#this angle of the story pisses me off /pos

[sparrow-in-boots]

Anya never entering medical school on earth and yet capable of discerning the effectiveness of mouthwash as disinfectant, to keep incredibly calm and aware in an increasingly troubling crisis, to not slack on her studies and keep up with safety protocols no matter (despite Pony Express being notoriously negligent), not only stabilize Curly but treat his injuries enough to keep him stable AND alive.

Jimmy struggling back on Earth and yet landing a job in a meager position in a dying company that he idolizes and near fetishizes as his salvation, a job implied that he only gets because Curly not only vouched and referenced him to the company, but maybe even covered up for his mistakes. Mistakes which let me remind you, take significant effort since there are plenty of safety nets to avoid said mistakes.

One mistake and Curly is dead, yet he isn't. One mistake and Jimmy would be dandy, and yet he makes so many there is no amount of covering up or excuses to cover his ass.

"Competency" is a scam in Mouthwashing.

[historicalriches]

Spotlights || Part 6

Can you believe in the year of our lord?

2017?

I actually am still writing this????

Me either. 

I beta’d myself this chapter so probably there are gonna be errors somewhere but hot damn I have another +3k words after this I’m working on so this part is getting published now.

~

Part 1 - Here

Part 2 - Here

Part 3 - Here

Part 4 - Here

Part 5 - Here

Part 6 - You Are Here!

~

Paring: Rich History/VladxClockwork

~

The portal closed behind him with a sense of finality. He was going to be here a while, and he knew it. Vlad took a moment to himself, to come to terms with the disaster that seemed to hit the two of them out of nowhere. No doubt his assets would be frozen, his companies would suffer as well, however he made an emergency plan long ago in order to protect them. If he were to become… less than favorable to the public then his position would fall to Daniel.

Not optimal, the boy didn’t know a single thing about the business world, but at least it would keep the poachers from trying to take the position of CEO for themselves.

“This is hell.” He breathed to himself before flying off towards the tower. The look on his face must have been a hell of a thing because any ghost even remotely in his way sped away the moment they saw him. It wasn’t too long before he found the tower, it shimmered into existence as soon as he hit the outskirts of the more populated areas of the zone. Clockwork was already waiting for him out front, looking rather frazzled to say the least. “Thank the stars you're back.”

Actually, frazzled didn’t cover it. Clockwork was a complete mess. It was as unnerving as the first time Vlad had seen him lose his composure. Vlad didn’t fear for his own safety in these rare moments of distress, but it did take a lot to get under the ghost’s skin. It reminded him just how serious this situation was, how close they had come to so much worse.

He wordlessly pulled the ghost into a hug. Clockwork hugged him back tightly, looking like he didn’t want to let go for the rest of all time.

But he had to.

Vlad had to run damage control and it was better to do it now, rather than later.

“Vlad...” The time ghost spoke softly.

“Mhm?”

“We need to get to work.”

“... I know.” He reluctantly let go. Where even to start? He and took out his cellphone and powered it on. It looked like he did receive service here.

Small blessings.

“Is there any advice you can give me or is it all rather muddled at this point?” He knew that Clockwork’s ability to see his future was getting worse and worse the longer they were together. Hopefully it wasn’t completely gone at this point.

“It's mostly a blur. Do call your lawyer first, I can’t be certain but timelines where you do feel a bit more positive.”

Vlad heaved a sigh as the floated inside. This was going to be a fun conversation to have.

Of course his lawyer picked up on the first ring, with everything going on it was to be expected.

“Vladimir Masters you have some explaining to do, and you better make it good.” The voice on the other side rang out quite clearly. Yeah, this was just going to be heaps of fun.

“This is the new burner phone, right Gregory?” Vlad confirmed before saying anything else. He had to cover his bases first and while he was confident in the man’s ability, he was also very aware that anyone with ties to him was most likely being monitored.

“No, I am completely incompetent and the Feds are listening to every word we say.” The sarcasm was palpable, but he finally relented. “Yes, and as far as I know they think you’re trapped in the rubble so they aren’t looking too closely at anyone else yet.”

“Oh how pleasant.” Nice to know they were thinking he was trapped or dead. “You really need to work on your attitude you know. As your boss I really should take offense to your tone.” Vlad replied lamely, not knowing what else he could say.

