soldiers sent home, and Fury and the ‘six heroes’, as she insisted on calling them, were trucked out to Windsor Castle an hour’s drive away.  The grounds were closed to tourists and the press to give them some privacy, and then they were left alone to recover in peace.

            Natasha didn’t actually sleep for a week, of course, but she slept well past noon the next day, and when she got up she took a very long shower and then sat on the window seat of her room – an amazing room, with gilded moldings on the ceiling and brocade hangings on the walls – with a cup of tea and a late of sandwiches, to look out over the courtyard.  A bit of misty rain was falling but the sun was coming through the clouds, making it all glitter.

            There, she prodded at her conscience a bit, to see what it would do.  She’d killed a lot of people yesterday… some on purpose, like the HYDRA men swarming out of the floor, and some perhaps by accident, if it were her actions that had gotten rid of any mooks still in the underground tunnel.  Did she feel bad about it?

            Yes, to be quite honest, she did.  Every one of those men had been flesh and blood.  They’d all been born, had grown up, they had families and friends and pets.  They were not nice people, or they wouldn’t have joined a group dedicated to finding a magical artefact they could use to conquer the world, but they’d been people.  Every last one of them.  At the same time though, the alternative to fighting with them was just letting them have the Grail, and that could not have been tolerated.  She’d killed them because she had to save the truth.  She wasn’t sure yet if she’d managed that, but those killings had been necessary.  Unfortunate, but necessary.

            What about the Red Death?  Was he a person?  He’d come across as a sort of cartoon, mustache-twirling bad guy, but he had to have a backstory, too.  Or did he?  He, like Sir Stephen and Allen, had been created by the Grail out of whole cloth and what people imagined.  Did that mean none of them were real people?  That couldn’t be right.  Sir Stephen and Allen were people, and therefore the Red Death must be, too.  He was a bad person, a person who needed to be stopped, but a person nonetheless.

            That was the other thing about truth, she thought – it was always so damned complicated.  Nobody was all good or all bad.  Things had seemed so simple in the Red Room.  There’d been the widows, who were the servants of the state, and their targets, who were the enemies of it.  One of the reasons she’d run away was because she’d come to realize that the truth was not so simple as that, or as it always looked in the movies.  She could try to be a good person, but she never would be, for the same reason she would never be a bad one.  That was in itself kind of a depressing thought.

            She got up with her empty teacup in hand, intending to find a servant to give it to, when there was a knock on the door.  Nat went and answered it, and found it was Allen Rushman.  He was wearing striped pajamas, but that probably didn’t matter – Nat herself was in a dark red silk dressing gown and fuzzy slippers.

            “Oh, you are up,” he said.

            “Yeah, I am,” Nat said.  “Have you knocked before?”

            “No,” he said, though she suspected he was lying.  “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

            “I’m okay, I guess,” said Natasha.  “How about you?”

            “Okay, I guess,” he said.

            A moment passed in silence.  There was nothing to distract them now, nothing they had to immediately get on with, no convenient excuses to procrastinate.  The two of them had to deal with each other.

            “You want to come in?” asked Nat.

            “I wouldn’t want to intrude,” said Allen.

            “You’re not intruding,” Nat told him.

            “You never liked me coming in your room,” Allen said.

            “That wasn’t me,” said Nat, “and this isn’t my room.  This room probably belonged to some stuffed-shirt prince who died a hundred years ago and I doubt it’s been redecorated since.  I don’t have any underwear on the floor.  You can come in.”

            “Right, right.”  He stepped inside, but stayed awkwardly standing, just inside the open door.  “So, uh… now that you’ve saved the world, what are you going to do next?”  It was an attempt at a joke, to disguise the seriousness of the question.

            Nat sat down on the bed.  “Well… I guess I’ll go back to work, unless the university has fired me for running off without requesting leave, in which case I’ll have to find another job.  My field is gonna be limited, though,” she realized.  “My face will probably have been on the news.  I might have to lie low for a while before I can come u with a new cover.”  Thank goodness she had the Grand Duchess’ diamonds.  Lies were… they were never as good as the truth, but she needed them and she always would.  “What about you?”

            “I don’t know,” sighed Allen.  “If I don’t have any legal ID or anything…”

            “I can come up with something for you,” Natasha said.  It wouldn’t be hard.  “I’ve got some money I can give you, too, if you need something to get started.”  She’d searched for his address on Google Maps and sure enough, there was still no house there.  “Is that why you came here?”

            “No!  No, of course not!” said Allen quickly.  “I wouldn’t… well, I’ll take it if you’re offering, but I’m not…” he stopped speaking and spent a moment clearing his mind before taking a deep breath.  “I came here to ask what… what we’re going to do next.”

            Of course he had, and of course, Natasha didn’t have an answer for him.  “What do you want to do next?” she asked.

            “I want everything to be the way I remember it, but I can’t have that,” he said.  “What do you want to do?”

            Natasha didn’t know – but she had to come up with something.  “I want to help you,” she decided.  “You did your best to help me after I was not initially very nice to you.  But I don’t want to lie to you.  I’m not the daughter you remember, and I’m not going to pretend to be.”

            “That’s okay,” he said.  “I’m not the father you would have wanted for yourself.”

            “I think you might be the father Sue wanted for me,” said Nat, “but I… you’re the closest thing I’m ever likely to get to a family, and nobody gets to pick their relatives.”

            “That’s true,” said Allen, with a relieved smile.  He must have been terrified she would reject him again.  “I don’t know what you’ve done in the past,” he added, “but I know what you’ve done since I’ve met you, and… I’m proud of you, Ginger Snap.”

            Nat wasn’t sure anybody had ever told her they were proud of her.  The trainers in the Red Room had been satisfied with her, and people since then had… well, she was an adult.  Nobody thought she needed to hear it.  It was a surprise to find how badly she did.  “You’re right,” she said, with a shake of her head.  “You don’t know me at all.”

[asarsgyan]

Chapter 2 “The Tranny Mafia”

The Mafia with the exception of the music, the cigarette smoke that flooded the place dimmed everything: the robotic colored lights chasing heads, the beauty of the women, the shadows of some bodies dancing to the rhythm of the bass, the protrusions left by the weapons in the waistbands of some men's trousers, the dancers lined in suggestive white satin fabrics and caged in wooden cells provoking the clientele, the waitresses wandering around the room like unbraked cars and juggling a tray full of liquors and drinks. The only thing that remained unscathed by the smoke was the strident music that made the hearts of those who passed near the columns of sound jump, some of which reached two meters in height.

   In the club of yore, the tables were arranged around a round dance floor, full of inlaid multi-colored lights on the floor. However, some of them, semi-hidden and suspicious in the corners of the place, seemed to be reserved, in perpetuity, for characters whose only figure was mixed with smoke, laughter and constant ringing of cell phones. It seemed a paradox because on slow nights, the main tables, those that surrounded the dance floor and therefore the most desirable ones, remained unoccupied while those at the back, those that served as an accomplice to certain dense customers, remained occupied. They were the tables of the trachets. They were nailed near a secret emergency exit through which the supplies for the place entered and were far from the main entrance. These tables were conducive to "showing no face", to warn of the arrival of the enemy, the entry of the police, to measure the fidelity of women. In one of them were "El Titi" and Clavijo with their official girlfriends, the Ahumada sisters. The first with Marcela and the other with Catherine.

   The Ahumadas, without a doubt, were the most beautiful women in Pereira and, there is nothing strange about the whole land and its surroundings as well. For their perfect faces and sculptural bodies they had nothing to envy the most famous and beautiful models and queens in the country and the world. Marcela, for example, looked like the incarnation of the Virgin Mary, only her hair was much longer, shiny, straight and blonde. As smooth as a velvet tablecloth, as bright as a glare from the sun on an asphalt road in summer. It was time to move them so as not to confuse them with wax statues with their exact details and perfect skin without any defect. His deep, yellow eyes and wide, sand-colored lids seemed like a heavenly haven from which you could hardly get out with your heart unharmed.

See like an unscathed palm tree on a windless beach. His lips looked like a couple of stuck strawberries and his teeth, arranged with art, looked like the keyboard, without sharps, of a new piano. Although not very tall, his body looked like a Carrara marble sculpture signed by Michelangelo. There was no smaller waist, no bigger breasts, no fuller, more lilting hips, no more wiggly legs, no rounder and higher tail than hers. Her sister Catherine, for her part, in her whole, was more beautiful than Marcela.

