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#poor people have never NEVER once in my life tried to lower my wage some even started paying more after seeing how well I did my job
jonthethinker · 4 years
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After a long day of truly cursed thoughts, I’ve come to the determination that the Cerberus Assembly can act as a sort of Exandrian analog of our world’s Silicon Valley, and I hate it. I hate hate hate it.
The more I think about it, the more it just sort of melds into my mind as fact. I can’t escape it. This is where I live now.
You’ve got this collection of self-proclaimed super geniuses, unbounded by modern social mores and determined to invent a new sort of ethics, with an intent on shaping history and sagely guiding the world into a better future. This is despite the fact that most of the ideas they have inevitably end up making the world worse, and the only thing “new” that they really bring into the world is a bunch of actually very old ideas coated in fresh circuitry/magic.
But let’s dig a little deeper and start getting specific.
They both have these images of fiercely independent, creative bodies desperate to remain free from government control, and sometimes even as a check on that very government. The heads of the Cerberus Assembly outright say their intent is to act as a check on the Crown, and are known to have many secrets the Crown is, to their knowledge, totally unaware of.
Tech companies, particularly in America, have this outward facing very libertarian outlook on things, saying they don’t wish to interfere in the very important process of democracy and free speech, while simultaneously feeling it is their responsibility to fact check those in power and hold them to account, with their “serious vetting” of political ads and the like on their platforms. They also lobby heavily against any and all regulation of their various products and services, preferring to let the “invisible hand” of the market provide the service of keeping them in check, much as the Cerberus Assembly prefers to handle its own problems internally.
But when you really dig into the details this is all bullshit. The Cerberus Assembly, for all intents and purposes, IS the Empire. They run the secret police, for goodness sake. The two are so interconnected, and the Assembly as an institution is so dependent on the infrastructure and manpower, and of course money (because the fancy clothes, giant towers, and expensive sets of material components don’t pay for themselves) of the Empire to accomplish its goals, it can’t serve as a real check on Imperial forces possibly “overstepping”, and it also has no material interest in doing so; the more power and control the Empire has, the more power and control the Assembly has; the less freedom the citizens have due to authoritarian “safety” measures implemented by the Crown, the safer the Assembly itself becomes to pursue it’s morally dubious work and experimentation.
The same goes with Silicon Valley and the various tech companies that fall under its ethos. They will expound continually on the necessary freedom from government control they must have to truly change the world in the ways they think are best, but the primary source of money for most of these companies are governments. They either primarily contract with governments for most of their actual profits or to use its already established infrastructure, as is the case with Amazon, or depend heavily on publicly funded research for their innovations, which is everyone from Apple to Google to Microsoft and dozens and dozens of smaller companies besides. They then even get to patent these publicly funded innovations and hold a monopolized stranglehold on their use. This is not even to mention the starter capital necessary to form many of these companies in the first place itself was provided by governments, with the rather, shall we say “morally questionable” Kingdom of Saudi Arabia being among the top contributors to such start ups.
Even when either of these groups claim to be self-made, it’s all bullshit. So many of our famous tech overlords that supposedly built themselves from nothing started at the upper reaches of society, with more than enough capital and connections to insure they were never at any real risk of failing in the first place. Most even went to the same elite institutions of learning that provide the vast majority of the political leadership of the United States, institutions they had access to due to their wealth and familial connections, not their brains. Elon Musk’s family owned an emerald mine in Zambia for God’s sake, one his family would have never owned without the British Empire being a thing.
The same can be said for the Assembly. The upper classes of the Dwendalian Empire are lousy with mages and magic users. If they don’t have a place to climb among the nobility, they work for the Assembly, and hope to climb there. It shouldn’t surprise anyone that the only poorer mage recruits we know anything real about all were sucked up into the service of the Scourgers, one of the few arms of the Assembly known to regularly interact with societies lower reaches and not so positively at that, and had their familial identities obliterated in the process. Both of these groups are of the upper reaches of society and serve the upper reaches of society, and we should never think anything less.
And this brings us to the ideological framework both of these groups think with. They are both full to the brim with people who are individualists to the extreme. They all believe they are singular actors in the great tapestry of history, who got where they are by hard work and dedication, and anyone who isn’t there just didn’t do enough. The folks living in the tent city outside Zadash? lazy layabouts who simply have not applied their mind to be something greater, or perhaps their veins are just full of bad blood. Poor former factory workers in Detroit whose jobs have been moved to places where labor laws are weaker and wages are lower? If they’d only taken their education more seriously, they could be where I am! Or maybe they just never tried to be an Uber driver or delivering for Grubhub, because that’s how you really pull yourself out of poverty.
Meanwhile, most of the groups consist of people who have never once known real adversity and certainly not the hardship of poverty nor the lack of social and political power that position entails. They are blinded to the reality of most people in the world outside their rather small one, and thus have no understanding of the material hardship that most people experience during their everyday life.
You see this most clearer in the manner in which they try to solve what they see as societies great problems, with no clear thought put into the consequences of these particular solutions. In our world, this is particularly obvious. Uber is painted as an innovative means of transportation on a budget, when in reality it’s just a fleet of untrained, underpaid, non-unionized taxi drivers using their own personal vehicles at their own expense. Elon Musk is seen as this super genius when his solution to LA traffic wasn’t a more robust public transportation system or slowly reconstructing the city to be more pedestrian friendly, but instead to build a massive network of single car elevators under the city to zip cars to key hot spots faster in a manner people less anxious than me would still call risky at best. I mean most of these people think the key to ending poverty is teaching people to code or giving them STEM education, even when in a capitalist economy the only thing a sudden flooding of new coders and STEM educated folks would insure is that the jobs that require those skills will see a sudden massive drop in pay and benefits as the pool of prospective employees becomes over-saturated and individual workers no longer have any bargaining power to protect their once rare jobs. You already see this in animation and video game design, and you’ll certainly see it elsewhere.
For the Assembly, despite being praised as the brightest arcane minds of Wildmount, seem to get most of their ideas either by stealing them from others or digging them up out of the ground. But this is just the nature of empire; it’s always easier for an empire to consume than it is to create. So as little as they think of the Dynasty, they are eager to steal every little bit of knowledge they’ve discovered about Dunamis, and without the faith and moral sense the Luxon-based religion imposes, they will never be forced to put the use of this rare and dangerous magic into perspective. Imagine what harm they can cause with gravity and time magic when they don’t have that religious pressure to consider the value of life and choice. But this makes sense when their main sources of inspiration are the wizards of the Age Of Arcana; you know, the wizards whose hubris nearly destroyed the entire world and spurred an apocalyptic war that sent society into a dark age in which the gods themselves abandoned them? A+ inspiration material if you ask me.
Even the culture of these two groups in regards to how they regulate themselves is so eerily similar. Think of Delilah Briarwood. Member in good standing of the Cerberus Assembly. Also, worshipper of Vecna and talented necromancer. Only expelled from the Assembly after involvement from the Cobalt Soul, even when you know every other member of the Assembly almost certainly had loads of information on this lady.
It just makes me think of all the weird, right-wingers and Nazis who occasionally get expelled from the heights of Silicon Valley whenever some journalist exposes them, and how quickly their colleagues are to condemn them even when so many of them either knew this person was this way well before they were exposed or actively agreed with them and still do. I mean, think of how protected Bill Gates is, because of how much his philanthropist image has served to insulate and protect the gross consolidation of wealth and power in the hands of so few, even when his fortune was built on stolen ideas, military funding and research, and a hardcore software monopoly for well over a decade or two. Also, his philanthropy has done nothing to help African people build their own institutions of power independent of European and American influence, and have help distract us from the damage really caused to the entire continent by earlier colonialism and later capitalist imperialism.
This is to say as bad as our world is, I now definitely don’t want to live in Wildemount. I don’t want to live a world where Mark Zukerberg can cast Disintegrate. Not ideal. I guess I’ll just have to work that much harder to fix this one and not depend on learning Dunamancy to just put us on a different path. Bummer.
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Resol’nare - Part Nine
A/N: OH...HEY. Let’s all pretend that I didn’t just have like a three week creative crisis and just dive back in, shall we?? (I’M VERY SORRY.) 
*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*
Summary: The Mandalorian arrives on Nevarro to meet with Navina again, hopefully to trade information that could be valuable to them both. But before she joins him he receives a call with some concerning information. When she does finally get there, things come to a head. Quickly. 
Warnings: Language, violence 
Word Count: 5k
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Nevarro. 
A dry wind blew across the arid lava fields, his cape whipping behind him as he focused the lens of his visor on the horizon. He had already scanned the other three directions before setting his gaze East. So far though, there was no sign of a ship or speeder anywhere. Another harsh gust of wind tore through the open landscape, accentuating its emptiness. Nothing. He sighed, changing the lens back to its default setting. Crusty flakes of ash covered clay tumbled over the cracked ground and clung to his boots. The Mandalorian hadn’t been waiting long, and Navina wasn’t late yet, but he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something was wrong. Where is she? 
He shifted his weight, leaning against the lowered ramp of The Promise. Pulling his comm device from his pocket, he pressed the speaker button to check that it was still operational and was met with a crackling static sound that proved it was. She just hasn’t tried to contact me. Tucking it away again, he told himself that it was only because she hadn’t landed yet, not because she was involved in any sort of trouble.   
His concern hadn’t come from nowhere though, and it wasn’t entirely in regards to the woman’s safety. She can take care of herself. The prickling feeling in the back of his mind had more to do with what he didn’t know about her than what he did. And there’s a lot. Shortly after arriving on the volcanic planet, before he’d even had the chance to check in with Cara Dune, he’d received word from Boba and Fennec back on Tatooine. Curious as to what would warrant the call when he’d last seen Fett only a few days prior- Fennec had been out on one of her missions- he answered quickly, pressing the button to activate the holo screen on the ship’s main control switch. 
The blue light flickered and took shape, projecting the man’s image there in the cockpit. “Fett,” the Mandalorian greeted him with a nod. “What is-” 
The man’s gruff voice cut him off then, waiving the need for any pretense, which the Mandalorian appreciated. “I’ve got something you need to hear, Mand’alor.” Fett tilted his chin down, his stone solid gaze trained directly at the holo as he spoke. He continued without waiting to be asked, Fennec stepping into view beside him. “Got a hit on that name you asked about. Harsa.” 
He blinked, Navina’s face flashing in his memory as she told him her father’s name. That was fast. “I thought you said you hadn’t heard the name?” He tilted his head as he asked. 
“I hadn’t,” Boba confirmed. “Still haven’t.” What? “It wasn’t me who came across it, and it isn’t the father, Gavil.” 
Head moving back and forth he felt nothing but confusion. “I don’t understand.” 
“I came across the name Harsa on a syndicate raid, Mando.” Fennec’s clear tone filled the space as she clarified. “Ixon? The scum I was… interviewing when you were here last?” He nodded and she raised one eyebrow, a look of self-satisfaction still lingering on her face at the way she handled that quarry. “He gave up the location of a Black Sun hideout on Corellia after some light persuasion.”  
“And?” He still wasn’t sure where this was headed. 
“And when I got there, the place was mostly abandoned. Found a few ledgers, stolen credits.” She scoffed. “Cowards run like rats in Coronet City.” 
They do. It had been a long while since the Mandalorian set foot on Corellia or Coruscant. His bounties kept him mostly within the Outer Rim, and he didn’t miss the crowded streets or the types of people they were filled with.
“I was lucky enough to catch one of them though, one of their poor excuses for bounty hunters.” She clicked her tongue. “No accuracy, no skill, and as it turns out,” she grinned. “No loyalty.” That’s why they don’t work for the Guild. “One I caught? Duros. Sang like a little bird. Told me everything I wanted to know. Including who he was working with and what he’d been hired to do.” 
Though he was glad to hear that she and Fett were making more progress in cleaning up the galaxy’s garbage, he was still confused about exactly how this raid related to Navina’s name. “Fennec, I’m not sure if I-“ 
“Just wait,” Boba’s serious, gravelly tone was back. “We wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t worth the trouble.” 
He knew that to be true. While Karga enjoyed talking just for the sake of conversation, and Bo-Katan’s routine check-ins could be used to set any clock, Boba and Fennec only made contact when absolutely necessary. Which is almost never. He leaned back in his seat, clenching and unclenching his right fist atop his thigh. “Go on.” 
“Turns out this fine gentleman I spoke with had orders to plant a tracking device on a target so that his partner could hunt them down and take them out in a different location. Team job,” she explained, her eyes suddenly looking down as she fumbled with something off screen. Looking back up, she raised her hand, a bounty puck lying flat in it. “This was the target, Mando.” 
His eyes widened and his mouth fell open as he watched her activate the holo puck, Navina’s image flickering to life, her name listed in several languages below her rotating likeness.  
“Not the Harsa you were looking for, Mand’alor.” Fett inclined his head towards the puck in Fennec’s palm. “Someone’s looking for her though.” 
“Any idea who?” There were endless reasons as to why someone would hire an assassin or a bounty hunter, he knew that first hand. But if he knew who it was that wanted the woman dead, he might be able to reason out the why.
Fennec let the puck go dark and lowered her hand. “Well, you see that’s where things get very interesting.” They were interesting enough already. “Ixon isn’t- wasn’t- a very high ranking member of the syndicate, so he didn’t have any names for me.” Not surprising. “But what he did say?” She folded her arms over her chest. “It was a Mandalorian that hired Black Sun.” 
“A Mandalorian?” Not even the helmet could hide the shock in his tone. Aside from the fact that paying someone else to do their killing for them was not at all the Way of the Mandalore, it was as unnecessary as one of his kind hiring a personal bodyguard.  “Why would a Mandalorian need to hire an assassin?” They wouldn’t. Navina may be a skilled fighter, but the simple fact that she was not entirely covered in beskar put her at an extreme disadvantage when it came to fighting someone that was. Especially if she didn’t even know it was coming. 
“An excellent question,” Boba nodded. “And one I think you know the answer to.” 
“Discretion.” Whoever it is doesn’t want anyone knowing it was them. Most people contracted their dirty work out because they were incapable of doing it themselves, but he knew that there were others who were just seeking to keep their own hands clean. A sudden thought materialized and immediately took the form of a question. “Are all of our people accounted for there?” 
He needed to know if this was an isolated incident; if Navina had garnered this target on her head because of choices she had made, or because of who and what she was...and who she knew. He needed to know if the rest of the covert, the rest of his kind, were safe or if whoever was hunting her down was also tracking other Mandalorians. Perhaps most importantly though, he needed to know if he had to be suspicious of anyone within the covert’s walls. Mandalorian history was full of infighting, different sects and cells with varying beliefs and loyalties often waging war on one another to claim more power and reputation. I won’t let that happen under my watch. 
“Just talked to the princess herself, Mand’alor.” Fett grumbled, his upper lips pulling into the snarl it seemed he reserved specifically for Bo-Katan. “According to her, everyone is safe and she’s called for a full sweep of the facility to be sure there are no threats to your growing hive.” 
Relief washed through him, and he was glad not only that Bo-Katan and her people were there to keep the others safe, but that at least for the moment it seemed that this was more a matter of personal vendetta against Navina Harsa and not against Mandalorians or their allies in general. It was short lived however, Fennec chiming in once more to remind him that the tracking device was likely still active if Navina hadn’t already been found and killed. “If they haven’t found her yet, Mando… she might be leading whoever is looking for her straight to you.” 
He had ended the transmission thanking Fett and Shand for calling with the warning, hoping that Navina would arrive soon and that he’d be able to find and disable the tracker before it caused trouble for him. Or costs her her life. Though his first thought had been that she could be a danger to what he was trying to do for the Mandalorian people, his next line of thinking went in another direction. What if she was targeted because she’s meeting me? What if just knowing me, talking to me was what… Another fact about Mandalorian history that he had learned since becoming the owner of the Darksaber and the title that came with it, was that while the majority of Mandalorians accepted the wielder of that sword to be their rightful ruler, there would almost always be outliers in opposition who would see a different Mand’alor on the throne. He sighed, wondering if it would get worse once they had actually begun to retake the planet, when the throne was even more tangible and real and tempting. One thing at a time. 
Scanning the landscape one more time, he tapped the button on the side of his helmet to cut through the hazy fog that hung low over the volcanic ground. At first he saw nothing, but then a wave of air was displaced overhead, and looking up he saw a small ship, maybe half the size of The Promise, beginning its landing maneuvers. That must be her. Tipping his head back, he watched as the craft wobbled upon entry into Nevarro’s atmosphere before the reverse thrusters were engaged, the hull of the ship leveling out, its descent slowing as it got closer to the ground to give him a clear look at the vessel. Dank farrik.
He was immediately reminded of the Razor Crest after he’d trusted the Mon Calamari dockhand on Trask to repair it following the crash landing on Maldo Kreis. Not that I had much of a choice then. Couldn’t get off the platform the way it was. He wondered if there hadn’t been similar circumstances for the woman and her ramshackle ship. There were outer panels that flapped where they lifted away from the rivets that were supposed to hold them in place, shoddily executed patchwork and second hand replacement parts making it almost impossible to imagine what the ship may have looked like when it was new. If it ever was. Cocking his head to the side as the engines powered down, he wondered if it wasn’t something that Navina or her friend had cobbled together themselves from spare scraps of retired ships. 
There was another disturbance overhead, the hot air moving as though another ship were trying to cut through to land, and he shook all thoughts of her ship’s provenance and original model number away. He needed to stay vigilant, be on the lookout for whoever it was that was following Navina. The airlock hissed as she lowered the ramp on her ship, the steel plank stuttering jerkily as it dropped then freezing its motion with a grinding sound just shy of reaching the ground. 
“Kriffing piece of-” He heard a metallic thunk that he would have wagered anything on had been made by her boot striking the mechanism that operated the entrance ramp, the door groaning on its fastenings as it plunged down to close the distance. “There.” Swinging her braid with a huff, the woman appeared in the opening. She wasn’t wearing any of her armor, her bulging bag slung across her body. He did notice the sunlight glinting off of the kal at her waist and recognized the shape of the blaster strapped to her thigh beneath the gray shawl she wore though, the woman seeming to put more stock in being well armed than well armored. In her case, it made sense, and he realized that if she did know someone was after her, she would only stick out more if she was wearing the beskar helmet and the thin plates she’d collected over the years. 
Hopping down from her ship, a cloud of ash rising as her boot soles hit land, she waved one arm and called out. “Hey there, Mando.” Turning, she hoisted the ramp up manually and gave it a forceful shove to slam it shut. 
In the same instant that the hefty door clicked to lock, the enhanced audio receiver in his helmet picked up another distinct noise; the nearly silent sound of a ship entering the atmosphere. The tracker. Snapping his attention skyward, he adjusted his visor lens and located the incoming gunship. It’s weapons already charged from what he could see, it would be within shooting range in a matter of seconds. Eyes flicking down to the woman still struggling to close the ramp, he realized that she hadn’t noticed the very imminent danger that she was in. And he didn’t have time to warn her.
Acting on instinct alone, he lunged forward extending his left arm and deploying the whipcord from his vambrace. She turned to face him as the cable wrapped around her body, eyes widening in shock as the restraint tightened to trap her arms against her sides. Sorry. 
“What the-“ 
Her assumed string of swears and expletives was cut short by the zip of the line as he swiveled his wrist, the mechanized cord reeling itself back in. Overhead, a dark shape hovered above the clouds. Navina finally glanced up as the hum of the attacking ship’s guns announced their intent to fire. The expression on her face as she looked back down at him was a mixture of confusion, anger, and fear, adrenaline pulsing from her that he could almost feel himself. Hang on. 
Again, there was no time to warn her before he acted, punching his fist hard to pull Navina as far from where she stood as possible. She nearly flew through the air to close the distance, the Mandalorian whipping his body around just in time to stop her momentum by throwing his arms wide and catching her in them. The instant he had a solid grip on her, he bent his knees and pushed off from the ground, jetpack igniting and lifting them both out of harm’s way just as red blaster fire streaked through the sky to hit the ship that she’d been aboard only minutes before. 
He didn’t look back, focused instead on locating the enemy, already grabbing for one of the thermal detonators attached to his belt. But he didn’t need to look back to know the exact second that the enemy’s blast hit, her body stiffening noticeably as the explosion engulfed her ship, the sound of her incredulous gasp close to his ear. He didn’t need to see it on her face to understand what she was feeling. I hope there wasn’t anything… He recalled the moment he had found Grogu’s ball in the rubble where the Razor Crest once stood. I hope nothing she cares about was destroyed. 
Shaking those thoughts from his head, he rose higher until he was close enough to one of the ship’s engines to toss the detonator into the turbine. Reaching down, he unbuckled another two of the spherical explosives, shoving them in after the first before diving back towards the ground. He hadn’t been able to retaliate right away when Grogu was abducted and his ship, their home, decimated. But I can now. His weapons ignited, tearing the engine to shreds and causing the ship to drop like a lead weight, falling hard and gaining speed. 
The heat at his back as they plummeted was satisfying, but his thoughts quickly returned to the woman in his arms as they both touched down on the ground. Bracing for the impact of the destroyed ship’s impending crash, he tucked her head against his shoulder. Tilting his head down, he shielded as much of her with as much of himself as possible, widening his stance to lower his base as the ground rumbled underfoot. Charred debris rained down, a few smaller pieces bouncing off of his armor like fiery hailstones, and he kept her sheltered until he heard and felt them stop falling. As soon as it was clear, he released her, stepping back once he was sure that she was steady on her feet. 
“Are you hurt?” He knew that he needed to check the ship’s wreckage to see if the assailant was still alive. But he wanted to make sure that she was physically alright before he did. 
Mouth agape and expression completely stunned, she took a breath and then another, staring at the space where she’d landed her ship and seeing only a burnt out crater in its place. “I...I’m...no.” She answered, blinking rapidly before giving him a quick shake of her head. “You… how did you-” 
Now’s not the time. Without another word he pushed off from the ground again, flying through the smoke plumes towards the torn and twisted remains of the enemy ship’s cockpit and main hold. Looking through the windshield, he saw the slumped form of a man in dark goggles, the tell tale tattoo marking him as a Black Sun member visible on his neck above the collar of his shirt. From what the Mandalorian could tell, the man was still breathing, simply unconscious, and the lack of movement among the rest of the wreckage paired with the absence of a second body in the co-pilot’s chair led him to believe that this was a solo operation. It usually is. He could count on one hand how many times he’d hunted with a partner, and he knew that most bounty hunters and assassins worked that way, too. 
Finding the hatch to open the cockpit, he tried to peel it open but it wouldn’t budge, the hinges bent and damaged in the crash. Swearing under his breath, he drew his blaster and shot three times at the lock until the door fell inward. Kicking his boot down through the door, he opened it fully, dropping into the ship to extract the man who had just fired on Navina. In another circumstance, he may have let the man suffer the consequences of his actions and let fate decide whether he walks away from the flames. But then he’d be loose on Nevarro. If this trouble was somehow linked to him, which it was, because Navina was only there to meet with him, then he owed it to Cara and Karga and all of the people there to clean up his mess. And I’m sure Fennec will have questions for him. Slinging the tall but thin man over his shoulder, the Mandalorian climbed back out through the opening he made for himself, jumping from the top of the wreckage. The jets strapped to his back roared to life and he ascended as a fuel tank exploded right below him. That was close. 
His next priority was checking that The Promise hadn’t suffered any damage. The blast seemed to have been a direct hit, so he wasn’t overly concerned. But it’s my only way out of here and it’s… He frowned as he landed. It’s not home but it’s… He sighed. It doesn’t matter. The ship was fine, far enough away that it hadn’t even been hit with any rubble or debris. Good. He dropped the man he was carrying in an unceremonious heap, an audible crack coming from his arm as it made contact with the hard ground, ignoring it as he turned back in the direction he’d left Navina in. 
She was walking cautiously through the field of burning metal, her face streaked with soot and her blaster drawn. As soon as she saw the man crumpled at the Mandalorian’s feet, her face pulled into an angry scowl. “Kriffing scum!” 
She coughed as she inhaled the thick smoke, and he realized that if not for the filter in his helmet he would be having the same difficulty breathing. We should get inside. She stumbled closer, and he could see the shake in her hand as she pointed her weapon at the figure on the ground. Don’t- He was about to reach for her to stop her from shooting the man, despite how badly he knew that she must have wanted to. She didn’t make him do that though, opting instead for a swift, hard kick as she stowed her blaster. Lifting her eyes up to the eyeline of his visor, she shook her head. “How did you kn-” 
Another cough cut her short, and he flipped open the cover on his vambrace, tapping in the code to unlock and lower the ramp. “Go inside,” he shook his head and gestured at the black smoke. “You shouldn’t breathe this in. Go.”  
He stooped down to lift the unconscious assassin from the ground, hoisting him over his shoulder again and followed Navina up the ramp into the main hull. As soon as he was in, he punched the switch on the wall to seal the door behind them. The air circulation system kicked in with a whoosh as the airlock clicked shut, and before he said anything else, the Mandalorian opened the locker where he kept three slabs ready at all times. Shoving the limp man into the frame of the slab, he held down the button that released a gust of super chilled carbonite to freeze his captive, then shut him away in the locker for transport to Tatooine. He’ll answer for what he did. He was certain that Fennec would squeeze every drop of information out of him and then make him sorry that he ever agreed to work for the Black Sun.
“Hey.” The curtness in her tone made him wince as he turned to face her, but it was understandable. “Are you going to tell me how you knew that was going to happen?” She crossed her arms defensively and he could tell that she was trying to keep her composure. 
“I was tipped off by one of my people.” He nodded at her. “I had asked about your father, but they came across your name instead.” Pulling a device from the cabinet below the weapons locker, he went on. “Found a bounty puck on you in a syndicate hideout, and found out that someone had you followed.” Switching the small object on, he pointed it at her bag. 
Pulling the satchel away from him, she stepped back. “What are you doing?” 
Lifting the device, he explained. “This will find and disable any tracking devices on you so they can’t send backup.” She still seemed hesitant, and though he wanted to be sympathetic and give her time to process what was happening, he knew that they didn’t have that luxury. “Look, I just saved your life and I don’t even know who I saved it from.” Or why someone’s after you. He recalled the way that his subconscious had convinced him to trust her the last time they were together, and though he still didn’t understand why, he felt himself leaning into it again. “So you’re going to let me check you for tracking beacons, or I’m going to make you let me.” 
She swallowed, not out of fear but frustration, glaring up at him, then begrudgingly held out her bag. “Fine.” 
He swept the device over it, the thing beeping loudly over one of the pockets. “There.” 
“What? There’s nothing in-” She dug her hand into the pocket, then froze, pulling it back out with a tiny silver circle between her fingers. “Dank farrik, what the… how-” 
The Mandalorian took it from her, dropping it on the floor and crushing it with the heel of his boot. “Someone must have slipped it into your bag while you were distracted.” He raised the scanner once more, making sure that there weren’t any other trackers or bugs planted on her person. Satisfied that there weren’t, he stowed the scanner back where he took it from and straightened up to face Navina again. 
The anger and defensiveness were gone, the woman instead displaying concern. “I need to contact Firo.” She shook her head. “That… The Flare, it… that was his ship and I…Osi'kyr! Firo. I need to make sure he’s… that he and his family are safe. What if-” 
“Alright.” He held up his hands. “Alright, you can use my holo screen. It’s in the cockpit.” She pressed her lips together and nodded, clearly worried. “It… my contact? They told me that it was only your name that was on record.” If that makes you feel any better. 
He didn’t wait for her to respond, simply nodding at the ladder that led to the ship’s controls. She climbed wordlessly with him right behind her, and within seconds he had the holo up and running, allowing her to make contact with her friend. If I thought the kid was in trouble I’d… need to see him, too. There were things that The Mandalorian needed to ask her, but he knew that nothing would be accomplished until her mind was put at ease over the people she cared about. 
Once she was satisfied that no one else would be in the crosshairs meant for her, she apologized again to the shaggy haired, amicable man that he had seen pick her up on a stolen speeder when last he was on Nevarro. He insisted that he didn’t really care about his ship, that he was just glad that she was safe, his relief genuine. Ships are replaceable. He looked around at the switchboards and panels that surrounded him. People aren’t. His eyes fell to the vacant seat that was still waiting for Grogu to occupy it. From what she had told him last time they spoke, she knew that all too well. 
As she wrapped up her call, she visibly relaxed, no longer on the verge of hyperventilation from smoke or worry, but still a little on edge. Rightfully so. Someone just tried to- a Mandalorian tried to have her killed. One of my... The idea felt wrong to even think, but he had to ask. “Navina?” Her sharp eyes locked with his, again giving him the feeling that she could see through his visor even though he knew that was impossible. “Do you have any idea who would have,” he sighed. Just tell her what you know. “It was a Mandalorian. The person who put the hit out on you? They were… Do you know why a Mandalorian would be after you?” 
To his surprise, she actually let out a dry laugh. “Mando, if I kept track of everyone who… everyone that I made an enemy of I’d never get any sleep.” 
He was sure that she was right, but it wasn’t what he’d asked. “That wasn’t an answer.” 
She frowned, rubbing at a smudge of black ash on her forehead. “No, it wasn’t.” Looking down at her lap, she let out a breath. “I…” she clamped her eyes shut. “Yeah. There are a… a few Mandalorians who might be...who want me-” 
“Tell me why.” It wasn’t a command, regardless of how it came out. “Please, tell me why. I,” he paused, wanting to be sure of his word choice so that she would understand his line of questioning. I want to make sure that no one that I am responsible for was responsible for this. As the Mand’alor, it was his responsibility to uphold peace and hand out punishment to those that would threaten it. But she doesn’t know that I’m… He wanted to trust her like his brain was telling him to. But he didn’t want to be wrong, not at the expense of the rest of the covert. She hasn’t sworn the Creed. “I want to be sure that no one in my covert, my Tribe, was behind this.” 
She opened her mouth then shut it, furrowing her brow before smoothing it out again, and he knew that she was trying to be just as careful in choosing her words as he was, the two of them playing a precarious game of strategy as they got to know one another. “I’ll… I’ll tell you about the Mandalorians I’ve…” She sighed, her eyes landing on the signet on his shoulder. “I’ll tell you about the Mandalorians I’ve made enemies of, if you tell me something. Like last time.” 
He thought for a beat before answering, something in the way that she was eyeing the Mudhorn crest that he wore giving him pause. But that’s how this works, right? Give information to get it? “Alright,” he agreed. “Go ahead.” 
As though she’d been practicing the question since the second she pulled away on that speeder three weeks ago, it rolled right off of her tongue to fill the quiet cockpit. “Are you in possession of the Darksaber?” 
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Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)
tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @valkblue @malionnes @gollyderek @fific7 @becs-bunker​ @commanderlola​ @greatcircle79​
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disastrousjest · 3 years
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Confessions of 2020..
(tw: covid mention, mental health mention)
I wanted to post a little something that might put out some insight for my followers, friends, mutuals alike. With the recent battle I had with some personal blogs attacking me over some posts I made because of the images, regardless of the purpose of the post. I just wanted to let everyone aware of why that sent me over the edge and why I handled it the way I did. Please note: I will not be apologizing for what I said, I do feel as though those that tried to reach out to me did not realize the purpose of the post. And while I understand now I should just tag things like that differently, I will not be apologizing for stating the fact that this is a rp  blog and I do not appreciate personal blogs attacking me over something like that. That being said, I will not be bullied off tumblr or this account. Because I love JJBA and Joseph Joestar. So for future reference, if you don’t like my content, unfollow it. Don’t bother sending me nasty remarks because I do not have the time for those types of things.  But I wanted to open the doorway to some insight for you all who have been paying attention or who just might care to know why I came off so incredibly outraged by that little bit. Because to me it was just the topping of a whole bunch of bullshit as is 2020.  This whole shithole of a year began in March. I got promoted at work to salary. That’s 35k a year my friends and that’s a hell of an upgrade for someone who barely makes a living wage right now and came from a working poor family. I really thought my life was gonna turn around. For once my fiance and I wouldn’t have to struggle so hard and we could afford to do everything we talked about doing. Well guess what--2 weeks after the announcement of my promotion my work place shut down because of Covid-19. Nothing new, lots of people and places were shut down. So fine, it pushed back my transfer and such. That wasn’t a big deal.  Enter June 2020. We re-open and my manager calls me into his office to talk to him about said mentioned promotion. They are suspending it, means it could be pushed back until we could lift the restrictions. Understandably so, I would just have to keep my old position, an hourly one, until they were called back. Now the months pass, June becomes July and enter August.  I find out about a week before the company announces it at the start of August, the position I was promoted to has been eliminated indefinitely. There is a chance they could come back, but right now they have no idea when or if that’ll happen. Which means that whole part of my department no longer exists at my place of work. I mean it’s a good thing I had my hourly position to fall back into or I’d lost my job. But that salary raise? Gone. 
