#father: I will now steal this mathematical work from my son and pass it off as my own

[found-droid]

#bop of the day #great running song #the piano at the end makes me go bonkers #me taking an airport studio and fluid dynamics in the same semester: it’s all coming together #also if u wanna wild math stories look up the Bernoulli family they were so MESSY #father: I will now steal this mathematical work from my son and pass it off as my own #l’hopital watching johann do this: what a great idea sure would be a shame if someone published johanns lectures under their own name #and got a famous mathematical identity named after them instead of the actual creator #aka *our* mathematics meme #Spotify

[maggotmouth]

          hillo sexthy legends !!   i’m nora and i’ll be writing margo colby n probs sm1 else bcos lets be real, i lack self-control. u can find her pinterest here n some info abt her sexy self below the cut. plot with me on discord ( hot girl midsommar#8664 ) or in my ims !!  x o x

     * CAMILA MORRONE, CIS WOMAN + SHE / HER  | you know MARGO COLBY, right? they’re TWENTY-THREE, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, ELEVEN YEARS? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to SCRAWNY BY WALLOWS  like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole BLEACH WHITE SNEAKERS POUNDING ON A GYMNASIUM FLOOR, USING THE SAME BLUNT SCISSORS TO HACK THE SLEEVES OFF AN EXES T-SHIRT THAT YOU USE TO CUT YOUR 3AM FRINGE, A WALNUT-SHAPED ACHE IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH FOR THE PERSON YOU COULD HAVE BEEN thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is AUGUST 8TH, so they’re a LEO, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nora, 25, gmt, she/her )

CLICK ANYWHERE ON THIS SENTENCE FOR SEXII GOOGLE DOC!!

bullet point summary of margo.

—   born margaret but NOBODY calls her that. its colby, coach or margo, and go to the privileged few. margo grew up in the creek commune n then dropped out of school cos of a teenage pregnancy so she was a bit of a cautionary tale back in’t’day (said tht in my yorkshire accent). she now works for summer camps coaching pee wee soccer and pee wee cheer, as well as helping out her beekeeper dad on his honey farm, which is jst north of abernathy creek, and working at scuba on the off seasons.

—  its just her and her dad, and has been for as long as she can recall !! everything she knows about her mum could fit on the back of the weathered passport photo she keeps in her wallet of a stranger who shares her face - her name’s melody, or at least tht was name she used when working as a dancer, she’s from argentina and dropped mag’s dad as soon as someone w more money came along.

—  margo’s father is a beekeeper with his own organic honey company. margo and her dad moved to irving in the early 00s, the summer between grade school and middle school, because her dad had heard about the communal living in abernathy creek and wanted to lend his skills there and live off the fatta the land in a very lenny from of mice and men kinda way.

—  for a few years of middle school margo was bullied for living with the ‘freaks from the creek’, but when they realised how chill her dad was with underage drinking, margo ‘keg-bringer’ colby soon gained popularity among the more renegade students. every so often, the high school parties would happen at her end of town, occasionally with members of the commune even offering the high schoolers a spiritual experience they’d never forget (often in the form of mushrooms) which meant people tried to stay on her good side. to get an invite to a margo colby party handed you a free pass to make up the most ridiculous shit about the commune you liked and nobody else could say anything, because they’d never been to the creek.

—  at school, margo had a lot of ‘behvioural issues’ bcos of undiagnosed adhd, she found it difficult to sit still for hours n write down huge chunks of information n her restlessness was seen as laziness. she was encouraged to do sports, as were most of the kids who weren’t that academically inclined, but she turned out to be pretty hot shit at sprinting, because she grew up surrounded by bee houses and he who runs slowest gets stung, baybeyy!! so yea, in school sports became her LIFE. she was gonna get a sports scholarship to college but ended up dropping out of school in senior year n becoming one of those kids who could have had it all but lost it.

—  she had sex with sutter at a house party when she wasnt really ready because it felt like the right thing to do at the time and everybody else was doing it. she’d attended health class, she’d seen the corny videos. she knew about all the statistics, but she also knew that it had never happened to anyone she knew and the pull out method was basically safer than the morning after pill and way less expensive.

—  a teenage pregnancy knocked her out of the runnings for prom queen and meant she had to leave school early. she didn’t go to college when her friends did, instead she spent the time interviewing potential foster candidates and eating her weight in lindt chocolate while marathoning love island in her room.  

—  she had a son, who she passed off to someone else a couple of towns away.  it was a closed adoption which seemed like the best idea at the time, but she now wishes she had access to his life.

—  after peaking in high school and jumping between jobs for a few years, she got a more permanent role at scuba which she loves with all of her heart and soul, but unfortunately a bar job doesn’t pay the rent.  

—  she works at summer camps coaching  junior soccer and netball on the side. she’s extremely competitive and takes it very personally if her team lose. the kids all call her, coach colby n write her longwinded letters about how they’ll never forget this summer camp before they go back to their suburban picket fence houses n she keeps all the letters in a drawer n takes them out to read when she’s feelin depressed.

—  enjoys surfing and worked for a number of years on resorts like mila kunis’ job in forgetting sarah marshall. she went on to work 18-hour days as a stewardess on luxury yachts which is a part of her backstory i added after watching season one of below deck because i guess i really am that fucking impressionable. met most of her surf friends doing tht but said she’d never in her life do it again bcos it was mostly just picking up after rich white ppl for shit pay. she came back to irving n thats when she started doing the summer camp jobs so she could move out of the creek n get her own apartment. 

—  she never actually finished senior year so she’s currently going to night school at the community college to get through her exams and is trying to save to go to college or open university. she wants to major in criminology. she’s super ambitious but also super adhd so she fluctuates between thinking she can achieve anything to just feeling like a failure n thinkin whats the point

—  used to shoplift to feel joy and as an act of resistance to her hippy commune routes, but now sees herself as a reformed, bin-diving freegan (sims 4 eco living can i get a hell yaaaa). also she thinks it’s totally wrong to steal when you have enough money and clearly don’t need to steal to survive, ppl risk imprisonment for basic necessities, so for her to do it for a brief thrill and some new shades felt a bit derogatory

—  was raised jewish. became a vegetarian as a child because it seemed, at the time, easier than having to explain which foods she was and wasn’t allowed to eat together, so she just cut out meat entirely. still a vegetarian now and dabbles in veganism, although its become less about not eating certain meats in the milk of their mother and more about her global impact / carbon footprint

—  nurses little animals to health in her garden. has a hedgehog name OJ short for orange juice not the other one filthy pig. her and her dad have always been huge animal rights activists and existed on a vegetarian diet. the only one in their house who isn’t vegetarian is their cat, auggie. (short 4 augustus gloop)

—  has a lot of stupid ass stick and poke tattoos. there was a phase during her years as a barmaid where she wanted to train as a tattoo artist n would mostly practice on herself or any friends who would let her

—  she doesn’t form many long lasting friendships cos she tends to be super excited when she makes a new friend and just see them all the time but then it wears off and she can ghost a bit. she’ll always coming pinging back but she’s not the most predictable or loyal friend, sometimes she’ll sleep in your house every night for a week and then you won’t even get a text from her for a month. her best friends are elderly neighbours and houseless people she meets when volunteering at the foodbank. she thinks they’re more authentic than most of the ‘fake posers’ she meets down the vela pier

—  calls herself a butch lesbian but still has sex with men when she wants validation. sexually attracted to some men, especially effeminate men, but only romantically attracted to women. very possessive of the gals in her life.

—  stopped giving a shit about getting older or adhering to anyone elses bullshit standards, realised it was all fake p much as soon as she dropped out of school and one by one her friends just stopped texting her

—  lives in one of the lofts in port apartments. it’s open plan with rugs and lava lamps everywhere. she has a palette bed. its all very ‘sustainable chic’. like, oh wow, a pallet bed that im supposed to think you made from scratch but i KNOW you got it  off ebay because you thought it looked trendy

—  constantly says shes poor but still buys clothes from urban outfitters. sus.

—  frequently found at fannies flirting with the cute bisexual bartender with a choppy black bob.

general vibe / personality

vibrant, vulgar, self-absorbed, tenacious, veers bewteen apathetic and dogmatic, temperamental, flighty, unreliable, magnetic, charismatic, passive aggressive, likes to play devil’s advocate, takes the moral high ground. estp and a leo

likes: 70s music, john wayne movies, black mirror, philosophy, cowboy chic culture, dc comics, the smell of locker rooms,, deep red lipstick, lacrosse sticks, smoking weed from a bong, dogs, karaoke, pet rats, kate moss, late-night strolls, hawaaiian shirts worn open over a bralette, skinned knees, thai food, picking the apples at the very top of the trees, zip-lining, cigarettes, the idea of pegging but not the practical application of it, decorative lamps, LGBTQ+ pin badges, worn-out furniture, twangy electric guitars.

dislikes: girls who call other girls ‘pick me’ girls, woody allen movies, mental mathematics, wealthy children, quentin tarantino, ironing, institutionalised misogyny, the imaginary future, french literature, ‘dump him’ feminism, wes anderson films, spoken word poetry nights, college-educated bar staff who act like they’re better than you,  indie softbois, the general mentality of cheerleading squads.

aesthetics

orange peel, the smell of bleach, skeleton drawings in the margins of a journal, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, bleach white sneakers pounding on a gymnasium floor, setting dumpsters on fire for the hell of it. a hit flask of vodka decorated with hello kitty stickers, split knuckles, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, a child in an oversize bee keepers suit, scabbed knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your dad wouldn’t take you,  a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

hoo boy this is getting LONG AS FUCK but here are my wanted plots

wanted plots

ok margo’s been in irving since she was like 10. she’s quite a vivacious person?? she dresses completely instinctively without any sense of cohesion so she stands out. a guy once told her she was wearing the ugliest outfit he’d ever seen and he thought that was so cool and brave of her. but anyway where was i going.. she grew up in the abernathy creek so stuck out like a sore thumb,,,, maybe ppl who were super interested in the creek or maybe poked fun at her bcos of it idk.....

b4 she dropped out, margo used 2 b in with the cool kids at school bcos her dad would buy them booze and rarely ask for the money. maybe a fun plot cld b with some of the ‘it girls’ she used to hang around with b4 she got pregnant n dropped out and they all went off to college n stopped texting her.

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! some1 she feels like she knew before irving ???

since margo literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships. fwbs. enemies with benefits. all the angst. all the slow burn mutual pining we hate each other narratives

locals who play sports. margo wld be all over community soccer n take it way too seriously. maybe ppl she plays hockey with. girls who she’s like, weirdly intimate with but its not a thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

she works part time at scuba. i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry.

she's also a surf instructor and occasionally works as a lifeguard!! gal has like 7 jobs ik but regular swimmers hmu

ppl she coaches at the gym !! she wants to be a personal trainer

i reckon she might have recently started meditating to try and calm down her mind cos its always bustling with thoughts, n i think she’s p interested in buddhism so if anyone’s a buddhist hmu

someone she’s trying to make a zine with on female empowerment and women in film and art, etc. just a very feminist zine. 

