#As a follow up to “Tyranny of Dimwits”

[mschupacabra]

Part two: "Albedo finds a purpose"

Initially, the Null Void was developed as a prison for Galvans. Despite their stature, their intelligence made it impossible to contain them within the walls of ordinary prisons. As such, Galvans could only conceive of a doorway to an endless void as a way of holding one of their own. However, the prison dimension had become very useful to other species as it was nearly impossible for any organism to navigate. 

But initially, the prison was created by Galvans for Galvans. So, it was only fitting for the Null Void to be Albedo’s final destination. 

Floating aimlessly to nowhere, he squirmed in zero gravity, fighting for stability he would never be able to find. It should have been harrowing, the way he was pushed along without control over his body, but any fear he felt was quickly being drowned out by long-suffering sorrow. Albedo howled a deep, soul-crushed howl of a man stranded; for he was more than merely stranded in the prison dimension. He had been stranded for a very long time — over a decade now. Whether it was the Null Void or the human flesh encasing his soul, he was accustomed to being a prisoner by now.

His mournful wail echoed into nothing. Nowhere. The Null Void went on forever. He cared not for the other murderous creatures he shared the vast dimension with. They could shred him to pieces, and it would be blessed euthanasia. He had been stripped of his mind, his body, and now his ability to move. All that was left, all he could do now, the one freedom still granted to him was screaming.

“Are you quite done yet?” 

A light blue glow invaded Albedo’s senses. He squinted, raising his hands above his face to protect his eyes. Through his small fingers, he tried to make out the appearance of the being in front of him. However, his angry thrashing had pushed Albedo upside down. Or, perhaps the other creature was upside down. In the Null Void, there was no real North. 

Either way, he could not clearly see the figure before him. Instead, he was staring at a pair of brown loafers. Even as disoriented and distressed as he was, Albedo managed to feel shame for how undignified he must have appeared. Embarrassed, he kicked his little legs and tried to turn himself upright. 

“I-I-I-” His kicking led him nowhere. Instead, the other creature grabbed him by the ankle and spun him like a wheel. 

Horrified, Albedo screamed, the rapid motion causing his stomach to somersault. His vision twisted and turned nauseatingly; the stars that lit up the void became a swirling whirlpool. 

Eventually, he lost momentum, coming to a stop so he was no longer staring at the other man’s shoes. Clearly, he was gazing up at the familiar form of a man with salt-and-pepper hair in a long, white lab coat. Albedo immediately recognized him. 

When an Alternate version of Tennyson — the one who called himself Eon — kidnapped him, he had essentially forcibly conscripted him into an army with the single-minded purpose of destroying this man, the Time Walker. 

“A word of advice,” the Time Walker said, “you’re not the only resident of this dimension. Your shrieking is not very neighborly. Keep that up and you’ll be eaten whole.” 

“Professor Paradox…” His name involuntarily left Albedo’s lips. It had not been a conscious decision. It was instinct. He couldn’t help it. His primitive, ape-ish amygdala was smart enough to produce a shred of fear and respect.

“Have we met before?” The Professor blinked a few times. “Ah, yes. You. I remember now. You are the Galvan who formerly assisted Azmuth. But not now. No, you’re one of Eon’s little underlings now, aren’t you? One of the members of his army who tried to kill me.” 

Albedo flushed hotly. “I am no such thing! That moron and I are not associated in any way. He is a psychopathic maniac who held me against my will and forced me... I-I would never. I… I–” 

He had never personally been acquainted with Paradox, but Azmuth had mentioned him on occasion. He always spoke highly of this mysterious Time Walker, inspiring curiosity within him. It was a terrible tragedy that the only time they had officially met was when Albedo was forced to try and assassinate him. 

It hurt all the worse that the only memory Paradox had of his identity was the one Eon had forced onto him. For the longest time, Albedo’s consolation was his remaining set of principles. Even when he was no longer able to recognize himself, he at least knew his own soul. But even that had been robbed from him –  stolen by Eon, an aspect of Ben fucking Tennyson. 

He could never be free of him.

“I harbor no ill will toward you. I-I’ve always admired intellect when I was a Galvan.” Tears stung his eyes, sliding sloppily down his chin. “Why would I willingly try destroying it — destroying you? I would have never done such a thing of my own volition.” 