Rewind back to July. I get very very VERY sick. And have to test for covid-19 the first time. Only because I am so sick and have a roommate with asthma I have to quarantine myself for 14 days. So 14 days I am locked in my bedroom alone, sleeping alone after 3 years of being with someone in bed. My meals are being left at the door for me and the only room I am allowed to enter is the bathroom, but only after it has been sanitized. Only for my results to come back negative. And now... we enter September 2020. Two major things started in September. The first, our old, senior dog became very ill. Started losing weight, wasn’t eating, losing hair, etc. So we knew his time was coming soon enough. Mid-September, I wake up one morning while our dog is dying mind you, and I cannot move my body from the waist down. Every time I tried, I’m greeted with a shot of pain straight up my spine that feels something like a hot poker being stabbed right through my spinal cord. Very very painful. I end up bed-ridden for a day or two because I cannot move. So once the pain subsides, I go see a chiropractor. Shocking (not really) announcement that my sway back--to which I was diagnosed with 10 years prior from a bad car accident--has gotten worse. What does  that mean exactly? Well--my spine bends in like a S for those who don’t know, which means my lower back dips inward deeper inside my body and my tail bone curves out. Now along that dip there are 3 or 4 vertebrae that are especially messed up. The bones have become staggered out of place on top of one another, just from the muscles pulling the bones out of shape since my spine doesn’t flex the way it’s supposed to anymore. (And it hasn’t for years). The pain before this was tolerable, it would ache from time to time but never like this. Now I am crippled more or less.  Here’s what that means: my mobility became extremely limited. At first in the am when I woke up I couldn’t move from the waist down for the first hour or two after I woke up. Then when I was finally able to move, I had to use my forearms to literally drag my lower body upright (still painful). Once I was able to manage that, I had to gage how strong my legs were to support my weight. And at first walking wasn’t terrible, but as the treatments began--doctor appointments, spinal adjustments, and physical therapy--to correct my spinal issue, nerve damage became clear. So now on top of this horrible pain, I had to deal with weak legs. Because of nerve damage, my right leg especially became weak. On days my back would hurt especially bad, my right knee would collapse out from under me. Which meant falling to the ground and not being able to stand up or walk for sometime there after.  Now imagine dealing with not being able to support your own body, not being able to hardly walk and your dog dying at the same time. So while I”m trying not to focus on the fact that my mobility is limiting me on what I can and can’t do, my fiance is upset about this. Our dog (then weighed about 100 or more pounds) could no longer walk either. His back legs and hips were giving out as his health declined. I did not have the strength in my own legs to help carry him because his weight hurt me too much and would cause me to collapse. I had to watch my fiance struggle with this practically all by herself while I sat on the floor, only able to use my arms to help with what I could because my legs and back were too weak to do the work.  This carried on into October. Our dog passes away and that alone is hard for me. I still kind of wonder if I wasn’t so weak when he got sick if I could have helped prolong his life just a little longer. I couldn’t hardly look at him when he passed and I couldn’t look at anyone else. I was very angry that my legs and back had failed me. They had failed everyone. So yes, that weight still lingers over me. It was so bad that when it came time to take turns digging his grave, I struggled with the shovel. Because I couldn’t stand up or be bent over to move the dirt, I got on my hands and knees and I took that shovel in my hands and used my arms and shoulders to dig. I wasn’t going to continue to be useless because of my limited mobility. I felt I already let him down and everyone else by not being able to help take care of him while he was still alive and sick. This was the least I could do.  November comes. Things are calm now, for a while. Not bad. I finally get some braces to help with my back issues (which still continue). I keep on with my physical therapy, trying to heal and help my fiance through her mourning over the dog. My mobility slowly begins to improve, though the doctor informs me it will be a very slow process. Small steps he says. But he is still confident he can fix my spine without back surgery so I can walk again, like a regular person. The limit I am able to stand and walk increases with the help of my braces and I begin taking herbal supplements and drinking herbal teas to increase the rate of my recovery. It seems to be working better than over the counter medication. The rest of 2020 seems promising.  Here comes December. On the night my fiance and I decide to go out on a date to celebrate our 5 years together. I get a phone call from work. One of my co-workers tested positive for Covid-19 and I was exposed. I am now suspended from work without pay until my test results come back negative. A real mood killer for the night. It gets better, we get home and despite the dinner being pretty somber the rest of the night seems fine. We watch movies and spend time together, finish wrapping gifts for Christmas. Then we realize the cat is missing. He’s been missing all day and all night. Nobody has seen him.  Two days prior, I had taken my cat to the vet because he was sick. Again, weight loss, losing hair, etc. I was worried he may be sick. Well it’s cold outside and here it’s been snowing so it’s very cold. I set something of mine outside and a literbox for smell. And then a plate of food. ....that was almost 4 days ago. There’s been not a sign of him. I called the county shelter and they didn’t have him. My fiance suggests he was sick so... maybe he got out of the house and went somewhere to die. My gut tells me he’s not coming back. And my heart is breaking, again. Again. I am wondering if I did something wrong. If I would have kept a better eye on him, I knew he wasn’t  feeling right. I somehow feel like I let him down.  And  then I logged into tumblr and saw those comments. Those asks people were sending about the damn images I posted for the 12 days to Christmas. And they just kept coming. I deleted the other ones, I stopped replying to them and finally just deleted the post. The Christmas spirit had been sucked out of me. I feel as though the world has began to mock me for believing the year could get better back in November. I know one thing, the holiday won’t be as bright this year. Not for me. I hope everyone stays safe and has a good holiday. Maybe 2021 will be more promising, but I”m not banking on it. Not anymore. Thanks for reading.  I hope you all understand now why I have been so slow with my replies lately. As my mood goes up and down because I have been struggling with the weight of all this and depression, just trying to hang on from losing hope that for one I will be able to walk again normally and then just the loss of my animals... everything. I can’t write and I refuse to send bad quality responses and starters for you all. I hope this puts some insight  on why I was so horribly upset the other day.   So thank you to all my friends and everyone who has been so patient with me on all my blogs. Jotaro (dmgdstar) and Johnny (rotatingstar) and this one of course. I will be catching up to everything very soon. I’ve already made a good dent in them.  Your patience is always appreciated. 
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One Fall
Melizabeth Week Day One: Light/Darkness
He was a creature of darkness. His whole life had been determined by shadows, the dark depths of his home world, the cruel hand of his father, the seeds of death and destruction he had sown. Meliodas had learned to hold a sword and take another creature’s life from the moment he had been able to walk. And for the longest time he had refused to do as little as think about complaining. Changing his ways was an idea so farfetched it could make him laugh; his path was already carved out. Fight on behalf of the Demon King, kill on behalf of the Demon King, wage war on behalf of the Demon King.
A perfect servant of his father.
Meliodas only ascended from the darkness of his home world to bring destruction to those pitiful beings housing in the land of Britannia. He slayed dragons and humans and Goddesses alike, and led the elite of his father, the Ten Commandments, to kill many more. The blood on his hands could never be washed away, it stained his fingers when he dressed in the morning, when he trained with Zeldris in the afternoon, when he placed his head on his pillow for the night.
He was a creature of darkness.
And for a while he had been content with this life.
She was a being of light. Word spread to even the deepest shadows and the most steadfast Demons of the daughter of the Supreme Deity, who was said to be able to purge dragon and Vampire and Demon alike, until they would sing pretty songs of peace and forgiveness. But if she did fight an opponent with full force, she showed her true strength, and beware the poor creature that crossed her path. Bloodstained Ellie – that was how she was known in the Demon Realm.
When Zeldris had first mentioned her and the fear coursing through the ranks of the military, Meliodas had laughed a humorless laugh. What did a single Goddess have to show against the oppressive power of the Demon King? Those who had been lulled by her words had surely never tasted the wrath of the Demon King. Meliodas had. More than once. He remembered what it felt like to become a weak-willed puppet on the strings of his father, he remembered the taste of blood in his mouth when he had been pushed into the dirt after dropping his sword in his first lesson of armed combat.
Betraying the Demon King was the last thing Meliodas would dare. Or so he had thought.
She was a being of light. Since they fought on opposite sides of the great war human historians would later dub the Holy War, it had been only a matter of time until Meliodas crossed path with the woman who filled the hearts of his followers with dread or the illusion of peace – both equally poisonous.
The battle was fought, the skirmish won, and the small human town smoldered under the fires of hell. With nothing but numbness, Meliodas stared at the iron monument depicting a Goddess at the town center, the single reason for why the humans had been sentenced to death. The head of the statue, once proud and a symbol of worship, lay severed in the dust. If only the humans had chosen another icon to guard their town. Their undoing might have been delayed a few weeks. A year if the Demon King had been generous. But when had he ever been?
Meliodas had ordered Galand and Melascula to return to the Demon Realm and report the successful completion of their mission. And for himself, there was only one task to fulfill before he could crawl back into the darkness with more blood on his hands.
I do not tolerate survivors.
Those had been the last words Meliodas had been given by his father when he had been standing at the door of the throne room, ready to take his leave and hopeful to be spared this set of orders. An acerbic taste had climbed his throat then and filled his mouth now as he walked through the burning ruins in search for human survivors. It was a dirty business, but Meliodas always chose to carry out this task himself. He was quick when he snuffed out the life energies of those labelled his enemy. Some of the other Commandments were not.
A whimpering carried to his ears through the crackling of fire, and Meliodas cursed under his breath. The broadsword weighed heavier the closer he came to the source of the sound.
They were so easy to find. Shell-shocked or crying, the four humans cowered in the dirt beneath the remains of a roof, their pale faces devoid of hope as they gazed up to him. But before Meliodas could raise his sword, he was knocked into the dust by blinding light.
He jumped to his feet with a backflip and shook off the pesky agony of the Goddess magic. Compared to the hits of his father, this attack had been a gentle breeze. With a growl, Meliodas met the eyes of his next adversary.
Without having crossed paths with her, he knew in an instant who he was faced with, and the grip around the hilt of his sword tightened. Her eyes shone with determination and the symbol of the Goddess Clan amidst a pool of gold, and the last remains of a magic spell still danced around her fingertips. There was only one Goddess apart from the Archangels who could catch him off guard as she had.
But he wasn’t given a chance to inspect her further as the next orb of light swooshed past his ear, missing it by an inch. Meliodas dropped his defensive pose, angry with himself for allowing his adversary to strike twice unpunished, and charged at Bloodstained Ellie. Better now before she would be able to twist his head with those hopes and lies he had buried when he had been old enough to hold a sword. Darkness spread from his fingertips to envelop his sword, but instead of flesh, Meliodas struck light.
The accursed Goddess deflected his attack with a magic barrier and shifted out of the way to strike with her other hand. Meliodas squinted to avoid the brightness and manifested his wings. He kicked from the ground to gain the upper hand, but she was already above him, white-feathered wings beating against the smoke screens.
They pivoted into the sky in a strange, violent dance where one misstep equaled death. Meliodas dealt out blow for blow, but his adversary was always one step ahead of him, evaded his hits and retaliated with an attack twice as forceful. White and black, light and darkness crashed between them, and the longer she held her own – no, she was already prevailing – the more respect Meliodas begrudgingly held for this woman.
No one had even dared to test him like this.
His thoughts were captivated by the curves of her body for only a second, but that was enough. The brightness of Purge hit him square in the chest, burned the outer layers of his skin, stole the link to his magic powers, sent him tumbling to the ground miles below. A fall from this height meant death, no matter the resilience of his Demon body.
Meliodas couldn’t reach for the darkness to keep himself suspended in the air.
He kept falling.
The air rushed past him, pressed the life out of his lungs. And like an idiotic child who had seen the embodiment of beauty for the first time, he kept thinking about these perfect curves as he plummeted into his undoing.
The darkness didn’t answer his calls. But the light did.
Just as Meliodas thought he should feel the ground break his spine in a matter of seconds, a hand grabbed his and slowed his fall with a jolt that nearly dislocated his shoulder. Stupid and unable to comprehend, Meliodas stared at the soft features, hardened from exertion not spite, of the woman who tried to kill him a moment ago. Her slim fingers around his let something flow through his flesh and bones and muscles Meliodas failed to identify. A strange feeling, but pleasant in a way. Warm.
The way sunlight felt on his skin.
Meliodas hit the ash-covered ground unhurt but too stunned to mind his bruised ego or even scramble to his feet. His adversary, his savior, stood over him with endless grace, her wings flipping in the breeze that caught her long silver strands.
“Why?” Meliodas coughed up.
The question seemed to confuse her. “Didn’t you want to live? Or are Demons never taught what gratitude means?”
A verbal fighter on top. Meliodas grinned without real humor. “Who knows how many of your allies you condemned to death by saving me. All these people who will die by my hands in the next fight. And the next. All because you are to weak-willed to get your hands dirty.”
She ignored his insult. “You’re right. If you die, maybe the war will be over sooner, and more lives will be spared. But the price would be an unnecessary murder, another life added to the list of casualties. I think I can lower the price further than that.”
This had to be the naivest thing Meliodas had ever heard. Was this girl unable to realize that nothing in life came for free? That there were always necessary sacrifices? Those who refused to pay the price would only end up dead or in chains – but she was either too childish or too stubborn to understand. He should strike her down here and now. His father would have ordered him to lay his fingers around her slender neck and squeeze until he had proven her idealistic worldview wrong. Then why did his hands relax at his side when he stood up to meet her at eyelevel?
She was still taller, and her two large sets of wings only added to a stature that commanded respect. “Why do you fight, Meliodas?” she asked.
So she did know who he was, knew how many of her kind he had sent into the afterlife. Her question didn’t make sense in any case. Fighting was his life, he had been raised with a weapon in his hand, and part of him enjoyed the challenge of a good battle, the thrill of victory. Meliodas had been told to fight, so that was what he did – there was nothing else to it.
“Because fighting is the only thing I know,” he said. He hadn’t meant to be this honest, a snarky insult would have been more appropriate. Better fit for the leader of the Ten Commandments. “And because someone else will take my place if I don’t fight. If I play my role, I at least have some control over how the battle is fought.”
The smile she gave him was rich of sickly-sweet compassion – he couldn’t get enough of this poison. “Not the response many would expect from the son of the Demon Lord. I’m glad,” Bloodstained Ellie said. What exactly made her glad, she left unanswered. “You should know that these villagers stand under my protection. Their survival is what I fight for.”
“Don’t worry,” Meliodas said and picked his sword from the ground. The metal had never felt this cold in his hands, when every other fiber of his body burst with the strange sensation of warmth. “I for my part can’t see any villagers around. They must have fled before I got here.”
The villagers crawling out of their hiding spot in the relative calm after the fight proved his words wrong, but Bloodstained Ellie didn’t take notice of them. She studied Meliodas’ face with a fascination he found both endearing and uncomfortable.
“I bet we’ll meet again, Bloodstained Ellie,” Meliodas said and turned to take his leave while his thoughts still functioned somewhat properly.
“Elizabeth.”
“What?”
“My name is Elizabeth,” she said, and the gleam he was met with when he looked over his shoulder filled him with more adoration than anything he had seen in this world. The sun peeking through the clouds had no chance to rival that expression.
“Elizabeth it is then. I hope I get to meet you under more pleasant circumstances the next time around.”
The muscles around Meliodas’ spine tickled as the link to his Demon powers reestablished itself, and he took off into the sky, Elizabeth’s face still on his mind.
She was a being of light.
He was a creature of darkness.
All the laws of nature branded them as mortal enemies, the world had drawn a line in the sand and placed them at different sides of the great war. Meliodas was supposed to despise every word coming out of her mouth, every action she took to defy the Demon King, every inch of her smooth skin. 
But his father be damned, he was already falling for her.
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deliciousscaloppine · 4 years
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Don’t be evil anymore.
Don’t be evil anymore, Chapters 1 to 13  (Words: 13283 ), Focused on Nie Huaisang with flashbacks to his relationship with Mingjue and Jin Guangyao. Pairing: Nieyao & Sangyao. Mature for some adult background themes in the story such as sex, prostitution and mentions of pederasty as a social practice, but nothing graphic.
After Jin Guangyao’s death, Nie Huaisang travels to the bustling city of spectacle,  Kaifeng in order to grieve privately. He meets various people representing various facets of Jin Guangyao, and slowly works out his issues of guilt,regret and grief. 
Chapter 1: Don't be evil anymore.
“Sorrow is an indulgence” Nie Mingjue had said. “An indulgence he taught you!”
He knew when Meng Yao left, that without him to soften Mingjue's edges, the two brothers would descend into daily chaos. Mingjue needed someone to vent all his angered frustration and all Huaisang wanted was to tear everyone above him down, just so he would be free of their control.
“But brother, aren't you also sad?” he had asked.
Mingjue had stopped at this. He had wanted to say things like “I don't sit idle. I shoulder all the burdens. I don't submerge myself in vague worries.” But he had said nothing. He had only sat down and drank.
“Pour yourself a drink” he had said and passed him a cup.
“To your health.” he says now raising his cup to an empty seat. Sorrow is an indulgence, his brother was right. And because he doesn't want his subjects to see him indulge himself with tears, he sometimes flees here, to the bustling night life of Kaifeng. The instruments in the courtyard scream and bellow at him, chasing away the memories, as the many actors surge on the makeshift stage below for some drama.
For over a decade he bided his time, torn between absolute hate and startling sympathy for Meng Yao. And when he finally set in motion his plans, he thought he would be free. Because the worst anguish was not the grief for his brother, but rather his conflicting feelings for Meng Yao.
It's now twice as difficult to release himself from them. He catches himself at the oddest times thinking “This little bauble would have pleased Meng Yao.” As if he doesn't want to forget. So much like his brother he tries to pry Meng Yao from his heart, only to end up empty, bitter and angry.
“I never revealed these things to you, because I knew you had an affection for him. But he took the lives of many people, Huaisang, and he will continue to take. He has a real thirst for blood. If you had only seen how he culled our disciples. He is no longer human, and his evil will only grow as long as no one confronts him.”
No, Huaisang had thought, but very soon he found out himself. That's why his brother had been so distressed. The little handsome soldier he liked to kiss, killed. He took heads with a smile.
A young waitress arrives to clear his table. “Young Master, you've been drinking alone all night. Don't you want to go back to your room and rest?”
He gives her a smile. “I can handle my drinks. Don't worry, young lady, I won't make trouble.”
If he regrets anything, it's the time he lost. How would he love to have been the person he is now when his brother was alive. Perhaps then catastrophe could have been avoided. Perhaps his brother would still live in much better times, and together they could travel the world and laugh and cry at its odd sights. Poor Nie Mingjue lived such a short, such a hard life, and the only pleasure he took, he paid for it dearly with his own life.
He holds his head up to look at the actors below, immersed in their difficult, unrealistic drama. For hours it seems he looks without paying attention. Just trying not to think. His eyes drifting shut from time to time. Don't remember. Don't remember. Don't remember. Like an invocation to oblivion.
“Oh, how I love killing men!” a youthful voice calls from below. “With sword or spear for my father's glory, I take their lives!”
“A blooming peony in blood.” the woeful voice of the narrator laments. “See the little prince, how he claims heads on the battlefield.”
He opens his eyes. A young actor spins in a mock battle amidst fake blades and spears, pretending to be a prince to an evil king who battles the play's noble heroes.
“There is no villainy he will not do, no desecration too unholy. Such a hard heart to go with his youthful face. So many tears shed as many as an ocean.”
“I pierce their bodies with my blade, none who face me live to see the next day. And if the very sun turned against me, with my hands I'll bring it down!”
Huaisang can't help but smile at the boastful declarations of the young soldier who twirls on stage killing his brave foes. There's something about the bend of this one's waist, something in the tone of his voice that brings to mind Meng Yao. His brother's Meng Yao, the one that killed men and smiled.
“Young lady!” he calls to the waitress, who comes ready to scold him. “Who is the master of the troupe?” he asks. “Could you call him to my table, I would like to make a contribution.”
The waitress pleased, runs off and returns later with an elderly gentleman. Before even the first round of treats arrives, he passes to him a pouch full of silver coins.
“Such talented actors.” he remarks. “You must have worked hard to discipline them. If possible I would like to meet them all and congratulate them.”
The old master mutters his thanks, he would like to know where this young master is from and if he has any thoughts about the play they are acting.
“I am rich and I am idle, and I appreciate beauty. I've travelled from afar and I consider Kaifeng to be my home more than any other place on this land. Here one may find as many diversions as the heart desires.”
The old master laughs, and the young soldier below resumes killing.
The next day he sees the array of yesterday's painted faces without their makeup on. Polite and soft-spoken, ordinarily dressed, he has great difficulty recognizing the evil prince among them. There are several young men, all willowy and handsome, but not a face that resembles Meng Yao.
“The evil peony prince? Who is he among you?”
A boy dashes forward with his head kept low in modesty. “It's me.” he mutters with a hint of restlessness about his shoulders.
Huaisang let's himself see this face. A stranger's face, but now that it speaks it's becoming a little more familiar.
“Are you perhaps from Yunmeng?” he asks.
“That's right! How did you know?” the boy exclaims astounded.
“I once knew someone from Yunmeng. You remind me of him. Do you perhaps know the Meng family?”
The boy suddenly laughs. There's a slight rudeness in his smile.
“Where are your manners?” the old master warns. “Answer to this gentleman.”
The boy lowers his face, his handsome eyes still shining with mirth.
“There's no such thing as Meng family. It's a moniker people use there when they have an ugly past. Like criminals and prostitutes. They use this name when they return to society so their families don't face embarassment and humiliation.”
“Ah, I did not know that.” Huaisang says pleasantly, even though for some reason he wants to cry like a child.
He reaches for a pouch full of silver and hands it to the boy.
“You are a good actor.” he says. “From now on ask your master to let you play characters that are good too.”
Chapter 2: The secret
When his brother had vanished, shortly after that Jin Guangyao arrived at Qinghe to manage the various issues of his succession. He had known when he first saw him come and greet him that his brother was now dead. He had made many efforts to find him before Guangyao, but his sworn brother had more men and more power in his disposal and was afraid that his plot would be discovered.
The tears he was shedding at the time were all real. It is a terrible thing to lose family to evil men and know there is no one to award you justice. His heart had broken in two. No matter what was at stake he could not bring himself to defend his position as heir. His thoughts were: Let it all go to hell. I will retreat to some cavern, or mountain peak like some ascetic and there pray for enlightenment. Let them all kill each other, tear themselves apart.
But Guangyao had only taken a single step, casting a single glance, before reverting to old Meng Yao, ready to shield his defenseless prince. It's you that I am afraid, Huaisang had wanted to scream at him.
Meng Yao had asked: “Who is giving you trouble?”
You, you a thousand you. But he couldn't even rage. Only clasp his sleeves and shed tears on his shoulders wordlessly. What a knife Meng Yao was, thrust and twisted in his very guts. But he was crying on him, receiving his consolations. Whatever dissidence there had been vanished in a total of three days. Whoever saw the golden prince of Lanling, fell silent and apologized.
 Some uncles from the side of Mingjue's mother, who had wanted a nephew of theirs to take over the Qinghe Nie feared that against the Jin they would lose the very kingdom. They took Huaisang's side willingly after that. The people's shock from seeing this foreign prince manage the fortress reminded him for the first time after his brother's disappearance, that he was not all alone in the world.
There were others who could resent Meng Yao with him. So close your heart and keep shedding tears, he had told himself.
But Meng Yao was no monster at the time. He never had his father's backing, no Lanling Jin would come to wage war with the Qinghe Nie over a useless prince. But all the same, he knew he could get the same results parading alone in his resplendent robes emblazoned with the blooming peony of his Clan. Once that was settled he threw over his golden vestments a grey mantle, so that only Huaisang would shine in his funeral white.
His brother's funeral, a funeral without a body, had been the most notable event of the year. Talked about not only for its splendor and its many mourners, but also for the kindness of the remaining sworn brothers who supported the new king of Hejian. A king! His brother had been a king, much like those of old. Huaisang had no idea what he was.
“Eat a little. It's not doing your brother any good if you are starving.” Meng Yao had said and tried to feed him.
Huaisang looked at the food in the private banquet and had wanted to laugh. If he had been the man his brother was, he would have throttled Meng Yao, or like those kings of old, he would have taken a sword and cut his head off at that very instant. But instead he had taken his chopsticks.
“Thank you, third brother” he had said.
He had fallen asleep directly afterwards from exhaustion and numbness. Meng Yao had led him into his new chambers, he had even set his bed for him. Before he could leave, Huaisang had convinced him to stay. So he had slept soundly in a feeling of encompassing safety, with Meng Yao by his bed like the old days. He remembered that was his brother's killer only after he woke up.
The difficulty of hating people you know is hating the parts of them inside you he found out that day.
“I have a secret.” he had whispered behind his fan a long time ago.
“What secret?” Meng Yao had smiled at him.
“I am in love with you.”
“That's not a secret.” Meng Yao had laughed.
“Why not? I haven't told it.”
“That's not how secrets work. A secret is something you can't say. And besides even if you hadn't told me before, I knew it already.”
“You are so clever, Meng Yao. Pray tell, how did you find out? Or is it because others think you are so handsome you now guess half of them are in love with you.”
Meng Yao had snickered at that behind his hand.
“You love me” he said. “Because we are alike.”
Huaisang had paused at that. Oh, Meng Yao thinks I am smart. He had smiled back then, only to cry bitterly later. Not smart. Soft. He had thought I was soft like him. But at some point in life Meng Yao had stopped being soft. Or he could slip in and out of it regardless of the violence he committed. Meng Yao, violent and dangerous, who would have thought.
“Young Master, you are not even paying attention!” the boy cried falling into his arms.
A small red dot was adorning his forehead. That wouldn't do. He licked his thumb and wiped it out.
“My face!” the boy exclaimed.
“I'll paint you a better one, go get your brushes.”
“You are so strange today, Young Master.” the boy complained setting his tray of things at his side. “Are you perhaps offended because of what I said about the surname Meng?”
“Of course not! Why would I be offended by something like that.” Huaisang said dabbing the boy's smudged forehead with white paint.
“The other actors scolded me. They said I shouldn't have said that because you probably liked that friend of yours from Yunmeng. And now it's as if I have insulted him.”
Huaisang smiled, licking the tip of the brush to smooth it out.
“He was a rascal that friend of mine. It's dishonorable to hold grudges against new acquaintances in order to preserve the memory of old ones”
The boy squinted his eyes in an effort to understand. He wiped the excessive ink and with careful motions he painted a crescent moon on the boy's forehead.
“What mark is that?” the boy asked with half-closed eyes.
“A crescent moon. It's the mark of an upright and just person.” Huaisang said. “You are good now, are you not?”
“Oh, yes, I uphold justice.” the boy said cheekily and run off back to the stage to fight the wicked.
Huaisang hid behind his fan, pretending to admire the mountainous landscape. Something was biting at his heart. It hurt like a venomous snake spitting its venom into his freshest wounds. He had flown all the way to Gusu to maybe laugh at Xichen. He had thought this seclusion of his was only a rumor. Arrving there it had given him some pleasure to find out the rumor had been true.
But now he realizes it was never repentance. Just common sense, the instinct of self-preservation. What person can trust themselves when they've hurt the one they love. I do not love, Huaisang had said to himself. I do not love at all. Not him. Not anyone. But the secret had been that he did.
Chapter 3: When the virtuous are wicked.
When desires become strange, when they turn inside and become tangled like the roots of old dying trees, it's best to pacify the soul with sleep. Or that's what Huaisang had always thought. Whenever something became too difficult he knew the best comfort would be in the embrace of a soft bed. Of course his desires never became so strange as to be avoided until now when he is plagued more and more often by an odd idea.
“I heard about a new play today.” the boy says. “A company in the far north is very fond of it and I think the Young Master should seek them out and ask them to play it for him.”
“Oh, what play is that?” he says catching brief glimpses of his reflection in the water. The boat glides effortlessly on the peaceful waters, floating on the very image of the heavens. It's a bright day, and other boats float around them, each filled with a host of wealthy clients, courtesans and all the divertisements under the sky of Kaifeng.
“I don't know if this will come across as rude.” the boy says. “But it's a love story.”
“Love?” Huaisang asks opening his fan. “What does someone as young as you have to do with love?”
The boy blushes, but can't help smiling mischieviously. “I have ears” he says. “People think I don't, but I do! I can't help but listen what they say.”
“Who talks of love? The other actors?”
“Yes. They say this person from Yunmeng must have been very close to your heart.”
“Why do they say that? I mentioned him but once.”
“It's because I reminded you of him and you have given me silver and watched my shows, and doted on me. They say you must have wanted to dote on him.”
Perhaps he drank too much last night, and now he will be handsomely rewarded with a headache.
“Can you ask the waitress for some water. I hardly slept last night.”
“Did this person you loved, perhaps die?” the boy asks when he returns with water.
“Actually he did.” he answers trying to suppress the violent surge of emotion.
“Then this play is perfect for you. It's about two monks from a temple in the mountains. They fall deeply in love, but their love is forbidden! One of them shunned by the other, made desperate by feelings of unrequited love kills himself. But he is then reborn as a beautiful princess!”
“Let me guess, the other monk falls in love with this princess.”
“Exactly!”
“What a depressing play. No king would wed a beautiful princess to an old monk. I guess they both die in the end.”
“My master says that people like sorrowful endings and powerful feelings. It makes them appreciate the comfort and simplicity of their lives.”
“Ah, I am already very appreciative. I do not need to see a depressing play. Oh, well, it's no good now, you ruined my morning, little delinquent. Just hearing the plot made me depressed.” he says and falls back on the many cushions of his seat.
“I thought you would like it.” the boy mumbles looking down.
“Why would I like such a thing?”
“Because the young man is reborn. He comes back and his friend returns his feelings of affection.”
“You have a point there, but if my friend came back, I would be very old by the time I could show him affection. Nobody likes an old man entertaining thoughts of love for a very young person. Such a thing is distasteful...Besides, my friend will not return.”
“Was he so virtuous?”
“His last name was Meng, wasn't it? You said it...criminals and prostitutes.”
“This person sounds more and more interesting by the moment.” the boy said sitting down and playing with his braided hair.
What an odd notion, he thinks and lies back looking at the sky. Certainly not. Not ever. Not even if it meant some form of happiness.
“Why not?” he had once asked.
“Because it wouldn't be proper.” Meng Yao had said.
He had forgotten Meng Yao was both virtuous and wicked. There was nothing he could pin on him It was tragic. The heir of the Lanling Jin slept and rose early, he didn't drink and didn't gamble, he was pious and filial, he did not letch, he did not embezzle, he protected and strengthened the weak and greeted even those who insulted him with a smile.
And he was a murderer, but the blood of his victims did not stain his blade. It had made Huaisang almost go mad. His victims didn't bleed on him. Mad, mad it had made him.
“Why wouldn't it be proper?” he had pressed.
“Your brother wouldn't approve.”
“My brother isn't here anymore.”
What does one do when the wicked are virtuous? What does one do! he had cried desperately. There was no lure to bait Meng Yao. No trap that would appeal to him. Nothing he could do.
“It's natural to feel this way” Meng Yao had said. “It's because you are grieving.”
“Then help me. Help me forget.”
What does one do when the virtuous are wicked. What does one do?
Chapter 4: A man who tears down the things his friend builds.
“Alright.” Meng Yao had said and his eyes were tired and vulnerable and guilty all at once. “If it would relieve you.”
Meng Yao had managed only to become more beautiful in his eyes. He wondered how long would this beauty last. Would it go on forever? Would Meng Yao become something of a myth. The poor boy that was cheated, beaten and abandoned, and still became king. Huaisang had never known the slightest hardship. How was it to sleep without food? He didn't know. He never had to.
“I am so alone” Huaisang had said and kissed him. He hoped that if he whispered Meng Yao's thoughts back to him that would seduce him. How many beaten children become kings? They must all feel pretty lonely.
At the time he himself couldn't discern what he really wanted as he brushed his own fingers against Meng Yao's hair, his eyes red and swollen with tears. The obvious thing would have been to kill him. He wanted to and it would be easy to wait for him to go to sleep and then smother him with a pillow, or slip poison in his mouth. Or even better sink a knife into his breast.
But if that had happened, and the body had been discovered in his bedroom, then Huaisang would be the mad, deranged prince who killed the heir of Lanling and done things to his body. The kingdom would pale and fall apart before a single soldier arrived to lay siege at it.
So what did he seek when he protested with so many tears? Was he really the spoiled prince demanding love? A love that was bitter just so he could justify to himself the onslaught of cruel emotions?
“You loved my brother, didn't you?” he had asked Meng Yao kissing his shoulder; his arm around his waist, as they both lied on the same bed with their hair sticking to each other's skin. He couldn't help but remark at how perfect, how restful their embrace was. As if there was peace between them.
“I still do.” Meng Yao had said and hidden his face in the crook of his arm.
Huaisang had known Meng Yao was seeking his brother all along. It was Mingjue he missed when he let Huaisang make love to him. It was his name he was trying not to utter when he was pressing his lips. He had loved every gentle moment, keeping his eyes open for it just as Meng Yao refused steadily to see. He couldn't help but blame Meng Yao for this selfish lust.
Of course, it had been Huaisang that hadn't observed the taboo. Huaisang who should have known better. In that moment he was as much his brother's killer, as the Meng Yao he loved.
“He hated you for what you had done in Nightless City. He never recovered from it. He said you loved hurting men, but I did not believe it.” he had whispered to him amidst kisses. “You didn't enjoy hurting my brother, did you, A-Yao?”