TLDR:  angry sports gay, former high school track prodigy turned drop out, who likes feminist literature, wearing leather jackets over slip dresses, and smudged red lipstick.

this was so long !!! im sorry !! if you’ve read this far have a biscuit, love x

#aaaaaaa #we back boys #irvingintro #hmu for plots bayybeyyy

[gaamagirl565]

A gift for @alchemyready based on our current RP The older man paced the tactical room floor practically wearing a hole into it. “Eugene, please calm yourself. Panicking won’t do us any good.” Eugene turned to the younger man behind him. The alchemist had grown significantly of the years, his onyx hair was longer and tied back in a messy ponytail, he wore a brown leather vest with a blue button-up shirt, and brown pants with a leather belt holding pouches of herbs and various other supplies. His eyes were still the same determined steel-blue they always were but his facial features changed the most as they were all much sharper. Eugene himself stayed relatively the same only now sporting a greyish streak in his hair. “You’re right...I’m sorry but this is getting out of hand. The king walked back over to the tactical map furrowing his brow. “I truly don't know what we're going to do.  and you're sure you haven't figured out a cure?” Varian looked very grim all a sudden. “No I haven't found a cure and I worked very diligently. however, I may have an idea-” “ and what idea might that be Varian?” everybody in the room spun to look at the queen that had entered the room. Varian immediately dropped to his knees with respect. “ my queen…” The little boy that was sitting on the chair not too far away from Varian also got down off of his seat and bowed before the queen making her giggle slightly. “Varian, We've been over this you can just call me Rapunzel.”  The Alchemist grinned sheepishly at her. “Ah yes...forgive me my- Rapunzel.” The little boy behind them returned to his seat and let out a few coughs before rolling over in the chair attempting to get comfortable. “Now what is this plan you have?”  she said walking over to the Tactical map near her husband. Varian took a deep breath as if what he was about to say would be a shock. “ do you remember the Sundrop flower?”  Everyone in the room jumped and was visibly on edge at the mention of the Sundrop flower. “What about it? it's gone now.”  Eugene stated bluntly. “When I crushed the flower in my lab all those years ago…”  Varian paused as if the memories were too hard to remember. He gripped the side of the table fearful of the horrible memories that were passing through his brain. “I was able to save the Dust that came from it.  I put it into a vial and gave it to King Frederik when everything was said and done. however, I learned that after Rapunzel returned to the kingdom he destroyed it.” “So how does that help us now?”  Eugene returned. “ I've recently made a machine.  this machine does something that may be hard to believe.”  Everybody was suddenly intrigued and leaned in closer.  “By using my mathematical calculations of three spacial dimensions I was able to infer a hypothesis of how zhan tiri was able to lead Cassandra to the past. By using the same hypothesis I've been able to make a machine that will supply the same result but to a greater effect.”  everyone stood there dumbfounded for a few seconds.  Eugene pinched the bridge of his nose and let out of prolonged sigh. “ English Varian….”  Varian groaned in response and rolled his eyes. “ It goes Sparky Sparky boom and takes you to the Past.”  A dead silence fell upon the room. “ are you trying to tell us you invented a... time machine?” Rapunzel said in disbelief. “in a way I suppose.  I was thinking that if we went back in time and got the vial of the dust from the Sundrop flower we would be able to create a cure from it.” “but didn't you say that the Sundrop didn't have any power anymore!?” Eugene said completely dumbfounded. “ what I said was true it doesn't have any magical properties anymore however it has a lot of healing properties I was able to analyze its chemical makeup while it was in my lab.”  the three adults continue to bicker back and forth on whether or not to go through with Varian’s plan. Without them noticing the little boy on the chair behind them had risen from his spot groggily it made his way over to his father. “Daddy..”  he said voice sounding hoarse as he tugged on his father's day apron. “not now Isaiah.” “ But Daddy-” “I said not now! Go sit down.” Varian repeated sternly.  Doing as he was told the blonde-headed boy turned around and began to make his way back to his chair. Without warning however child burst into a coughing fit that alerted the rest of the adults in the room. “Isaiah!?” Varian cried out in worry.  He quickly dashed over to his son’s side just as the young boy was beginning to fall over. Catching his child in his arms Varian immediately felt the panic wash over him. Isaiah continued to cough and wheeze as tears began to prick the corners of his eyes. “D-da..ddy…”  he choked out. Varian felt ears of his own welling up in his eyes. “You okay buddy? what's wrong?” “V-Varian…”  The Alchemist stopped and looked at his Queen who wore a look of complete and utter horror as she pointed towards the boy. Varian felt his eyes dilate in fear. As he turned back to look at his son he gasped in terror and sorrow.  There on his son's face were the familiar black spots that so many other victims of the plague had.  everything was silent.   the tension in the air was thick enough to be cut with a knife.  Rapunzel clasped her hands over her mouth and Eugene just stood there in utter shock.  Varian felt the tears begin to pour down his face. His son was now a victim of this horrid pestilence. He could hear the wheezing in his son's chest as he gingerly picked him up and cradled him in his arms. “D-daddy’s here...it’s going to be okay…” He whispered Isaiah not knowing whether it was true or not himself.  he then turned to look at the two rulers of the land. “ we don't have a choice now... I'm going to do this with or without you.  I cannot lose my boy.”  he said in a tone that Rapunzel and Eugene had not heard in years.  Making an audible gulp Rapunzel step forward with a  determined look. “ I'll do it…”  everyone in the room turned and looked at her in surprise. “ Blondie are you sure?”  Eugene asked.  she simply nodded. “ my kingdom needs me and so does my friend. I'm willing to go to whatever lengths necessary.” “Thank you, Rapunzel.”   after they had taken Isaiah to a place to rest Varian escorted her to the machine he had just recently built. “ the time. I'm going to send you to is a short time after you had freed my father. I'm going to try and send you to the Palace so that you can easily sneak into the Vault and steal the vial.  but this next part that I'm going to tell you is crucial to the mission success. The you of that timeline can never see you otherwise it'll mess with the timeline.  do you understand me?”  Varian said sternly.  Rapunzel nodded and turned around as variance pulled the lever to the machine letting it open and revealing a Vortex of swirling colors. “ do me a favor and come back in one piece, please... I feel like if you got her Eugene would officially kill me.”  he said with a half-hearted chuckle.  Rapunzel turned and smiled at him. “ I promised Varian.  I promise.” Original screenshot (C) Disney

#tangled #rapunzel’s tangled adventure #RP #Eugene #Rapunzel #Varian #OC

[creative-type]

The Murder of Arthur Wright XVI

First Previous AO3

Chapter Sixteen: Two Foolish Choices

Margot sat at a loss as Abigail wiped her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. What could she possibly say in that moment? She, along with Dash, had invaded Abigail and Desdemona’s lives and demanded to hear their deepest, most painful secrets for the sake of the man who had failed them in every way imaginable.

Margot understood why Desdemona was angry and uncooperative. She understood Abigail’s pain and Felix’s obstinance. She even understood why Adeline was so unaffected by her husband’s death. Margot hated it, but she understood why any of them might have been driven to murder.

But it was still murder. As appealing as the notion was, vigilante justice wasn’t the answer to Master Wright’s wrongs. That’s what’s Margot’s head told her, anyway. Her heart hadn’t yet come into agreement.

“You said Desdemona was the one who gave Anansi that poem?” Margot said once she finally trusted herself to speak.

Abigail nodded, not looking at Margot as she folded her handkerchief into perfect fourths and set it aside. “I have never met the man…woman?” She frowned slightly. “I’ve never met Anansi, but Desdemona has. I couldn’t believe she’d done it, I could have strangled her.”

“She didn’t write it, did she?” Margot asked. She smiled a little at Abigail’s shocked surprise. “Forgive me, but your sister doesn’t seem the type to write existential poetry about herself. And,” she added softly, “I’ve spent a great deal of today in a library, and I took the time to look up some names.”

Abigail’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Anansi told us the meaning of Desdemona’s name and how it changed the meaning of the poem,” Margot said, “but he refused to admit it had anything to do with your sister. I wondered if perhaps there wasn’t more to that idea, and I was right. Arthur and Adeline can both mean noble or nobility. They’re the lord and lady of the first stanza. Felix means lucky, which makes him fortune’s favored son. And Abigail…Abigail means…”

“Father’s joy,” Abigail finished for her, resigned. “And I might as well have bid her to die the night she came back for me.”

“That poem is about how your family reacted to Desdemona running away from home, and how your sister came through the experience stronger than she was before,” Margot said.

“I’ll admit I was projecting a little at the end,” Abigail said. “I had no idea of knowing how Dessy was doing when I wrote the stupid thing, but I hoped. I needed all the hope I could get then.”

“You wrote The Death of Desdemona?” Margot asked, confirming the suspicion she’d had since Abigail had walked out of her sister’s bedroom door.

“I wrote a great deal while at that asylum,” Abigail said. “It was a part of my recovery. I had a difficult time speaking of what had happened, so my healer encouraged me to write it instead. I had to be careful—I still wanted to protect my father, even then—but I was given a notebook that was mine. Not even the healer was allowed to read it unless I said he could. It was the only thing I took with me when Desdemona helped me escape.” She let out a noise that was almost a laugh.

“It’s ironic, really. I always hated writing as a child because it lacked the structure and precision of mathematics. But in the end it was the rigidity of magical theory that nearly destroyed me and in the written word where I found my liberation. Father once told me that I was born to be a mage, but I made myself a writer.”

“Is that what you do now?” Margot asked.

“After a fashion. I work in a small publishing house translating books from Elvish to Common.” She laughed again, louder this time. “I can’t tell you the number of romances I’ve seen written by bored Elvish women with too much time and money on their hands. It’s delightfully absurd.”

Margot managed to smile, but she inwardly she felt sick. If Abigail had been assisting Master Wright in his research—with a stilted magical education, no less!—at such a young age meant she was nothing short of a prodigy. To see her love for magic extinguished and her potential left untapped felt wrong. No, it was more than that. That Master Wright’s selfishness and hubris destroyed a talent that he should have nurtured was a travesty of the highest order. The world should be celebrating Abigail’s accomplishments, not her father’s.

“Please don’t pity me, Professor,” Abigail said quietly. “I’m legally dead. I have no papers, no money, no family except for my sister. My opportunities will always be limited, but I have enough.” She looked up, and for the first time Margot saw Abigail Wright. Not her sister, not her mother, but Abigail for who she really was.

“Dessy worries constantly for my happiness, but I’ve found happiness is an elusive feeling, seldom found and often fleeting. I enjoy it when it’s there, but I don’t chase after it. I can’t. But I can be content, and truly I am. Or I was until my father died.” Her grey eyes seemed to bore into Margot, anchoring her in place with the weight of her gaze. “Desdemona didn’t kill him, Professor.”

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know. Someone who understood his research.” She grimaced. “I know that reflects poorly on myself, but I wasn’t there the day he died.”

But Desdemona was, Margot thought.  

“My employers will vouch for me,” Abigail said. “I was working the day of the mage’s conference. I didn’t hear of the explosion until that evening.”

Margot nodded thoughtfully. “If you don’t mind writing their address, Cain and I would be happy to verify that for you.”

She offered Abigail a blank page of her notebook while Abigail’s cheeks blushed pink. “I, er, I don’t know where Dessy keeps her quills.”

With a flourish, Margot Conjured a pen. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but you still can’t…?”

The blush deepened, and Abigail retreated into herself. “The best and worst moments in my life were caused by my magic. I don’t know if I even want it back after all that’s happened.”

“That’s understandable,” Margot murmured, and as Abigail scrawled the name and address of her work in an untidy hand she came to a snap decision. When she was finished, Margot found the spare pieces of paper where Cain had copied Master Wright’s research.

“I understand if it’s too painful, but to my knowledge no one has been able to decode your father’s notes,” Margot began. She offered the parchment to Abigail, whose eyes had gone as wide as saucers. “You might be the only person in the world who can untangle what Master Wright was doing in his final moments.”

Abigail took the notes, her hands shaking. “I could lie. You don’t know I’m innocent.”

Margot shrugged. “If you do, someone will find out eventually. No code is uncrackable, not even your father’s. But if you truly want to prove your—and Desdemona’s—innocence, this might be the best way to do it.”

“It’s been so long…” Abigail said. She brushed back the tendrils of hair that had fallen out of her bun, and laughed disbelievingly. “It’s nearly illegible. Did you copy this?”

“Of course not,” Margot said defensively. “And I don’t think Mr. Cain has been properly trained.”

“Oh. That makes sense. The standard spell printed in most books was originally meant for secretaries copying in triplicate. If he didn’t modulate the power input he likely overloaded the spell. I, er, made the same mistake. More than once,” she added hastily, sensing Margot’s surprise.

“I didn’t know that,” Margot admitted.

“Most don’t understand how their spells are put together,” Abigail said. She turned her attention back to the pages. “There’s so much that’s missing.”

“I understand if you can’t, I just thought I’d try.”

“No, that’s not it. It’s just…”

Abigail’s voice trailed off as the door to the apartment swung open. Margot jumped a little and the sudden intrusion, and then tried to pretend that she hadn’t. Desdemona entered the room with Dash not far behind. She gave a sweeping appraisal, her eyes lingering on Abigail. Apparently Margot passed her test, for she nodded to herself once and flopped artfully into the nearest chair.

“Have you finished talking, Professor?”

Margot glanced at Abigail, who seemed fully absorbed, and nodded. “For now.”

“I’m glad to hear it. The good detective has convinced me to answer his questions, and I’d prefer not to have to talk about my father any longer than I have to.”

Margot looked at Dash while Abigail stared dumbfounded at her sister. Dash grinned and tried not to look too pleased with himself as he pulled out a stick of jerky.

“How did the good detective manage that?” Margot asked.

“What can I say? It’s a talent,” Dash said.

“He said he wouldn’t stop pestering me until he found out the truth, and nothing that’s happened tonight has managed to convince me that he’s mistaken,” Desdemona corrected, her voice deadpan. “I’ve already told him the abbreviated version of me and Abby’s story, and I’m sure you’ll fill him in on the rest. So ask away, Detective. I have nothing to hide.”

“First things first, how in the name of the Seven Deities did you get Mr. Westmacott to help you?” Dash asked.

“I asked him to,” Desdemona said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I noticed I was being followed shortly after I found Abigail. It was too much of a coincidence, and I knew my father had to be involved somehow. I remember you from back then, Mr. Cain. I half-feared you were going to kidnap me or something equally ridiculous.”