“Well, there’s no need to cry about it,” Paradox did not say as much to comfort him. If anything, he seemed discomforted by his emotional outburst. Albedo was hardly the first to make an attempt on his life, but he was certainly the first to express remorse.

“How is there not?” He choked, raising his fists to hide his face. “I never… I never wanted to be this. I don't even know who I am anymore after all the things I have been made to do. I have been made into this lowly cretin, and now, I have completely debased myself.”

Paradox saw then that he was not crying out of remorse. He was not shedding tears over an injury he had done to Paradox, a reality that did not offend the Professor. It made more sense. Albedo was mourning his own ego. 

“Albedo,” The Professor started. “You may not be able to see yourself clearly, but I assure you that I do. I can see exactly who you are.” 

Albedo blinked his crimson eyes, letting forth another wave of messy tears, but Paradox’s tone was not malicious or unkind:

“I can see who you were–” 

A ghostly blue mist washed over him, aging him rapidly and painfully. Albedo’s mouth opened in a silent, wordless scream as his bones shifted, growing, aging him into a teenager. 

“--and every other possibility…”

Rapidly, Albedo’s shape warped once more. His bones crunched, shrinking, shrinking, shrinking, until they were miniscule. His skin greyed, his eyes bulged, and his fingers morphed into weblike appendages. To Albedo’s amazement, his original body had been restored. He was back in the body of a Galvan.

But in the blink of an eye, his dream was snatched away again, and he was back to resembling a ten-year-old child. 

“No!” Albedo cried, roaring in outrage. “No, no, no!” 

“In whatever form you took, nothing about you has ever changed. That’s rather the problem, isn’t it? You lament what you've become, but before you were Eon’s captive, you were Azmuth’s assistant. In both cases, you’ve always been under the command of another. Perhaps that has led you to falsely believe your agency has been stripped of you, but that was never the case. You must recognize that we are the only ones in charge of our own fate.”

Albedo laughed hollowly. “What would you know of my position, Time Walker?! You are bound by neither time nor space. Reality has never confined you. How could you possibly understand what it’s like to be trapped by circumstances beyond your control?”

Paradox was unmoved. “You are entirely in control. It is time for you to face the truth: who we are is the sum of every decision we’ve ever made. If you're unhappy with who you’ve become, only you have the power to change that."

Albedo shut his eyes. He released a shuddery breath. If he played his cards correctly, he could have his body back. Unfortunately, he had nothing to leverage against this eternal being. There was absolutely nothing worthwhile he could give to a man who held mastery over all reality. The knowledge caused him to tremble — knowing he was completely worthless. It was futile. He already knew that Paradox would say no.

“I am unlike you. I cannot simply change on a whim.” Albedo wet his lips, trying to think of a convincing argument. “Y-You can. You have the ability to change me back into a Galvan. Permanently. You did so just now without having to lift a finger. I recognize that you are all-powerful. I-I am in awe of you.” 

“No need for flattery.” 

“I am only asking for kindness. You’ve said it yourself. I have faithfully served Azmuth. Eon. I would be most loyal to you, too. I only ask for my body back. ” 

“Faithful and loyal aren’t words I would use to describe your service,” Paradox said with amusement. “I have no need for assistants, much less fickle ones such as yourself. Good help is so hard to find…”

“Professor, please. I will do anything— give anything!”  Albedo was not above begging at this point. 

“I’m sorry, Albedo.” But he did not sound very apologetic. “The sort of help you need is one I cannot provide: self-help. If I intervene and solve all of your problems for you, you would not be taking charge of your own life, thus learning nothing.” 

And just like that, he was gone before Albedo could even blink, and he could not muster disappointment, only quiet acceptance. Of course, someone so ethereal and divine would never lift a hand to help an insignificant creature like himself. Albedo could not find it in his heart to blame him.

@shadow345 requested the prompt back in August: “Albedo finds a purpose (albedo becomes a kind of anti hero).”

A/N: This is a preview. I am not done yet, but this is just what I have so far. I wanted to post this to let you know that I didn't forget about it. I have been trying to get out of a creative block lately. I'll let you know whenever I slap it up on ao3. Sorry it has been taking me so long.

Rough Draft

Many of his former memories were no longer fully accessible to him. They were still there, occupying his mind as technicolor nonsense. If he thought about it too deeply, the migraine that followed was debilitating. His skull felt like it would split open from the inside.

And he couldn’t stand it. 