“I did.” Meng Yao had said and cried like a child; shedding tears and muffling his sobs behind his hand. It was the closest thing to a confession. Huaisang had loved him all the more for it. He had even kissed his scar. The scar from the blade that should have killed him a long time ago. The blade that had been lodged deep in his chest.
But the next day, all his feelings were gone. One by one they all fled as he watched Meng Yao dress himself, and comb his hair, fastening the straps of his silly hat. The courtesans that don't die with their kings are the most detestable creatures in stories.
He should make a point to ask his young friend for a story where the conniving courtesan lives.
“Does your master let you drink?” he asks.
The boy was looking openly at the expensive wine on their table with some fascination.
“The older actors drink when they think the master won't see them, but the master doesn't approve. If someone drinks excessively and he discovers them, they are kicked out of the troupe.”
“I see, a theatrical company is much like an army.”
The young waitress comes with their large order, bringing excessive dishes and refined delicacies one by one. The boy eyes the large red fish with some greed. Young actors live such disciplined lives, only a rich admirer could supply them with some luxury. The moon is rising from behind the hills, casting its reflection to illuminate the canals. A colorful crowd has been gathering all afternoon beneath their veranda.
Maybe he should have requested a private room, maybe he shouldn't parade his young friend in the same places that prostitutes and courtesans laugh at the bad jokes of their wealthy patrons. But then again maybe in the company of such people, a private room would be even more suspicious.
“Young lady, why don't you bring us also some tea, for my young friend over here.”
The young lady smiles at the actor. “How lucky you are” she says. “This is an expensive place. I would so love it if I had such a wealthy admirer to feed me delicious treats!”
“Ah, this one here is going to be a famous actor one day!” Huaisang says pointing at the young actor with his fan. “And then he'll pay me back every penny! I'll take him to tour all the noblest halls. He'll make so much money, he might even marry a princess!”
The waitress laughs, as the boy hides his face behind his hands. Even the tips of his ears are blushing.
“Are you really so good, young master?” the waitress asks the boy. “Maybe you can play something for us when the moon reaches the middle of the sky.”
“I can play now!” the boy says, getting up excitedly.
“Not now, eat first. Our expensive meal shouldn't get cold before we enjoy it.”
“That's right, young master.” the waitress advises. “Besides, many more customers will arrive later to enjoy the moon. If you play something for them when they are drinking they'll reward you even more handsomely. You will leave this place with a small fortune.” she adds in a confidential tone.
“Is that true?” the boy asks once the waitress departs, digging into the ivory flesh of the fish with his chopsticks.
Huaisang fans himself a little. “My brother was a great man. Far greater than I will ever be. He told me there is no man easier to take advantage than a drunk. Waitresses and great generals think alike. No one knows more about human nature than they.”
“Your brother was a great general?” the boy asks with wonderment. “I thought you were a rich merchant. It didn't cross my mind you came from a noble house. It's even stranger now for you to have known a Yunmeng Meng.”
“Not only have I known such a person, but I was the one to get him drunk first.”
The boy's chopsticks pause at that. “What?” he asks with surprise.
He had a real curiosity about drinking. All the men in the banquets did it. Nie Mingjue did it. In fact it was quite a feat drinking without getting drunk, and everyone who mattered boasted that ability. His brother always said that men who become inebriated while drinking are weak-willed and spineless.
He had acquired a taste for it, because he was allowed to have a little. To build up that fabled tolerance that separated men of destiny from the rest. Meng Yao had been biting his lips and flaring his eyes, saying “I do not know, young master. What if we get caught?”
“If you are smart about it, we won't get caught.” he had said
But the thing is Huaisang was very well prepared to blame everything on Meng Yao if they got caught. They had drunk themselves silly, laughing with tears in the eyes just by looking at each other. “You look so drunk!” Huaisang would snicker. “You look even more drunk!” Meng Yao would reply hiding his face.
They had fallen asleep on the same quilt that night. He had woken up in the middle of the night, next to Meng Yao's perfect face. He saw him sleeping with a faint, drunken blush. And he had kissed that blush.
“I was afraid to get drunk by myself because of my brother, the great general. My friend Meng was more courageous, he snuck the wine for me. But he didn't want to drink the master's wine, because he was only a servant. I cried so much then. I told him he was cruel. That he wanted this crime to be blamed on me...I said I wouldn't love him unless he drank as much as I did.”
“If I was a great general, I would beat you both” the boy says stuffing shrimps in his mouth.
“My brother never found out.” Huaisang says and drinks more wine. It's sweet and it reflects moonlight. There is a fragrance in the air, maybe it's the plum blossoms. His tolerance for alcohol has certainly grown since his childhood days.
“Do you remember perhaps how old you were when you left Yunmeng?” he asks.
“I was seven.” the boy replies moving from the shrimps to the oyster rolls. He picks them apart gracefully with his chopsticks before shoving them greedily in his mouth behind his hand.
“Did you know a famous temple there? It was a temple at Yunping city.”
“Guanyin temple? Everybody knows Guanyin temple! My mother and I had even gone there to pray. I remember the monks did a lot of charity work, they always gave money to people in need, and let travelers stay at the temple, they cooked meals. But there was a storm one night and the roof caved in. Many people died.”
“My friend built that temple.” Huaisang says pouring himself another drink.
“Your friend the servant!? The servant that you got drunk?”
“Yes, his fortune changed, and he became a very rich, a very powerful man. He made many public works and was kind and fair to the common people. His name is all but forgotten now...If you know a play about a man that tears down the things his friend builds, please let me know. I would surely watch it.”
Chapter 5: A passing fancy.
The boy watches the carp fight over the meager crumbs they have tossed them. When he smiles there is a very slight, an almost imperceptible indentation on his cheeks. The waters of the canal are murky, but the carp are glistening in bright colors of orange and red, reminding him of the servants at Carp Tower once upon a time.
“Do you know the poem about the lady comparing herself to a fan?”
“I've never heard about such a thing.” the boy says tossing some more crumbs. The bright reflections from the water play on his bright face.
“It's about a court lady who is very much loved by the emperor. They spend an entire summer together in bliss walking in gardens and drinking wine under the moon. But when the summer passes, he forgets all about her. So she compares herself to a fan one uses to cool themselves in the summer only to be forgotten with the first autumn breeze.”
“That's so sad.”
“It's a warning. About passing fancies. Not forming attachments. Not expecting love for love given.”
“Oh.”
“You will understand when you grow older. Or perhaps you already do, better than me.”
Huaisang fishes the little box out of his sash and gives it to the boy.
“What's this?” the boy asks wiping his hands on his shift.
“Open it.”
The boy unclasps the lid, opening the box. He reaches for the large pearl nestled inside and playfully puts it over one of his eyes.
“Is it a rock?” he asks.
“It's a pearl. A real one.”
The boy rolls it between the balls of his fingers, observing it mystified. “What should I do with it?” he asks.
“One day, when you are very tired and want to stop you can exchange it for money. And then you can build a big mansion and have many servants and you will not want for any thing.”
“It's that expensive?”
“It's a real treasure. It's not a cheap thing like a pearl button. So don't gamble it away, or drink it, or spend it on women. Do not show it to anyone and keep it always close. Don't let anyone cheat you out of it.”
“What if I lose it, or someone steals it from me?”
“Then do not come to Qinghe. And don't ask for Nie Huaisang. I don't know what kind of man he'll be by the time you find him.”
Chapter 6: She became mad.
Do you see that man. I heard he pays an entire fortune to anyone who resembles his lost love. He might not look it, but he is a great lord from Hejian. Really wealthy. I hear he gave a lavish mansion in Tanzhou to a waitress just because her smile reminded him of that man.”
“I never have luck with such things. I have such a plain face. If it were to rain money from the sky, I wouldn't catch a single coin.”
He is not that drunk that he can't hear them. In fact he is not drunk at all, despite all the drinking. This is supposed to be a refined place, but it's just another brothel. He was thinking of Meng Yao's mother lately. Everyone always said how much he looked like her. For years he avoided looking at her face, yet from the very beginning it was the one he loved. Meng Yao looked nothing like Guangshan.
His features had a womanly grace. It was how he seduced others into believing his nature was soft and pliant. When his brother had chosen Meng Yao to put him at his side, it was that supple grace that entranced him. He thought Meng Yao was delicate, loving and pure. What his mother must have been like.
But in a place like this what good did it do to her?
“How was she like?” Huaisang had asked once when he was a child.
“Oh, she was the most beautiful woman in the land.” Meng Yao had said as if he was ready to spin a fairy tale in her memory.
“That's what everyone says about their mother.” Huaisang had said. “If I had known my mother perhaps we would have been able to compare their looks”
“Huaisang is so handsome too. His mother might have been as beautiful as mine.” Meng Yao had conceded.
For many years after his brother died, he cursed Meng Shi for bestowing to her evil son the tools with which he deceived men and women and had surmised that some evil must have been in her heart as well, for kind looks to be twisted this way. But he had seen with his own eyes, from Meng Yao's tortured spirit. The kindness was real. Meng Yao had never deceived him, or his brother, or anyone else who had trusted his kind face.
How else could a person succeed so much, with so little at their disposal and ultimately be happy, unless a terrible balance existed within them. The evil had never been the aberration, it had been the poison to the flower.
“But what was she really like, aside from her looks” he had asked again.
“She was warm.” Meng Yao had said in the softness of candlelight. “She was so warm when she took me in her arms. She always whispered to me what a splendid life would await us once we got away from it all. She worked very hard for this. That's why she became very sad towards the end. It was as if the light was going slowly out of her. But even in madness and despair, she was still very warm.”
“She became mad?”
“Towards the end.”
“What did she do?” Huaisang had asked fearing the answer.
“She drunk a lot in order to go on. And she cried. She cried every day.”
Huaisang had tried many times to imagine the context of the brothel. That's why for his first visit he had chosen a popular, ugly place in a dingy port town. He had gone to take revenge on Meng Yao's mother, but looking at the women there so sickly and frail and mad, it had made his stomach turn. Surely Meng Yao's mother, a queen among whores, never saw a place like that. She could read and write, compose elegant verses and play music.
So tonight he came here, where the ladies are so elegant they might be in another life queens. But it's really the same place. Maybe the clients behave better here, but they still expect the same things.
“Young Master, you haven't said a word all evening. Don't you like me at all?”
“You've heard the stories. You don't really resemble my friend.”
“That's so sad. The mistress hoped she could make a fortune on your back. She promised she would release me from my contract. But I guess I am as unlucky as always.”
“My friend was unlucky. He had a pile of misfortunes on his back.”
“How can anyone love someone who is unlucky, they will only bring them bad luck. You, young master, you were blessed by fortune. You are lucky that friend of yours died.”
“I will drink to that.”
“Young Master, will you just drink? Don't you have any other notion of fun?”
“Not really. I told you, you don't look like my friend.”
“You are a man of poor imagination. Most young lords will just close their eyes and see clearly any face they desire. Perhaps you are not a big friend of women.”
When he sleeps that night, alone back at the inn he curiously dreams of the evil peony prince. He sees him in his costume, feeding the carp at the canal. He would have liked to ask him to come back to Qinghe with him, but then people would believe he had lost his mind.
What would he say? “This is my reincarnated friend. I need to protect him.”
He already knows no such gentle fate awaits Jin Guangyao and aches all the more for not being able to indulge even in harmless fantasy. Maybe the silver is not for the people, but for the thoughts that still plague him. Maybe he can pay them gone. When Guangyao tore his brother limb from limb, what was that about? He cried bitterly before his empty tomb and asked: “Brother, what did you do to enrange him?”
He even cursed his brother's memory for requesting revenge. “How will I do it ?” he had cried. “How?”
When he finally did, putting together his brother, just as he was putting together the final strokes of his plan, he wanted to tear apart everything Guangyao ever put together, and more importantly all that made him. “It's because you conceived him.” he had told her as he scattered her bones to be taken by the birds and the animals of the mountain.
The evil peony prince in his dream turns to him with a smile. “Where are the bones of my mother?” he asks.
“I ground them all to dust to make you this pearl” the Huaisang in his dream answers.
He wakes up in cold sweat. Even if he wanted to, he could never put her back together. Just like Guangyao's spirit. Mother and son are now nothing.
“What happens if a man scatters the bones of his enemy's mother” he asks.
“Young lord, you are all strange ideas tonight” the boatman replies. “Ask a priest. He'll give you an answer.”
Chapter 7: Someone to make you happy.
There was quite a large crowd outside of his room. He hadn't exactly advised the innkeeper to keep them away, but none of them barged through his door. A maid he had tipped to keep him company, would occasionally go outside to let them know the young lord was still unavailable, but neither would she turn them away. Then at about seven, a wonderful hour to have afternoon tea, a lady, pushing and shoving through the crowd, opened the door to his room and got in to the surprise of everyone including himself.
“Young lord, I came as soon as I found out you were in town!” she exclaimed, and taking a napkin out of her bosom, she dabbed the sweat that had collected on her brow.
“Really, for what reason?” he said waving his fan slowly. “Do you have a lookalike of my friend for me to see?”
The lady looked at him with surprise. “I am not such a person that I will make one suffer by reminding them of someone who is long dead!” she said.
“Suffer?” he heard himself say.
The lady scooted over to their table. “Please, bring me some tea as well” she said to the maid giving her a handsome tip. “And take your time.”
The maid looked at him baffled, until he waved her away.
“Don't misunderstand me, young lord.” the lady said. “I am sure some of these encounters soothe your heart, but when they come to an end, does it not bleed anew? I came here because I think it a disgrace that there are people who seek to take advantage of you.”
His mind had gone blank. It was one thing to seek pleasures anonymously in a crowd that had a similar mind, but as he moved back to the real world, such folly could spell a man's doom. Was he suffering so much that he had never taken notice others saw it as well?
“A handsome young gentleman like yourself, who does not let himself become attached, no doubt has been gruesomely betrayed. All these other people do is agitate the memory of betrayal in your heart. They repay your generosity with ingratitude, if you ask me.”
“So you are not here to make me meet somebody?”
The lady smiled. “I am here to bring you someone who won't leave. Someone who will be utterly devoted to your lordship, and entirely in your power to do with him as you see fit.”
“That sounds rather incovenient.”
“You are a rich man. You have dispersed countless treasures, but you won't need to spent as much to procure yourself a servant. And what does a servant need to be loyal to you? A plate of food, some clothes and a place to sleep. These things even I can provide, a wealthy lord like you can keep a servant like a little princeling if your heart so desires.”
“I see...Are you a pimp or a slaver?”
The lady laughed. “Neither! I do not like misery at all! I like to see people pleased and happy. I came here to make you happy, and if you agree your servant will also be happy.”
Huaisang felt utterly confused “Are you a matchmaker?”
The lady blushed and laughed again, hiding her mouth behind her sleeve. “My lord, nothing escapes your attention!” she said.
“It's common knowledge that I am indolent. I will permit you to amuse me.” He reached for his coin purse, but the lady stopped him.
“Please, do not pay me before I complete my work. And furthermore if I don't find someone to please you, then don't pay me at all!”
“It's unlikely that I will take this person with me, you know. Even if you dig up my friend's grave and bring him back to life, I will not. I am only paying to be amused.”
The lady gripped his hand more firmly. “Lord, when your heart opens up, you will pay my weight in gold, that's why I won't accept your change now.”
Chapter 8: Flowers a little wilted
He had cried all through the night. Like when he first realized what it was that Jin Guangyao had done. Because he was weak, and because killing was such a repulsive thing. I love this person, his heart had said. Shouldn't have I?
He counted the years of silence, of appearing as something he was not, and wondered how many people drift through the world like this; descending in some silent madness. It made everything bitter, especially his interactions with other people, which by then fell into two categories; people he could use, and people he'd have to destroy.
Truly no one can ever know another's heart, but when he held Guangyao's gauze cap he had to wonder if he had ever known his own. Whom could he place by his side, and not lie with his silences, not ommit awful truths with shallow pleasantries.
If his brother were to see him now, would he recognize him? Would he think, this is Huaisang. The boy that would once spend hours preparing meticulously the meals for his songbirds, while his study books lay neglected by his side, the boy who knew where each poet of Qinghe resided, who knew what flowers grew in their gardens, and was bothered by the sun of the desert.
Huaisang right now could barely recognize the boy he had once been himself. If he could see again his evil peony prince, when he too was but a boy, he would say “I am sorry.”
If only just to make it a little easier to be with other people again.
“There is something about me that the person you bring me must know” he said as the young maid served them wine. There was a man who would recite some exceptional poetry here tonight. “But I am afraid once you find out yourself, you will no longer want to serve me. So tonight you might lose our little bet.”
The lady laughed, and lifting her winecup she drank behind her sleeve. “I am no lord, I am not afraid of losing.”
He rested his chin on the guard of his fan. “That friend of mine I loved, I was the one who killed him.”
The lady set her winecup on the table a little flustered. “That's depraved!” she said. “You enjoy killing young men?!”
“He had my brother poisoned and killed for some rival lord, so I had no other choice but to do it.”
The lady regarded him cautiously “Well then, if you ask me it was your friend's fault for exceeding his station. When servants meddle in the affairs of their masters they often end up dead. But you needn't worry about the person I'll bring. They'll know their place.”
“He has to be polite.”
“Excuse me?”
“He has to be polite, but not literate. In fact he shouldn't be able to read or write. And if he were to be unlucky, if he had some great misfortune happen to him, I would prefer it.”
“You have a fondness for flowers that are a little wilted, don't you.”
“No relatives, either.”
“I suppose he should be very young and very handsome.”
“No, I don't care about his looks. If it's an ugly or disfigured person I wouldn't mind at all. And I don't want him to be younger than me.”
“But a young, impressionable boy, who will admire you-”
“Young, impressionable boys grow up, and hate the lords that raise them.”
Chapter 9: Meilin
It was drawing to noon and he was thinking about what he should have for lunch, when a missive from the matchmaker came. It read: “I found the one.”
That greatly unsettled him, mostly because he was thinking about leaving after tomorrow and never give a second thought to this affair. He also had an intense dislike for others setting the pace of his day. So instead of strolling out to find some other distraction, he fussed over his looks and had a maid tidy up his chambers. His lunch plans, he also changed. Whereas he would have had a simple meal, now he had to organize a small banquet.
His guests arrived just when he was starting to get annoyed with all the preparations. He fixed his hair and took a seat, and was only reminded that he had not requested some ethereal beauty, when the smiling matchmaker came in, with a small statured young man in tow that was so bowed he could hardly see his face.
“We interrupted your lunch!” she exclaimed. “Please forgive us, my lord! If this one over here was not so slow we would have come at an earlier time. Perhaps we should wait until you are finished and then come to see you. I fear you may lose your appetite when you see whom I brought you.”
“No, sit the both of you. Let's get this over with. Serve them wine.” he said to the maid.
Even though he felt himself exhale impatiently for giving in this folly, his eyes couldn't help but dart curiously to the shrunken form next to the matchmaker. That young man had a beautiful lustrous sheen on his hair, and when he bowed, his nape reminded him of Meng Yao when he was a young servant himself.
Perhaps actually it was not at all like this and he only thought so because that's what he wanted – which irritated him even more.
“Wine?” the matchmaker asked. “You are going to give this fine wine to one such as him? How lucky you are! Bow and drink for the young master.”
Huaisang toyed with his chopstics. “Actually, let's all start eating. I waited for you too long.”
“I certainly will, I am famished running about town to find you a good servant.”
Huaisang noticed that the young man had taken the cup from the maid, but was not drinking.
“What is his name?”
“His mother was a simple woman, she named him Li...she liked plums, I suppose. He is no beauty, but he knows how to make tea, and a bed, and also take care of clothes – which is a nice thing for someone like you, who likes to travel. And hear that, he can also rub your back when you are tired. He is good with his hands.”
“Well, Li, why aren't you drinking your wine?”
The young man didn't lift his face at all at being addressed. “Wine makes me dizzy.” he mumbled.
“My lord, he is a bit of a simpleton, you won't get much conversation out of him. But he is not so incompetent that he can't bring you a meal or wash your clothes. Why don't you try him for a few days, and if he does not please, I'll compensate him for his labor.”
“Can I see his face?” he asked.
Li bowed even more deeply, but he did not say anything. It seemed this request greatly embarassed him.
“My lord, he is ugly! I warn you!”
“I don't mind, show me your face. I'll have to see you if I am to keep you. And if it is so unbearable as you say, I'll give you at least a more pleasant name. How about Meilin? Now there's a whole grove of plum trees, isn't that better?”
The young man peered at him from under his lashes, and hesitantly he lifted his face a little. He had a harelip. The shape of his face was not bad, but what would have been the good side of his face had once been burned, making the eyelids of one eye fuse and droop comically.
“What happened to him?”
“This one has such a sad story, my lord. You must be moved to save him. His mother was a maid at a very noble house, and the lord there treated him well, but after she died, the lady of the house turned on him and beat him every day. She hit his face with a hot kettle when he was but a child, can you believe? The lord died a few days ago of old age and she threw him out and it's not easy for him to be employed with such a face. Do this kindness for me and try him out.”
Chapter 10: A carp carried it in its mouth.
“You have really beautiful hair. So if you let it down and someone sees you from behind, then they will be really surprised when you turn and they see you from the front.” he said picking up his hair, and securing it with a pin.
Meilin bowed his head coyly. For such an ugly person, he sure was proud and hated showing it.
“Most people are repulsed by the surprise, and not the actual ugliness...So which ones do you like?”
“These clothes are too good for someone like me.”
“What are you talking about? The way you look if I have to send you out to do some chores people will laugh and kick you. But if you wear really expensive clothes they'll know you belong to a wealthy master. Instead of kicks, they'll fill your pockets with bribes so that you will arrange meetings with me.”
“I won't take bribes!” Meilin argued.
Huaisang looked at the silk garments folded on the table in front of them. Some of them were too beautiful even for him. He pulled a colorful jacket with a pattern of opened fans. The quality of the weaving was truly exceptional, there were so many different colors and designs on the opened fans.
“How about this one? People will know immediately who is your master.”
Meilin hid his face behind his hands. “Can't I stay inside and serve you, master. I don't like going out.” he said with a shaking voice.
“Too embarassed to be seen by people?”
Meilin nodded bashfully. Huaisang unfolded the garment, it had a pleasing, sturdy feel.
“My brother had a servant once. He was so beautiful that he had him greet and talk with guests. I think everyone with an affection for such a thing was a little in love with him. My greatest joy was playing dress up-with him. I loved the texture of his hair, it was soft and glossy like a woman's. Your hair could be said that it's as fine as his.” he said adjusting the mirror on the table a little, so he could see the pattern of the opened fans on Meilin's shoulders.
“Of course a handsome man like him wouldn't remain a servant forever...Straighten your neck a little, you look like a turtle.”
Meilin complied, by closing his eyes and averting his face. He couldn't even bear his own sight in a hazy mirror.
“He became very rich, fabulously rich. He had even more money than me. That's why, Meilin, you have to accept the bribes, so if I ever fall on hard times I can rely on you, like I did to my old friend. Do you know what was the first gift he brought me, when he became a master of himself?”
Meilin shook his head.
“A collection of dolls, so I could enjoy myself dressing them up and combing their hair. Insolent, don't you think?
“I do not know.” Meilin mumbled.
“Well neither did I at the time. I just enjoyed the gift, like a child. They were made of very fine porcelain, and had clothes made of real silk brocade. They even had things like embroidered kerchiefs and silk gauze caps. And on their head each of them had a set of real human hair. They were extraordinary. But even though their faces were unique and painted by hand, the shape of their heads was the same. They all had come from the same mold. There was no real difference between masters and servants. What do you think about that?”
“I do not know.” Meilin repeated touching absent-mindedly the silk on his shoulders.
“You remind me a little of those dolls...My brother had them smashed and burned in a great fire. To be honest, Meilin, I thought he did it because he was jealous. Jealous people always behave erratically, they break and burn things. You can't really predict their actions.” he said looking at Meilin's burnt side of the face in the mirror.
Meilin hummed a little to fill the silence.
“Why don't you take off your old clothes and put on the new ones?”
Meilin bowed respectfully to him.
“Please, take a look at this” the evil peony prince in his dreams said. It was a misshapen pearl.
“Where did you find this?”
“A carp carried it in its mouth.” the evil peony prince replied with a smile. “Is it not the same as the one you gave me? It might not be perfectly round, but it is the same thing, is it not?”
He leaned in to look at the pearl in the prince's palm. Because of the slight indentations the colors of pink and green shimmered with a golden sheen as the reflections from the carp pond played on it.
“Yes, it's a pearl, but it's even more priceless than my own.”
Chapter 11: The cage.
Once upon a time Meng Yao had been accused of receiving bribes to promote certain individuals to the attention of Nie Mingjue. This was a serious offense in the Unclean Realm. His brother had put him in a cell until the matter could be cleared. He hadn't told anything to Huaisang – he was probably so overwhelmed it hadn't even crossed his mind.
He had just strolled out for a walk in the grounds, happy and blissful for the coming spring, and had accidentally caught glimpse of a familiar form in the cells. “Meng Yao!” he had exclaimed with childish surprise. Meng Yao had looked at him but didn't dare to speak. He bore this silently, dignified but he must have been just as surprised as him to have Mingjue do this to him.
He had brought him a meal, and wine, even though the guard in charge frowned and muttered “I don't know if the young master is allowed to” But Huaisang had been a young master, he could do things like bring wine and food to his friend. He was not some servant one could punish until it was wrong to do so.
When he was young he had thought Meng Yao's ordeal had been so great that he was too stunned to thank him. He wasn't after gratitude or passionate declarations of devotion from his servant anyway. All he had thought was how painful and inconvenient it would be for him to have to stay at a cell. Even if it was clean and adequate, the disgrace of being seen in it alone was an inhumane torture unfit for someone as delicate as Meng Yao.
But when he had been finally released he had privately raged. He hadn't tossed, or broken things, or raised his voice like Mingjue sometimes did. He had drunk himself to bitterness and cried until Huaisang thought his eyes would fall off.
“Who is this person, Meng Yao. It's certainly not you.” he had said is disbelief. He had wanted to paint something for him to congratulate him for his exonoration, but the person in front of him hardly resembled a human. It was as if Huaisang was before a ghost. A memory of a person
It had reminded him of those stories of women, whose love made them nothing, whose love had ground their bones to dust. But even that was the romantic notion of a child. He must really love Nie Mingjue, he had thought. To be in such agony, one must feel the purest form of love.
Meng Yao had fallen asleep on the floor crying inconsolably. He had painted him then, thinking that he was painting a masterpiece. He had a vague interest in painting masterpieces back then. He had thought himself talented. Then he had seen what real masterpieces looked like and lost his courage.
But that portrait of Meng Yao, who had fallen asleep in bitterness and agony, with his eyelashes wet from crying, he had valued it more than any object of art he owned. In the darkness of his room, surrounded by his treasures, he had admired it as if it had been painted by some other hand, until he finally realized this portrait wasn't his to keep. He thought how unfortunate Meng Yao was to have two masters; one who put him in jail and one who stole things from him, and then had decided to give it back to him.
Maybe even as a little lovenote. He had tiptoed over to Meng Yao's room in the early hours of morning. It was raining outside and the whole fortress was surrounded in this deep blue haze, sleeping. He would push the door silently out of the way and leave it on Meng Yao's quilt for him to find in the morning. His heart was beating so fast. “He'll finally know how I am feeling,” was his hope.
But when he pushed the door gently ajar, and peered inside he saw his brother in Meng Yao's bed. It wasn't even a scandalous scene, like those naked couples spied by a jealous maiden in his erotic novels. It was too cold to do without a quilt. They were embraced tenderly nonetheless kissing each other with tears in their eyes.
“I love you so much.” Meng Yao had whispered. “Don't ever leave me.”
He had become so resentful; he had wanted to rattle the door and frighten them with the threat of exposure. At least that's what jealous heroes did in his novels, but could he for a jealousy topple a castle? He had returned to his room and burnt the portrait in the stove of his tea kettle. Until morning came he had been consumed by the grief of injustice.
“I was the one who brought you food and wine, and tried to cheer you up. I was the one to see your pain.” How could you return to the one who treated you cruelly, he had cried until his eyes stung, and then forgot about it the next morning.
He hadn't realized Meng Yao liked being caged up. He liked having someone else holding the tether to his life. His greatest grudge had been for Nie Mingjue who had let him go. It must have confirmed to him some secret scorn, some ingratitude Nie Mingjue harbored against him, rendering his submission to him meaningless.
Meilin stirred in his sleep. After the many hours, he had leaned drowsily against him and slept with little care in the world. The carriage swayed and creaked on the narrow road, but through the blinds he could see the morning sun reflect on the stream that run through the green maples. Roaming in the city, he had missed the clear air of the mountains, the framed views of rivers amidst branches.
He was reminded again of Meng Yao, who during his days of service would never fall asleep, or absently admire a landscape. How properly he would sit across him, chattering like bird , while his attention would be diverted from one detail to another. A bird who feels the outline of its cage with pleasure, but hasn't forgotten the danger outside of it.
“He would have always protected you.” he hears himself whisper and his attention falls on Meilin's sleeping face. “Even when you left. His love, unlike mine, was not a cage.”
Chapter 12: Put your enemy's mother next to your own.
“Young master...your room is ready. Won't you come out?”
“My servant is still sleeping.”
The curious innkeeper peered into the carriage. “I can wake him up if you want.” he offered.
“No, let him sleep. I had a servant who never slept. He was a poor servant for it.”
The innkeeper eyed him with disbelief. He guessed it was a tad eccentric for a master to let his servant sleep on him. Of course if it was a beautiful or graceful person, everyone could understand. Huaisang absently stroked his hair. How funny that nothing could fix this face. All the money in the world could not purchase a fairer fortune for this one person.
“Meilin” he whispered tucking an errant strand behind his ear. “Do you want to have breakfast?”
Meilin stirred, but only slightly. As they lay embraced he thought how nice it was to have someone so utterly trusting again. The matchmaker had chosen well. “Meilin” he touched his face. Meilin gasped and woke up
“Master, I am sorry-” he exclaimed looking around stunned. “I didn't mean to-”
“Enough apologies already. I want to drink the tea you make.” he said and got off the carriage.
Meilin looked around hesitantly. “You are so coquettish! You are no great beauty, hurry up. Give me your hand. Don't you want to see our room?”
Meilin took his hand. It was so soft and tender, the hand of a servant who only folded clothes and made tea. He was so weak from crouching and bowing all his life in some dark mansion that he had to lean heavily on him to get off the carriage.
“I can't see very well, master.” Meilin suddenly said. “I am so sorry for not telling you before.”
“I guessed it already when you told me you didn't like going out. Even if someone is ridiculed for their appearance, they don't dislike going outside unless they can't do it very well...Just hold my hand.” he said and guided him inside tenderly.
“Young master, you sure are a saint.” the maid who led them to their room said.
“Meilin is a good servant, the rest of you can't see.”
The maid giggled. For some reason he disliked her already, at least just for Meilin's sake. “Do you have any pickled plums? I'd like to have them from breakfast.” he said setting Meilin at a low table in their room. “Meilin, what do you like eating? You can have anything.”
“I can just eat your leftovers.” he softly said.
The maid had to clasp her mouth in order not to laugh out loud.
“Was your previous lord so rich that his leftovers were a banquet? Then I would like to think myself as even wealthier, because I can afford two meals. Do you have quail eggs? Meilin will have them.”
He looked around. The room was truly splendid. It was exactly what he was craving. A simple rustic room with a beautiful round window and a view to the maples and the stream. It smelled clean and fresh filled with the scent of pines carried by the mountain breeze.
“Do you perhaps have any ink and some good paper? I would like to draw the view.” he said to the maid.
“I'll see what I can do.” she said and closed the door with a big, amused smile on her face.
“Has anyone ever drawn your portrait before, Meilin?”
Meilin peered at him from beneath his lashes with something that to Huaisang resembled ire. Like a person who couldn't put up with anymore cruelty in his life. “Don't waste paper on me.”
“I don't intend to draw you as you are. Have you seen the pictures of beautiful women? Well, they are not as beautiful in real life as they are in the imagination of the artist that drew them. I will draw you as you should be.”
Meilin lowered his head again to hide his face. “Quail eggs are so slippery” he muttered.
“I will feed them to you.”
“My lord...don't do nice things for me. I do not understand them.”
“Alright, I'll paint and you will air our clothes. How does that sound? And if you want, you can eat after I eat.”
Meilin breathed relieved. “It's what I know.”
“But it makes you a bad servant not to do what I ask. It's as if between us I am the ugly one.”
Meilin didn't answer. It ruined the taste of his tea.
When he picked the brush again that same afternoon it felt heavy and foreign in his hand, as if it was made of iron. Despite the very slight sway of their clothes, hanged from the ceiling, in the breeze, his mind felt utterly empty before the clean paper in front of him.
He had promised Meilin beauty but he had no idea what that looked like even by the sound of a stream and the rustle of the maples. He had reached greater profundity drinking tea in a noisy teashop back in Kaifeng, talking to prostitutes and porters. Yet here in the calm of the country he was devoid of anything, much like the paper waiting for his pen.
Meilin sat beside him and poured wine. He had pretty, doll-like hands. Meng Yao's hands were rough from practicing swordmanship, even when he was young. Despite being quite small in appearance, they were quite strong; they could easily break things.