   Seeing the Ahumadas sitting on the legs of “El Titi” and Clavijo, any impartial judge, any DEA agent, any unsuspecting human, any mutilated policeman or any victim of the war against the gangsters could arrive, with total ease. , to the novel conclusion that the problem of drug trafficking was not the poisoning of millions of people throughout the world; nor the family breakdown of the homes of millions of drug addicts; nor the flight of currency from the United States treasury; not the hundreds of judges, police officers and journalists murdered in Mexico and Colombia; nor the thousands of public and private officials infiltrated by dirty drug money; nor debased customs; nor the financing of political campaigns with illicit money; nor the inclusion of soldiers and police officers on the payrolls of the bosses; nor the maddened boy beating his mother and selling his household goods to pay for his dose of crack, ecstasy, marijuana or cocaine; nor the moral decomposition of the nation; nor the ethical collapse of all state institutions; nor the creation of an emerging class, economically very powerful, with a desire for political power; nor the obsession of the drug traffickers for the land; nor the massacres and internal purges among the drug cartels; not the ether, acetone and sulfuric acid destroying the neurons of the brain; nor paramilitaries and guerrillas tending crops and selling coca to finance the war. No, none of the above. When seeing the Ahumadas sitting on the legs of El Titi and Clavijo, one could deduce, with many possibilities of being right,

   At least, that was what Titi and Clavijo said with their very bad sense of humor when they got drunk and looked for justifications for the hatred they aroused.    "What happens, brother, is that those bastards" said "El Titi" referring to honest politicians, officials of the US embassy, ​​priests who did not build churches with their money, the incorruptible military, citizens outraged, all of us— they die of envy because the cutest old woman can get up, we can get in whatever car we want and we can buy the head of whoever we want. As they cannot do the same ...

   "Okay," Clavijo said, half intoxicated and added: "Those who criticize and persecute us are those who have not eaten of our money." He drank a drink and continued, "but as soon as you smear their hand, they deify you, there is no place to put you and then they come this way and they want you out of business.    The Ahumadas nodded at each assertion of their boyfriends with the sole purpose of implying that they were understanding something that they really did not understand a damn about for having dedicated all the years of their youth to cultivating the body, face and hair and not intellect and good manners as any girl with a mother would have done in this world. Therein lay the problem, that they did not have a mother.

   They were raised from the age of two by their grandmother, Mrs. Clotilde, after her mother, Mrs. Lucy Ahumada, left with the father of her third child, Manuel, Marcela and Catherine's middle brother, not for that reason as beautiful as them and that He was now a prisoner in the Bella Vista jail, serving a 42-year sentence for stoning to death a street vendor who deceived him by assuring him that the Reebook sneakers he sold him were original. Manuel learned, some time later, when a friend showed him his own, that the shoes were "chiviadas" and went to make the claim to the seller who started laughing saying that if he aspired to have legitimate shoes for "shit 15 thousand pesos". Manuel was so enraged that he had no problem picking up a four-kilo stone that he found on the floor with his hands. wait until the seller was careless and walk behind him until he surprised him and delivered the first shock to the head. The vendor fell to the floor, mortally wounded, and Manuel pounced on him, viciously, until he killed him, then took fifteen thousand pesos out of his pocket and threw the uncooked shoes that cost him his life on his face, in the process of cooling. That happened five years before the Ahumadas got engaged to "El Titi" and Clavijo, and since then Manuel has never received a visit from his half-sisters or a visit from his mother in jail. The Ahumadas were sorry to say that they had a brother in jail and Doña Lucy gave birth to a fourth child with a jealous truck driver who never left her at home, remembering that if she already had children with three different men, including him, nothing would guarantee that yours would be the last. For this reason, the Ahumadas never saw her again and took advantage of that lack of maternal and paternal authority, because they never knew their father, to do their will, which they began with the determination not to finish high school.

   They barely went to school at the time when they still couldn't manipulate their grandmother and withdrew from high school when they were in their second year thanks to an invitation from a young man who was standing at the school door with business cards, to do a "casting" in a modeling agency, which was nothing more than a front company to recruit beautiful women and then sell them to the mafia.

   In this way her photos, put in an album along with those of 23 other girls in bathing suits, ended up in the hands of El Titi and Clavijo. Shocked by their beauty, they were taken to a farm and on the same day they met they were taken to live in a sumptuous apartment equipped with all the luxuries they did not have when they were children. The Ahumada's apartment had nothing to envy that of a Magistrate, a Senator of the Republic or a corrupt contractor. He had everything invented and to be invented. In each of the rooms there was an electric walker, a bathroom with a tub and Jacuzzi, feather blankets, embroidered towels, several closets full of clothes from the best and most expensive brands, a special closet to house the 75 pairs of shoes that each had. a, Marble sinks with automatic faucets and air conditioning, not to mention the paintings of famous painters and bronze sculptures that were displayed in the living room or the twelve-seater dining room that they bought for them two alone and in which they lost each time they sat down. . All over the apartment they had appliances and electronics scattered around some of them brand new. For this reason, Yésica was right in stating that the girls in her class were not forced to study and the reasons were obvious: a pretty girl willing to fuck herself could achieve the same or more in an instant than a lawyer, a doctor , a scientist or a business administrator, after studying 20 years and working another 20.

   But nobody imagined that Marcela and Catherine meant so much to the two half-haired drug traffickers who at that hour were hiding in the hidden tables of the disco.

   In these, an electronic song sounded and the Ahumada rose like springs to pull El Titi and Clavijo to go dancing, but they apologized with arguments of all kinds, although always stupid, so in the end, the women they ended up dancing alone in the center of the dance floor without anyone, who knew where they came from, dared to look at them. From time to time a couple of unsuspecting "Play Boys", usually foreigners on a tourist trip, would panic when they saw them alone and would approach them in anguish to ask at least for the phone but, as always, or end up eating dirt on the disco parking at the hands of the bodyguards of «El Titi» or they were lost forever in the cold waters of the Otún River, without heads and without fingerprints.

   "El Titi" was a talkative and arrogant man, of great stature and bad taste. He wore fine brand clothes, more because of their price than because he knew the style and trends they represented and on some occasions he used up to four lotions at the same time. A scar that surrounded his left cheekbone reminded him, every time he looked in the mirror, a past full of tragic stories and violent anecdotes. "El Titi" was born into a humble and broken family where the normal thing was not to see his father very often and where his mother confused love with pandering. She tolerated her excesses so much that one morning she ended up being beaten by her son when she refused to give him the money for the lunch he needed to gamble in a mobile casino that cyclically came to the neighborhood.    That obsession with money was cultivated since childhood when he ran errands to the neighbors, in exchange for money he invested in the purchase of different games of chance with which he multiplied his income to levels impossible for a child.    He was very good at playing tute, 21, relancina, poker, dominoes, marbles, spinning top, parquet, chess, kite, coke, five holes and even yoyo and, for that, he deservedly earned the gambler's remoquete. Other times he stayed with the change of errands by making use of gruesome tales like the imminent bite of a dog leaving the store or the bus that almost threw him across the street. The truth is that he never remained without money in his pockets and that magnet for finances led him to become what he was today, a third-order tracheo about to access the upper echelons of the mafia, thanks to the large volumes of drug exported during the last two years and his coldness to discount enemies, and even friends.

   The drug trafficking came from the hand of "Negro" Martín, a childhood friend who left one rainy day when he was 15 years old and reappeared eleven years later, in the middle of the same downpour, in a late-model black 4X4 pickup truck. various antennas and tinted windows. The people of the neighborhood were speechless when they saw the transformation of the Negro and immediately began to weave all kinds of conjectures without having to kill many neurons: he had become "a tough one."    His imposing reappearance had a double effect: the girls in the neighborhood were hopeful when they saw that the blue princes did exist and the boys understood that getting easy money to captivate those same girls was possible. Although they knew of the only business that could bring them such a fortune, without going to college, receiving inheritances, or inventing a device to guess the number of lotteries, they needed to know the formula and the secrets of the lucrative and damned trade. For this reason, "El Titi" approached him and greeted him with laughter, remembering with sorrow that as a child he had rolled him against the pavement of the school field for insinuating that his mother was a whore.    "Well, as you can see, partner ..." He replied smugly, letting things and facts speak for themselves.