On Bellwood, he was like every other human - barely able to slightly grasp onto that tiny edge of… Everything. All that was. His psyche tried in vain to translate all that he once perceived as a Galvan. In his dreams, he swam through the mental noise and horrific visions that ripped him away from the sleep his undeveloped, prepubescent body constantly craved. Poisoned with symbols he would never again make sense of, his mind tortured him, leaving him with near-permanent discoloration beneath his eyes. The precious memories he shared with Azmuth, back before his nightmares began, now churned between his ears as incomprehensible slop never again to be understood by him.

They no longer spoke the same language.

And Albedo couldn’t stand it. 

Most humiliatingly, the worst part was watching as Ben Tennyson was allowed to live his life. While Albedo remained locked into his childlike form, the boy – whose likeness was forced upon him – went unpunished. 

Ben Tennyson was allowed to be his own person.

Ben Tennyson was allowed to learn from his mistakes.

Ben Tennyson was allowed to change and grow. 

Ben Tennyson, who now had graying hair and was impossibly taller than Albedo, held him by the back of his shirt. Dangling there in the man’s grip, he wildly swung the only weapons at his disposal: his dainty fists. Frustration overloading his system would not allow him to logically conclude that touching him was an impossibility. Logic no longer existed; there was only his own burning rage filling his soft, pale face with hot blood. His ears pounded with the pressure of his own heartbeat:

Thump. Die!

Thump. Die!

Thump. Die!

Ben Tennyson did not deserve to merely die; he deserved to suffer – suffer as miserably as Albedo had been made to suffer. But as earnestly as he attempted to thrash the man, he was held at a distance, only able to sway back-and-forth in the air, carried by his own momentum. In spite of the injustice that had been done to the frosty-haired boy, the universe refused to correct itself. 

Ben Tennyson remained: amused, chuckling, and still unpunished.

“I-It’s not fair,” Albedo spat through his teeth. If he unclenched them, they would release the wrecked sob they were holding back. He was mourning the life that should have been his before Tennyson cursed him with his hellish prison. His violent struggling did well to disguise the way grief made him tremble. Despite his efforts to contain his emotions, they got the better of him, dripping down Albedo’s rosy cherub cheeks in a stream of sorry tears.

Except that Ben knew he was not really sorry. He did not find Albedo’s statement amusing either. He stopped his laughing and resisted the urge to strike the former Galvan across his deceptively innocent face.

“Not fair?” He questioned. “What part of this is unfair to you, Albedo?”

He had just tried to poison Ben. 

It was rare for the Tennyson family to have festivities together anymore. After Ben had become a galactically renowned hero, the Plumbers had taken many of his closest relatives away from Earth and into a form of witness protection. They were held on a new planet undisclosed to the public and under the watch of the Plumbers. For the first time in years, the entire Tennyson family was together again to celebrate Carl Tennyson’s sixtieth birthday in one of the Plumbers’ headquarters. Even after trying their best to keep the event quiet, they attracted the negative attention of would-be assassins like Albedo anyway. 

Unconsumed, much of the tampered food littered the floor on shattered plates and bowls. Albedo had never planned to kill Ben’s entire family; they were irrelevant. It was only Ben who needed to perish, but even if his family had died along with him, would it have mattered? They would have been unfortunate but ultimately insignificant casualties. The universe would not miss the absence of a few worthless, mediocre humans. Their only merit was sharing genetic material with Tennyson, and he had accomplished nothing for himself either. Without the Omnitrix – had it not been for Azmuth – he would have died in obscurity along with the rest of his mongrel kind. 

“You’re very lucky,” Ben said softly. Dangerously. He shook him harshly by the back of his shirt, rattling his tiny bones. “You’re so lucky nobody here got hurt, or I wouldn’t be taking this so lightly. I should kill you.” 

Albedo stopped struggling, gritting his teeth against the force of his grip, reaching up to grip Ben’s wrist. He could not make him stop, crying out as he was very nearly given a painful whiplash. 

“You want to talk about fairness, Albedo? If I were being fair right now, I would end your life here. You would never do me the same mercy of sparing me. You just want me dead at all costs, even the lives of others – my family and friends – who’ve done nothing to you. Well, a life for a life, right? That’s how it goes. That’s more than fair, but you’re right. Life isn’t fair, so here you live.”

“You think you are showing me mercy?!” Albedo shrieked. “This is kindness to you, Tennyson? I’ve never wanted anything to do with you or your wretched species!” 

