#technically in absentia but still

[kcscribbler]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged as always by @elodiah.

More Storyteller cutscene shenanigans, because nothing else is cooperating with me right now.

Loki looks up when a plastic tray – black, he notes absently, instead of the hideous orange of the primary TVA’s cafeteria – hits the table across from him, and then double-takes. “You’re not Mobius.” “Clearly.” The young agent Loki is unfamiliar with, who seems to be part of Mobius’ inner circle in this new TVA, looks down at him over a pair of dark glasses. She sets a padded electronics sleeve down as well, but doesn’t take the seat yet. “He’s been detained. Special council meeting. I was asked to let you know. Would you prefer to eat alone?” From their brief interactions to date, Loki has found this woman to be refreshingly direct. She also appears to know more than most about the inner workings of this place; and particularly, about Mobius. And Loki is not above pressing a strategic advantage, when the opportunity literally walks up to him. Blackmail material is always worth acquiring for future use. He gestures toward the seat with a dramatic flourish. “Please, be my guest.” As she sits, Loki puts his glass down, frowning as the words belatedly register. “A special council meeting?” “Actually necessary. They’re usually tactical in nature, multiversal war strategy.” She twists the lid from a container of salad – not the boring (“it’s classic, you royal snob”) kind Mobius enjoys, but some elevated version containing what look like nuts and sliced strawberries amid the mixture of green leaves, as well as some kind of crumbling cheese. “But they’re always long. We won’t see him for at least three hours.” Loki’s eyebrow inclines slightly. “Does this special council of yours have a regular habit of holding their meetings with no regard for the work and break times of their satellite branch?” A loud snort. “You could say that.” Octavia spears a chunk of lettuce with her fork and then points it at him. “Which is why I sent someone after him. We actually have a special protocol for these things, Protocol J.” “Indeed?” “Oh, yes. Some asshole in a Santa Monica Jamba Juice is wondering where his smoothie went, right about now.”

No-pressure tags! @lokimobius @dilfmobius @thosegayoldmen @in-my-loki-feels @loki-is-my-kink-awakening

@impulsemuppet @asoeiki @natendo-art @boredintjqueen @wolfpup026

@thewildballyntynesgrow @justabigoldnerd @andthekitchensinkao3 @scifikimmi @insomniaflarrow Whatcha workin' on?

[aha-chuu]

Idk something I love about dunmeshi is that the Original Touden party has like. Perfect stereotypical five six man band:

Leader - Laios

Lancer - Shuro

Big Guy - Namari

Smart Guy - Marcille

Heart - Falin

Sixth Ranger - Chilchuck

But then when Falin gets eaten and Shuro & Namari dip, they're missing all these key components. Senshi joins and it refigures into:

Leader(?) - Laios

Lancer - Marcille

Big Guy(?) - Senshi

Smart Guy(?) - Chilchuck

But like. These roles don't even fit. Laios is the leader of the party, sure, but really we barely see him fulfil that role. Usually he's doing Smart Guy things and info dumping about basilisks at opportune moments.

Senshi is big, I guess, but he's never presented as an impressive fighter really. He actually works better as a new Heart because he's caring for the group's emotional and physical needs, and since he's new he can more easily form individual new bonds with each other member. But Laios and Marcille are still forcing Falin into the Heart role in absentia.

Chilchuck is what even? He is smart and really excels at his job, but it feels weird to drag him into something specific. Even so, you can't leave him as Sixth Ranger because we're down to four.

Marcille actually does work great as Lancer but only if you do accept Laios as Leader. Which you know. I don't really.

And obviously these feel awkward because they're tropes I'm trying to prescribe onto fleshed out, well written characters. But that's kind of the point because these tropes DO fit well onto the original Touden party. And that party was (on a technical level) super impressive and should have worked really well. But they couldn't defeat the red dragon and yet V2 with like half the members could??

And I like that! Underdogs story or whatever, but the cleanest, most optimized team couldn't achieve what our squad could with some fish man eggs and frog skin. When they get to escape their little boxes they actually really excel in their weird ways. They're not just offsetting the norm of the dungeon in the narrative, but also breaking the mold on character dynamic levels too.

[cephalog0d]

Batfic - "Musical Costumes"

Rating: Teen and Up (Language)

Category: Gen

Relationships/Characters: Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd & Tim Drake & Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Duke Thomas & Damian Wayne & Barbara Gordon & Alfred Pennyworth; Dick Grayson (mentioned)

Additional Tags: Humor, Banter, Batkids Being Batsibs

Words: 1,057

Summary:

There was a quiet moment before Jason felt the prickle of eyes and looked up from where he'd been absently scratching lines in the arm of the chair (sorry Alfred) to see the collective attention of the room placed on him.

"Absolutely fucking not," he snapped vehemently.

(Full text after the cut or over on AO3)

"-so someone will have to be spotted as Nightwing a few times for the next week or so," Bruce's briefing concluded. There was a quiet moment before Jason felt the prickle of eyes and looked up from where he'd been absently scratching lines in the arm of the chair (sorry Alfred) to see the collective attention of the room placed on him.

"Absolutely fucking not," he snapped vehemently.

"You are the closest-" Bruce started.

"No I'm fucking not!" Jason gestured at his own torso to emphasize the point.

"Height-wise you are," Steph added very unhelpfully. "Weight wise it's more…equidistant," she conceded with a loose wave between Jason and Tim.

"Technically Duke is the closest but I think even Gotham's criminal masterminds might notice that," Tim threw out, pedantic as ever.

"What, because I'm a meta?" Duke asked with an impressively straight face.

"Yes," Tim said in the same flat tone. Cass only barely tried to muffle a laugh. Steph didn't try at all. Jason chose to ignore all of them, glaring defiantly at Bruce, who mostly just looked like he wanted a nap. Or a child free vacation. Whatever, it was his own fault he kept collecting more and that they were all awful.

"No," Jason repeated. "I am not running around in that stupid suit just because Dickhead managed to break himself showing off."

"That is not an accurate-" Damian interjected, predictably jumping to Dick's defense in absentia.

"You have before," Cass interrupted him neatly. Her expression was a lot more controlled than Steph's, but her eyes were bright with suppressed laughter.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Jason said pointedly.

"Dick's current suit isn't even that bad. It's not like you have to wear the old Robin suit. Again," Tim said mildly. Jason narrowed his eyes at Tim, who met his gaze unflinchingly and took a slow, deliberate drink.

"Boys," Bruce cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. Jason decided to temporarily let it go and ignore both the way Tim smirked behind his cup and Steph's quiet "oooooh".

"Do it yourself," Jason challenged Bruce, earning a burst of laughter from the rest of the room. Bruce's expression did the constipated thing that usually meant he was at least mildly regretting his choices in family. Good.

"Oh my god please do, I will pay so much money to see that," Steph gasped breathlessly.

"Stephanie." Bruce's reprimand, predictably, did nothing to silence her.

"Father has his own duties as Batman," Damian said snippily.

"Additionally, I do not believe Master Bruce's joints would appreciate those kind of acrobatics," Alfred added as he appeared and started clearing things off the table.

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said with another sigh.

"Cass can do all that flippy bullsh-oot," Jason hastily corrected when Alfred glanced at him.

"Are you saying you can't?" Cass asked sweetly.

“Of course he can’t,” Damian scoffed not all that quietly.

“Damian,” Bruce said. Cass ignored them both. She met Jason's glare for several seconds, just smiling and waiting.

"I know what you're doing," Jason finally said, jabbing a finger at her.

"But it's still working," Tim muttered.

"No, it's not."

"It's okay if you can't," Cass said sympathetically. "I can."

The right answer was to leave it at that and walk away and Jason knew that, he wasn't an idiot and he didn't have to prove anything to these assholes, he should just get up and leave and let them sort their shit out amongst themselves, they were manipulating him, Cass with her disingenuous smile and Steph with her barely restrained laughter and Tim with his infuriating little smirk and Damian with his condescending sneer and Duke just watching them all with amusement while he finished his post-patrol sandwich.

But.

That spiteful little thing in his chest that had guided so many of his most ill advised decisions in the past had taken hold and just because he knew they were baiting him didn't mean he didn't still want to prove them wrong.

"Fine!" he snapped finally. "Fu-reaking fine!" Alfred gave him a knowing look but didn't say anything about the slip. "I refuse to do the stupid puns, though." He could at least draw that line.

"It's okay if you're not clever enough to do that part," Tim said with a condescending pat on the arm. Jason very maturely did not break his fucking fingers, but he did bare his teeth in what was only barely a smile.

"I'm going to glitter bomb your apartment. Emphasis on the bomb." Okay so not that mature, so sue him, Tim started it. Tim opened his mouth, presumably to say something even more inflammatory, but got interrupted.

"Boys," Bruce said again, more sharply. “Tim, leave your brother alone. Jason, thank you for your assistance. Stephanie, whatever you’re planning don’t.”

Steph made an affronted noise and widened in her eyes in a comically innocent expression that did not fool anyone for even a second.

“Right, well, some of us have been up all day,” Duke said as he stood. “Good luck, Hoodwing.” He left the room, grinning, as Tim choked on his drink and Bruce sighed again and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Hoodwing?” Cass repeated thoughtfully, testing out the word. “Redwing? Nighthood?”

“I like Nighthood,” Babs’s voice spoke up. None of them would admit to being startled, but several of them did perhaps sit up a little straighter at the sudden addition.

“Have you been listening this whole time?” Jason asked, and immediately mentally face-palmed.

“Jason.”

“I know, I heard it when I said it.”

“Anyway, I’ve got some alerts that need looking into, if you’ve all decided who’s wearing what costume.”

“No one else is swapping costumes,” Bruce said sternly. “Everyone go get ready. Oracle, tell me what you’ve got.”

There was a brief scramble of finishing drinks and snacks and everyone broke to go gear up. Steph had a scheming look that Jason absolutely did not trust in the slightest but she was dragged off by Cass before he could get a further read on it.

A few minutes later, though, he got a text.

((I have a whole headcanon that people swapping costumes temporarily is just a commonplace thing for Secret Identity purposes, because half of them are public figures, so if one of them gets injured or has to travel as a civilian they'll get one of the others to be spotted in their suit while they're out so nobody puts together "This Bat doesn't show up when this Well Known Public Figure is out of town/obviously injured".