“Give me your hand.” he asked Meilin. “I want to teach you how to draw. Have you ever held a brush?”
“No.” Meilin mumbled.
“Writing and painting are closely linked to swordmanship, you know. First you have hold the pen from a high point. This gives you a wider range of movement. It takes quite some time to learn to control things like gesture. Just like wielding a sword you have to have a clear intent and go in with a strategy.”
Meilin was uncomfortable, he could feel it on the surface of his skin right underneath his fingertips. “I'll ruin the paper.” he said.
Huaisang felt strangely emboldened by that. “Well, before you ink the brush, you dip it first in water. You dry the excess water, and draw a sketch of the image with the water trail...Let's do a scene with the moon.” he said gesturing at the view from their window. The moon was just rising from behind the mountain, behind a branch of maple leaves.
“When my brother died I had to rely on others, just like you rely on me to draw this picture. No one was telling me of course what picture they drew using me. I had to guess that for myself. But I knew something of painting. ”
Meilin hummed, as he usually did when he didn't know what to say. Huaisang noted how easier it was to paint holding someone else's hand, he thought. Any mistakes could be attributed to the person holding the brush, instead of the one who guided the hand.
Meilin's hand was perfectly limp in his own as he clasped it and moved it above the paper. He didn't know what annoyed him more. The fact that he could see a ghost of Meng Yao's features on his face, or the effect his carefully crafted servility had on him. What would it take for this person to be honest with him? To reveal their true self?
But perhaps like those ghosts of Meng Yao he kept seeing in others' faces, a true self was also some sort of illusion.
“See, it's not that scary. The picture vanishes just as soon as you draw it.” he said. “You try it now with ink. I'll drink wine, and you will draw. The only thing we are missing is some music.”
Meilin put the brush down. The moon on the sky was just shy of four quarters, but it shone so bright, it looked almost golden. Meilin looked at him, asking with his eyes “What is it you want?” He noticed then that his harelip had been extraordinarily treated.
“Your master took you to a surgeon.” he said touching it. “His work is very skilled. He cut up the edges and sutured them with silk thread. He put a paste to prevent infection...He must have loved you very much. Is that why the mistress hated you?
Meilin covered his face as if struck.
“Were you his son, or his lover? I think you were his lover. You put poison in his tea and killed him.”
“I do not know what you are talking about.” Meilin cried. He got up, upturning the cup with the water on the table, and run to the corner of the room, before collapsing in tears. Like a bird that doesn't remember where it came from.
“That matchmaker must have been a fox spirit. Of course, she would find someone as bad as me.”
For a while nothing was heard in the room except for Meilin's wet breathing. Huaisang looked at the water soak the paper and spill from the edges of the desk. He really didn't know what to do with his judgements. They lived now within him, honed like a polished blade. They could only hurt people. And he could never again grasp things like the beauty of the moon, without its glare exposing crimes.
“I didn't mean to upset you.” he said, touching Meilin's shoulder tenderly. “I won't mention such a thing again. Come sit next to me like you did in the carriage.”
Meilin sobbed for a long time, as the moon rose in the sky and the room darkened for it. Then he turned around finally and fell in his arms. His tears soaking through their clothes.
“I love you so much. I will never leave you.” Huaisang said squeezing him tightly, as a lark sang in the night.
The next morning Meilin was gone.
“He run away this morning.” the maid said while sweeping. “They often do. There's a monastery a at the end of the road. That's where he went. The monks take in frequently runaways.”
He dressed, modestly, put on his shoes and walked all the way to the temple. At the hour of his arrival the monks were offering meals. There were quite a few visitors praying, or just generally enjoying themselves out in the yard. An old man separated him from the crowd.
“Are you looking for your servant?” he asked pointing at his fan.
“Actually” he said. “I would like to ask some other thing.”
The man, a temple servant of some sort took him to the monastery's abbot. A very old frail man, who was probably hard of hearing. He was meditating, while his assistant was having tea.
“Very soon, he'll begin fasting for his departure.” the assistant explained. “If you need help with some thing, you better ask me.”
Huaisang sat with them and drank the tea the assistant offered him. It was so strange, but he felt the whole room vibrate with prayers, even if it was utterly silent inside.
“I had an enemy that I killed.” he said. “I desecrated his mother's shrine as well. I took her bones and scattered them. I would like to know what happened to her.”
“You seem to know very well what happened to her.” the assistant said, not a hint of judgement in his voice.
“I mean I would like to know what happened to her soul? Did my actions interfere with her afterlife.”
“What do you think?”
“I do not know. That's why I ask you.”
The monk looked at him mystified. “Do you wish to punish this person further?” he asked with some concern.
“No. I regret what I did. I want to know how to make it better.”
“Better for whom? Your enemy, his mother, or yourself?”
He snorted. Monks were such obstinate minds. “For everyone involved.”
“I think you are confused. If you look at the stars and wish to move them from their place, can you do that? Absolutely not. Actions are fixed and cannot be altered. That's why it's best to detach from things.”
“But there must be something I can do. At least for her.”
“Where do you worship your mother?” the monk asked.
“How do you know my mother is dead?”
“If she were alive she would have better advised you.”
“My family's ancestral hall.” he said confused.
“Then put your enemy's mother next to her, and offer her the same rites. There are some sutras you can transcribe to allow yourself to reflect on things like piety for your elders, and mercy. I can pick them for you.”
He stared at the monk for a long time without having something to say. Then finally the chirps of the birds outside brought him back. “How much do I owe?” he said taking out his money purse. The monk regarded him coolly.
Walking out into the temple's courtyard under the sun he felt utterly lost. There was infinite beauty and grace around him, but it could not penetrate his soul. He noticed then that Meilin stood at the steps behind him. He had already been tonsured. In his hands he held a broom and with it, he swept the steps of the shrine.
“I would have always protected you.” he explained.
Meilin stared at him as if he wanted to say something. He dropped the broom and run back inside.
After a few days he had arrived at Qinghe. “There is a matchmaker in Yiling.” he said to the treasurer. “Go ask her how much she weighs. And then pay her that sum in gold.”
Chapter 13: Treasure.
It was easy enough to avoid a marriage when he was an incompetent boy. Every father in his court fretted at his sight, and every now and then he could hear someone mumble: “I hope he never asks for my daughter.” It had not sounded awfully impertinent to him at the time - he had graver matters on his mind.
But once he had aged a little, different rumors soared under the sky: “Just like his brother, he has little interest in that.”
An aunt became livid, and took it upon herself to procure him a noble spouse for the benefit of the Qinghe Nie. He did then the one thing he could to prove himself an unmarriageable idiot. He took a concubine. Or rather he made it appear so, for truly he had little interest in that.
He found a young girl, recently orphaned, whose family was ruined, and before she was ruined herself, he installed her in luxury at the women's quarters in his home. He left her there with all the appropriate tutors, and a considerable allowance, and remembered her only when he received a guest and needed someone agreeable to make the tea, or sing, or read a difficult poem.
If you asked him to draw precisely the features of her face, he would refuse for he had no idea what those were. As for what thoughts, and feelings inhabited her, those too were to him abstract and vague.
Once when he had returned from his exhausting excursion to Kaifeng, with Meilin's disdain for him in mind, he had finally considered her. He had called her and asked her if she would have been happier to leave the Unclean Realm and go live as a nun in some secluded monastery on the mountains.
He did not realize how this would not appeal to a young woman, who wore fineries, and was bestowed on charming little gifts, perfumed herself lavishly, and had every material need met in excess.
“How did I displease?” she had cried, folding in tears on the floor. “Why do you want to get rid of me?”
He had hurried then to dispel her worries, to soothe and console, and dry tears, and hold close. He did these things naively – naivety being perhaps his most natural instinct. He forgot all about the affair the very next day, and carried on putting it entirely out of his mind. Except that sometimes, he would remember Meng Yao; his tears and his entreaties and felt bitterly guilty somehow.
Not for what happened in the end, but for what had happened in the very beginning.
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Ace of Spades
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This gorgeous cover art was drawn by @corpsecro​ !
AN: I literally have no self-control so here’s another Kanej fluff chapter. I promise we’ll get to the real stuff soon. My bbs just needed/deserved some love (and tbh, so did we). 🖤💫
Chapter 3- The Iron Debt
Inej blinked. 
“Erm— Yes,” she said, clearing her throat. Right. Business. 
She’d thought a lot about what she was going to say. She’d even gone so far as to prepare a speech for this moment. But she now fumbled for its beginning like a tangle of yarn buried deep in a drawer. 
She squared her shoulders and took a long breath. Focus. It’s just Kaz. This is just business.
“There are a great many things to learn from the sea, Kaz,” she began. “One of the things I’ve learned is that it does not cost nothing to simply exist--and it costs a monstrous deal more to live and live fully.”
There was that face again. The opposite of scheming. 
Kaz’s eyes glinted over the tops of his steepled fingers as he waited. Inej found she was rather enjoying this.
“I have lived fully for the past seventeen months,” she continued. “And though it’s been a worthwhile existence, it has cost me greatly. The Wraith has blessed my crew with many months of home on the waves. But she has suffered countless blows and battles on our hunt for slavers. Try as my crew might to fix her up, I believe she is beyond our unprofessional care. She needs proper refurbishment—new sails, new tackle, new masts.”
Kaz furrowed his brows. “You need a new ship.” It wasn’t exactly a question, but it asked enough.
Inej shook her head. “I like The Wraith. She’s sturdy and reliable and damned near the fastest thing on the True Sea. If possible, I’d like to keep her.”
It was Kaz’s turn to blink, but his look of shock was shortly replaced by a smirk of approval. 
“A year and a bit on the ocean and you’re already cursing like a sailor,” he said.
Inej sighed and bit back a smile of her own. She forgot how unused to hearing her swear he must be. “Focus, Kaz.”
“When am I not focused?” His eyes bore into hers, and Inej found herself holding her breath. 
Fair point.
Kaz leaned back in his chair, eyes still fixed on her. “Well, if it’s just a bit of work you need done on the ship,” he said, “I know a guy. But if it were just a bit of refurbishing you needed, I don’t think you would have bothered coming all the way here.”
The ache tugged in her chest, a desolate siren call. 
“It’s not just refurbishing,” Inej said with a small, sad smile. “I want—I need to refurbish The Wraith. But I’d also like to pay my crew a livable wage for the services they provide. To feed them something other than beans for a change.”
“Anything else?”
“Some new boots would be nice.”
“Well, now you’re asking too much.”
She gave Kaz a long look, even as the corners of her mouth tugged up. He returned the grin in kind.
“But I can’t do all that,” Inej pressed on. “Not all at once. Not with the money that’s left.”
It was strange. She’d always thought she’d be able to live forever off her share of the money they’d glommed from the Merchant Council. At the time, it had seemed like so much. 
Especially after everything Kaz had done, everything he’d taken care of. For her.
He’d paid off her indenture, reunited her with her family, and bought her a boat so she could chase her dreams to the most distant shores. Her heart still gave a smarting twist sometimes, thinking of everything he’d given. 
The gift she was sure he didn’t realise he was to her. 
For the first time in her life, she had been truly free—limitless. So of course, she’d set up a bank account in her parents’ names and deposited a large sum of her share so they would never need worry. 
The rest went toward maintaining her ship and paying her crew. She’d tried to make the money last as long as possible. They’d eaten nothing but potatoes in every conceivable form for months. And when the fresh supplies had run out, they’d started on the dried beans and fermented cabbage.
As it turned out, hunting slavers did not pay well. It didn’t pay at all, actually. 
Inej had quickly learned that the money slavers did make was either too quickly spent to be looted by her crew after they’d ambushed a ship of them on the open waters, or was dealt with and kept securely on land.
And now, Inej was left with a much thinner cushion of kruge than she cared to think on for too long.
“If it’s money you need, Inej,” Kaz said. “You need only ask.”
“It’s not money I need,” she said, then gave him an apologetic look. “Not your money, at least.”
He cocked his head to the side. “What’s wrong with my money?”
“You’ve given me more than enough already, Kaz,” she said quietly, eyes lowering to her calloused hands. “I already owe you a great deal as is.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Inej.” His tone was sharp as a honed blade and so wholly sober that it made her peer up at his face again. He watched her with cold determination and eyes of glittering obsidian. 
Her smile was rueful and small as she said, “My gratitude, then. By way of friendship.”
At this, Kaz’s eyes softened. 
Kaz had never been good at friends. Inej was fairly sure their heisting days with the Crows a lifetime ago was the first time Kaz had allowed himself to think of anyone as his friend in earnest. 
“I’d like that,” he said. There was a soft vulnerability in his voice that took her by surprise. 
Kaz Brekker never did anything softly. 
She didn’t let that thought show on her face, however. “Me too,” she told him. Then, she huffed a sigh. “Even so, I can’t take your money.”
Kaz frowned. “Why not?”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” she said, lips quirking up. “I’ve made a name for myself.”
“So I’ve heard,” he mused. “Inej Ghafa, Slaughterer of Slavers.” 
There was a hint of pride in his voice as her newly minted title rolled off his tongue.
“Then you’ll understand that as generous as your offer is, I can’t rely on anyone financially. I cannot be beholden to anyone but myself. Ever again.”
Kaz nodded once in understanding. “Of course,” he said. “You have a reputation to uphold, it seems.”
“Exactly.”
“So if it’s not money you need,” he mused. “What is it you want, Inej?”
“I want you,” she said, and her heart stumbled, her head spinning and scrambling with the weight of her slipped words. “Your help, that is.” 
She very nearly cringed. If she was not a tomato before, she was surely one now.
Grinning, Kaz leaned back in his chair and waved a hand through the air with a dramatic flourish. “I’m at your service.”
This made Inej pause. She lifted her brows pointedly at him. “You don’t even know what it is I need your help for.”
“Yes,” he said simply, holding her gaze. Then, after a beat, “I thought we were friends. Is this not what friends do?”
“We are. It is,” she blurted. Too hurriedly. 
“So, I’ll help.”
“What— no careful consideration of every possible outcome? No overbearing Kaz Brekker scheming?”
He gasped in a dramatic fashion worthy of the stage. “I am not overbearing!”
Inej just fixed him with a long look. He was either taking lessons from Jesper or he was indeed still half-seas over.
“Inej, darling,” Kaz drawled. “I don’t spend most of my nights getting drunk in the bath because it is fun or particularly important. Helping you would be by far the most diverting thing to happen in weeks.”
Now, she eyed him incredulously. “So you’re helping me for your own amusement.” 
“Mostly. Besides,” he said, looking at her from under hooded lids, “This is your scheme. Far be it from me to interfere with whatever it is you have planned. I trust you.”
“Because we’re friends.”
“The best,” he said, and gave her a winning smile.
It was so unlike Kaz to relinquish control like this. Even if they were friends, even if he did want to help her, even if he was bored out of his mind--she would have at least expected Kaz to relish in the opportunity of helping her puzzle together a plan.
Instead, he was letting her take the reins. 
Unconvinced, Inej narrowed her eyes at him. “What if I said I needed your help fishing my hat out of the Kraken's stomach?” she asked, leaning forward on the dresser. 
A challenge.
“Then I’d say,” Kaz said, mimicking her movement, his elbows coming to rest on his knees, “Tie a rope to my belt and I’ll see what I can dig up.”
Inej considered him for a moment, appraising the man before her. His eyes, all fixed on her and black as the night between stars, swam with something like death or hope. 
It made her heart flutter. 
But she merely leaned back, placated for now at least, and said, “My, my, Kaz. You must be very bored to be so desperate for something to do.”
“Are you saying I can’t help a friend in her time of need? Out of the goodness of my own heart?” Kaz asked in feigned offence.
“Are you saying you have goodness in your heart?”
His lips twisted into a wry smile. “Let’s not be hasty now, Inej.”
She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “So you’ll help?”
“Of course.” Kaz shrugged. “Though, knowing a bit about what I’m helping with might ease my mind. And my back.”
Inej frowned. “What happened to your back?”
“It gets tense when people scheme without me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Poor King of the Barrel.”
He barked a laugh. “I may be King of the Barrel, but I can assure you I am not poor.”
“Alright, smart ass,” Inej grumbled. “No need to boast. There are those of us who are presently in times of great need.”
For a moment Kaz’s face beheld genuine bewilderment. Then, he looked ready to burst into fits of laughter. But he staved it down for a smug mask instead. 
“Why, Inej, my darling treasure,” he hummed, “I do believe that was a joke, an insult, and a curse in one fell swoop.”
Inej, having let her well-practised tactics slip away from her with every passing minute in Kaz’s bedroom, blushed. Profusely. 
She hated him for it.
“I won’t tell the saints,” he whispered conspiratorially with a wink. “Promise.” 
She was sure her cheeks had been set ablaze. 
Stupid. How very stupid it was for her to be the one embarrassed when it was he who was drunk and flirtatious and talking business in silk pyjamas.
“Alright,” Inej griped, scowling at the self-satisfied grin on his face. “Enough of your brazen raillery.” Then, leaning forward again to fix Kaz with a glare, she said, “Do you want me to tell you the plan or do you intend on flirting yourself into oblivion instead?”
Kaz wisely covered his ensuing laugh with a cough and made a half-hearted attempt at arranging his face into seriousness. He crossed one leg over the other. “I’m listening.”
“Good,” she said, steeling her spine. “Now, lucky for you I have a solution to both of our predicaments. My lack of funds and your lack of… stimulation.” She gave him a smile that suggested she knew exactly what she was saying. Kaz’s mouth popped open, but before he could say anything in his own defence, she barreled on, “Have you heard of something called the Iron Debt?”
He frowned. “The name rings a bell, but I can’t say I recall—”
“It’s a lost treasure,” Inej cut in. “Long ago, in a time out of mind, the founding fathers of a secret organisation buried a treasure deep within the world. This organisation was a guild of merchants who made and sold impossible artefacts of great power and fortune. They called themselves The Founders.”
Kaz nodded. “Them, I’ve heard of.”
“Then you’ll know they still exist today,” Inej said. “Hidden in the unsearched cracks of society—unknown to those who haven’t a care to look, and lost to those who don’t look hard enough. Rumour has it, their treasure, the treasure left behind by the founding fathers, remains lost as well.”
Another frown puckered his face. “So you want to... put yourself up for the job? Find it for them?”
“Come now, Kaz,” Inej said, levelling him a look. “What happened to that genius criminal mind of yours?”
“It’s currently intoxicated,” he deadpanned. “Give me a minute.”
“No, Kaz,” she said with a sigh. “We’re not going to find it for them. We’re going to find it first.”
A slow smile slipped across his face. “I like the way you think.”
“Oh? And what way is that?”
“Like a pirate.”
When Inej beamed at him then, Kaz looked for all the world like he’d been blinded by the sun. 
“Well, then,” she said, smoothing her hands down her leggings, “A pirate and a veritable King of the Barrel. Undoubtedly the most ferocious team the world has ever seen.”
“Indeed,” he said, and rising from the desk chair, he wended his way back into the bathroom. 
Inej’s face wrinkled in confusion as she peered after him—a hard thing to accomplish from atop a dresser. A fact she found truth in when she nearly toppled to the floor. 
There was shuffling and clinking behind the bathroom door. 
Just when Inej thought she might need to check on him, Kaz emerged again with two teacups and the bottle of very old whiskey he’d been busy making a sizable dent in when she’d arrived. The price of said whiskey, she was sure, could ostensibly pay her way for a good week or two.
“So how exactly do you plan on finding this long lost treasure first?” Kaz asked, setting the teacups down on the desk. 
Only then did she notice the cups were lime green and pink and dotted with teddy bears. Inej wondered how in the Saint’s holy realm these teacups had ended up in the filthy hands of Kaz Brekker, self-proclaimed Bastard of the Barrel.
“Haven’t the foggiest,” Inej said flatly. 
In truth, she did have a vague idea. She was just too much of a coward to admit what exactly that idea was until she was sure she had the facts right. If this was her job, she was going to execute it professionally.
Kaz seemed to read her thoughts because he gave her a knowing look as he poured a finger of amber liquid into each cup. A look which suggested he was waiting for her real answer.
“Fine,” she breathed, “I do have some leads. Leads which I’ll tell you about as soon as we’ve assembled a team.”
“Ah,” he said, extending a cup towards her. “There will be others.”
Inej took the cup from his hand and tried not to leap from her own skin when his fingers grazed her wrist. Gooseflesh rose in his wake. Then, Inej smiled. 
“As formidable a team as we two doubtless make,” she said, “I’m thinking we might need more help on our side.”
“I think,” he said, taking up a place leaning casually against the desk, “That would be very wise. What about your crew?”
“Oh they’ll be keen, I’m sure,” she said. “But I was thinking more specifically. We’ll need people with certain talents. People we can trust.”
Kaz caught on quickly. “You want to get the Crows back together.”
“Do you think it wise?” she asked, attempting to hide her hopefulness by looking down at the whiskey she now swirled in the bottom of her cup. 
She wanted this. Badly. 
Of course, she hadn’t fooled herself into believing it would be just like old times. Inej knew everything was different now. So much had changed. But the fact of the matter was, Inej didn’t miss this place so much as she missed the people she’d come to care for here. And she wanted to think they missed her, too. 
So she waited with bated breath for Kaz’s response.
“I think you are very wise, Inej,” was all he said.
Her eyes snapped up. “Don’t butter me up, Kaz,” she said, setting her teacup down on the dresser. “And don’t sugar coat it, either.”
“Fine,” he sighed. “I think it might prove… difficult, roping them into a grand scheme like this.”
“How come?”
“Well, for starters,” Kaz said, placing his cup on the desk and folding his arms across his chest, “Matthias is dead.”
Inej’s jaw dropped. 
He’d said it as if it were an innocuous comment. As inconsequential as mentioning the weather outside. If she was honest with herself, she almost laughed from the sheer shock of it. 
“I thought you said not to sugar coat it,” Kaz said when Inej, still staring at him dumbfounded, floundered hopelessly for words. 
“I meant in terms of straight answers, you incredible arse.” Inej glared, ignoring the way his lips quirked up at the corners when she cursed. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m well aware of Matthias’s whereabouts, Saints rest his soul.”
There was a pause in which Inej refused to look at him. 
She stared at the soot stain in the carpet again and thought she might be better friends with it at that moment than she was with the man who thought making quips at their deceased friend’s expense was a smart thing to do.
“I’m sorry,” Kaz said, and when she looked at him she thought he looked genuine. Though it could have been a trick of the light. “Look, Matthias is gone, Nina left, Kuweii is… gods only know where. Which leaves Jesper and Wylan, and they’re… well, they’re—”
Her heart sank to her stomach. “Saints, Kaz,” Inej breathed, trying not to panic. “What happened to Jesper and Wylan?”
Kaz gave her a bemused look. “They’re happy, Inej,” he said quietly.
Silence settled, heavy in the air between them. 
Inej didn’t know why. Part of her was awash with relief that nothing truly devastating had happened to her two dear friends. The exact opposite, in fact. And she should be happy for them. She was happy for them. They deserved the love they’d found in each other.
But there was a second part to Kaz’s statement, an unspoken part, that tinged the silence with something like sadness. 
They don’t need us anymore, the silence said.
And a thought occurred to her—that Kaz had been living with this fact for much longer than he would probably ever admit. 
That thought alone broke Inej’s heart a little.
“Oh,” was all she could muster. “Thank the Saints for that.”
“We can ask,” Kaz murmured. “But I doubt they’ll agree to join us. Wylan has the business and Jesper won’t want to leave Wylan alone for so long.”
Inej nodded. “I understand,” she said. “We’ll ask. And if they say no, we’ll assemble a new team.” 
“I have a few people in mind,” he offered.
“Yeah?” She inclined her head. “Like who?”
“Jensen.”
“Jensen?”
“Mhmm.”
Inej narrowed her eyes, going to no great lengths to hide her suspicion. “I’ve never heard you mention a Jensen before.”
“Really? Must’ve met him while you were off being noble.”
“Huh,” she said, ignoring his jab. “And who is this Jensen, pray tell?”
“Ferocious thief,” he said. “Quick with his hands. Not bad with a knife, either. Might even give you a run for your money.”
“Doubtful.” Inej smirked. 
Kaz’s eyes glinted in the low light of the room. He was baiting her. She knew it. She supposed that made her a willing fish.
“Why would I hire him when I have you?” she asked. “You’re a ferocious thief. You’re quick with your hands. And I’m devastating with a knife.” Kaz hummed at that, his face full of amusement, which only fed her suspicions. “To be honest, Kaz, this Jensen seems like a redundancy I can’t afford.”
“Oh, you can afford him. He’ll do it for free.”
“No one works for free, Kaz,” she reminded him. “You know that. Not in our line of work. And especially not when the job involves life-threatening situations.”
“Jensen will.”
“How do you know?”
“Because,” Kaz said, face splitting into—dare she even think it—a shit-eating grin, “Jensen is a monkey.”
“A monkey?” Inej scoffed. “I thought you said he was a person.”
Kaz shrugged. “Semantics.”
“So you’re telling me a monkey is our best candidate for a new crew?”
Kaz nodded. “He’ll work for butter biscuits.”
Inej groaned and slid a hand down her face as Kaz’s terrible laughter rumbled through the room. 
“You’re incorrigible,” she said, trying to tamper down her own chuckles. A few escaped her lips despite herself. 
She knew it was a distraction. By some miracle, Kaz must’ve been able to read the tension in her shoulders like lines from a book. And for a moment, as Inej laughed at the absurdity of Jensen the pirating monkey, she’d felt that tension ease. 
It was probably the best kind of disappointment she could ask for at this point. 
“We’ll find a team, Inej,” Kaz assured her, more serious now that he’d collected his dignity off the floor where he’d dropped it. “It might not be with Jesper or Wylan. And it might not be with Jensen.”
“I think that would be wise,” she interceded, a smile ghosting at her lips. 
“We’ll find people.”
“People,” Inej clarified. “Not monkeys.”
“Fine,” Kaz sighed in mock regret. “I know of a parrot—”
She gave an incredulous laugh. “No animals, Kaz!”
“Right,” he said, drumming his fingers against the side of the desk. “Can we at least pay Jes and Wylan a visit, and kick their sorry butts at cards before we leave them to their domesticities?”
“That, I might agree to,” she said. 
And suddenly, she was remembering vividly all those nights between shoot-outs and scheming and heisting, when the Crows had gathered around a rickety old table to play cards. 
They’d bet on ridiculous things - like dares or a feathery hat the loser had to wear for a day - because all of them were skint and those things were better than money anyway. 
Usually, it was Poker or Bullshit, but many-a-game of Slap Jack had nearly snapped the table’s legs. There had even been a game of surprisingly competitive Go Fish or two when they’d exhausted all other options. 
Inej delighted at the echo of unmitigated ruthlessness of those games that danced across her mind.
The mischievous gleam in Kaz’s eyes told her he remembered, too. 
And as that gilded memory shimmered in the air between them, Inej felt warmer than she had in months. 
For all of his insufferable jokes and needling sarcasm, she found herself incredibly grateful for her friend, who had subtly reminded her that just because things had changed, it didn’t mean there were not still good times to be had.
“Then it’s agreed,” he said. “We’ll assemble a crew, get some leads, then take Jesper and Wylan for all they’re worth at the tables.”
Inej laughed and lifted her makeshift glass in a toast.
“What shall we toast to, pirate?” he said, lifting his teacup to match her own.
She thought for a moment. There were so many things to be grateful for.
“To very lost treasure,” she decided in the end. “And swindling the swindlers.”
“Pirate, indeed,” Kaz replied. 
Their glasses clinked, and Inej slid slowly into the warm refuge of her glass and the revelry of being home at last.
♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎
AN: Hope you enjoyed this fluff chapter because I am Kanej trash and I enjoyed writing it very much. Thank you so much for reading! More (serious) chapters to come soon- if you’d like to be tagged in future updates, just shoot me a message/ask 🖤💫
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robert-c · 4 years
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Black Lives Matter and All Lives Matter
Others have done a great job pointing out that “Black Lives Matter” doesn’t mean others don’t. But only that those are the lives that have been (and obviously still are) being undervalued.
There may be a few whites using the “all lives matter” without consciously intending it to be a racist endorsement of white privilege. For those few let’s try to break this down so that hopefully they will understand.
Yes, all lives do matter, but in practice it is primarily black lives that haven’t mattered enough to avoid being beaten or even killed in contacts with the police compared to similar encounters by whites. The slogan calls attention to a problem that needs to be fixed.
If the slogan bothers you many will say it is just fear of losing your white privilege. But while true that misses the big point – most whites have no clue about the privilege they have simply by being white. Every ruling class all the way back to the first kings believed that they deserve their position and status in society. Whether because of “noble birth” or decree of the “gods”, or even that they earned it. But this goes way beyond that. These whites have never thought about it, it just is part of their ordinary experience.
How many whites have been pulled over by the police and treated as a dangerous suspect just because they were in a neighborhood that didn’t look like they lived there? And I include poor whites driving through rich neighborhoods. How many times have you, as a white person, entered a store and noticed the manager and clerks paying more attention to you, as if you might be ready to steal something instead of buy it? The list could go on and on, but let’s bring it back to George Floyd. Best information so far is he was taken by the police for passing a counterfeit $20 bill. Whether he knew it was counterfeit or not is still unknown, at least at this time. Video clearly shows that he was not resisting arrest when the handcuffs were put on him. Once the handcuffs are on I can’t understand what sort of “resistance” (if there was any) would require a knee to the neck to subdue him. Now let’s play this whole scene out again with a white suspected of passing counterfeit money. Can anyone honestly believe that the outcome would have been the same?
Before anyone twists my words, I don’t support or excuse the violence and looting by some protesters. I share the same opinion of that as George Floyd’s family. But if I try very hard to imagine myself in the position of blacks, or other people of color, I can get just a glimmer of the rage I would have bottled up.
Using the violent criminal behavior of a few to discount the validity of the demonstrations (especially in light of the fact that this is not a new or isolated incident in our country) is frustrating. In fact it reminds me of a quote.
“Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will.” – Rev. Dr. M. L. King, Jr. 
I am speaking out because I do not wish to have the following quote be true of me
“History will have to record that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not the strident clamor of the bad people, but the appalling silence of the good people.” – Rev. Dr. M. L. King, Jr.
Painting these protests and demonstrations as the actions of violent and irrational thugs allows some whites to imagine that much ado is being made about little. “The cop was arrested and charged, isn’t that enough?” If it were an isolated incident over decades, then yes, maybe it would be enough – but we all know that is not the case.  
In fact, seeing black (and brown as well) as predominantly criminal is the pervasive bias, and that is the heart of the problem. It also allows those good whites of shallow understanding to remain silent and imagine that our system already works fairly, is already color blind. So they say things like “All Lives Matter” as if calling attention to the differences was the only problem, as if there weren’t huge differences in opportunity and perception. Taking phrases like “black lives matter” as a challenge, or an affront is proof that at some level they acknowledge that they are part of a biased system.
I’ve heard people try to justify this bias by calling it a reasonable precautionary assumption and citing high rates of crime among minorities and their communities. There are many causes of crime and none of them have simple, easy answers. But if we take race out of those statistics and instead look at crime by socio-economic levels, we’ll see that while there are some Bernie Madoff’s and Jeffrey Epstein’s in top circles of our society, the majority of crime is committed by those further down the ladder, with little and often under desperate circumstances. A part of the racist system makes sure that a disproportionate number of those people are people of color.
Again, before someone tries to twist my words, everyone needs to be accountable for their choices in life. Being poor is no excuse for being a criminal.  At the same time, how many of those with the privilege can honestly say they would never choose a criminal act if they were in the same circumstances?
Any valid statistics presented will show a police officer’s encounter with a person of color has only a small chance of being with a dangerous criminal unless they were responding to a robbery in progress, or similar call. The police and the overall (white) community needs to quit thinking about this in militaristic terms – a “war on crime” can only result in a war on individual rights, the very protections enshrined in our Constitution. “War” is the “magic” word that allows things that would otherwise be prohibited. Killing others when they are not actively engaging you with threat, is some kind of murder, unless it is in war. Collateral casualties of the “enemy” are considered “unfortunate” in the context of war, but never criminally condemned.
To the whites who still can’t seem to understand, but are not committed racists, perhaps you have been struggling in a world that requires better skills than you have ever been able to develop in order to get the really good paying jobs. Perhaps you are afraid that the removal of white privilege will mean that you wouldn’t even have as much as you do now. Then perhaps it is time to join the push for a system that ensures livable wages and prohibits the exploitation of workers at the lower end of the wage scale.
Trying to defend our unjust, racist, system is not only futile in the long run, it makes you as big a fool as the poor whites who thought they were fighting the Civil War for “state’s rights” when in fact all they were defending is an elite’s “right” to own human labor.
You can be better than that.
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emospritelet · 4 years
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Homecoming - chapter 16
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[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] AO3 link
I tweaked the prompt slightly, so Belle isn’t the only adult female in the house they’re in, but certainly the only one Alice would confide in.
x
Belle patted her hair to ensure it was staying in place after removing her hat, and smoothed her skirt over her hips as she followed Thwaites’ directions to breakfast. She walked swiftly, drawn by the sound of murmured voices and the scent of fresh coffee. The breakfast room was light and airy, the walls a pleasant green colour and heavy brocade curtains held back from the tall windows that led out onto a wide veranda overlooking the gardens. A large fire at one end of the room kept the chill from the air, and most of the others were up, with the notable exception of Lord Tremaine.