   And things and events spoke so much for themselves that Titi arrived home tired, packed the only two changes of clothes that had no rips or stains, and left, thinking forever. He hardly says goodbye to Dona Magola, to whom he gave a mischievous smile and a kiss from a distance and in the middle of the run, when she came out the door wiping her hands on her apron and yelling at him where he was going. As El Titi, who by then was not called El Titi but Aurelio Jaramillo, only smiled, Dona Magola wielded one last argument that was on the point of taking him away from his black destiny for the rest of his life:

   —Mijo, wait, don't go ... I've already prepared your guava juice in pure milk!    Aurelio was about to return, tempted by Dona Magola's intelligent strategy of offering him his favorite juice, to which they only poured milk instead of water once a week, but his desire to return one day in the same conditions was stronger. that Martin had done it, so he kept running.    Passing saliva when he remembered the thick and pleasant taste of the drink that he had just despised for the first time in his life, Aurelio ran like crazy through the streets of the neighborhood, while Martín started the car to leave, receiving wrapped papers through the window of his truck meticulously by the less shy girls on the block in which they asked him: when does he come back, may he not be so cocky, when will he give me a ride in that car that, by the way, is very cute, if he has a girlfriend, what if he wants her, that he is not going to come back believed because now he has money and a number of other innocent reasons, according to the time when drug traffickers aroused more admiration than hatred and when none of them had even shit on the heads of a whole generation of women.

   When Aurelio arrived at Martín's mother's house, the «Negro's» car started, albeit slowly, as if he wanted to give him a little wait, but keeping the promise of leaving without him if he did not return in five minutes.    Four or five years passed without news of "El Titi", so his absence lent itself to all kinds of conjecture. Someone claimed that a gang from Cali had murdered him for stealing a gold watch that no one knew where he got from. Others said that he was fighting the government from a guerrilla front installed on the border with Venezuela, a country to which they fled when they deemed it necessary, taking advantage of some ideological coincidences with their leader. Others affirmed that he was fighting the same guerrilla from the ranks of a paramilitary group to which many drug traffickers were arriving by parachute seeking a political status that would shield them from safe extradition to the United States. A government official said he was being held in a Spanish jail on charges of renting his stomach to traffic heroin. "He went on a mule," added the official and assured, incidentally, that Aurelio was serving a twelve-year sentence along with 3,562 other Colombians who one day left an airport with the hope of returning with pockets full of money to defeat the poverty of their houses, ignoring that they were simply going to make it worse.    Others said otherwise. That "El Titi" was able to crown half a dozen trips with his stomach full of cocaine and that he had made enough money to become independent and start in the drug business in medium and highly technical quantities.

   Several agreed in his present as a drug trafficker, but all disagreed with his fate. Even some of his childhood friends came to the block to say that Aurelio, who now called himself "El Titi", was indeed a crooked man, they had captured him on a ship full of drugs that was moving through the Bahamas and then he had been extradited to a Florida jail in the United States. Many people swore they had seen him on television, without remembering doing what and, very few others, like Doña Magola, had the sentimental certainty of seeing him again one day, standing at the door of his house with a briefcase full of dollars in his hand left. And the thesis and the unequivocal premonitions of a mother in love triumphed. "El Titi" returned: fatter, more elegant, with his neck full of chains and gold and platinum charms,    As rumors come faster than people, as soon as Dona Magola found out about the arrival of "El Titi" to the neighborhood, she ran to prepare the guava juice in pure milk that he liked so much, while her son snooped, from his van with tinted windows and at 15 kilometers per hour, every street, every house in the neighborhood, wanting to find out, first-hand, about the physiognomic changes of girls between eight and ten years old, who had not seen five years ago and who by then should already have to have left its infantile shell.    Liliana, who just turned fifteen, waited standing on the platform for the "El Titi" truck to pass so she could cross the street. I was going to the store to buy lunch. He had grown so much, due to a hormonal problem, that he was taller than all the inhabitants of the neighborhood. For this reason, as he passed by, "El Titi" could only see her from the neck down. "What a great old woman," he exclaimed and then looked at her in the rear-view mirror as she crossed the street to conclude with laughter and with a strange and morbid good humor: there would be no way, it would have to be folded!    Two houses later, he observed Marcelita talking with Paola. The first very pretty face, but very poorly dressed and a bit obese and the second so slim and provocative that it almost made him crash. He barely saw her with her hair up. 

In two side bow ties, her impeccable school uniform although with the skirt a little higher than what is allowed in the institution and the white blouse with a button on the top unbuttoned on purpose, Aurelio forgot that he was driving and focused all his attention on the Paola's perfect golden legs. When the tires of his truck bit the platform, El Titi came back to reality amid the laughter of the girls who made fun of the carelessness of the clueless driver who almost crashed a taxi driver who had no problem sticking his head out out of her car window to talk to her mother, completely unaware that she had just signed her death warrant. In effect, Aurelio stopped,

   Ten minutes later and while savoring his second glass of guava juice in pure milk, Aurelio counted in bundles two by two, 20 million pesos to his mother so that the happy lady would send him to melt the concrete slab at the house and build two rooms and a cove on the second floor for her son where he planned to keep drugs and dollars without her knowing.

   While asking for a third glass of juice, evoking memories of his childhood, El Titi asked his mother about Luz Helena, the love of his whole life and found out that she lived with a boy from Dos Quebradas with whom they already had two children. He was so enraged by the news that he smashed his glass against the wall and left his house possessed by the force of arrogance.

   When he arrived at Luz Helena's house, he found her emaciated and badly dressed, nursing her three-month-old daughter and staring into nothingness, listening to vallenatos. She barely averted her eyes to look at him, without any illusion, as she listened to a whole sermon from his lips about what can happen to a woman when she loses faith and does not wait for what is to come.    "I thought you were dead, Aurelio." It was the only thing the resigned woman managed to answer with boredom as she changed her daughter's breast.    The truth is that «El Titi» felt lazy to recriminate her to the limits that he used and forgot about her as soon as he observed Paola, through the window, leaving her house with her impeccable uniform of blue and white squares, her hair woven into two thick and long braids and her feminine charms on the surface. When Aurelio was convinced that this could be his next diversion, he wanted to go out to the street to set out to conquer the little woman, but a bus took her away at full speed without giving him time to see or speak to her.    Luz Helena, who had observed the scene from the same window, wanted to show solidarity with her ex-boyfriend's anguish and gave him invaluable information:

   —She's a friend of Ferney's.    Thanking him with a smile that also signified shame and revenge, "El Titi" crossed the street and walked to Ferney's house to help him in his desire to win over Paola. Ferney was not there, but his younger sister was, who opened the door for him. Her name was Yésica and he loved it as much as Paola, but for a few moments he couldn't help but imagine her as the little girl running down the block after a dog, her panties torn and dirty and her face black with dirt. Despite remembering those images, he noticed that the girl was no longer the same. Despite her fifteen years old, she already looked like a woman. At least that's how her breasts stood like mountains, her lips painted fuchsia and her insinuating looks, accompanied by the chew of a massacred gum and no longer sweet.

   "Ferney isn't there, but I'm here." —The adolescent answered with profound flirtation to which "El Titi" answered with some curiosity, looking at her through the wrinkle-free canyon of her breasts, which, although small, looked like two rocks:    —But you are not useful for what Ferney will help me, Mommy.    -Oh no? That's what you think, partner, "he replied insinuatingly while Luz Helena, who was still breastfeeding her baby, watched the scene from the window of her house, mired in the greatest sadness.

   When noticing Yésica's coquetry, El Titi understood that he was not dealing with a girl and he dispatched himself with compliments and proposals towards her. A few days later, after making love to her in various motels in the city, in vans, farms and apartments of different styles, he sent her with one of the bodyguards to a shopping center and made her buy all the clothes he had and to have, he She wrote a check for the nose operation, another for the silicone breast implant, and traded the surgeon a step horse for the adolescent's liposuction, despite the fact that the surgeon advised her, with good judgment and honesty, that A girl of such a young age could not have such a large number of operations, least of all that of the breasts and nose, because during the completion of his growth he would experience size changes in his skeletal system that could end in an aesthetic tragedy of great proportions. Yésica took the risk, the doctor alienated her thesis in the presence of the checks and the horse, and "El Titi" did not say anything other than to be calm, because if she had to have surgery again when she turned 18 and her "fucking Bones stopped growing, he sponsored irresponsibility.