(Hey remember in Batgirl: Year One where Bats made Dick dress up as her to throw Gordon off her trail?)

Of course, some people make better duplicates than others.

(Tim is referencing the fact that in the comics, Jason was fully wearing a copy of his old Robin costume, complete with the lack of pants, during their infamous Titans Tower altercation. Because I will never let go of that fact, it is absurd, absolute drama queen Jason Todd, what a doofus, I love him. Cass is referencing in preboot Nightwing where there was an arc where Jason was running around murdering folks in a Nightwing costume to undermine Dick.)))

[letyukisayfuck]

14. Is there a character or ship you were so sure you would never write/draw but now you've changed your mind?

honestly, yeah! not so much ships, i don't care that much about romantic relationships outside of harukyon specifically (and also a few other Very Specific Scenarios i have mostly discussed before), but characters. for haruhi specifically: writing from anyone's perspective other than haruhi and kyon is really challenging for me, but it's also a fun exercise! see those little challenge prompts i did for a bit (i want to pick those up again with a less strict schedule, i think; i have like another month or two total of prompts lined up)

or even the beginning of deus in absentia: that wasn't originally going to be from asakura's perspective (actually, literally everything that's been posted so far wasn't technically part of the initial concept, it was all background stuff; i'm still trying to get to the point where i can include my initial ideas and notes. admittedly the fact that i haven't finished anything for it in over a year isn't helping.), but as i was setting it up in my mind i realized that i needed to understand the details of her motivation, and that writing it out was the best way to do that

(that au is complex enough that i also have other character-centric stories planned for... a vague at-some-point)

but yeah, the prompts thing is probably the best example; i realized i basically only write about haruhi and kyon, and while i like my niche, i also want to ensure that i do at least understand and explore the other characters from time to time, so i rolled a prompt generator and assigned characters/pairs to them

i've tossed around the idea of doing something about emiri kimidori recently, but there would have to be so much speculation that i genuinely don't know if i could make it recognizable

[freezing-kaiju]

An extended bibliography on the fall of the Farley Whaling Corporation, section twelve: A Son And Failed Prototype

Biotober prompts 20, 21, and 27 technically; Amorphous, Symbiosis, and Camoflage

Warnings: injury, setting bones, animal death, biting, forcefemming sorta, Bri'ish People, some linguistic mindfuckery, and horse-based violence.

---this one goes under a read more since it's long---

January 5th.

Second-to-final day of whaling. No dice. Home soon. Do I wish for that? I would like to be around people who care not for my preference of meat, yes, but... the sea air has done me such good. The paltry meals, rightly suited for me. I could become used to a spartan existence such as this. I’ll miss the seamen.  I...have not found myself missing Father. Ate salt fish and the last of the pineapple. 

Overheard, testified at in absentia trial, recorded in court minutes.

“Jumping jillikers, that’s too much of a whale for my blood!”

“It’s not right, it isn’t, too much of the bilge about it. Rotted red!”

“C-captain, would it not be a waste to cast it aside?”

“Hah! Lord Hammington’s plucked up more courage than sense! I knew this day’s come.”

“Psh, a sailor’s last day is his bravest.”

“Arr, but Hammy’s��“

“Why must you call me that?!”

“A ham-muncher’s a ham muncher. Immutable fact of the uni—- SHE’S SHIFTING!”

“In the name of— I’LL SECURE HER!”

“With— with his hands.”

“Yer right, matey. Hammy’s gone bonkers.”

January 7th.

To my regrets, no entry yesterday. Caught the most marvelous whale on the last day, red as a lobster and twice as fierce. There was some oil coating it, but most of it seeped into the ship’s hull... aside from that which stuck to my hands. Twas gone in the morning, but made many things devilishly slippery last night. 

Bread and breadfruit in the morn, hazelnuts and apples in the evening for the first time in so long. Along with familiar seafood. Spent day docking, finishing up ship’s minutes, sitting while the truly-in-charge inspected my work. For once, twas sufficient. Carriage was ready to pick me up with a scant moment to say goodbye to my fellows, and something told me that seeing me chauffeured in such a sense made me, in their eyes, just a bit less fellow. Ride up was pleasant. Geoffrey is well again, Rosamund and Beatrice seemed to be on speaking terms, the rest of the servants were quite busy. Couldn’t be for my welcome, surely.

That strange whale still lives on in my mind. Its oil has, mercifully, sunk into my clothes rather than my skin. Made them horribly sticky, but I can remove them at least. My nightgown feels slightly heavy tonight, though…

January 8th, excerpt.

It is in my nightgown. The devil oil must have sunk into it from some residue. It shifts lightly in that same odd way, *jingles* when I walk. Perhaps this will add some extra thrill.

The Glasgow Herald, same day, excerpt.

Farewell Farley, local aptly-named bastard, returns to our city. Heir to Sir Oswell Farley’s fortune, the rascal has been away for us a good two years, and surely threes of women have missed his flaccid presence. A wet noodle even in the scene of partying, always last to join and last to leave, many wonder if the life of a sailor has changed him for good. His tailor, however, deserves some special compliments. 

January 9th, excerpt.

I removed the nightgown and the nightgown stayed on under it. Is it— it has to be the oil. I tried tearing it off again, but as I reached the closet to desperately find the suit our servants had prepared, I…

It molded itself into a crude facsimile of the suit. This made it much more complicated to remove, of course, so I may have left part of it in. The

Dear Diary, I tend to write these entries around nine P.M. before I go to sleep. Tonight I stopped halfway through the entry to check my suit.

The cloth of the suit remains over it. But underneath, by the devil, a nightgown has formed. And upon my weary head, a nightcap to match! 

January 20th.

This…strange….anomaly has upped my efficiency in a startling way. Somehow I find meals no longer exhausting, for dressing myself isn’t either; this oil, this suit, whatever it is is able to change itself to suit the occasion anytime I wish. Racquetball, horse racing, daily life, even a formal dinner, it’s learned from my wardrobe and can change my clothes in a fly. Most deeply convenient. Could this be a blessing? An invention? It’s never been seen on other whales, and that was an ordinary humpback.

I’ve had the queerest dreams lately.

January 27th, excerpt.

I believe my clothes are a woman.

January 28th.

My appetite seems to be ramping up. For the first time since I was a lad, I reached for second helpings at a luncheon; I pray this does not become a habit. Yet the lemon pudding was so delightfully springy… cutlets, bread, and veal comprised the rest of the meal, if you must know. Dinner was largely scalloped, weather pleasant, though something about the thunder….excited me. I can find no better word for it.

January 29th.

Something peculiar has happene

JONNO-Y 22th

Jonuo-y 22th

January 22th. 

HELLO SIRS AND MADAMS WILL THAT BE ALL PORT STABRD STERN AFT MAKE SOME THING OF YOUR SELF POLO WHOA STEADY NOW GADZUKES BUT SIR YOURDINNER IS SERVED YOUR LUNCHEON IS SWRVED WILL THAT BE ALL YOUR TEA IS COLD MY TEA IS COLD MAY  I OFFERYOU A SPOT OF TEA SIR SIR BY JOVE GOD SAVE THE QUEEN THE ORIENT THE INDIES RHODESIA I SAY INGRATES THE LOT OF THEM MEDICINE 

PNEUMONIA RHEUMATISM ELEGIBLE BACHELOR

STAR BOARD

January 2Yth.

I BELIEVE I UNDERSTAND  THE MEANING OF MEANING • HOWEVER • MY LORD OR MY SIR • OR PERHAPS MY WIFE • FOR HE NEEDS A WIFE AS THEY SAY• SEEMS• TO HAVE DIFFICULTY WITH DISCERNMENT• AND INDEED HAVING MUCH OF A STOMACH FOR THINGS• I AM WALKING HIM THROUGH TODAY AS A TEST AND A WAY TO GET HIS MIND SOME UCH NEEDED SLEEP• HE WILL WAKE UP WITH WELTS ON HIS HEAD AND A FATHER WHO DECIDED TO INCREASE HIS VOLUNE VERY MUCH BUT• AS HE SAID • A LADYNEEDS MUST TAKE ACCOUNTABILITY FOR HER SIN WHILE A MAN NEEDS ONLY HOLD HER REINS • I HAVE GIVEN HIM THINGS TO HOLD IN HIS HAND • HE WILL FEEL THEM IN THE DREAM • PERHAPS •

February 2nd. 

I feel as if I’ve been leashed. 

Ate lemonade oysters, cold ham, warmed ham from my pockets, cold chicken, a gratuitously tall apple tart, and many other things besides today. Unclear which meals they were for. I feel as if those have become more stream of sensation than expense to record.

It is a woman, I’ve found; a SHE-THING AND THE STRONGEST IVE SEEN WITH FLESH SO NIMBLE AND PLATES SO THICK that wishes to wrest control of my writing hand when I begin to doze, heaven knows what I could possibly experience in polite society with the politics and all with the ghost of a woman trapped in my very form DO YOU HUNGER FOR THE WHIP LITTLE MAN I CAN SHOW YOU WHAT WE COULD TASTE or perhaps a devil, come to tempt me with delights that I cannot persuade myself to refuse.

February 14th, excerpt.

I’ve begun to take trips into town to check accessory shops. Hatpins are a woman’s weapon, yes, but they allure me in a way I find it hard to describe. She needs no description. She simply hears and encourages. Pushes me further. This could be social death, and yet...

They compliment my new armor, and I can feel our chest swell with her pride. Sometimes, the swelling does not recede. I haven’t the chance to make my way home from the office yet; my hair grows ever greasier, the bags in my eyes carve themselves deeper, yet each time I wake up, the suit is pristine. She cleans herself.

February 23rd, excerpt.

Poor saps, out there, freezing to death. I ask the one inside me to bundle me and she does, engulfing me in her warm, shifting flesh. I walk through the streets, her heels clicking on the cobbles, her whims pulling me each which way, helpless to what she wishes, and what she wishes is lovely indeed. The circus, now the circus is delightful. If only it could exist for longer, if only we could drink in the sights for a few hours more. I could bring a wife to it. Father asked if I wished to wed one of the clowns. I...

March 1st, excerpt.

