#old bailey judge

[jidem]

I genuinely thought that was going to be the explanation on my first playthrough

Reblogs > likes

[justiceamberheard]

A Los Angeles judge has granted a restraining order to “The Little Mermaid” actor and singer Halle Bailey, who says her ex-boyfriend, the rapper and YouTuber DDG, has been repeatedly violent with her and she fears for herself and the baby they have together.

The judge on Tuesday ordered DDG, whose legal name is Darryl Dwayne Granberry Jr., to stay away from Bailey and their 17-month-old son, Halo, until a June 6 hearing.

“Throughout our relationship,” Bailey said in documents requesting the order, “Daryl has been and continues to be physically, verbally, emotionally, and financially abusive towards me. I am seeking orders to protect myself and our son Halo from his ongoing abuse.”

[mellowwillowy]

Shady Bastards DOL AU

You, Bailey, and Eden were raised in the same orphanage.

You, Bailey, Eden, Briar, and Darryl went to the same high school. Judging from Vrel's Q&A answer, Bailey was bullied back then in a sense. I'd like to think he was bullied when his morals were still high until it dropped to 5 where he started to fight back and be on the bully side now.

Bailey was rated 9/10 in willingness to go for their crush, the reason why he didn't profess his love for reader was because it was not a reasonable environment to love reader. Nonetheless, both reader and him gave each other their virginities. For reader, it was because they trusted and loved Bailey the most while Bailey just... yknow, had a crush on reader and saw no loss at all in this arrangement. It was an adolescent rush...! A proper hand-holding, unlike the old times, a proper tongue kiss unlike the old times' peck, a handjob, oral, and finally, the deed.

As for Eden, there wasn't any sexual intercourse happening but Eden knew you two did the deed.

Not much was known about Briar (or maybe because I haven't found and read his QnAs...) but Briar was almost like your girl's girl best friend with how much you always went to him to ramble and vent. Bailey would never understand half of what you were talking about and that was the exact reason you went to Briar instead!

Briar lost his virginities earlier than anyone in the gang so he was the one who taught you how to kiss better directly, better not let Bailey see it unless you wanted him to throw hands at Briar. If only you had a more sentimental attraction for Briar, you were most likely to give all your first to him instead of Bailey. Compared to Bailey who was unskilled in kissing, Briar had this addicting pull and push when his tongue swirled with yours. It wasn't considered cheating when you and Bailey were never an item to begin with and Briar was pleased with this relationship.

Briar loved to dress you up as he had the best taste in fashion if compared to Bailey and Eden. It was thanks to Briar that you were noticed by Avery in the cafe. Briar knew what Avery was and had nothing against the arrangement he was about to propose to you. Briar's smile for Avery never reached his eyes but it was as though he had been given a green light as he left you with Avery alone (he still hung around the park just in case things went South. This town was never safe and he didn't know Avery's nature that well yet.)

Given your condition and his incapability to help you, he could only ensure your arrangement with Avery went smoothly as it would ensure you a week free from stress and beating from your caretaker. Briar could help you do your hair and perhaps a makeup in accordance with Avery's taste, dressing you up to be the most beautiful for his many dates and wishing you the best.

Miraculously enough, Avery was never enraged by you or even hurt you in any way. He would not force any sexual intercourse from you if you showed no hint of expecting one (in which Briar forgot to mention that sugar arrangement mostly consisted of sex). Avery would have forced it on you any time soon but he couldn't bring himself to. You were a delicacy in his eyes that he didn't want to taint and the money rolling in did not decrease at all.

"It was almost like a compensated dating!" you told Bailey as you shared your allowance with him to help cover the rent. Bailey wished he could make you stop but he understood why Briar even let you do it in the first place. He hated how he could not vocalize his dislikes just because it would only get you in trouble.

And it was indeed troublesome when you and Avery had an extraordinary date at the horse riding school. It was a mere coincidence that Remy was there fooling around with Wren on their horses. What caught his eyes was how he could feel something glowing from his peripheral vision and by the time he noticed you, he deduced it was coming from your white attire. He could see how it was not the best attire for horse riding and motioned one of the workers to lend you the horse riding attire.

Remy decided to lend it to you in person because he was curious to see your face closer and god did his breath hitch when he saw how pretty you look like up close. Avery seemed proud to notice the flustered boy as he snaked his hand to your waist, showing off to him that you were his date. The two of them knew each other from school and university though they didn't know that much, Avery knew Remy was a hot shot with all the shady rumors circulating him regarding his ongoing construction of an underground farm.

Just before you left the horse riding school, Remy managed to find a chance to talk with you out of Avery's earshot.

"I'd be delighted to see you come here again. I'll be your coach for free if you are willing to see me again. Are you not interested in learning more about how to ride a horse properly to visit the moor or anywhere in which a vehicle couldn't access?" and curiosity did get the best out of you. You went there at the weekend and started bonding with Remy who fell for your beauty before it spiraled into genuine crush. Bailey noticed that there were soon two different expensive cars parked in front of the orphanage to pick you up but said nothing. Both he and Briar managed to pry an answer out of you and learned about Remy though.

Regarding Darryl, Landry, and Niki, they were all your adorable juniors in school. Darryl often hung around with you when Bailey was away because he was scared of him (Bailey had started to present himself as a delinquent to thwart the bullying). Landry on the other hand seemed to be on a good term with Bailey though they never really talked to each other unless you were there while Niki was just an oddball who liked to snap candid pictures of you, reminding you of that smart kid Harper.

Avery who sniffed your relationship with Remy decided to have another date in the horse riding school with Remy coaching. Avery was feeling ill-mannered when he purposely mentioned the fact that Remy was once bullied in high school while feigning sympathy. Remy felt like whipping Avery with his crop until he realized instead of being humiliated in front of you, you were worried for him.

"You were bullied a lot? Does it scar you? I have a friend who was bullied and changed drastically just to protect himself so it saddened me to see him in you... he's now a delinquent because of them bullies!"

Remy was baffled as he found it hard to connect the dots until he skillfully wove an answer that ended up degrading Bailey instead. Remy had sniffed about this close friend of yours since childhood and wasn't really accepting of the fact that he had to be considered the same as a street rat. As for Avery's blatant remarks... he supposed he'd let it slide for now though he had for sure remembered it.

Unfortunately, this whole ordeal didn't last long as it was short-lived the moment your caretaker was called to identify your swollen floating body in the forest lake. You were found dead mysteriously after being announced missing for at least a month. Despite all the men Remy had deployed to tear the whole town down for you, Eden roaming around the forest and even coming back and forth in the forest lake, Bailey's desperation to even travel down the sewer, the Juniors who were still in school hastily spreading missing person pamphlet and Briar even going as far to meet one of the brothel ringleaders for a hint; you were never found. Not even a whiff of your scent.

Your funeral was held properly thanks to Avery and Remy's interference instead of being handled by your caretaker. Solid mahogany casket imported by Remy from outside the town, a rather spacious land for you to be buried in and always guarded to be safe from the monsters that might vandalize or even do anything to your body and a fight that broke out as the casket was lowered down.

Bailey couldn't hold it in anymore and punched the dazed-out Remy. The older man fell on his bum, cheek stinging from the impact. Eden immediately held Bailey back while Avery and Harper rushed to Remy's side. Bailey blamed Remy for your mysterious disappearance and death, finger pointed at Remy as he choked on his sobs. It had almost been forever since he last cried. The last time was when you, Eden, and he were in the loft, terrified.

The usual smart, pompous Remy lost his composure and couldn't retaliate against his punch, opting to tremble in confusion and shock at the fact that your body was found in such an ugly way. Completely different from how beautiful you once were. Swollen, soulless eyes and curled-up skin. There were no external wounds, not even a hint that you slipped and fell into the lake as they deduced.

There were traces of alcohol, drugs, and hallucinogens in you and the authorities deduced your death as an accident where you accidentally slipped from your track and drowned. Your body wasn't found by Eden because it was still down the lake by lord knew what they spouted. Remy who had enough of their bullshit sent one of them to the ER.

"You could have prevented it! God knows what, maybe send your men to keep an eye on her even if she wasn't willing of it, shoot the killer's thousand bullets, and drag her away from the forest. You could, you could, you fucking could!"

Remy remained petrified. He knew the town was no safe place. Everyone knew that. That was the only reason stopping Bailey from acknowledging his wish to perhaps seek you out and confess his love, taking the relationship into another step and marrying you. But he didn't because you were in no environment suited for love. He could only remain overly protective of you for as much as he could.

And he should have.

"... I... don't... know." Remy choked on his sobs, palms digging into his face, "I don't fucking know! This whole town can just go to hell for all I know!"

Remy stood up and walked to your grave, shovel in his hand he announced boldly, "I will fucking find a way. I will tear down this whole town just for them to come back to life, blood, and flesh, nails, and teeth, I will make sure they will return to us."

Avery was never someone interested in shallow cult but he didn't show any distaste at all, the same went to Briar.

Everyone doubted Remy was bluffing. He was serious. Dead serious with this whole occultism and sacrifice, donning the silver antlered mask proudly as yet another dead body disposed into the sewer, guts consumed by the ignorant higher-ups and ringleaders.

Remy's underground farm finished shortly after you were dead and he focused on producing milk from humans, trafficking them every now and then. Briar was appointed as one of the underground brothel ringleaders and finally owned an establishment. The brothel in Harvest Street.

Bailey who had long been destined to a life of crime due to anxiety of living in this town grew to be the next monstrous caretaker who dedicated his life to the children's potential. Eden secluded himself further in the forest as a hunter. Avery didn't change much but he was much more visible with temperament, getting physical with all his dates when things didn't go as planned.

Harper worked together with Remy, trying to achieve the same goal despite having two different methods of approaching it. Niki became a photographer and owned a studio. Darryl almost failed all his classes by the end of the school year because of Leighton and your death but he managed to own an establishment after years. Landry became even more distant and drowned himself in the world of criminals.

Bailey had always disliked the people involved with you but after the incident, his hatred for Remy materialized even more. As much as they did work together sometimes, the displeasure and tension was visible between them. The two of them were then on the same par of criminality level.

Bailey also blamed Quinn who wasn’t a mayor back then for your death and managed to secure blackmail material, putting the higher-level criminal under his thumb.

Everyone had been shaped to be living in crime, steeling their feet in their position to protect themselves from the town's looming threat. To not be the next body lowered into the ground. To not have the same fate as you did, ironically enough.

It proved really well judging by how wary Avery was toward Bailey, to finally acknowledge and fear the once pitiful orphan. Bailey’s end goal required him to obtain a ridiculous amount of money and he did so by extorting and selling orphans.

—

Bailey thought his eyes were playing tricks. That you were just another hallucination from the amount of liquor he had earlier in his flat before checking the orphanage out again. That the you drenched in rain, trembling from cold and horror was just an illusion.

Maybe it wasn't you, just someone who looked almost like you and he was fooled by the alcohol elevating your appearance, his hand immediately went to rub his chest where a tattooed name of yours lay.

But it was really you, choking on your sobs and begging for help.

"Please help me, there were people trying to assault me!"

Maybe Remy really did have a point for once. Maybe those dumb cults really had a point. For now, however, he'd like to shield you from the other bastards prying eyes. Feigning the gentle smile he usually had to fool people, his hand snaked to your waist dangerously intimate, "This is no place for us to talk, do come inside and change into one of the spare clothes I have."

[callmebrycelee]

MAN CRUSH MONDAY

JONATHAN BAILEY

Jonathan Stuart Bailey was born April 25, 1988 in Wallingford, Oxfordshire, England. The 36-year-old actor is best known for portraying Lord Anthony Bridgerton in the Netflix historical romance television series Bridgerton based on the book series by Juia Quinn. Jonathan has had numerous roles on the small and big screens as well as the stage. He has appeared on Broadchurch, Doctor Who, Jack Ryan, Fellow Travelers and Heartstopper. He was a guest judge on Series 1 of RuPaul's Drag Race: UK vs. the World. He is Fiyero in the musical film Wicked and will reprise the role next year in Wicked Part Two. He stage performances include Othello, American Psycho, King Lear and Richard II. Jonathan is 5 feet and 11 inches tall.

[askaceattorney]

Dear J'Luc K. Star,

I think Ojii-chan would be able to face all of them better than me.

I mean, he went up against the Reaper of the Old Bailey and a Judge that had committed a number of murders as the Minister of Justice under the nose of the country. I might've overthrown a dictator, but I don't think I could do what he did. He survived two world wars, for god sakes.

However, I don't know if I could really compare Edgeworth with Asogi-san other than... well... Edgeworth did gain inspiration of his looks from him. Other than that, I'd ask Ojii-chan.

(I suppose I could see it, but by the way Ojii-chan described Asogi-san, it's like comparing apples to oranges.)

- Phoenix Wright

[charlie-rulerofhell]

Sed Proditionem || chapter 2

In Dubiis Libertas, In Necessariis Unitas

But in the end, if I bend under the weight that they gave me, then this heart would break and fall as twice as far.

* * *

Žižka is forced to deal with the aftermath of his failure. Hans and Samuel look for the root of betrayal. At Zlenice castle, a young boy sets out for adventure.

{read below or here on AO3}

* * *

Štěpán of Tetin was bored. So bored in fact that, had the way back to Zlenice been any longer, his wandering thoughts and daydreams may as well have thrown him out of his saddle and into a blissful sleep on the muddy ground. Sure, he had known what he would get himself into, not only this morning when the messenger of Sir Tammo of Ledna urged him to finish his breakfast sooner than expected, no, he had known for over five years now, ever since he agreed to help his guardian Ondřej Dubá with his service as the King's highest judge. And it wasn't the iudicium terre bohemiae, the Bohemian common law, that bored Štěpán so much. He admired the importance of that task, craved for the structure and order that it provided, and was, at least for a seventeen year old beardless man, as Sir Ondřej liked to call him, way more interested in books full of title deeds and legislative records than would have been good for him.

“When I was your age,” Zlenice's commander Sir Nikolai had told him once, “the only law I was interested in was the law of lovemaking, and the only writing I would care for was the one my cock left on the skirts of some pretty girl.” And Štěpán would have all the assets required to be a great philan­derer, Nikolai had asserted! The full dark locks of Iwain the lion knight, the slim fingers and legs of King Charles himself, round cheeks, full lips and long lashes that every girl in the whole of Bohemia would swoon over. Štěpán had as little interest in skirt hunting as he had in the hunting of anything else, nor was he as convinced of his own talents in this regard as the old knight was. But then again, Sir Nikolai had also told him once that he'd make a fine sword fighter, and the whole of Zlenice knew how that one had ended!

His interests clearly lay elsewhere. Which land belonged to whom and for what costs, for example, and more importantly, under what circumstances could this established order be re­voked. In recent years, he had also developed a certain affinity for the exceptional rights and authorities of the church, espe­cially considering what was happening in Prague. That myste­rious white knight, Petr of Haugwitz as he called himself, wasn't particularly fond of Štěpán's interest in the latter. While Štěpán wasn't particularly fond of Petr of Haugwitz.