“Yeah? Find another lawyer in the world that would put up with your shit and then we’ll talk. Now explain. I wake up to see you not only have a boyfriend which, fine, that's easy to work with. Public favor is mostly on your side there, but give me a day before you go public with it so I have the right laws and protections on hand. Is that so much to ask?”

“No.. but-”

“I'm not done yet Masters.” Greg cut in before Vlad could get out another word. “Like I said the boyfriend thing is workable. But you went and broke a reporter’s nose. I want an official apology on that-”

He didn’t owe that shit biscuit an apology, he wasn’t sorry for that and he never would be!

“Wait just one-”

“When I am finished speaking. Now both of those are enough to give me a headache but then we have this… photo… of you and this ghost. This ghost that looks an awful lot like your boyfriend if he were… y’know, dead.”

“It's a bad photoshop.” Vlad said automatically.

“No it isn't. Negatives were provided and no alterations were evident.”

“Negatives… who the hell still uses film cameras?” Probably the same crazy bastard that climbed a story to get the shot Vlad guessed. Damn.

“Tell me the truth, I need to know all the facts so I can figure out how to turn this disaster into something I can defend.”

Vlad hesitated, then sighed.

“He's... a ghost.”

There was dead silence and then a long sigh. “Dude… what the fuck.”

“Language.”

“Language yourself you motherfucking spirit fucker. Out of all the bullshit you’ve made me put up with over the years this… this tops it all. You are paying me triple for this one and you are buying me a vacation home. One of those rich ones. In Hawaii.”

“Okay, triple pay and a fancy house, fine. I will send you the pin for the door-”

“For what door? The house is a pile of rubble.”

He had forgotten about that. Great.

“Okay go into the lab then.”

Clockwork, who had been very quiet up until this point raised an eyebrow. “You locked the po-”

“I know.”

“There's a couple thousand on the shelf next to the portal. That should hold you until it's safe for me to go get the rest.”

“Okay… let's get down to the finer points.”

“Alright.”

“Did you know the guy was a ghost?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how damn difficult this is going to be considering your very public political stances?”

“Yes.” Oh he knew, he had been trying to quietly backtrack on some of the worst stuff but there wasn’t any way that was happening now.

“Right… so how serious is this?”

He knew that question was coming from a mile away but it still made him just a little peeved. If nothing else, then for Clockwork’s sake. He wouldn’t just up and leave the ghost over something like this.

“Very.” He finally answered.

“No likelihood of it breaking off?”

“No Greg. None whatsoever.” Vlad answered with a firm conviction in his tone.

“I had to ask.” There was a long sigh on the other end. “You make my job a goddamn nightmare Masters.”

“Okay… here’s what we do, play it from the angle that you have been in this relationship for a long time. Your stances against ghosts were an attempt to draw suspicion from your personal life. You draw up sympathy about how you had to hide your relationship and how yesterday was your first try at a proper date in public. Emotions were running high when you hit the reporter and we get that dismissed on a heat of the moment action.” By the sound of a pen scratching furiously on paper he was making notes for his own reference as he talked. “Some sleezy reporter then trespasses on your private property and took a picture of you when you were unaware. You are dismayed and hurt that someone would do that and you and… what's the spook’s name?” Vlad looked over to Clockwork with a frown. He had a reputation to keep up as well.

“Michael Mithra. That is the name we are using.” They already had enough to worry about without throwing ghost politics into the mix.

“Okay, Michael. Both of you need to release a statement. A press conference would be best but I’ll leave it up to your PR team. The press is fucking ravenous right now. You have internet wherever the hell you are?”

“Yes.” Clockwork answered before Vlad could question it.

“Alright. I'll announce that you will be updating people in an hour. You think you can keep the story straight?”

“Yes. It's doable… if rather cliche.”

“It's the best I can do. Give me some warning and you won't be stuck with such a piss poor cover.”

“Duly noted. I suppose we should be getting ready then. I will call you back on this phone after the meeting.”

“Just one more thing Vlad.”

“Hm?”

“Where are you hiding out?”

“The… ghost zone.”

“Of-fucking-course.”