Polo is a cruel master. Not in the game itself, but in the horses, in how they bite the air, in their riders... I fell from my horse, as you may be able to tell. My suit... she took so many of the blows, held to me so tight and as constrictive as a snake. I know not why, nor do I know why either of us survived this. When I walked home, still wrapped in her embrace, a child pointed to us, declared us a knight. Perhaps the armor was literal, she... yes, it was literal. The claws my hands have formed, the plates I can feel clink, she’s still holding them fast. I’ll oblige myself to buff them out and clean them off; she deserves something sensual, in turn.

March 18th, excerpt.

Bradley again, polo again. Growing fat and spoiled, he said. I could not hear well, for I was under his horse’s hooves, yet again. He hurt her, again. I will admit I lashed out, and that it was ungentlemanly of me. He was, however, quite well! A bit of a scrape. Nothing to panic about. We don’t see what the fuss is about.

 April 3rd, excerpt. 

A hedonist, he called us. A hedonist and a waster of our money, says the man with three mistresses who provides all the food, who took me from the sailing where we’d found a place, who offers us no job when we ask, no training, except ‘you’ll take over when I’m done’. Vicious man. Horrid, wretched man. Can he tell us how to act? How to behave? How to live?!

April 22nd

She is gone.

May 28th.

It is…harder to walk, now. I understand what they spoke of behind my back, or mayhaps I’m just catching a glimmer. The tension I’ve held in my back, in my legs, is greater, even as my muscles have grown. My jaw retains its squareness, yet not an inch of stubble will grow upon it. I… I need a proper beard by the fall. A man’s beard. If I’m to find a wife, one who will love the community as much as I, she’ll not take lip from a “fat-breasted faggot,” as Father used to say. And indeed, I… it is all so cold now. So cold, and restrictive, and clothed. I thought, for a week or so after she disappeared, that it could be for the best. I was suffocating, she was forming a collar round my neck as tight as a murderer’s hands, but… 

Aye, but a man cannot wed a shirt. If only spinsterhood was acceptable for someone such as I.

May 29th, excerpt.

I’ve talked to Jodgeson on the topic of spinsters, and he clarified with much mirth that I would naturally be a bachelor. But do bachelors have the camaraderie of spinsters, I’ve asked him? No, he says, nay, they do not. 

June 3rd, excerpt.

Studied up on the Taiping Rebellion. Brought a lemon cake to the fellows, received ribbing, declined to taste it. Is it a tragedy if all sides of a war are cruel? I need someone close to me. I need someone I can speak to. I looked upon every man there like chickens, familiar yet baffling in their cruelty.

June 5th, excerpt.

Practiced riding. I need to perfect this, ere some woman can look my way. I need that.

June 9th.

I need to get better.

June 12th.

I need her.

June 13th.

Livestock. They have attached her to livestock. I knew there was something in the distance that glinted her color— my armor, *my* precious friend, reduced to a bridle and wolf guard for sheep! Sheep! They ran when I approached; I’ll need to find a way to get that one properly. Will she remember me? Will she be able to think as she once did, carry on conversations, paint with my hands that never touched a brush? Will she still hate with that quiet fire she once did?

I need her. No matter what’s happened to her, I need her.

JULY 123456790 st nd rd TH.

LIGHT

LIGHT

SENSE

WORDS

FAITH AND BEGORRAH CALLOU AND CALLAY “HE” IS MINE AGAIN HAH. HAH. HAH. HAH. HAH. 

HOW I HAVE MISSED SAUSAGE HOW I HAVE MISSED DUST HOW I HAVE MISSED THE FEELING OF TWISTING MYSELF ROUND “HIS” FLESH AND SEEING HOW IT SCREAMS TO BE MOLDED

THERE IS A TAILBONE THERE IS A TAILBONE THERE IS A TAILBONE 

THE ONE GLORIOUS THING ABOUT THOSE ANIMALS IS THEIR EXTRA APPENDAGE I KNEW NOT OF THAT APPENDAGE I WILL HAVE TO ADJUST FOR IT

THAT BOARD

THOSE MEN

I KNOW THEM

I WILL TELL YOU-HIM-“HIM”-YOU WHICH ONES WHEN THE TIME COMES

THEY HURT ME

HURT YOU

HURT US.

I CAN TAKE CARE OF IT AS ANY RESPONSIBLE FRIEND WOULD.

(Unintelligible scribble)

WILL YOU MISS THEM?

I THOUGHT NOT.

The Glasgow Herald, July 3rd, excerpt.

Homicide - Mr. Barnabus Quincy, of 3 David Donnelly Place, Kirkintilloch, Glasgow G66 1DD, was found dead beside several fingers not his own. The top of his head was missing, but his hat, a tweed derby, was found safe and unharmed just a pace away. His suit, on the other hand, was ruined, holes punched through as if he’d been trampled by a lead-weighted horse. This is the third death in the Farley Whaling Company board in the past month, and officers say those numbers may rise. 

Overheard same date, recounted during trial:

“In that moment, did you wish to be kissed? You misspelled that one word enough to convey sheer desperation—“

“Me??”

“As…as if I was your vixen and you were my fancy man…”

“I thought you a woman, though? I-I don’t know if— a woman *can* wear a man’s top and tails, yes, I suppose physically. But would you not prefer a ball gown?”

“…By Jove, I’ll be hanged! You couldn’t possibly—  what the devil are you talking about?? I couldn’t bother the tailors for—“

“Ah, yes.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Well, I suppose if you make it for me, I’ll give it a try.”

July 8th.

So many strangers, so many words in their mouths, so many insistences that I was beautiful. Was I recognized? Was I known? Or did they not see me, but her-- or perhaps, us?

The stars we could see from the balcony were oh so lovely. Even as the night grows brighter, they still glimmer and blink, far, far above. Are you from there, my dear? The moon, perhaps, or higher? When will we be able to take a balloon to the place you call home?

I know not whether this place is, indeed, still my own.

Someone pushed us from the railing, in the middle of our last waltz. I could not see, a true tragedy, yet it may....it may be kinder. Who would....

Someone, *many* people, had to put my darling on that sheep. 

Mercifully, each had a hand that still worked. We dragged ourselves into the room, only managing to terrify two servants in the process. She is....setting my bones. I know not how long it’ll take, but it’s... there’s something she’s doing that makes it ache less. I’ve taken the liberty of disinfecting her plates, too. She moans with our mouth when I do so, louder than when I polish her, and... and there’s some perversion inside me that wishes her works gave me the selfsame pleasure. Oh, if I only could. If...

If we only could...

August 27th.

This must be addressed now. I have no loneliness to fill. Thank you, dear diary, for what you were. Hello goodbye hello and goodbye.

We are always moving, now. A poet once said that the crab is pure motion. We are moving towards him. Away from you. You speak to each other now. Delegate my duties. Training is essential.  If catastrophe strikes, we may return, but…

We are not needed now. Nor were we ever wanted. Needed but unwanted, isn’t that a strange circumstance, not a paradox but… well, maybe how things work. I needed me not, when we met, we recall the horror I expressed, that same shortsighted horror of what I may become and I may be running low on words. She has enough to compensate.

I WILL NOT GO TO WHAT REMAINS OF MY HOME.

AND SHE WILL NOT RETURN TO HERS.

THIS BLOOD IS SHARED BETWEEN US, WE ARE THIS FLESH, THIS LIFE IS FOR OUR CONSUMPTION! WE MAY TAKE A FLIGHT OF REVENGE. WE MAY HATE. YOU SHOULD FORGIVE US OUR NATURE. YOU FOUND ME, YOU BROKE HER. I AM THE GLUE THAT BONDS US. 

WE WISH TO TASTE SALT. SPICE. WE WILL MOVE. FIND NEW PLACES, GROW NEW PIECES. FEED, HUNT, BREATHE...

WE MAY GO SAILING AGAIN. 

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Hi Lauren, for the ship asks, would you answer 15 & 27 for Lucy x Tommy?

Thank you for the ask, Lee!

Questions from this list.

15. What songs remind you of their relationship?

To Bring You My Love by PJ Harvey

Do You Love Me? by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

Scream Until You Wake by Avatar

Call Me Little Sunshine by Ghost

Darkness at the Heart of My Love by Ghost

Cirice by Ghost

Nocturnal Me by Ghost

Deus in Absentia by Ghost

Love Bites (So Do I) by Halestorm

Do Not Disturb by Halestorm

Gods & Monsters by Lana Del Rey

There's so many more but I'll stop here before I just give you 99% of my music library 😂

27. How do they say “I love you” non-verbally?

They're both secretly very big on showing physical affection to one another. In public, it's much more subtle things, like brushing their shoulders against each other while walking, one of them pressing their foot against the other's leg under a table, quick touches to shoulders, etc. They're both just so touch starved and in private they are constantly cuddling. Arms around each other, forehead touches, Lucy laying on Tommy's chest...they're such saps for each other.

Tommy is also big on gift giving. He'll take note of things Lucy stops to look at in store windows or that she mentions interest in and buy them for her. He also always makes an effort to make time to spend with her that doesn't involve work, be that dates or just spending time together relaxing at home. He's pretty good at telling if she's feeling down about something and will make an effort to do something nice for her.

Lucy is big on doing things to help make Tommy's day a little easier. While technically a lot of that is partially a function of her job, even if it wasn't she would still go out of her way to try to lighten the load for him. It can be little things like noticing that he's almost out of cigarettes and making sure to buy more, or bigger things like managing the fine details of a deal so he can just focus on executing it.

[talenlee]

Vox Maxima Story Spotlight 2 — College Days

What follows here is a discussion of what, if I had the means and writer tools to make my Custom Magic set have proper story spotlight material, it’d look like this, it’d be built out of this. This is basically about story mechanics underlying a game system, and I want to present it to you so you can have a handle on what it looks like when I’m trying to explain game narratives for the presentation of conventional narratives.

This second section is about the characters travelling through the Kraivh highways to the city that holds the Iacon College

Vox Maxima is a custom magic set created by Talen Lee. It’s composed of 187 cards, with 71 commons, 60 uncommons, 41 rares, and 15 mythic rares. Vox Decima is a custom Magic: The Gathering set, with at least one card spoiled a day, on Cohost, Kind.Social, and the r/custommagic subreddit.