   The truth is that two months after having performed at least half a dozen surgeries and cosmetic treatments, Yésica looked spectacularly beautiful and transformed. So much so that all the little girls in the neighborhood began to suffer from envy and to organize implausible plans in order to achieve the dream of looking as beautiful as her. The one who suffered the most with Yésica's transformation was Paola and when she found out, "El Titi" felt that her strategy was working. Paola's envy was such that she relegated her pride and showed up one morning at Yésica's house on the pretext of asking her why she hadn't returned to school.    Yésica replied that she no longer needed to study again in her life because she was not going to suckle for 10 more years, stuck between desperate libraries, hot classrooms, stinking bathrooms and a horrible uniform. In the midst of gossiping and envious classmates, reading books by Homero, Cervantes and García Márquez, reciting poems by Calderón de la Barca by heart, doing experiments with toads, lizards and beans and sweating during the strenuous days of physical education or dance class to achieve a degree that was of no use to him if he did not have enough money to go to university.    Paola did not agree with all her assessments, but she had no hesitation in accepting them when Yésica reinforced her phobia of the studio with another barrage of criticism. She told him that she was not going to continue to suffer with teachers who believed themselves to be the owners of the world's education and who threatened to make her lose the year if she did not dance well bambuco, torbellino or cumbia; if he did not go around the schoolyard in 9 seconds and 79 thousandths; if he didn't make a perfect roll on a sweaty, non-sudsy mat. That education was poorly designed because a student should not be put through the eyes of subjects that he does not like, that he does not understand and for which he has no talent or aptitude. That she wouldn't continue to stress herself with the threat of losing the year if she didn't solve 125 algebra facts by the next day; If he did not calculate the friction that a car drives around a curve at a descending speed of 90 to 70 kilometers per hour in 4.5 seconds with a force of 125 horses and a weight of 470 kilos with flat tires ; If he did not point to the geography, on a world map, the exact place where the Cayman Islands or Madagascar were; if he did not tell history the reasons why Alexander the Great was assassinated and if he was homosexual or not; if he didn't recite from memory, to chemistry, the elements of the changing periodic table; if he didn't tell the same professor how many DNA molecules make up the human genome; if he did not recite to the Englishman the irregular verbs in all their conjugations; if he couldn't get the biologist all the species of plants and butterflies to put them in a black-leaf album; if he did not recite to the religious one "The Song of Songs"; If he did not decipher the one in geometry, the result of multiplying the sine cubed by the cosine squared by the hypotenuse or, if he did not sleep with everyone who asked him in exchange for a note that would drag him the average.

   He also said that after all that he was not going to end his life waiting for a cardboard that was not going to serve him but to decorate his room and inflate his mother's ego, because, surely, he was going to end up washing dishes or taking care children as his sister was doing, who did finish high school, for a miserable salary.    But Paola, although convinced by Yésica's forceful arguments, needed to go further, to know the different alternatives to the study that Yésica proposed for her life and continued to speak to her with clues. She told him that she did have to finish high school because she didn't know what else to do. That her mother killed her wherever she left school, that she was the girlfriend of a cousin of hers who was jealous and stingy more than her father, that she was desperate with the financial situation of her house, that she thought at all times that she was crazy. He made his life change and he put a world of more complaints on him, waiting for proposals not to wear out, asking him to tell him how he had managed to get the money for the operations and to buy so many clothes.    "Sister and you can't take me to those guys?" I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get out of this motherfucking situation!    Yésica recalled that "El Titi" used to tell her that he was dying to be with two women at the same time and took advantage of Paola's desire for overt involution to make the proposal.

   "How can you think of it, sister!" She responded indignantly, but her incoherence and weakness led her two days later to a farm in Cartago where "El Titi" was waiting for them dead of happiness, full of whiskey, food, varied music, pure cocaine and a porn video with which She was going to explain, in a veiled way, to her two guests what they should do, without having to resort to words. A month later, Paola already had her silicone tits on and was walking proudly with them all over the block while Vanessa, Ximena and Catalina speculated about the origin of the money invested in the surgery.    Paola believed she had done enough to demand that "El Titi" consider her his girlfriend, but she crashed into the world when he told her, laughing, that it was impossible because he was engaged to Marcela Ahumada, the most beautiful woman of the earth, his official and true girlfriend, the only one, the complete owner of his heart, the lonely recipient of his sincere caresses, the owner of his love and his money and who did not think to change her for anything or anyone in this world. Yésica, who was pretending the same thing as Paola, was cut off by her intentions, warning her not to dream because neither she nor any other woman could aspire to the throne that Marcela held. That if he wanted to, he would accept her along with the 20 or 30 women he was dating in exchange for certain details and to see if he liked things that way or to do whatever he wanted to do.

   For this reason, while "El Titi" chatted with Clavijo and the Ahumadas sisters at the disco, Yésica tried to invent a way to get revenge on Marcela, exploiting the lust of "El Titi" by putting the most beautiful girls in the neighborhood at her service. He told Ximena to stop being silly, that studying was useless, that life was very short and that you had to enjoy it to the fullest, that these guys were cool, that if you behaved well with them, they would behave well with one, they were all gentlemen. He told Vanessa to stop being prudish because the whores took her, not to stop the boyfriend because he drove her crazy and to rebel at home, calmly and without remorse, because the parents were aware that they had raised crows and not children and that they were only waiting for them to take out their eyes to be satisfied with the fulfillment of their popular premonition. She told Catalina that when she was going to change her pants, that the blouse she was wearing looked old and out of fashion, that she needed clothes, that Albeiro was only useful for drooling, every other night, at the door of his house and to give him stuffed animals and that the only good thing that his house had was Bayron, who walked very cute and looked like a player from the Argentine soccer team. That she didn't worry about her mother because if she got angry when she started to lose herself on the weekends, the temper would happen to her when she arrived with a market for two months and the ticket to put her in Nacho's beauty salon.

   And while "El Titi" watched from his secluded table the arrival of six policemen to the disco, Vanessa, Ximena and Catalina accepted the business of leaving Yésica with him on weekends, in exchange for clothes and money to undergo surgery until the laugh. Of the trio of beautiful damsels, the most interested was Catalina, but, likewise, she was the least likely to be accepted by "El Titi", since two irrefutable facts played against her: her size 32A senitos and her quality of virgin girl.    When Clavijo began to sneak into the disco kitchen through a secret door that the owner designed for him and other exclusive clients, "El Titi" identified the officer in command of the patrol who had just entered the disco. It was Lieutenant Arnedo.

   "Stay calm, Clavijito, mijo, the man is from this side, he's a friend," he told his frightened partner while Marcela and Catherine Ahumada laughed when they saw how a man like Clavijo who bragged about killing and eating the dead man he urinated on his pants when he saw a uniformed man. In effect, Lieutenant Arnedo belonged to the immense group of soldiers bribed by the mafia and his presence in the place was justified by the fact that Cardona was about to enter the place. When "El Titi" found out about the imminent arrival of his boss, he took Marcela by the hand and urged her to leave. Marcela, among whose goals was to conquer a more powerful drug lord than "El Titi", refused to leave the club, falsely arguing that she was having a great time, so "El Titi" took up the challenge firmly and took her by the hand with force and then crossed the room with her, almost dragging her, to the general surprise of everyone. And although she yelled at him to stop being bitter and to let her stay a little longer, «El Titi» knew that if Cardona knew her and her sister, he would ask them, by way of order, for his collection personal. And since "El Titi" could not deny Cardona a favor, he decided to leave early with his girlfriend, his sister-in-law and his buddy. as an order, for your personal collection. And since "El Titi" could not deny Cardona a favor, he decided to leave early with his girlfriend, his sister-in-law and his buddy. as an order, for your personal collection. And since "El Titi" could not deny Cardona a favor, he decided to leave early with his girlfriend, his sister-in-law and his buddy.    Not a few were terrified to see the pair of divine human sculptures, humiliated, dragged and sullied throughout the disco, so more than one onlooker sneaked out to the disco parking lot in order to know the outcome of the scene that it was none other than the pair of women shoving and slapping a pair of luxurious trucks. When Cardona arrived, "El Titi", Clavijo, and the Ahumada were going far.