“His Lordship never leaves his room before noon,” said Lady Tremaine, picking up her teacup. “Unless there’s a hunt, of course.”
“What time will we hunt tomorrow, my Lady?” asked Mr Branson.
“Oh, around eleven, I should think,” she said. “I suspect there will be some bleary eyes and sore heads, but that can’t be helped. We ladies will join you gentlemen for a late luncheon when you return.”
Belle took her breakfast plate to the table, slipping into a seat beside Ogilvy, who smiled at her and poured her a cup of tea. Mrs Mills started telling Mr Branson where the most spectacular local scenery could be found, with help from Lady Tremaine, and Belle was relieved not to be expected to join in the conversation.
“Where’s Alice?” she asked quietly.
“Still with the children,” said Ogilvy. “I looked in on them. She said she’d get them cleaned up and dressed.”
“I should really go and see to them myself,” said Belle, chewing her lip anxiously. “I’m not really fulfilling my duties sitting here, am I?”
“Eat your breakfast,” he said gently. “Alice is more than capable of standing in for an hour. She was the one to take care of them before you came into our lives, after all.”
“I just feel as though you’re paying me a wage for doing very little,” she remarked, and he smiled.
“You’re worth every penny,” he said. “Besides, Doc and I are due to talk to Her Ladyship this morning. We’d like to go over what she says with you before dinner.”
“Oh.” Belle returned his smile. “Of course. I’d be delighted.”
“Then eat up,” he said, gesturing at her plate. “The temperature has dropped, and I suspect we’ll have more snow before the New Year dawns.”
x
Once she had finished her breakfast, Belle hurried upstairs to the nursery, where she had been told the children would likely be. The nursery was large and bright, the morning sun shining through long windows. It was an L-shaped room set on a corner wall of the house, with a small sofa and chair near the fireplace, and a daybed by the window. Alice was seated on the sofa, and looked up with a smile as Belle entered. A large doll’s house stood in the corner, the front opened to show ornately furnished rooms inside, and a beautifully-painted rocking horse stood in the corner where the main body of the house met the east wing. The twins were seated on the floor in front of the daybed, playing with a wooden Noah’s Ark set with another young girl. Lucy Mills, Belle presumed. 
“Miss Belle!” chirped Nicholas, scrambling to his feet. “Look! We’re lining up all the animals! I got the horses!”
“Very good,” said Belle, with a smile, and turned to Lucy, who bobbed a careful curtsy. She was a pretty child with her mother’s large, dark eyes and smooth, light brown skin, in a blue dress with a matching ribbon holding back dark hair.
“You must be Miss Lucy Mills,” said Belle. “I’m Miss Belle.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Belle,” said Lucy immediately.
“May I call you Lucy?” asked Belle, and Lucy nodded a little shyly.
“Your mother tells me you’ve been at this house since the summer,” said Belle. “It must be very different to America.”
Lucy wrinkled her nose a little, but said nothing.
“How did you enjoy Christmas?” asked Belle.
“The food here’s good,” said Lucy suddenly. “I liked the plum pudding and treacle tart. But there’s no one to play with, and Her Ladyship says—”
She cut off, biting her lip and looking at the floor. Belle waited for her to continue, and when she didn’t, simply smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner.
“Well, I’m sure Nicholas and Ava would be delighted to join in some games,” she said. “Why don’t you carry on getting those animals onto the Ark? The waters are rising...”
The children scrambled to rescue the animals, giggling, and Belle crossed to the couch to sit beside Alice, listening to the children as they made animal sounds and argued over which creatures should board the Ark first.
“Thank you for taking care of them this morning,” said Belle. “Did you have breakfast yet?”
“Yes, I ate with the twins,” said Alice, and lowered her voice. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to eat with Her Ladyship, anyway. She seems to be pretending I don’t exist, and it makes me feel even more awkward.”
“Well, I know it can feel difficult, eating with strangers,” said Belle. “But it gets easier with practice. Breakfast is far less formal than dinner; you could sit next to me, or Mr Ogilvy.”
“I suppose.” Alice looked thoughtful. “I’ll try tomorrow. Perhaps everyone will be feeling too tired to want to talk to me anyway.”
“Oh, the morning after a party is good practice,” said Belle, with a smile. “No one’s expecting you to say anything astoundingly brilliant. In fact they’re hoping you don’t.”
“I’ll ask Mr Mills about his books, perhaps.”
“That seems a safe topic for discussion.”
“I like Mrs Mills,” added Alice. “I know I didn't really have the chance to speak to them all that much, but they look very happy together.” 
“Yes, they do,” agreed Belle. “They appear to share genuine affection and respect, which is certainly what you should look for in a marriage.”
Alice huffed.
“I can’t say it’s something I see in my future,” she said.
“I don’t suppose you have to think about it for another year or two,” allowed Belle. “Although you did say you wanted to be able to move easily in society. I assumed you meant talking to potential husbands, as well as making conversation with young ladies.”
“Oh, I want to be able to say and do the right things so I don’t cause problems for Papa and Doc, that’s all,” said Alice. “I want to be able to make conversation with people my own age and not look foolish.”
“You’ll find that finding an eligible marriage partner is the biggest concern for most young women,” said Belle. “Be prepared for many, many conversations about the prospects of the young men you meet.” 
“But I don’t want to get married!” said Alice earnestly. 
“Oh.” Belle folded her hands on her lap, glancing across at her. “Well. You don’t have to, of course. There are other paths a young woman’s life can take, although not as many as she deserves, it must be said.”
“Why didn’t you marry?” asked Alice, and Belle sighed.
“Because I wanted to study,” she said simply. “And in the world we live in, education is largely considered wasted on a woman. What use would she make of it, after all? She would be busy bearing children and caring for her husband and home.”
“That’s so unfair!”
“It is,” said Belle. “But I fear most men do not share our view. Nor most women, in my experience. I’m considered something of an oddity, Alice.”
“Well, I don’t think you’re odd at all, I think you’re wonderful,” said Alice fiercely. “And so does Papa, and Doc!”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“I bet Papa wouldn’t expect you to be popping out children every five seconds if you married him.”
“I—” Belle closed her eyes, feeling herself blush. “Well…”
“Although he does love children,” Alice added thoughtfully. “But he would never make you have them if you didn’t want them.”
“Of - of course not.”
Belle tried to wish her blush away, but if Alice had noticed her reddened cheeks, she said nothing.
“If you’re not going to get married, what do you want to do?” asked Belle, to change the subject, and Alice turned to her with a wide grin.
“I want to be like Papa and Doc and travel to far-off places, seeing new things and battling dark spirits!” she said eagerly. “I want to be able to help them with their investigations, and banish demons and help poor lost souls find their way.”
“I suppose compared to that, marriage and children must seem quite dull,” remarked Belle, and Alice giggled.
“Perhaps I’ll just take in some children who need a home,” she suggested. “Like Nicholas and Ava.”
“That might be difficult if you’re travelling the world saving people from demons.”
“Perhaps,” Alice conceded. “Do you think society would disapprove?”
“I find that society’s approval is hard to maintain and very easy to lose, for a woman,” said Belle, in a dry tone. “The fortunate thing is, the older you get, the less important it seems. At least in my experience.”
“Then I can be a demon-fighting spinster with a dozen adopted children, all trained to battle the forces of darkness?” asked Alice, with a giggle.
“I don’t know about that,” said Belle, with a smile. “But I’m sure Mr Ogilvy would never make you do something that made you unhappy.”
“No, of course he wouldn’t,” agreed Alice. “It’s - it’s not so much the idea of marriage, anyway, it’s - it’s more the idea of marrying a man.”
She looked uneasy as she said it, her eyes wide and imploring.
“Oh.” Belle put a hand on hers, smiling. “I realise my earlier words may suggest otherwise, but there are many good men in the world. You have two excellent examples in your own family. And there is plenty of time to meet and get to know eligible suitors. Suitors who share our view of things. I’m sure Mr Ogilvy will evaluate them carefully before he allows them anywhere near you.”
“Yes, that’s true,” said Alice, with a chuckle. “You may not think it, but he can be terribly fierce when something threatens someone he loves, you know.”
“Really?” 
Belle raised her brows in surprise, thinking of the man she was beginning to know, with his gentle ways and kind eyes and his air of sadness. She pursed her lips, remembering their conversations about religion and the fate of women, his irreverent sense of humour, and his devotion to the children that were not his own.
“Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “Yes, I imagine he could be.”
Alice was still looking uncertain, fingers plucking at her skirt.
“Do you - do you think it would be alright if I had a companion, like Lady Ella and Miss Waters?” she asked suddenly. “I think I’d like that much more than marriage.”
“Oh.” Belle began smoothing her own skirt. “Well. The two of them certainly seem to be very good friends.”
Alice shifted nearer, cupping her mouth with a hand to keep their words private.
“I think they’re lovers,” she whispered. “And they seem very happy to me. It’s a shame they can’t get married.”
“Lady Ella is already married,” Belle reminded her.
“Yes, and she’s unhappy with her husband,” said Alice, sitting back. “I daresay he’s unhappy too, but they can’t do anything about it. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Another of society’s rules, I suppose,” said Belle, with a sigh, and Alice nodded agreement.
“All the more reason not to do it if you don’t want to,” she said decidedly. “Why can’t people just do what makes them happy? It’s not fair.”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” said Belle, and frowned as she glanced over her shoulder. “Where are the children?”
Alice looked around, blonde curls swinging. The nursery was eerily silent, the rocking horse moving slowly back and forth, and the wooden Noah’s Ark animals lined up two by two, one of the elephants on its side. Belle stood up, looking around.
“Nicholas?” she called. “Ava?”
“Did they sneak past us?” asked Alice, standing next to her. “I didn’t hear them go, did you?”
“Perhaps it’s a game of hide and seek,” said Belle wryly. “Children? Come out, please!”
She strode around the corner, where the boxes of toys were kept. Stuffed animals sat on top of a wooden chest, pushed up against the panelling. A small table held a brass lamp, unlit, and an open picture book. There was no sign of the children. Belle hurried to the window, but it was locked.
“They must have been as quiet as mice to get past us,” she said, striding to the door. Alice trotted to keep up.
“Let’s check the rooms next door,” she suggested. “I’ll go left, you go right.”
Belle nodded, ducking down the corridor and into the room next door, finding the schoolroom. It was cold and a little draughty, with four small desks and chairs and a large blackboard set in front of them. It was also empty of children, and her mouth flattened.
She closed the door behind her, heading to the next room. It was a child’s bedroom, and she suspected from the stuffed animals and finely-dressed dolls lined up on the dresser that it was Lucy’s. She opened up the wardrobe to check inside, but it was filled with clothes and shoes, with no places for a child to hide. Dropping to her hands and knees, she peered under the bed. It was clear except for a discarded book, which she picked up and placed on the dresser. There was a dull thump, and she frowned as she heard a murmur of voices, whispering and a high-pitched giggle that she thought was Ava’s.
“Ava?” she called. “Nicholas? Where are you?”
Silence, but for another thump. Belle turned slowly, trying to pinpoint its source, and tapped her foot in vexation. She heard nothing further except for the sound of soft footsteps, and the door burst open as Alice entered.
“Nothing in the rooms to the left,” she said breathlessly, and cut off as Belle held up a hand.
“I thought I heard them,” she said.
“Well, they didn’t come past me,” said Alice. “Perhaps it’s a game. They’re hiding until we go past, then sneaking out again.”
“Perhaps,” sighed Belle. “I suppose after two days of travelling they need a little excitement. I don’t imagine being cooped up alone for days on end is good for Lucy either. They could all use some fresh air and exercise.”
“Snowball fight,” said Alice promptly.
“Let’s get them out of the house, certainly,” agreed Belle. “Shall we see if they’ve managed to get back to the nursery?”
They closed the bedroom door behind them, and went back to the nursery, where Belle wasn’t the least bit surprised to find the three children staring up at her innocently and trying to hide their smiles. She decided not to mention their brief disappearance.
“Alice and I were just checking on the weather,” she announced. “I think we should all go out and build a snowman, what do you think?”
“Snowball fight!” crowed Nicholas, and Ava shoved him.
“Her Ladyship says young ladies don’t play in the snow,” said Lucy, looking disconsolate.
“Well, I could ask her permission, if you like,” said Belle. “What does your mother say?”
Lucy beamed.
“Oh, Mommy and Daddy let me play!” she said eagerly. “Could you ask them please, Miss Belle?”
“Certainly,” said Belle gently. “Why don’t you all get into your warm things? I want to see mittens, hats and scarves on everyone before we go out. Alice will help you.”
There was a scramble of small, sturdy limbs, and she smiled to herself as she left the room. Fresh air and exercise would do them all good.
Finding Mrs Mills was easy—she was talking with her husband in the small study next to the breakfast room—and getting her permission to take Lucy outside even easier.
“Oh, I’m so glad she’s making friends with your twins!” she said, putting a hand on Belle’s arm. “She’s been the only child here since we came, and I worry about her being lonely. My stepmother can be a little - rigid - about rules with Lucy.”
“Yes, Lucy mentioned that ladies didn’t play in the snow,” said Belle. “I don’t want to cause trouble with Her Ladyship, but I think it would be good for her.”
“I’ll tell her it was my idea,” said Mrs Mills. “But I’ll tell Papa first. He won’t stop Lucy playing.”
“I’ll come out and help with the snowman later,” offered Mr Mills. “Besides, Her Ladyship’s busy with the Professor and Mr Ogilvy. I daresay she’s having too much fun telling them of her mysterious spirits to worry about Lucy throwing a few snowballs.”
x
“It started in here, Professor.”
Lady Tremaine walked sedately into the centre of a comfortable salon, gesturing around herself. The walls were papered in dark red silk above oak panelling, patterned carpets covering much of the wooden floor, and cushioned sofas near the fireplace. Thick red velvet curtains were pulled back from the bay window that looked out over the grounds, and Ogilvy peered out, noting that snow covered the extensive lawn and the tops of the bushes that surrounded it.
“Tell us what happened, my Lady,” said Doc, from behind him, and he turned on his toes. Doc had a notebook in his hands and a pencil behind his ear.
“Well.” Lady Tremaine sank onto one of the sofas with a sigh and motioned to them to sit. “It was perhaps four-thirty in the afternoon, around the ninth of September. A miserable day, as I recall. I was taking tea in here, as I often do, when I heard this knocking sound.”
“Rhythmic or intermittent?” asked Ogilvy.
“Oh, I don’t know. Intermittent, I suppose? There didn’t seem to be a pattern to it. At least not at first.”
“At first?” he asked, and she nodded.
“Later, when I heard it again, there was a definite pattern.”
“Well, let’s stick with this occasion for now,” said Doc, scribbling. “What did you do?”
“At first I ignored it,” she said. “But it was irritating, so I put down my cup and tried to find out where it was coming from. It seemed to be near the fireplace.”
“A bird, perhaps,” said Ogilvy. “Trapped in the chimney.”
“I didn’t say in the fireplace, I said near the fireplace,” said Lady Tremaine, with some asperity. “As soon as I went over to look more closely, the noise stopped.”
“Did it return?” asked Doc.
“No,” she said. “Not that day, at least.”
There was a clinking sound from outside the door, and Ogilvy went to open it, receiving a serene nod of thanks from the footman carrying a tray of tea things.
“Has His Lordship risen yet, James?” asked Lady Tremaine.
“Yes milady,” said the footman, setting the tray on a small sideboard. “He’s in his reading room.”
“Good. That’ll be all.”
“Yes, milady.”
The footman walked out, stiff-backed and sombre, and Lady Tremaine turned back to Doc.
“What happened next?” he asked, pencil poised above his notebook.
“Well, I thought nothing more about it,” she said. “And then two days later, the knocking returned.”
“Go on.”
“I was sitting here, reading some letters, when I heard it again,” she said. “There seemed to be much more of a pattern to it this time. A series of taps.”
“In the same place?”
“Near the fireplace, yes.”
“What was the pattern?” asked Ogilvy.
Lady Tremaine hesitated, then got to her feet and rapped on the sideboard: three sharp taps, then a pause, followed by three more.
“What did you do?”
“I said ‘who’s there?’,” she replied. “The tapping started again, and I started to think that perhaps there was something strange going on. Something - otherworldly.”
“How so?” asked Doc.
“The room went terribly cold, enough to make me shiver,” she said, clutching at herself as though to demonstrate. “I could feel my heart thumping hard, my breath rapid with fear. And then - it happened.”
She nodded slowly, and Ogilvy shared a glance with Doc.
“What happened?”
“I put my hand on my heart,” she said, demonstrating. “I closed my eyes, and I tried to speak to it. I said ‘Spirit, if you can understand my words, knock three times’. And it did.”
Her tone was portentous, and she nodded slowly, opening her eyes and looking between the two of them.
“The same pattern of three knocks?” asked Doc.
“The very same.”
“What did you do then?”
“I - I have to confess I ran,” she said. “I was more than a little alarmed. I went to find Mrs Timpson, and had her accompany me when I next entered the room.”
“And did the knocking come again?”
“No, I can’t say that it did,” she said. “But Mrs Timpson agreed with me that the room felt very cold.”
“And you think that proves it was a spirit?” asked Ogilvy, his tone sceptical, and she blinked at him.
“Well, I certainly think it bears investigation,” she said, with some indignation. “The chills, the knocking, the fact that it responded to my request…”
“Yes, of course,” said Doc, sending Ogilvy a quelling look. “We’ll do our best to get to the bottom of things. You mentioned other noises.”
“Yes.” She turned to the tea things, and began pouring a cup. “The next time it happened was at night, in my bedroom.”
“Go on.”
“I was having trouble sleeping,” she said, pouring another cup. “It must have been after midnight, and the house was silent, but I heard a shuffling and scraping. Again, the room felt terribly cold, and I sat bolt upright in bed, my heart racing. Then it started tapping.”
“Was it the same rhythm of taps?”
“Yes. Sets of three,” she said. “I - I spoke to it again. I asked it what it wanted.”
“And—whatever or whomever it was—tapped again?”
“Worse,” she said ominously. “It moaned.”
“Moaned?” said Ogilvy. “Were there any words you could make out?”
“No no, just - just a terrible wailing sound,” she said, and shuddered. “I’m not ashamed to say that I screamed and leapt from my bed. It took Thwaites, Mrs Timpson and a large glass of brandy to calm me down.”
“Did you return to the room?”
“Not that night,” she admitted. “I slept in one of the guest rooms.”
“And - and His Lordship?” asked Doc, in a delicate tone.
“Oh, he has his own rooms across the corridor,” she said. “We keep very different hours.”
“Has he heard anything untoward?”
“Nothing,” she said. “This spirit appears to be concentrating on me.”
“Where is your bedroom?”
“It’s next to this room,” she said.
“Did you sleep there the following night?”
“No, I stayed in one of the guest rooms for the next week,” she said. “I had Mrs Timpson sleep in my room, but she didn’t hear a thing.”
“And you heard nothing in the guest room?”
“No.”
“Where was that room?”
“In the opposite wing of the house, facing the rear.”
“And since that night, have there been other instances?”
“Oh yes,” she said. “As Mrs Timpson reported nothing strange, I went back into my old room. Things were quiet for a few weeks, but then as the winter came on us, the visitations became more frequent.”
“Are you able to remember dates?”
“I remember that the first was on All Hallows Eve,” she said. “Knocking in a pattern. It sounded as though it was echoing around the room. I was terrified, of course, but I stayed in my bed as long as I could. I asked the spirit what it wanted again, but only had more moaning and some evil laughter for my troubles. The laughter was too much to bear, and I ran to get help.”
“Did you return to the room?” asked Ogilvy.
“I did,” she said. “It was silent, and by the next night, my fear had changed to irritation. I resolved not to leave the room, should it return.”
“And after that?”
“It has visited me at least once a week,” she said. 
“Can you think of anything that might have caused this increase in - visitations?” asked Ogilvy.
“Yes,” she said promptly, as though she had been waiting for the question. ”It coincided with the repairs to the boathouse.”
Doc set down his notebook, looking puzzled.
“I don’t follow.”
“Travers took some stones from the castle,” she explained. “Well, everyone knows it’s haunted!”
“The castle,” said Ogilvy, in a flat tone. “You mean Langfell Castle. It still stands?”
“More or less,” she said, as Doc shot him a look. “It’s a little ruined, but the towers are still there, and the main building is in a reasonable state. The outer walls are almost gone, of course.”
“And you think it’s haunted,” he said. “By what?”
“It’s said the ghost of a witch haunts the area,” she said, with relish. “The only daughter of the noble family that once lived there.”
“She wasn’t a witch!” snapped Ogilvy, and Lady Tremaine blinked rapidly. Doc held up a hand, giving him a sympathetic look, and he turned away, wanting to grind his teeth.
“You know the story?” he heard her say. “I must confess it’s not one I was familiar with until Travers’ wife mentioned it. It’s said she walks the grounds and tries to trap people in the towers.”
What utter rubbish, thought Ogilvy sourly.
“What does that have to do with your ghostly visitor?” asked Doc.
“Travers—he’s our steward—needed some local stone to repair the boathouse,” she said. “I wasn’t aware he had taken them from the castle grounds until earlier this month, but the date of the repairs ties in.”
“And you think the spirit is from the castle?” asked Doc.
“What other explanation is there?” she said. “Perhaps we disturbed her rest, and she’s focusing on me, given my sensitivity to these things. Can you - oh, I don’t know - move her on?”
She made a shooing motion with her hands, and Doc took a deep breath as he launched into an explanation of how they would first test for the presence of spirits, and what they could do to rid the house of them. Ogilvy wandered back over to the bay window, glancing out over the snow-covered lawn. 
From his position, he could see the twins, along with another young girl, darting back and forth across the ground. He could hear their faint, excited squeals as they each threw snowballs and dodged those thrown by the others, with varying degrees of success. Belle and Alice shouted encouragement as they piled snow up to make a snowman, gloved hands patting it into shape. A snowball soared close to Belle, and she jumped backwards with a shriek of surprise. Alice made a grab for her arm to stop her falling, the two of them laughing as they clutched at one another for balance. It made him smile, tears pricking at his eyes as he felt his heart swell with love for her, a familiar, dull pain.
“Of course, in general terms, it’s fascinating,” Lady Tremaine was saying. “Discovering that those who have left this mortal plain can return.”
“Indeed,” agreed Doc. “There’s a comfort in that, to be sure. Knowing that those we love are never truly lost to us.”
Ogilvy’s smile widened as he watched Belle bend to scoop up snow, forming it into a ball before tossing it underarm for Ava to catch and throw at her brother. He reached for the moonstone ring on his left hand, turning it unconsciously as he watched Belle and Alice form the head for their snowman and lift it into place atop the body. 
She came back to us, he thought. She came home.
He lifted the ring to his lips, kissing the cool stone as if sending up a silent prayer. Belle turned, brushing snow from her gloves as she glanced up at the window. She seemed to falter a little as she saw him, but then a wide smile spread across her face as she waved. He raised his hand to wave back, the dull pain in his chest easing a little at the sight of her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. She had come home. She was back in their lives, and he was determined never to lose her again.
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peridottea91 · 5 years
Text
Chapter 11- “All I Want is You”
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Summary: In 2012, Bobby Singer was killed by Leviathan Dick Roman. The aftermath of his death lead to a division between the Winchesters and Sam’s girlfriend, Kasey. Guilt-ridden and driven to her breaking point, she gathers her stuff and leaves in the middle of the night without a word. Four years later, she calls Sam’s phone after a hunt gone wrong in the hopes of hearing his voice one last time. Suddenly they are swept back into each other’s lives, but a lot has happened in four years. Can they rekindle what they had before, or is it too late?
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Witch!OFC
Warnings: Semi Slow-Burn, Angst, Canon-typical Violence, Mentions of Blood, Smut, Fluff, Flashbacks, Mentions of Depression
Beta’d: N/A
Divider by: @firefly-graphics​
THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.
MAIN MASTERLIST - SERIES MASTERLIST
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Sam and Kasey waited patiently at the playground for Castiel's return.  There had been an angel guarding the sandbox-gate when they arrived, but the pair quickly dispatched of him, giving Cas the all-clear to enter Heaven.  Now they just hoped the Cas and Bobby would be able to reach Heaven's prison without interference.
It was a surprisingly clear night, albeit a little chilly.  Kasey began to shake a little, still sensitive to the cooler weather. It wasn’t long before Sam noticed her fidgeting, which usually only happened when she was anxious.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, you know me,” she dismissed.
Sam stared at her a moment and then heard the familiar sound of chattering teeth.  It had been so long; he actually had forgotten how easily Kasey got cold.  Pulling his hand out of his pocket, Sam held out his arm for Kasey to curl into.  She eyed him warily for a moment, waging an internal war with herself.  She was still a little awkward around Sam, and things sure as hell weren’t going as well as they could have been. She wanted to give in, curl into the loving, familiar warmth, but the thought of Sam having moved on to Amelia still haunted her innermost thoughts. And yet, the current chill and the mere memory of being in his arms was just so enticing.
Sam waited a few moments, finally lowering his arm in disappointment when Kasey suddenly slid over with enough force to knock the "oomph" out of him. Sam recovered quickly and tried not to laugh. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her and began rubbing, trying to keep her warm as they continued to wait.  A comfortable silence once again fell over them, but it wasn’t long before Kasey spoke up.
“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”
“Hmm?”
“Me talking to Bobby. You planned that, didn’t you?”
Sam stopped rubbing her arm and tightened his grip on her a little, “I’m not dumb, Kasey.  I know his death is still hurting you, and I know that that’s a big part of why you left.  Dean and me…  We got some extra time with him, but you didn’t get that chance.  You were just as close to him as we were, if not more.  I figured…  Maybe I could help you get a bit of closure.”
Kasey didn't say anything, lost deep in thought.  Bobby had told her to stay with Sam and Dean, which she did promise to do.  But there were still so many unresolved issues between them.  As much as she wanted to, Kasey just couldn't quite open back up to them, not that they knew particularly a lot about her before.  What was the point?  They had both already replaced her…
“That’s just one of many reasons,” she answered finally, her voice a quiet rasp against Sam’s shoulder.
"I know…  Bobby told us a little bit about your depression. But he didn't really go into detail… Why didn't you tell me?" there was concern evident in Sam's voice.
Kasey swallowed hard, “I just…  I never felt that I could.”
“Kasey, you could always come to me, no matter what.  I know that things kept getting hectic, but I’ve always cared about you.”
“Have you?”
Sam was taken aback and genuinely hurt by her question, "Yes.  I have.  Kasey, you know that… Don't you?"
Kasey continued to stare straight ahead, refusing to see the look on Sam's face knowing that it would only make her feel worse.  Once again, her mind began to swim.  Pulling away from Sam, she slowly walked forward, contemplating the weight of the question that had plagued her for years.  Ever since she saw Sam when she awoke in the hospital, Kasey had been dying to ask him but was genuinely afraid of his answer.
"Did you—did you ever tell her you loved her?" Kasey asked, her voice a hoarse whisper, "The woman you replaced me with…" She could feel the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.  It was a question that had practically burned a hole inside her head ever since Kasey found out about Amelia.  It cut deep and was something she simultaneously did and didn't want to hear the answer to.
Sam felt his chest tighten, and his heart jump to his throat.  He knew the topic would eventually come up, not that he necessarily wanted to have it.  Sam regretted ever wasting his time with Amelia.  It was something that he knew would haunt him probably for the rest of his life, just like everything with Ruby would.  However, if ever there was a time for Sam to man up and clear up the lost feelings between him and Kasey, it was now.
“No.  Because I didn’t,” Sam stated definitely, his nerves on fire, “Honestly, I could never have loved her.  She was a replacement, and a poor one at that.  Amelia and me…  We used each other to try and replace whatever emptiness that was left behind by the people we lost.  In hindsight, it really wasn’t fair to either of us…”
"But you had a life with her," Kasey said quietly, looking down at her feet, "A home, a dog…" Kasey could feel her stomach twist in knots.  Everything Sam and Amelia had together…  They were all things that she had wanted with Sam, things that she had long since given up wishing for.
“So?  I didn’t want it with her.  I wanted it with you,” Sam declared wholeheartedly as he took a few, slow steps forward, “The only reason I even stuck with her for so long was because I kept pretending it was you.  Every night, I dreamed that it was you lying next to me…  That it was you I came home to every day.  That it was you that I had a life, a house, and a dog with. And yeah, I did try to replace you,” Sam admitted as he continued forward.  Kasey looked back over her shoulder at him, eyes red and shining with tears, “I tried to replace you…  And I failed miserably.  That whole year was a lie.  So no, I never told Amelia that I loved her because I didn’t love her… Because she wasn’t you.”
Kasey stared at Sam for a moment, mouth agape as she struggled to process his confession.  His speech was the closest thing he had ever come to actually saying “I love you” in all the time they had known each other, and she felt the power behind them. Kasey's mind went into system overload as it bounced between the weight of Sam's words, and years of deep-rooted regret. Now, more than ever, Kasey wished she had never left.  Instead of feeling relief and reassurance at what Sam had just told her, Kasey could only feel herself diving head-first into that familiar, dark sea that tormented her.
Before Sam could say anymore, the portal to Heaven began to glow.  Sam cleared his throat and kicked into hunter mode as he strode forward.  Kasey hastily rubbed her face on her sleeves to try and clear up any signs of her crying before also putting on her best poker face.  But damn, was she bad at poker.
"SAM-TASTIC! Miss me?" chirped the short, greasy-looking older man who accompanied Castiel to terra firms.  Kasey assumed that this was the so-called "Scribe of God". "Ohhh… And who is this cute piece of ass?”
Kasey's skin crawled, and she made a face in disgust as Sam stepped in front of her, effectively her from Metatron.  Naturally, the greasy angel had a comment.
“Hmmm, how very alpha of you, Samwise.  Who knew you’d be so protective of the witch who ditched you?" Kasey flinched at Metatron's remark.  Sam, however, remained unmoving and stone-faced, narrowing his eyes slightly as he controlled his temper.  Sam would not tolerate anyone addressing Kasey that way.
"Oh, smell that? That smells like freedom," he prattled on as he inhaled deeply, "Well, let's go.  I call shotgun!"
Just as Metatron tried to bolt towards Castiel's "pimp-mobile," Cas yanked back on the shorter angel's collar, effectively choking him, "You don't get to make demands, Metatron. You're not in charge here."
"Oh, I'm afraid I am," the scribe mocked condescendingly, "I know about the mark.  I have your grace.  I make the rules. It's called leverage boys—learn it, live it, love it."
Cas narrowed his eyes and turned towards Sam, who simply nodded.  Without further hesitation, Cas pulled out his angel blade and slashed Metatron’s throat.  Slamming him against the playground equipment, Cas pulled out a small glass vial and collected a silvery-blue substance from the scribe's neck.  Kasey watched wide-eyed and opened mouthed in shock as their friend finished his task and healed Metatron's throat.  As soon as Cas stepped out of the way, Sam pulled his gun and shot the scribe in the leg, causing Kasey to accidentally yelp in surprise.
“Sorry,” Sam whispered sympathetically as Kasey covered her mouth in embarrassment.  She was a hunter dammit, she needed to act like it.
“OW! Ow!” Metatron shouted as he grabbed at his now bleeding leg.
"We have your grace, Metatron. You're mortal now.  So, you will answer our questions or Sam will, um, what's the phrase…  Blow your freaking brains out. It's called leverage Metatron—"
“Learn it, live it, love it,” Sam finished with a wicked smirk, “how do we get rid of the mark?”
Metatron whimpered as he continued to clutch his leg, "I—I don't know."
Sam raised his gun again, this time pointing directly at the now-former angel's head.  And once again, Kasey's eyes went wide in shock.
"I don't know!" he repeated desperately, hands raised in submission, "It's—it's old magic, God-level magic.  Or, Lucifer level, but you can’t ask him exactly, can you?”
“What about the tablets?” Castiel pressed.
"No. Th-there's nothing in them about the mark."
"So, when you said, 'the river ends at the source,'" Sam questioned, "that was—"
“I was just making up crap. Trying to buy time till I could screw you over.”
“No,” Sam lowered his gun in disappointment.  Kasey could see his shoulders slump slightly and reached out to touch him but instead held back.
“What!?” Metatron looked between Castiel and Sam, “It worked before!”
Castiel sighed in frustration, “He’s telling the truth.”
“What?”
"Shoot him." Kasey gasped as Sam raised his arm and once again aimed at Metatron's head.
"NO!  No!  No!  Your grace!  I wasn't lying about that!" Metatron blurted out in desperation, "There's still some left! I'll take you to it."
Sam looked over at Castiel and gave a light shrug, “It’s your call, Cas.”