Just as little as he was fond of the disputes that both nobility and commoners alike called him over for these days. Or rather, that they called Sir Ondřej for, but since the lord had seen his nineteenth spring already, he had bestowed these tasks upon his ward Štěpán. Tasks that included the innkeper Adam selling his beer for a quarter groschen too many, or the guild of the tanners missing to organise their second required procession this year, or baker Marek leaving his horse unattended in the middle of the village square, and on a market day of all times. And God knew how many of those disputes Štěpán had to settle today!

The sun had long set when he led his horse across the draw­bridge marking the entrance to the main castle of Zlenice. There were stables outside the castle walls in the outer bailey, but Štěpán preferred to have his chestnut mare Šárka as close by as possible. One could never know when it was needed to flee the castle unexpectedly. Or when adventure might strike.

The light of Jan's torch was so blindingly bright that Štěpán had to cover his eyes for a moment. The guard had stuck the torch into the wet earth of the ground, while he himself had taken a seat on the lowest stairs inside the castle gate, playing dice against himself. And why shouldn't he? Nothing ever hap­pened on Zlenice. The guard still had enough vigilance in him, though, to raise his head as Štěpán passed him by. “Good night, Sir.”

“Good night to you as well.” He pulled the reigns tighter, and Šárka pranced around on her crooked hind legs. Tiredness started to get to her too. “Would you happen to know where I can find Sir Ondřej at this hour?”

“He ate early today, Sir. Wanted to find some rest, the cough had got worse again.”

Štěpán took a deep sigh and nodded. No surprising news, it always got worse on days like these when the weather changed so drastically, bringing cold air up from the river, chasing away the warmth of spring. Sometimes, when it wasn't only the tem­perature of the air that changed but also its humidity or the force of the wind, Sir Ondřej used to cough so much his whole face would first get red as poppies and then white as milk. “It's always a shame,” Sir Nikolai had told Štěpán once when his guardian's cough had been so bad he had just quit breathing altogether for a while, making everyone believe he must alrea­dy be standing on the threshold to Saint Peter's door. “But he has lived a long life, longer than the rest of us can even dream of. And eh, who knows, lad, you might inherit a thing or two now?” Of course Štěpán wouldn't. He wasn't related to Sir Ondřej Dubá of Zlenice, was only the grandson of one of the lords Sir Ondřej had once bought the castle from, the eleventh grandson, that was. He hadn't been sent to Zlenice in the hopes of inheriting anything, but for two simple reasons alone. To help out the King's highest judge with his work in his old days, and, by fulfilling this duty, strengthen the ties between the Du­bá family and the lords of Tetín. And because for the eleventh grandson, the youngest brother of seven, there was no better use for him back at home anyway.

“Have they sent for the physician again?”

Jan shook his head and put the dice down. “Haugwitz didn't think it necessary.”

“As if he could tell,” Štěpán pressed out through gritted teeth.

“Well, with all due respect, Sir, but the old lord is a tough fella. This cough couldn't get him for the past ten years, and I doubt it will tonight.” Jan chuckled, staring down into his torch, as if the flames had just told him a very entertaining joke. “If that old lord dies, it might just be because he slips on his way to his shitter.” He was still smiling when he raised his gaze again, but winced immediately under the stare that Štěpán regarded him with. “Forgive me, Sir.”

Štěpán shrugged his shoulders. “We should make sure to keep the steps to his latrine always clean then.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Is Haugwitz with him right now?”

“No, Haugwitz is over there.” Jan nodded into the direction of the stables. “Wanted to take care of his horse.”

“Ah. I see.” Štěpán looked over to the small shed with the flickering light inside, and swallowed down the lump that had quickly formed in his throat. Maybe using the stables down in the outer bailey didn't sound like such a bad idea anymore. Ha, so much for adventure calling!

He dismounted Šárka and went over to the castle stables by foot, hoping that it would help against the quick pumping of his heart and the growing numbness in his legs. Štěpán wouldn't have considered himself to be a particularly scared man. Weak yes, that he was, and lacking any skill when it came to handling a sword, that too. But he had always longed to leave this castle one day and see the world, only that such an opportunity had never presented itself to him, keeping his travels confined to the local villages and his actions to those sealed with ink on parchment. That didn't mean he wouldn't like to follow the sweet song of fate wherever it led him, of course.

Šárka shied, threw her head back and neighed. Perhaps the horse felt it too, and what was wrong about it? Certain events and certain people just required a little more wariness.

Petr of Haugwitz was standing next to his black stallion, his back turned to the entrance. He had lid the torch on the wall, and its light made his perfectly white armour and his golden hair shine like paper thrown into a fireplace. The horse and the saddle bags he was rummaging through were hidden under the shadow that his tall, broad body cast.

Šárka neighed again and pulled on the reigns more firmly. Štěpán put a soothing hand to her neck and imagined their roles to be reversed and that she was in fact the one giving him an encouraging pat on the back. “Jesus Christ be praised.”

He refused to call the white knight Sir, ever since Haugwitz had come riding through the castle gates in late December, just a few days before the beginning of the year 1410. Pale skin, pale hair, pale armour, pale as the snow that had surrounded him. Only the glove made an exception, a single black leather glove wrapped around his belt, that he never wore but carried with him every day. Petr of Haugwitz was a strange man in all regards. A noble that spoke and growled like a bloodhound, and everything that he said seemed to be only uninformed opinions that weren't even his own. He spoke ill of the Prague demands for church reforms without knowing much about it, claimed to be a strong supporter of the King, but was tightly involved with Heinrich of Rosenberg's affairs who had been known for his loyalty towards the Hungarian usurper Sigismund. Still, in the mere span of a month or so, the white knight had managed to form a suspiciously close relationship to Sir Ondřej, yet ano­ther reason to be wary of him. And then of course there was his most obvious flaw, the one thing that kept Štěpán from ever using the title Sir when addressing him. No book or legal docu­ment Štěpán had consulted could provide him with any evi­dence that a Petr of Haugwitz had ever existed.

The white knight didn't utter a word of greeting, but he raised his head and looked over at Štěpán as he led Šárka in­side. Pale eyes as well, cold and wet, like dripping daggers of ice.

Štěpán turned away to hide the deep breath he was taking, but it was quiet enough in the stable for his breathing to be heard. Perhaps Haugwitz could even hear his heart and see the blood rush through his veins quicker and hotter than it should. With this stare of his it wouldn't be surprising. “I heard that my guardian's health has been put to the test today, while I was gone.”

Haugwitz started looking through his things again, waiting long before he gave an answer. Not as long as it felt, most like­ly, but in the white knight's presence, the grains of the hour­glass of time always seemed to get drowned in sticky honey. “He is sleeping now.”

Not the answer Štěpán had hoped to get, but then he also hadn't posed a proper question. “Sleep will do him good for sure.” His voice was so quiet and frail now, not even the voice of a seventeen year old weak student of the law, but the voice of a frightened child. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

Haugwitz didn't reply but the silence said it all. The shared understanding of secrets Štěpán would better not ask about. The threat of what would happen if he still did.

Noise outside at the gate. The rattling of armour, steel scra­ping over steel as a weapon was drawn. Someone gasped from exhaustion, someone screamed. Jan. “Not a step further, you hear me?”

Štěpán rushed outside, closely followed by Haugwitz. Jan had left his place on the gate's stairs, the dice had fallen down, lay scattered across the dirt. His sword was raised, its tip aimed at the neck of a man who had appeared on the drawbridge. He stood bent over, hands resting on his thighs, panting heavily. The man was armed with a sword himself, but had it sheathed on his hip. He wore armour, but only on his legs and forearms, while a padded doublet was the only protection for his chest. Grey and brown cloth from what little Štěpán could tell in the dim torchlight, and there didn't seem to be crest on it.

He stepped forward until he stood next to Jan, and placed a hand on his wrist lightly, reminding him not to act without his command. “I am Sir Štěpán of Tetín, the ward of Sir Ondřej Dubá, who is the lord here in Zlenice. Who sent you?”

“No one, Sir.” The man's voice was only a hoarse rattling, winter wind in the castle walls. “I just ran, Sir, ran as quickly as I could. I saw the castle up here and hoped for help. I need help, Sir, you need to help me.”

“Help with what? Where did you run from, what happened to you?”

“I'm a mercenary, Sir. I was serving Father Thomas of the Prague synod. But he is dead now, Sir. Killed. A bolt in his throat, shot from the bushes like some animal.”

“Go and wake Lord Ondřej.” Haugwitz's harsh voice, a command that he had no authority for, and Jan moved without any hesitation. Štěpán couldn't blame him. The soldier was just as scared of Haugwitz as he was, and how could he dare to question him in a situation like this?

There was more Štěpán wanted to ask, but Haugwitz stepped forward now, ordering the man to come into the castle with them, to drink some strong wine and wait for Sir Ondřej. Fine then, Štěpán thought. After the shock and the fright from before and the hardships of the day, he could really use some of that wine now, too.

Sir Ondřej Dubá of Zlenice had to lean on Jan as he dragged himself into the dining hall, and his bloated face was slack with fatigue, but at least he had stopped coughing. “So,” he wheezed as Jan had finally managed to help him sit down on his chair, which creaked under his weight, “tell me what happened, boy. And don't leave out a single thing.”

The boy in question was a man of at least thirty years, Ště­pán could see that now in the brighter light of candle holders and fireplace, but to a man of Sir Ondřej's age everyone quali­fied to be called boy. “My name is Lukas, my Lord. I was hired as a mercenary together with two other men to accompany the priest Thomas of Prague on his way to the synod there.” He was speaking much calmer now, the wine seemed to show an effect. It helped Štěpán to sharpen his wits too, and so he no­ticed how the man strictly avoided to look at Haugwitz who had taken his place at the side of the hall, leaning against the fireplace. “We just passed through a gorge close to Jezonice, when we got approached by what seemed to be two other priests.”

“When was that, boy?”

“Just after sunset, Sir.”

Štěpán furrowed his brow. “Why were you travelling at that time of the day? There would be no more inn to stop at for at least ten more miles.”

“I know, Sir, but we had just rested until this afternoon, in Uzhitz, that was. We had met two other men there, a Hungarian and a … a drunkard with a croaking voice. Kubyenka was his name, I believe.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Štěpán could see Haugwitz ba­ring his teeth at the mentioning of these men.

“But they were witty, especially this Kubyenka fella, and Father Thomas shared some wine with him, and they played dice and talked. They seemed trustworthy, and when they told us about robber bands roaming these lands who were on the look for merchants, during the day of course, when most mer­chants would travel, well, it made sense to us, Father Thomas believed them and so did we. So we stayed until the afternoon, and only continued our way then.”

“Hm.” Štěpán tried to put as little judgement into his voice as he could. If there was one thing the solving of too many a mundane village dispute had taught him it was to listen to the whole story first without much questioning, because any of that could twist even the most well-meant truth into a lie of uncer­tainty. “These priests. Did they say anything to you?”

“They did, Sir, and quite a lot in fact. They claimed that they had just stayed in Prague themselves and were on their way back to their parish now. They also said that they had met with Jan Hus. That he had shared his believes with them, and that they would know that those believes were God's true words, because our Lord had performed a miracle while Hus was spea­king. And that there would be miracles whenever someone re­peated these truths. They wanted to show us.” He raised his eyes. There was fright in them, a mortal terror, and for a brief moment his gaze fell upon Haugwitz, and the flicker of fear be­came a wildfire. “The younger one of the two took out this … construction. It was made of glass, like a lantern, but all empty inside. And then he said that the only word a Christian should follow should be that of the Saviour, not that of any priest or nobleman, and that no priest or bishop and not even the Pope himself could claim to be holy by his ordination alone, that it were only the life a clergy man leads that would make him ho­ly, his chastity, humility, poverty. And then he raised this lan­tern above his head, and suddenly … suddenly …” He swal­lowed, tears turning his dark eyes into ink. He took another sip from the wine. “Someone shot Father Thomas. With the bolt of a crossbow, right into his throat. And there were so many armed men up in the forest, and I was scared, I was so scared, and I just ran for it. I am so sorry. I should have stayed, but I couldn't, I …” The man wiped his nose with the back of his hand, before he looked up, first at Štěpán, then at Jan and finally at Sir Ondřej, but not at Haugwitz this time. “Was that the will of God, Sir? Was it divine punishment that Father Thomas had to … That he was …”

“No, boy. That was only the doing of conspirators. Traitors to the land, and to the church. And to God.”

“How many were there?” Štěpán could feel the other's looks weighing down heavily on him, especially Haugwitz's. He was suspicious about the mercenary's story, the white knight knew it, and he didn't like it. “You said there were armed men hidden in the forest. How many exactly?”

“I could not tell, Sir. It was dark, and I … I ran as fast as I could.” Lukas ducked his head between his shoulders like a scared fowl. Surely he was just as aware of the punishments for cowardice as Štěpán was. “But there was the one with the crossbow, and others too, lots of them, men with swords and axes and all that, I could hear them, see a few of them even, I … I don't think Jenda and Maretschek stood a chance.”

“The other mercenaries?” Sir Ondřej asked.

“Aye.”

“But why so many?” Haugwitz's ice cold stare pulled tight around his neck, strangled him like a noose. Štěpán noticed how he brought a hand down, but not to the handle of his sword but to the glove on his belt, wrapping his fingers around it, as if he wanted to entangle them with the empty leather ones. “There were only three of you and a priest. While they had two men in disguise, probably skilled fighters too, an ar­cher with a crossbow, and all these other men that you saw.”

“I … I suppose they wanted to make sure.”

“Make sure of what? That they got rid of you all? But to what end? They clearly wanted to set an example, so what good would it do them if there was no one left to tell the tale? And why then go through all this effort, the disguise, the theo­logical discussion, if they just planned to murder you anyway?”

The chair next to him creaked as Sir Ondřej moved around on it with a groan. Next to the hissing fireplace, Haugwitz squeezed the glove so tightly that the leather let out a desperate whine. “Perhaps they wanted him to escape. Let him run, so he could spread the message.”

“And what message would that be? That the followers of Jan Hus are dangerous and mischievous, not to be trusted at any cost? How could that be in their own interest, how would that benefit their cause?”

“What are you suggesting here, Štěpán?”

He shook his head at Sir Ondřej, at a loss for an explanation. Getting duped over the price of beer, or finding someone's horse parked in the middle of the market street seemed so much more appealing all of a sudden. But wasn't this just the change he had waited for for so long, the adventure he had craved? Only that for this adventure, a priest had died, as well as two mercenaries and a few more men perhaps, and somehow Zlenice was now tied up in all of this too, and if the church found out about it, if the archbishop got wind of the murder of a synod member from Prague, ambushed by Hus supporters out on the streets close to Zlenice, it would be a political disaster. “Something about all of this stinks to high heaven! And I would strongly advise not to jump to any hasty conclusions.”

“And do what instead?”

Lukas buried his face in his wine cup again. Sir Ondřej had his hands wrapped around the armrests of his chair so tightly, his knuckles went all white. Haugwitz plucked something off his armour and threw it into the fire. The smell of burned cot­ton filled the air like a threat. “I will go to this gorge myself.” Even Štěpán himself was taken by surprise by his own confi­dence, but there was no stopping now. “I will have a closer look at the scene of the crime, and tell you what I could find afterwards, so we can take proper actions.”

Haugwitz shook his head, his lips formed silent words that none of them could or should hear, before he actually spoke. “So how long do you plan to wait until we take these actions? Until their bodies have gone cold? Until someone else finds them and gets word out to Prague before we can?”