   The next day and in accordance with his habit of not satisfying his instincts with a single woman, "El Titi" appeared on Catalina's block and stopped his truck at the house across the street, which was Yésica's. When she left, he delivered the good news without even giving her time to say hello.    "'Titi', I have another three divine peladitas!"    "El Titi" smiled, asked all kinds of questions and got so excited that he left them money for their clothes and stayed to pick them up at night. Yésica stole the money from the clothes and took Ximena, Vanessa and Catalina home. He lent them all her clothes, which he no longer wore, so that "El Titi" would not miss the new clothes he had sent them to buy and made the announcement:    "The man is coming at night ...    He also announced the arrival of "El Titi" to Paola, but she, who had already known him for a long time, was not so enthusiastic, but not because it seemed boring to go with the same man, but because it made her angry that other three girls the neighborhood were fighting for it. After all, he understood that beyond accepting gifts from "El Titi", his heart beat harder for him than for any other man.    When the night made its appearance, Catalina, Vanessa, Ximena and Paola sat in the front garden of Yésica's house to wait for the now famous client. They looked as pretty as they were impatient and none of them stopped looking at the others and at the same time at the corner, seeking to know who was prettier and at what time the blessed "Titi" was going to appear. From her window, Dona Hilda looked at the scene with suspicion, while Yésica dialed in vain the narco's number from her cell phone. Suddenly a call came in. It was "El Titi" who spoke in code to Yésica. He told him that he did not have much time and that it would not be possible to spend the whole weekend with the four girls, so he asked him to enlist only one of them, but to leave him two options to choose from. When Yésica hung up, the others opened their eyes with concern asking, at the same time, what was happening. Yésica told them that "El Titi" just called to cancel the appointment. They were all disappointed and returned home bored, but the second Yésica returned and secretly beat Paola and Catalina at their doors, took them out again when they were about to push themselves up, and made them aware of the mistake.

   —The man just wants to go with one of you and he asked me to enlist two girls to choose her. - She also told them that she thought that one of the two was the prettiest and that was why she had cheated on her other two friends, but to wait and see what the client said, warning them in passing that neither Ximena nor Vanessa could know anything. about the little plot.    "El Titi" arrived in one of his trucks and stood in front of Yésica's house looking at Paola and Catalina, with the advantage of not being seen thanks to the darkness of the car's windows. Yésica approached him and told him what he already knew, that the women were ready. He looked at them with desire as he made morbid comments with his driver and one of his escorts who accompanied him. When the advanced apprentice pimp asked her to choose her toy on duty, Titi responded without flinching that Paola:    "You know that that asshole kills me." 

Added. Immediately afterwards, and perhaps without meaning to, he pronounced Catalina's fate forever:

   "The other one is pretty, but her teats are very small." Rather, it has not!    The escort and the driver gave out laughter that annoyed Yésica.    "Here among us," she told him secretly, "although she has them small, she is a virgin."    -Worst! "El Titi" answered annoyed and argued: "With those peladitas it is very easy and I don't have time now to teach anything to anyone." I also have the police, the DEA, the prosecutor's office and my girlfriend watching me as if to start fucking with virgos at this point in my life.    While Yésica looked at Catalina with regret, Cabrera, the host of "El Titi," gave the final point:    "She's a better known regular than a good one to know, boss."    —With a laugh, "El Titi" approved his own election and Yésica went to the two little women who were waiting nervously and impatiently to deliver the verdict:    —What the man repeats with you, Paola!    The chosen woman smiled, melted with love for the money from "El Titi" and Catalina's face was instantly disfigured.

   When the truck started with a smiling Paola on board, Catalina asked with a feeling of frustration mixed with helplessness and anger about the reason for the choice of "El Titi" and Yésica had no qualms about telling her the truth about her delirium. narco friends for busty women. That was the day that Catalina set herself, as the only goal in her life, as the ultimate goal of her time in this world, to get the money to undergo surgery on her breasts and become the girlfriend of a tracheum. It would not happen since then, the second of her life, without her being able to imagine something different from her image in front of the mirror with a pair of breasts trying to burst her bras.

   While Paola chatted with "El Titi" in a farm with 24 rooms and the same number of bathrooms, getting to know the money wrapped in boxes and getting terrified by the most unimaginable extravagances; and while Catalina chewed her anger at not having been chosen, trying to cope with her courtship with Albeiro and her relationships with her mother, and while Yésica was eagerly looking for more little girls for the harem of El Titi, Mariño, the expected Mariño landed in the El Dorado airport in Bogotá, from Mexico City, along with three other friends, they do have hands of pure strain, very different from the fine-featured gallants seen in the novels made by quantities in that country. That is, fat, short, big-headed, Indian, one of them with gold inlays in his teeth, Yucatecans, and the three with expensive clothes, but not elegantly dressed,

   Mariño was the right hand of «El Titi». He was no more than a traquetico, novice of the fifth or sixth category, hitman of 28 important figures in the recent past, who had just received, for the first time, a mission other than to kill someone from a motorcycle for a good sum of money. They sent him to Mexico City as a prize for murdering "Negro" Martín, teacher and friend of "El Titi", whom he proved, with a couple of shots to the head, that, when power and money are through the middle, neither loyalties nor feelings count.    "El Titi" wanted to be third in the organization, but to do so he had to remove the black Martín from circulation, the only thing that on some occasion he preferred to his appreciated guava juice in pure milk. And so he did. The details do not matter because all the deaths produced by the mafia, by the hundreds, are the same, but the anecdote does count because, since then, "El Titi" demystified the immortality of his bosses and set out to reach the top of the organization at whatever cost. But for that he needed men like Mariño and Mariño did not want to continue his adventures, murdering as a second-in-class hit man and less at that moment when he had many secrets from Aurelio Jaramillo to exploit.    "El Titi" sent him, a month earlier, to wait in Mexico City for several commercial flights from Colombia, Venezuela and Panama in which 65 people arrived, between Colombians and foreigners, with their stomachs loaded with drugs. As planned, during that month, 60 of the 65 people with their stomachs full of fingers of surgical gloves tainted with coca and heroin passed the controls. Two were poisoned and three fell into the hands of the police. Those captured, a woman at the Bogotá airport and two men at the one in the Mexican capital, were betrayed by the same drug traffickers in order to inflate the ego of the police and distract them with the captures, thus facilitating the passage of other traffickers. .    All the mules, who traveled at the rate of five per flight, were instructed on what to do in order not to end up in jail or the cemetery. First, and to adapt his esophagus to the size of the rubber fingers with coca, he swallowed several large grapes whole, and then sausages the size of a thumb. Three days before swallowing the 100 or 150 bags of drugs, they suspended all kinds of solid foods in order to prepare their stomachs for the arrival of the strange food. They were told that after ingesting the cursed capsules, they could neither eat, nor drink anything, nor even pass saliva, because the gastric acids were going to riot, resulting in the rupture of the sachets and death.    That is why all the mules during the flight received everything that was offered to them and even took it to their mouths and chewed it. Once the flight attendants disappeared, they spat the half-chewed food into their hands and carried it into their pockets and then disposed of it by depositing it in the plane's sink.

   Something went wrong because Blanca Perdomo and Euclides Ibáñez, the first mother of two daughters and the second father of four, died as a result of several drug-filled bags exploding inside their bellies. Blanca, who dreamed of paying off her debts and guaranteeing the education of her two little girls abandoned by her father since the oldest was three years old, died in flight after writhing from the burning in her belly and after a flight attendant, innocent, he will supply a glass of water and a paste for gastritis. His stomach exploded into a thousand pieces.    Euclides Ibáñez died on the way between the Mexico City airport and the apartment where Mariño was waiting for him with a whole team of paramedics and laxatives to extract the merchandise. As is customary in these cases, his body was opened to extract the expensive merchandise and then dismembered and disseminated through all the black water pipes of the city while his four children and his wife continued to wait for him smiling and loaded with gifts as the first time when traveled to Madrid.