She said it jokingly, but her expression was deadly serious. “It wasn’t just you. Mr. Westmacott had a whole cadre of goons trailing me in shifts. I don’t know what story my father told him, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought I planned to burgle the Royal Treasury.”

“You did steal that silver,” Dash said.

“I knew if I walked away I wasn’t going to get my inheritance,” Desdemona said. “I took what was due me, for all the good it did me. It was gone within the week.”

“Gone?” Margot said.

“Stolen, to be precise,” Desdemona said. “It turns out that a rich girl taking a poverty tour tends to stick out like a sore thumb. In any case, by the time I found Abigail I knew my quarter of the city better than Westmacott’s men. I managed to shake one, and followed him back to his office. That’s how I knew who it was Father hired. From there it was a matter asking around trying to figure out what kind of man he was and if he could be persuaded to see sense.”

“It wasn’t me you shook, was it?” Dash asked, affronted.

“No, Mr. Cain, it wasn’t you.” Desdemona sighed. “Mr. Westmacott didn’t believe me at first, not that I blame him. So after our initial conversation he went to see Abby.”

Desdemona looked over at her sister and cleared her throat. Abigail, who had returned to Master Wright’s notes, startled to attention. “What?”

“I said Mr. Westmacott spoke to you at the asylum,” Desdemona prompted.

“Oh. Yes, yes he did.” She frowned. “He snuck in dressed as an employee. He seemed a bit…eccentric.”

“Yeah,” Dash said wistfully. “That sounds about right.”

“We spoke at length after I finally realized who he was,” Abigail said. “By the end he was perturbed.”

“Father had convinced him Abigail was insane,” Desdemona said. “For all I know Father thought she was insane. How could he know when he never—“ She cut herself off sharply, and took a moment to gather herself. “Whether deliberately or not, Father had misled Mr. Westmacott into thinking I was a danger to my sister when in reality it was the other way around.”

Dash squinted in confusion. “Mr. Westmacott’s had criminals try to hire him before, to throw him off the scent. That never stopped him from solving a case.”

Desdemona raised her hands in silent question, her smile as sharp as a knife and twice as deadly. “But Mr. Cain, what crime had been committed?”

Dash opened his mouth to answer, then paused. Rocking back on his heels he looked to Margot for an answer, but she could only shrug. Surely there was something against keeping someone institutionalized for no reason, but Abigail claimed she had never sent word to her father of her recovery and had no desire to be released back into her family’s care. Master Wright’s treatment of his family was horrid, but it would be difficult, if not impossible, to prove in a court of law that he had emotionally manhandled his daughter into assisting him with his research against her will. Even cutting off Felix from the family finances was justifiable—he had been nearly thirty years old when Desdemona ran away, with a learned trade to support himself. It was heartless, perhaps, but hardly criminal.

The closest thing Margot could think of was Abigail’s claims that Master Wright had stolen a student’s work while still at the University, but even that lay in the murky waters of hearsay and rumor.  

“Do you understand your employer’s dilemma, Mr. Cain?” Desdemona asked languidly as she inspected her nails. “I wanted Abigail out of that asylum and away from my father. If caught I would have been the one charged with abducting my own sister, ridiculous as that may seem. Abby’s wishes didn’t matter; she was being denied by law the right to make decisions for herself.”

“Rightfully so, in the beginning,” Abigail interrupted softly.

“Whether or not it was right in the beginning is irrelevant,” Desdemona snapped, her words falling in a cadence that suggested this was an old argument. “You were well. After two blasted years in that hellhole you were well. The fact that you couldn’t leave without Father’s permission is nothing short of barbaric. I knew that, Westmacott knew that, and I know good and well that you knew it too.”

Abigail didn’t seem to hear. Pushing away the remnants of Desdemona’s abandoned supper she spread Master Wright’s research across the table and with a finger began tracing equations, her lips moving silently. Pausing only to gauge Desdemona’s reaction, Margot offered her a fresh pen and a piece of scratch paper, both which were accepted gratefully.

Desdemona’s mouth pursed in an unhappy line, and Dash took advantage of the silence. “Mr. Westmacott always said there wasn’t a case he couldn’t solve.”

“Then Mr. Westmacott had the imagination of a dodo,” Desdemona said. “There was no solving this case. Greatest detective of the age, my foot. Mr. Westmacott liked solving puzzles, not helping people.”

“Hey now! He helped you,” Dash said.

“Because he felt guilty,” Desdemona said scathingly. “This wasn’t some high-profile murder or a country-wide counterfeiting ring. You couldn’t point your finger at a person and say ‘aha, I’ve got you now!’ and expect everyone to go home happy with things tied neatly in a bow. This was life, and when faced with it he didn’t know what to do.”

Dash’s hands balled up into fists. “He helped you get Abigail out of that asylum,” he insisted stubbornly.

“And then he ran away in shame,” Desdemona said. She lifted her chin in silent challenge. “I can’t pretend that we’re the only people he’s helped over the years, but there’s no denying that when faced with a mess Mr. Westmacott chose to keep his hands clean. He made it very clear that after he got Abby and I settled he was done, and we could expect no more help from him. We were left to fend for ourselves.”

Dash blinked in confusion, the hurt plainly evident on his face. “Mr. Westmacott abandoned you.”

It wasn’t a question, but Desdemona answered anyway. “He helped plan an escape which included him ‘witnessing’ Abby throw herself into the river. He arranged ahead of time for us to rendezvous with one of his contacts in the city, an orc by the name of Gudrid. Unfortunately there was a mishap during the escape and Abby ended up with a broken wrist and I got a nasty concussion. We had to hide in an abandoned warehouse and pray we weren’t found until I was well enough to travel. She was the one who found a healer for us and she was the one who set us up with employment and a place to live.” Her expression softened marginally.

“Until then I had bounced around without any steady income. I’ll never forget her kindness and patience. When one of her previous students came to the city she suggested that I travel with them.”

“Anansi,” Margot said.

“I refused, of course, and have been working at a playhouse ever since. With my education it wasn’t long before I became one of the managers, though I still enjoy working as a stage hand now and again.” She smiled wryly. “It’s not quite what I imagined my life would be like when I first ran away from home, but through the stories there I still get to see the world, after a fashion. Not that that stops Anansi from pestering me every time they’re in town, begging me to bring some semblance of order to the chaos they call their show.”

“Anansi wants you to travel with them?” Dash asked. “I know plenty of people who would kill for a chance like that.”

Desdemona’s eyes slid to her sister, who didn’t seem to be listening at all. “Anansi is like Westmacott; they think they can solve all the world’s problems with a wink and a well-told story. Life’s not that simple.”

“But you gave Anansi your sister’s poem,” Margot said.

“I’m not proud of it,” Desdemona said, “but I knew Anansi and my father both would be at that mage’s conference. Anansi doesn’t travel with a large retinue, so they hire a lot of temp work for their local shows. They asked me if I would be willing to help. I refused at first. I knew being in the same room as my father was a terrible idea. But the more I thought about it, the more I wanted him to experience a fraction of what he made his family suffer. I wanted revenge.”

For the first time something that was almost regret flashed in her eyes. “While Abby was out I broke into her apartment and copied down the poem I thought would work best. See, it had to be something Anansi could deny, something only my family would understand the meaning of. To be honest, I was surprised Anansi agreed to do it. I never told them my past and they had never met Abby. It’s safer if people don’t know I have a sister.”

Her smile went from wry to bitter, twisting her handsome features into something ugly. “Then again, Anansi always did have the habit of guessing more than they ought. It wasn’t until the night of the show that I had second thoughts. I told Abby what I had done, how I had broken her trust. We argued. It was the worst argument we’ve had since…since I tried to get her to come with me the first time. I was so upset I couldn’t help Anansi as I’d promised.”

Desdemona fell into troubled silence, and Abigail set her pen down on the table. Without looking up at either her sister or Margot or Dash she said, “I ran to the conference to put a stop to it, but it was too late. Anansi had already started. I waited backstage. I told people that I was Desdemona and was too ill to work. I must have looked terrible, because they believed me. I watched my father from backstage. I saw him come forward after the show, and I knew he wanted answers that Anansi didn’t have. I…cut him off.”

“You spoke to your father the day before he died?” Dash said.

"Not really. Over the years I’d fooled myself into imagining all the things I would say to my father if I ever had the chance to see him again. That I would be able to confront him with all the things he’d done. I dreamed all manner of clever arguments and pretended I could be brave enough to speak them.” Abigail shook her head, the lines in her face deepening. “Father thought I was Anansi tormenting him with the face of his dead daughter. He was angry, and I think a little frightened. But mostly...mostly he was just angry. I froze, and when it became clear I wasn’t going to respond he left. I think he wanted to avoid making more of a scene.”

“What did you do after that?” Margot asked.

“I ran. It had been a mistake to come and a mistake to think I could talk to my father, and the longer I stayed the greater the chance that someone would recognize that I wasn’t Desdemona or Anansi.” 

Desdemona drew a hand over her forehead. “After my father died Anansi told me my brother had hired a detective to take up the case. I knew I would fall under suspicion, and if anyone found out Abigail was still alive she would too. I’ll admit, Mr. Cain, seeing you at that conference was like seeing an old ghost that’d come back to haunt me.”

“Why were you there?” Margot said.

“I told you, I was helping Anansi,” Desdemona said. “They were one of the keynote speakers, along with Father. That meant more illusions and more shows.”

“And Abigail was working when the Teleportation device exploded,” Margot said.

“Yes. It’s the truth, I swear it.”

Dash’s eyebrows drew together, and he reached into his pocket. But instead of a jerky stick he pulled out a familiar envelope: The letter he had received from Mr. Westmacott. The piece of evidence that had started the entire case.    

“That’s all well and good, but if Mr. Westmacott told you not to bug him which one of you wrote this?” he demanded.

“I have no idea what that is, Mr. Cain,” Desdemona said.

But Margot was watching Abigail, and noticed what little color she had left her face.

“That wasn’t meant for you,” she croaked.

Desdemona looked from Dash to her sister. “Abby? What’s he talking about.” When Abigail didn’t answer she reached up and tore the letter from Dash’s grasp. It took only seconds for her to read, and a thunderous expression filled her face.

“Are you insane?!” Desdemona exclaimed. “Abigail, what in the world possessed you to write this? You know he wanted nothing to do with us. Why would you risk everything to an elitist prat who would have left you with a broken arm?!”

Abigail threw herself to her feet, her cheeks flushing scarlet. “Just because someone is wealthy and successful doesn’t make them a terrible person, Desdemona! Mr. Westmacott risked everything to help us, and after three years it was past time for me to give him my thanks. I don’t have to consult you before choosing to write someone.”

“You do when the person you’re writing could ruin us both. Gods, Abigail, I don’t think I will ever understand you.”

“Just as I will never understand what drove you to give Anansi that poem,” Abigail said coldly. She blinked back tears, a losing endeavor that resulted her to begin crying once more, and sat back down heavily.

“I know it was foolish of me, but it was something I felt like I needed to do.”

The pronouncement fell heavily between the two sisters, and there was a moment of awful, terrible silence. Desdemona looked at the letter hatefully, and for Margot thought she would tear it to shreds.

The anger soon gave way to helplessness, and Desdemona said wearily, “We were both foolish.” There was another beat of silence. “I’m sorry for calling you insane. I wasn’t thinking, and I shouldn’t have.”

Abigail accepted the apology with a curt nod. “And I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. I didn’t think it would matter after all this time.”

“If your father hadn’t died it wouldn’t have,” Dash said. He took the letter from Desdemona’s limp fingers and tucked it back in his pocket. “Thank you both for talking with us tonight. I’m probably the last face you ladies wanted to see.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Desdemona muttered.

“If there’s nothing else, the professor and I will take our leave. Is that okay with you, Prof?”

“One moment,” Margot said. She walked over to the table where Abigail had been working and asked, “Were you able to come up with anything? Anything at all?”

“It’s the formula for Teleporting ten kilograms of perfectly spherical graphite exactly twenty-five meters,” Abigail mumbled.

“You can tell all that by those scraps of paper?” Dash asked.

“It was a little more ambitious than I would have expected, but it’s what it says,” Abigail said. “The ideal proof of concept I always saw Father working towards was one kilogram, but perhaps he wanted something more impressive to show off for his big debut.”

“So how does this all work, anyhow?” Dash asked, tilting his head as if that would make sense out of the scribbles Abigail had written.

Abigail gave Desdemona a questioning glance, but her twin only crossed her arms. “Don’t look at me, I can’t make head or tail of it. If anyone’s going to explain it, it’s you.”

It’s difficult to explain to a layman,” Abigail began slowly, “but the difficult thing about Teleportation isn’t really the Teleportation, but the energy it takes to do so. Professor, do you have a magic you specialize in?”