“We won't get word out to anyone,” Štěpán said with a firm­ness in his voice that seemed to confuse Haugwitz too, because he lifted his eyes from the fire at these words, fixed them at Štěpán instead. “The sole accountability here lies with Sir On­dřej and Sir Ondřej alone.”

“Then I will go with you at least. Two pairs of eyes will see more.”

“No, I will go on my own. When looking for evidence, any additional man would just get in the way.”

Haugwitz showed his teeth again. The face of a rabid dog. “This is foolishness.”

“I agree.” Sir Ondřej's cheeks took a deep shade of red as he tried to shift his weight from one side to the other. “With both of you. You will go alone, Štěpán. Gather whatever information you can and then report it to me. But hurry. The murder of a member of the church on my lands is a delicate affair, and one we must not leave ignored for too long.” He coughed. Coughed until his face went pale once more, and then paler than before, and sweat pearled from his brows and upper lip, mingling with saliva around the corners of his mouth. He reached out his left arm like a helpless rooster whose wings were clipped. Jan took hold of it and helped him up to his feet, dragging him over to the door. “If you haven't returned with the ringing of the bells at noon,” Sir Ondřej said before leaving the hall, every word accentuated by a cough or a sharp inhalation of breath, “I will see myself forced to write to Prague without your consulta­tion.”

“Yes, Sir.” Štěpán stood up and bent his head to Sir Ondřej Dubá of Zlenice in a bow that only the mercenary and the white knight could see. “I won't disappoint you, my lord.”

* * *

“Shit!” He swung his arm. The head of the mace described a picturesque circle in the air before it slammed into a wooden pillar of the attic. Under the roof, high up above their heads, a handful of swallows scattered out angrily into the Kuttenberg morning sky. “Fucking shit!”

“Calm yourself, Žižka.”

He turned around and laughed Katherine right into her an­noyingly blank expression. “Calm myself? Calm myself? How exactly am I supposed to calm myself with this fucking disaster that went on out there?” He pulled the mace out of the beam with some force, wood splintered. Damn it all, he should have rammed it straight into that little bastard's stomach before he sent them down to have a word with Schwarzfeld. It wouldn't have helped, Samuel wasn't to blame for what had happened, but perhaps that would have at least made him calm himself! “One of the priests of the Prague synod is dead, we tarnished the reputation of Jan Hus, two of our own men have stabbed us in the fucking back, how is any one of us supposed to stay calm?”

“You don't know what happened.” Katherine tried to sound oh so reasonable, and it was a joke, because there was no rea­son in what she said. “You don't know if Kubyenka and Janosh really betrayed us. What if they are dead? What if Sam is right, what if it was only Schwarzfeld who turned on us, and Kub­yenka and Janosh were rotting somewhere in the forest near Uzhitz, and you were desecrating their memory right now, what then?”

“Then,” he lowered his voice and stepped forward slowly, a demonstration of his anger, he didn't want to scare her, but he could still see her warm, morning haze eyes widen in a way that made his skin crawl from shame, “I'd be a happier man. Then I could proudly say that they were the soldiers, the friends, that I rightfully set my trust in. Believe me, I'd rather desecrate their memory a thousand times over than see them become traitors.”

Katherine didn't reply, only breathed in deeply, but she would understand. Would see that his anger wasn't for her, wasn't even for Kubyenka and Janosh, and that he had wanted to beat that little shit Samuel up only because something in that boy's defiance reminded Žižka of himself ever so often.

“I understand your frustration,” Henry tried to keep his voice as quiet and placid as he possibly could, “but Katherine has a point. This is all just speculation. We need to find them first, and even if they're still alive, we don't have any clue yet what really happened, or what went on inside their heads.”

“It doesn't mater, don't you understand? They weren't there, and the whole plan went to shit. My plan!”

“Your plan, yes, but we were the ones to execute it, and Schwarzfeld was our informant, and even if someone here betrayed us, it still doesn't make it your fault.”

Žižka turned to him. His voice had lost all its fury when he spoke again, it was low and growling now, a threat. “What am I, Henry?”

“What?”

“What am I? To you,” he pointed the head of the mace in Katherine's direction, “to her,” waved it around, at Henry and Godwin, at Hans and Samuel downstairs, at the swallows above him, “to anyone here? What role am I playing in this goddamned tragedy?”

Henry didn't answer, just kept his lips pressed together, his eyes big and bewildered like a beaten pup.

“What am I, Henry, tell me!”

The boy swallowed. “The captain. Our commander.”

“Your commander, yes.”

The next words spoken weren't uttered by Henry, and not by Katherine either, but by the priest who had been silently wat­ching until this very moment, and unlike with the other two, there was nothing reassuring or calming in what he said, only blunt coldness. “You are right, Žižka. It is all your fault. You fucked up. You came up with the plan, and you commanded it. You questioned Schwarzfeld yourself, and apparently to no avail, you couldn't even keep an eye on your own men. We are deep in the shit, and while we all made our contribution to this endeavour, in the end, we only answer to you. So yes. There is absolutely no one to blame here but you.”

The silence that followed was so deafening that it roared in Žižka's ears like carriage wheels on a stone road. The boy's eyes were widened as he stared at Godwin, Katherine had her gaze lowered to the ground, her red lips slightly agape. Even the swallows seemed to have ceased their song, but Žižka paid them no mind. Cranes. The unmistakable grating sound of cranes, as they waded across the freshly frozen ground, sear­ching for food. Fog in the air, hovering above the river to their right, breaking the light of a rising sun. Some of the sun's rays landed on Hynek's scarred face and on his ginger hair, painted it the colour of dust. Must have been the morning haze. “Do not try to keep me, Žižka. This life, settling somewhere, raising stray dogs together, ha. That is not for me.”He had tucked his hands under his armpits to keep them from shaking. Must have been the cold. “They are yours. You can grapple with them now. Like it always should have been.” Then he had left. Off to Austria. And Žižka had left to Humpolec and Krumlov, dealing with Rosenberg, and failing. When he had finally returned north, Hynek was gone. Not to Austria, and not to some other godforsaken land, but to Hell, where a Devil belonged. And the pack was in shambles, some scattered, some had moved on with life. Wenceslas had offered Žižka work in Prague. He hadn't refused it, but hadn't exactly accepted it either. He could have used his military skills for none other than the King him­self, could have settled as a burgrave, but he didn't know how. So he had scraped up the pack once more, or what was left of it, because Henry had properly taken roots in Rattay with his Lord it seemed, and Godwin had built a more theoretical pro­fession for himself in Prague, and the rest, the few he could find and motivate to return to Kuttenberg, had come to him like a horde of headless chickens, waiting for him to throw them some grains of purpose, and so he had fled once more. This time, he hadn't even told Katherine where he went, but they all found out anyway. Found out when he came back to Kutten­berg with his tail between his legs because the Teutonic Order had declined him. It is all your fault. You fucked up. There is absolutely no one to blame here but you.

Žižka nodded. The swallows had started singing again, or maybe they had never stopped, only the noise of the cranes had ceased now. “Henry. I need you to write two letters about what happened out there last night. Explain everything in full detail. One will be addressed to Wok of Waldstein, the other one to Jan Sokol of Lamberg. Leave out any unnecessary formalities and apologies, and don't ask them for support either, it should only be a prosaic rendition of the events and their possible con­sequences so that they know what they have to prepare for. Once these letters are written, you will ride out and deliver them to your father at Vyšehrad. He will know where to find Waldstein and Lamberg, and you will report to him too, by word of mouth. We will join you in Prague soon. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“Good. Then leave us alone.”

Henry took a brief bow, turned and walked over to the ladder. His broad back straight as a lance, the steps firm. A blacksmith, an advisor, a soldier, a knight. His hair had grown longer, his beard too, he had matured so much from the boy Žižka had left back then in Suchdol, but into what, Žižka couldn't tell. He hoped Henry could tell at least, hoped it for him.

His eyes wandered over to Katherine, who was looking up at him now expectantly. “You too, Kat,” he said, and Katherine responded with a nod. “I need to talk to Godwin in private.” She left without a word. There were things on her mind that she wanted to say, Žižka could tell, but she would safe them for la­ter, knew that this mattered to him now. She always knew so well.

Žižka waited until he heard both their footsteps disappeare downstairs, before he set himself into motion. He walked over to where the silver rays of light were dancing on the parchment he had spread across the table. Maps, letters, charters, requests, so many names that he had long drowned in. It smelled of ink and wax, dry wood and dust. “I appreciate your honesty, God­win.” He gave a soft laugh that didn't really carry any amuse­ment with it. “In fact, you seem to be the only one here who's not trying to butter me up like a cake.”

“We barely made it out of this ambush alive. Kubyenka and Janosh are missing. The Prague church might be on our tails soon. It's only understandable that they are worried about you.” “I don't need them to be worried, much less about me.” He turned, faced the priest. He wasn't wearing the cassock any­more that Žižka had got for them, had changed it for a simple brown tunic and a black cotton hose. It suited him much better. “I need them to follow my orders and not shy away from being honest with me when my plans turn into a catastrophe. How can I be a commander when they are not fulfilling their roles as soldiers?”

Godwin shook his head and smiled softly. It was a miracle how little he had changed since they had last met. His bald skin as smooth as ever, full cheeks, a faint stubble, dark, not grey, even his brows had some colour left in them. Prague certainly did him good. “Don't be too hard on them, Jan, and please, don't judge them by my standards. I know what it's like to serve in a war as a proper soldier, they don't. All they know is how to fight amongst friends.”

It is true, Žižka thought. They had fought battles before, had called him captain and commander, but that was only ever a technicality, because he had been the one to come up with the plans, to give the orders, and occasionally they had even fol­lowed them faithfully, and afterwards they had got pissed toge­ther, had laughed and quarrelled and got into a brawl. Because they had never been an army, a troop, had only been a pack, a pack of drunkards and outcasts and robbers, a pack of devils. But a pack that was pretty damn good at what they did, because through all this they had never faltered in their respect and trust for each other. “I won't blame them for their friendship. I wel­come it, in fact.” He turned around to the table again, took the tankard and poured wine into the two cups next to it, bringing the one Katherine had drunken from to his own lips, before he handed the other one over to Godwin. “There have been whole armies that were just made up of friends, did you know that, Godwin? I even heard of some Greek troop that only hired lo­vers. Lovers, can you imagine?” Žižka took another sip, and the wine caressed his tongue and burned in his throat, and he laughed. “They fought like no other army did, because they had a cause to fight for, not only abstract concepts of honour and patriotism, but friendship and love.”

“I did not know that.”

“It is a blessing, I suppose.” He took a deep sigh. Above them, the wood of the church's roof truss cracked, as it shrunk under the heat of a new, warmer April day. “I forgot what it feels like, you know? To command this group. The pack.”

He couldn't even remember how many years had passed and how exactly it had happened. There had been beer involved, and a hot bath, and cold steel pressed to his neck. “You hate the lords of this land, don't you?” Hynek had snarled. “And you want money, even better when it's their money, am I right? Well, I have an offer for you.”And then he had introduced him to his pack, some of them, that was, while they had recruited the rest over the following year. Freeing them from prison, or being thrown into the same battle by fate, sometimes as allies, sometimes as foes. The requirement for joining the group was simple. They had to be bastards, lusting for money and willing to kick some nobility's arses. And that had worked well for a while, but times had changed, and they had grown older, and at some point money and a certain thirst for violence had stopped being the only two things that mattered.

Žižka drunk from the wine again, and was surprised to find the cup empty already. The wood cracked, the swallows chirped. It was warmer today. “Perhaps I even forgot what all of this entailed for me. What they needed from me. Perhaps that is just why Janosh and Kubyenka aren't with us right now.”

“Perhaps.” Godwin shrugged his shoulders in the same non­chalant way he always had about him. “But pondering on that won't bring them back.”

“You're right, it won't. That's what I like about you, God­win.” Žižka rubbed dust out of his right eye as he returned to the table to pour himself another cup. The other one had no feeling left in it, the sight had been gone long before, after one misfortune too many. What did it matter? One eye was plenty, and he still had his ears to hear, his brains to think, and his heart, yes, his strength of will and bravery and resistance, and maybe that was all he needed. “You are straightforward. You focus on your target, not on courtesies and forced kindness.”

Godwin laughed cynically. “Well, I'm not sure whether that's always a good thing.”

“You are a soldier. And that's what I'm in dire need of right now. A soldier, not a friend.”

“I cannot promise you to be one without the other, Jan.” The priest smiled again, that damned soft smile of his, that always felt like it was mocking all the suffering of the world, as it made it everything appear so easy. “But that doesn't mean you cannot count on me. And if it's only a kick in the arse you need, well, I can provide that both as a soldier and as a friend.”

Žižka nodded. Then he sank down on the chair where Ka­therine had sat before, and it gave him courage, feeling both close to her and to Godwin alike. “I fucked up.”

“You did.”

“We lost two of our men, and it might have been my fault.”

“It might.”

He emptied the whole cup without putting it down. Good wine, sweet but strong, and it tingled in his fingers and his thighs and made his thoughts run faster. Just what he needed now. “The man I myself brought here to give us the informa­tion we needed seems to have stabbed us in the back, which not only ruined our plan, but might also soon put the whole church and the Prague militia on our arses.”

“Very likely, yes.”

“We also don't yet know why we were betrayed.” Žižka watched as Godwin came over to him to empty the rest of the tankard into his own cup, but he remained standing. Looked down on him with those warm, impartial eyes, waiting, antici­pating. “Given that Schwarzfeld volunteered his help to me on his own, he was either played himself, or he already came here with the intention to obstruct our plans. In either way, I doubt he acted alone. No, he was sent by someone way more power­ful. And I already have a hunch who that could have been.” The biggest bastard of them all, Žižka thought bitterly. The one who brought the League of Lords together, who helped im­prison the King and crown the usurper, who had used his power to pressure commoners and lower nobility alike all around Trotznow. And Žižka had got him back good for a while. Infil­trating his gold mines in Humpolec, and then Rosenberg's very own estate in Krumlov, serving him under a different name, pouring the fucker his wine without him ever noticing. Hein­rich of Rosenberg had long stopped caring about Sigismund and Wenceslas. No, this had become personal. “But that's only speculation, and we can't go to war over baseless accusations. Perhaps Hans and Samuel will find out more.”

“Oh, I'm sure of that.”

“It's also a good thing Kobyla, Waldstein and Lamberg will be informed, so they can take precautions for similar ruses be­ing planned against them.” Radzig and Jan had after all been dealing with Rosenberg themselves over the past year, but he was tough, that sly cur. “But this is not only about us. Hus has just been prohibited from his sermons for heresy, and I might have just made the whole situation much worse for him. So we have to head out for Prague to let him know directly, only that I don't know yet how to best arrange that.”

“I think I may be able to help out with that.”

He raised his right eyebrow, looked up at the priest. There was a strained grin around Godwin's lips that was both intri­guing and concerning. “You do?”

“I may have made it sound a little easier than it actually is,” Godwin stammered, the words broken by an occasional ner­vous chuckle. “But we do share a certain group of friends, and I know the church he still goes to to preach, despite the archbi­shop's edict, and well, I also know the place where he's tea­ching. In fact,” a sip of wine, another chuckle, squinting his warm eyes, “I live there.”