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The four-hour drive back to the bunker felt like an eternity and was spent mostly in silence, with Sam brooding and deep in thought behind the steering wheel of Kasey’s jeep.  Castiel had taken off with Metatron towards the location of his grace.  Kasey was somewhat uncomfortable after the exchanges she witnessed that night.  She, admittedly, didn’t know the full history between Metatron and the Winchesters, but Sam’s quick-to-shoot reaction did startle her.  She remembered that hunting with the brothers tended to be a little intense.  But Sam’s behavior with both Metatron and Oliver Pryce was something that she would have expected from Dean.  Once again, Kasey found herself questioning exactly how much Sam and Dean had changed.
“So…” Kasey began, finally breaking the drawn-out silence, “That was a little… extreme.”
“Wh-what?”
“I mean…  Just everything that happened tonight.  You mentally threatened an elderly guy, and then got trigger-happy with an angel,” Kasey half-reprimanded.  In the past, Kasey was notorious for keeping the Winchesters in check with how brutal they would sometimes get on hunts.  Sam once even told her that she reminded them of their humanity.
“Kasey, I have to save Dean.  Metatron would not cooperate otherwise, and we couldn’t waste time trying to convince Pryce to help us,” Sam argued.
"So, what?  You just scare and hurt everyone into doing what you want now? Didn't know you picked up Dean's bad behavior," Kasey scolded angrily, "Guess you really are the ruthless hunter your reputation makes you out to be."
Sam took pause at her comment, unsure how to respond.  He wasn’t exactly unaccustomed to being called a brute, among other things by monsters and demons.  Usually, however, the majority of comments were directed towards Dean, with Sam often choosing a more mental and tactical approach.  To hear it come from Kasey, well it stung.  In the past, she always reminded Sam that he wasn't like his dad or brother, and that was part of what she loved about him.  But now…  Now he second-guessed himself.  Had he really changed since she'd been gone?  Was that really what he had become—a cold-blooded hunter who just cut to the quick in desperation?  Looking back, Sam could see a lot of moments where he maybe lost himself during the hunt. The idea honestly scared him.
“Don’t stress out about it, Sam,” Kasey said quietly as she turned to look out the window, “You’re not the only one who’s changed.”
“Yeah…” Sam watched her quietly for a moment, unable to read the expression on her face.  He knew she was upset with his methods and just upset with Dean in general.  But honestly, the exchange with Metatron was about more than just his brother.
Sam turned his eyes back to the road ahead, letting out a deep breath from his nostrils, “Metatron killed Dean last year…” Kasey turned back towards Sam with a look of surprise and questioning. "Because of that, the mark resurrected him. That's how he became a demon, a Knight of Hell."
Kasey stared at Sam in shock, “I-I didn’t know…”
“Most people don’t, except Cas, Metatron, me, and Crowley.”
Kasey tensed again at the mention of the King of Hell and inhaled sharply.  Sam, luckily, didn’t see her reaction, which she wasn’t quite ready to explain.
“I didn’t like the way he talked to you…”
“What?”
"Metatron…  The way he talked to you and looked at you…" Sam explained sheepishly, refusing to take his eyes off the road, "You deserve more respect than that."
“Oh…”
Kasey didn't really know what to say.  Sam had never been the type to get jealous, or outwardly show it in any way.  Hell, even him getting overprotective like that was a bit foreign to her.  The only times she could really remember Sam being overly protective were when she would get benched at Bobby's.  Or, more commonly, when she would kill time waiting for the Winchesters by going solo on hunts.  Needless to say, there were several fights between them over her "behaving recklessly," which typically ended up with Kasey accidentally shattering Bobby's windows and scaring herself.
“What?”
“What?”
"What do you mean, 'oh'?"
Kasey shrugged, “Just…  Oh.”
“Talk to me,” Sam pushed gently.
“I just…  It doesn’t matter, Sam,” Kasey dismissed as she turned back towards the windows, “Let’s just—Let’s just focus on the problem with Dean right now…”
Sam sighed in resignation.  There it was, that wall that she kept putting back up between them the minute Sam made any headway.  It was growing increasingly frustrating and hurt a little bit every time he watched that wall go back up.  The more effort he put into getting close to her, the more and more he felt validated in the idea that she’s hiding a lot more from them than she let on.
Letting the conversation drop, Sam turned his focus back to the road, contemplating everything that happened over the past 24 hours.  Her question regarding Amelia and her comment about how he handled Pryce and Metatron gave Sam a bit of insight to what she was thinking and feeling.  He wished that Cas hadn't come back quite when he did, though. It would have been nice to have held Kasey in his arms for once and comfort her.  Seeing her cry…  it was such a strange thing for him.  In all the time they had known each other, Sam had only seen Kasey cry twice—once when she revealed to him how her father died, and the other when he took Lucifer with him into the pit.  She had always been ridiculously strong and withdrawn with her emotions, refusing to complain or show pain in front of them.  In the past, Kasey often said it was her job to make him smile, to make the burdens easier.  
But then what was his job?  Being together meant they were supposed to be a partnership, to help each other.  So, what was Sam supposed to do if Kasey refused to let him?  Today, Sam had made a little bit of headway, finally.  But he knew that if wanted to really breakthrough with Kasey, it was going to take a lot of patience and a lot of perseverance. Luckily, after years of dealing with Dean’s closed-off emotions, Sam was beginning to become a pro at getting through to the people he loved most.  Nevertheless, between Dean’s mark and Kasey’s hot-and-cold behavior, Sam was very stressed out.
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When the duo returned to the bunker, Kasey immediately slunk off to the privacy of her room, barely acknowledging Dean as she passed.  Once tucked away in seclusion, she pulled a folded-up envelope from her jacket pocket.  Before they parted ways earlier in the night, Castiel had given her and Sam each an envelope containing a letter from Bobby.  Neither had opened them yet, both choosing to wait until they returned the bunker to do so.  Kasey stared at the familiar handwriting for a moment, her nerves starting to get to her again.  With shaking fingers, Kasey carefully pulled out Bobby's letter.
Hey, darlin.
So… it's been four years, now.  Sam and Dean have missed you somethin' awful, especially Sam.  I wasn't kidding when I said I was a ghost for a while.  Really gives you a whole new perspective on people, when they think you can't see them.  I know you're still hidin' and I know you're strugglin'.  Sometimes, it's better to let the people we love see us at our worst so they can help us be our best.  And sometimes we just can't do it alone.  I know it don't always seem like it, but you mean the world to those boys. Sam's made some bad choices along the way, but at the end of the day, he needs you as much as you need him.  And Dean… well even though the stubborn ass would never admit it, he loves ya like a sister.  You remind both of them of what it's like to be more than just hunters.
Now, I don’t know what all you’ve gone through since I’ve been gone, but if it’s anything like Cas thinks it is, then you need help.  I know its hard, honey.  And I know you’re used to struggling alone because you think everyone else has got enough on their plates.  But no matter what anyone tells you or what you think…  You are worth it.  You grew up to be a damn good woman, and one hell of a witch.  Your daddy and uncle would be proud of you, girl.  I know I sure as hell am.  Keep fighting, sweetheart.
Bobby
Kasey crushed Bobby’s letter to her chest and began sobbing. Even in death, the ornery hunter could see right through her.  While the letter had been meant to be the encouragement and kick in the pants she so desperately needed, Kasey only ended up feeling worse.  Who was she to ask for anything?  Sam and Dean had more important things on their hands. Who was she to be so selfish as to ask them to help with her mess of a life?  It was the reason why she never spoke up before, when the depression first started to kick in.  Kasey could never ask for their time and attention, not when she was already so unimportant.  Sam and Dean were the men who saved the world…  And Kasey was nobody.
Kasey let herself slowly tip over, burying her face in the scratchy pillows as she continued to weep, muffling her cries and gasps. Letting the Winchesters see that broken part of her, especially Sam, was out of the question.  Kasey could never burden them more than she already felt like she had.  After pouring all her pain, self-loathing, and tears into the flattened pillow, Kasey finally cried herself to sleep, clutching Bobby’s letter as if it were her last lifeline.
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weaselle · 5 years
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I got asked in my DMs to elaborate on my master project, so, just know if you click the read more, it’s gonna be like, a LONG ass read
(in b4: when I say things like “the poor” rest assured I am also “the poor” and not trying to feed into classist designations - I just need to be able to talk about different economic demographics. Also, I’ve pulled together several pieces of writing that cover this very involved endeavor for this ask, so there may occasionally be a slight overlap of information, tho I have tried to clean it up)
@victorylilygreen (lol, you asked)  @ekinsellaauthor (idk I thought you might be interested)
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I have a plan to provide solutions to the socio-economic crisis facing this country. As I put this together over a couple of decades, it was important for me to not be telling people how they have to live, but rather provide them the tools they need to decide for themselves how to live. This plan then, is more like a mutable format, the first iteration of which provides the example and proof of concept. Then, when people see a successful solution available, they will be sure to copy it -- because this piece of social engineering is meant to be self replicating this way, I often refer to it as a socio-economic worm First, a breakdown of how I arrived at my plan:
The fundamental questions at the base of my attempts at large scale socio-economic fixes are:
1- Since every current system in our society is dysfunctional or corrupt, how can a single simple solution address the entire tangled web of institutions that effect every part of our human lives -- from agriculture, to rent, to wages, to government, to education, to the textile and clothing industry -- it's all problematic and needs to change.
2 - Since we can assume the wealthy will never help change the status quo, how can we get the middle class to pay the poor to create alternatives to current corrupt systems? in other words, how can we free time and money in the economy such that doctors and lawyers and computer techs can pay cashiers and gardeners and cooks to create banks and homes and grocery stores so we can bankrupt Wells Fargo and Century Real Estate and Whole Foods?
And the first answer is, we can create a simple solution that addresses all of it by bringing all that under one roof, for one small group of people, and addressing that microcosm in a way that is replicable by other small groups, as well as able to be scaled up such that it is applicable to the larger society.
To answer the second question, we have to create a situation where the poor are making more money than they currently do. And they need to do this by providing more of what the middle class need (for less money than the middle class currently spends on it) This will provide some immediate relief for the poor while freeing up money in the middle class to fund the larger solutions.
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Since we can't create money from nothing, one way to accomplish that is: instead of the poor making more money, the base concept of socio-economic organization of individuals has to change such that it lowers the cost of living for the poor. Lowering the cost of living accomplishes many of the same things as increasing wages. And we have to do that while engaging in providing more of what the middle class needs for less money that they currently pay.
Therefore, we need to identify what the middle class needs. A fundamental problem facing the middle class is that raising a family and running a household and earning enough money to pay for it all is a full time job for three to five adults, and they are trying to do it with two. Which is a major problem for the poor also. What the middle class is trying to do about it is what the poor cannot: buy themselves more time, literally. They pay someone to clean their house, they pay someone to watch their kids, they pay someone to maintain their garden, they pay for food that requires less and less time to prepare or they order to go food. They pay a dry cleaner or laundry service to wash their clothes. If they can afford enough of these things, they wind up with as much left to do as 2 people have time for.
The important thing to realize here is that these chores are the genesis of the necessary institutions that have become corrupt or dysfunctional. Everything a household or family needs is a microcosm of the larger industries and institutions. For example, paying someone to take care of your children is the seed of a school. Paying someone to prepare your meal is the seed of food industry - if you pay them enough to prepare you enough food, it becomes more cost effective to start producing the ingredients or getting them directly from the source. Paying an accountant to do your taxes or getting help with budgeting etc, grows into a bank. Paying someone to wash your clothes is the seed of the clothing industry - soon they can offer repairs, replacing buttons, fixing burst seams, from there alterations and tailoring follow... This is how the poor will be paid to grow new institutions to replace current problematic systems.
SO. Low-income workers need to organize into cooperative communities that leverage group dynamics to lower costs. If four families live together, they don't need to buy four toolbox sets, they can buy one and share. 10 families worth of food bought in bulk costs much less than 10 individual families buying food at the grocery store. Heating a single large building and splitting the bill is much more cost-effective than paying to heat individual housing units. And when one such group is shown to provide solutions and success, other groups will inevitably come together and copy it on their own, unprompted.
AND once they are organized this way, they should offer those services the middle class are trying to use as stop gaps - the chores the middle class are buying themselves out of. The best way to do this is buy creating the solutions to the chore/time crunch for their own community, and then selling those solutions to the middle class. In other words, someone needs to do the house cleaning, the laundry, the cooking, the gardening etc for the building they all live in, and then they can go on to sell that service to middle class households.
They need to do this for less money than the sum of those things currently costs, which can be accomplished via two techniques. The first is simply by bringing all those services under one roof. When the gardener and the housecleaner are arriving in the same company vehicle, the consumer is getting passed less in gas and vehicle maintenance costs, and so on.
The second way is to identify the one or two most needed, most expensive services, and find a way to lower costs for just those services significantly. Maybe something like babysitters that function as small, suburban neighborhood daycares during peak daycare hours, and the babysitters would fill the rest of their work week elsewhere in the company.
Now! We have the poor with a lower cost of living, providing relief services to the middle class in a way designed to grow into the new food production, the new clothing industry, new banks, new schools, new hospitals... and when you have all these things, you can make whole cities that are largely autonomous. Again the concept is to bring under one roof smaller versions of all the needed things in life that have become the large problematic systems that currently exist, giving citizens the real power to either force those institutions to change, or replace them. When you have new cities, they can demand or create much larger change in government, in power production, in raw material sourcing for things like lumber and fuel. And hey can be built on purpose, instead of the chaotic haphazard growth typical of current cities. If citizens want to live sustainable, socially progressive lifestyles, it behooves them to live in municipalities explicitly designed to facilitate that.
This is my solution.
It starts with a single building. A single community. I have planed the building and community, budgeted it, designed it to be able to grow into these larger solutions. I have started the procedure to create it, taken the first small steps.
step One A: Creative Suite (already working with a small team on this)
My plan is to run several big fundraisers over the next year and partner with an SF Bay Area municipality (probably Oakland) to open a public arts production center by converting a warehouse.
The purpose would be to have a creative recreation suite with communal equipment and spaces, such that, if you wanted, for example, to make a music demo, or do a pod cast, or make cooking videos for youtube, you could easily accomplish that using the space and equipment available in the arts production center. To include:
dance floor / props and body work space
music center / DJ booth and instruments
recording studio - both audio and visual, with lighting, green screen, mics, cameras sound proofing
singing booths - individual sized sound proof recording studios, wired with a mic and output
industrial kitchen - large fridge space, rangetop and large oven, utensils / tools, big counter top
painting studio - surfaces (not always canvas) paints, brushes, frames
Crafting studio - buy bulk discount from creative center for reuse in berkeley?
wood and metal shop - partner with a tool library? is it possible to get a recyclable high-density ceramic 3-D printer to print tools with?
electronic repair (and robotics?) center
stage / small theater space / workshop with attached makeup studio
sewing and costuming – sewing machines and cloth bolts etc
gaming center - table top rpgs, card games, board games etc outdoor component, pool table, anything we can get a good deal on
computer bank - about 5 computers for general use / e games
leave one/take one library, scattered 1-2 person writers nooks
garden center
Amazingly my estimates from initial research indicates I can put a cheap, functional version of this together for about twenty thousand dollars. In terms of installing this stuff in like, an otherwise un-refurbished warehouse. Even if I spend $35k, that’s like, a new car. Plus I want the first month or so of funding to run the place up front. That’s gonna be water, garbage (it’s a lot for the dumpster a place like this needs) a shitload of electricity, and 3 people’s worth of monthly salaries to start.
Then there’s the rent or lease, which runs about $2 per square foot in the SF Bay, and I’ll need at least 5 grand a month’s worth of space. Plus monthly supplies, for whatever deals on paint and stuff we can scrounge. That means the monthly operating costs are like $25k a month. Hence large fundraisers for the initial build out and first month’s operating. Plus you draw your initial arts center membership from the fundraiser attendees.
Which, I’ve thrown warehouse parties before, so I think I can hit a target of a couple hundred people at each party spending $35 apiece. There’s a trick to it – you keep the cover charge low or non-existent, and then provide a lot of opportunities to spend money inside, like games and food and stuff. Low or no charge to attend drives attendance up, and then you have more people spending money. 
One key element is, you fill out the paperwork to be a catering company. Not only do you use this to sell food at the event, but ALSO it allows you to file for a single-use liquor license so you can have a bar. Usually there are a finite number of liquor licenses in a municipality, and they can go for millions of dollars. But with a catering company’s single event liquor license you can legally sell alcohol at the party. NOW we’re talking money.
anyway, I’m HOPING I can find state, federal, or municipal grants and assistance programs for the arts (and also, maybe some kind of, entrepreneurial support programs, but for like, small personal internet ventures?) Maybe even get some city to cut the rent in half by forgiving the property taxes on the warehouse or something. If I can’t, I may have to adjust the fundraising vs start date timing. Membership will be a monthly fee like a gym. I’d love for it to be free, and will certainly stay open to anything that allows that, but by the numbers it’ll have to be about $50 a month. Still, that’s like a 24 our fitness membership. One refill of gasoline. About one person’s share of an electricity bill. A phone payment. It’s a doable monthly bill for a lot of people. Monthly budget to be supplemented using the space, for example dance classes, ticketed theater performances, live band music shows, etc. So it’s possible we could drive membership prices way down. and maybe certain days or times could be free to the public or something. I want it to be accessible. Of the 3 monthly salaries mentioned above (each at $20 an hour) one is for me and that’s all I need, enough money to live on and access to this facility. There’s no way I can figure out how to afford this kind of creative suite for just me, but I might be able to figure out how to make one a whole bunch of us can afford This is just the first step of a very involved something I’ve been putting together since forever. But even if I only ever accomplish this first nesting-doll of a scheme, I’ll be very pleased.
The Creative Suite is like, an egg. And it should hatch into a little baby iteration of a socio-economic worm I’ve conceived.
If I can grow it to the full beast, it should become a self replicating, bottom-up revolutionary process that could improve the lives of many millions of people and put more power over our personal day to day lives back into the hands of the common public.
I have thousands of words in hundreds of research drafts and notes and exploratory essays, etc, but… Roughly speaking that looks like
flip the Creative Suite into MN Building One, a scheme designed to allow minimum wage workers to access more free time, lower their cost of living, and build equity by acquiring and owning their own property. Mortgage is paid off in ten years. Meanwhile
Building One starts up a business called Full Service Living that leverages group economics to allow for ethically sourcing goods while addressing the issue that middle class nuclear families with two adults face 4 full time adults’ worth of labor to maintain the household and raise the children.
Full Service Living becomes FSL Pro, in which the first group offers the next group of minimum wage workers their old building (cutting out the banks from the process) while acquiring a second building, gives the new people in Building One entry level jobs in FSL that pay better than minimum wage, while adding second tier careers to the mix living in Building Two – lawyers, accountants, mechanics, teachers, etc. These two groups continue to propagate more communities in their paired type one and type two buildings. Each of these community pairs contains the seeds for various institutions designed into them, and are meant to cooperatively grow  into:
Community Support Centers. These offer a variety of support services to surrounding communities. Such as: day care and after school programs, tax and bill/budgeting assistance, legal advice/support. The sum of the total efforts by all parties is designed to blossom into:
A school A construction and landscaping company A public owned Credit Union/Bank A public service law office An ethical clothing line An alternative low footprint locally sourced supermarket I call Alt-mart (Alt-mart works hand in hand with a food production construct I have in mind. It’s a little involved for this breakdown)
All that with room for other endeavors people see a need for. The initial concept brings most issues of modern life under a single multi-family roof such that communities are afforded the opportunity and resources to create alternatives to the flawed or corrupt institutions with which we are currently participating.
When that all coalesces into networks of these communities and institutions, we’ll have all the necessary pieces to the puzzle and I hope a city will be built. I’ve designed many elements of it. Engineering as well as socio-political and economic design. But who knows if I’ll ever get there.
More detailed breakdown of the plan follows:
Project Overview and Concept Exploration:
Begins with providing affordable housing, property ownership, and upward mobility to minimum wage workers. Becomes a network of live/work facilities with a focus on sustainable entrepreneurialism, accessible autonomy, and community outreach.
These facilities function as socio-economic labs - they are on paper corporations, to access any advantages, protections, and loop-holes available to the corrupt institutions currently running the economy. They target the large corporations, ultimately seeking to end them. They produce businesses such as restaurants that grow all their own food, and doctors that are paid for by the apartment complex to provide medical care to residents.
Additionally, theses facilities provide a new way of life, in a format that allows for autonomy, but also allows for successful participation in the current economy... where all the money is.They also attempt to alleviate the time crunch problem for the middle class, wherein managing a household and raising a family is actually three or four full time jobs.
As such, the facilities are designed to grow into these large businesses/institutions:
SCHOOL
A preschool through junior college school on 3 cooperative campuses, wherein the school functions as a microcosm of the economy as a whole for the purpose of study: school gardens provide cafeteria food; school wood shops produce school furniture; economy classes figure out how the school budget can afford the water, fertilizer, metal, and wood.
3rd graders have classes in the garden learning the biome and doing the weeding; 8th graders are each growing 3ftX3ft gardens and helping in the large garden; 11th graders are cross-pollenating and designing green housing and aquaponic systems; bachelor students are splicing plant genes in the lab.
But by then some of the students have stopped being involved in the garden, and are making replacement hinges for all the school doors as metal shop homework or squeezing enough money out of the school budget for a big homecoming event.
By the third campus, students are living on site, so there is housing to manage. Student store and cafeteria provide economic interactions; the whole of our socio-economic society done small for study and practice, under a single administration instead of our current system of a scholastic career being broken up into mismatched administrations, which is a disservice to our students.
ALT-MART
A facility meant to compete with Target and Walmart and Whole Foods etc. It grows from the live/work facility kitchen and meal-plan set up. Alt-mart features a permanent farmer’s market, supplemented with an onsite garden/nursery. There is an onsite industrial kitchen and restaurant that uses overstock from the farmer’s market and ingredients from the garden, possibly purchasing all unsold produce from the farmer’s market at a discount.
The restaurant offers prepared foods for sale to the public, kitchen processes overstock into consumer goods like ketchup, frozen microwaveable breakfast burritos, and canned corn. Bakery also, of course. Facility also features a tool-library with a 3-d printer that can print any tools not on the shelves.
Additionally features local tailoring and a second hand clothing store. The local tailors get access to all the second-hand pieces for use in making their own clothes to sell onsite, as well as some facility-bought cloth and onsite machinery (sewing machines to textile machines like tuffters, gins, and looms).
Toy aisle is franken-toy land, where in-house creative DIYers take second hand toys and make whole new toys out of them. Electronics section is mostly repair, and offers lessons in repair. Book-nook and greeting card section features local/community writers. And so on. The goal is to offer an alternative to the big one-stop-shop stores, with a focus on local/community sourcing.
CONSTRUCTION COMPANY
This business grows out of building maintenance and groundskeeping into a landscaping company, then into a construction company. It should be the company used by the network of facilities for any renovations and repairs, so it should grow quite large.
COMMUNITY-OWNED CREDIT UNION (and LAW OFFICE)
Basically a non-profit bank, that offers community outreach for people who need help with budgeting, would like to learn about mortgages and homeownership, etc. Grows out of a Community Support Center that also offers community office space and legal advice.
FIRST STOP HOSPITAL
Not a full hospital, at least not at first, this should just be a few medical professionals that can answer common questions, provide emergency medical response, and assess medical conditions. Not for treatment so much as to find out what kind of treatment you need and who to get it from. Where first-time parents bring their babies when they’re not sure if they need o bring their baby to an emergency room. Honestly, medical care is the hardest part of this whole thing and I'm not sure if it's going to be possible or what to do about it.
CATERING AND EVENTS COMPANY
This is what get’s the ball rolling, the catering folds into the care-taking positions within the facilities, and the events company later become basically the arts entertainment and media/information division. There's a traveling circus element. It's fun.
These projects can possibly culminate in a whole large, sustainable city built from the ground up, that I have outlined. It involves building a large hill and two small lakes. I am happy to talk a lot more about that, but it clearly necessitates all the above pieces and more.
OKAY, so much for the overview. Let’s start at the beginning. The loan is for 2 million dollars, for a property of 1 million and another million in remodel costs.
Note: I ran the following numbers for California. Obviously property values and minimum wages are different other places, but the concept should still be applicable. Additionally, these are preliminary estimates only. Additional research and budgeting is required.
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First I have to tell you about a type of loan called “Micro debt”
Basically, if you loan 10 people a total of 100k, they are each responsible for 10k of debt. If one of them defaults, the other nine split their debt, so now each of them has about 11k of debt, which is payable as it is not a significant increase in debt per person. However, this also encourages them to all help make sure nobody defaults on the debt -- for example, if one person is in danger of defaulting because their car was totaled and they can’t get to work, there are nine other people with a vested interest in making sure that person gets access to a vehicle or ride share. If a person starts to default on payments because they are drinking all the time, there are nine other people who are going to drag the to AA meetings.
A couple of banks in Bangladesh and Germany have had success with this, citing a 98% repay rate which is a few percent better than the average home loan repay rate here in the United States. Additionally, there are at least a couple million people who have this structure of loan here in the states, so it's not unheard of nor untested, even specifically in our own economy.
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SO. 28 people get what is essentially a home loan for 2 million dollars. We'll call them group A. They each have about a $71,000 mortgage, their share of the loan. (note, an average mortgage in California is like, nearly half a million, so, less than a hundred thousand is a GOOD mortgage)
Group A buys property (ideally unused/abandoned industrial sites or dilapidated property in low income areas) for about a million, maybe a little under, and builds a facility on it for about a million, maybe a little over. (I looked at apartment building costs per square foot and reviewed properties currently for sale in California to get these numbers).
Some of the money is earmarked for partnering with the city on local infrastructure - so, say the streets in that neighborhood need repaving, we might buy all the materials for the city to do that, saving them money, incentivizing the city to work with us on rezoning and permits, while at the same time those kinds of improvements are an investment in the value of the property. This is because many of those buildings are not zoned as live-work the way this project requires, and rezoning without incentivizing the city to cooperate is a nightmare.
The facility is 60 bedrooms, with an industrial kitchen, plenty of diverse common space, and shared facilities (like at a gym: banks of private shower stalls, even a hot tub and a sauna, because if you’re going to ask people to give up single use showers in their own apartments, you want to add value).
Group A moves in and rents remaining rooms to an additional 28 people, we'll call them Group B.
Now, out of 60 rooms we have 56 people living in the facility. 10 of them are caretakers. Instead of paying money, they pay their way in labor, and they additionally receive a monthly stipend of 500 dollars a month to start. The caretakers do all the building maintenance and groundskeeping, they do the housekeeping and laundry, they make sure the bills are all paid, and they provide (cook) a meal plan. Utilities are all included in rent.
This means that anyone renting there has a single, affordable monthly bill for their cost of living, never has to cook, never has to do laundry or wash a dish. I call this Full Service Living. And the budget is for 60 but only 56 are planned in, with 4 slots available for social outreach, so this community can offer semi-temporary room and board for free to women fleeing abusive relationships, disabled veterans, homeless people with children, rehabilitated felons, whoever they want to help.
All this for a single payment of $1,000 per month, per paying resident.
Rent, food, utilities, housekeeping, everything. In an area where rent alone is more than that. This guarantees that a person making local minimum wage can afford to live, and pretty decently, with more free time and less headache.
When the building is paid off, if they want, Group A will each have a room to live in, plus a room to receive rent from, as income.
Let's break down the budget for this so far
(60 people, minus 10 caretakers and 4 outreach residents, equals 46 paying residents)
Per Month Costs to Paying Residents:
Meal plan for 60 people = $5,000.00
60 person phone plan = $1,800.00
Internet sufficient for a business: $400.00
Water bill for 60 people = $1,800.00
Electricity for 60 people = $3,600.00
Garbage bill for 60 people = $2,000.00
Caretaker stipend = $5,000.00
(subtotal: $19,600.00)
Building/Community fund = $1,853.002
million dollar mortgage = $21,213.00
Property tax = $3,334.00
Total: $46,000.00= $1,000 per paying resident per month, roughly $600 “room” and $400 “board” with as many costs of living as possible paid as one low bill.
 Sharing a room adds a "board" payment to the room, so if you move a romantic partner in with you and split it evenly, you each pay $700. I also have discount rate breakdowns for people with children in various scenarios, but it starts to get complicated for what is supposed to be a simple overview. Basically it comes down to an inherent flexibility in the meal plan; the fact that a food budget for 60 people easily accommodates an extra mouth to feed could allow a group to offer a single parent a separate room for their child with no board payment, so they could live in two rooms for $1,500; stuff like that.
At those payments, the building is paid off in ten years. TEN. Our low income earners don't have to wait 30 years to be actual property owners, and they only have to give the bank an added $500k instead of the 1.4 million a 30 year mortgage would net.
Here is one place people replicating the format and participating in their own group can do whatever they want. The 28 building shareholders have the option of leaving everything the same but owning the place outright, which means they are no longer paying the ~$500 mortgage portion of their bills, instead each receiving about $500 in rent from the other residents, which is a net gain of $1k per month each in disposable income. Or they could all just sell the building and split the money 28 ways. Or they could all move out and use the entire building to generate residual income. Anything is good, we've made almost 30 people property owners and built them equity for only minimum wage while they provided relief services to the surrounding community, so anything they think is best, we've already done it good.
Ideally they move into a second building and sell the first building to group B, which is what the very first group will have to do to complete the seeding of the entire project. 
SO. The two buildings I mention represent two stages of the greater project. Full Service Living, and Full Service Living Professional (hereafter FSL, and FSL Pro)
In the first stage, you have 10 caretakers providing full service living to 46 paying individuals, most of whom make minimum wage, and 4 social outreach recipients. FSL is basically getting as much of your life as possible handled with a single low bill, something similar to living in a good hotel.
To expand, The caretakers additionally seek to offer this service to middle class households - these homes already hire a house cleaner, a gardener, use a dry-cleaner, order delivery food, so they are prime clients. As middle class households become clients, the caretakers need more people to handle the work load, and the other people living in the facility quit their minimum wage jobs and work for the FSL company. This will earn the group profits as a whole while paying the individuals close to $25 an hour. THIS allows the second building to be much nicer.
With a second, much nicer building, the 28 people move in, and they find 28 new renters from higher up the economic food chain. These folks need to earn at least 35k a year and include people from a specific list of professions. This new group of 28 shall be referred to hereafter as the tenants.
The rent agreement is unique: The 28 tenants pay about 2k per month each for the same package, the FSL company from the first building provides all the housekeeping, meal plan, etc. The tenants also agree to pay one third of any increase in their wages, up to a cap, with the money going toward renovations, improvements, and additional services and amenities. This means as your income increases, you pay more actual dollars, but a smaller percentage of your over all income
So if you are making 35k you earn 3k a month, which means you pay 2/3 of your income to the facility (many people spend this much on rent plus food). If you double your income, you now earn 6k per month. Your rent package would go up by 1/3 of your additional income, or one thousand dollars, and you would still have an extra two thousand dollars per month of personal discretionary income. You would have started out paying 2/3 of your income, but now you’d be paying only 1/2 your income. Your building improves, your life improves, but you’ll always be able to afford it, and every raise you get does give you more spending money. Additionally, the staff is motivated to really give you all the support they can, as a well supported individual is more likely to have monetary success.
And one more important thing. Tenants either pay an additional 500 bucks a month in money, OR they offer $500 of their professional services to residents of the facility. Unclaimed time must be made available to the surrounding public for free.
So, say a paralegal values her time at $50 dollars an hour for qualified legal advice (such as, do I need a lawyer for this? what kind of lawyer do I need? What is this legal process going to look like?). The 50 residents only use an hour this month, so something like 9 appointments should be made available to the surrounding community for free - the facility staff will handle outreach (letting the community know of the offer via flyers etc). They will handle making the appointments according to her availability, and will provide the facility’s communal office space to hold them in.
These programs allow businesses to grow in a very low risk environment. Let’s look at a day care worker. She’s a classroom assistant at a day care, going to school part time to finish her teaching degree. She offers residents hours of baby sitting as her $500 service. As she earns more money, the facility also earns more money, and can renovate a space that sometimes functions as a play room for kids. No longer going to school, she is earning more money, the facility hires a permanent babysitter or two, and she manages them. Free to residents, they accept neighborhood kids for a reasonable fee. Low cost good quality day care becomes available to the neighborhood. She’s a class lead at a good school now, making more money, so the facility can afford to hire classroom assistants and the baby-sitting / daycare starts offering after-school programs to older children, well on its way to being a small private school, with our tenant running it.
Similarly, restaurants and construction companies grow out of offering facility residents goods and services.
To recap the ideal situation here: 28 people live in a nice 60 bedroom facility. They own a business in a neighboring facility, which houses workers who are paid fairly, but who also pay the first group monthly on a ten year lease (instead of paying a bank) -- after which that second group owns the building they live in and no longer has to pay. Everyone’s cooking, cleaning, laundry, are all done for them. By now their meals are largely made from the facility’s garden and aquaponics greenhouse, which includes a fish-farming pool, a few goats, a cow or two, and some chickens and ducks. Living with them in the facility is their lawyer, their nurse, their electronics expert, etc. They’re all part owners in their own non-profit bank/credit union, and there is an onsite day care, gym, and communal workshop. The group offers outreach programs to the surrounding community: low cost high quality day care, legal advice. They provide semi-temporary room and board to those in need, such as women fleeing abusive relationships, disabled veterans, and the homeless (especially those with children). They are an active part of an ongoing socio-economic program designed to give low-income housing, property ownership, retirement options, and upward mobility to minimum wage workers, as well as alternatives to broken institutions to all.