Unable to regulate the emotions coursing through his small body, Albedo’s breathing became unstable. He clawed at the fist that held him in the air, digging deeply into the flesh, scratching at Tennyson’s wrist and knuckles. 

Without even flinching, Ben threw him face-first against a table, breaking it along with the remaining dishes and glass cups. The shards and splitters dug into Albedo’s skin causing him to bleed from the corners of his lips, nose, and forehead. 

Sandra and Carl Tennyson could not help their soft gasps; parental instinct flared, and Sandra raised a hand to grab at Ben’s shoulder. She could only see a baby and not just any baby. Albedo wore the woeful expression of her own baby at the age of eleven. He was just a boy, a tiny thing that could not possibly protect himself against the strength of an adult man. Disarmed by the sweetness of his face, Sandra shouted at her real son: 

“Ben, that's enough! Don’t you think that’s too much?!” 

Ben ignored Sandra, narrowing his eyes at Albedo. It sickened him that the Galvan had the ability to play upon the heartstrings of his poor mom. She was defending her almost-murderer, and Albedo should have suffered even further for that.

Albedo pushed himself up onto his knees, still crying, trying unsuccessfully to wipe his pathetic face. 

“I-If you truly wish to show me any kindness, you would put me out of my misery already. You… You must realize this is torture, Tennyson. Surely you of all people, the Omnitrix wielder, must realize the cruelty that is my existence. Can you not empathize with me? Having your form mangled and reshaped – for me, that torture is magnified tenfold because it is against my will. 

“I can no longer think as I used to. I feel sensory stimulation too intensely now. Every waking moment, I am flooded by brightness and noise I cannot shut out from my mind. I have been reduced to a sentient sponge, only able to experience pain and unable to fully comprehend why. Well, I can bear this pain no longer. This life– Your life– This prison has been thrust upon me without my consent!” 

Raising his chin, Ben could only sneer down at him, lip curling in disgust. 

“Don’t give me that, Albedo. You’re over a hundred years old. This is embarrassing; you should be embarrassed. You’re where you’re at because of your own mistakes. Accept responsibility for once. You’ve been blaming me for the consequences of your own actions ever since I was an actual child.” 

Unclipping the Null Void Containment Egg from his belt, Ben threw it up in the air and caught it a few times. “You, on the other hand, aren’t an actual child, even if you may look like one now. You can say what you want about my “wretched species,” but at least we learn from our mistakes. You’re telling me that when you were a Galvan, with your advanced intelligence, you never knew how much of a tool you were? You couldn’t foresee that it would be a bad idea to turn against Azmuth? I’m betting you knew. Galvans know everything. You weighed the risks; you just decided you didn’t care.”

Through watery eyes, he looked up at Tennyson’s blurry form. “Just kill me!” 

“No, you don’t even deserve that much,” Ben said before imprisoning him within the containment egg.

[TBC]

[cagemasterfantasy]

Dnd Monsters Explained Hill Giants

Hill Giants are selfish dimwitted brutes that hunt forage and raid in constant search of food. They blunder through hills and forests devouring what they can bullying smaller creatures into feeding them. Their laziness and dullness would long ago have spelled their end if not for their formidable size and strength.

Hill giants dwell in hills and mountain valleys across the world congregating in steadings built of rough timber or in clusters of well defended mud and wattle huts. Their skins are tan from lives spent lumbering up and down the hilly slopes and dozing beneath the sun. Their weapons are uprooted trees and rocks pulled from the earth. The sweat of their bodies adds to the reek of the crude animal skins they wear poorly stitched together with hair and leather thongs.

In a hill giant's world humanoids and animals are easy prey that can be hunted with impunity. Creatures such as dragons and other giants are tough adversaries. Hill Giants equate size with power.

Hill giants don't realize they follow an ordning. They know only that other giants are larger and stronger than they are, which means they are to be obeyed. A Hill giant tribe's chief is usually the tallest and fattest giant that can still move about. Only on rare occasions does a Hill giant with more brains than bulk use its cunning to gain the favor of giants of higher status, cleverly subverting the social order.

With nothing else to occupy them Hill giants eat as often as possible. A Hill giant hunts and forages alone or with a Dire wolf companion so as to not have to share with other tribe members. The giant eats anything that isn't obviously deadly, such as creatures known to be poisonous. Rotten meat is fair game though as are decaying plants and even mud.