“Where?”

“At the Prague university.”

“You do? Ha, Godwin, a man of a thousand talents, you've become a scholar now!”

“Oh, far from it.” He waved his cup around as if in defence, and a few drops of the good wine spilled over. “At least not as long as Hus is rector there, and we can only pray that he stays such for a while longer. But I am willing to learn, and I like to engage myself in theological discussion from time to time.”

“So what's stopping you then?”

“Well. Hus is. And my,” he cleared his throat, “lifestyle.” It was clear that he had no intention to elaborate on it further, but Žižka didn't know what to make of his insinuations either, and after a short pause he finally added: “Let's just say, a man like Hus who is holding values like decency and austerity in high esteem is not all that keen on a man who was kicked out of his own parish for drinking and whoring around. And,” he scratched his neck in embarrassment, “I may even have told Hus about it myself. Over a drink too many. So we're not on the very best terms.”

Žižka wanted to laugh, but he held it back, as not to humi­liate Godwin any further. “I see.”

“But, as I said, I happen to share friends with him. So if you want me to, I could try convincing them to arrange a meeting or at least deliver our message.”

“That may fully ruin your reputation with Hus.”

“Oh, I doubt that surrounding myself with mercenaries and robbers will come in any way as a surprise to him.”

Now he couldn't hold back the laughter any longer. To his relief, Godwin didn't seem to mind, the tightness even vanished from his expression and made room for a genuine smile. “Damn it, Godwin, you really have made a horrible first im­pression on that man, hm?”

“Perhaps one of the only things I'm truly good at.”

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes, and suddenly Žižka thought he could feel a hand twist his left arm back, and a blade pressed to his throat, and the rush of danger and excite­ment pumping through his veins. “Well, you certainly made an impression on me, and I can't claim it was a bad one.”

“A knife on your throat doesn't make a bad impression on you?”

“Quite the contrary. It was everything I needed to convince me of your qualities.”

There was certain fondness on Godwin's face now, and Žiž­ka wondered whether he was still thinking back to their first meeting at Nebakov or to other moments they had shared. God­win kept it a secret. When he stepped forward to put the empty cup on the table and place a hand on Žižka's shoulder, he was all soldier again, and even more so, a friend. It was probably for the best. “Well. Off to Prague then?”

“We will wait for what Hans and Samuel can find out from Schwarzfeld. Then we'll pack and saddle our horses. I wouldn't like to stay under the same roof with a bloody traitor much lon­ger anyway.” He stood up, and his legs felt steady despite the wine, filled with new courage, new hope. “Time for a reloca­tion.”

* * *

“Sam. Sam, wait!” Hans quickened his steps to catch up with Samuel, who was storming ahead like an angry bull let loose. He reached out a hand, to hold him back by his right arm, and when Sam twirled around, his face was twisted both in anger and pain. Fuck. Hans knew that he had some bruises and cuts on his hands and face too, and when he had scratched his beard before, he had felt dried blood clumping the hair together as if he had spilled his last drink all over himself. Whatever he must look like, though, could not have been worse than this. Shit, even Sam's hand up to the root of his fingers was darkened and swollen. No wonder he was bursting with fury. “Just steady down a little, yes?”

“What?”

“We want to talk to him first. I doubt he will tell us all that much if we just beat him up.”

“Torture makes every man sing in the end.”

Hans closed his eyes for the briefest moment and took a deep breath. So, here we go again. God, give me strength to deal with this fool! “Yes, but it can also lead to them not telling you what you actually need, but only what they think you want to hear. Besides, I'd be happy if we could do this without any torturing.”

“You want to show him mercy?” Sam took a step closer to him now, so close that Hans could smell him again. Not so cal­ming now. The leather, incense and hot iron were only barely recognisable, overshadowed by sweat and blood and dirt. “Do you think he would show any mercy to us?”

“That doesn't mean we need to sink to the same level.”

“We could never sink so low.” His voice was all rough and growling, his eyes had taken the colour of grass overgrown by frost. “They act only out of greed and maliciousness.”

“Who is they? This isn't only about Schwarzfeld anymore, is it?”

“Of course it isn't! This is about something way bigger than him that you just won't understand!” He was screaming now, and Hans looked down the stairs of the tower, hoping Schwarz­feld couldn't hear them from his quarters in the adjacent com­munity hall. “And this is about me being fed up with always getting betrayed!”

“But this time, it has nothing to do with you or your people. This is about Jan Hus, and Žižka maybe, and who knows what­ever …”

“It is always the same, don't you see that? You tell me your story, and you do not understand it yourself!” The words hurt more than they should have, felt similar to the betrayal. He hadn't told Sam these secrets of his past, things he hadn't even told Henry before, only to have them used against him. “It does not matter to them whether it is people with a different faith, or a different political ideal, or a different way to love. To them we are all just vermin. Disposable tools used in their feuds. Even a lord like you.”

“Fine, fine, I get it! This is all a big chess game to the people in charge, and we are all just pieces on the board, even Žižka.” He would not be treated like a naïve child any longer, he was a ruler now, a proper lord, a fucking father! And when he now forced himself to keep his voice down and talk reassuringly to Sam, it almost felt as if he was instead talking to Heinrich or Hedwig. “But that is just the thing, you see, Schwarzfeld is ve­ry likely just another piece on this chess board himself, the same as Janosh and Kubyenka may have been. So if we truly want to find out who plays this game, we need to talk to him. Without violence.”

“I am done talking! My zeyde only talked when they hunted us down and expelled us from Prague. Your lords only talked when they blamed Liechtenstein and us for every bad deed that was ever committed in this country and hunted us down again and expelled us from Kuttenberg. Just as we had been doing nothing but talk a few years before, when they accused us of conspiring against Sigismund's uprising, when Hannah …” He pressed his lips together as if he had to physically stop more words from spilling out of him. The things he had said must have already been painful enough.

Hans nodded. “Yes, but back then you tried to cease the tal­king and take action instead, and it's not like that worked out.” He saw Sam's eyes widen in shock, as he realised that Hans had listened. It wasn't like he had tried to deceive Sam in any way, sleep had overcome him last night and rendered him un­able to speak, and Sam's talking had served as his lullaby that Hans had slowly drowned in until the very last bitter drop. “Look, I understand that you feel angry. I do too. We were supposed to die out there. Well, you were.” He could see that Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Hans interrupted him with a shake of his head. “You don't have to thank me for it. Would things have got any more dire, I'm sure I could have just talked myself out of it by showing them my ring.” It was a lie of course, there had been four of them surrounding him in the end, they would have never given him enough time to throw his fucking family crest in their face, given they could even recognise it, let alone see it in that darkness of the forest. “But it's not only about me. Henry was down there too, ex­posed. This could have ended up a lot worse.” There were tears burning in his eyes all of a sudden, and he swallowed down the fear that had crept into his throat. A long, rough night lay behind them, Sam wasn't the only one in need of some good sleep anymore. “Henry swore to protect me once, and I did the same. I know he hated the last seven years when he was stuck at the Leipa court, but at least it was safe there, for the most part. It kept him out of shit like this.”

“I doubt that he hated it or felt stuck there.” Even Sam's voice sounded rougher now than it usually did, and something in his eyes had become softer, warmer. The frost melted, lea­ving behind fresh and vibrant grass, swaying soothingly in the breeze. “At least things moved on for you. He has found his place …”

“Believe me, he hasn't.”

“He has found you.”

But is that enough? Hans thought, not daring to say the words out loud.

“I tried to build something for my people in Kolín, but in the end …” Sam shook his head. Not angry anymore, only tired. “Prague, Kuttenberg, Kolín, it's all the same. I did not only join this mission to do Henry a favour. I have heard of Jan Hus too. We do not share the same faith, but his opposition against cleri­cal and worldly rulers and against them justifying their rule by some allegedly God-given laws, I can agree with that. I had hope that this here could change something for once. But it's like you said, we are all just chess pieces. And it makes me feel helpless, and I don't want to …” He struggled for a little while, finding the right words, before he gave up.

Hans nodded. Reached out a hand and put it on Sams's arm, the left one, and as lightly as he could. “Fair. Totally fair. And that is exactly why we need to handle this with reason.”

Sam returned the nod, then they smiled softly at each other. They were both scared, they had both suffered, had both been betrayed, but if they handled this together and with a cool head, they might still get some revenge, or some answers, or at the very least some fucking rest.

They went down the last few flights of stairs a little faster, then took the door at its end that led them right into the com­munity hall, where Father Čeněk had offered them a few rooms to stay in, with the first one on the left being assigned to Schwarzfeld. They were both surprised to find Čeněk in the noble's room as they entered, and from the looks of it, both men weren't any less startled by their sudden appearance. They didn't get to ask any questions about it, as the priest just straightened his back and left with a short bow and a mumbled “My lords.” He just called all of them lord, just as he called Katherine lady. He was too old, he said, to remember which one of them held a title, and which one of those titles were also acknowledged by the King.

Sir Robert Schwarzfeld was sitting at his table, with a book and a piece of parchment in front of him. He had his sparse auburn hair covered by a cap of dark blue velvet, adorned with a peacock feather, as if he wanted to make an impression. On whom though, remained the question. Žižka had forbidden him to leave the church for at least three days now.

Schwarzfeld took in the sight of Hans and Sam for a little while, letting his eyes wander down their bloodied and bruised faces, resting on Sam's wrist a little longer, before he finally had the decency to open his mouth in shock. “Did they fight you?”

“Whom?” Hans stepped forward until he was standing right next to the writing desk. The room had no windows, the only sources of light were a candle on the table and the fireplace at the back wall, and both painted long, dancing shadows on Schwarzfeld's lean face. “You mean the four men that you pro­mised us? Oh, do not worry, Sir, there were just three of them, and one of them even ran for the hills right away. Just after that priest was shot. And not by our men.” He waited a while, examining the way in which Schwarzfeld's expression slowly changed. He was a bad actor and a worse liar, so horrible, how­ever, that it served as the perfect cover for whatever he truly thought or felt. “You set this up. You lured us into a trap.”

Schwarzfeld shook his head so vehemently that the peacock feather almost bent down all the way to his long, hooked nose. “I did not know this would happen.”

“Du falsher khazer,” Sam hissed behind him.

Hans raised a hand, demanding him to keep quiet, without taking his eyes off Schwarzfeld. “You know what, Sir? I actu­ally believe you. Because I consider you way too unimportant to be assigned a task like this. And not nearly clever enough to execute it all on your own either. But still, these men, a dozen or so of them,” Hans crouched down next to Schwarzfeld with a crooked, dangerous smile, “they knew us well. They weren't only informed about where all of this would take place. They also knew who we were. In fact, they knew more than we ever let you in on.”

“See?” Schwarzfeld's face brightened up so much that it seemed someone must have set it on fire. “It could not have been me then, could it?”

“Oh, it could. It's just that someone else must have informed you. Someone who knew more than you and brought you all this knowledge. So that you could use your money and influ­ence to gather a few more men and have them stab us in the back.”

“What, you think there is some ominous man behind me who would know all of this?”

“I think there is one, yes, but he doesn't care about the de­tails. He just pays you and gives you the ideas that you could never come up with on your own.” He tried to hurt Schwarz­feld's pride as much as he could, but it was hard to tell whether it worked. The lord's face changed its mood and colour so vi­gorously with every next sentence Hans spoke, it could have meant anything. Time to catch him by surprise then. “But Ku­byenka and Janosh knew. And since they aren't here with us right now …”

Schwarzfeld let out a laughter that could have carried any­thing from an injured pride to disbelief. “And yet you are ac­cusing me!”

“Yes, I am accusing you. Don't you want to ask me who Ku­byenka and Janosh are?”

Schwarzfeld's face changed his colour once more, he got paler around his long nose, Hans could tell even in the candle­light, and this time he knew very well what it meant. Nervous­ness. “Well, two of your men much likely.”

“Oh, clever. But you did not seem surprised in the slightest when I mentioned their names.”

“It …” He stumbled over his own words, and not deliberate­ly now. “It was evident from what you said.”

Behind him, Sam pressed out air between his teeth. “This doesn't lead anywhere.”

“You're right.” Hans nodded, then he stood up and took a few steps back, still keeping his gaze fixed on Schwarzfeld as if it was a nail that Hans had driven into his lying body. “It doesn't. We should change our tactics, I suppose.” He gave a nod in Sam's direction. “You may. If you still have some anger to let loose.”

“Oh, lots of it.” Sam didn't waste any time. In just the blink of an eye, he had rushed forward, hitting Schwarzfeld in the face with the back of his left hand. The man started to whimper and beg immediately. “Did they come and visit you in private? Did you speak with our friends?”

“I … Please, I … I don't know what you're talking about!”

Sam hit him again, just on the same spot, and a little harder now. Hans flinched from the sight of it. “Kubyenka and Janosh. The two men you just all so eagerly remembered. Did you meet with them?”

“I …”

This time, Sam didn't even give him any time to stammer out more lies. He just grabbed the lord by the neck and slammed his forehead down on the table. The blue cap flew off, knocked over an inkwell, black liquid turned the peacock fea­ther into that of a crow.

“I did!” Schwarzfeld pressed out, the words muffled and dis­torted with his nose pressed against the wood of the table. “They came to me! They said they didn't trust … didn't trust in Žižka anymore, and asked me if I could … could help them, and … I didn't know they planned an ambush like this, I just thought they might want to leave your group!”

Sam bowed down to him now, bringing his face so close to the other man's ear, Hans was certain Schwarzfeld could hear even the snarl in his breath. “Stop lying! Even if they wanted to leave us, they would just do so, instead of organising a dozen men to kill us. They wouldn't have dared to, nor would they have had the means to.”

“No, you're right, you're right, they wouldn't! But I'm sure they didn't have to. It was Egghead, yes, it must have been Egghead!”

Who? Hans wanted to ask, but he kept quiet for now, left the questioning to Sam, and he didn't have to wait long anyway.

“Who the fuck is Egghead?”

“The kind of man that you seek out when you need help with all kinds of fiddle that you cannot tell anyone else about. He will always help you, but only as long as you pay him better than someone else would.” Schwarzfeld tried to twist out of Sam's grip, but it only tightened more around his neck, as if all the strength that had left his right hand had flown into his left one instead. “I referred your friends to him! I told them I would want nothing to do with it, but that he could help them. Maybe they didn't even plan all of this either. They just wanted to get out. But I suppose they told him a thing too many, and he must have used that. Maybe he was already paid by someone else, I don't know, you got to believe me!”

“And where can we find this Egghead?”

“In Prague!” Schwarzfeld shouted out the word as if his life depended on it, despite Sam neither changing the position of his hand nor hitting him again. Sam could be frightening, Hans thought, but Schwarzfeld seemed to be scared to death. “I don't know where he lives, but there is this establishment that he fre­quents, Nový Venátky, a brothel, in the new part of the town, close to Charles Bridge. You just turn right once you cross the Vltava, not left, that's the way into the Jewish quarter, and you do not want to …” This time, Sam did take action, raising Schwarzfeld's head slightly by the neck and bringing it back down with force. The man groaned. Only out of pain, and not nearly as terrified as he had been before. “Ah no, no, I didn't mean it like that, I …”

“Stop babbling and get to the point!”