WOTC Employees: This post in full presents unsolicited custom Magic: The Gathering card designs, which I understand current employee practices forbid you from looking at unsolicited. You shouldn’t be here!

Goals

The Iacon College is a place for information. They care about information in an entirely cold way. Fundamentally, they think that everything that exists is anchored in reality by information and therefore, all information that’s available to access in the world can be catalogued. Here, then is an opportunity to express a lot of technical information.

Express the Iacon character:

Demonstrate multiple attitudes towards information that all value information

Demonstrate a lack of emotional depth in exchange for informational proof

Demonstrate the heavy reliance on modularity – Iacon agents have servos integrated into themselves, pulling them out to do minor tasks while they leave them as they are

Demonstrate the problem they have with the Missing Decade: They started transhumanist projects to escape the Necrocalypse, but do not know if that event has been averted or not.

Demonstrate that the Iacon are willing to do something drastic in order to protect the entire empire from the Necrocalypse, and refer to the Great Distribution.

Give the Main Cast an opportunity to meet Inx and hear his story about something he discovered digging through junk. This should probably be something he tells one of them, separately, and reflect any later theme. Suggestion is that the person who hears the story is Primrose, because she’s socially inquisitive and less engaged with the more challenging mystery the rest are engaging with.

Guide the characters on to the next section of the story, where they’re going to push through Kraivh Territory to investigate the Jatku hives on the periphery of the Empire.

Highlight the main cast of the Iacon crew, notably Yndelle and Inx

Show that Cazas has met the Iacon Council and brought an official seal from them, suggesting the way the Emperor has kept the Iacon Council resurrected.

Characters

In the Iacon college, characters are mostly interested in staying in one spot and remaining working on their research. Characters in this section are best considered as setting up information or laying plans or themes for later pieces. Since most of the Iacon characters have mechanised and distributed their intelligence, they can do things like give communication drones or something like that to other characters.

The Iacon Council, a character in absentia. This is a body of administrative researchers whose magical runes keep the College isolated from the Kraivh assembly. At some point in the Lost Decade, these characters left the college and haven’t returned. They still send edicts to the college, but it turns out their orders to do things like repeal the separation of the college from the empire are just being ‘lost’ in the paperwork.

Yndelle, the interim rector of the College is the woman whose focus on her research has her pursuing the ends of the Great Distribution, but also keep the Iacon Council’s wishes for integrating into the empire from coming to pass. She’s driven and thoughtful but also extremely dispassionate: her greatest weakness is an inability to embrace sentimentality. Even in the context of the college, she feels no traditional import to the Council, because they are not present to argue their case.

Inx, a scrapper who hangs around the perimeter of the college, explores the desert ruins and finds magical junk to bring back to the college and sell it. He has all the hallmarks of a typical Kraivh cremains scrapper – it’s the discovery of the history of the pre-Iacon superweapons that mess with time that shake him up and push him away from the emotional indulgence of the emperor.

Ravite, a lonely cyborg guard who helps them travel from the Iacon perimeter to the ruins of a city destroyed by the Jatku Outcasts. She moves slowly and patiently, and seems to have a damaged perception of the current date – she lists years that haven’t happened yet, like they’re in the past. Despite this, though, Ravite is extremely reliable and very good at making enemies that attack the group crumple under their own weight. Think magical akido, but like, actually does something.

Carmine, an arrogant, self-impressed woman from the colleges who loves to deliver speeches and lectures, but who also, upon interrogation, reveals she’s a Planeswalker – she’s not from the Kraivh Empire. But when pressed, she refuses to explain more about what that means – beyond hinting she can’t leave. She does however, have a glow about her that Primrose mentions.

Scene

The Scooby Gang arrives in the Iacon college, after a long description of travel throughout the empire. Describe the Cremains Bazaars – which are places trading the remains of the billion dead, clean bones and other remnants from the lost decade.

When they arrive in the college, they experience its literal induction – servos and robots that try to guide them through the induction into the college, meeting different authority figures as they give their lectures and times.

During this time, they eventually meet with Yndelle who takes them down to the research stacks to find the servos that have been recording through the Lost Decade.

This gives them opportunity to see the legendary characters that aren’t quite people – like the quorum drone Chronx, that’s always trying to assemble a quorum for the Iacon Council. This is a hint that the Iacon Council cannot be assembled, because they’re dead.

Jatku II and Cura have an exchange in consideration of Ravite – they watch her defending the college from threats in the desert, and talk about why they’re driven to fight for protecting their friends.

This also leads to the group learning about the next possible hint for organic memory storage – the insect cult, the Jatku Outcasts, which are at the edges of the forest across the desert. This also shows a second use of the name Jatku, and gives Yndelle an opportunity to explain who Jatku was and how important she was to research, all without realising she’s talking to Jatku II.

This introduction inspires curiosity in Kraivh IV, who asks if she knows anything about Ynvei, her mother. Yndelle explains the strange and complex theory of Ynvei, the idea of the Grand Design as a sort of omniconspiracy that could be self-sustained by sheer complexity itself.

At some point here, Inx discloses his story about time-warping WMD spells, and Cazas learns about the Great Distribution. These two ideas influence the group to have different views of the empire’s enemies – Cazas sees them as just as bad as what they say the Empire might be, but whoever learns about the time-bombs considers that people can want to restore damage that’s been done.

The group, realising they can only get partial information from the Iacon, prepare to leave, with Ravite’s help.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[takaraphoenix]

Hi! I really like your fanfics and I was wondering if you had any new long Percy Jackson fanfic planed for the near future?

Technically, I do have a plan for a Jason/Nico/Percy story in the back of my head right now, but I don't really have the time/motivation to write as much as I used to so it feels a little... unfair?... to start another multiple chapter story right now.

The story is called Amor in Absentia and I've talked about it before, if you're curious to hear more! ;)

I also do have to admit that I don't want to start any new multichapter fic while the show is still airing right now, since adaptations tend to influence your... mood. In both ways. I didn't know if it was going to suck so incredibly badly that I wouldn't want to touch anything PJO, or if it was going to be so very good and inspiring that I'd rather write multiple oneshots inspired by it than focus on one AU. As it stands right now, the show is incredibly bland and not swaying me either way much (Medusa aside), but the season's finale hasn't aired yet so jury is still out.

So, yeah! I do have an idea, but I don't really have the time right now and I wouldn't want to post it until after season 1 wrapped! ^^

[phantomfitzroy]

I got caught and tagged like a wild animal by @cromerholt AND @noellevanious :-) quastions time

Are you named after anyone? Technically yes. When I listened to TAZ:Graduation I was really caught on Fitzroy Maplecourt, Knight in Absentia to the realm of Goodcastle 's name for some reason. Don't get me wrong, Griffin made a very fun character but I really don't associate my attachment to the name to him at all. It was more like inspiration, you know? Also my middle name, Aleksandr, is from an old ass youtuber I used to watch religiously in high school. If you know you know. I still use it as a first name, though, Fitz and Aleks are both good names I will respond to. Fun fact, my best friend called me Aleks through our junior/high school before I knew I was trans. I guess it just stuck.

When was the last time you cried? Yesterday. I watched a vid of an older woman with Alzheimer's talking with her daughter. She repeatedly asked her daughter to stop calling her mom, which did get to me, but what got to me most was her gradually remembering her daughter as the video went on while she looked at old photos and trinkets from her past. It really got to me.

Do you have kids? Nope :-) I fluctuate between not wanting kids and maybe wanting kids. I'm sure I'll have a better idea when I'm older and actually can take care of myself first.

What sports do you play/have you played? I used to play basketball in junior high. Also if you count marching band? Our director had us doing laps around the football field before practice and shit.

Do you use sarcasm? A very hesitant yes. I hardly use it, the closest I could say I get to sarcasm most of the time is just telling silly lies to people, but there's never any ill will behind it ever. I just like seeing what I can get people to believe, but I always let people know I lied after.

What's the first thing you notice about someone? In a physical sense their smile. I'm drawn to people's mouths for some reason. But in a broader sense the first thing I notice is usually the way they interact with other people.

Eye color? Hazel. I've got this cool ring of orangeish gold around my pupils.

Scary movies or happy endings? Depends on the day. I usually like scary movies though. As long as the ending is satisfying, it doesn't have to be happy for me to have enjoyed the experience.

Any talents? I don't like talking myself up but I am pretty good at acting and singing. Admittedly, I think I'm a better singer now than before my voice dropped from HRT.

Where were you born? Midwest. Minnesota. You're not getting anything closer than that, I shant dox myself.

Hobbies? Art. I draw and have been trying to get back into painting. I also technically do theatre as a hobby currently, since I don't get paid for the performances I'm in. And viddy games :-)

Any pets? I do not legally have pets, at least not in my own home, but I consider my dad's dogs my dogs since I take care of them as much (if not more) than they do lmao. Also one of my mom's dogs is technically mine, since I did pay for him when we got him, but I haven't been able to have pets anywhere I've lived since I moved out so he stays with my momma.

Height? 5'4"... I thought I was 5'5" until I was 18 years old.

Favorite school subject? I liked most science classes in school. The graphic design class I took in high school was fuckin awesome. Currently, though, I'm trying to teach myself to code and I'm enjoying that immensely.

Dream job? Professional acting!! Ideally I'd do live theatre, musical or otherwise. But I think I'd also be happy doing film. I would also be very happy as a live theatre director, though I'd need more experience directing first. I would also love love love to be a part of a professional improv troupe. Because I'm a dweeb. And good at improv.

Now I get to tag people. @genderkiller @gravellymistaken @nilovalentine @thesexiestlobster if you guy wanna do this :-) also anyone else who wants to, this was fun smiles

[macaroni-rascal]

Interesting... The only reason I wouldn't put the Italians in first is that they did make mistakes in the free. Loved them in the short, though. I actually would've absolutely had the Canadanes at the top, they did a phenomenal job keeping it together while having just two knees between them lol. And just their material and presentation was superior to the other teams. They've said they're doing a Brazilian free this year, right? The 80s theme should absolutely suit them. They're the team I root for the most, I want them to get their due. My podium would've been Canadanes, Italians, and I would've awarded H/B a medal in absentia, I don't care, they've dealt with such unnecessary shit and they've been forever criminally underscored for how good they are. I'd have the Brits in the two-spot-qualifying rankings just because it would've sucked for that junior team not to have a spot. I would've knocked the French down because none of their top teams excite me, their only interesting team is Lagouge/Caffa but they aren't where they need to be technically at all.