By the time they pay off the second building’s mortgage, the first building has been paid for over again, and THAT group can move into a ANOTHER FSL Pro building, offering their new building to a new round of pro tenants while offering that first building to a THIRD round of low income workers.
The first 28 people achieve all of this, building ownership, business proprietorship, community support, within the same thirty years it takes to pay off a standard home loan, starting with nothing more than entry level jobs and this master plan. 
From there, growth continues. More buildings are offered to more low income earners. More facilities means more services, amenities, cooperative power, a stronger micro-economy. Political influence also increases with membership...
Eventually, you can take all these businesses and facility/communities, and go build a whole city, which looks a little like this
See the problem with cities is they grew organically. No one ever sat down and said “we know we want a hundred thousand people to live here -- what is the best design for that?” Instead is was just, some people, and then some more people, and then some more...
So.
You go out in the middle of wherever. You dig two GIANT holes. You take the dirt from the holes and you build a nice big hill. You fill the holes with water and you have two lakes. Now you have a nice place people want to live, nestled between the lakes, under the hill. It gives you enough water and topography to create a resource feedback loop and control things like wind and sun exposure.
You regulate everything for sustainability, design it from the ground up. 
Current municipalities have to provide everything for the public from a budget that largely comes from property tax, which is 2% of the property value. That’s why when there’s something like a homelessness problem, there is no money to address it properly. 
This city holds all the property in a trust administered by the elected city officials. Instead of rent paid to private landlords, the public leases their homes and businesses directly from the city, which keeps rents low and controlled and gives the city an incredibly large budget compared to current municipalities, which allows them to provide outstanding public services -- transportation, healthcare, parks -- as well as giving them enough budget to address any issues like homelessness. Regulation and organization for sustainability as a whole city addresses the fact that existence is always interlocked issues. For example:
Grey water. In this city, only approved cleansers are allowed for sale or use (and the city provides one. Because the city provides it, it has to be cheap and easy, which means that there is always room for improvement, or, a business selling better cleansers for more money. But no one will ever go without one available, even if they are broke). SO, no bleach down the drain. So you can take the grey water of the city, and dump it on the top of the hill into a manmade creek/river, which starts full of rocks, then pebbles, then sand (a natural filtration process) flows down the hill and ends up in the first lake, which is recreational. The second lake sits a little lower, and the water flows into it from the first lake. In the second lake there are fish farming and bi-valve farming, which additionally filters the water (especially bi-valves like fresh water muscles, which feed by straining the water through organic filters and not-for-food populations should be in the first lake as well). The city pulls its water from the second lake through its combination water purification facility / power plant. The power plant uses a steam turbine already so we simply run that steam through a charcoal filter, and re-condense it into molecularly clean water for municipal use; this uses our existing power generator, instead of requiring massive amounts of additional power.
That’s just one example. The city has it’s own sustainable agriculture program, and grows it’s own food. There are public meal plans, and a lot of organization of the city economy that I just don’t have the energy to get into here.
These designs allow a large group of people to live with very little environmental impact. It would be healthier for the citizens. And it would encourage a certain amount of political unity, while removing a lot of stress from modern life. 
The city is modular in growth. So when the city population doubles, roughly half of them build a city nearby and live there.
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Aside from the first two facilities (and then probably the first of the cities, if that happens) I don't need or want to be involved. As it replicates into more and more facilities, the baseline should remain: "here is a format by which minimum wage workers can own property and grow wealth in a way that allows them more control over their lives and denies profits to existing corrupt industries and corporations -- copy it if you want and suit it to your own group of residents”
I don't want to tell people how to live or what to do, I want to give them tools and templates to improve their own lives, whatever that looks like to them.
Anyway, believe it or not, this is only about a tenth of the detail I’ve put into this. I can never get the whole picture of any of this out in one go, but I've spent a lot of time on all the details which, as you can tell, are innumerable. The ways in which the FSL buildings act as entrepreneurial incubators by cutting start-up overhead to nearly zero while providing an initial customer base of 60 regulars, the various permutations that could address specific scenarios, the details of how to add gardens and fish and food production supplemented by ethical food sourcing.. I could just. keep. going. forever.
It addresses the whole tangled set of problems. You have to help high population areas, but also go out to the middle of the country. You have to help low income earners and people in poverty, but also our middle class is struggling. You have to do things that effect education, infrastructure, ocean management, industrialized food production, population density/overcrowding  issues, helps prevent homelessness, creates better jobs for workers of big box stores while providing affordable more sustainable alternatives to their customers...
I think this plan does all that and more.
I’m exhausted and can’t find all my work on this right now, it’s buried in email chains and computer back ups, but I think I more or less encapsulated it. Good night
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ghost-chance · 5 years
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Rant regarding disability
It recently came to my attention that most people don’t know this...and it happened because a nosy receptionist made my friend Autumn fall apart in a waiting room. Since people apparently don’t know, here’s the scoop:
If you receive a government check through SSI or SSDI, you are ALWAYS at risk of losing that check. MARRYING, in particular, will end your benefits.
No, I’m not exaggerating or being alarmist - I’m entirely serious. Maybe it’s not the case in all states, but in all the ones I’ve checked, it’s true. Marrying while receiving SSI/SSDI or Survivors’ Benefits renders you ineligible for further payments because now you’re your spouse’s problem. THEY are expected to provide for you, whether they are capable or not. Allow me to illustrate specific instances I’ve come across.
A physically disabled woman on SSI married an unemployed man looking for work. Her SSI was canceled point-blank. Her husband, too, was disabled, and having trouble finding work because of it...but he was expected to be able to provide for the both of them. They lost their home, spiraled into debt, couldn’t find work, and last I heard, they were living in a shelter and panhandling. Their only mistake was MARRYING each other.
A friend of mine got engaged and had to call it off. She’s on SSI and hasn’t been able to hold down a job in years because her mental illness flares up under the slightest bit of stress. Her fiance works minimum wage and is mentally/emotionally incapable of rising to a better paying position. This couple had everything planned - they had wedding rings, they had plans for their future, they were even looking into local chapels - then the JOP they saw warned them she’d lose her benefits if they married. They’ve been together for years now and people constantly ask them “so when’s the date?” There is no date...setting a date will cancel the payments they depend on.
A disabled man married a non-disabled woman. Before marrying, she was financially well-off and had no money problems. After marrying, her husband’s benefits were canceled and she was made responsible for paying for EVERYTHING. Her finances don’t go far enough anymore and they’ve never stopped struggling.
Two disabled persons receiving SSI payments married each other. They thought surely since they were both receiving payments no one would have their benefits taken away because neither could possibly support the other. Their benefits were NOT taken away...they were COMBINED and DECREASED. Yes, they went from a full payment apiece each month to ONE JOINT PAYMENT EACH MONTH which was LOWER than their previous payments COMBINED.
That’s only a few examples. The point remains: As much as people say government benefits are supposed to encourage financial independence, the regulations connected just end up making you more dependent on a broken system. If you’re disabled and receiving benefits, apparently you’re expected to spend the rest of your days living in your mom’s basement, single, depressed, and a drain on society...and that expectation is BULLSHIT. Disabled folks still contribute to society and they CAN build a life of their own with a little extra help. The marriage rules aren’t the only injustice, either - people often say “Well, then get a job!” but they’ve never tried earning work while on government benefits - the regulations around WORKING are even more absurd and archaic.
SSI/SSDI payments are meant to be extra help for those who need them; instead, they come with more regulations. NOWHERE in the US will the legal monthly limit for an SSI payment cover a month’s rent AND a month’s groceries. NOWHERE in the US can an SSI recipient raise a child without relying heavily on charity and increasingly red-taped government-funded programs. NOWHERE in the US can an SSI recipient work part time at minimum wage without having their payments docked by MORE THAN THEY‘RE MAKING, even if the hours aren’t regular.
Many people struggling with the system have become afraid to ask for help because of the public outcry and blame. “If you’re poor, stick to rice and beans!” “People on government payments shouldn’t be allowed to buy pet food!” “People getting paid by the government don’t need their own house - that’s what the shelters are for!” No matter how normal or expected it is for non-disabled persons to engage in something, it’s liable to be seen as excessive or forbidden for people on benefits. Having children, having access to a working vehicle, being married, working, eating healthy, enjoying a book or movie once in a while, owning your own home - these are all things EXPECTED of people without disabilities, but God Forbid a disabled person expect the same treatment.
Back to my friend Autumn. Autumn is a strong, determined and unbearably sweet young woman who just happened to lose at the genetic lottery. She never asked for the invisible disability she was born with and she’s never stopped fighting to overcome it, but when people look at her, all they see is someone who isn’t trying. She’s given up on countless ‘luxuries’ just to live independently without resorting to CHARITY and high-demand government programs like HUD and SNAP. She skips meals and buys cheap food that destroys her body. She has no vehicle and gave up on the chance of having children. She lives in a rental complex where the residents aren’t treated properly because respect and working appliances costs more. She never reads or watches anything that isn’t FREE, and she’s still using the same clothes and belongings from over ten years ago, and although she wears his ring, she can’t afford to marry her boyfriend of ten years. As long as I’ve known her, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen Autumn get repeatedly shat on by life, pick herself up, dust herself off, and start over with a pun and a smile.
“I see you’re wearing an engagement ring?” the nosy receptionist asked Autumn. “Who’s the lucky guy? When’s the date?” Yet again, Autumn had to explain to a complete stranger “There is no date - we can’t marry because I’d lose my SSI, he can’t afford to support us on his own, and I can’t keep a job because of my disability.”
“What? No, that’s silly, you can still marry! Just lose the government check, it’ll work out in the end!” The receptionist, I should mention, was apparently wearing enough jewelry to stock a jeweler’s store and had impeccable and visibly expensive makeup, clothes, and a professional manicure. Autumn’s jeans were frayed, her shirt had a couple holes, and her engagement ring is plain and simple silver. She’s visibly poor...and this ableist woman literally made her cry.
Ten minutes later I got a tearful call from the parking lot and spent the next ten minutes talking Autumn through it; it wasn’t the first time and I know it won’t be the last, and I’ve never minded offering that help whenever I can. After we hung up, I got a text from her: “The abstract art in here looks like some kind of arboreal fungus - I’m not really lichen it.” Yet again, she picked herself up, dusted herself off, and moved on with a joke and a smile, and all in the face of ignorance and negligence. Sure, this one was my joke first, but all that mattered was she was feeling better. Autumn is legally disabled and bounces back remarkably quickly, no matter how badly someone hurts her; our non-disabled landlord can’t even cope with people hanging up on her and takes it out on everyone around her.
Tell me again that the system doesn’t discriminate against people with disabilities. Tell me again that we’re subhuman and don’t deserve equal treatment.
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darthkieduss · 5 years
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Reasons I hate Fat Donnie Trump (will update frequently)
#Republican, duh. #Narcissistic Personality Order #He lost the Popular vote. #No previous political experience #Has unrealistic ideas about how to solve America's problems, such as getting Mexico to pay for a wall to keep illegal immigrants out. #Vice President is a crazy fundamentalist Christian homophobic wackjob who thinks electroshock therapy cures homosexuality and can't be alone with a woman without his wife present. #Believes in unscientific ideas such as the idea that vaccines cause autism (I am autistic so this is a bit personal) #Has made comments alluding to sexual harassment. #Can't let any slight go. Even comments made about his sign. Jeez, Obama simply shrugged off the trolls and haters. #Won't stop bitch-tweeting. #Enacted the separation of children from their parents. #Tried to ban trans folks from the military. As long as they serve our country, who cares? #Suspended CNN's press pass after some tough questioning. #Is imposing insanely high tariffs on imported goods, mostly from China. #Supports unconstitutional profiling of Muslims. #Supports killing civilians in war. “We gotta take our their families” WHO THINKS LIKE THIS? #Posted troops on the border just for political advantage in the 2018 mid-terms. #Is a shameless self-promoter. #Can't admit his own faults. #Believes he's qualified for president because he's rich (said this in 2013) #Has passed insane tax cuts for the rich, which only increase America's budget deficit and national debt. TRICKLE-DOWN NEVER WORKS. #Had to be discouraged from invading Venezuela, who hasn't done anything to us and poses no threat to us. #Gets advice from Fox News. #Pulled out the Iran deal which was working. #Thinks that the way to show strength is by being a dick. #Cheated on every one of his wives and lied about it. We impeached Bill Clinton for it. #Has increased the military budget way too much. We spend $664 BILLION on the military. It doesn't need anymore. #Claimed Obama spied on him by wiretapping the Trump towers. Provided no evidence. #When he is criticized for something, he claims “Obama started it...” *facepalm* #LIES ON A CONSTANT BASIS. I think he lies just to see what his fans will believe... #He won't admit he lost the popular vote. He says "If you deduct the illegal voters." Oh please... #Is undoing everything Obama did just because it was Obama that did it. If he could bring back Osama bin Laden, he would. #WORLD LEADERS ARE LAUGHING AT HIM AND US #He has his cabinet kiss his ass on a constant basis. #He committed campaign finance violations during the election. #He fired FBI Director Jimmy the Giant Comey just because he wouldn't swear loyalty to him and was investigating him. That’s Obstruction of Justice. #Attacked former Attorney General Jeff Sessions for not closing the Mueller investigation. #He said he wanted to lower the minimum wage back in 2015. #The infamous "Mexicans are rapists" Comment. #Attacked the late John McCain for being a Prisoner-of-War. #Gave out a Senator's cellphone number out of spite. #Blamed Megyn Kelly's tough questioning on her period. #He said "Bring back torture EVEN IF IT DOESN'T WORK". (2015) ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?! #Tried to have his political opponents locked up. #"Jokes" about being president-for-life. If Obama had "joked" about this, the right would've lost their shit. #Threatened martial law in Chicago. #Praised Protestant bigot Norman Peale, who only opposed JFK simply because he was Catholic. #He violated the Presidential Records Act. #One of his tax cuts gave the poor $40, the ultra-rich $940,000 #He appeals to insecure men. #He and Jeff Sessions said it is ok to discriminate against gay people. #Complains about people not respecting the flag, says the guy who molests it. #Wants North Korean-style Military Parades. #Started that Obama birth certificate bullshit... He only said Obama was born in America in 2016...when it was politically-convenient. (*cough* back-pedaling) #He believes women are beneath him. #Doesn't believe in Global Warming. #Wouldn't stop saying interrupting Clinton in the debates. #Has more in common with the criminal Richard Nixon than anyone else. (Edit: He called for an end to investigations like Tricky Dick did in ‘74) #3.2 MILLION Americans lost their health insurance in Trump's first year. #"A terror attack would help me politically bigly." or we could NOT have a terrorist attack, thank you. #Claimed he would've run into a school shooting to confront the shooter without a weapon. BULLSHIT. #His lawyers say "I can't let him testify because he can't stop lying." #His budget obliterated funding for Science, Education, EPA & labor. #He encourages Republicans to break the law. #Tweeted FAKE photos to convince his fans that the border wall is being built. #Has committed obstruction of justice. (Edit: Confirmed by Mueller) #Said he's in favor of bombing civilians. #He had the USAF bomb an antivenom medical facility in Syria. #He said he only received $1 Million from his father. HE GOT $400 Million. ANOTHER LIE. #He makes everything about himself. Even 9/11. Who makes 9/11 about himself? #Claims he's completely immune to lawsuits over constitutional violations. Nixon said that, but it didn't work for him. #He's driving us to another Great Depression. #He threatened to punish the media if they weren't nice to him. #He calls the press "The enemy of the people" when they don't kiss his ass. #He calls Sean Hannity every night. Sean Hannity is a partisan hack who wouldn't turn on a Republican president even if he found out he was using JFK's Eternal Flame to light farts. He’s so far up Trump’s ass he can taste his lunch. #He still uses his private NON-SECURE cell phone, creating HUGE National Security problems. #He admitted his attacks on the media are just to discredit negative stories. #He claims he has the power to pardon himself. NO THE HELL HE DOESN'T. #Giuliani said Trump can't testify because his memory keeps changing. #THE MOST THIN-SKINNED PRESIDENT. #He is against the protections for pre-existing conditions. HE is a pre-existing condition. #When told Kim Jong-Un is a murderer, he responded "He's a tough guy." #He says Americans should obey him like North Koreans are forced at gunpoint to obey Kim Jong-un. #He trusts brutal dictators, but not our closest allies. #He is jealous of Kim Jong-Un's absolute grip on power. #He lied about the German crime rate to justify his immigration policies. #He suggested destroying the Constitution so he can deport immigrants faster. #Authorized USING LETHAL FORCE ON UNARMED MIGRANTS!!! #Lied to the United Nations, saying poverty in America doesn't actually exist. I PERSONALLY know people who are living in poverty. #He issued a gag order to stop government employees from talking to reporters. #He said, on tape, that if Senator Elizabeth Warren proved she was Native American, he would donate $1 million to a charity of her choice. When she did, and someone pointed it out, he said "I didn't say that." Whether or not he’s obligated to pay, he said he would but now he’s saying he didn’t say it. #Says people who criticize him are a threat to America. #His trade wars have cost 100,000+ American jobs. #People who work for him tend to be convicted of crimes... #Makes slanderous lies about us Democrats. #Told German Chancellor she owes him $1 Trillion even though she doesn't him shit. #76% of the claims Trump makes during his rallies are LIES. #He has committed at least NINE impeachable offenses. #He said he believes Russian president Vladimir Putin over OUR OWN intelligence agencies. #He once said in December 2016, "Fuck the law! I don't give a fuck about the law! I want my fucking money!" #Claimed we've won the war on poverty, so let's cut food stamp programs. No we haven't. #He threatened to nuke the economy to spite China. #He said he'd drain the swamp, yet he was 86 lobbyists on his staff. #He thinks everyone else is as stupid as he is. #Corporations are PRAYING that Trump tweets us into a war. #He told a crowd "reality isn't real" so they should ignore it. #Wages have tanked after Trump's wealthy tax cut. #Nixon was guilty as hell and Trump sounds just like him. #He actually claimed you need a Picture ID to buy cereal....CEREAL...WHO IS THIS STUPID?!?! #He claimed people will die if we don't make cars less fuel efficient. #By August 2018 his lie count topped 4,200+. By May 2019, it’s now 10,000+. #His administration is now allowing more toxic asbestos into our daily lives. #His wife plagiarized Michelle Obama in a speech during the election. #He watches tapes of his rallies to marvel at his own "brilliance", if that's what you call it. More like jerking off to himself. #He said military might is more important that jobs. #He said violating ethics rules to meet with Fox news is in "the public's interest" #Discreetly called for Hillary Clinton's assassination by firearm (”Second Amendment people”) if she had won. #Claimed he would ONLY accept the results of the 2016 election IF HE WON. #Said "Let's fucking kill him" of Bashar al-Assad. Yes, Assad is a bad man, but WE DON'T ASSASSINATE PEOPLE. #He said he wants to separate migrants kids from parents INDEFINITELY. #He acted like a total ass on the 2018 9/11 anniversary. #He denies that 3,000+ Puerto Ricans died in Hurricane Maria. #Pentagon officials had to stop Trump from tweeting us into a war. #American taxpayers spent $77 MILLION on Trump's Golf trips. #Criticized Obama for golf trips...has taken more golf trips in 3 years than Obama did in 8. #Said the FBI is a "Cancer to the country". #His administration cut cancer research funding to pay for child prisons. #Puerto Rico won't get statehood simply because they were mean to him. *His administration said Planet is burning down, so let's just ruin it now. *Says he loves North Korean dictator Kim Jong-Un. “We fell in love”. *Talked about his dick at the debates. *He is being investigated for tax evasion and fraud. *Hates immigrants, married two Eastern European immigrant, son of a Scottish immigrant and grandson of a German immigrant. *Claimed Iraq War was wrong, yet he has increased troop numbers there. *Compared sexual assault victims to arsonists. #He denied Saudi Arabia financial interests...AFTER bragging about them. #He hasn't condemned Saudi Arabia for their murder of journalist Jamal Khashoggi. #He mocked decorated Navy SEAL, saying they should've gotten Osama bin Laden sooner. WHAT? #He banned 2 Million Federal workers from discussing his impeachment at work. #He demanded that he leave the G20 during the climate change discussion. #He told about skyrocketing national debt: "I won't be here." when it explodes. #Called a US Senator "The Dick". #*His hush money payments were done ILLEGALLY, with campaign cash. #His cult sent bombs to everyone he criticized. Not saying he's directly responsible but that's how cultist his fans are. #He threatened to bring Saturday Night Live to court simply for making fun of him. Awww poor baby, is someone making fun of you? Good. #Never has a president been under so much investigations except Richard Nixon. #He pulled us out of the Paris agreements. #His 2018 government shutdown lasted 35 days and was over a stupid wall. #He only works 40% of the day. He's the laziest POTUS ever. #He pulled us out of the Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces Treaty. HE STARTED A NEW COLD WAR. #He won’t release his taxes. If he’s got nothing to hide, why HIDE EM? #He threatened us Democrats, saying he has the support of the police, the military and “Bikers for Trump.” Bikers for Trump=BrownShirts. #Claims that windmill causes cancer and kill birds...Are you fucking kidding me? #His son Donny Douchebag got a crowd to chant “AOC sucks” like the douchebag he is. #Claimed his father was born in Germany. Fred Trump was born in NYC, how stupid can you be to not know where your parents were born... #Claims he should get 2 more years added to his term because those 2 years were “stolen” by the Mueller report. *facepalm-cringe* #He told 4 Progressive non-white Congresswomen to “Go back to where you came from”. 3 of 4 were BORN HERE, YOU FUCKING RACIST #One-uped the “go back to your country” but viciously attacking Elijah Cummings and Baltimore in a racist Twitter tirade. #Extorted the Ukrainian President to investigate Joe Biden (finally being impeached) #He's always blaming everybody else, complaining, never taking responsibility. #"I inherited a mess." You inherited millions of dollars, you whiny...little...BITCH!
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darkling-er · 6 years
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Hope’s Savior ( John Seed x OC ) | Part 3
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Summary: Trinity-Hope Johnson finds herself in the middle of a holy war, leading the Resistance, while having a complicated relationship with one of the cult’s herald. And she thought her first case would be easy. Oh how wrong she was!
Pairings: John Seed/Fem!Deputy, John Seed/OC, Earl Whitehorse & OC ( uncle&niece ), Joseph Seed/Fem!Deputy ( kind of ), might add more later
Warnings: mild language, violence, eventually smut, use of drugs ( bliss and other, thanks to Sharky ), fluff ( does that even need a warning? ), manipulation, angst, mention of mental illness ( insomnia, depression ), mention of child abuse ( from John’s side ), torture, I think that’s it? I swear it’s not so bad!
Word Counter:  6113
Notes: The deputy is an animal lover so her first stop is Holland Valley. Totally not because she wants to piss off John first. Totaaaaally. I have no idea how walkie talkies work, so if I made up the “not holding down a button to speak” thing, just bear with me, okay? Also my OC, a gun for hire is in this chapter, because I love him and he’s a part of my Deputy’s life just as much as any other gun for hire. So I hope you guys will like him just as much as I do. ♥
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 |  Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | MASTERPOST for the others
Hope has to cover the sun with her hand, so she can more easily adjust to the sudden light. At least I slept for the rest of the night. By the look of it, it’s already past 8 am. She’s still sore and she’s sure her head will hurt for a couple of days, but after waking in Dutch’s bunker she doesn’t have to deal with that much amount of pain. The man patched up the bullet wounds on her shoulder, she noticed that while she changed into the fresh clothes.
She lowers her hand after a few seconds as she looks at pine trees surrounding her. Hope looks at the throdden, muddy path ahead of her and starts following it. Her radio crackles to life on her belt.
“Now listen up... if you’re gonna build a Resistance, there’s some things you need to know. There’s four ways you can go about this. First, you can liberate any hostages the cult has taken. These are good people who might just fight alongside you if you help ‘em. Second, you can destroy Eden’s Gate property that’s all over the place now. Hell, they built two shrines on this island alone.Third, you can tackle Resistance missions. There are a lot of folks out there waging their own war against this cult, and they could sure use your help. And last, if you’re really looking for a fight.. You can take on cult outposts that have popped up across the county. Liberating those places will give the Resistance solid footholds to push back against Eden’s Gate.”
Hope follows the muddy path and pushes down the talk button and she’s glad she doesn’t have to hold her fingers on it to keep talking, like with her previous radio.
“So basically. I have a shit ton of work.” She jokes light-heartedly. “And here I thought I could get a nice massage and a coctail while fighting the peggies.”
Dutch makes a sound that could easily be mistaken as a grunt, but it turns into a short laugh.
“Keep the humour, kid. Folks will love that... or hate it, depends.”
She smiles to herself as she stops for a second and looks at her compass, wondering which way to go. The man speaks again to her, helping out her with just that.
“I’ve got cameras set up all over this island. I’ll keep an eye out for anything useful. For now, you head south and take out any cult shit you see.. and help any folks in need, would ya? Dutch out.”
She takes another glance at her compass and she presses down the button on her radio, so Dutch can’t hear her. She follows the path to the south, not even after a minute she hears voices. She crouches down in the long grass, hiding from sight as she approaches. A man is on the ground, his hands are tied behind his back, he’s on his knees, crying. Hope looks at the people that surround him. There’s only two of them. She can take them out if she’s smart.
Hope was never a powerful girl. She’s short, only 5′2, and her muscles aren’t good for fighting. But she’s swift on her feet and she knows how to dodge an attack if needed. She can throw a few powerful punches too, but that’s not enough to knock someone out.
She looks at the pistol in her holster. That’s too loud and she would rather not shoot anyone to death. But these people showed how devoted they are to their Father and the Project. They would happily fight until they are dead. They wouldn’t spare her life, that’s for sure.
She sneaks up behind one of the peggies and snaps their neck with a quick move. As the woman falls to the ground, dead, Hope launches herself on the other one, who looks up at her at the last second. She grabs the back of his head and brings it down to meet her knee. Also breaking the man’s neck in the process. The more you do it, the more you’ll get used to it. Just don’t think about their names... or if they had any family... Fuck...
The man on the ground looks up at her and she flashes a wide smile at him as he speaks:
“Thanks for saving my sorry ass.”
Hope cuts the man lose with one of the knifes she finds on the corpses of the peggies.
“Protect and serve... That’s my motto.” She says with a smile as she remembers the mantra and tries not to think about the lives she already taken. She buries that down, deep into her mind and decides not to think about them until the whole cult has been put down.
“These looney fanatics are out of control. If you want to protect yourself, I think there’s a prepper stash near the boathouse. Should have some good gear squirreled away.”
Hope nods and looks at the man before starting to walk.
“That’s a good idea, thanks. You just keep safe, try not to run into any of the peggies.”
She takes out her map and searches where the boathouse might be. Hope looks southwest to her and stuffs back the map folded into her pocket.
After reaching the boat house and following a paper’s instructions, clues how to get to the stash After trying to open the door, she looks around and decides to dive into the water, that way she can enter the boathouse. Who cares about getting their clothes wet, right? It’s September, but the weather is warm and everything feels like they’re still in the middle of the summer. She turns on a generator, once she enter’s the boathouse and takes the keyes that are hanging on the wall, near the door.
“Of fucking course! Every person locks themselves out in this county?” She remembers back to the trailer that she and Burke entered and how the door was locked and she had to jump out of the window to get to the truck.
She opens the door and walks to the shed, where a bunker door is in the ground. There’s a water pipe near it and she turns it. When she opens the door she waits for the water to pour out of the bunker, through the pipe she just opened. Then she walkes down the still wet concrete stairs, watching her every step so she won’t slip. There’s a doorway, but it’s boarded with wood so she searches for something to break it through. She finds a pipe and she easily breaks into the place.
“Hell yeah!” She smiles, excited as she grabs a compound bow with arrows and some more ammo.
Earl took her on hunts since she was able to carry a bow. Of course she first practiced on dummies and target signs. She learned quickly though. Silence weapons were always her thing.
After taking the bow she searches through the island and manages to destroy two shrines. The weird green smoking things are explosive as hell and she finds that out after sending some bullets into them. The first one she blows up from far, but the second one she approaches first. She thinks about what the green smoke must be but as soon as she enters that smoke her vision blurs with white dots dancing before her eyes and she quickly retreats. She blinks fast trying to get a clear vision again and after that she blows the shrine up. She thinks for moment and picks up her radio from her belt. She pushes down the button and helds it up to her mouth.
“Hey, Dutch! What the hell is that green smoke coming out of the shrines? I stepped into it moments ago and I felt really weird. Is it some kind of drug or what?”
The radio crackles, meaning the man is about to answer her question.
“That one you have to be really careful about, kid! The Bliss, that’s the shit Faith Seed is using all around the County. It’s in the river, in the shrines and crates. Everywhere almost. It’s a drug of some kind that makes you see shit if you take too much of it. Crambles up your brain, turns you into an Angel, even.. That’s what Faith calls those poor bastards. Dead in the brain, ready to kill anyone in sight.”
She scoffs and makes a forced laugh.
“Wow, Tinkerbell made some updates. I guess you don’t need faith, trust and some pixie dust...You need drugs. Of course.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking ‘bout, kid.” Comes an answer from the older man. “But if it was an insult to Faith Seed, I’m good with it.”
Hope rolls her eyes with a smile and pushes down the button on her radio as she puts it away. She frees another man at the docks and then clears out an outpost, the Ranger Station. She doesn’t even think about all those peggies she kills now, but she’s sure it will be on her mind later that night when she’ll try to sleep.
“Shit kid. I’m impressed. There’s more fight in you than I thought. You got a real shot at setting up this Resistance... Next step is clearing up the radio signal: My CB’s on the fritz... I can’t get a hold of anyone off this island. The radio tower near the south shore must be busted. You think you can take care of that for me?”
Hope frowns with a light laugh:
“Ummm.. Don’t mean to be rude, but do I look like I know anything about fixing up radio towers?”
She looks in the diraction at the radio tower, that is peaking out of the pine trees not far from her.
“Nooo... But it’s not completely busted. You probably have to pull a lever and that’s it.”
“Probably?”
“Well... I don’t know. Just take a look at it, alright? We won’t be any help if we can’t even get a signal from the others.”
Hope sighs and looks up at the tower.
“Okay, fine... But if I get electrocuted or something you will have to search for my body and bury me. I ain’t want to be eaten up by squirrels or something.”
She takes her leave to the tower and as she get closer to the thing she considers if she has a fear of heights or not. Without a parachute she’ll surely fall to her death if she slips on the ladders. She starts climbing up and as she looks down she can see the fog surrounding the island.
She sighs and hopes this won’t be her only job: fixing radios all over the county. As soon as these thoughts take over her mind her radio crackles to life.
“I know what you’re thinkin’ and no. I ain’t gonna have you climbin’ towers all over the county for me, so don’t worry... also, try not to fall from up there.”
After climbing the last ladder she doesn’t look down. She sees and pulls the lever and thanks God she didn’t die from it. She pushes the button on her radio.
“It’s done, Dutch. Hopefully it’ll work.”
She doesn’t wait for an answer as she’s already on her way back down.
“Hey, Deputy! I’m getting a strong signal now... Oh, shit... Deputy, I’m pickin’ up something new outta Holland Valley. It’s a broadcast from John... Head back to me, you need to see this!”
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Back in the bunker Hope looks at the tv screen. In the left corner of the screen the cultist symbol can be seen. Fucking assholes even have their own tv channel?
A man can be seen, his back turned to the screen, but Hope can already tell from the long jacket he’s wearing that it’s John Seed. He turns around with a smile and his name appears on the screen. So fuckin’ dramatic!
“We are all sinners. Every one of us.” His voice is gently and it doesn’t fit the profile of the man in her head. The guy dropped bombs from a plane and now he looks calm, gentle, even kind and hot as hell.
“You. Me. Even the Father knows deeply of sin.” He huffs lightly like a little laugh, clearly fake, Hope thinks. He motions with his hands before his chest, a gesture the deputy doesn’t know what to think of. The screen now changes to another camera angle, so John’s body is now fully seen as he starts to walk around. Hope can see a red carpet, with white paint the seven deadly sins written on it.
“It’s a posion that clouds our minds. What if I told you, you could be free from sin? What if I told you that everything you ever dreamed could come true? What if I told you that everything could be overcome if you embraced an idea: That freedom from sin can come from the power of just one word....”
When Hope sees in the background her co-worker, Hudson she grabs a hold of the first thing that is in her reach, which is Dutch’s forearm. She starts searching for Earl or the others in the crowd of peggies, but the camera zooms on the Seed’s face. He helds out his hands, up to the sky and there’s a huge sign ‘YES’. The crowd of peggies chanting that one word loudly, clapping and cheering. The man holds out his hands, in the manner of trying to make them all silent. But his smug smile shows how much he enjoys this. A peggie takes Hudson to John and Hope takes a look at the woman. Her makeup - which Hope was jealous of just the previous night back the station - is now a mess. She’s clearly have been crying. Her hands are tied together and there’s black duct tape over her mouth.