“Yes yes, Egghead, in Nový Venátky, you will find him there, I promise you! You cannot even miss him, he is bald, and his head just looks like an egg, and … Please, that's all I know, I swear, you must believe me, please …”

Hans stepped forward and put a hand on Sam's shoulder, but Sam wasn't his brother, and it took a while for him to respond. Then he finally let Schwarzfeld go with another unsatisfied snarl, and the lord slowly lifted himself up, twisting his head to all sides to ease the pain in his neck. “We do, Sir. We do believe you that this secret meeting with our friends was the only time you betrayed us.” Hans tried to put as much empha­sis into these words as he could, to let Schwarzfeld know that his cooperation changed nothing. “And we're willing to take your honesty into account when we bring word to Žižka now.”

“Thank you.” Schwarzfeld's eyes were as big as plates again, and once more his exaggerated expressions obscured any true thought or feeling he may hold. “Thank you!”

Hans tugged on Sam's shoulder again. “Leave him be and let us go.”

Sam only spoke when they were back on the stairs of the church tower. “I hate it when you order me around like a dog.”

“But it worked, didn't it? You played your role well, we both did, and we didn't even have to rehearse anything.”

Instead of walking up the stairs again, Sam made his way out onto the gallery, and Hans followed him. Watched him lean down onto the parapet, looking down to the altar. Tinted blue light fell on his face through the church windows, making him seem more exhausted than ever. “I am not so sure we actually succeeded.”

“You don't believe him?”

“Not a single word.”

“Good.” Hans stopped next to him and lowered his eyes to the sanctuary. Father Čeněk had lit some candles to its side, their smoke crept up like snakes to the flat ceiling, above which Žižka and the others were hiding. “Because neither do I.”

“He gave in way too quickly, and his words kept running like water from a well. I did not even hit him all that hard.” Sam looked down on his hand, opened and closed his fingers, light flashing on the gemstones of the rings. A sapphire, an amethyst, a pale emerald in the colour of his eyes. “I've ex­perienced much worse without saying a single word.”

The words echoed heavily through the emptiness of the buil­ding. Hans wanted to ask, but he didn't dare to. Brabant, he thought, and it made his skin crawl. He had been the one who had introduced that Frenchman into their group. He had been the one to tell the others how useful the baron would prove. Then Brabant had killed Adder for some bloody silver. Had tortured Sam to a point where it had taken him weeks to reco­ver. Betrayed. Over and over and over again. “I …” He took a deep breath, blew the air out towards the roof, following the snakes of the candle smoke. “I am lucky enough to never have experienced torture myself. But I know what it can be like and what it does to you. From Henry.”

The amethyst flickered as Sam clenched the hand into a tight fist. He did not look up, didn't say a word, but Hans could see that this was an information he hadn't expected to hear.

“It was a long time ago. Shortly before we met you, in fact, back then at Trosky.”

“Von Bergow?”

“Yes. Or rather Istvan Toth on behalf of von Bergow.”

“Hm.” Sam furrowed his brow. Hans couldn't tell whether it were only clouds outside the window or something else entire­ly that painted his expression a few shades darker. “He never told me.”

“He wouldn't have told me either. But unlike you, I share a bed with him. Naked.” Hans tried to make it sound cheerful, failed miserably and relinquished the plan. “There are certain things you can hardly hide in such an intimate situation. Like the injuries that a knife leaves on your flesh. Or tongs, or a hammer.”

Sam pressed his fingers so tightly together now, that his knuckles turned white as snow. His right hand didn't even twitch. “I cannot believe that mamzer is still alive, while so many good people have died.”

“I know how you feel.” Oh, how well he did! He hadn't asked Henry about it on their first night together, and not on their second or third one either, even though back then the scars had still been fresh. He had waited until they had finally re­turned to Rattay. In part because he hadn't dared to ruin the excitement and joy of their first shared love with such painful thoughts. But he had also been scared of the answer he would get. That Henry would say Otto von Bergow's name, the man whose life Hans had defended with his honour. “But he's a nobleman. It's not worth getting yourself killed for. And since he fled the country, allowing me to never see his face again, he might as well be dead to me. So, as a wise man once said,” he gave Sam a smile, and didn't fail this time, even though it was all coated with sadness, “we should leave the dead behind and rather take care of the living.”

Sam nodded. The fist loosened a bit. “He really was wise. I wish we could have understood more of his wisdom.”

Hans had to chuckle at the thought. “Well, I'm not sure if much of his wisdom actually exceeded the lusting for female bodies.”

“And souls. Do not forget their souls. Adder could be quite romantic sometimes.”

They shared the laugh, and it was a welcome feeling, eased the anger and the fear and all the frustration of the previous hours. It brought back the exhaustion too. Jesus Christ, what Hans hadn't given for a soft bed and a good sleep now! “Come on.” He gave Sam's arm a pat, before he straightened himself to leave for the staircase. “We need to tell Žižka what we found out. And then we may need to pay beautiful Prague a visit. Schwarzfeld might have spoken nothing but lies, but I doubt he made this Egghead fella up. Maybe he can be someone to find out more from.”

They didn't have to search long for Žižka. They didn't even have to walk up the stairs, in fact. It was Žižka who came ru­shing down to them, closely followed by Godwin who had a pained smile on his lips, and Katherine who just shook her head silently at Hans and Sam as soon as she noticed them.

Žižka didn't care. He just laughed, put his hands to Hans's shoulders, and gave him a few strong slaps that almost tossed him over. “You're back, boys. Fantastic! Tell us what you found out on the way. We will leave for Prague!”

* * *

The place reeked of death from a few hundred feet away. It was a miracle nobody seemed to have taken note of it yet.

Perhaps it was still too early for anyone to come by. The sun had only just heaved its body over the horizon, birds of the night still shared their song with the birds of the morning, and both promised that there would be a wonderful day ahead.

There was no trace of that wonderful day out here in the gorge. On the first glance, it was only a carriage, stopped in the middle of the road, and some strange and twisted figures both on top of the carriage and in front of it. For any wanderer who wasn't familiar with death, it would take a while to understand that the horribly pale sack of rags hanging from the coachman's seat was actually a priest drained off all his blood. Then they would realise that the two other bundles on the ground where in fact the lifeless bodies of young men, sliced open neatly by swift strokes of a sword. And only then would they lift their gaze to the right and see the rest of the carnage. The corpses scattered across the slope of the hill, staining the grass the co­lour of copper.

Kubyenka and Janosh were more than familiar with death. They noticed the smell and they recognised the twisted shapes of a men who had died in agony. And yet, even Kubyenka had to swallow down his disgust at the sight of it.

“This is bloodbath,” Janosh breathed out behind him. “Look just like …”

“If you say anything about any kind of mashed food now, I swear, I'm going to forget myself.”

“What you think Janosh for? Heartless ox?”

Kubyenka ignored the remark and got closer to the carriage. Judging by the colour of their skin and the stiffness of their bodies, they were clearly lying here for a few hours. So this had happened just when their little fraud should have taken place. And things went horribly wrong. “Well, we left worse things behind.” They could only pray that it had been the pack who was responsible for this slaughter, instead of being on the receiving end.

Kubyenka kicked over some splinters covering the ground next to the carriage with the toe of his boot. “That must be this spark of God or whatever shit Žižka called it.”

Janosh stepped past him and made the sign of the cross, before he reached out to turn the priest around carefully. Blood was covering his whole neck like some pretty fur collar, a bolt had hit him right into the windpipe. “You think Hans miss?”

“Hans never misses. He's a better shot than me, even a better shot than the Devil was.”

“So someone else come and kill priest down?”

“Not only someone. You don't get ambushed by two diffe­rent groups at the same time and place by mere accident.” He kicked the glass again, this time with more force, causing it to fly up high into the air and into the bushes on the side of the road. “Fuck!” They should have been here when this had hap­pened. Would it have changed a thing? Who knew, with so many bodies lying around, armed men all of them, from what Kubyenka could tell. But at least they would have gone through this together. As the pack that they were!

“If only bald guy not hold us back.”

“Aye. That bald guy.” He made his way to the slope that the bodies covered like cobblestone covered a pathway. It had all gone according to plan so perfectly. They had come to Uzhitz early in the morning, had waited there for the priest to arrive, Janosh had even rejected some local woman for their cause. Around noon, the priest had showed up and settled in the inn for a few hours. They had watched the priest and his men care­fully from a distance, just as Žižka had wanted them to. And then this bald guy had approached them. Had offered Kubyen­ka a game of dice and some beer, and fuck, he should have declined, but wouldn't that have only drawn attention to them? So he had agreed, played, won, and the bald guy had left for another round of beer, and he had handed it out both to Ku­byenka and to Janosh. It had knocked them out as good as the kick of a horse. When Janosh had finally woken him with a slap to the face, the priest and his men were gone, and night had long fallen over the land.

Kubyenka kneeled down to take a closer look at another dead body. Only few pieces of armour, but a good sword in his hand. Had died of stab wounds, right into the thigh. Kubyenka grunted in frustration. “This doesn't make any sense. I get that all of this must have been a trap from the start, and that this bald guy played a role in it too. But for what reason? Sure, they killed the priest that was supposed to carry the tidings of joy to Prague for us, but is that all? And so much effort.” He looked up, counted the bodies. Four here on the slope, but there were more up there on the top of the hill he couldn't see from his po­sition. “All these people … And where the fuck are our men?”

A rustling above, and the breaking of rotten wood. Kubyen­ka shot up to his feet. There was movement up there. At first he believed it must be one of the bodies that wasn't as dead as he had believed him to be, but then he saw that it was another man instead, hunched over the corpse like a feral dog. Pressing his own chest close to the dead one, as if he wanted to embrace it. No. He was hiding. Playing dead.

The man let out the panicked scream of a child as Kubyenka grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the corpse, only to throw him right back into the grass next to it. Before the man could even react, Kubyenka had drawn his knife, holding the blade to the other one's throat. He was a child, Kubyenka could see that now. A boy still gifted with the soft features of a girl, without a single hair on his chin. His youth hadn't stopped him from rummaging through the belongings of a dead man, though.

“What the hell happened here?”

The boy whined again, and tried to raise both his hands to show that he was unarmed, but from the way Kubyenka held him down, it remained a pathetic attempt. “Let go off me, and I will tell you everything you want to know!”

That little shit thought he could negotiate. In his position! Kubyenka let the blade dance across the boy's jaw, up to his ear, and watched him quiver with a proud smile. “How about I cut your ear off, and then you tell me everything I want to know while you beg me for mercy that I don't cut your other ear off as well?”

“Alright, alright! Please, do not harm me!” A little shit, yes, but a coward too. Perfect. This should be easy then. “My name is Štěpán of Tetín.”

“Oh, how good for you, but I did not ask you for your fu­cking name, sonny, I asked what happened here.”

“Well, I don't know either! I just arrived.” He nodded clum­sily into the direction above his head, and when Kubyenka raised his eyes, he saw a grey, feeble horse with crooked legs gawking at him from the bushes.

Kubyenka used some more force on the knife, and the blade cut into the boy's flesh, drawing a single drop of blood from his white skin and a loud cry from his mouth. There were even tears in his eyes. Kubyenka paid it no attention. “Don't fuck with me, boy. When we came here, you were already digging through the corpses like a vulture.”

The boy lifted his head and peered down the hill, only now noticing Janosh, it seemed, who was still at the carriage loo­king for explanations he wouldn't find. When the boy stared back up to Kubyenka, his wet, walnut eyes had widened and his face had brightened up as if there wasn't still a man with a knife pushing him into the ground. “You … You are Kubyenka, aren't you?”

Damn him. He sounded just as excited as if he had just met the hero from one of the old wives' tales his nurse had sung him. “How do you know my name? Who told you?”

“A man named Lukas. He was one of the mercenaries who came with the priest. He said he had a long talk with you and the Hungarian in a tavern in Uzhitz.”

Kubyenka furrowed his brow in confusion. “Is he bald?”

“No?” A question, not an answer, but Kubyenka would take what he could get.

“Then we never talked to him.”

“But you are Kubyenka, aren't you?”

He whistled in annoyance through his teeth and turned the knife a little as a warning. “This is getting ridiculous.”

“No, listen. He knew your name! Kubyenka and the Hunga­rian, that's what he said!”

“Janosh,” Janosh proclaimed behind him. Apparently he, too, had realised that the carriage wouldn't hold anything of value for them, and had joined them on the hill instead.

The boy shrugged his shoulders, or tried to at least. “Well, he didn't seem to know your name.”

“Hm.”

“But he claimed that the priest talked to you in this tavern. And that you were the ones who convinced him of going by night.”

“No,” Kubyenka shook his head, “Schwarzfeld told him. We spoke to the priest just as little as we spoke to any of the mer­cenaries he had hired.”

The boy bit his bottom lip as he pondered. “No, Lukas didn't mention anyone by the name Schwarzfeld.”

“Interesting.” And it truly was interesting, became more in­teresting by the minute, but it also made his headache grow with every new piece of information, as if he hadn't been vexed by that enough ever since drinking that fucking beer the bald guy had brought them. “Did he talk about our men at least? Four men, two of them were dressed up as priests.”

“Yes, he talked about those priests! He said that they stopped them here in the middle of the road, and spoke of Hus and his preachings. And then they got ambushed. The priest was shot from up here, apparently, and his mercenaries got attacked by all these men.”

“But not our men. I don't know any of these people.”

“And we not here to kill anyone,” Janosh added. “Only wan­ted talk to priest.”

“It was a trick,” Kubyenka explained, wondering why he even bothered, but somehow he had taken a strange liking to this boy. “A magic trick, or at least that's what Žižka called it.”

“Žižka?” The boys eyes widened again. “Jan Žižka?”

“What is he to you?”

“Nothing. I mean, he's quite famous around these lands of course, but that's not it. I just got curious because Petr of Haug­witz mentioned him. A lot, in fact.”

“Who?”

“A knight that came to my guardian Sir Ondřej Duba of Zle­nice a few months ago.” He stopped himself, thought for a while, then nodded as if he had just answered some question no one had even asked. “I think he knows you too.”

“Who does? This Haugwitz fella? I don't know anyone of that name.”

“No.” The boy laughed. “Neither do I.” Then he raised his hands all of a sudden and grabbed Kubyenka's arms, not to push him away, but to hold him, as his eyes widened again in excitement. The fear from before had vanished fully. “Listen, you need to come with me to Zlenice right now. We need to convince Sir Ondřej that this here had nothing to do with you or with Jan Hus and his followers. Because if we don't get there in time, he will send a letter to Prague, telling the archbishop that you were responsible for this massacre!”

“We're no followers of Hus, boy.”

“Even more of a reason to come with me then! Help me sort this out! For us and for yourself. Perhaps we can even find your friends this way.”

Kubyenka looked back to Janosh, who only shrugged his shoulders. Might as well give it a try.

“Fine.” He lifted the knife off the boy's throat by dragging it slowly across his skin as a warning. “I think I might like you enough to trust you. But if we find out that you're only playing us here, I'm gonna forget that liking very, very quickly. And then I'm gonna cut off more than just your ears.”

“I understand.” He swallowed nervously and still had the guts to beam like the star of Bethlehem.