   The apartment where Mariño recruited the mules and made them ingest the recommended laxatives to expel the drug-containing finger fingers was located in the exclusive Zona Rosa sector in Mexico City and was hidden behind the facade of a Latin food restaurant. Once the work of digestion and cleaning of the precious packages was finished, Mariño paid each of the mules 5 or 10 thousand dollars, depending on the amount and type of drug transported, and prepared to collect it and then lower it with talcum powder and deliver it to its recipients, who were none other than the camouflaged minority distributors of candy and cigarette sellers organized by Fernando Rey, the lord and master of the streets of Mexico City. Rey had formed a Little Poster that, following the death of the "Lord of the Skies",

   To that Carthage Cartel that, by giant steps approached the ostentation, bribery capacity and the power of political manipulation of the Cali Cartel and the military arrogance, intolerance, violence and economic ostentation of the Medellín Cartel, belonged , in their order, Morón, «Cardona», and «El Titi». The others, such as "Mariño", were in the way, but they hardly represented the new generation of the business and did not mean much within the organization, even if they were called to put their heads in front of the authorities in the face of any setback, since they were in charge of the tasks more difficult for drug trafficking, such as the collection, manufacture, packaging, transportation, marketing and collection, by hook or by crook, of the merchandise.

   Although the new narcos were no less defiant than members of the dismantled Medellín and Cali cartels, they were more cautious, less ostentatious, and arguably smarter and more elusive. They no longer repeated, for example, the story of the drug dealer who was not accepted into a prestigious social club in the city of Cali and who, in a fit of arrogance, had an identical club built for himself on one of his farms. Nor the story of another drug dealer that he had built in Caquetá, a department nestled in the Colombian jungles, and bullring using the same architectural plans as the "Las Ventas" bullring in Madrid, Spain. Not the story of a drug lord who had an exact replica built in one of his properties, but on a scale of the White House in Washington. Not even the story of the mobster who ordered him to put air conditioning and even a work by Picasso in his stables. Nor the story of another mobster who had the plane with which he crowned his first shipment hung on the portal of his farm. Farm that also had, for the fun of the narco's children, a zoo with species from the five continents that any capital of a world power would envy. Nor the story of a drug trafficker who wanted to buy more than two million hectares of land to build a private road that would leave Pacho, a municipality of Cundinamarca in the center of the country and will end in the sea, after traveling about 1000 kilometers. Not the story of a tracheo who bought several bulletproof vests and decided to test them against the humanity of his butler whom he destroyed with Galil rifle bullets and then exclaimed: "How bad!" To which the salesman refueled: —I warned you boss that they only resisted revolver bullets and pistols.

   Nor did they travel in private planes across the country. They no longer installed gold taps in their bathrooms or built Olympic swimming pools, and discos in their homes. They also gave up owning complete professional soccer teams to collect titles, cheerleaders for their parties and talented players for photographs in their family albums or to launder dollars by selling them abroad for half the declared price.    They were no longer giving away entire neighborhoods and they were not participating in politics by giving away outboard motors, motorcycles and money to their voters and arousing the ire of professional politicians who saw in them a serious threat to their seats.

   Although they were still ruthless and ruthless thugs like those of yesteryear, the new drug traffickers did not as obsessively aspire to the land as the former lords of the Medellín and Cali cartels did. They were more motivated by business, venture investing, capitalization, partying, expensive watches, sleeping with models and actresses, foreign properties, and secret accounts in Switzerland, the Cayman Islands, and Panama. They were no longer buying $ 100,000 cash carts in canvas bags. Now they preferred mid-range cars and paid for them with bank loans so as not to arouse suspicion among the authorities.

   They belonged to a generation more prepared than that of the drug traffickers who started the business in Colombia and, therefore, better designed their strategies to launder their capital and legalize their enormous profits. For this they had financial experts, trained in the best universities in the world and with military strategists imported from the former Soviet Union as evidenced by the discovery of several submarines found on the coast of the department of Nariño, in the municipality of Facatativa and in the Guajira, made with Russian technology. One of those submersibles, the one found in Facatativa, just 30 kilometers from Bogotá, had a capacity to transport 10 tons of cocaine.    Aside from the daring and novel method of getting drugs off the continent in radar-proof submarines manufactured in their own shipyards, drug traffickers achieved their greatest feat and daring by shipping drugs to the United States with soldiers from that country, ironically installed in the territory. Colombian to fight the drug cartels and what is worse, in planes with the American flag. That happened in the spring of 2005 and the event filled the government of the northern country with shame and indignation, determined, albeit wrongly, to end this scourge that was ending the mental health of millions of young people around the world. But this was not the only act through which the drug traffickers took revenge for the extraditions to which they were being subjected by the gringos. On some occasion it happened that a military man from that country sent drugs in the diplomatic bags that came out of the United States Embassy based in Bogotá, under the cover of his sentimental relationship with an official of that consular representation. Of course isolated cases that did not compromise the government of that country, but that did make it clear that when money in non-negligible amounts is involved, nothing is impossible for drug traffickers bent on making fun of their worst enemies, to mitigate in part the humiliations and the great blows that they were inflicting on them with the economic and military aid they were giving the Colombian governments. protected in his romantic relationship with an official of that consular representation. Of course isolated cases that did not compromise the government of that country, but that did make it clear that when money in non-negligible amounts is involved, nothing is impossible for drug traffickers bent on making fun of their worst enemies, to mitigate in part the humiliations and the great blows that they were inflicting on them with the economic and military aid they were giving the Colombian governments. protected in his romantic relationship with an official of that consular representation. Of course isolated cases that did not compromise the government of that country, but that did make it clear that when money in non-negligible amounts is involved, nothing is impossible for drug traffickers bent on making fun of their worst enemies, to mitigate in part the humiliations and the great blows that they were inflicting on them with the economic and military aid they were giving the Colombian governments.

   However, bribes at this stage of drug trafficking were more selective and the care of their laboratories and crops was in charge, depending on the geographical area, of the guerrillas or paramilitaries, groups that justified this contradictory action on the premise of not giving advantage to the enemy, since both obtained with the monumental income of this illicit activity, enough money to buy the weapons that would guarantee their permanence in the senseless war that was bleeding the country and that already claimed the lives of more than a million people since the 1960s and displacement of 3 million Colombians since the 1980s. No other country in the world would see five presidential candidates assassinated in a period of 9 years, between 1986 and 1995: Jaime Pardo Leal, Luis Carlos Galán, Carlos Pizarro, Bernardo Jaramillo and Álvaro Gómez Hurtado who bravely crossed the path of the daring and arrogant drug traffickers of the Medellín and Cali cartels.

[batcatromance]

Batman Incorporated: The best BatCat story?

There are many stories that involve Batman and Catwoman. Some are phenomenal, others are disappointing. When we think of the best BatCat stories, one immediately thinks back to Hush, or maybe something from the Bronze Age like “A Night on the Town’ and I would include Injustice as well (especially Year 1).

However, there is one story that always makes me think, “Wow, that might be the best portrayal of the Batman and Catwoman relationship”. The story is from Batman: Incorporated, issues # 1 and 2 (November 2010). First off, this story does not have the greatest plot, it has some decent dialogue and the art work is pretty good in places. But I believe it captured the BatCat relationship perfectly.

The story begins with Batman enlisting Catwoman’s help to break into a high security vault in Japan which is something she is only too happy to do:

After successfully retrieving the special diamond from the vault, Bruce and Selina continue with the primary mission of recruiting Mr. Unknown to Batman Incorporated. At this stage in their relationship, there are no secret identities and the attraction is still burning:

Let’s be honest - we all know exactly what they did before going to work.

Continuing with their mission, they discover that Lord Death Man has murdered Mr. Unknown. They now focus on rescuing his young, heir apparent before Lord Death Man can kill him too.

The comfort level between them is so obvious and the banter back and forth is exactly what it should be.

More banter:

The banter continues (for some reason I really liked this part):

Eventually, they catch up to Lord Death Man and in spite of his apparent inability to die, Catwoman finds a way to finally stop him - run him over with a truck.