“Elemental magic, with a focus on water,” Margot said.

“So, for example, when you use magic to thaw a block of ice, you don’t consciously have to remind yourself the heat capacity it takes to raise one gallon of water by one degree Celsius, do you?”

“Of course not,” Margot said.

“That’s because a great deal of magic is done subconsciously—a fact that irritated my father to no end because it’s what makes magic an art and not a science. I’m sure, Professor, when you were first beginning to learn you had to concentrate a great deal more on the mechanics of how you manipulated the elements?” Abigail said.

“Everyone does,” Margot said. “But with practice it becomes second nature. You just…know.”

“While that is true for most students of magic, it’s not true for an enchanted item,” Abigail said. She began to fidget with Margot’s enchanted pen. “Father’s Teleportation device can’t do what people are able to on instinct because it is inanimate. It can’t think on its own. That means that everything that goes on beneath the conscious mind when they Teleport has to be programmed into the device.

“The more complex the object being Teleported, the more complex the programming, and therefore the greater energy cost. The formula Father developed would, in theory, be able to take any object in the world regardless of complexity and Teleport it across a grid of interconnected rings, as was shown at the mage’s conference. Organic life is carbon-based, hence the graphite, and a sphere is symmetrical so even if it happens to come out the other side inverted no one would be able to tell. Ten kilograms would require a large amount of energy for the smaller prototype ring, but I suppose it would show the capacity of the lithium as a power source.” Abigail shrugged. “If it had worked I don’t doubt that investors would have been interested in testing the potential of more complex inorganic, and later organic matter. It’s a technology that would take years, perhaps even decades to perfect, but it would have had its genesis in my father, and that’s what he wanted. More than anything else in the world.”

She slid her work along with Master Wright’s research back at Margot. She looked utterly spent by the evening’s events, and after Margot returned the sheets to her notebook rose from her seat, sparing a glance at Desdemona. Her hands were trembling, but from what Margot couldn’t tell.

“I’m going home now,” she said quietly. “I can’t handle any more today.”

Desdemona nodded, worrying her bottom lip while her sister gathered her cloak. “It’s late. You could stay here tonight if you need to.”

“The dark doesn’t bother me.” Abigail pulled her hood over her head. “Goodnight, Dessy. I’m sorry. For everything.”

Before she could leave Desdemona pulled her into a tight hug. Margot looked away, feeling like she was intruding on a deeply personal moment between the sisters. If this was what being a detective felt like, she didn’t like it, and didn’t know how Dash could stand it day in and day out.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Desdemona said, almost making it sound like a threat. Abigail nodded and managed a ghost of a smile. It vanished when she turned and saw Dash and Margot.

“I hope you find out who did it,” she said. “Either someone interfered with Father’s formula or they somehow tampered with the rig itself. I can’t see how anyone would have managed either, but they would have had to know what they were doing to get past the safeguards and fool Father.”

“You can stop implicating yourself any time, Abigail,” Desdemona said, her tone impertinent.

This time her smile, while still tired, was more genuine. “Goodnight, Dessy.”

“’Night,” Desdemona replied, but by the time the word was out of her mouth her sister was already gone.

Dash and Margot were silent until they reached the waterfront playhouse where they now knew Desdemona worked. They had found what they were looking for, but hadn’t liked what they found. Not one bit.

By unspoken agreement they stopped under the lantern where Margot had woven her tracking spell. Dash shoved his hands in his pockets, the brim of his hat hanging low over his head. Margot recognized the look of bitter disappointment all too well.

“I remember Master Wu said that understanding people was like looking under a rock,” Margot said, her voice distant as she recalled the memory. “You find dirt and bugs and rot and all manner of things that you wish you wouldn’t have, but until you lift the rock you don’t really know them at all.”

“I can’t believe Mr. Westmacott just left ‘em to fend for themselves,” Dash admitted. “I mean, even if Wright senior thought Abigail was dead he probably could have caused Desdemona a fair amount of trouble if he wanted. I guess I thought Mr. Westmacott was a better sort of man than that.”

“As they say, it’s best not to meet your heroes,” Margot said, trying not to dwell too long on how utterly disillusioned Master Wright’s actions had left her.

“Sheesh, no kidding.” With methodical slowness he reached for a jerky stick and began chewing. “Maybe Desdemona was right. Maybe he was more concerned with being clever than helping people.”

“Desdemona is hardly has an unbiased opinion,” Margot pointed out. “You knew him better than she did. What do you think?”

“That’s just it, Prof, I don’t know. Got a lot to think about.” He polished off the rest of his jerky and sighed heavily. “What a mess.”

“A mess we both jumped into voluntarily,” Margot said. “You’re not getting cold feet again, are you?”

“’Course not. I couldn’t let my client down like that.”

Margot smiled. “Then what’s next, Detective? We have a lot more information than we did before, but I’m not sure if it’s true or what it means if it is.”

“I think it’d be helpful if we knew what made the thing blow up, Wright’s formula or the rig,” Dash said. “Maybe it’s time should pay my contact with the coppers another visit and see how the official investigation is coming along. You wanna come along and translate magical jargin for me?”

“Sure. And maybe I can find some spare change for Tobe and have him look into Abigail’s workplace.”

“Sounds like a plan, Prof.” He forced a bracing smile, but Dash looked about as worn out as Margot felt. She patted him on the arm reassuringly.

“We did good work today. Now let’s get some sleep so we can do it again tomorrow, and maybe we’ll find out what we need to clean up this mess once and for all.”

“I’d like that,” Dash said. “I’d like that a lot.”

The pair offered their final goodbyes for the night and headed their separate ways, but no matter what Margot said it was to be another long and restless night.

#The Murder of Arthur Wright #daughter of the lilies #daughter of the lilies fanfiction #dotl fanfiction

[sockablock]

Here’s Chapter 4 of my Critical Role backstory fic, this time featuring Beauregard! It’s the longest one so far; I had a lot to write about the Disaster Lesbian™ (check out Fjord, Caleb, and Jester too!)

Word Count: 4686

From Where We Came: Chapter 4, Beauregard

Beauregard is born in the early morning hours of the 18th of Brussendar, in the height of summer, to parents glowing with immense pride. Beauregard is hastily handed off to her nurse in the early morning hours of the 18th of Brussendar, in the height of summer, by parents who don’t even do their new daughter the kindness of hiding their disdain and disappointment. She is whisked away, down the hall, to a different room furnished in soft blues and filled with little wooden toys and plush animals. She is placed into a wooden crib. The nurse leaves. In the lonely quiet, the newborn girl begins to cry.

“No, Beau, dearest, stop fussing with your dress,” her mother scolds quietly. “This is a very important tour, and you mustn’t behave this way. It would look absolutely terrible for your father if you caused a scene.”

“But, Mama,” Beau protests, “I hate wearing this dress. The lacy parts are itchy and the sleeves are too long.”

 Her mother pats her on the head. “Don’t worry, darling, we’ll get you another one made.”

 Beau pouts. “Mama, I don’t want another dress. I don’t want to wear a dress.”

 Her mother tuts quietly. “Don’t be silly, dear. Look, Mummy is wearing a dress, isn’t she? Don’t I look pretty? You look so pretty too.”

 Beau considers her mother. Then her eyes wander a few yards away, where her father is proudly showing off the brewery’s newest oak barrels to group of tall, very important-looking men. They are dressed in long coats, with their trousers tucked into sturdy, but well-made and needlessly fashionable boots.

“Why can’t I wear what Papa is wearing?” Beau asks. “He’s not got a dress on, so why do I have to wear one?”

 Her mother laughs. It’s a soft, twinkling sound, like a little bell. Beau knows this laugh. It’s the we’ve-got-company-and-my-child-is-talking-too-much laugh. Beau knows this laugh well.

 “You can’t wear trousers,” her mother says, “you’re a girl. You could if you were a boy, but you’re not, are you?”

 Beau knows the answer to that question. “No, Mama,” she says.

  Darien is a boy, and one of the most exciting people Beau knows. He’s eleven, two years older than she is. He’s the son of another winery owner, as renowned and as wealthy as Beau’s parents. The edges of their lands weave together easily enough, and he frequently slips away from his duties to go hang out with the rowdy girl next door. Together, they pester the workers and write cuss words in the dirt paths and chase each other through endless rows of gleaming purple grapes. During peak harvest season, one of their favorite things to do is steal the fattest grapes off the vines and meet in the woods between the properties to compare their loot. They sit together in one of the tallest trees and munch on grapes and talk of benign, childish things.

 “I could beat you up,” Beau says between mouthfuls.

 Darien considers the muddy hem of her dress, her rolled-up sleeves, the leaves in her hair. “Yeah,” he says, “You probably could.”

 “Probably could?” Beau raises an eyebrow.

 “Definitely could,” he admits. “But I’m not that strong.”

 From six feet up in the branches, Beau leans against the tree trunk. “That’s ok,” she says in a rare bit of open friendliness, “you’re good at other stuff. Like climbing trees and stealing things from your dad.”

 Darien shoots her a grin. “You won’t believe this,” he says, “but I picked a lock yesterday!”

 Beau’s eyes go wide. “No!” She exclaims. “Really? How did you do it?”

 His grin broadens. “I can show you when we finish these grapes!” He lowers his voice conspiratorially, even though there’s nobody around for ages here. “I lifted a set of thieves’ tools from one of the sheds,” he says, “and I’m not really sure why they were there, but it was probably fine because nobody goes in there ever anyways. And I was messing around in there but then I knocked some stuff over on the top shelves and it hit the door and then the door locked and then I was like oh, Pelor, I’m gonna die, but then I just shoved some of the hooks from the set into the lock and then it opened!” Darien takes a deep breath to refill his lungs. “And now I’m an expert rogue,” he concludes.

The pair stand in front of the door. “It’s not locked,” says Beau. “It was just rusty. I think you probably just messed with the inside hard enough to unstick it.”

 Darien gives her a reproachful look. “That’s basically lockpicking,” he says.

 “Nuh-uh,” Beau says.

 “Uh-huh,” he replies with scathing wit.

 “Nuh-uh,” Beau retorts eloquently.

 “Uh-huh. It wouldn’t open before, and now it does.”

 Beau considers this point. “Alright,” she says eventually, “I’ll give you that one. But it’s not lockpicking like real thief would lockpick.”

 Darien points a finger under her nose. “Then just you wait!” he declares. “I’ll learn how to be a real thief and then you can’t tell me what’s what anymore.”

 Beau grins. “Oh yeah? What if I do it first?” And she cuffs him over the head and scampers off, shouting about how real thieves could move quick as the wind. Darien gives chase, whooping loudly behind her.

Beauregard stares out the window, and chews on the end of her quill. The clouds look quite fascinating today, and the fact that she even had that thought must be a testament to how godsdamn bored she is. Father and Mother are making her check the books again, and even though her tutors have praised her mathematical skills (“When she applies herself she really is quite good,” the one with the annoying mustache had said.), Beau really can’t be bothered to even try and be interested in numbers. Even though her parents have hinted numerous times that she should be stepping up and helping out more with the business, Beau doesn’t want to. It’s boring. She’d rather run around outside or pick grapes or do almost literally anything else.

 She sighs and glances down at the page. Only a few rows left.

“You spoke out of line again, Beauregard! That tour was incredibly important, and your comments disrupted my guests and made me look like a fool!”

 “I’m sorry, father, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again.”

 “If you do, you know what the punishments are.”

 She does.

So when Beau accidentally lets slip to her parents that her clothes are always filthy because she spends all her free time traipsing through the woods with the neighbor’s son, she expects the worst. There are grave punishments for doing boy things. For being disruptive. For being ungrateful and ruining the lovely things we give her and being a bad, bad girl.

 What she doesn’t expect is for Mother to scoop her up in a big hug and cry tears of joy. What she doesn’t expect is the flicker of impressed surprise that flits across her father’s usually stoic face.

 “Oh, my darling, this is wonderful news!” Her mother gushes. “And you’re sure this is young Darien? You’re sure he likes to spend time with you?”

 Beau makes a face that neither of her parents notice. “Mama, of course I’m sure it’s Darien. And, uh, yeah.”

 “Oh, this will be absolutely fantastic for your father. Won’t it, dear?” She asks with a glance at her husband.

 He gives the slightest nod. “How old are you, Beauregard?”

 Beau looks down at the ground. “Twelve, Papa.”

 “You are rather young,” he muses, “but this opportunity…”

 Beau’s mother nods enthusiastically.

 Her father nods again, this time more firmly. Then his frown returns and he says, firmly, “But pleased as I am with this match, you two cannot keep spending time the way you currently are. No more of this running through the forests and getting into trouble. You are a young woman, and should compose yourself as such.”

 Beau can feel the weight of his gaze. She doesn’t like it.