“Yes, I am a sinner.” John walks around Deputy Joey Hudson, holding onto her arms as the woman shuts her eyes, clearly uncomfortable and even afraid of being close to the youngest of the Seeds. “Yes, I wish to be unburdened. Yes, I must be... redeemed.”
When she takes his hand to Hudson’s throat Hope tightens her grip on Dutch’s arm. The stroke John gives the woman doesn’t seem hurtful, but God it’s still sick and Hope would gladly punch that smile off the man’s face. As the man lets go of Hudson, Hope releases Dutch’s arm as well.
“If you are watching this, know that you have been selected. You will be cleansed. You will confess your sins, and you will be offered atonement. Don’t worry, you don’t have to do anything. We’ll come for you. Welcome, to Eden’s Gate!”
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After watching that awful commercial Hope decides that it’s best if her first destination will be Holland Valley. Not knowing where Earl, Pratt and Burke is, this is her best shot trying to save one of her partners. Also Duth pointed out a few places on her map. Other people need saving as well, he said. And it’s true. Her first step into Holland Valley and she’s already being shot at. She changed her bow to an AR-C assault rifle with a silencer and a scope at Dutch’s bunker. She also got a small backpack: for medkits, some food and water. Just the essentials.
Her first destination is Rae Rae’s Pumpkin Farm. A distress call has been made that the farm has been attacked by the cult. When she arrives at the farm there’s no one that’s left alive. Some peggies on the farm, singing to a song coming from a radio... Peggie music, she realizes as she listens to the lyrics. Could they be more dramatic? This is ridiculous at this point.
“Join us so, we all can sing along... Oh, John! Bold and brave...” A Peggie sings with the radio and Hope has to fight the urge to laugh out loud.
Is this guy serious? He makes a fucking commercial the day after the attempt to arrest his brother. He has signs all over the place and he even has his own song?!
Hope rolls her eyes as she looks through her binoculars, looking for more peggies. She shoots them down with her gun and approaches a cage, with Boomer in it. At least that’s what the distress call said the dog’s name was.
“Hey there, little guy!” She says with a smile on her face as she grabs the chain on the cage when she finds a paper stick on the cage.
‘Cult Orders. This dog’s a champion. Send it to our stronghold across the street and have it shipped North. We’ll let my brother decide how strong it really is. - John’
Hope tears the paper down and angrily makes a small ball of it. She read about the Judges in Dutch’s bunker and she won’t let Jacob have this dog, that’s for sure. She opens Boomer’s cage and she pets the dog that is now wagging it’s tail.
“Hey, buddy! Do you want to come with me? You’re a champion, huh? You want to kill the bad mens?”
The dog barks happily and licks her face and Hope giggles.
“Who’s the good boy? You’re the good boy!”
Then a couple of peggies come in by trucks. Hope readies her weapon and Boomer growls angrily at the cultist. With the help of the dog and her AR-C they take out the peggies fast. She’s been out for half a day and she’s already covered in dirt and blood. But she’s glad she doesn’t have any new injuries. Also she didn’t even have time to think about her headache, completely forgetting about it.
Remembering John’s note on Boomer’s cage she makes her way towards the outpost across the street. This is also the first time she looks at the hills of Holland Valley and she stops in her tracks:
“You’ve got be fuckin’ kidding me!” She looks at the Hollywood styled sign saying one word: ‘YES’. The sign is an eyesore, just like the Father statue in the Henbane River. She picks up her radio and reaches out to Dutch.
“Is this John Seed guy crazy? I mean he has to have some kind of kink with the word ‘yes’, right? I mean... jesus.” She doesn’t even know what to say about that sign.
“Ah, I see you spotted John’s sign.” Says Dutch on the other end of the radio.
“Well, yeah, kind of hard not to look at it too... I will make sure to never say yes in front of him. I ain’t want to be apart of his kink.”
“That’s for the best, although try to avoid talking to him at all. Because if he does speak to you, he’ll mark you and that’s not good for anyone. Keep safe, kid! Dutch out.”
She turns off the radio and shakes her head in disbelief as she makes her way to the outpost with Boomer. They clear the place after a long gunfight. Most of the guys she’s able to kill before alerting the others and when that happens Boomer is there to help her. Although she feels like she might need more weapons later on. Or another human being with a gun would be helpful too.
After she takes over the Gardenview Packing Facility entirely she makes an open call for anyone to hear. Well, an open call to the Resistance, mostly.
“It’s the Deputy speaking. The Gardenview is peggie free again, so come on guys and take good care of it.” She says delightfully and ends the call.
She sits down on top of a crate as she looks down at her watch. It’s already 3 pm and she didn’t even eat anything since her dinner back in Missoula. She opens her backpack and grabs a cold bacon and bread that Dutch was nice enough to share with her on her ‘trip’. She starts eating, swinging her legs from the crate and drops some bacon for Boomer to eat.
“You deserved it, buddy! Saved my life a couple of times today.” She talks to the dog who is happily eating his lunch.
When she finishes her meal it’s doesn’t take long for the Resistance members to drive in to the Facility. She decides it’s safe enough to travel further, but before she walks away with her dog a guy shouts after her:
“Hey, Deputy! Thanks for taking this place back! You could use some gears though, right?”
She nods, thinking about how her ammo is running low. She walks towards the guys truck who is now unpacking his stuff, probably for sale.
“Just pick whatever you want... Of course you have to pay for it, though...”
She rolls her eyes, but smiles with a ‘Yeah, I figured’. She takes some ammo for the AR-C and she looks at how much money she gathered while traveling for this short time. She’s not as broke as she thought, considering she cleared out a prepper stash back at Dutch’s island and she pocketed every dollar she found on the corpses of peggies.
A rifle immediately catches her eyes. An MBP .50 with a suppressor cylinder and a long range scope.
“How much for that beauty?” She asks, though she knows the answer for it.
The guy looks at the weapon then back to her.
“How much do you have?” He asks as he raises a brow. Hope empties out her pocket on the pickup truck. The guy looks at it, counting and then looks at Hope.
“You can have it... You freed this place, after all, and I’m not the one who started the Resistance. You deserve it, put it to good use and kill some peggies.”
She smiles and thanks the guy as she swinged the rifle over her shoulders. She feels a lot safer now, that’s for sure. She looks at her map and searches for Fall’s End. The place Dutch told her about: Pastor Jerome and Mary-May needs help there, as she recalls. It’s quite a long journey though and she really needs a car first. Her clothes aren’t working as a disguise, she realized that by now. Somehow they managed to take a photo of her: though she has no idea how they printed it out so fast and scattered it across Holland Valley. ‘Sinner’. They don’t even know my name, she realizes. Of course, her uniform missed her name tag and she never had the chance to introduce herself. Not even to Dutch.
Maybe it’s for the better, safer. Maybe it’s for the best to leave her name behind for a while, until she can cope with the whole situation of this ‘Holy War’. She doesn’t want to be Trinity-Hope Johnson, when she kills all of those people. Yes, they are peggies and yes they would kill her without a second thought. But she’s not a monster. And she’s sure as hell doesn’t want her name to be stained by all of those cultists’ blood. It makes sense in her head. Right?
Hope and Bommer follows the main road until the end of the lines of the apple trees. Then at the first possible road to the south they go off the main road. She thinks it’s a short cut to Fall’s End if they follow the roads to south. Though she doesn’t consider how quickly the sky begins to darken. By foot it really is a long trip. She feels exhausted and by Boomer’s panting she’s sure he feels the same way. She looks at the map and then her watch.
“We should find a place to sleep for the night, right?” She asks the dog, talking to herself at the same time. “I think there might be a cabin not far from here. Just a couple of minutes, maybe.”
Boomer loyally follows his Human, as they make their way towards the cabin, hoping there isn’t any trouble waiting for them there and hopefully a bed and some food as well. She almost misses the place, but a wooden sign stops her. ‘Roberts Cabin’.
“Thank God! Come on Boomer!” She readies her AR-C just in case as they approache the house surrounded by the forest. A couple of targets are outside of the cabin. It looks cozy from where she stands and more importantly it looks empty.
There’s a sign right next to the door ‘The Roberts Cabin’. There’s a single wooden chair before the terrace As well as two chair on the terrace. It looks just like a hunting cabin by the looks of it. Made for someone who likes to sleep in the forest while it’s hunting season. There are two wind chimes decorating the roof of the terrace. Oil lamps are the sources of light for the cabin. Wait a minute....
She wants to look around for cultist again when she can feel a point of an arrow on the back of her neck.
“Tell your dog to stand down, or I’ll shoot right through your head, darlin’.”
It’s a deep voice of a man, and she know by the tone of it that he means buisness.
“Buddy, stand down.” She calls out to Boomer who is already growling and ready to attack the unknown man. Well shit, this Resistance was very shortlived, I guess. I can go to retirement early. “What now? You’re gonna call your buddy John first or are you going to put me out of my misery yourself?”
After she finishes her sentence she can feel the arrow leaving her neck.
“Turn around, slowly.” His voice seems confused and Hope turns around extra slowly making sure she doesn’t get an arrow through her brain by accident.
She looks at the man in fron of her. He doesn’t wear a peggie shirt, but his growing beard and longish hear could mean he’s a part of the cult. Hope noticed how everyone in the cult seemed to be growing beard. The man looks at her face and steps back, lowering his compound bow.
“You’re that Deputy, ain’t you?” He asks but he doesn’t look apologetic that he almost killed her thinking she was a peggie.
“Yeah, and I gather you’re not with the cult either, right?” She asks, folding her arms in front of her chest.
“I’m not with anybody, darlin’.” He says and walks to the terrace of the cabin. “I’m not going to be a part of this craziness. So you can take your dog and get the hell out of my property.”
She scoffs, but she doesn’t move an inch. She’s not ready to go to Fall’s End by foot and she and Boomer needs a place to stay for the night. She then looks at the pickup next to the cabin.
“You have a car.” It’s more of an ask then a statement.
The man turns around and looks at the pickup.
“No, I have a unicorn. What do ya think?” He rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed that she’s still talking to him.
“I could use a ride... And a place to stay. Boomer and I were on the road for the whole day...”
The man opens his door and is ready to close it on them.
“Not my problem.” He tries to slam the door, but Hope sets her boot in the way. Her patience is gone and she doesn’t care how but she will get them inside the house.
“Listen to me asshole! I was woken up by a call at 2 in the morning just to be in a chopper crash. Had been chased in the forest, shot at by peggies with guns and trucks, even bombs with John Fucking Seed’s plane just to be almost drowned in the river. Woken up in a Bunker only a couple of hours later, had been told that all of my partners, including my only family is being held by the Seeds. I freed and island, I helped get the radio tower back, I freed Boomer and a couple of outposts. I am tired, hungry and I won’t have my dog sleep outside. So fuck you, we’re staying!”
She shouts the last words and shoves him out of the way, Boomer following her inside with a wagging tail.
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She walks toward the table that has a plate of fried chips on it and with a long moan she starts eating. The unnamed man closes the door and looks at her annoyed, his arms folded before his chest. She looks at him while eating and she feels her anger go away.
“I’m sowwy buf when I’m hunwy I’m an awwhole” She talks with her mouth full and she sees the guy shake his head but she also sees a small smile appearing on his face.
She sits down at the table and looks at Boomer, who lays on the floor close to her leg, panting.
“I won’t kick you out, you and the pup can stay for the night, but you’ll leave tomorrow.” He says as he walks toward a cupboard and grabs a bowl and fills it with water, setting it down on the floor to Boomer. He starts making a mess as he licks from the water thirstily. The man scratches behind his ears and stand up to look at Hope.
“So.. What’s your name?” He asks.
She swallows before talking:
“Dep.”
“I don’t care much about titles, darlin’.” He shrugs and waits. She looks at him considering she didn’t even introduce herself to Dutch properly. And this man had no buisness helping her until she marched into the house.
“Trinity-Hope Johnson. But I prefer Hope over Trinity. That sounds like I’m some kind of hippie child.” She says finally.
“Hope... I’m Adam, Adam Roberts. Not that it’s important to know each others name. Considering we won’t be seeing each other.... well... I guess never.” He smiles but somehow his smile even looks like he’s annoyed by everything. Maybe he is. Maybe he has an allergy: ‘Allergic to everyone and everything. I’m a rebel because it’s cool and I’m stuck as this emo hipster kid.’
She stuffs some more chips into her mouth:
“I could still use a ride, though.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?” She looks at Adam and points at him with a fried chip. “You rather help the cult?”
“I told you. I won’t pick a side. I’m perfectly fine here and until someone attack me, I don’ care what the cult or the Resistance is doing.”
She shrugs and throws some chips to Boomer, who happily greets the treats.
“I guess you would rather have John’s man carve Sloth into you. Right?”
He scoffs.
“Let them try. I had a fight with John once. I won.”
She raises an eyebrow and smirks:
“So you had a fight with him. Guess that means you don’t like him. Yet you wouldn’t help out taking Fall’s End back just to piss him off.
Adam raises his hands to stop her from talking, and tilts his head as if he heard it wrong:
“Are you telling me? You want to take back Fall’s End? You” He laughs and Hope frowns, clearly offended.
“Yeah. And what?”
He laughs out hard and looks at the young girl amused:
“I don’t mean to be rude, darlin’. But you don’t seem like you could even approach Fall’s without being shot on sight. You might have had your luck until now. But you’re just a kid, nothing else.”
“Excuse me?!” She raises her voice looking angrily at the man.
“I’m just saying that you’re going to get yourself killed.” He shrugs with a smug smile on his face.
“Well... Won’t know until I try, am I right?” She scoffs and gets up from the table.
There are four beds in the cabin and she decides to choose one of the four and sleep in that. She doesn’t want to undress before the man but she also doesn’t want to sleep in the same clotches that she was in for a whole day. Sweaty, bloody and dirty clothes.
“Don’t you... have any shirts that I could borrow?”
She asks, less angrily then moments ago. He rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. He walks toward a wardrobe and gets an american flag top shirt out of it. It looks like a woman’s shirt.
“You know, it’s cute how you get angry. You look like a dwarf trying to be scary.”
Adam gives her the shirt and turns around, crouching down next to Boomer, scratching behind the dog’s ear. The pup’s tail start to wag, and it hits the floor with a low. Tomp...tomp...tomp...
Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes at him which he can’t even see. She quickly gets out of her bloody clothes and gets changed. Only standing in a top and underwear, but she quickly jumps into bed, covering herself with the thin blanket.
“Nice one. Go for my heights, that will probably make me angry.” She uses sarcasm against him, as she calls for Boomer and pats the bed.
The dog happily gets up from the floor, leaving the man crouching and jumps on the bed to lay down at Hope’s legs.
“If I were you I would sleep. Who knows if you survive tomorrow, right?” He says and his tone is a lot more serious than before.
Hope wants to say something back, about ‘Have some Faith’ or something like that but her eyelids quickly close and she’s off to a dreamless sleep.
In the morning when Hope stays in her american flag top and puts back on her camo pants and boots she gathers some supplies. Water for her and Boomer if they get thirsty on the road. She takes some apples and sandwiches with her as well. Her rifle lazily hanging from her shoulder, her pistol in the holster on her thigh. Radio ready to take any calls from anyone.
Boomer follows her excited to where they are going next as they open the door. A deal was a deal. A night at the cabin, then goodbye forever! But as she onto the porch of the cabin Adam calls out to her, with a voice like he’s already regretting his actions:
“Wait... I’m going to give you that ride.”
She looks back at him, with a wide smile on her face.
“Really?”
He sighs as he holds his bow in his hand, closing the cabin door behind him:
“Yeah. So get in the car, before I change my mind!”
She almost gallops to the passenger seat and opens the door to the backseat for Boomer. The dog gets in the truck, Hope closing the door behind him
They are on the road for a minute or so when Hope asks her question:
“Why did you change your mind?”
He sighs and rolls his eyes.
“Maybe I’m just being nice?”
She laughs and shakes her head:
“Nah!”
He scoffs and looks at her for a moment than back to the road:
“See? That wasn’t very nice.”
Clearly not getting a real answer from the guy Hope turns on the radio. If there’s something she really hates are the silence car drives. She either needs a conversation or music.
‘....You can sing all through the night. Preach till the morning light. Some cannot tell wrong from right. Jacob is gonna come and set those sinners free. Jacob is gonna set those sinners free....’
“Fuck no.” Adam cahnges the channel on the radio quickly.
“Wait... that was actually good. Like Cash.”
She changes the channel back to the cultist radio as Adam groans next to her. She starts to hum along the tune as the man next to her looks like she just killed his mother.
“Cash is king. This is garbage.”
She doesn’t responds but starts to sing along with the verse, it’s a really catchy song:
“See the non-believers by the path, non-believers by the path, non-believers by the path! Jacob is gonna come and set those sinners free.”
Adam shuts off the radio and she groans:
“Oh come on, this one is actually great! I heard the John one that was pretty bad.” She laughs, remembering the cheery song going while she freed Boomer.
The car starts to slow down and Adam lookes ahead, not caring about the topic anymore.
“We’re here. Get your guns ready.”
Hope looks ahead at Fall’s End and the smoke erupting from it. She looks at the man next to her.
“So....?”
He knows what she’s going to ask and interrupst her.
“Yeah, I’m coming with you. Let’s check out the place, see how many peggies we have to deal with.”
A/N: John is coming in the next chapter and from now than a back and forth game starts between the deputy and him via the radio. Ehehehehe
Tags: @onl-you
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sharingshane-blog · 5 years
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Why I am a Leftist
I thought I would spend some time discussing some of my socio-economic beliefs and how I came to where I am today.  My battles with poverty, disability, chronic illness, and discrimination (being genderqueer and bisexual) have largely informed my current beliefs about how society should function.  Just like anybody else, my environment and struggles have shaped who I am and what I believe today.
I have been registered in every party with the exception of the libertarian party.  Currently I have no affiliation.  I have become increasingly more frustrated with the socio-economic and political climate of today, and it is not due to how divisive people are after the orange was elected in 2016.  That divisiveness was always there, and it was always meant to be there.  The so-called problems in this current system are not really problems at all.  They are simply injustices, but those injustices were meant to be there.  The United States was never founded as a land of freedom and democracy.  Hell, only about one-third of the population in the American colonies actually wanted to break away from England.  The vast majority were either ambivalent or actively opposed separation.  The Constitution was drafted and ratified by a legislature that consisted solely of white, cisgender, heterosexual, wealthy, privileged men.  Some were rapists such Thomas Jefferson.  Some were frauds such as George Washington.  Some were narcissists such as Benjamin Franklin.  All of them were racists.  They all possessed power and influence in their given states.  The America today is exactly what America was always meant to be, a place where those privileged few controls and uses the rest of the population for their own personal gain.  It is an oligarchy disguised as democracy and exploitation at its finest.  I am completely pessimistic about the future of America unless the entire system is uprooted and we begin again from scratch.  Anyone who believes that the system can be fixed are unfortunately sorely deceived.  
I came to this understanding during my one-year hiatus from college in 2017.  During this time, I was working at Panera Bread as a cashier. As the year progressed, the job became more difficult.  I was unable to work full-time because of my health.  I was in intensive therapy for the first half of 2017 spending about 10 hours doing that and 20 hours working each week.  It was emotionally exhausting and my chronic fatigue was weighing heavily on me.  During the course of the year my anxiety and PTSD became more intense.  Near the end of my intensive treatment, I began to develop these disassociative episodes or stupors when I was triggered or overwhelmed. It happened to me once while I was driving causing me to have car accident and total my car.  They began happening more at work and I would have to be sent home.  During these episodes, I cannot respond to most external stimuli and am largely unresponsive.  I am unable to speak or speak very little.  I lose track of reality.  I cannot feel different parts of my body particularly my arms and legs.  There became an increase fear that they may be seizures.  Sometimes it appears I am having a stroke.  So far there is no evidence of either.  I developed more chronic pain.  It is highly suspected that I have endometriosis although I haven’t had the opportunity to have the surgical procedure to confirm the diagnosis. There is more, but I will not get into that now.
During this time, I realized how little my health seemed to matter to my employers.  They could make some accommodations for me, but in the end, it was their priority to make sure that business ran smoothly.  If my health got in the way too much, then I could face the chopping block.  I watched as two other fellow coworkers got fired for taking too many sick days. Both have debilitating chronic conditions that could become life-threatening if not treated.  Of course, it would be outright discrimination to fire them based solely on their health conditions.  So, they took another route.  I was terrified of losing my job.  I pushed myself as hard as I could and would neglect my health in the process. It became clearer; however, that I could not maintain the work.  My managers began cutting hours.  I was already not making enough to satisfy basic necessities and now I was making even less.  I was forced to have to live with my parents which was an unhealthy situation for me (which I will refrain from explaining why for the time being).  I felt like a burden on everyone which took a toll on my mental health.  I attempted to return to school after my hiatus while still working my job at Panera and living with my parents.  This proved to be too much for me to handle.  I quit college and moved in with a friend.  I came out as transgender and my hours were cut more at work.  I was eventually forced to quit.  I caught my manager complaining about my health issues behind my back to other coworkers.  This is actually a HIPPA violation, and I could potentially press charges.  In the end though, I am poor.  I do not have the financial and emotional resources to fight her.
Be patient.  I promise you this is all relevant.
In all this, I tried to develop a better way to organize the business in order to make the employees feel less like they are part of a massive machine and more like individual human beings.  I felt as though I was part of that machine, and if I became too weak, the machine would break.  Another thing I realized was that I was easily replaceable.  There is not much incentive for employers to work with me when they could easily switch me out for a stronger part.  No matter how nice they seemed, their primary duty is business.  If they are not successful at it, they will lose their position of power.  The system requires them to be exploitive towards the lower-wage workers.  I could not develop a system in my mind that would fix this unless capitalism as a whole was completely abolished.  If we remove CEO’s and had the workers run the industries democratically, that would fix the problem.  However, this would require a complete uproot of the system today.  I became more familiar with the term class-consciousness.
I am a hard worker and a fighter.  However, I am human and limited.  Because of my disabilities, employers consider me to be a malfunctioned part. I cannot lift heavy things or be on my feet for too long without feeling like I’m about to collapse.  I have now been reduced to a cane.  There is nothing that I can do to change this.  The phrase, “pick yourself up by the bootstraps,” did not work for me.  It did not matter how much effort into the system, I was stuck.  It would have to take sheer luck and a willingness to exploit others to rise up in the ranks.  The latter goes against my moral compass.  I realized that I could never bring myself to ever be a manager.  I cannot ethically justify being in such a position where I have to treat money with greater importance than the human beings that would work under me.
However, in order to create a society in which people are treated as human beings, and true equality is obtained; it would mean that those on the top would have to relinquish their power and wealth.  There is this narrative in which people believe that it is perfectly natural and necessary for there to power figures; otherwise, society would turn to chaos. It is true that we make decisions on our self-interest, but that is why an anarcho-communist society could honestly work.  It is in the workers’ best interest to distrust power figures, to have control over industry, to regain their humanity, to maintain industry and do their part in society, and to be a part of a society.  It will not happen without a fight though.  Millionaires and billionaires will not relinquish their power easily.  The system was created to keep those people at the top.  Racism, xenophobia, sexism, homophobia, and transphobia have been perpetuated to pin those on the bottom against one another, to keep them from uniting. The police were established to enforce this narrative and protect capitalist interests.  In the North, they were established to protect the transportation of goods and keep poor workers, largely immigrants, from collectivizing and prevent them from having a voice.  In the South, the police were derived from overseers with the intent to preserve slavery. The police system is not broken. It is running exactly how it was intended to run.  The narrative that there must always be people on the top and those on the bottom was a common defense of African-American slavery.  It is an idea with the sole intent to keep people oppressed.
Helen Keller, the famous activist who fought for the rights of those disabled, understood that equality for those disabled could never be obtained in a capitalist society. Disabled people will always be seen as inferior.  Safety was secondary; so, businesses can maintain their quotas increasing the possibility of accidents causing workers to become disabled.  It is not commonly known that she became a socialist herself and became a member of the Industrial Workers of the World, an organization which believed that that the workers must run industry.  It is a workers’ union dedicated to democracy and solidarity. Their core belief is that you have nothing in common with your boss.
Bernie Sanders is not a true socialist.  He is a social democrat, and lately he has had to tame his speech in order to maintain his power and influence.  He believes in a highly regulated capitalist system.  Socialists believe in abolishing capitalism altogether.  
I am an actual socialist.  I do not believe the system is flawed.  I believe the system works exactly how it is supposed to function and it is disgusting. This ended up being a loner post than I had planned it to be, but I do have much to say on the subject.  It is something I am passionate about even though I will probably not see this come to fruition.  I hope this was insightful to how I have come to my beliefs which I hold today.
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eowyn-targaryen · 6 years
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Being a film major, I've realized how expensive it is. Cameras are expensive. Lenses are expensive. You're expected to buy your own props and costumes and makeup too. The school may provide some things, but not enough for poor people. And I'm just lower middle class--not even lower class. I'm living off a disability check from the military.
This whole thing about money has been on my mind for a while because America thinks poor people don't even have a right to be able to improve their situation. Americans complain about poor people treating themselves to a nice meal every once in a while. Can you imagine the outrage if a poor person bought a camera and tried to become a photographer or cinematographer to improve their life?
I'm lucky to have college paid for by the military and a disability check on the side. And that's why poor people go into the military. I just saw a post about never dating anyone who's ever been in the military, and I think the people reblogging that post forget that poor people don't see another way to make their life better. How else can you get tuition paid for? Just be smart? It doesn't work like that. Poor people are being made poorer in this country, and if you want better pay than minimum wage (with your rent paid), you go into the military. That's the best way to make sure you have a future in this country. It's shit, but blaming the people caught in the system for the system's problems doesn't solve anything.
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onemeinmyself · 6 years
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We need a shift in our thinking
" We can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them." - Albert Einstein
     This little quote appears to be a lot more important than we think. How? Let’s start with just some random topic.
So many people are arguing about whether capitalism or some sort of more social system is the way to go. Is it good to pay taxes? How much taxes should we pay?
There are two extremes here, and both make sense:
1. One person works a lot harder than all the others. He invents products that make his and his fellow’s lives a lot easier. People come to him to buy his products, which results in an overall increase of well-being among his people. He becomes an entrepreneur, creates a company and becomes richer and richer and soon is worth as much as 10,000 “regular” people. He uses all this money to conduct research and solve problems nobody before him dared to solve. In short, he is on the verge of freeing his people from their suffering through his inventions. Then, however, the state notices that he has not been paying any taxes. They send someone to get their money from him. Because he is so rich he has to give away more than half of his earnings. The projects he is involved in have to be cancelled or take way longer. The money the state has taken from him gets spend in a highly ineffective and inefficient way, pays for bureaucratic systems that have a negative effect on the productivity of people, it pays for the police hunting down people consuming healthy, non-addictive substances that had been deemed illegal because of some misinformation, it pays for infrastructure, buildings etc that are being build in a very inefficient way and cost ten times of what it is worth, it pays for bored politicians and misinformed government agents that do not seek the well-being of their people but are addicted to power or are too used to their job to look for a job that actually would fulfill them. The entrepreneur sees that his money is being wasted and tries everything he can to avoid paying taxes, because he knows that the only efficient way to increase the well-being of his fellow humans is through his investments and inventions. He concludes paying taxes is bad and unethical even.
2. There are some big companies that control a large quantity of some asset. There is a divide of wealth, the leaders of these companies are very rich and most of the profits stay with them. The rest of the people are very poor and depend on someone providing them with jobs and food and healthcare, et cetera. Said leaders of these big companies decide to increase profits by minimizing expenses and cut down their worker’s wages. They start to exploit their fellow humans. The workers wish to have a better future, but they need to keep working to cover for their expenses, as healthcare for example is extremely expensive and only affordable for the rich. Same with many other things: The poorer you are, the more expensive life becomes. The poorer you are, the cheaper the products you buy, most of the poor’s possessions have to be replaced after a short period of time because they are low quality and tend to break. If they want to get loans, they have to pay a lot higher interest rate. Nobody cares for them, or even about them. Besides some politicians who vowed to make the lives of the unfavoured better. The way they do it is by demanding these rich people who keep all of their profits to themselves and exploit their workers to pay quite a substantial amount back to the public. This money is used to create cheap healthcare, free education and to build places and facilities the poor can use to live a better life. The poorest of the poor even get accommodation and food so that they don’t have to suffer and die. If this tax-system wasn’t in place the overall well-being of people would be drastically lower, people would live in fear to lose the little income they have and would constantly be exploited. Luckily taxes are being used to distribute the wealth and reduce unfair inequalities. The general consensus is that taxes are good, and the facts show that taxes do improve the quality of life of an overwhelmingly large majority of people.
Now which side is right?
Both. Obviously. They only show a different spectrum of the truth. They are complete opposites but BOTH TRUE. How can this be?
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It is actually quite normal. However, when you don’t step out to see the bigger picture you won’t realise how normal this is. Take the above image as an example. If you got closer to the wall until you could ONLY see the projections and not the source anymore, you would - from your perspective - rightly believe that the square and the circle are completely different and completely incompatible. From your perspective the truth seems obvious, there seems to be a clear distinction between one thing and another, there seems to be a clearly right and a clearly wrong answer.
But this is all an illusion.
Life as we know it is literally a projection. Light waves hit objects, bounce back, hit your eyes, are bundled and projected on some nerves that work together with your brain to create an image. Where does this image exist?
It exists in your head. It is the only place possible for it to exist. It cannot exist outside of your head, because then you couldn’t perceive of it anymore. 
This image in your head is not truth. It seems like it is from your perspective, but only because you’re too close to this projection. Actually, you could hardly be closer to it: It is in your head and you, well, seem to be in your head, too. (At least most of the time. But that’s another story.)
So, how does this all relate to paying taxes?
Both stories are true. Paying taxes is both bad and good. We have thought about this problem so much that we have confused ourselves and were not able to come to a meaningful conclusion. We searched for an answer and found one that is not of any help. In short: We lost.
We lost. We defeated ourselves. We realized that this is an unsolvable problem. We lost everything and gained nothing.
Or did we?
Did we really not find an answer, did we really lose everything, did we really gain nothing?
Shift your thinking, change your perspective and suddenly the truth appears. The truth looks paradoxical when viewed from your old perspective, when thought about in your old state of mind.
We found a non-answer, we lost trust in our old believe-system and gained the insight that we cannot solve this problem with our current way of thinking. We came to the realization that we can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.
We realized we need to switch our thinking.
We lost everything and gained everything!
Going back to the tax problem, we can now look at it with the knowledge that we need to think fundamentally different about it. That all our believes are most likely false. 
We believe that we live in an everyone-vs-everyone world, in a dog-eat-dog society. We believe in competition and for a long time, rightly so. There has been nothing more effective in urging humanity to invent and improve and become more efficient than competition. Wars have been times of immense invention, because wars are the ultimate competition.
We try to improve and improve, but... why? From a very narrow perspective it is easy to answer this question. We are improving our weapons because we need to win the war. We need to improve the speed of our cars because we need to reach some other place faster. We need to improve our mobile networks because we need to have a better connection to the internet. Makes sense.
But we have forgot to ask ourselves the most important question: “What is the end goal?” 
I’ve thought about this question for a very long time and this is my answer: 
We strive for existence as a whole being worth it, ergo every single life being 100% deeply enjoyable. (= Complete enlightenment for everyone)
This leads to another set of interesting questions we as humanity have consistently failed to think about: When is the point where we can stop improving? When have we solved all our problems? Why are we solving them in the first place?  And we realise that with our old thinking there will never be an end to improvements. With our old thinking there will always be problems. With our old thinking we will never reach our end goal. Because we just don’t know what it is.
You can’t arrive at your destination if you don’t know what it looks like. You’d go into the wrong direction or even if you reached it, you’d walk past because you couldn’t recognize it. Without knowing our end goal we will never reach it. We will never live the lives we want.
However, once you do know your destination, suddenly every decision becomes clear. Suddenly you do know where to go and where to stop. You also know where to not go. You realise that many of the things you once thought were important actually aren’t and many things you believed to be unimportant actually are. Suddenly, instead of asking how to improve weaponry to win the war, you realise that war is not making lives more enjoyable but instead increasing suffering. You realise that something you thought was important is actually dragging you backwards. From this perspective, it actually is an un-improvement: This new weapon you thought was an improvement actually doesn’t solve the real problem. 
We can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.
Ergo, in order to arrive at our end goal we have to switch our thinking.
In terms of taxes or no taxes, we would have to switch from a competitive world trying to solve the very problems this competitive world creates to a philanthropic world where everyone shares the same goal and everyone tries to help humanity as a whole and not just themselves. Suddenly there is no need to think about this problem of taxes anymore because there is no problem. In a world where everybody wants to help each other nobody needs to be forced to do so. The very idea of taxes would seem ridiculous, because the problem taxes try to solve wouldn’t exist.
It is easy to say that our thinking can’t change, that there is no way we all can become 100% philanthropic and 0% malevolently egocentric.
But there are some rare individuals who have achieved exactly that. 
And if one person has achieved this, there is no logical reason to believe that it is not possible for everyone else.
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