Batman’s reaction is great - he does not appear to condone it, but since it was Catwoman, he can let it slide. That is what works so well in this story. Bruce seems to have finally accepted Selina for who she is. The ending exemplifies this very well:

Bruce obviously knew Selina had an ulterior motive, but he still wanted her help regardless. To me, their relationship has matured to the point where they can accept each other for who they are, but the feelings and connection are still just as strong.

Looking at this story, it has everything that I love about Batman and Catwoman. They work together as a team, they trade verbal barbs back and forth and they have sex. What more could you want?

Obviously, this story does not have nearly the emotional impact of Hush for example. But in some ways, it has more going for it due the maturation of their relationship and just how comfortable they are with each other. I also believe this is a glowing example of how DC could write more stories based around Batman and Catwoman working together and the fun those stories could be.   

[vfdbaudelairefile13]

Misery Loves Company part 1

Chapter Twenty-One [part 1]:

The One Where the Herpetological Society Drops By

 

Lemony was careening through the city in his taxi. He had told Jacquelyn that he would much rather prefer to travel via secret tunnels but she explained to him that time is of the essence but she wouldn’t explain to him what that meant until he arrived at Dr. Montgomery’s. Lemony assumed the worst had happened because when you work for VFD that is usually what would eventually happen. Lemony sighed. He was hoping the authorities wouldn’t pull him over. He was driving an awful like his damn sister. He chuckled to himself. Okay, maybe I’m not driving that bad. He thought to himself remembering when he was stupid enough to ask his older sister to teach him how to drive. What a nightmare that was. It ended with the two siblings driving through a couple of hedges and nearly driving the taxi into a pond. Jacques, their brother, was not happy. Ever since that day, Lemony was always a bit terrified to get into a car that his sister was driving. He frowned. He missed both his brother and his sister terribly. He silently imagined what kind of uncle Jacques would be and what kind of aunt Kit would be. Jacques would be that serious but sometimes fun uncle. He’d be the one to give her life lessons when she needed them but would also play the silly games that every little girl wanted to play. He probably would have offered to test out each and every one of her inventions for her. Kit would be the trouble-making, sarcastic aunt. Letting Violet get away with anything. Sneaking the child sweets behind Lemony’s back and teaching her skills that Lemony would prefer she not learn. He laughed to himself, imagining scenarios in his head of his siblings being able to be in his daughter’s life. There was no way in Hell that Kit would teach my daughter how to drive. His laughter turned to sadness when he realized that Violet was missing out, and it was all because of him. She will never get to meet her mother, she has never gotten the chance to meet her aunt and uncle, and she will never meet her half-siblings. Lemony punched the steering wheel in anger. He sighed. This wasn’t fair...none of this was fair to his daughter.  He spent the next several minutes driving silently. 

After a few minutes, his mind went back to wandering about his siblings. How have they spent the last decade and a half of their lives? He had a feeling they were both extremely loyal to VFD but he wondered had they started a family? Was he also missing out on being an uncle? The last time he saw Jacques, he was briefly dating Larry. He was unsure if that ever went anywhere. He imagined that whoever Jacques settled down with, he’d probably have one, possibly two children. Unless he allowed VFD to get in the way of living his life, which wouldn’t surprise Lemony. The last time he saw Kit, she was engaged to Olaf. He made a face of disgust, shaking his head. His sister always had the worst taste in men. He knew that after certain events that Olaf had retracted his marriage proposal to Kit as Beatrice had done the same to him. Maybe that was the best thing to happen to Kit. He knew deep down that at first she was probably heartbroken but she was strong. She probably got over it and began dating someone else. He wondered if she had any kids either. Nah, Kit was too afraid to be a mother. Which was true. Due to the Snicket siblings' involvement in VFD, the children hadn’t known their parents and they were orphaned at a young age. Kit always had issues even thinking about becoming a mother, she didn’t know how...she hadn’t been able to learn from her mother the basics of childcare. Lemony knew deep down that his sister would have made an excellent mother.

Lemony began coughing as the stench of Lousy Lane began to infiltrate his nostrils. “God damn!” he yelled. He knew why Lousy Lane smelt like this, he understood that it was a bit necessary but it didn’t make the smell any better. He followed Jacquelyn’s instructions and drove around Dr. Montgomery’s property so he’d be able to hide his taxi. Once he parked, he sat waiting for Jacquelyn. Eventually, a woman completely covered in bronze make up approached his taxi. Another man who was driving what appeared to be a moving truck approached. Lemony looked at the woman, realizing that it was Jacquelyn and then looked worried at the approaching vehicle.

“No need to worry, Snicket. He’s with me,”

“You brought another person to help us!” Lemony asked annoyed. “What part of ‘don’t tell anyone’ did you not understand!?”

“With Gustav down for the count I assumed you would be grateful to find you another helping hand for your quest to save the Baudelaire children,” Jacquelyn said. “At least come meet him.”

“Oh, we’ve already met,” the man said as he exited his vehicle and walked towards the taxi.

Lemony looked to the man and saw that he did, in fact, know the man from his past.

“It’s nice to see you again, Jac-” the man began before taking a longer look at Lemony. “You’re not Jacques Snicket.”

“You’re very observant, Larry,” Lemony said laughing extending a hand out the taxi window.

“No...no...you’re dead,” Larry said looking from Jacquelyn to Lemony.

“No. I am alive and...well, I’m alive,” 

“Does...does Jacques know?”

“No. Neither does Kit and I hope to keep it that way,” Lemony said glaring at Jacquelyn. “But who knows how long that will last with Miss Jacky showing more and more people that I am alive.”

“We’re going to need more help, Snicket,” she said rolling her eyes.

Lemony shook his head fiercely. 

“Lemony, I am only here because the word has gotten around about Gustav’s death,” Larry said finally shaking his old friend’s hand. “I promise, whatever your terms are. I will agree with them.”

Lemony studied him for a second. “You won’t say anything to my siblings.”

“If you don’t want me to, then no. Although, I do agree with Jacquelyn. Both Jacques and Kit would be very helpful.”

Lemony shook his head. “Too dangerous.”

“Then mums the word,” Larry said smiling. 

“So even with your history with Jacques, you won’t say anything.”

Larry shook his head. “Unfortunately, your brother and I have not spoken in quite some time.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,”

“Oh. I’m completely over it. We have stayed friends over the years. But as of recent, I haven’t really spoken to either him or Kit.”

“Do you think they’re dead?” Lemony asked worriedly.

“Oh. Heavens know. You should know it’s hard to kill a Snicket. You’re living proof of that.”

Lemony chuckled at this. “I guess you’re right.” 

“Well, since introductions have been made. I hate to tell you boys, but Dr. Montgomery is dead. He was found this morning by the Baudelaire boy.”

“Wait,” Lemony said looking at Jacquelyn. “How...how did Monty die? You were here. You said you had everything…” he began and then noticed that all of her visible skin was painted bronze. “Why are you bronze?”

“Well, I was disguised as a statue,” Jacquelyn said. Both Lemony and Larry looked at her in utter confusion. 

Lemony opened his mouth to speak but then closed it. Then he opened his mouth again and instead of speaking, he sighed.

“Are you okay?” Jacquelyn asked.

“...I’m just making sure that I completely understand. You...you stood out here...you stood outside for who knows how long and allowed Monty to be murdered?” Lemony asked still not fully understanding what Jacquelyn’s plan was.

This time Jacquelyn was the one opening her mouth to speak but she was at a loss of words. In her head, this plan made perfect sense but now that Lemony was saying it out loud, she began to realize how useless and idiotic this plan actually was.

“What the fuck! What sense does that make!?” Lemony yelled.

“Ummm...I wouldn’t yell right now…” Larry muttered.

Jacquelyn simply shrugged her shoulders. “I infiltrated didn’t I?”

“In all honesty? No. No! You stayed outside. Allowing that bastard to kill Monty and nearly kidnap Beatrice’s children!”

“Lemony...I would advise not yelling,” Larry muttered again.

Lemony gave an angry sigh in response as he rubbed his temples. “Dear God...why is this harder than it should be?”

“Why are you so obsessed with these kids?” Jacquelyn asked. 

“They’re my….” Lemony began before looking at both volunteers who stood before him. He remembered that no one knew the existence of his daughter and with Jacquelyn not even understanding that he doesn’t want many people knowing that he’s alive, he wasn’t going to risk it. “...they’re Beatrice’s children. We need to help them.”