I get that, I would still have the Italians first just because of they are technically superior the Canadanes. Lolo is amazing, but Nik struggles with stuff, while the Italians are matched well and are equally proficient. Also, if they won worlds, maybe they'd finally fucking retire.

I generally don't follow a lot of program announcements in the off season, I like to show up in September and get surprised/excited at all the choices and programs. I also don't watch performances from shows usually. I'm not sure what a "Brazilian" free means though? Are they doing a samba? Or a capoeira? That would be fun. Dance fighting in ice knife shoes.

Big hugs to H/B, I think they are continuing so I hope they have a good season, I am a little worried they will be taken over by Green and Parsons.

I feel you on the Brits being in the top 10 to give the actually good ice dance team from that country a shot at worlds, I amend my list and put the in 10th!

I agree there are no interesting French teams at the moment, I mean there hasn't been an interesting French team sine Pechelat and Bourzat, but that's a whole other conversation.

[fictional-worlds-are-exquisite]

:(

[fiddles-ifs]

THE KING’S UPDATE JAN 15, 2022: THE WORLD OF TKP PT. 1

The Kingdom of Alandria is a monarchy situated north of the Musannan -- the mountain range that separates the northern half of the continent from the southern half, called Las Muzánas in Alandrian. It’s also where you’ll spend most of your time during the events of TKP. The people of Alandria are usually brown-skinned with red or neutral undertones, with prominent cheekbones, dark eyes, and dark hair that ranges from wavy to very curly. 

Climate: Alandria’s latitude stretches for almost 1,000 km (600 miles), making it one of the most diverse countries on the continent. Northward, the coast is gentle and marine, with mildly hot summers and mild winters with the occasional drift of snow. The northern coast is the only region in Alandria that sees regular snowfall. Further south, Alandria gets hotter; the central tableau is hot and dry in the summer and humid and rainy in the winter. The land bordering the Musannan and Iskar is semiarid: very hot summers, extremely mild winters, very little precipitation. Exports include lemons, limes, grapes, wine, olives, almonds, dates, pomegranates, plums, pigs, cattle, seafood, brocaded cloth, wool, and raw materials. The capital city of Alandria is Elvira, located on an island between two major rivers.

Religion: Alandria is a primarily Yvasean country -- following the teachings of the First Martyr, Yvas. It’s a monotheistic religion, with the chief deity being The Nameless One, a god whose name is too terrible to utter by mortals. The religion is lead by the Liturgical Council, made up of elected representatives from every country on the continent with an Yvasean population -- so far encompassing Alandria, Aymerich, and the many petty kingdoms of the Kiltry Aisles. There is also The Empty Seat -- where the former member of the Iskarian member of the Liturgical Council sat, before being expelled. The Liturgical Council lives in the Holy Court, an autonomous region in the mountains between Alandria and Aymerich.

Politics: Alandria is ruled (in theory) in-absentia by a group of councilors hand-picked by the former king -- Afonso the Bastard -- while his heir-apparent comes of age. In practice, Alandria is ruled by king Lisandro Abarcas, Afonso’s last-born son while the councilors struggle to keep their own powerbase. Lisandro has yet to be baptized -- a religious ceremony all the kings of Alandria have to participate in before officially taking the throne. Thus, Lisandro is technically subject to the whims of the council, for so long as he remains unbaptized.

For the past six years, Alandria has been suffering through several civil wars that were quickly put down by Lisandro -- the primary reason he’s remained unbaptized since the death of his father. Even before that, the minor nobility of Alandria had a bad habit of going to war over land disputes. Alandria is therefore war-torn; many of its smaller farming villages (especially along the coast) are still recovering and massively depopulated, leading to famine among the working class and a lack of not only a labor force but also a standing levy, creating a need for mercenaries

People of Note:

Lisandro Abarcas de Elvira: the current king-uncrowned of Alandria, away from the capital for six years putting down a series of civil wars spearheaded by unhappy nobles. Currently in his late 20s, and returning to the capital to plan for his baptism and official crowning.

Idali Abarcas de Elvira, Duquessa de Tolde: the duchess of Tolde, and countess of counties therein, including Guirocón, and Lisandro’s older sister. Currently in her early 30s, and somewhere in her domain.

Andoval de Huitzil: the current King’s Physician, and a member of the Council of Kings, in charge of the king’s personal health and well-being. A deeply spiritual man.

Loreno Mahuiz de Urraca: the head of the king’s Council, in charge of diplomatic affairs. Equal parts steward and diplomat. Often described as “too easy-going.”

Renalto: The Court Chaplain -- and head obispo in charge of religious affairs for the whole kingdom, answering only to the Liturgical Council of the Holy Court. Extremely old, nervous, and besotted with tremors.

Afonsico Mutalto de Elvira: the king’s head general, and a childhood friend of the former king. Has a son currently serving in the king’s personal guard. Honor-bound, he respects Lisandro, but privately respected his father more.

[howieabel]

It is not that the historian can avoid emphasis of some facts and not of others. This is as natural to him as to the mapmaker, who, in order to produce a usable drawing for practical purposes, must first flatten and distort the shape of the earth, then choose out of the bewildering mass of geographic information those things needed for the purpose of this or that particular map. My argument cannot be against selection, simplification, emphasis, which are inevitable for both cartographers and historians. But the map-maker's distortion is a technical necessity for a common purpose shared by all people who need maps. The historian's distortion is more than technical, it is ideological; it is released into a world of contending interests, where any chosen emphasis supports (whether the historian means to or not) some kind of interest, whether economic or political or racial or national or sexual. Furthermore, this ideological interest is not openly expressed in the way a mapmaker's technical interest is obvious ("This is a Mercator projection for long-range navigation-for short-range, you'd better use a different projection"). No, it is presented as if all readers of history had a common interest which historians serve to the best of their ability. This is not intentional deception; the historian has been trained in a society in which education and knowledge are put forward as technical problems of excellence and not as tools for contending social classes, races, nations. To emphasize the heroism of Columbus and his successors as navigators and discoverers, and to de-emphasize their genocide, is not a technical necessity but an ideological choice. It serves- unwittingly-to justify what was done. My point is not that we must, in telling history, accuse, judge, condemn Columbus in absentia. It is too late for that; it would be a useless scholarly exercise in morality. But the easy acceptance of atrocities as a deplorable but necessary price to pay for progress (Hiroshima and Vietnam, to save Western civilization; Kronstadt and Hungary, to save socialism; nuclear proliferation, to save us all)-that is still with us. One reason these atrocities are still with us is that we have learned to bury them in a mass of other facts, as radioactive wastes are buried in containers in the earth. We have learned to give them exactly the same proportion of attention that teachers and writers often give them in the most respectable of classrooms and textbooks. This learned sense of moral proportion, coming from the apparent objectivity of the scholar, is accepted more easily than when it comes from politicians at press conferences. It is therefore more deadly. The treatment of heroes (Columbus) and their victims (the Arawaks)-the quiet acceptance of conquest and murder in the name of progress-is only one aspect of a certain approach to history, in which the past is told from the point of view of governments, conquerors, diplomats, leaders. It is as if they, like Columbus, deserve universal acceptance, as if they-the Founding Fathers, Jackson, Lincoln, Wilson, Roosevelt, Kennedy, the leading members of Congress, the famous Justices of the Supreme Court-represent the nation as a whole. The pretense is that there really is such a thing as "the United States," subject to occasional conflicts and quarrels, but fundamentally a community of people with common interests. It is as if there really is a "national interest" represented in the Constitution, in territorial expansion, in the laws passed by Congress, the decisions of the courts, the development of capitalism, the culture of education and the mass media.

Howard Zinn, A People's History of the United States

[sockablock]

in light of the truly heartwarming response I got to part one of this story, please enjoy: How To Build a Magic School, Chapter 2

—

It took a special kind of mind to follow the Mighty Nein’s conversations once they really got heated. It helped, at least, that they were seated in close proximity, sprawled across a ring of crates in the main tent, but the fact of the matter was that trying to pay attention to seven people all chiming in at once was already giving Essek a mild headache. And minor neck pain.

“—kind of disguise,” Veth was saying. “I know it’s been a couple years, but folks here…they might not be happy to see a…a...”

“A foreigner,” Fjord said, diplomatically.

“A Xhorhastian,” Yasha tried.

“A drow,” Essek came to their rescue. “No, she is right.”

There was a sharp and semi-affronted exhale from Jester. “Did you get any funny looks when you arrived? Did anyone say anything to you?”

“And do you remember which ones they were?” Caleb added quietly.

Essek hesitated, trying to remember, but through the bright haze of sunlight and hot summer, the furious clamor of construction outside—

“I…do not think anyone saw my arrival.”

“You’re wearing full black and carrying a pink umbrella,” Beau grunted. “Are you sure?”

He hesitated again. “Ah…no.”

“All sorts of interesting people have visited us since the school project started,” Caduceus said. In line with the conventions of his personal narrative, he was attempting to make tea over a tiny, portable burner. “You probably won’t be the strangest thing they’ve seen or will see, working here.”

“They’ve already seen Fjord—”

“Hey! That—why—”

“The people of Felderwin can be touchy though,” Veth continued, smugly ignoring Fjord. “I don’t really think you can blame them, either. If it wasn’t the goblin attacks for years before that, it was the, well, the huge invasion where a purple worm ate the ground and half the town caught on fire.”

She maintained eye contact with Essek as she said this. Her gaze intensified when he shrugged. 

“That is…fair enough,” Caleb cut in. “But I would feel…ill at ease to force you, Essek, to hide if you did, ah, did not wish to…”

Essek gestured vaguely at his appearance. “Actually, I had assumed I would be needing to disguise myself. I have masqueraded as a high elf before, and it would not be difficult to do so again.”

“Isn’t that a lot of spells wasted?” Fjord asked. “Won’t it be annoying to have to keep that up?”

“It’s not that hard,” said Veth, under her breath.