Farmers fear and loathe Hill giants. Where a predator such as an Ankheg might burrow through fields and consume a cow or 2 before being driven off a Hill giant will consume a whole herd of cattle before moving on to sheep goats and chickens then tearing into fruits vegetables and grain. If a farm family is at hand the giant might snack on them too.

The hill giants ability to digest nearly anything has allowed them to survive for eons as savages eating and breeding in the hills like animals. They have never needed to adapt and change so their minds and emotions remain simple and undeveloped.

With no culture of their own Hill giants ape the traditions of creatures they manage to observe for a time before eating them. They don't think about their own size and strength however. Tribes of Hill giants attempting to imitate elves have been known to topple entire forests by trying to live in trees. Others attempting to take over humanoid towns or villages get only as far as the doors and windows of a building taking out its walls and roof as they attempt to enter.

In conversation Hill giants are blunt and direct and they have little concept of deception. A hill giant might be fooled into running from another giant if a number of villagers cover themselves in blankets and stand on one another's shoulders holding a giant painted pumpkin head. Reasoning with a Hill giant is futile although clever creatures can sometimes encourage a giant to take actions that benefit them.

A hill giant that feels as though it has been deceived insulted or made into a fool vents its terrible wrath on anything it encounters. Even after smashing those who offended it into pulp the giant rampages until its rage abates, it notices something more interesting, or it grows hungry.

If a hill giant proclaims itself king over a territory where other humanoids live it rules strictly by terror and tyranny. Its decisions shift with its mood and if it forgets the title bestowed upon itself it might eat its subjects on a whim.

[snowstorm808]

Queen For Seven Days

         Alas, my heart is beating again. It has been awhile since my heart last beat this way over a K-drama. I felt strong emotions which I think I last felt for Queen Seon Deok. Though tons of K-dramas came my way through the years, I don't remember feeling this way in the past five years or so. At first, it was just the actors casted and the plot line that made it irresistible for me. But the historical basis was just so fascinating, I knew I couldn't miss watching this.

Actors/Cast:

        I must say this is one of those perfectly casted dramas. Regardless of my biases or prejudices, it was a stellar cast from the main ones down to every one else.

Park Min Young as Shin Chae Kyung/ Queen Dankyung - Through the years, I've watched several of her works back from the first High Kick. It was evident how she has matured into an actress who can truly act. I personally feel that this is Park Min Young's best role yet. I mean did anyone pay attention to her hanboks? She pointed it out in an interview and I admit, the hanboks she wore as Chae Kyung are the pretties ones I've seen in dramaland. That aside, PMK really made use of the 'less is more' in terms of her acting AND make up. I love the contrast of Chae Kyung's character who can be childish & mature then dimwitted & clever the next moment. I think these traits brought her closer to the viewers' hearts like myself. I was truly rooting for her.

Yeon Woo Jin as Lee Yeok/ King Jungjong - From the moment I saw him in Arang and the Magistrate, I have never forgotten him. I found my self rooting for him in the drama towards the end. Sadly, the succeeding productions he starred in, weren't at par with the acting skill I saw in him then. Most recently, I followed Introverted Boss but was yet again disappointed with how the story went and the lead actress. When this production came, I knew it would be perfect for him. Finally, I saw for my self that acting skill I knew he had. Yeon Woo Jin's eyes are so expressive whether he's a villain, protagonist or simply a man in love. I think I saw every emotion possible in his eyes throughout the drama. I must say, the look he had on his face during that archery scene with Lee Yung when he was describing why he's the perfect guy to marry Chae Kyung was...sexy and dreamy. I think the character of Lee Yeok is quite resentful and pathetic. I felt bad how he couldn't do much for Chae Kyung. It was really a mixture of emotions for me. I was totally drawn in by the story and characters. I hope to see more of Yeon Woo Jin in the future. Also, must add, YWJ & PMK's chemistry was so good. It was the best so far and I never felt any animosity between the actors unlike in 'Healer'.