Both volunteers nodded but neither said anything as Lemony got out of his taxi and went to the trunk. Lemony was already wearing black overalls on top of a light blue button-up shirt. Not too formal but not too laid back. He began rummaging through the disguise kit. 

“Can you guys help me with my disguise,” he called out to the two adults watching him.

“Why? What do you plan on doing?” Larry asked.

“Honestly, I’m not sure yet. All I do know is that I’m going in.” Lemony replied.

Jacquelyn peered down at his disguise kit. “You can only use the supplies from the VFD disguise kit so many times before getting recognized, Snicket. Olaf was once a member, he is probably using the same shit.” She peered down and held up a pair of glasses and a fake beard. “Like these two items. He’s currently wearing them.”

“What do you want me to do then?”

“Think outside the box,” she said looking at Larry. “Did you bring the supplies?”

Larry nodded as Jacquelyn ran towards the truck. “Snicket, you’re going to love this.”

Lemony rolled his eyes. “Doubtful,” he muttered. 

“Can you just trust me, Snicket?”

“I’m trying. But again, you keep making me not trust you.”

“How so.”

Lemony merely points at Larry. “Oh and don’t forget Gustav.”

Jacquelyn rolled her eyes as she handed him a beekeepers hat.

“What the fuck is this?”

“It’s part of your disguise,”

“Not what I was going for...but okay,” Lemony said.

“Do you want Olaf to recognize you?” she asked.

“No.” 

“Then figure it out. You’re a smart man, Snicket,” she replied as Larry nodded.

__________________________________________________________

“...he’s an actor, he must’ve covered it up with make-up.” Klaus tried reasoning with Mr. Poe once they had reached Monty’s house. Stephano had the brilliant idea of all four of them walking back to the house, due to Monty’s car being ‘as damaged as Mr. Poe’s.’ So Klaus and Sunny spent the time trying to figure out how the fuck Count Olaf got rid of his tattoo. Klaus placed his suitcase next to the door as he turned to Mr. Poe who continued to cough.

“Klaus, this is getting rather tiresome, going over this again and again with you. We have just seen Stephano’s unblemished ankle. ‘Unblemished’ means…”

“ I know what ‘unblemished’ means!” Klaus yelled. “But that man is Count Olaf! Why can’t you see that?” 

“All I can see is what’s in front of me. I see a man with no eyebrows, a beard, and no tattoo on his ankle. Meaning this man is not Count Olaf.” Mr. Poe said.

Klaus realized that it would be easier to argue with the snake-shaped hedge than with Mr. Poe when he had made up his mind. But Klaus wasn’t going to give up before he was about to try to reason with Mr. Poe one last time, he heard a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it!” Stephano yelled rushing passed Mr. Poe and the children. “Good morning,”

“Good morning. I am Dr. Lucafont from the local sheriff’s department’s medical examiner’s office,” the tall man said, pointing to himself with a big, solid hand. “I received a call that there’s been a terrible accident involving a snake,”

“You’re here already?” Klaus asked as Sunny stared at the man’s oddly stiff hands.

“I believe that speed is of the essence in an emergency, don’t you?” Dr. Lucafont replied staring down at the young boy. “If an autopsy needs to be performed, it should be done quickly.”

“Of course. That makes perfect sense,” Mr. Poe commented.

But Klaus and Sunny were skeptical. 

“So where’s the body at?” Dr. Lucafont asked.

“Poor Dr. Montgomery is in the Reptile Room,” Stephano replied pointing in the direction where the Uncle Monty’s corpse still lays. He turned to Mr. Poe, “When I spoke to the doctor on the phone, I told him about the accident with your car and he was nice enough to offer to give you a ride into town once his job here is done. While I stay here with the precious orphans.”

“No,” Klaus said firmly, “Sunny and I will not be staying here alone with you at all!”

Mr. Poe looked sternly at Klaus. “Klaus, I realize you are very upset, but it is inexcusable for you to keep treating Stephano so rudely. Please apologize to him at once.”

“ No!” Klaus cried. “I’d rather die!”

Stephano smirked and leaned down close to Klaus as Mr. Poe began to cough. “ Careful what you wish for, orphan.” He hissed in a low, chilling voice. Once Mr. Poe stopped coughing, Stephano turned to Mr. Poe. “Oh, Mr. Boe. It’s quite alright. The children are so upset about Dr. Montgomery’s murder that they’ve forgotten how to behave.”

“Aha!” Sunny yelled.

“Murder?” Klaus asked realizing exactly what Sunny had realized. “Why did you say murder , Stephano?”

Stephano’s face darkened and his hands clenched at his sides. It looked like there was nothing he wanted to do more than scratch Klaus’ eyes out. “I misspoke,” he said calmly.

Before Mr. Poe had a chance to speak, Dr. Lucafont reentered the room. “I have determined the cause of death. It’s definitely a snakebite no question about it?”

“Thank you, doc.” Stephano replied grinning.

“Are you sure?” Klaus asked.

“Two bite marks are on his cheek. Only a snake could’ve done that.”

“Case closed,” Stephano commented.

“Suspi!” Sunny yelled, which meant, “This whole thing seems super suspicious.”

“Sunny’s right. That autopsy was done rather quickly. Are you sure you’re a qualified doctor?” Klaus asked.

“Klaus! It’s rude to question authority figures.” Mr. Poe lectured.

“Maybe the children should go upstairs. I’m about to take the body out to my car and being in a room with a dead body might be very traumatic.” Dr. Lucafont commented.

“I’ve already been in a room with a dead body, thanks to Stephano,” Klaus commented.

“I’ve had enough of this, Klaus. You need to stop.” Mr. Poe said before coughing.

“Once I’ve put Dr. Montgomery’s body in my car. I can give you a ride to the mechanic, sir.” Dr. Lucafont said.

Klaus and Sunny both quickly realized that the situation they have found themselves in was more or less a game but with desperately high stakes. The object of the game was to not be left alone with Stephano or else he would whisk them away to Peru. What would happen to them then, when they were alone in Peru with such a greedy and despicable person, they did not want to think about it.

“We’re not staying with that bastard!” Klaus yelled holding Sunny closer to him. Then at that moment, he got an idea. “Why don’t we ride with Dr. Lucafont and Mr. Poe? Sunny and I have always wanted to see the inside of doctor’s automobile.” he lied. Sunny looked at him confused. She was sure that he wasn’t noticing the odd stiffness in the doctor’s hands that she had noticed. But she nodded her head in agreement. 

“I’m afraid that won’t work,” Dr. Lucafont replied. “Once I place Dr. Montgomery’s body in my car, I’ll only have room for one more passenger.”

“Are you fucking serious!?” Klaus yelled annoyed.

“Klaus! I know it is quite shocking that Dr. Montgomery had died, he seemed like an appropriate guardian for you…” Mr. Poe began.

“Mor!” Sunny yelled, which meant, “He was more than that. He was much, much more than appropriate. But now he’s dead because of that rat bastard in the ridiculous disguise!” and Klaus was quick to translate.

“Baudelaires!” Mr. Poe shouted just about having enough. 

“Look, Mr. Poe, we don’t care what this doctor is saying! Monty was one of the world’s leading herpetologists. He’d never allow a dangerous snake to bite him! Stephano murdered him! Why can’t you just trust us!?” Klaus shouted slamming his free fist into a wall.

“Little boy, I tested his blood. In his veins, I found the venom of one of the most dangerous snakes in the world.” Dr. Lucafont replied looking worriedly at Klaus, whose face was turning red with anger.

“Good heavens! Which one?” Mr. Poe asked.

“The incredibly...deadly...viper,” Stephano replied dramatically. 

“Bull!” Sunny yelled angrily in defense of Ink.

“That’s impossible, dumb ass. The incredibly deadly viper is one of the least dangerous and most friendly creatures in the entire animal kingdom!” Klaus yelled. 

“Come now, Baudelaires. It’s called the incredibly deadly viper.” Mr. Poe replied.

“It’s a misnomer! Uncle Monty named it that to scare his colleagues at the Herpetological Society!” 

“He sounds highly unstable. Not good guardian material.” Dr. Lucafont commented as he began to make himself a pot of coffee.

“He was a wonderful, caring person!” Klaus yelled through gritted teeth.