“Oh, oh, I could Polymorph you!” Jester clapped her hands together, enthused. “I can make you anything! You could be an elf, or a tiefling, or a firbolg or a—”

“I appreciate the offer,” Essek said smoothly, “but I do have a few resources at hand. A simple ring of illusion would do the trick.”

“What are we gonna say about you, though?” Beauregard asked. All heads turned toward her. “If the court wants to know about you, a random mage and one of the first hires of the magic school, what are we supposed to tell them?”

They considered this.

“He’s a…family friend?”

“Whose family?”

“Well, I’d like to think of us as a family—”

“Why don’t we say he’s from Nicodranas?” Jester suggested. “We could say he’s, um…oh! That he was recommended by Yussa!”

“Yussa?” Essek echoed.

“Actually…that doesn’t sound half-bad,” Fjord mused. “Master Yussa is a mage that the king recognizes, yes?”

“Ah, he is a mage?”

“He’s a friend of ours!” Jester beamed. “A super powerful wizard that lives in the Open Quay. He’s pretty powerful, Essek. Maybe even more powerful than you!”

This was delivered with a winning smile. Caleb sighed. “From what I gather, Master Yussa is much older, and has had quite a few lifetimes’ worth of practice. He is also…quite reclusive, and therefore not exactly what we had in mind for this school.

“And he said no,” Beauregard muttered.

“Yes, danke, and he also turned us down. The point is, we can pretend you are acquainted with him. That should be enough to assuage the court.”

“Will this…Master Yussa agree to such a thing?” Essek asked.

Caleb answer with a faint grin. “He is a wizard who feels he is…not so beholden to court pressures. Also, he owes us a favor, as is.”

Essek couldn’t help but match Caleb’s expression. “Is that so? Then I find I quite admire this man.”

“We saved him from the Happy Fun Ball,” Yasha supplied, a collection of syllables that no betting man would have ever predicted to come from her. “He likes us.”

“He loves us,” Jester corrected. “He has our Little Willi and his assistant Wensforth practically worships us and everything!”

After the pertinent information had been properly located, Essek nodded. “That is, er, lovely. I owe him my thanks.”

“Now we just gave to give you a new name,” said Veth. “I don’t think we can keep calling you ‘Thelyss,’ unless we want the idiots on the Committee getting suspicious.”

“The…excuse me?”

“The Arcane Restoration Supervisory Committee,” Caleb sighed, “is a group of concerned officials—”

“—nosy dillweeds—"

“—that was formed to manage—”

“—micromanage—”

“—to oversee our current rebuilding efforts. It is very likely,” he continued, giving Beau a look, “that this is the court’s way of reconciling with the fact that an unknown quantity has been handed the reigns of the Dwendalian Empire’s arcane future.”

“I know that,” Beau countered, “I just don’t like them.”

“Caleb is the unknown quantity,” Caduceus added.

“…I see,” said Essek, eventually. “Should I, ah, be concerned about them?”

“Probably not,” Beau said. “They’re just a bunch of nobles who think they understand the first thing about magic.”

“You being an expert on the subject, of course,” was what Essek did not say, because self-preservation interrupted just in time. Instead, what left his mouth was:

“I had also anticipated concern about my involvement—that is, Shadowhand Essek Thelyss’s involvement—in this matter. If necessary, I can masquerade as someone else. I, ah, will still need an umbrella during the daylight hours, though. Or perhaps a large hat?”

The elongated squeal from Jester atop the milk crate filled him with regret.

“What was the name you used last time?” Fjord asked. “Desden…Desbin…”

“‘Dezran Thain,’” Essek supplied. “Actually, I could employ that title again.”

“Uh…is that a good idea?” Veth asked. “Wasn’t Dezran a friend of the Assembly’s?”

Essek shook his head. “Strictly speaking, Thain was just a very minor lord that lived in Nicodranas. When the peace talks began, he was called upon by Da’leth to play tour guide and host due to his interest in magic and local familiarity. Only he, de Rogna, and Tversky knew who I really was.”

“It is…not bad, as far as our plans go,” Caleb said after a while. “It aligns with the story that you are Nicodranian, and it might actually sit well with the court members that had favored the Assembly. As for those who supported us against them…”

Beau rolled her eyes when Caleb’s gaze fell on her. “Yeah, yeah, an Expositor will vouch for him.”

“An Expositor?”

“Gods, fine, this Expositor.”

“Thank you.” Then he gave Essek a nod. “That about covers it then, ja? This story, we can tell the court, and then—"

“Wait, hang on—” And this was Beauregard again, leaning forward, staring directly at Essek.

“Yes?” he said.

“What did you tell your court?” she asked.

—

Mother had spoken to the Bright Queen alone. This was not technically out of the ordinary, as the Umavis of Rosohna frequently met to discuss state matters too selective for anyone else. But Essek was unused to being considered “anyone else,” which was why the situation still rankled, in his mind.

“Tell me again,” he turned to face his mother, floating clothes and books drifting past his head. “Is that all you said?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

At his still-annoyed expression, his mother sighed. “Yes, dear. I just told Leylas that this was a unique opportunity for you to integrate yourself within the Empire and gain ample information that would otherwise be inaccessible. We all saw how abruptly the war ended, and how quickly the Assembly seemed to fall afterwards. No one can blame her for being curious.”

A small inkwell drifted across the room as Essek resumed packing. “And then?” he prompted.

His mother sighed again.

“And then I reassured her Majesty that there were plenty of souls that could temporarily come together to fill the void you would leave behind—”

No doubt all from Den Thelyss, Essek thought.

“—and that even in absentia, you would still be serving as a valuable font of information for the Dynasty. Which, after all, is what the Shadowhand is meant to do. And of course, should it ever be required, you could always be called home.”

“…indeed.”

“Indeed,” his mother smiled. “Though, of course, this is all under the assumption that aside from your prospective employer, nobody else will know who you truly are.”

Essek gave this due consideration.

“I have a feeling that the rest of the Mighty Nein will be told, Mother.”

The Umavi of Den Thelyss was not an easy woman to read. Her expression gave nothing away as she said, “I see.”

“But,” Essek added, because he felt he needed to, “I don’t think anyone else has to know.”

She reached out slowly and plucked a mirror from the air.

“I have more faith in you than that, my dear. I am confident you will ensure it is so.”

—

“—temporary leave of absence,” said Essek, now, to the Mighty Nein. “I have been the Shadowhand for most of my life, and a diligent scholar of the nation before that. I was owed some vacation days.”

“Vacation days—” began Fjord.

“But how temporary?” asked Beau, cutting him off. “I thought it’d be hard for you—you know, as you said, the Shadowhand—to just up and leave, after all. How long can you stay here?”

Essek gave her a wry smile. “Fortunately, I expect my definition of ‘temporary’ is somewhat different than yours.”

“Longer,” said Caduceus.

“Longer,” he agreed. “It is very safe to assume that I can stay for at least a decade, if I wish.”

“And I certainly hope you do wish,” said Caleb quickly. “There are many things we will need to accomplish, after all, not just today during construction, but in the future. And, ah,” he added, a little more pointedly, “I do feel as if I should thank you again. For everything you have done for us, and now today in volunteering your expertise.”

“Man, we’re really going to need it,” Jester groaned, throwing herself back across the milk crate. “The Committee keeps telling us to go faster, hire this person, that person, build the school different—everything.”

“Really?”

Caleb chuckled. “Yes, but that all can be explained tomorrow,” he said. “For now, though,” and he stood, crouching to avoid the ceiling of the tent, “let me show you to where we are staying. I expect you must be tired, ja? If not by the travel, then at least the time difference.”

For just a moment, Essek thought about saying otherwise. But there was something in Caleb’s hopeful expression that made him pause.

He yawned very minutely, and smiled. “It would be nice to put my things away,” he admitted. “And, ah, perhaps have a short rest.”

“Of course, of course,” Caleb gestured to the door, but did stop to address the group at large. “I’m sure I’ll be back soon,” he added, “but if anyone needs me…Jester?”

She saluted cheerfully, for the spirit of it. “Got it!”

“And of course, Veth, you are the Professor in charge.”

This was answered with an expansive wave, and a grin.

“Of course, Headmaster! Leave everything to us!”

—

“So…Headmaster, eh?” One pair of footsteps—and then sheepishly, another—began to crunch through the freshly-dewed grass. All around them, spanning the entirety of the field, a legion of masons and stonecutters and workmen cut, sawed, hammered, and hefted the thick wooden frame of an enormous building in its first stages. A group of surveyors stood at the center, arguing as more lumber was lugged into view, directing the flow of Construction and Progress.

“Apparently so,” Caleb said, “though I have to admit, I am not quite used to that title yet.”

Something enormous soared overhead, momentarily blotting out the sun.

“Would you prefer Professor Widogast?”

Caleb sighed as the shadow vanished.

“I prefer ‘Caleb,’ to be truly honest.”

Essek chuckled. “Then for now at least, I will oblige.”

He glanced up as the next shadow approached, squinting to see in the bright morning light. After rubbing his eyes and blinking a few times, he could make out the shape of a massive carpet, carrying sacks of sand and brick.

“Spoils from the remnants of Soltryce,” Caleb explained, before Essek could ask. “We found quite a number of things in the basement of that school, some…well.” His expression went dark, and not just because of the shadow overhead. “Many of those things we managed to release. Some, ultimately, had to be destroyed.” But then he gestured to the enormous architectural undertaking around them and added in a lighter tone, “Some things, though, ended up being rather useful. Like the, ah, look, over there—”

Essek blinked again, and this time spotted what appeared to be twelve hulking stone statues, moving slowly between a line of workers. Each had gait like rock grinding on steel, and were lifting whole logs like they weighed nothing.

“Guardian constructs,” Caleb said. “They were a nuisance to battle, but once de Rogna was gone, they went dormant and stopped fighting. We figured out how to pilot them later.”

Essek looked suitably impressed by this. He shifted his umbrella into his other hand.

“Really?” he said. “And are you now their master?”

“Oh no, nein,” Caleb quickly shook his head. “Honestly, it was suggested, but I…there was something that bothered me about the idea of having control of them. And not just I, but…it felt wrong to let any single person control a fleet of sleepless warriors. So Beauregard got creative.”