“I can’t believe our parents are making us do this,” Darien groans. We’ve never had to be fancy around each other before.”

 Beau grumbles, misery dripping off her slumped shoulders. “This sucks ass,” she says. Swear words are still rather new to her, but she has a good feeling about them. She makes a mental note to ask the servants for some more.

 Meanwhile, Darien risks a glance over at where his mother and father are talking with Beau’s at the other end of the garden. They’re seated around a polished wooden tea-table and passing each other the weird little sandwiches that grownups like to eat. Between bites, they discuss (probably) the best way to ruin their kids’ lives. A maid hovering behind them, striking empty cups with the teapot like an eagle diving for heron. To the side a butler stands, staring at pink lilies, artfully pretending not to be waiting for commands while also waiting around for commands. Birds chirp in the flowering trees above them. A few bees hum softly in the background.

 Darien turns back to Beau, whose scowl has somehow gotten even deeper. “Hey,” he says, “do you think they’re doing this ‘cause they want us to…you know? Get married and stuff?”

 Beau sighs and gives a shrug. “That’s what they were talking about yesterday.”

 Their eyes meet, and they consider one another for a moment.  

 “No,” they say simultaneously.

 They both nod in acknowledgement of a good decision and slide further down on the bench. Beau’s dress, a horrific, daffodil-colored poofy nightmare, prevents her from achieving optimal slouch. Darien fidgets with his coat. They are basically in hell.

 Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Beau hops to her feet. “Okay, I’m done now. Let’s go.”

 A slow grin spreads across Darien’s face. “The birch tree by the river?”

 They wait for just the right moment. And while the parents are preoccupied with one another and the maid is busy fielding refills and the butler is distracted by a particularly unruly-looking begonia, they slip away, adults none the wiser.

Beauregard stares out her window. Her cheeks are sticky from dry tears, and the sniffling hasn’t quite stopped yet. Her face is still a bit puffy, and her eyes are bloodshot. But the worst relic from the last half-hour are the words, which she are trying desperately to bury so far into her subconscious that nothing would ever be able to bring them out again.  

 Horrible, useless child, how could you be so ungrateful—This was an incredible opportunity and your selfishness has ruined it—His parents were appalled at your behavior—How could you just run away like that and wreck everything—We raised you better—

 —Oh, for Pelor’s sake, stop crying, you’re nothing but an embarrassment. Get out of here, Beauregard. Get out and stay in your room while your Father and I try to fix the damage you’ve caused.

 Beau hits her forehead against the glass.

“Father is sending me away,” says Darien from outside the open library window. “I snuck over here so I could tell you, but I have to go back before he notices. He’s kind of still super pissed about our disappearing act.”

 “Yeah,” Beau mutters. “My parents are too. Who would’ve thought, huh?”

 Darien smirks. “The sticks up their asses are pretty lodged in there.”

 There is a brief silence. Then, “Where to?”

 “It’s an academy in Rexxentrum, if you can believe it. Apparently lots of young nobles and wealthy hoity toity assholes go there to learn…whatever it is they learn.”

 “How long?”

 “I don’t know. Father says it’s until I can ‘behave properly enough to live up to my duties,’ which I think is a load of shit.”

 “How long do you think that’ll take you?”

 “…I’m not sure. But I think he wants me to be there for like…a long time. A really long time.”

 “Will you come back?”

 The answer is instantaneous. “Yes,” Darien says. “I’m his heir. He said so himself.”

 “Alright then,” Beau closes the ledger she was working in. “I’ll probably be here when that happens. It’s not like my parents are going to do anything with me.”

 Darien leans through the window and reaches around Beau’s shoulders rather clumsily. “You’re my best friend,” he says.

 “You’re my brother, dumbass.” Darien doesn’t argue. And the next day, he is gone.

“Papa,” Beau asks tentatively at dinner, “am I your heir?”

 He continues to skim the documents in his hands. “No,” he says.

Beau continues to work the books for the brewery. It seems like the times she quietly retreats to the library to manage ledgers are the only times her parents don’t make their displeasure with her quite as overt.

 At least you’re good for something, goes unsaid.

 She also keeps up with her studies, though she really would rather not. History is about boring dead guys fighting in stupid wars because they do stupid things. Geography doesn’t matter; it’s not like you can do anything about it if you don’t like it, and it’s not like you need to keep an eye on it in case it runs away. She finds marginal interest in the stories of the gods from religious studies, but could do without the constant, underlying our gods are superior and nonbelievers are scum. Math has always just been math, and she couldn’t care less about the politics of the Empire.

 The only things she really enjoys reading are the tales of adventure she finds in the dustier sections of the library. She steals them from the shelves and hoards them in her room. At night, she’ll pull them out and reread her favorite parts by candlelight. She absolutely loves The Mountain Range of Gold, and almost cheered out loud when the protagonist resurfaced in Part 2. She delights in gratuitous descriptions of kick-ass fight scenes, and sometimes tries to reenact them with that a particularly kind onlooker might call “enthusiasm.”  

 There are also many, many romance scenes. Beau is unprepared for the sheet amount of…canoodling that some of these adventurers get up to. She’s rather annoyed by the unfortunate tendency of the broad-shouldered, handsome male characters (heroes) to sweep the beautiful, helpless female characters (love interests) off their feet. Beau could do without ever reading about a Sir Diggory and his seemingly endless muscles again. Usually she’s also disgusted by the way the women are portrayed, as gorgeous damsels with hearts of gold and not enough clothing and apparently very soft skin.

 Though sometimes, a small part of her is absolutely delighted. Beau isn’t sure what to make of that yet. Yet.

When she isn’t raiding the libraries or being forced to learn things, Beau continues to run through in the vineyard and the nearby forests. Doing so does feel a bit empty without Darien around, and the loneliness would never go away, but the sharp edges of solitude had smoothed down into soft corners over time. Besides, Beau has to do something, and stir craziness does not sit well with her. 

 So rather than mope around all day in the manor, which is probably what her parents would want, Beau climbs trees and wades through streams and throws pebbles (unmaliciously) at squirrels. She also has the clothing for it now. A while back, in a stroke of genius, she asked the one of the more slightly-built workers for a pair of trousers, a linen shirt, and a hefty pair of worker’s boots. Despite her worst fears of being reported to her mother, the boy didn’t seem to mind. And after a while of hanging around their quarters and volunteering to do chores and refusing to bugger off, the servants move from tolerating her presence to inviting her for drinks (non-alcoholic) and stories. She hears about daring adventurers from ages past, brilliant and bloody battles, and learns quite about the various criminal elements of the empire. One day, an older worker teaches her how to really pick a lock, which comes in handy on the nights she stays out too late and has to break into her own home. They help her touch up her disguise, which allows her to hang around outdoors when her parents expect her to be in the house doing ladylike things. They let her hide her outfit with their belongings, and even occasionally pass along other hand-me-downs to her.

 She has never been so free.

“You’ve gotten rather fit, haven’t you, Beauregard?” asks the dressmaker as she measures Beau for another terrible ensemble. “Just look at you!”

 Beau considers herself in the mirror. “I suppose so?”

 “I can’t imagine how,” says the dressmaker, “with you being home and learning to be a proper lady all the time.” The comment is pointed. It indicates that at any point Beau’s mother can be brought into the room and also shown how rather fit Beau has gotten.

 Beau sighs. “I promise I’ll stop squirming,” she says.

 “Don’t worry, dear, it’s refreshing. Too many young ladies these days look like a light breeze would blow them over.”

Beau can now successfully hang upside-down on a tree branch by her knees. She considers this one of the greatest achievements of her young life.

“Her tutors are quite impressed by her abilities,” her mother says to the guests in the drawing room. “Aren’t they, dear?”

 “Yes, Mother,” says Beau. Her hands are folded in her lap. This dress is blue, at least, but that only helps so much.

 The other ladies are speaking. They sound like birds tittering ceaselessly outside a bedroom window in the early morning.

 “Not too impressed, I would hope?” says one, louder than the rest. Beau doesn’t like her. She’s got hair that’s obviously going grey, though the woman tries to hide it under an ostentatious hat. There’s also a mole growing on the edge of her nose. It’s got more personality than she does.

 “A husband wouldn’t want his lady to be too clever, after all,” says the terrible woman. “Can’t have her getting too controlling of his household.”

 Beau’s mother laughs. It’s another tinkling laugh, the I’m-richer-than-you-and-we-both-know-it-so-don’t-you-dare-lecture-me laugh. “Of course, Deannie, she’s properly educated. She just excels at what she’s taught. Why, she was almost betrothed to young Darien. It’s just that his father decided the boy should be sent to school before committing to anything.”

 The women sip their tea in a manner that indicates how impressed they are. Beau wants to pick up the tea cart and use it to smash the window open.

Beau receives another letter from Darien. She crumples it up shortly after reading it. Then, immediately filled with regret, she picks it up and tries to smooth it out best as she can. Her fingers trace over the words.

 Beau,

 I’m sorry to say this but I won’t be coming back. Father is having me stay in Rexxentrum to be the face of his company in the capital. I know I promised I’d see you again, but there’s nothing I can do. Believe me, I tried to fight him about this. But he said that with him in Kamordah already, there’s no need for me to be at home. He wants me to be a businessman. You and I both know he won’t change his mind. You’re my sister, Beau, and I’m so sorry—

 She puts the letter in a drawer and goes to bed.  

There’s a new maid at the manor.

 Her name is Mariel. She has dark, curly hair and freckles across her nose. She moves like a storm through the Quarters, cussing loudly and joking cheerfully, and old Reddick tells Beau she’s from one of the rowdier coastal cities. She’s seventeen, and Beau is thrilled to finally meet a girl her own age. But Mariel makes Beau nervous, and she isn’t sure why. Maybe it’s her unrestrained spirit. Maybe it’s her wide smile and mischievous eyes.

 Maybe it’s the loud, echoing laugh that dances through the halls when she watches Beau—who had scaled the manor to the third-floor and tripped over the windowsill as she tried to sneak in—spill onto the floor and land on her ass.

 “Ow.” Beau rubs her head. She looks up at Mariel. “I’m not a thief,” she says.

 Mariel snickers, and Beau is struck by complete lack of decorum in the action. “Yeah, a real thief wouldn’t have fallen like that.”

 Beau scowls. “I mean I’m not a thief ‘cause I live here.”

 Mariel leans against her broom. “Yeah, right. Mister, you’re wearing worker’s clothes two sizes too big for you, and you’ve got dirt all across your face. And haven’t I seen you around the Quarters before? I could have sworn you were playing cards with Reddick yesterday.”

 Beau freezes, and swears inwardly. Of course, someone new would think she was one of the servants breaking into the Boss’s house for some gold. Over the years, the help had welcomed the muddy-faced and loud young lady of the house into their fold, and largely ignored her antics. She had gotten so used to making a fool of herself and breaking rules in front of everybody except her parents that she’d forgotten how unacceptable her behavior really is. She sighs, and figures there’s no good way out of this situation.

 The truth, then.

 She pulls her hair out of its messy bun and does her best to wipe the dirt (fresh from the forest) off of her face. She tugs at the sides of her pants, trying to flare them out like a dress. “I’m Beauregard,” she says. “Please don’t tell my parents?”

 The broom falls over, and Mariel almost does too. She hastily picks it up and tries to curtsy with a four-foot wooden stick in her hands, which only makes her almost drop the broom again. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” she says, and when she rises her face goes red, “wait, fuck, I mean…oh shoot, dammit. I’m sorry, milady.”

 Beau tries to suppress the smirk threatening to split her face. “Nobody warned you that I do this sometimes?”

 Mariel swears under her breath and curtsies again. “No, ma’am.”

 Beau fails, and when Mariel resurfaces from the curtsy, she is met with an absolutely shit-eating grin from Beau. “I kind of hang around the Quarters and run around in the woods a lot. I think everyone thinks it’s funny, and I always loose a lot of money when we play cards, so nobody really cares. Except my parents. Who can’t know,” she adds.

 Mariel stares at Beau, and bursts into laughter again. After a while, she wipes the tears from the corners of her eyes. “Wow, when I heard that the daughter of the house was a troublemaker, I thought they meant you were shitty to the servants or something. I didn’t think they meant you dressed up in boy’s clothes and lost at cards to us.”

 Beau rubs the back of her neck sheepishly. “Well—”

 Footsteps echo down the hall. Then, “I’m sorry, Madam, but I really don’t think it was a servant.”

 There’s a scoff. “It had better not be. Honestly, I pay you all well enough to keep quiet and keep out of trouble. If I found out it’s a servant making noise this late at night I’m docking all of your pay.”

 It’s her mother. Beau freezes.

 Mariel quickly looks around. Then she grabs Beau by the wrist and yanks her down the hallway and into an empty guest bedroom. She carefully clicks the lock shut, then squeezes Beau and herself against a wardrobe just beyond the doorframe so their shadows don’t peek under the door.