Kubyenka shook his head in disbelief, before he finally got up, offering a hand to the boy to help him get to his feet as well. Then he glanced over at the old mare that grazed peace­fully just a few steps away from them, as if the whole ground that surrounded her wasn't covered in stinking blood and rot­ting flesh. “Now I just hope that this Zlenice of yours isn't too far away. Because Janosh and me didn't bring any horses with us. And I doubt this nag of yours will be able to carry all three of us.” And if it is far, he added silently, then I will be the one to ride. Let Janosh and the boy run! He for one was getting far too old for this shit.

[deeplyshalllow]

hi! your wicked essays/commentary is phenomenal. i was thinking about fiyero and after a number of scenes coming up on my dash i had a sudden theory for why fiyero's character might be the way he is too: can fiyero actually, literally charm people into his bidding by looking directly in their eyes?

reasons being:

his first meeting with elphaba- he tries to banter playfully to offset her defensiveness but it doesnt work, then he tries the smolder and is genuinely lost as to why that doesn't seem to win her over.

walking into school- what he asks for he is given and people look into his face and are smitten.

dancing through life song/scene- when he looks into glinda's eyes and says 'follow me' to everyone, and they do. looking into the librarians eyes and singing/telling her his views.

he also looks directly into the characters' eyes without blinking, an old hypnotism and brainwashing technique/element.

so maybe elphaba's magic doesn't work on him (poppy's) and his doesn't work on her (being charmed and obedient/following his lead).

his illusion is a real and true illusion of being 'genuinely self absorbed and deeply shallow', and it's never questioned or even imagined. the victims are so deeply in his thrall that his mask cannot be seen or broken through, until elphaba, who is unbothered by it and doesn't seem to even notice it. he tries again and again his standard ways of looking into her eyes and even telling her what to do ("you don't have to do that", waving in the library) but she always has her own mind present and is unswayed.

something something narrative mirrors, soulmates who recognize each other and are inspired by each other. gelphie is beautiful in its own way, but glinda seems more to bring into elphaba's life self-acceptance and comfort (being worthy of love, having inherent value and being someone worth standing up for). fiyero challenges her perceptions of the world, confront her demons, and seems to inspire her, even if it frightens her and is against how she views herself ("i'm not that girl). i'm crying all these babies deserve all the love TT_TT

what do you think?

Hey :)

I love the theory! @enigma731 did a piece on it too here which is well worth a read if you haven't done so already.

I think it's definitely plausible. We get a lot of small magic and differences in Oz for our world and this would be a fun one to include - especially as Jonathan Bailey has said that there's gonna be some relevance to him wearing blue contacts for Fiyero.

Saying that, I also think it works with Fiyero not having power more than good looks and the right background. A lot of what we learn about Oz is that it's very shallow, it judges Elphaba almost entirely on her green skin (and those who don't judge her on her talent for magic and how they can abuse it) and Fiyero, likewise, is judged on his goodlooks and position - and it's led to both of them keeping a lot of the good traits about themselves hidden, given all they are judged on are accidents of birth. So it is beautiful when they do both find each other and see through "different eyes" each other's inner beauty - that's what the "it's not lying it's looking at things another way," line is about when they discuss each other's beauty - because these two are the most strong and beautiful characters in the narrative in terms of their goodness (Glinda is getting there by the end but she's got a lot of penance to make for some of the terrible choices she makes earlier in the narrative.)

In a way I don't know if it matters so much if Fiyero has magic powers or just is good looking enough for Oz to treat him nicely. What matters is that it means that he's not seen for his true self (even by himself I think) until he comes across Elphaba

[waywardxwords]

The Fix - Part 7

Summary: Everyone has a past, but yours seemed to haunt you. You've tried to move forward with a normal life, but the day comes when that's not possible anymore. When Sheriff Beau Arlen enters your life, you're certain he is going to judge you just like everyone else in town does. But something about Beau is different.

Warnings: Fluff, some slight angst

Word Count: ~2.4k

Quick A/N: I truly can't remember how old Emily Arlen is...so I made her how old I felt like she needed to be in this story, lol.

The fire had roared to life by now, with you and Beau settled on two camping chairs positioned so close together, there was an overlap. There hadn’t been too many words spoken yet, but his hand held yours reassuringly in his lap as your eyes watched the flames and your bodies absorbed the warmth. The trailer door was left ajar, just in case Bailey woke up and called for you. 

Your eyes wandered to his profile and you couldn’t help but stare. “Starin’ ain’t polite, darlin’,” he drawled with a tired smile. His head turned to look at you–his eyes almost lazy at this point.

“Sorry,” your cheeks reddened once you had been caught. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

His eyes wandered over you for a moment before he turned back towards the fire. “Ya know, they say that relationships that start under intense circumstances never last,” a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. 

A laugh bubbled up your throat. “Keanu Reeves’s character said that in Speed,” you caught the reference instantly. Beau chuckled as he looked back to the fire. “And ‘relationship’, Sheriff? You trying to tell me something?” You couldn’t help but tease. 

In the glow of the flame you saw red hues travel up Beau’s neck under his scruff and into his cheekbones. “Alright, alright,” he poked at your side. “What’s on your mind?” He addressed the staring. 

There was a pause as you mused on the words you wanted to say. “It’s this weird feeling,” you started. “I feel like I know you after all we’ve been through, but I really know nothing about you at all.” 

Beau’s gaze watched the flames in the fire pit. “What would you like to know?” His voice was soft, almost hesitant.

“Well, for starters…why Big Sky? Everything about you screams ‘Texas’, I’m curious what brought you to Montana,” you nibbled on your bottom lip as you watched his side profile thoughtfully. He took a breath but turned his face to look back at you. 

“My, uh,” he stumbled over the words and you realized it was the first time you heard him stumble at all. “My ex-wife moved here with my daughter. She’d remarried, and I wanted to be close to my kid.”

“Tell me about her,” you murmured as the fire popped in the background. 

A smile pulled at his lips. “Emily…she’s 18,” he shook his head like it was hard to believe. “She’s the greatest. She’s so smart, and she’s funny,” there was almost a twinkle in his eye you could see in the glow of the fire as he spoke. “I just wanted to be close to her again.”

“That’s great,” you spoke softly. “I’m sure she loves having you close.” 

“Yeah, well, some shit went down a while back,” he sighed, not sure he was ready to elaborate just yet. “Her Mom moved back to Houston, and she decided to go with her for now.” His gaze dropped to his lap where he still held your hand. You gave it a little squeeze. 

“I’m sorry,” you said genuinely. “You thinkin’ about heading back to Houston?” 

“Nah,” he sighed but managed a small smile as he looked back at you. “I left Houston in the rear view for a few reasons…” his words trailed again, and you realized Beau may not be ready to share much more. “I’ve grown to really like it here. And we tend to meet in the middle on weekends, or she’ll come up here and spend some time. She was workin’ for a PI here in Big Sky before they left. She always says she might come back to keep that up.”

“Investigative work must be in the Arlen genes,” you smirked. 

“I guess so,” he matched your smile as his eyes moved over your face. “We should get some sleep. We both need some rest.” You weren’t thrilled that Beau’s history and learning about him was already over, but at the same time—you had no idea how your eyelids were still open. Every part of your body was purely exhausted. 

“Yeah,” you sighed and stood from the camping chair. Beau stood next to you and worked to extinguish the flame. “Thank you, again, for letting us crash here.”

“It’s no trouble, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way,” he smiled up at you as he took your hand back in his once more. His hands were much larger than yours, and you enjoyed the way they fit together—almost like a puzzle piece. 

You followed him up the steps to the trailer’s door. Once inside, he locked the door behind him. 

“Well…” your voice trailed off. “Good night.” You felt awkward all of a sudden, and not sure what to do, so retreating to the back room where Bailey slept felt like the best option. 

“Wait,” he stopped you. Your heart skipped a beat as you turned back to him. “You don’t have anything to sleep in. Let me grab you some fresh clothes. If you wanna shower, you can.” As much as you knew you needed a shower, you didn’t want to leave Bailey alone to wake up in a strange place with a man she didn’t know.  

“I’ll take you up on the clothes, but I think I’ll just shower when we go home tomorrow,” you tucked a strand of hair that had fallen back behind your ear. “Thank you, though.” 

He nodded and went to the bedroom to the dresser to grab a shirt and plaid pajama pants. As he returned, you met him in the hall. 

“Thanks,” you whispered with a smile and reached for the clothes. Your hands brushed once more and you couldn’t help but meet his gaze. 

A moment passed before he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours once more in a quick, but simple and sweet, kiss. “Listen, darlin’,” he whispered, so he wouldn’t wake Bailey. “I’m not sure what this is…” he paused as his eyes fell for a moment. “But I’m really glad you’re here.”

That was enough to shake the awkward feeling and replace it with warmth. “I’m really glad, too.”

He hesitated only for a second before he reached to tuck the same fallen strand back behind your ear once more. “Sweet dreams,” he murmured. 

“Night, Beau,” you whispered back, as you walked by him and closed the bedroom door. 

You slept the best you had in a very long time. 

You weren’t sure what time it was, but when you awoke—you felt startled as you tried to remember where you were. But then, you remembered. Beau, the kiss (two, actually) and Bailey…

Your heart thudded in your chest. Bailey wasn’t in bed with you. The fear crept back into your throat. Had you dreamt it all? Was it all in your head? 

You scrambled over the sheets and clutched at the pajama pants that nearly fell off of your hips as you moved. The sound of your feet landing on the floor echoed around you as you swung the bedroom door open. 

Suddenly, you were met with a sizzling sound and the familiar smell of bacon. Tears pooled in your eyes as you scanned the living area ahead of you—and there she was. Bailey sat at the kitchen table laughing about something. 

“Hi, mama!” She smiled at you and returned her attention to the plate of scrambled eggs in front of her. You peered around the corner, shock still rattled your heart in your chest. 

“Mornin’,” Beau glanced back at you as he tended to the bacon in the frying pan. He did a double take over his shoulder as he saw the color fall from your face and the emotion in your eyes. “Hey, you alright?” He dropped the spatula and with two long strides, he was in front of you. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“I-I woke up and…” your eyes moved to Bailey who watched you closely. You quickly swept under your eyes with your fingertips and planted a smile on your face. 

“It’s alright, she’s alright, darlin’,” Beau said softly with a firm grip on your shoulders. 

“Hey, bug,” you smiled at her. “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t sure where you were.” Your smile met Beau’s eyes and you moved past him to smooth out her hair. 

“Sorry, mama. Sheriff Beau is making us breakfast!” She practically squealed with delight as she dug her fork back into her eggs. 

“Oh he is, is he?” You smiled back at Beau who had returned to the stove top to flip the bacon. “What time is it?” You ran your hand over your hair and glanced around for a clock. 

“Just about quarter to ten,” Beau answered with a nod to the microwave. The green glow said it was 9:42. 

“Shit,” you muttered as you scrambled back to find your phone. 

“Oooh, Mommy, you said a bad word!” Bailey called after you as you hurried down the hall. 

“Sorry, bug,” you called over your shoulder. You missed the sound of Beau’s feet as he followed you. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, genuine concern laced in his tone. 

“I should call the school…I mean, I’m sure they know she won’t be in today, but…” you pawed at the sheets to try to find your cell phone, but your movements were halted when you felt Beau’s hand gently graze your waist. 

“It’s done, I called this morning,” he said softly. You slowed your movements and turned to look at him, your hand on your forehead as you tried to calm your brain. “Take a breath, darlin’,” his voice was gentle and it matched his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just…” you tried to find the words. “So much has happened and I can’t believe it’s almost ten o’clock in the morning, I don’t remember the last time I slept that late. And you called the school?” The thoughts tumbled out of your mouth without restraint as you sat down on the edge of the bed. Beau smiled as he looked down at you. 

“I hope that’s alright. I figured you’d want her close today. She went through a lot,” he said carefully. “Bailey ventured out here just a little while ago. She was hungry, so I decided to make breakfast. I knew you needed to rest, so I wanted to let you sleep. I hope I didn’t overstep.” 

You reached for his hand and took it appreciatively in yours. “No, not at all. I’m just…I’m not used to this.”  

Beau nodded and gave your hand a squeeze. “We’re figurin’ it out together, alright? I’m here for whatever you need.” 

“Thanks, Beau,” you breathed with a smile. He moved his other hand to his pocket to fish out his cell phone, which you realized was vibrating. 

“Just a sec,” he glanced at the caller ID before he put the phone to his ear. “Sheriff Arlen,” he answered with a firmer tone. You watched his face as his eyes widened. “Are you kidding me?” He emphasized the word. There was another pause before he quickly made eye contact with you, but just as quickly looked away. “But what about…” he trailed off again as he looked at you, then changed what he had been prepared to ask. “Don’t do anything ‘til I get there, can you at least just wait so we can have a conversation about this?” Your heart picked up speed as it thumped in your chest—something in your gut told you that this was about you; this was about Jackson. 

He dropped your hand and took a few steps around the bedroom as he listened to the person on the other line. He kept a slow pace as he walked back and forth, his hand that had just held yours on his forehead. 

“We gotta talk about this…you can’t make this kinda decision without thinking about the victims,” Beau’s voice was firm, but you sensed some pleading happening, which didn’t seem very like him. He paused again as he listened. “Alright, I gotta make some calls and then I’m headed to the station. I’ll be calling you back.”

As he hung up, panic had taken over—although panic had been a common theme over the last day, so it wasn’t too out of the ordinary. “What was that about?” You couldn’t help the question. 

“Work,” Beau sighed as he typed on his cellphone with a sense of urgency. 

“Work like, me work? Or other work?” Your teeth found the inside of your lip and nibbled as your heart continued to pound so hard you could hear it in your ears. 

Beau was silent as he looked up at you. He stopped typing. 

“Beau…” you started carefully, the familiar sensation of tears burning your eyes. “Is it something about Jackson? About me and Bailey?”

He closed his eyes and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “They’re offerin’ him a  deal,” he said softly as he awaited your response. 

Your breath caught in your throat. “They’re what?” 

“I know,” he sighed. “I texted Cassie. I’m gonna have her come out and sit here with you while I go try to figure this out.” 

He walked towards the hall and into the kitchen area where Bailey was happily eating her breakfast, including the bacon Beau had just cooked. She had cartoons on the TV in his living room, and didn’t seem phased by your demeanor. 

“Beau, they can’t…” you said carefully as your eyes moved over her. It felt like every ounce of fear you had endured had come back tenfold. 

“Trust me, I know,” he emphasized with a sigh as he, too, looked over Bailey. “I’m going to try to figure it out. I just need you to stay put and stay calm.” 

“Yeah, right, Beau. Like that’s even an option right now,” you were mad; angry, even. Bailey had barely been back for a day. 

“I’m not askin’, I’m telling you,” he said firmly, his eyes locked on yours. Even in the midst of everything you had been through with Beau, this was the first time he had spoken so firmly to you. 

You didn’t say anything in return. Beau reached for his cowboy hat and placed it on his head. 

“I’ll call you when I can. Lock up, and wait for Cassie. She should be here in about fifteen minutes,” and with that, he pulled the door open and stepped outside. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, but you couldn’t do a damn thing about it. All you could do now was wait. 

A/N: Eek! I couldn't help myself. The story continues! Lol. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I am still trying to get back on track but *hoping* to get another chapter posted on Saturday.