End Part 6

Part 7 - Coming Soon! (No really it is this time!)

[incomplete-nano-stash]

2019 NaNo: Nightfall in Litigia, Chapter 1

              “Are you certain of that information?” Queen Guerrania’s voice showed barely a quiver as she asked the question, but the concerned tone set everyone on edge, for if the once-fearless Queen of Technasia was afraid, then they all should be.

              “We had a confirmation just this morning,” the respondent, a colonel of the royal guards, intoned. “Six companies of troops approaching from the east, flying Litigian colors.”

              “Six!” Princess Jayne Monger, the Princess of Strength, exclaimed, startling the nearby Princess of Life, Hanna Umbriel. “We don’t have nearly enough conscripted to confront that kind of force.”

              Queen Guerrania placed her chin in her hand, lost in thought. “The wise general worries not about her numbers or lack of same, but does more to compensate and fights smarter. A blunt instrument is no match for a fine sword.”

              Princesses Jayne and Hanna exchanged confused looks. “Your Majesty?”

              Queen Guerrania looked up at the remnants of her vaunted Princess Corps. “Reviewing strategy. An ancestor of mine thought about this very problem.” She turned to the colonel. “Take twelve patrols, set up equidistant checkpoints to maintain observation of the enemy. If you can locate a commander or figure out some sort of officers, attempt to make contact. Warn them … cordially.”

              The colonel bowed deeply. “It will be done, Your Majesty.” He crisply turned on his heel and strode aggressively toward the door, only to nearly be bowled over when the doors burst inward.

              “Ramia!” Princess Hanna stood quickly and rushed over to her sister’s side, hugging her while she guided the Princess of Law to her rightful seat at the table. “My God, what’s happened to you?”               Thaylen Halder, the fugitive lesser prince of Technasia’s bitter rival LItigia, followed close behind, looking equally as ragged to those assembled in the room as Princess Ramia Tensay did. They both had not bothered with changing their garb, nor trying to clean up from their long journey. An attendant quickly rushed to Princess Ramia’s side and offered her a goblet, which she gratefully took and swigged nearly the entire contents.

              Queen Guerrania’s face tried to maintain decorum, but she did raise a nonplussed eyebrow. “Princess Ramia, welcome back.”

              Princess Ramia slammed down the goblet on the table, cracking the vessel slightly. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I have news from the Darklands.”

              “As we have news from home,” the Queen responded. “But please, continue.”

              Princess Ramia motioned for Thaylen to approach the table. He slung down a knapsack, pulling out a jar of dark fluid. Princess Ramia turned toward her sister. “Hanna, does this look familiar?”

              Princess Hanna sucked in a quick breath. “That’s our formula. The Decade Plague cure that Giana developed with me.”

              Thaylen smiled slightly. “It’s actually an improved version, Your Highness, one which will completely cure the plague.”

              Princess Jayne’s face took an expression of relief; perhaps her accidental exposure to the Plague would not be a death sentence, after all. “Thank you Jesus.”

              “Point is, though, in addition to this we found out the angle for the Darklands Assassins.” Princess Ramia looked around the table, realizing there was an absence. “Hey, where’s Anyia?”

              “I’m afraid that your news might combine with ours here,” Queen Guerrania darkly pronounced at the mention of Anyia Po, the Princess of Literacy. “Princess Anyia was involved in an overthrow attempt. She was arrested, and sadly has died in custody.” Princess Hanna’s features darkened. She hoped Princess Ramia could not pick up on her mood as the Queen continued. “We now have a large force of Litigian regulars approaching our borders. They want a war.”

              Princess Ramia cleared her throat. “I don’t think they do. It might be a retaliatory force.”

              “Retaliatory?” Queen Guerrania was genuinely surprised. “For what?”

              Thaylen smirked. “The bloodlust of Litigia knows no bounds. While there were assassins being sent here targeting you, Your Majesty, there were others sent to target the Litigian Council of Lords. Specifically the Lords, though, not my father.”

              Princess Jayne cleared her throat. “Wouldn’t happen to involve Vriant Poe, would it?”

              Princess Ramia now felt the urge of surprise. “What do you mean?”