Lee Dong Geun as Lee Yung/ King Yeonsangun - I still remember him clearly from Lovers in Paris. Though I'm not a fan of the drama, it was the first ever K-drama I watched making him my first ever Korean crush followed by Kim Rae Won who was totally swoon worthy in Doctors. I was barely ten years old then so it makes me feel so old right now. As much as I know he's a great actor, I wasn't too keen to watch him after that brouhaha from his personal life. I am aware that it's none of business and I'm in no place to judge him but I still think he cheated on Ji Yeon and got another woman pregnant. Not to mention i have always disliked Jo Yoon Hee ever since I first laid eyes on her in Lie To Me. With that much said, I was surprised Lee Dong Geun would take the role of Lee Yung who isn't even the actual lead. However, when the first episode aired, I came to understand why he took on such a role. It was a rich character and I doubt anyone would be able to pull it off with such vigor. Just as I mentioned, I eventually forgot my prejudice against him. At least while watching the drama. His portrayal of the tyrannical King Yeonsangun, was spectacular. I'm pretty sure viewers were taken on a ride of different emotions for this character throughout the drama's 20 episode run. I strongly think this is Lee Dong Geun's best role yet.

Uhm Hye Ran as Chae Kyung’s Nanny - I initially planned to write about the three main leads only, but I simply can't leave out Nanny who gave so much life to every episode. She's so adorable I wanted to keep her in my pocket. Seriously though, I don't think Shin Chae Kyung would be complete without her. I love how sharp-tongued she could get AND at the right time too. It was such a relief she stayed on to take care of our heroine till the end.

I don't even know where to start describing my love for this drama. It has been awhile since I was last captivated and deeply affected like this. Earlier in the drama, I researched on the actual historical characters because I felt as if I would die from curiosity. I was so engrossed and invested in the story and the characters. The mere fact that Chae Kyung is a character who became a Queen for Seven Days already got my interest.The drama was like a fan fiction come to life of those historical figures. This actually brings to mind book, Reciever of Many by Kata Chthonia aka Rachel Alexander which tells the love story between Greek dieties, Hades Aidonous and Persephone.

As if the plot wasn't enough reason to fall in love, this drama is also one of those underrated quality productions. The writer and every one else involved, paid close attention to the nitty-gritty of the drama. I love the lines were so romantic and poetic with great timing. It actually caused me to swoon over Lee Yeong and Chae Kyung a bit despite of his absurdity and tyranny. There was definitely great team work between the cast & the production team.

I definitely enjoyed watching Queen for Seven Days. Thankfully, the ending was a more romantic version of what truly transpired down in history or I would've cried non-stop instead of just tears rolling down quietly. Definitely, one of the most beautiful Korean dramas I have ever watched in these 10 years.

Fact Spoiler:

Lee Yeong aka King Yeonsangun is the king in The King and The Clown with Lee Jun Ki. Actually, the tyranny shown in the drama was somehow tamed. He even went as far as closing down Sungkyunkwan University and turning it into his own Gibang or (Gisaeng House).

Lee Yeok aka King Jungjong is the king on Jewel on the Palace who made Jang Geum the first female Royal Doctor.

[marymosley]

Governors Practice Political Distancing In Shifting Blame To Federal Government

National Gallery of Art

Below is my column in The Hill newspaper on the continued calls for federal takeovers and nationalization of industries. The past commentary often reflects a fundamental misunderstanding of both our constitutional and statutory laws. What is also striking is that a significant number of governors appeared on Sunday shows but not one was asked about the failure of his or her state to prepare for such a public health emergency. Governors are referring to this crisis as if it were a previously unknown meteor from space. In fact, we have been discussing the utter lack of preparation for a pandemic for over two decades and states like New York were warned that they would be dangerously short such items as ventilators. I was part of that debate back in 2002 and 2003 when the model law for pandemic was being adopted by states — reaffirming the primary responsibility of the states to address pandemics.

Here is the column:

New York Governor Andrew Cuomo called on the federal government to take control of the medical supply market. Illinois Governor J.B. Pritzker demanded that President Trump take charge and said “precious months” were wasted waiting for federal action. Some critics are even more direct in demanding a federal takeover, including a national quarantine.

It is the legal version of panic shopping. Many seem to long for federal takeovers, if not martial law. Yet like all panic shopping, they are buying into far more than they need while not doing as much as they could with what they have. For decades, governors tried to retain principal authority over public emergencies, but they did very little with those powers. While many are doing impressive work now, some governors seem as eager to contain the blame as the coronavirus. Call it political distancing.

Even if Trump nationalized the crisis by deploying troops, imposing price controls, and forcing production of ventilators, the Constitution has left most police authority and public health safety to the states in our system of federalism. The Framers believed liberties and powers were safest when held closest to citizens in local and state governments. Elected officials at the local and state levels are more readily held accountable than unknown Washington bureaucrats. Of course, with authority comes responsibility, and the latter notion is not always as welcomed as the former.