Thanks for reading, liking, commenting & sharing! I appreciate you <3

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Tag List: @jackles010378 @ladysparkles78 @zepskies @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @djs8891 @globetrotter28 @deans-baby-momma @k-slla @agentorange9595 @dragonfly92 @nancymcl @springsteeen @perpetualabsurdity @deanwinchestersgirl87 @mimi-luvzyu @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @ultimatecin73 @spnfamily-j2 @impalaspixie @daughterofcain-67 @lacilou @jasminewinter140 @stoneyggirl2 @rizlowwritessortof @marimarvelfan @jc-winchester @taylortot @thewritersaddictions @raisinggray @tabsluvsu @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @nyotamalfoy @akshi8278

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Donald Padgett at The Advocate:

A state investigation into the Washington University Transgender Center at St. Louis Children’s Hospital has expanded to target therapists and social workers who may have minors seeking gender-affirming care. Missouri Attorney General Andrew Bailey is seeking redacted or lightly redacted medical records of patients who received care at the facility. The state investigation of the center is one of many currently underway, including one by U.S. Sen. Josh Hawley. The move left the state’s trans and healthcare communities with concern over future access to gender-affirming care for transgender youth in the state, the Missouri Independent reported.

“The attorney general has created a hostile environment for medical providers where they are afraid to stay and practice medicine,” Katy Erker-Lynch, executive director of PROMO, an LGBTQ+ advocacy group in the state, said. Bailey is reviewing the records at the Missouri Division of Professional Registration which oversees the state’s medical licensing as part of the investigation. He had earlier targeted Planned Parenthood Great Plains and Children’s Mercy, a hospital in Kansas City. Bailey has reportedly interviewed 57 healthcare professionals in connection with the investigation. Licensed clinical social worker Kelly Storck spoke with senior investigator Nick McBroom as part of the investigation.

[...]

The Center earlier turned over a spreadsheet providing information regarding patients seeking gender-affirming care, including visits, medications, and other normally private information. The mother of one patient who received care at the Center, a 17-year-old trans boy named Levi, described the investigation as “invasive” and said it was causing unwarranted disruption in their lives. “The state has already basically disrupted our lives,” Becky Hormuth told the Independent. “They’ve disrupted our families, our children’s lives with the legislation that has passed. Then for him to continue going on is even more invasive and damaging.” After Missouri passed a ban on gender-affirming care for minors last year, Bailey issued an emergency rule banning similar care for trans adults as well. In the document laying out the policy, he said these treatments “lack solid evidentiary support” and “pose very serious side effects.” He withdrew the rule when state lawmakers acted. Missouri Gov. Mike Parson, a Republican, signed the ban into law in June. It was quickly challenged in court, but a judge allowed it to go into effect.

Missouri AG Andrew Bailey (R) continues his farcical investigation into gender-affirming care providers, extending his targets to therapists and social workers who assist minors in obtaining gender-affirming care.

[faelapis]

tentative/fluctuating ranking of the wicked movie songs:

no one mourns the wicked

dancing through life

popular

defying gravity

what is this feeling

the wizard and i

a sentimental man

i’m not that girl

one short day

something bad

dear old shiz

various thoughts/justifications below:

i know i’m probably the only person who’s ranking “a sentimental man” this high, but... i really like that song 😭 and i thought how they staged it was lovely. simple, but effective and charming.

people will also be aghast at how low i put “one short day," but 1) i was already spoiled of the surprise cameos, 2) the visuals were fun & energetic, but the actual Song/vocals didn’t fully click for me, 3) i don’t value cameos that highly, however fun they may be. good performance (the standard is high!), but not my favorite. 🤷‍♂️

i guess i should justify “defying gravity” not being top 3. honestly, it's more because of the strength of three songs above it, which are AMAZING. it's still very good, though! i already knew the vocals were going to be perfect. i think the only thing that’s really dragging it down a tiiiiiny bit is the visuals. they’re mostly good, but there’s just a coooouple moments when there’s a bit too much CGI for my liking.

especially cuz i saw behind-the-scenes footage of cynthia actually doing live flying stunts. i was hoping the use of practical effects meant the flying parts were going to look more “real”, i guess? it was mostly fine, though. some moments REALLY shine - the “fall” sequence is really good (you'll know what i mean when you see it), as is the new “unlimited” part they added near the end.

so for the most part, it’s a great number! i just had sky-high expectations from the start!

cynthia erivo is perfect in every song, so that’s not really a commentary on one specific number... but imo her best scene is actually the ozdust ballroom. every emotion is on her Face rather than in song. she doesn't have to say a word. every "weird kid at high school" trauma already burns in your soul.

but the ending of defying gravity also deserves a shoutout here for acting reasons. and i Don’t just mean the scream. i also mean the way she emotes, as she goes from the airy “unlimited” to the growly “aaand NOBODY. in ALL of oz!” its so raw and visceral and free.

i should also say, i like ALL the songs. yes, the standard is that high. yes, even "dear old shiz." i actually listen to the studio cut of that one quite a bit. what can i say, i like the choir! i think it was just somewhat unmemorable. plus, something had to be at the bottom, but there’s things i like about all of these. “something bad” had good visuals that elevated it, too.

"popular" was amazing??? especially because my expectations were not high. like when they released that fuckass lyric video that did NOT showcase it well AT ALL. 😭 it’s WAY better in the actual movie! i promise!

so yes, these are somewhat impacted by what my “expectations going in” were like. i am biased. like anyone. but that's also a reflection of how good the songs are in their "neutral" state, so there's a graded curve where i expect more from the songs i love more. (in a more "objective" sense - although i hate that word when it comes to judging art - "defying gravity" is probably 2nd or 1st).

but ariana genuinely does kill it! her "popular" is funny, charming. and even sincerely well-intentioned. visuals are fabulous, and the new “finale” part is wonderfully overdramatic. it’s so great.

“dancing through life"... i mean... damn. what is there to say about jonathan bailey that hasn’t already been said by every critic on earth? he’s perfect. it’s fun, it’s sexy, the choreo and timing is smooth and slick. it makes you really WANT to be a part of the crowd, dancing (through life).

apologies for going on, but i need to talk about my number one: "no one mourns the wicked." because wow. wow. wow wow wow. this song works much better in the movie than on stage. full stop. no contest.

i think one reason is that you actually buy it as a celebration, at first? in the musical, the instrumentation and the way the munchkins are singing is so aggro right from the start. there’s no way to read it other than satire of a witch-burning. it's too over-the-top.

in the movie, the music feels more genuinely triumphant. it doesn't beat you over the head with it being "wrong" for them to celebrate - at least not at first. you are surrounded by light and happiness. you actually believe the munchkins relief as they’re tearing doing the witch posters. they are safe. the witch is dead. good news!

until “no one cries they won’t return / no one lays a lily on their grave”, the only hint of something feeling Wrong is glinda herself. ariana is genuinely incredible in the scene. the most miserable person in the world, surrounded by the loudest cheers.

the way her eyes seem completely black, empty, and So tired as she pops the bubble with a little fake smile is actually slightly terrifying. she seems just a bit inhuman, by her own design. it’s 10/10.

the whole number looks visually stunning. them all throwing flowers in delight as glinda forces herself to join in (and trying not to have an emotional breakdown) is haunting. a celebration for them, but with glinda trying to rid herself of her feelings with each movement.

it really turns what IN RETROSPECT is a very difficult moment for glinda in the show, into an emotional reckoning in the present. ariana does that better than the best of glindas.

it’s hard to pick a favorite moment (it’s all brilliant), but i think the part where the munchkins hand glinda the fire and make HER throw it on the witch effigy is the most intense one. it feels like every emotion she’s ever had about elphaba is a part of that throw.

the final chorus is absolutely incredible. it really feels like glinda pouring her heart out in the most socially acceptable form she can manage. at any point, i expected her to break and start screaming - i'm not the first to say this, but the final chorus CAN be read as a barely-disguised scream.

and ariana's soprano is INSANE. it's like it was designed to immediately shut down any discussion about whether she deserved the role. she does. she IS glinda, start to finish.

what else… uhh i really enjoyed "what is this feeling", good use of choreo. big theater kid energy. not a lot to say about it, but it was fun. glinda breaking the illusion of the “wall” between them is funny, as is all the students pouring out their “condolences” for her lol.

"the wizard and i" is also great. cynthia gives it a lot of warmth and joy. the segment where she fantasizes about her greenness being “fixed” while surrounded by stained glass pieces is really pretty. honestly, i might bump it up a spot or two!

i don't think anything is going to change my current number one, though. it's just outstanding.

[raventarot]

ALLDAY PROJECT tarot reading

will they be successful?

their energy as a group (june 2025)

page of pentacles • temperance • strength • 7 of pentacles • 4 of pentacles • king of pentacles + clarifiers: 4 of wands • the empress • 9 of pentacles • the tower

They are just happy for their debut and they're now excited for what's to come. They feel like all their work is paying off, especially after waiting such a long time before debuting, they have really worked hard and now people are starting to recognize them (my nose is so itchy right now, it's a good sign!) I also heard september, something is going to happen to them in September, maybe a new song or more recognition, fashion show or possible brand collab are coming through, which I wouldn't be surprised since one of the member is a model. But yeah, they are excited to show people what they have been working on and can't wait for the future.

Will they be successful?

knight of cups • king of cups • ace of cups • 3 of cups • 10 of wands

Yes! there's lots of water energy in this spread, this indicates their career will go smoothly, and that they will stand out as a group, they have just debuted but they're already in many people's mouths and I think that's why, the members have powerful auras and they're all extremely diligent and hardworking. I feel like as long as they stay true to themselves and keep working hard, they'll become more and more successful.

QUICK ENERGY CHECK FOR THE MEMBERS

Annie Moon

6 of wands • the devil • wheel of fortune • the tower • 8 of cups • 8 of wands • 2 of cups • the fool

This energy is so important and powerful ans I'm gonna tell you exactly why. I feel like many people are too quick to judge saying she don't deserve to be an idol because she's from a rich and powerful family. People who were born into these families are usually taught to follow their parents footsteps, to study to do the same job as their parents etc, and to keep the family's brand going on for decades. Bur she has broken this cycle by following her destined path, which is singing and performing. She literally said "this cycle ends with me", walked away from that perfect chaebol's life she was forced to follow and instead she followed her intuition and dreams. Which is by the way, very admirable, and it takes lots of courage to break free and following your desires instead of your parents. She's very happy and proud of herself for this.

Woochan

the fool • the Emperor • the lovers • page of wands • 7 of cups

Boys he's excited and he's happy. He gives me golden retriever vibes, he's just happy for his debut, I feel like he is going to get (if he hasn't already) some important offers, some collaboration, modeling or even hosting something in the future. He loves his job, he can't wait for what's in store.

Youngseo

strength • 8 of wands • knight of wands • 5 of pentacles • 5 of cups • 2 of wands • 9 of cups • 10 of cups

She feels like she has made a wise decision, she left something behind (hybe and Illit) and joined another company, she feels stronger now, and she feels more confident in herself. She also feels more fullfilled in life, she enjoys more this concept than her old group's concept. It also feels like she has more freedom to do whatever she wants in this new group.

Tarzzan

the moon • 2 of cups • 3 of cups • 3 of pentacles • the hermit • 10 of wands • ace of cups

This is so cute. He has deep feelings related to this group, he feels like he found his family, he's very attached to the members and it feels like he can be 100% himself around them. He has worked hard for this and he's so excited to show the world what he has been working on.

Bailey Sok

Justice • the lovers • the Empress • 6 of wands • the sun • death • wheel of fortune

She's happy with herself and her career, she has worked hard for this, she loves dance and performing, and we all can see how dedicated she is in doing so. She reached a point in her life where she can say "I made it". She has closed a though chapter in her life and opened a bright new one, happier and more fulfilling.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

That's everything for them, hope you enjoyed the reading 🖤

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

I've finished reading the second Lord Peter Wimsey novel,* and am satiated (for now)

But I did find a quote that a) amused me, b) did not contain specific clues to this particular mystery, or c) limit itself to a personality description of the titular character himself. So I thought I'd share.

The Scene: the ceremonial opening of a murder trial in the House of Lords:

The Certiorari and Return followed in a long, sonorous rigmarole, which, starting with George the Fifth by the Grace of God, called upon all the Justices and Judges of the Old Bailey, enumerated the Lord Mayor of London, the Recorder, and a quantity of assorted aldermen and justices, skipped back to our Lord the King, roamed about the City of London, Counties of London and Middlesex, Essex, Kent, and Surrey, mentioned our late Sovereign Lord King William the Fourth, branched off to the Local Government Act one thousand eight hundred and eighty-eight, lost its way in a list of all treasons, murders, felonies, and misdemeanors by whomsoever and in what manner soever done, committed or perpetrated and by whom or to whom, when, how and after what manner and of all other articles and circumstances concerning the premises and every one of them and any of them in any manner whatsoever, and at last, triumphantly, after reciting the names of the whole Grand Jury, came to the presentation of the indictment with a sudden, brutal brevity.

*Clouds of Witness, by Dorothy L. Sayers (1927) @ Project Gutenberg

[emo-crowgirl]

Spoilers for my fic, Hinobi Tech Support (Bailey Division) and Glitch Techs as a whole TBH, So I’m putting it under a cut.

Bolypius was really hard to make in the fic. Mostly because they’re a canon glitch techs character, but they’ve only been eluded to in the actual show and were set to appear and become a proper villain in season 3. Soooo yeah. We know nothing about them. Not their personality, not their motivations or lore, not even their gender. And since they’re a character that appears in my fic, that means I had to make that all from scratch.

All the canon information about Bolypius that we know is as follows:

They’re a glitch.

They’re most likely an intelligent glitch. Most likely the only one in existence assuming Miko isn’t one.

They’ve most likely pretty old according to a quote from one of the creators and a single animatic from their episode where they’re described as “Legendary” and “Ancient”

Also from that animatic, they’re mentioned to be immune to regular gauntlet shots, either because they have some level of control over gauntlets, they’re simply too powerful to be affected, they’re modified like one of Ridley’s illegal plixelcrafts, or like Ping, they’re simply so old that modern gauntlets aren’t compatible. So this doesn’t really mean much considering how many options you have.

Hinobi is aware of their existence, but seems to have either lost them or was never aware of their location to begin with judging by how Inspector 7 says that Miko may be useful in locating them.

Inspector 7 is either the person in charge of locating them, assigned to the task by Hinobi’s highest ups, or straight up IS them. (Although that brings into question a lot more things like what happened to the original Barbara that Phil remembered working with, why Bolybius would assist in efforts to find themselves, and etc).

Out of Universe, They’re based on the urban legend of Polybius. An arcade machine that would apparently give its players hallucinations, nightmares, memory problems, extreme addiction and other horrible mental effects, that was apparently frequently monitored by men in black and eventually just disappeared.

Now that I think about it, that stuff about mental effects could be a big reason why Miko is so important in locating them. Also replace men in black with Hinobi and you might have a potential origin story but that’s just speculation.

In-Universe, they probably come from the game “Bolypius Chess”, mentioned by Zahra as a very old game for the Hinobi Hive, one of the first home computers made by Hinobi. The game was literally stored on a floppy disk.