              Queen Guerrania pushed the large book … Princess Anyia’s history … toward Princess Ramia. “He’s Anyia’s cousin. They apparently had a plot afoot to unify the two nations.”

              Princess Ramia started breathing heavily. “God … this is bad, then. I just agreed to let Tuck go to Litigia with Lord Moethran. Things are going to get very dangerous very fast for her.”

                 “I need to see your authorization.”

              The disinterested sentry standing watch outside the wrought metal gate looked more bored than insistent as he presented the order to the two poncho-clad women standing before him. The rain was certainly not helping his mood any.     With a light giggle, one of the women brought out a sheaf of paperwork, hand-written with official seals. The guard flipped through it with as much contempt as he could.

              “Hmf … domestic servants, huh? What do you … oh, wait, never mind, you can’t answer that anyway.” He shoved the paperwork back into the lead woman’s arms. “Go ahead and get started. Lord Vengor expects to take residence within the week.”

              A less light giggle came from the woman as she stuffed the paperwork back into her poncho, leading her companion into the compound as the gates opened up. Just as quickly, though, the gates closed with a loud clang.

              Although the place was bustling with activity, everything was under the watchful eyes of guards, stationed at every corner and atop every wall. The rain felt even more oppressive to the disguised Technasian woman as she followed Firnian Moethran, former Lord of the holding, through the muddy central square toward the residence. She bit her tongue at the urge to talk, knowing that it would give them both away if she did.

              Firnian, for her part, fought the urge to scream. Majer Vengor? That pedophile? She seethed, maintaining her silence as both she and her companion crossed the threshold of the door. Inside, a warm, welcoming fire was roaring in the centrally-located fireplace, numerous maids rushing back and forth cleaning multiple surfaces and items within the home.

              An older woman approached the two newcomers with a very strong, swift stride. She motioned with her hands, a shorthand all the domestic workers of Litigia used to communicate without triggering the gigglers, collars that all Litigian women wore which restricted their speech to meaningless giggling. Firnian waved back, reaching back into her poncho and producing a small sigil.

              The Technasian looked on, bewildered, until the elder’s face shone recognition and relief. She quickly motioned to follow her. Firnian quickly fell in line behind the older woman, with the princess in tow. After entering and traversing a long, dark hallway, the three women reached a large bedchamber, ornately decorated with gilded appliques and fixtures.

              The older woman reached her hand up to her giggler, finding a knob and turning it. “Milord Firnian, thank God you’ve made it home!” The older woman tightly embraced Firnian, who let her hood drop. “It must be torture for you to wear the giggler.”

              Firnian chuckled. “Not so much when it’s fake.”

              The older woman’s eyes widened. “How is this possible? You had no access to your special labs.”

              Firnian motioned to her companion, who flipped down her own poncho hood. “Thanks to our new friend here. Tuck, this is Lucinda Breech, she has been the House of Moethran’s head of household since even before my father’s time. Lucinda, may I present to you Imogen Inperia, Technasia’s Princess of Technology.”

              Tuck blushed at the introduction. “Please, ma’am, call me Tuck.”

              Lucinda curtsied. “My word, visiting royalty! This is a privilege.”

              Firnian waved off the curtsy and urged Lucinda to stand back up. “Yeah, yeah, we’ve gotten really chummy in the last month or so. I need to know why in the fuck my holdings are being given to that pervert Vengor.”

              Lucinda’s eyes darkened. “I’m afraid that King Guent liquidated your holdings, milord. He announced the redistribution of all properties belonging to traitors to the homeland, starting with all of yours going to the Church. In particular, Lord Vengor laid claim to your home, while selling the rest of your land holdings to other wealthy families, with the profits going to the Church.”

              Firnian looked fit to explode. She found a convenient silver jewelry box and flung it across the room, where it shattered a mirror. “Goddamn it! Vengor has no rights to this land! I will not allow that cocksucker to invade my home and diddle choirboys on my bed!” She delivered a swift kick to the vanity that now no longer had a mirror, screaming in impotent rage.

              Tuck, however, approached Lucinda. “Has there been any word about the other Lords? How many are left?”

              Lucinda scoffed. “There’s still four loyal to the King, if that’s what you’re asking. After he banished milord, after Lord Jair’s murder, and after Lord Qine’s untimely demise, he installed Brestian Laith, Killin Frove, and milord’s current target Majer Vengor as the new Council of Lords.”