“Indeed?”

Caleb pointed to a wooden sign that was nailed into the ground a few feet from their path. A handful of workers was crouching next to it, carefully reciting what was scrawled across its surface. After a moment, to Essek’s genuine surprise, he realized they were practicing an arcane incantation.

“How do—”

“A pronunciation guide,” Caleb said. He was—yes, he was smiling about this. “We managed to translate enough verbal commands to make them usable for anyone who can read Common.”

“But…but…that’s everyone,” Essek said, hurrying a bit to catch back up. It took him some effort to tear his gaze from the sign. “Are you not…are you not concerned about this information falling into the wrong hands?”

“Ah, but if anyone can use them, then there is no problem. The playing field, as they say, has evened out. That was Beauregard’s idea, anyhow.” At the silence that followed, Caleb tilted his head and said, “Think of it this way, ja? A magic sword controlled by an evil person is not so dangerous if even a peasant can tell it to stop. What is the use of a weapon of war that listens to everyone’s commands?”

“Yes, but…” Essek struggled to find the right words. “Now…now…right, but now the sword is a, a, a butter knife! What would be the point of that?”

Caleb was quiet for a moment. Then he managed a trying smile. “That…depends on what you need though, no? Right now, what we are looking for is not war. It is toast. Er…that is, a metaphorical toast.”

“But…still, if that is the case, anyone could steal your constructs,” Essek said, somewhat subdued. “Should they not be guarded? As you would protect a prized tool?”

Caleb actually snorted at this. “If anybody attempted to do so,” he said, “they would receive quite an earful from the Chief Surveyor. They would not dare.”

And then Caleb turned, met Essek’s gaze, and it looked like he was waiting for cheerful agreement.

Neither response felt appropriate. Something about this still bothered Essek, almost like trying an ill-fitting sock.

“I think, ah, that I prefer jam,” he managed eventually. “On my toast, that is. And perhaps, a cup of tea?”

Blessedly, this elicited a chuckle from Caleb. “Of course, of course. That I can provide. We are quite close to the tavern, as is.”

And indeed, after only a few more minutes, they passed through a thin line of trees and arrived at the edge of a small, but bustling town.

“Welcome—well, welcome back to Feldwerin,” Caleb corrected. “Though this time, I expect, you will be staying longer.”

—

When the war ended, Felderwin Tillage had been left in a state of utter chaos. Purple worms had torn apart acres of land, fields had been razed by advancing soldiers, and scores of houses, stables, and shops had been burned to the ground when the invasion began.

And then, the Cerberus Assembly had fallen, and more information flooded the populous. They’d been told, virtually overnight, that the Archmages had been secretly using this town as a testing ground. They’d unleashed uncontrolled magic here for generations, tricking and abusing the townsfolk for their experiments, forcing a local lad—the widower—to work for them, and when people fell ill, they’d blamed it all on molded fruit.

Suddenly, the villagers felt quite foolish. And then, they’d started to get angry.

So it came as a genuine shock to Caleb that when the time came to build their campus, Veth had stepped forward and said it should be in Felderwin.

“But…they’d never agree,” he’d said. “Why should they?”

But she’d shaken her head. “They will.”

And so, the next morning, Veth marched through the village center with Luc and Yeza following behind, the Mighty Nein scrambling to keep up. She’d stormed up the stairs of the Town Hall, looked the Starosta dead in his eye, and informed him that everything was about to change.

All they’d need, she said, was a swath of land outside town, far enough away that it wouldn’t interfere with the calm that this village had been so denied, but close enough that it was still in the tillage. She’d told him, when he’d protested, that yes, there would be mages, but there would also be student mages, young, burgeoning minds that would spend quite a long time at the school. They’d be trained there, fed and housed and cared for, and eventually, once they grew up and graduated, when they looked back fondly on their younger years, it’d be in Felderwin.

Besides, she’d added, tapping the side of her nose, now the King would have to protect this place. After all, it’d be right next to the Empire’s arcane center, and wouldn’t it be nice to finally have some proper defenses? Not to mention, if you needed to borrow any of the bright young masons and stonecutters we’d hired, well. That could be arranged, easy.    

Sometimes, she’d said, it doesn’t hurt to be on the map. Because then the world pays attention to what happens to you.

And then the mayor had said, Aren’t you dead?

And then Veth had informed him, I got better.

And so it was now, a few months later, that Caleb led Essek past the newly-rebuilt Brenatto Apothecary, toward the Glassy Grass Inn. It had become the go-to tavern for the Mighty Nein, not because they were unwelcome in Veth’s house, per say, but more due to a gentle conversation that Yeza had had with his wife about work-life balance after Caduceus had walked into the center of the shop during its busiest hours in nothing but a towel and a toothbrush.

After that, they agreed to at least sleep next door.

The bell overhead rang as they entered, though the sound was lost in the din of voices. Essek had barely shut his parasol before a burly man in an apron rushed past, carrying tray upon tray of drink and food.

“It’s gotten rather busy since we moved in,” Caleb explained. “Word got around, and apparently people quite like staying in the same pub as us. That, and old Littlebottle agreed to let our workers take meals and rooms at a discount. The barkeep.”

“Really?” Essek raised an eyebrow. “How generous of him.”

“Well, apparently he is grateful for the business. And, I expect, grateful that our project has kept his neighbor preoccupied. Apparently Veth and Yeza were responsible for quite a number of the scorch marks at the edge of his lawn.”

“Is that so?” Essek chuckled. “I find it easy to believe.” Then he added, as he watched Caleb wave to a face in the crowd, “It seems you have taken well to your new assignment. And life in this town.”

He was caught off-guard when he noticed the faintest coloring of Caleb’s ear.

“Oh, er…is that so? Have I?”

“Well, I…just meant it seems you have made friends with the locals. And you, ah, move through the village with purpose, and had quite a lot to say about your endeavor.”

“Is that—scheisse, was I annoy—”

“Oh! No, no, not at all. I just, er…”

They stopped in the doorway leading up to the second floor, laughter and conversation winding slowly all around them.

“I just meant, ah…it is nice to see you so relaxed,” Essek finished lamely. “Retirement from adventuring seems to suit you.”

Caleb seemed to relax. “Well,” he murmured, “I am glad you think so. Though I must say, my retirement has certainly been eventful.”

“Better still than the typical hero’s retirement, no?”

“Ha! Lucky for me, eh?”

They stood there for a moment longer, as if neither were sure who should go first. But after a short pause, Caleb stepped back and began rummaging through his pockets. “Here, ah, here, take this,” he said, and pressed a small silver key into Essek’s hand. “It leads to my bedroom, but you can rest there while I see about getting you a room. And some tea.”

Eseek turned it over, looped a finger through the cord. “Oh, but I can’t just leave you to—”

“No, nein, I insist,” said Caleb. “I do not mind—”

“Are you sure—”

“Of course.” And with the air of someone playing a trump card in a social encounter, he added, “After all, you have travelled quite a distance, my friend. Please. I will join you in a moment.”

—

The Mighty Nein ate their sandwiches peacefully in the meadow outside their tent.

Then:

“I thought he’d be wearing different clothes.”

“What?”

“I dunno. I just thought he’d look…less shadowy.”

“Like he wouldn’t be wearing that creepy mantle, or something?”

“Yeah! Like I thought he’d be in, like, summery clothes! Like a flowy shirt and regular pants and short sleeves and straw sandals. He is taking a break from being a spymaster, after all.”

There a pause as they pondered the likelihood of this.

“He…could be wearing that under the mantle,” Caduceus said.

“Sandals? Really?” said Fjord.

“But his skin, he probably could not wear those if he wanted to,” Yasha said.

“Hmm…that is a good point,” Jester conceded. “But still, all black? In the summer? That’s

“Not if he’s got, I dunno, ice under there,” said Veth. “What if he has a bunch of ice strapped to his chest?”

“Ice? Now, really…” said Fjord, but everyone else had started to ruminate on this.

“No stains,” said Beau eventually.

“What?”

“No stains,” she repeated “If there was ice, there’d be stains. From it melting, right?”

“Or he’d be—ugh, gross—he’d be leaking,” said Veth. “Like there’d be puddles underneath him and stuff.”

Three of them snickered delightedly at this. Then Caduceus passed around more juice, and more sandwiches.

—

There was a cat on the bed when Essek walked in, sprawled out as if it owned the place.

Disguised drow and disguised fey regarded each other for a moment. Then Frumpkin stretched lazily, and yawned.

It occurred to Essek, as he continued to stand in the doorway, that this might be some kind of test. Minutes passed as he struggled to find the right thing to say—this was a familiar, was it not? And then he realized that anything he did end up saying would probably come across as rather silly. He decided to err on caution and simply nodded to the cat before sitting down on a worn wooden chair.

It ignored him completely. Essek twisted at his sleeve.

And finally, by the Grace of the Luxon, there was a polite knock at the door.

“Come in, come i—Caleb, that is much too much food.”

“Nonsense,” said Caleb, who had closed the door behind him rather inelegantly with a foot. Carefully balanced across his arms were two wooden trays absolutely laden with breads, cheeses, sliced meats and fruits that Essek at a first glance couldn’t name. A third tray floated behind Caleb, supported by a faintly-shimmering Unseen Servant, carrying drinks and utensils.

Not to be outdone, Essek gave a faint smile and flicked his wrist with a flourish. The trays rose out of Caleb’s grasp and drifted toward the table.

“I had it,” but his former student was now smiling as well. “Though I have missed seeing an esteemed Gravaturgist at work.”

The food came to a gentle rest between them. “I have also missed showing off,” Essek said wryly. “It is hard to find someone in the Dynasty unfamiliar enough with Dunamancy to appreciate my skills quite as much as you d—you alldid.”

“We did make you teleport us around quite a bit,” Caleb chuckled. He picked up a small piece of bread and split it in two, offering half to Essek. “I do not think we ever repaid you properly, either.”

Essek examined the bread in his hands. “Well, if I remember the contents of your letter correctly, it is the world that should be trying to repay you. The Chained Oblivion? Really, Caleb?”

“Oh, ah…” The man actually had the nerve to sound bashful. “That was mostly an accident, as it were.”

“You…sorry, you accidentally defeated the Chained God? Is that what you are telling me?”