 Footsteps go past, along with an angry tirade by Beau’s mother.

 They breathe a sigh of relief. Then Beau notices how the other girl has both her arms around her to keep her still, how she’s still holding her wrist and how well her body fits into Beau’s. How soft her hair is, and the way her chest rises when she—

 “See something interesting, Milady?” whispers Mariel. Beau’s face colors. Her head snaps upwards and their eyes meet.  

“You’re eighteen. And though our previous efforts failed thanks to your actions, new arrangements can always be made. It’s high time we planned for the future of this business, and it’s not as if you’re completely undesirable. Marcus would be a nice match, I should think.”

 Beau carefully helps Mariel into the branches, then swings herself up the trunk and lands next to the her.

 “Nice of Syra to cover for you today,” she says.

 “Personally, I think Syra is on to us, and I think she’s doing her best to keep us together.”

 Beau pulls out a book. “Perfect! That means we can keep going. Now, where were we?” she asks.

 Mariel grins. “I think Sir Diggory was just about to compliment Lucianne’s tits in a much-too flowery manner.”

 Beau snickers. “Oh, you’ll love this part.”  

She leans against the pillow, breathing heavily. “Mariel?” She says.

 “Yes, Beau?”

 There’s a pause.

 “I think I love you.”

They let their guard down. It’s a mistake.

“Your father and I have decided to send you to Zadash,” says Beau’s mother. “You’ve left us in a very…difficult position, and it was extremely hard for us to find a place for you. But Archivist Xenoth has agreed to teach you, and we think learning from the monks will be a positive influence on you.”

 “Why?” asks Beau. “Because monks do what they’re told and don’t have sex?”

 Her mother’s face turns a scandalized crimson, and her fists clench. “Beauregard, you have caused enough trouble for this family. You’ve always behaved extremely poorly, and you’ve never listened to your father and I when we know what’s best for you. You destroyed your own chances at a future with Darien, and got him sent away by his parents. You continue to mess about with the servants when you should be mingling with the rest of dignified society. And now you allow yourself to get tangled with this common girl, and—”

 “Don’t you talk about her like that,” Beau says through clenched teeth.

 “—and you get caught and you’ve scandalized the entire family—”

 “Nobody needs to know! And why does it matter, anyway? Why does it matter what I do?”

 “—you have duties to carry on this legacy your father has worked so hard to create for you—”

 “I didn’t ask for it! I didn’t want any stupid legacy! This would be fine if I were a boy!”

 “—shut up! You are not a boy, as both of us are well aware, and if you were one then everything would be so much easier for us! But you’re a girl, even if you seem incapable of acting like one, and we cannot have you soiling this family by continuing to stay here and being the way you are. If you aren’t going to do what we wanted you to all along, you’re going to go to the Cobalt Reserve and you’re going to become a monk, and maybe you’ll learn some respect and come home, or maybe you’ll just stay there and keep studying. But whatever happens, you’re going to become respectable, and you’re not going to ruin our name. Is that clear?”

 Beau is biting her lip. There are tears running down her face. Her mother is shaking with anger.

 “Is that clear?”

 “Yes.”

It could have been worse, Beau thinks. At least they gave her some neat robes. At least they let her swear. At least they taught her how to fight. And she was really good at that last bit. But all this crap about “preparing her mind” and “preparing her soul” and “being the truth” learning about patience and sorting shelves and reading books is…is all crap. Beau doesn’t give a fuck. And so when she packs a bag and slips on her uniform and cracks open the window and slides onto the balcony, she moves quietly. And she doesn’t look back.

#critical role #fic #cr2 #fanfiction #fanfic #beauregard #the mighty nein #party backstory #theory #wildemount campaign #marisha ray #text

[vigilantdistressed-pretendwriter]

School!AU - Part 4 (Final Part)

A/N: This is the final part in this mini-series. I’m sorry its taken so long to post. I’ve been a bit scared to post this as I don’t feel it is as good as the rest of the story. The ending is a bit odd to me but I don’t know how else to write it without it being even worse than what it currently is. Also. Thank you to all those who just recently started following me and those who have noticed the start of this series. It really means a lot to me. It isn’t much compared to other blogs but to me, it means the world. All those who asked to be tagged will be at the bottom. If you want to be added to a general tag list, please let me know. I’m not a mind reader. If anyone is interested in sharing this series with friends or other fans, I will be making a master post for all my stories soon and I will tag anyone who wants to be tagged on that as well.

Word count: 2319

Warnings: This part has a lot of time jumps. A lot of death mention. Sadness. Loss. (If I’ve missed any, please let me know.)

MasterPost

“Fine. Take him. You’ll find in a few weeks that you won’t want him.”

Those words haunted Roman for months. He was worried that Patton might decide that he didn’t want Roman after all. Who would want a troubled teenager? But Patton never wanted to lose Roman. 

Every Saturday was Movie day. They would build a fort in the lounge and watch Disney movies every Saturday. Then Sundays would be a work day. They would clean the house in the mornings then Roman would do homework in the afternoons while Patton searched for a job. Then once Patton found a Job, He had school hours and Sunday afternoon at work. It fit them perfectly. Then Virgil joined them. Turns out, Patton and Virgil had been crushing on each other for a while and Patton had spoken to Virgil about his feeling one afternoon and Virgil admitted that he felt the same way. They were happy. But Roman was still haunted by his past. He tried to never mess up. He tried so hard to be perfect. He knew Patton and Virgil would never hurt him but he couldn’t help it.

It was noticeable that Roman was getting better. He participated in school. He didn't stay after school as much. (He stayed when Virgil had a meeting or some work to do at the school.) He had started wearing short sleeved tops. It was so different from the Roman that Patton had first met. But Patton loved Roman no matter who he was. Patton was proud of Roman. Roman was strong when Patton would’ve crumpled. Roman was brave when Patton would’ve hidden. Patton was proud of Roman.

Virgil proposed to Patton while the family was away on holiday 4 years later. Patton had immediately accepted. Roman had seen the whole thing. He was happy for his dads but was worried about what would happen. 

He had seen old pictures of his real parents. They were so happy before they got married. Then they started living together and got married. they had changed. you could see it in their photos. He didn’t want his new family to be like that. Although he was eighteen and it had been four years, it still scared him. He still woke during the night, crying from phantom pains where he had been hit. He still had nights where, no matter what, he couldn’t sleep for fear that something would hurt him in his sleep. No matter how much time passed and no matter how safe he felt he was still scared. Snuggle parties usually helped and Patton was always happy to snuggle with Roman. But those nights, up late in his room, looking through his old things. He would cry. He was a silent crier but Virgil always knew when Roman was upset. Virgil would go into Romans room and hold him, whispering reassuring words into his ear. At nineteen, Roman moved away from home to go to college. He seemed to be doing a lot better at that time but Patton and Virgil still worried that he could relapse and he wouldn't tell them. They knew Roman didn't always want to tell them when he was having a bad day as he had grown up now and didn't need hugs as much. But he always craved hugs from his dads. 

College was scary for Roman. Everyone seemed to know each other. Roman didn’t know anyone. He found out his Roommate had dropped out a few days before he got there. that left him in a room alone. He hated being alone. Whenever Roman left his dorm room, he had headphones on so no one would talk to him. But there was something about his mathematics teacher that seemed familiar. Mr Sanders. It was one afternoon a couple months after that start of school when he finally figured it out.

“Roman. Could you stay behind after class please.” He had called out one lesson. Roman was working himself up all class. Was he in trouble? was he failing the class? had something happened to his dads? He was just getting more and more worried during the class. Soon enough, the class ended and Roman stayed in his seat as everyone else left. Roman slowly made his way to the front of the class.

“It’s nice to see you again, Roman. I suppose Patton managed to steal you from those people?”

The confusion must have been obvious on his face as the teacher then explained himself.

“I am Mr Sanders or Mr L from your last school.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry sir. I didn’t recognise you. I haven’t seen you in years.” Roman clicked.

“It’s quite alright, Roman. I didn’t expect you to remember me. I left a few years ago.”

“Yea. Oh. And Patton did manage to steal me. Along with Virgil. Or dad and pa.” Roman informed.

“Oh. They finally realised they both felt the same way. That’s good. Their relationship doesn’t bother you at all does it, Roman?”

“No, Sir. Anyway. I’ve been falling behind in some of my classes. I must go back to my room and study. Nice seeing you again, Sir.” Roman said before walking out the door.

When he got back to his dorm, he messaged Patton, as he did every afternoon after classes. 

***

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of Patton Sanders. A beloved father, husband, son and friend to many.”

Roman couldn’t hear anything else that was being said. He gripped onto his boyfriend’s arm tightly and cried silently into his shoulder. Roman knew he would have to say goodbye to his dad one day but he wasn’t ready. He hadn’t gotten married yet. They still had to watch the new Disney movies together on Saturdays. He couldn’t be gone.

Roman cried harder and his boyfriend, Thomas, wrapped his arms around him.

“It’s okay, Babe. Just breathe. I’m here for you.” Thomas whispered little comments in his ear and it calmed Roman a little bit.

Roman had chosen not to say anything at the funeral as he knew he wouldn’t be able to but he had written a speech. Thomas had offered to read it for Roman and, after much debating with himself, Roman agreed. Thomas moved to get up and Roman, not wanting to let go, went up with him.

Thomas read the speech on Roman’s behalf while Roman stood there, still crying. When they left the stage, Roman didn’t go back to his seat. He walked out the side door. Thomas made a move to follow but Virgil held him back.

“Just let him have a few minutes alone. He needs it. Trust me.” Virgil whispered. 

Five minutes passed. Then Ten. Then Thirty. Roman still hadn’t come back in. The ceremony was coming to a close. Logan, who was sitting near the young boys, got up, ignored Virgil’s urgent whispering, and went into the side room to see Roman as a complete wreck. He was crying, his hands were bloody as if he had been punching the stone walls. Roman was now just a lump on the floor. He shook with silent sobs. Logan neared the boy and placed a gentle hand on his back. Roman looked up at Logan. 

“You don’t have to say anything. I understand how you are feeling, Roman. The ceremony is almost over so you will have to leave this room soon.  Would you like me to stay with you?” Logan had lowered his teacher wall and treated Roman as more than a student now. All Roman could do was nod at his former teacher. Logan wrapped Roman in his arms and held the crying boy, finally letting his own tears out too. 

Logan was listening to what was going on in the main church area so he knew when to go back out. Hearing the final words of the ceremony, he got up. Roman had stopped crying by now. It looked almost as if he had stopped trying to feel anything. 

“The ceremony is over now, Roman. We have to go back out. Are you ready?”

“Yea. I guess.” Roman said.

Logan led Roman back into the church and over to Thomas. Thomas held Roman close as he thanked Logan.

“Thank you.” was all Thomas could say. Thomas gently led Roman out of the church with Virgil in tow.

“Virgil. I apologise for ignoring your calls but he was hurting in there. He needed someone there.”

“it’s alright. I was just worried that something would go wrong. Like he would attack you or something." 

Logan offered a small smile to Virgil to which Virgil couldn’t give back. 

"It’s ok to break, Virgil. You don’t have to hide your tears because of Roman. I can look after the boys if you need some time alone?” Logan offered.

“I need them. I’m sorry Logan but I need them. Without them, I might just go insane.” Virgil responded.

“Okay. Well. You know I’m here, always. I’ll help in whatever way I can.” Those words coming from Logan meant so much more than those words coming from anyone else right now.

“Thank you,” Virgil said before walking off after the young boys.

Roman was sitting on his bed, not moving. Thomas had gone out for work a couple hours before and had left Roman home alone. It had been a few years and Roman was doing okay. But today was the day. On this day, four years ago, Roman got a phone call from Virgil.

*Flashback*

“Roman. Please. Stay calm. Breathe. Sit down somewhere if you can. Remember that we both love you.”

“What’s going on, Pa?” Roman laughed a bit at how his Pa was acting.

“There’s someone in the house. I’m not sure where Dad is. I know that he’s in the house somewhere. I think the person has a weapon. Just remember that we both love you so much. I’m sorry for the urgent call. But we love you, Roman.”

“I love you too, Pa. Oh, God. I love you so much. Please don’t leave me, Pa.” Roman was trying not to cry at this point. He had left the class to answer his phone and was now sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, in the hallway.

“I’ll stay on the line, Roman. I promise.”

A scream came through the line but was quickly cut off.

“Patton! Patton! Are you ok!?” Virgil was yelling now. 

“Pa. What’s going on?”

“That was Patton’s scream. Patton!” Virgil had found Patton, bleeding, on the floor in the living room. He threw his phone down and tried to find the source of the bleeding.

“Is tha… that Roman? ‘n the phone?” He breathed out.