Given a quote by Geri about Five’s dad being able to “Write code to play chess”, Bolypius Chess might have also been made by Emilio Nieves.

There’s a very high chance they have some connection to Phil’s files from the Season 2 cliffhanger, with those files possibly detailing anything from their origins, to early research on them or even Hinobi’s past attempts at “locating them”, whatever that exactly entails.

They have a canonical appearance. Two actually. One regular and one described in concept art as “Boss Form”

So I built everything off of that as a foundation. I did learn about their canonical appearance way after I had already written a few chapters with my own appearance in mind, so their appearance can be different at times in the fic, but their canonical appearance does show up and will be showing up more. Eventually i plan on both of their canon designs being at least mentioned or cameo-ed, along with probably a nod or two towards their older concept art to be honest since my version of Bolypius changes appearance a couple times throughout the fic. They already have between a couple of chapters, since it’s seen and described in recordings and transcripts that are supposed to show it in various points, at various times, with not all files being played in order. You can tell from how they’re physically described and how it speaks. I did for a couple of narrative and theming reasons, yes, but it is also a small nod to Bolypius’s lack of information meta wise and how hard it is so actually find out what they look like. I took the lack of information we have on them and turned it into a aspect of their character. I did the same thing with it’s gender.

I don’t want to talk about my Bolypius in much detail because spoilers, but I do want REALLY to talk about some of the old versions I considered using back before I got the basic skeleton of the fic’s plot together because I will never get the chance to do this naturally.

The earliest version of Bolypius was very basic and mostly a mystery. Never really fleshed out. It was simply just the arcade machine, containing a very intelligent glitch that couldn’t or wouldn’t leave the machine, controlling other machines it could gain access to and causing games to glitch. Would have barely even appeared in the fic since it was just a slice of life comedy thing at the time with no overarching plot.

(Also at the time I thought it was spelled Bolybius and pronounced “Bol-e-bee-us”, closer to how you’d pronounce Polybius, instead of “Bo-lip-e-us”, the correct pronunciation that I like less.)

Also also, this Bolypius was genderless. Just worth mentioning right now.

If i could describe the next incarnation of Bolypius in as few words as possible, it would be “Bill Cipher, but a glitch”. He (This version was male) was more eldritch, powerful, constantly plotting long term with a way of thinking completely alien to ours. Resembling a root form and not taking the form of any specific game character, he was quite literally inspired by a scene from Gravity Falls where Dipper asks “Who would know about secret codes?” To himself only for Bill to manifest in front of him yelling “I THINK I KNOW A GUY.” in response. This version of Bolypius was the kind of person that would do just that, and it honestly would have worked considering that both Bill Cipher and Bolypius can be named after secret codes (Bill after ciphers, and Bolypius after the Polybius Cipher).

However, I scrapped this one because it really mesh with my headcanons on how glitches work and all that. However, I’ve held onto this one because although he doesn’t fit in modern glitch techs, I think he’d fit perfectly in the 2015 Beta version of glitch techs, where Glitches are more explicitly supernatural and closer to Danny Phantom’s ghosts than anything else.

The next one I came up with was more animalistic. A genderless, hulking monstrosity made from hundreds, if not thousands of root forms all amalgamated together over several decades to form some weird hivemind intelligence . This was a neat idea, but just doesn’t fit. Bolypius needs intelligence and the ability to go unfound by Hinobi for years, and this one just doesn’t do that.

The fourth Bolypius was female, and she was a good mix of intelligent and extremely dangerous, but also not an eldritch god or hulking monstrosity. I made her not long after discovering the whole “Bolypius Chess” thing, and if not for HTSBD gaining a plot and eating several would-be fanfic plots, she would have been the villain of my own interpretation of Season 3’s Bolypius episode. With her kidnapping Miko, possibly breaking her leg, and the rest of the techs needing to launch a rescue mission. Getting in way over their heads until Phil intervenes to get everyone the FUCK out.

This Bolypius was kind of a scientist in a way. She was cold, calculating, brutally efficient, kind of sadistic and constantly attempting to learn more, kidnapping Miko specifically because of her Reset Immunity (since I never made the fic, I never decided if Miko would be a glitch in it or not) and wanting to either experiment on her to figure out why, or cut her apart and analyze her code if she was a glitch. She was also heavily robotic, made mostly of skeletal robotic parts with exposed wires being used as hair. I don’t remember much else about her description besides that.

The fifth Bolypius and final one before I got to the one I’m using in my own fic looked like of similar to HTSBD’s Bolypius’s, like you could see the inspiration if you squinted, but their personality was different. They were very… priestlike. In a way. They spoke very calmly and without emotion, phrasing things a bit like how a preacher would speak, occasionally quoting scripture. They were kind of a pun on the phrase “Deus Ex Machina” (God in the Machine). It helps that their appearance, which I had made before I learned that Polybius had a canon design and was heavily inspired by this one bit of concept art for them, had hornlike antennae and “wings”, so they looked a bit like either a demon or an angel when you looked at them. They were inspired a lot by MCU’s Ultron, who also used a bunch of priestlike dialogue with mentions of god and humanity, along with that old “Bill Cipher Eldritch God” version of Bolypius. This version didn’t last long before I got to the one I like most.

Their design was inspired by this concept art, and the head of Shockwave from Transformers animated.

Also I guess you have the Bolypiuses (Bolypi?) hidden in my other two little Joke Fics, Incorrect Glitch Techs Quotes and Hinobi Store Rules and Regulations, but there’s nothing really to them. The former is just the “You cannot kill me in a way that matters” meme and the latter is.. something else. It won’t amount to much since the fic has no plot, so it’s mostly just there to be creepy and for me to test out ciphers. Blank slate characters like this are really malleable.

And now you have the current Bolypius, who I’m not going to describe in detail because spoilers for future and current chapters. All I’m going to say for certain about it is that their gender is they/it. Mostly as a nod to the fact that we don’t know canon Bolypius’s gender.

Potential spoilers below?……

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Their inspirations (for my own take on their appearance and bits of the personality I gave them) include:

Minor inspiration from the security bots from Budget Cuts

Most of their previous versions that i scrapped but that’s just kind of how building off of ideas works

their old concept art

Shockwave from Transformers Animated

Analog Horror

Heavy inspiration from D.A.V.E from Batman Animated

Heavy Inspiration from The Prototype.

Very Heavy Inspiration from Emperor Belos

My final point is Canon Bolypius is literally one step away from being a blank slate and you can do whatever you want with them, so have fun!

[e-ryn]

Solitude

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

As wind blows through her greasy, unkept hair her eyes slowly drift down to her legs that were dangling off the rooftop she was perched on — old and newly fresh scars littered all over her thighs, a frown tugging on her lips.

"___? Are you there?" A soft voice spoke out, breaking her out of her trance, slender fingers brushing against the nape of her neck, a subtle shiver going down her spine.

It was a calming feeling, she felt at peace with her by her side — a soft smile tugging at her lips, replacing the frown that was once there. Goosebumps covering her as she felt her sit down next to her, she made eye contact; she felt her breath stop in her throat. She was ethereal.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

"Hey Bailey?" Her voice came out raspy, croaky, she hated her voice; if she had the option to stop talking forever — she'd take it.

"Hm? What is it ___? You can tell me, I'd never judge you!" A soft laugh left her, as Bailey took a hold of her hands, giving her such a comforting smile it made her insides twist.

"You're so beautiful Bailey, I-I don't love you, but I think I could if we got to know each other better.." Sentences leaving her in a hurry as she spat out her confession towards the girl — her breath coming to a stop as she felt Bailey's warm, soft hands pull away from her cold, rough ones.

"I'm sorry, ___. I-I don't—, I'm not gay." The sentence came out in a pitiful whisper, she looked at her with pity, even a bit of guilt as she stood up from her spot next to her, quickly moving to the exit to get away from her.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

As tears slowly streamed down her sunken cheeks, her breaths coming in short and quick as she continued to sob. She had no one left, the only one who really understood her left.

Cold wind blowing past her, breaking her out of her trance of self-loathing — her eyes drifted to the city below her, it looked beautiful, she watched as leaves rustled in the wind, ripples of water from puddles flying slightly; a frown tugged at her lips once more as she lifted herself up from the cold, rooftop floor.

"Ah, I'm sorry Bailey." She mumbled quietly, closing her eyes as she felt her body falling freely — the wind flowing through her hair, body relaxing at the feeling it sent her. She felt lonely.

[the-other-art-blog]

Benophie wish list: Benedict and Anthony (PART 1)

It's no secret I have my criticisms about Anthony, one of them being his treatment of Benedict. I hope we see some exploration on this relationship, especially now that Johhny Bailey called Benedict "the beating heart of the family." 🥰🥰🥰

First off, I don't think it would be easy to be Anthony's younger brother. Let's be real, he was not an easy person to love until s3, even Kate struggled. And when you are in a system like the aristocracy, it's even worse. Anthony gets all the authority just for being born first, and Benedict is automatically undervalued as the spare.

I want to be fair to both of them because they both are good people. So, if at some point you feel I'm going too hard on Anthony, I promise I'll judge Benedict too here and in other posts.

I think Ben has been accumulating a lot of frustration regarding Anthony since they were children. One of my fav scenes in First Comes the Scandal (Rokesby series #4) illustrates this relationship since childhood.

Here is Anthony (7 years old) and Benedict (5 years old):

Before this scene, Anthony and Ben are described as "little terrors" by Edmund. Yes, they have fun together and were having fun before this incident, but Anthony does something to upset Benedict every now and then.

I wonder if this is how Ben got his black eye, mentioned in To Sir Phillip with Love:

My headcanon is they were practicing boxing and it got out of hand due to some brotherly teasing gone too far. Anthony threw a punch too hard and knocked Ben down by accident. I don't think Anthony meant it, but Benedict didn't move quickly enough. I wrote a little drabble about this:

And if we remember the fencing scene in s2, Anthony is a sore loser. Benedict says that whenever Anthony doesn't win, he accuses them of cheating. We can see how he reacts when Benedict bests him at fencing and it's not very mature, because he holds all the authority granted by birthright. An aristocrat like him is used to get everything he wants and he can't even deal with his brothers.

Thankfully, by the time the show began, Benedict was old enough to fight back in his own way. Some of Benedict's best moments in s2 are when he's teasing Anthony. That is one advantage of Benedict, he can tease all he wants because he's more likable (in the story), so he gets away with it. Who doesn't love this scene:

It must have been so satisfying for Benedict to see Kate winning the argument. He loves her for putting Anthony in his place.

Of course not everything is negative and this is not a post meant to trash Anthony. Benedict also has made plenty of mistakes in this relationship. For starters, he should have helped Anthony much more in estate management. He's just a couple for years younger and he must have been trained in management, just in case. Honestly, I cannot understand how an aristocrat fills his time. What was he doing? Yes, we all have lazy days, but years? of doing nothing but sleep around and attend parties? (more on this in my next post.)

Onto the positive. Anthony and Benedict are still very close despite their differences and frustrations because for 5 years they were the only children. That's a considerable age gap between them and the rest of the siblings.

The whole thing of the heir and the spare also plays into this relationship to stay as tight as it is. It falls upon them to continue their father's legacy by law (which is why Ben should have helped Anthony more). The scene before the duel tells the audience so much about this. Colin, Gregory, and the girls loved Edmund as much as Ben and Anthony, but they will never have the connection these two had with him. They knew him longer and got the chance to have more mature conversations with him.

So for good or for bad, they have to have each other backs. Yes, Anthony pushed Benedict during the fending match, but he also helped him get up.

I have divided this post in various parts cause there's so much to unpack with these brothers. So, next post will be about the Academy fiasco. If you thought this was too harsh on Anthony, wait for it. No matter how wrong it was what Anthony did, Ben is taking advantage of that to blame Anthony for his self doubt.

[mythosidhesdollhouse]

Rainbow High Littles: Indigo Bailey, Pt. 1

All right y'all, I said we'd do this so let's go. I was originally going to make this all one entry, but I decided to break off the hair discussion as a separate post, since this one was already way too long before I even got to that point XD Will link Pt. 2 once it's published.

Krystal Jr.: What the heck are we doing all the way over here? Krystal Sr.: We need to collect a delivery to take back to Rainbow Heights--a sister! KJ: I thought I was your sister? KS: No, you're a younger version of me from an alternate point in our shared timeline. We just say you're my sister so it's less confusing for everyone else. KJ: If I'm you from the past and we're both in the same place, shouldn't that create some sort of temporal paradox where you cease to exist? KS: The normal laws of physics don't apply in the doll universe, dear. It's best not to think on it too much. KJ: Okaaaaaaaaaay. But this one is NOT us, right? KS: …Probably not? Indigo: ((Maybe stop talking and let me out, please?))

Sooooooooo yeah, Indigo. Where to begin? For starters, I think the vitriol that's being dumped on these poor Littles is completely out of proportion to what they actually are--tiny dolls meant for small hands to play with. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that. I can see how they would be less appealing to adult collectors used to a more sophisticated product from this brand, but I personally will do my best to judge her by her own merits.

First impressions: I think she's cute! I pulled a few of her braids back with a rubber band to make her face more visible, but otherwise straight out of the box she's good to go.

Krystal Jr.: Are we a family? Are we clones? Honestly folks, it's anyone's guess. Indigo: Is she always this snarky? Krystal Sr.: Don't worry sweetie, it's just her being a tween, we grow out of it eventually. I: We? KS: It's complicated.

More detailed discussion of clothes & accessories under the cut--

Let's talk about the dress and that reviled plastic bodice. Honestly? I don't mind it! I can't speak for the rest of the line, but in Indigo's case at least it's clear there was some effort put into her overall design. I was especially delighted by the skirt portion of her dress, which is made of a lovely little textured woven fabric featuring a butterfly design, with a coordinating tulle ruffle trim. There's even an underskirt made from a plasticy fine-weave fabric. Both the main skirt and underskirt are sewn (that's right, not glued--there are STITCHES) to the base of the plastic top portion of the dress.

Ok so, no one loves plastic doll clothes. I get it. Not a fan myself. But for what this is, considering it's all one piece, I'm impressed by the amount of detail, and how well it reads as 'normal' clothing. The midsection has a sculpted raised texture that closely mirrors the design of the skirt fabric. The collar section is painted a lighter contrasting shade of purple that compliments her shoes (all the adult collectors who whine about lack of painted detail on molded plastic pieces, here you go), and the ruffle around the armholes compliments the trim on the skirt. Everything is held together neatly at the back with a piece of velcro at the top of the skirt.

Given how difficult it can be to sew fabric doll clothing in this scale that actually looks good, I think the plastic top is a fair compromise to increase ease of use for smaller hands.

The shoes! I was pleasantly surprised by the level of detail on these. The butterfly motif from the dress is carried on here, with sculpted decoration all the way around the tops and even on the soles. This was absolutely unnecessary, but I'm so happy they did it.

Indigo's official height is listed as 5.5 inches, which lands her somewhere between an old school Kelly doll and the closest MGA equivalent in my collection, a Dream Ella Extra Iconic Mini. I believe Magic Mixies Pixlings are also of a similar size, but I don't have one to include in this comparison.

Indigo's pet is...a thing that exists. Her product description says it's a 'magical fox'. Sure.

Ok folks, that's it for pt. 1. We're going to take a closer look at those braids in pt.2