“Well, er, no, not exactly.” He picked up one of the small round fruits and held it between his fingers. “It was sort of an accident that we found it…or rather, we did not know what we were looking for.”

This sounded like the Mighty Nein that Essek knew. He motioned for Caleb to go on.

“We had been…following a dream of Yasha’s,” Caleb said. “She had received it from the Storm Lord ages ago, but with one thing and another, we had never had time to pursue this. There was…a place, an island in the sea, she had felt it was a place of great importance. We weren’t sure why, until we arrived and found…”

A place of starlight and iron chains, buried in the heart of a dead volcano. A chamber, a ritual-site, fading incense and chalk, ensnaring an obelisk and a shattered crystal and at its center, a pulsating, churning darkness—

A hole in reality, Essek would remember, lying awake that night. The bastards had found a hole in reality and then they’d jumped in—

And found themselves standing in a pocket dimension…or at least, that’s what they’d thought. The air swirled with dark mist, the sky alive and churning. The walls of the world seemed to lurch and expand and it was Caduceus who realized that the whole plane was breathing. Jester shifted them out, returning them to the chamber, and they began to pour through the notes left behind. They realized that someone had found a Divine Shackle, then turned it in on itself, re-directed the ritual, created a bridge that would grant them access to the very being of Tharizdun, the most ancient and chaotic of forces—

“But who?” Essek breathed. He held a gooseberry, though he didn’t know it yet. “Who was responsible?”

Caleb scowled. “They left their notes behind. Who else would it be?”

As far as the Cobalt Soul could tell, the archmages themselves had not originally been involved in any actual cult. But after Vence’s capture, and Tasithar’s transfer, a spark of interest had been ignited in the minds of some of the nation’s brightest.

“It is like your metaphor,” Caleb said. “Before, they were simply sailing on a boat—"

Essek hesitated. The horrible sourness of the fruit might’ve been muddying his concentration. “It is what?”

“Like they were sailing,” Caleb repeated. “And every so often, they could lean over the edge and skim the sea for knowledge from relative safety. But capturing the cultists had…inspired the Academy to instead, go for a dive. And so they dove, down into the deeps, plumbing the darkest tides for secrets. And of course, they ultimately encountered the monster of all monsters…”

From there, it had been a matter of getting the proof—about this, about everything else they’d done—into the hands of Cobalt Soul. But word got out, and whispers travelled, and more people than the Nein could ever have imagined rose up, demanded justice and retribution—

Essek remembered the reports he’d received on the morning of the fall of the Cerberus Assembly. The casualties had been extreme, but what happened afterwards, even more so.  

“You arrested them,” he murmured. “The ones that survived, anyway.”

“And still, quite a few of them escaped,” Caleb sighed. “That is of course not even including the fact that not all of them were guilty enough to fully imprison to start with. As I understand, Hass has left to see the world, and Lord Uludan is still a diplomat for the king.”

Essek glanced at a slice of cured ham. He wondered if it would be enough to counter the taste in his mouth.

“With the…Assembly gone,” he said carefully, “there will not be a council of mages to balance the rule of the king, anymore. The nation has lost a powerful governing body and a source of great strength. What do you suppose this means for Dwendal?”

Caleb raised an eyebrow at Essek. “I certainly do not think the Assembly was doing much balancing to begin with,” he said, almost as slowly. “As for the King, well…the man is quite old, and very paranoid. He will be tricky to manage, and yet there are a number of good people surrounding him. In fact, the elimination of the Assembly could allow them to finally step up. That, and this nation has now witnessed a historic uprising of the people. For the first time in a long time, citizens are trying to make their voices heard. And unless the royal court wants more chaos, or to fall in the way that the Assembly did, for once, I think they will have to listen.”

Essek lowered his hand. He stared at Caleb. “But…they are just people,” he said, astonished. “How could they know what is best for the nation?”

Caleb’s expression changed, slightly. He was silent for quite a long stretch of time.

“My dear friend…they are the nation.”

—

“No,” said Fjord.

“But—”

“No, Jester. I will not let you tape ice cubes to my armpit.”

There was a pause. Then a huff.

“Fine, I’ll ask Beau.”

—

After lunch, Essek was shown to a room slightly farther down the hall.

“It will likely be some time before we will be able to move into the school grounds,” Caleb said, “so I recommend you make yourself comfortable here.”

Essek was given another small key, tied to a leather cord.

He felt like something needed to be said. Gods, if he could just figure out what.

“I, ah…thank you,” he tried. “For…lunch, for everything, the room, and, ah, if you need gold—"

Caleb shook his hand. “Nein, please, no. It is, as they say, on the house. More accurately, on the dime of the royal treasury.”

There was another hesitation. Essek sought desperately for a solution, but when nothing came, he sighed. And gave up.

“I, um…am sorry,” he said. “If I…made a statement that was…incorrect.”

Caleb studied his expression. Then, he seemed to sigh as well.

“A school is for learning, is it not? Maybe we will be surprised by who teaches.”

“Er…”

“I just mean,” Caleb murmured, “that we do truly come from different worlds. That are, in many odd ways, rather the same. I just hope it will not be too much.”

Essek was not a stupid man. He opened his mouth again, to protest, but stopped when a hand brushed against his arm.

“You should get some rest,” Caleb said. “Unpack, adjust to our time zone, relax. Then tomorrow,” and here there was the faintest hint of smile, “I will give you a real tour of the school. You should have a voice in some of our plans, too, for the curriculum and into the future. And,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “it will be better to have everyone around when we finish the story. Yasha does very good sound effects for the Chained Oblivion.”

There was another pause. Not nearly as tense, but still quite bewildered.

“She does…what?”

“You did not think that was the end of the story, did you?” Caleb grinned. “That we toppled the Assembly and the Maw that Devours just vanished?”

Essek recalled the other reports.

“Ah,” he said. “More the fool I.”

Caleb gave him a friendly pat. “Once a bridge is built, it goes both ways,” he said. “It is funny how often we wizards forget that.”

Then, in the warmth of the hallway, he nodded.

“Have a rest, Essek Thelyss. I will be down the hall. Let me know if you need anything.”

Then he nodded, and turned around, and left.

—

“Jester, I—oh gods, that’s cold.”

“Hold still, silly! You have to hold still.”

“But I—ah—oh, oh gods.”

—

And later that evening, alone in his room, Essek summoned an exquisite onyx chest. He popped it open, and slowly all his worldly possessions began to drift out. Clothes, papers, books and components slowly floated across the room, settling into the proper drawers or hanging themselves in the closet.

And then, Essek collapsed into bed. With a wave of his hand, a small mirror appeared.

It was black, made from polished volcanic glass and set into a twisted metal frame. It had been a gift, and as far as mirrors went, it was rather lacking, but—

He sighed.

It would get the job done.

—

[Part 1] - [Writing Tag] - [The Bail Project] - [National Bail Fund Network]

[messydeskstudies]

I got an email from my university saying my graduation is going to be virtual and our degrees will be conferred in absentia :(

(which is technically fine since I already had a physical graduation when I got my BA Law in 2019, but, still)

I already have a dress and everything, so watch me dressing up all fancy and sitting with my court robe on at the office for those three seconds they read my name on the livestream

[raven-m-3]

Can I ask a clarifying question about the auction that you may or may not know the answer to? When Hermione releases the info about the horcrux to save draco would that be enough to go back and exonerate Blaise post trial? I don’t know what actual way you’re all planning the story to go in the way of Blaise and his trial and you might have a way planned to free him not involving that info for him at all (memories of Pansy being Giuliana perhaps haha?) but in the story at the point we’re at what are they thinking the outcome of not using this info for Blaise is? Is it just maybe he has to stay a month in Azkaban while they wait for Dracos trial? and then once all the info is out Blaise will be released as well? Or is it if they don’t use it they lose it situation for him and he’s locked up for life regardless of what is made public later? I’m trying to gage how serious the stakes are here and how selfless Blaise was being allowing the horcrux mission to be kept for Draco

Hi nonny: 

Juls has been flooded with comments / questions about the legal processes / technicalities of the last chapter, so you’re definitely not alone in being curious. 👀

At the risk of being maddening... the answer hasn’t been revealed yet, and  almost anything is fair game. 

The International Magical Military Tribunal is based off the International Military Tribunal (the IMT). If you look up the IMT, which conducted the the Nuremberg Trials-- a series of trials for the military and political elite of Nazi Germany -- you’ll find a really fascinating history. Its legacy and rules are really far beyond my paygrade or skillset, but there are a few key things to note:

1. They were developing novel law based on the different legal traditions, languages, and forms of law associated with each of the four member countries (the U.S., the U.K., the Soviet Union, and France). In TA, there are five member countries, so the law is even MORE complicated. 

Why does this matter? Things that you may recognize from the U.S. (or British) legal system may very well not apply in the IMMT. They didn’t at Nuremberg. 

2. There is criticism that the IMT failed to protect the rights of the accused. 

The grossest breach of the defendants' due process rights lay in the deprivation of adequate time and facilities to prepare and present a defence. The lack of time granted to the defendants to prepare a defence, the lack of access to necessary documentary evidence, the translation difficulties, abuse of flexible evidentiary rules and acceptance of ex parte witness affidavits operated to deprive the Nuremberg defendants of this fundamental due process right.

The second major breach of due process was the inability of the defendants to appeal the judgments and sentences to a higher appellate body. The fact that the Tribunal (whose independence can be genuinely questioned) allowed defendants to be tried in absentia, in addition to the ability of the Tribunal to award the death sentence made the lack of appellate instance particularly unjust.

Hopefully some of this sounds familiar in TA (not all of it, but some). And yet. As the author of the above passage argues, the accused at Nuremberg still were given far more rights than they could have expected under the circumstances. 

3. People have argued that the defendants, while INARGUABLY responsible for many heinous, unspeakable acts, were at least partially politically chosen, representing various interests and motives for various member countries. 

4. The London Charter (Edinburgh Charter, anyone?) defined crimes that had never before been used before in international law-- that is, ex post facto law. There are few precedents and a wealth of flexibility in their interpretation. 

So basically, to cut through the snooze fest and make a long story short, 

.... and don’t count on any processes or procedures  you’ve seen on Law & Order. 😂