              Tuck and Firnian exchanged looks. “Wait, you only said Lord Jair was murdered?” Tuck finally asked.

              “Indeed. Lord Qine died of natural causes, according to the King, though there are rumors that those ‘natural’ causes might’ve been sped along by Guent getting impatient and too pissed off.” Lucinda shrugged. “We’ll never know the true story though, since Guent also ordered Qine’s body to be cremated immediately. Something about a plague?”

              Firnian seethed as she removed her poncho. “Plague my ass. I’ve seen plague with my own two eyes. Guent did something there.” She reached for a nearby scroll and rolled it out, a blank scroll. With a pen from the wrecked vanity, she started scrawling on the page. Names, mainly, and while she wrote them out she kept a running commentary for Tuck’s benefit. “Okay, so we have Laith, Frove, and … barf … Vengor as the new Lords, supplanting Jair, Qine, and me.”

              Tuck stroked her chin as Firnian’s list became two columns, one with the living Lords on the left and one with the dead and banished Lords on the right. In the center, she wrote down two names, Halder and Poe.

              “So let’s see, the only two left from the old guard are King Asshole and Vriant Poe. Hmm.” She looked up at Lucinda. “Do you see any pattern here? Any logic to what Guent is trying to do?”

              Lucinda looked over the lists carefully. Tuck quietly came up to Firnian’s side. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, how does one become a Litigian Lord?”

              “Oh, it’s not so mysterious,” Lucinda piped up as she pored over the lists. “The Lords are picked by the King based on which elements of the economy he feels are most important. See, look here. The old King, Turgen, he was a big believer in infrastructure and foreign tourism being keys to advancing the economy, and so he put certain Lords in charge based on their usefulness and wealth. Lord Jair, for instance, was a hospitality baron. Lord Qine, he specialized in shipbuilding.”

              Firnian smiled gently. Tuck noticed it. “What is your House’s industry?” the princess finally asked.

              Firnian chuckled. “Cars. Isn’t that a kick in the ass? The King thought we’d need a transportation breakthrough, and it would come by way of cars. Dead technology that nearly killed us all.”

              Tuck pulled her collar. “Do I want to know what Lord Poe’s industry is?”

              “Weapons,” Lucinda and Firnian recited in unison. Tuck nodded knowingly, returning to the scroll.

              “This makes no sense, though,” Firnian finally let out. “Yeah, Guent is big on defense and warmongering, so he’s going to have Poe the weaponeer at hand, but what about the others? Laith runs factory farms. Frove is another car guy, so that maybe makes sense, they want him in place of me. Vengor, though? He’s a money man for the fucking Church.”

              Tuck cleared her throat. “Is there a chance that Guent may be preparing to wage what he thinks is a holy war?”

              Both Lucinda and Firnian gave blank looks at Tuck, before Firnian slapped her hand on her own forehead. “Goddamn it, you’re right. Guent’s the kind of sanctimonious prick who would think he’s God’s gift to warfare, of course he thinks any fight he picks is going to be a holy war.”

              “Or maybe …” Lucinda stroked her own chin. “Maybe he’s going to sell it as a holy war, and brought in Laith and Vengor to justify it?”

              “Of course all of this is moot if the assassins strike,” Tuck reminded Firnian. “We’re supposed to be looking for the assassins and whoever made the contract.”

              Lucinda pursed her lips quietly. Sensing the awkwardness in the room, Firnian turned to her head of household. “Is there something you’ve left out, Luce?”

              Lucinda swallowed hard. “Milord, King Guent has already ordered his forces to march on Technasia as a retaliation for the attack on Lord Jair.”

              Firnian placed a hand on her temple. “Just great.” She sighed and turned to Tuck, pain shining in her eyes. “We need to get to the bottom of this now, for the sake of both of our kingdoms.”

                The monarch slammed his feet into the cold stone of the castle floor with each aggressive step he took, each footfall jarring his entire body, shooting pain through his knees. No matter, he had a cushy throne awaiting him in his audience chambers, so he continued to stomp down the passageway. Far too hesitantly, a page boy approached him.