“Yea. It is. Do you want to talk to him?” Virgil knew Patton wasn’t going to make it. 

“Yea,” Patton whispered. Virgil grabbed the phone and held it to Patton’s ear.

“Dad. I love you so much. I love you.” Roman sobbed through the phone.

“I love you too, Kiddo. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that this is ho- Ahhh- This is how I say goodbye.”

“Please, Dad. Hold on. Please. You can’t die."  Roman cried through the phone.

"I’m sorry, Kiddo.” Virgil moved the phone away from Patton’s ear, knowing Patton didn’t want Roman to hear him die through the phone.

“I’ll call you when I can Roman. I’m going to hang up now. I love you.” He didn’t wait for Roman to reply before he hung up. Virgil turned to Patton on the floor.

“I love you so much, Virgil. Remember that. Please.”

“I love you too, Patton. I will.” Tears were running down both men’s faces now. Patton smiled up at Virgil the closed his eyes and let out one final breath.

*End of flashback*

Roman glanced over at the picture on his bedside table. It was taken on the first Disney marathon Saturday after the wedding. Patton and Virgil were holding each other while Roman sat on their laps. Thomas had taken the picture as he was at their house for the weekend. Thomas and Roman were not going out at that time.

Roman let the tears fall as he stared at the image. After a few minutes of just staring and crying, he lied down. He had accepted that he wasn’t going to be productive today. His phone ringing filled the silence of the room. Looking at his phone, Virgil’s image appeared on the screen. Roman answered.

“Hey.” He didn’t try to hide the sadness in his voice. He knew Virgil was feeling down today as well.

“You want me there with you today? or do you just want to be alone?” He asked.

“Can you come over, please? I can’t be alone today." 

"On my way, Hun,” Virgil replied before hanging up. Virgil was pulling up in Romans driveway a few minutes later. Roman didn’t bother getting up to open the door. He knew Virgil had a key. 

“Hey,” Virgil said as he walked into the bedroom.

“Hi, Pa.” Roman sounded like a little kid again.

“Come here.” Virgil sat down on the bed and opened his arms. Roman crawled onto his father’s lap and cried. They both cried together over their lost family member. 

“I miss him, Pa,” Roman said.

“I miss him too, son,” Virgil whispered. 

The two men cried for hours until they heard a door opening. Finally looking at the time, they realised they had spent the whole day like that. Thomas walked into the bedroom to see Virgil and Roman sitting on the bed. Without saying anything, Thomas walked over. He hugged Virgil from behind and then placed a kiss on Romans head. He then left the two men as he went to go make dinner. Thomas knew what today was. He tried to understand how Roman was feeling. He knew he had to be careful with everything as Roman was a bit delicate this week. 

Tag-list:

@imasmallchild  @cryingbecauseilovethesides  @dreamsshadowwashere  @ruuworld  @fandersfic-logicality 

#thomas sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #sanders sides #fanfic

[badcowboy69]

1 through 52 for the fallout oc meme for Travis

Gosh anon you don’t know what it is you’re asking lol  Ok my dear Anon get yourself a snack or a drink (or both) because you got yourself a LOT of reading to do ;)   Thanks for asking, this was a serious challenge and a lot of fun actually!!!   I put the answers under the Read More thing just because it’s super long and I don’t want to annoy people with such a long thing on their dash.  So here you are....ALL 52 Fallout prompts!!!  

1.  Which Fallout game are they from?Fallout New Vegas2.  Which faction(s) did they join and which did they destroy? Why?Travis went Independent. He originally was going to join up with Mister House, but once the man asked the courier to destroy the Brotherhood of Steel, Travis balked and said no fucking way. You don’t go against your allies like that. They trusted him and called him brother. He wasn’t about to be a backstabbing betrayer. As for what he destroyed it was most certainly Caesar’s Legion. Although the man did have a few good ideas, Travis couldn’t sit by and allow slavery, mistreatment of women, destruction of the remaining Tribals, and many other things. Their ideals were too extreme and too dangerous to allow to be left alone.3.  What is their S.P.E.C.I.A.L.?Strength 10Perception 9Endurance 6Charisma 5Intelligence 8Agility 8Luck 64.  Give us a summary of their backstory.Travis was born the son of brahmin/bighorner ranchers.  He was home schooled and taught the proper cowboy code of the west.  In his mid-teen years he joined a brahmin round up in the Big Circle.  He realized ranching wasn’t really for him so he went off to join the Mojave Express and become a courier.5.  What’s their full name and does it have a meaning? Do they have any nicknames and how did they get em?My courier’s full name is Travis Blackfox.  His last name stems on the fact that his father is a Tribal.  The name no doubt had to have come from the quiet, stealthy, and cunning traits his father has.  As for a nickname, he doesn’t have any he’d normally go by.  However, he will answer to Courier Six or simply Six as he was the sixth messenger in a task set up years ago to deliver a special package to the mysterious Mister House on the New Vegas strip.6.  What’s their sexual, romantic, and gender orientation? Do they feel comfortable telling other people?Travis is a confirmed bachelor (gay).  He is male and loves males.  He has no problem with telling anyone because fortunately in the Fallout universe people aren’t homophobes like they are in ours..  His parents knew he was from childhood when he took a strong liking to the male couriers or traders that passed by their ranch almost on a daily basis7.  Do they have any mental illnesses? How do they cope?Nope not at all8.  Do they have any medical conditions? Is medicine/ treatment available for them?Memory loss from being shot in the head.  He can only remember what he did from joining the Mojave Express and onwards.  Everything else in his past is gone except for maybe a few scant memories.  He also gets occasional headaches, but that's easily remedied.  9.  How much do they care about their outer appearance? What’s their “beauty routine”? How often do they shower/ bathe?Travis LOVES his facial hair and will always make sure it’s trimmed to the length he likes.  If you ever see him with it longer than normal it's wise to ask him if he's alright as that's a sign something is seriously wrong. As for showering or bathing he does that almost every day he’s able to either at home or in any non-radiated water source he can find.10.  What do they fear the most?Being betrayed by someone he loves is something that he’s the most afraid of happening to him. In a relationship Travis puts his entire heart and soul into it. He loves pampering his partner and does all he can to make them happy even if it might cost him his own happiness. To know that person truly didn’t love him and was only using him all along or waiting for someone better is something that occasionally lurks in the back of his mind and terrifies the hell out of him.11. They’re biggest flaw? Do they recognize it as a flaw?Travis’ biggest flaw is that he’s very insecure and he knows this.  He gets worried what he does isn’t good enough or even enough.  He also feels that his significant other doesn’t really love him as much as he claims, if at all, or will leave him.  He feels if he states a complaint on something or disagrees the other person involved will get angry with him12.  What are they most insecure about?Being loved or liked.  He feels that people are generally only around him because they feel bad for him or don't want to hurt his feelings.13.  What Wasteland threat do they fear the most? (ex. Deathclaws, super mutants, raiders)Cazadores.  14.  What’s their zodiac sign or which one do you think they relate to the most? What are their placements (if you know them)? (ex. Aries sun, Taurus moon, Aquarius Venus) Gemini15.  What’s their Myers–Briggs Type? (ex. ENTP, ISFJ)Travis is an INFJ    Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Judging.16.  What Harry Potter house would they be in? (ex. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw)Hufflepuff17.  Which Pokemon Go team would they choose? (ex. Instinct, Valor, Mystic)Valor as he loves all things pertaining to fire as well as the color red.18.  Out of the nine forms of intelligence (rhythmic, spatial, linguistic, mathematical, kinesthetic, interpersonal, intrapersonal, naturalistic, and existential) which one(s) are they really good at and which one(s) is(are) their weakest?Travis most certainly is interpersonal as well as intra-personal are his strong points.  He can easily read people and knows how to interact with them depending on the situation.  His weakest would be existential as he doesn’t care why things are.  He simply accepts them as such.  Mathematical would also be another weakness.  Even though he’s good at balancing budgets, numbers give him a headache.19.  What natural alignment are they? (ex. Lawful Good, Chaotic Evil)Travis has been told more often than not he’s too good for his own good.  He won’t knowingly harm an innocent nor steal from someone unless it can’t be helped.  He doesn’t even particularly care for killing bad guys, but he most certainly will not hesitate when it comes down to it.  He does his best to uphold any laws and morals, but sometimes out in the wasteland things like that have to be ignored.  Still, he’s not totally “good” per say and will do things considered bad, especially if it means his own survival.  If it means saving his ass, or someone he cares about, Travis will lie, cheat, steal, kill, etc…anything to assure he lives to see another day.20.  Do they have any hobbies? What are they?Travis loves collecting anything related to Nuka Cola. He also loves to collect as many pre-war books as he can to add to his already massive collection. However, his most favorite thing to do is repairing things and trying to get junk in the Mojave re-purposed. He already made himself a running motorcycle which operates on the fuel cores from Mister Handy robots. Currently he’s building himself a life sized horse based on the smaller toy models of Giddy-up Buttercup. He’s not exactly sure how he’s going to get it to function or work right now, but he’s not giving up and has high hopes for his latest creation.21.  Do they have a favorite holiday? How do they celebrate it?Up until recently Travis had no clue what holidays were all about.  His partner introduced him to Christmas so of course that's his favorite holiday.  They celebrated by getting a small pine tree from the woods, decorated it with paper cutouts and shot gun shell casings topped off with a glowing bottle of Nuka Cola Quartz.  This was all followed by a small gift exchange and a nice meal with close friends.22.  What’s their favorite season?Being in the desert there really aren't seasons.  However, he does love when he's on the east coast and spring arrives.23.  Do they have a temper or are they level headed?For the most part Travis is quite level headed and it takes a lot to really piss him off, but once that happens look out.24.  Do they express their emotions freely or hide their true feelings?Angry he always tries to hide because it can be a very destructive emotion from him if given the chance.  Sad can be considered weak and weakness isn’t anything a person wants to have shown out in the Mojave.  Those are the two main ones he’d try and keep hid if possible.  Fear he most certainly hides.  You never let an enemy know what gets to you and sometimes not even your closest friends.  Fear can always be used against you.  For the more positive emotions like joy and love, Travis certainly has no problem expressing those.25.  Are they a leader or a follower?Even though Travis has led people into battle and is currently co-ruling New Vegas, he hardly feels he's a leader at all.  He would much rather take orders and do things for someone else instead of having sole responsibility for something.26.  How do they come off to others? What first impression do they usually make?People generally see Travis as friendly and helpful and sometimes a push-over. The latter is something he’s certainly not, but people tend to see him that way because he is so caring and generous. Generally those are the people that try and take advantage of him and his good nature.27.  Do they prefer to travel alone or with company? Who have they traveled with if any? Current companion if any?Although he does enjoy solitude more often than not, Travis does enjoy being with his cyberdog Rex and eyebot ED-E. He’s traveled quite a lot with Craig Boone and did enjoy his company to more than just a companion.  Currently he has his cyberdog and eyebot and bonded partner from the Boston Commonwealth.28.  Would you describe them as selfless or selfish? Does it depend on the situation?Travis is very generous and always tries to make other people happy or comfortable before doing so for himself.  Even if he tries to be selfish that feeling doesn’t last for long and he still ends up helping someone anyway.29.  What do they find most attractive in others? Name at least one psychological and physical trait. (doesn’t have to be romantic attraction)For psychological trait Travis loves intelligent conversation.  Nothing irritates him more than talking to someone who’s so dense it’s a miracle they even know how to tie their own shoes let alone survive in the world.  He likes someone that’s at least close enough to his own intelligence, but a little over he doesn’t mind either.  Travis loves learning new things.  However, the person in question should not so intellectual where it makes everything spoken become a task to listen to and understand.  Physical he’d have to go for the cliche feature of a smile.  A true and genuine smile is one way to certainly get Travis’ attention.  He’ll know if you can be trusted or if you’re a faker depending on how you smile.  Like the eyes, one can read a lot through a smile and fortunately for Travis he’s learned to read them pretty good.30.  Do they flirt often? How easily do they fall in love?He is a smooth talker and can use this ability to get what he wants even if it means flirting, but that's as far as anything would go.  He also doesn't fall in love easily either.  He might develop a crush, but for actual love to show it would have to be something groomed and tended to in order for it to blossom. He’s only been in love three times in his entire life and the third is most certainly the last as he loves him more than anything.31.  What’s their love life like? Are they interested in anyone or in a relationship?His love life is fantastic as he's with the most amazing man in the world.  He's very happy, content, and deeply satisfied in both the mental and physical.32.  Do they prefer to solve things diplomatically or using violence?Travis is peaceful by nature so he would much rather try and talk out a situation rather than blasting everything away.  Sometimes folks can't listen to reason so of course he'd have to get physical.33.  What is their combat style? What range do they prefer? Do they sneak?He's very calculating and thinks about a situation before rushing in with guns blazing.  He can and will sneak for the most part as that's part of his being calculating.  As for range, that's what his sniper rifle is for.  He'll pick off the most dangerous enemies first or at least lure them in closer so he can blast them with explosives or his powerful rifle.34.  What weapon(s) do they always carry with them?His rifle named Medicine Stick.  He also has his scoped, silenced sniper rifle. One can also always find any sort of explosive with him IE dynamite, mines, or grenades.35.  Their most prized possession?His rifle Medicine Stick.  It’s very powerful and it’s the one gun he’ll use above all else at all times.  He likes the feel it has in his hands and he loves the sound it makes when fired.  Most of all, he loves the leather cover hand-stitched on the stock that is adorned with a sewn Tribal Medicine Wheel with beads and feathers.36.  Their thoughts on power armor?He honestly has no use for it.  He was trained to operate it, but doesn't like it in the least bit.  He feels it's too big and bulky to do much good.  Granted you might be protected more, but you really aren't as you have no agility or way to get out of a bad situation quickly.37.  Favorite armor/ outfit?Armor wise Travis loves his elite riot gear as it's quite sturdy and offers great protection as well as making him look good.  His regular outfit is a red plaid shirt, blue jeans, black cowboy boots, and a black cowboy hat.38.  How’s their aim? Do their hands shake while pointing a gun?When Travis rejoined the world of the living after being shot in the head, his aim and gun skills literally were pathetic.  Thankfully as his time in the Mojave went on, Travis’ aim became more true.  It wasn’t until he spent a lot of time with an NCR 1st Recon man named Craig Boone that his shooting skills became honed and seriously deadly.  He now nails headshots more often than not and sometimes at a full run.  His aim is true and he generally uses one bullet to kill someone these days.  As for hands shaking, only when he’s truly upset about a situation IE friend being harmed or going to be harmed in close proximity.  When that happens he’ll generally use the gun as a striking weapon instead and bash the enemy upside the head with the stock and continue to beat on them until they’re no more.39.  What are their thoughts on having to kill on a daily bases in order to survive? Does it take a toll on them? Or do they shake it off rather easily?Fortunately not too many people or critters harassed Travis to the point where he had to kill them on a daily basis. Powder Gangers flee in terror when they see him and for the most part Fiends are all but non-existent these days. Legion was the only folks he had to constantly be on the look out for and even then it wasn’t daily. In their case it was always self-defense on Travis’ part, it wasn’t like he was seeking them out to kill them. Travis is very passive for the most part. He doesn’t enjoy having to kill anything, self-defense or not, but it also doesn’t bother him. He’s not jaded, just a realist and knows it’s a cold hard fact of life in the Mojave.40.  Thoughts on death if any? (ex. Fear it, accept it)Since Travis has already been considered dead once already, he doesn’t think much of death anymore.  He’s not afraid to die now and almost feels invincible as a result of what happened to him.  He was lucky the first time in cheating death and he knows he might not be so lucky again, but he does accept it as a harsh reality.  These days, however, he’s more afraid of death happening to the one he loves as opposed to himself.  In that aspect he truly does fear death.  41.  Do they move around a lot or prefer to have a place to call home?His home will always be out in the Mojave.  He does travel back and forth every six months to the Boston Commonwealth.  42.  What’s their favorite location?Anywhere that his partner may be....but mostly in the desert of the Mojave.  43.  Their opinions on ghouls, feral and not feral?Travis has sympathy for all ghouls in all honesty. He does what he can to help those with their wits still about them. He also has no problem in putting a bullet in the head of those ferals as it comes down to being a “kill or be killed” in most situations upon meeting them. However, some time ago, he had a horrible nightmare which involved a ghoul and currently he has a very different attitude towards them. He’ll help if need be, but mostly now he’d much rather avoid them. He doesn’t want to resurrect the images from his nightmare because he knows it’ll set him off on some kind of angry rage and he’ll end up slaughtering the hapless beings.44.  Do they scavenge for their supplies or simply buy them?Travis likes to nose around looking for things overlooked or left behind. However, he knows that people do need to make a living out in the wasteland so he tries to buy from local merchants as much as possible to give them support.45.  Are they the type to get distracted and go off to an unknown nearby location or do they stay on track?For the most part Travis tries his best to stay on track with what he’s supposed to be doing. However, he’s quite curious and a little bit nosy and can and will drift off to check out something or explore a cave he discovers. Sometimes these distractions prove to be pointless, but a lot of times he ends up unwittingly helping someone as a result or even finding things to help himself like piles of forgotten caps, ammunition, or even on occasion weapons and armor that he can sell to traders for what he really needs.46.  How do they sleep? Are they picky about where and how or can they sleep basically anywhere?Travis can sleep anywhere at any time.  His only nit-pick would be sheets.  They have to be clean and he does keep a set with him in his pack just in case clean sheets somewhere is not an option.47.  What’s their favorite radio station and song? (post-apocalypse)Travis loves the Mojave Music Radio station.  He used to like Radio New Vegas, but once his deeds started to get well known and he became the headline in the news given by Mister New Vegas more often than not, well, Travis couldn’t stand it so he stopped listening.  The Mojave station provides some great tunes including a lot of great western/country songs.  His favorite being “Big Iron” performed by the pre-war star Marty Robbins.   48.  What’s their favorite post-apocalyptic food? Are they a picky eater? Do they know how to cook?Travis loves brahmin steak and gecko stew.  He's not picky at all as one can't afford that trait being out in the desert.  He does know how to cook and really well.  He makes a great stew and a great omelette.49.  What’s their favorite beverage? Do they drink alcohol?He does love Nuka Cola and has a small liking for Sunset Sarsaparilla.  He does drink alcohol and prefers beer above all else.  He will drink whiskey, but sparingly as the first time he really celebrated he got really sick and doesn't want to feel that again...but that won't stop him from getting drunk from time to time.50.  Do they have any tag skills?Guns, melee, and sneak51.  Anything they like to collect? (ex. Unique weapons, Bobbleheads)He loves pre-war toys and especially anything pertaining to Nuka Cola.52.  Are they good at disarming traps or do they constantly miss them?For the most part he does very well at disarming any traps, but that's if he discovers them first.  Lots of times he plows into a location only to set off grenade traps or even get hit with metal beams put in doorways.  He also got his leg snapped in a bear trap a few times, but fortunately those few times the items were seriously rusted so they didn't cause him too much damage.