              “Your Majesty, I have news.” The page boy knelt quickly, bracing himself for a blow. The stomping feet stopped short of putting a knee in the child’s face.

              “Well?” The king’s voice was impatient.

              “Your Majesty … I …” Now the page boy was rattled and upset. He took a deep breath, trying to gather his senses back. “Sire, your brother and Lord Moethran have disappeared from Technasia.”

              A low growl developed in the pit of King Guent Halder’s stomach. “Disappeared? Any ideas how?”

              The servant furiously shook his head negatively. “Our forces approaching the border did not see them at all. We only know about this from monitoring Technasian missives.”

              The king went ahead and kicked the page boy anyway. It had been his first impulse, but resisting until he heard the news was increasingly difficult. “Have the council of lords summoned. We will decide what to do about the traitors together.”

              The page boy rubbed his head, stinging from the king’s blow. “It will be done, Your Majesty.” He scrambled to his feet and ran down the passageway, away from the king. Watching the peasant made Guent smirk in a self-satisfied way. Good, they should fear me, they should properly fear and respect my power.

              A few hard steps later, the king was turning into his royal audience chamber, the plush cushioned throne awaiting him. To his utter delight, everyone present in the room shot to their feet, not wishing to arouse his ire. At the head of the room, by the throne, another page puffed out his chest. “All rise in the presence of His Royal Majesty, Lord Protector of the Realm of Litigia, King Guent!”

              All of the people in the room stood in respect to their monarch. He was vaguely aware of the tightness in his pants as he crossed the room, turning to face the assemblage. “Bow before your ruler!”

              The entire room hit their knees nearly in unison, a sight which never got old for the young king. He flamboyantly flipped his coat above his buttocks and squatted down to take his seat, the rest of the room still genuflecting obediently. He cleared his throat to the page, who looked up, then stood up.

              “Those with petitions before the Royal Throne of Litigia, come forth and plead your case before your King.”

              Guent snapped his fingers. “Make it quick, too, I haven’t got all day.”

              A peasant man nervously approached the throne, dropping down to one knee. He bowed his head humbly. “My liege, Your Majesty, I come before you with a most humble and desperate request. My family is ill, every one but myself afflicted with a rare disease.”

              Guent slumped in the throne, his face resting on one raised hand, elbow on the arm of the chair. “So? What does that have to do with me?”

              “Your Majesty, I ask for leniency on the cost of medical care for my family. We are destitute, our income is meagre and our abode not nearly as fine as this beautiful palace.” The man shuddered. “Please grant us this boon, Your Majesty.”

              Guent leaned forward. “What is your profession?”

              The man looked up with slight confusion. “I am a laborer on the holdings of Lord Moethran, Your Majesty.”

              The mention of the insolent woman, the one who dared to assert her equality with the others on the council, immediately snapped Guent out of his boredom. He snarled as he stood up. “Then you serve a traitor to the throne, and are therefore a traitor to your nation. Your boon is denied.” Guent clapped his hands. “Guards! Remove this man and place him in irons.”

              “No! Please, mercy my lord!” Tears streaked down the peasant man’s cheeks, even as he was roughly lifted to his feet by the guards. “My family …”

              “Your sons are hereby ordered conscripted into the Litigian Imperial Army.”

              The peasant man shook his head desperately. “I have no sons, Your Majesty …”

              A dark, lustful tone flashed across Guent’s face. “Your daughters then. They are hereby ordered conscripted to the palace. We will train them in the place of a woman in this realm.” The king’s face creased with a sinister smile, despite the sobs and wails of the peasant being dragged out of the room. Guent sat back in the throne, an expression of satisfaction on his face.

              “Your Majesty, was that necessary?” The page’s voice quivered. “He was no threat to you.”

              Guent glared at the page. “Do you want something similar?” The page frantically shook his head. “Then shut the hell up. I am your King. My judgment is law. Don’t ever forget that.”

              The page bowed deeply. “I apologize, Your Majesty. Next petitioner!”

              Another peasant man approached the throne. Guent wrung his hands with anticipation. To be frank, he didn’t know why his father thought the job was so hard, it was a dream for Guent because he could do whatever he wanted, and no one corrected him.

              He enjoyed being his own little god.