#abouttravis #Anonymous

[junker-town]

Dennis Smith Jr.'s demeanor is why he's the perfect next face of the Mavericks

Twenty years after drafting Dirk Nowitzki with their last lottery pick, the Mavericks may have struck gold again.

LAS VEGAS — Rick Carlisle has always loved Dennis Smith Jr.’s game. But it was a pre-draft meeting, weeks before Smith’s name was called on the Barclays Center stage, where Carlisle became convinced this was the Mavericks’ guy.

“I liked his combination of confidence and humility,” the Dallas Mavericks head coach tells SB Nation. “When talking to him before the draft about our situation, he just had a strong belief in himself. That was clear. He had that belief without being cocky or arrogant. I admire that.”

That humble confidence is a huge credit to how Dennis Smith Sr. raised his son and daughter as a single parent in Fayetteville, N.C, molding Junior — as he calls him — into who he is now. It’s why Smith will insist Jr. is added to the back of his Mavericks jersey.

“It’s more than basketball with that,” Smith says when asked about Carlisle’s words. “That’s the way I was raised to be as a man. That’s a credit to my whole family, especially my father. It just translates from being a man on to basketball.”

After spending time with the senior Smith in Las Vegas this week, Carlisle agrees:

“I’ve gotten to know his dad a little bit, sat with him during the second game, and I can see why he’s a kid with strong character.”

Smith, the ninth overall pick in last month’s NBA Draft, joins the Mavericks as a future face of the franchise, something made even more important due to Dirk Nowitzki’s career drawing near an end. The Mavericks hadn’t owned their own top-10 draft pick since Nowitzki was selected No. 9 in 1998. They felt certain that Smith was a top-five talent in the draft, putting him out of their reach.

But when the New York Knicks selected Frank Ntilikina one pick before, Carlisle says the Mavericks draft room erupted into “thunderous applause” knowing the guy they truly wanted was still on the board.

Through three games in the Las Vegas Summer League, the 19-year-old Smith is averaging 18 points on 47 percent shooting while adding five assists per game. In his first matchup, he wowed the Thomas & Mack Center crowd with his pregame dunks. The following day, he dropped 25 points on the Suns. In Game 3, he stuck a dagger three into the hearts of the Miami Heat.

After Smith was selected on draft night, Carlisle said he expected him to be the team’s opening day starting point guard. Whatever you’ve heard about Carlisle’s reputation for favoring veterans over rookies, set it aside.

“He’s a kid who’s gotta be out there,” Carlisle says. “I’ve projected him as a starter, and so far, I’m not coming off of that.”

As one member of the Mavericks front office tells me: “He might be even better than we thought.”

Photo by Ethan Miller/Getty Images

Asked if he believed he should have been the draft’s top selection, Smith doesn’t hesitate.

“Of course,” he says immediately.

But Smith is also self aware.

“Everybody believes they should be the first pick, but that’s not everybody’s destiny,” Smith says after his third summer league game. “It can’t be. Mathematically, that don’t add up.”

Smith may not forget the eight teams who passed on him anytime soon, but he feels “ultra thankful” to end up in the situation that he did. The four teams drafting before Dallas were the Knicks, Bulls, Magic and Kings. None of them have a proven young core like the Mavericks.

That idea would have been laughable just a year ago. Last June, the Mavericks’ two best prospects were Justin Anderson and Dwight Powell, who will both have to fight to even play consistently next season. Even last year, Mark Cuban was still pushing the team towards a playoff run with established veterans, only to see Dallas start the year 4-17.

“You react to the circumstances you’re in,” Mark Cuban tells SB Nation. “Some of the guys that were older were hurt. We’re not going to get any younger (that way).”

So the Mavericks jettisoned Andrew Bogut and Deron Williams when it was clear they weren’t helping. After signing 25-year-old Harrison Barnes and 26-year-old Seth Curry in July 2016, they nabbed undrafted rookie Yogi Ferrell from the recycling bin and traded for 23-year-old Nerlens Noel on a steal of a deal. Now, they’ve added Smith, who might be the most important of them all.

(Noel, a restricted free agent, hasn’t re-signed yet — the two sides are still “not close,” a league source tells SB Nation — but it’s still a safe assumption he ends up back in Dallas before the summer’s up.)

It’s a sensational rebuilding project completed in Dallas in just a year. In a stacked Western Conference, there’s a good chance the Mavericks fall short of the playoffs. But for the first time in more than a decade, that’s fine. The team’s timeline to really compete remains in the future.

When exactly? The answer depends on Smith and his development.

Photo by Ethan Miller/Getty Images

Smith is nervous for his first game, he admits afterwards, but it hardly shows. In fact, his calmness under pressure is what impressed his coaches the most. Both Carlisle and Mavericks summer league coach Jamahl Mosley laud one sequence where Smith quickly moves past several bad plays. That defies nearly every predraft scouting report, which listed “attitude” as a negative.

“He comes to the bench, his head’s down for half a second, I said something to him really quick, and next thing you know he comes out and makes three (good) plays,” Mosley says. “Things like that, most young players are in the tank for the next five possessions. He turned it around just like that.”

In other areas, Smith marches ahead. He can weave through traffic like an out-of-control taxi cab or bully his way into defenders, dislodging them and clearing space for a short shot. He has full confidence in his jump shot, which he’ll use to fall away in the lane when a defender stops him a little short, or step back for a three when a poor soul gets switched onto him in a pick-and-roll.

His passes tend to find open teammates rather than him threading the needle to someone where it looked like there was no space. But given how much work it takes to stop Smith from scoring, there’s will always be open teammates when the ball’s in his hands.

“He’s aggressive without being out of control,” Carlisle says. “He’s got vision, he sees people, he delivers the ball on time and on target, and he’s going to get the ball in the basket.”

Smith must improve defensively, a side of the ball that was mostly ignored during his one year at NC State. But he talks about it openly, calling his work on that end a process while describing the methods that he’s hoping to perfect. Everything the Mavericks know about Smith — and everything that Smith has shown himself so far — points to him being a player who will take those challenges in stride.

After Smith scores 16 points and the dagger three in his third summer league game, he is asked to compare himself and his game to another point guard. At first, he demurs, not wanting to play that game.

“I watch about every point guard in the league,” Smith says. “It’s a long list if I start naming names.”

But when pressed, Smith relents: “I’ll say (Russell) Westbrook and (Derrick) Rose.”

Two point guards, of course, that have both won NBA MVP.

Humble confidence. There’s no doubt Smith has that.