Despite all the hyperbole of the last few days, the federal authority of the president to act is much more limited than many appear to believe. Trump cannot, and should not, simply take over the crisis. While he may want to “open for business” by Easter, he has no clear authority to lift state orders for citizens to stay at home. His greatest authority is supplying assistance in the production and delivery of necessary resources such as ventilators. While he can put conditions on some assistance, he cannot commandeer the authority of governors in their responses to the pandemic.

Federal disaster relief and control is a relatively recent phenomenon. The response to the Galveston hurricane in 1900, with some 12,000 dead, was almost entirely by Texas. After the San Francisco earthquake in 1906, with around 3,000 dead, federal troops helped maintain order and establish medical units, but the recovery was primarily an effort by California. The Federal Emergency Management Agency was not created until 1979. Its mandate was to coordinate national responses to assist state and local governments in disasters. It was never meant to shift control.

I was a critic of the Model State Emergency Health Powers Act adopted by states in 2002 as the way to respond to public emergencies from terrorist attacks to pandemics. As a civil libertarian, I was alarmed by the sweeping language giving governors virtually unchecked authority. I objected that they already had significant authority and these laws created “absolute authority” left entirely to the discretion of individual governors.

My objection was that it seemed premised on the idea that the “best cure for terrorism may be a small dose of tyranny.” An author of the model had responded by saying, “You do have to face hard tradeoffs between civil liberties and property rights of individuals against the collective rights of society. We do need to give up a little bit.” The immediate tradeoff is that the authority held by governors is only as effective as each governor. This means that, as I noted in 2003, a state may be “cursed with some dimwit” who fails to take necessary precautions or sufficient measures.

States remain in the best position to address emergencies, and such laws gave governors ample authority to act. But they did relatively little in the next two decades to prepare for public health emergencies. A New York Health Department task force report in 2015 has resurfaced, warning that the state faces a shortage of 15,000 ventilators in a pandemic. While the report did not call for stockpiling supplies, states clearly have not done enough, individually or collectively, to set aside such resources.

Media coverage has referred to the National Emergency Act along with other impressive statutory titles to suggest that the president can order national quarantines and take over management of this crisis. Actually, these laws follow the same model laid out by the Constitution in leaving the responses to state control. The often cited Stafford Act, for instance, merely heightens the authority of federal technical, financial, logistical, and other kinds of assistance to state and local governments.

The Defense Production Act is meant to advance priorities instead of establishing a nationalized industrial base. If companies have agreed to expand production or retool for new products, then there is no need to impose mandates under this law since that process is unlikely to go any faster. Nationalization can slow rather than speed relief in emergencies with replacing existing systems. With indemnifications and large orders, business executives have incentive to expand production. After General Motors failed to meet the expectations on price and production, Trump invoked the act, and that is precisely how it should be handled.

There is one additional misconception on this that is more historical than legal. Many have referred to the need for Trump to use the same authority that Franklin Roosevelt wielded during World War Two. But the situation in this case is different. Back then, there was considerable control exercised over industry, though most companies had voluntarily agreed to retool to make the necessary equipment for obvious business reasons.

It was primarily through the control of raw materials and prices that the federal government could exercise chokepoint control. It could expand agricultural production, not by taking over farms, but by setting the crop prices high to encourage expansion. Even with massive national control, it took about 18 months for a coherent system of production to emerge, and that effort was largely based on price and resource controls.

Our leaders need to play to their strengths to fight the current war. The coronavirus battle must be won in months and not years. The only way to do this is to use existing structures and markets. Vastly different situations are presented in each state, some with relatively small numbers of cases while others like New York face a full fledged pandemic. Indeed, this is precisely where federalism is a strength rather than a weakness.

Unlike highly centralized European countries, our leaders have the ability to make far more tailored responses on a state by state basis. Each state can tailor its response to its individual threats or needs, and look to the federal government for badly needed resources. When the coronavirus shifts, the federal government will have these fully functioning systems with people who are intimately familiar with the local terrain. Simply put, our balanced form of federalism was made for this pandemic.

Jonathan Turley is the Shapiro Professor of Public Interest Law at George Washington University. You can follow him on Twitter @JonathanTurley.

Governors Practice Political Distancing In Shifting Blame To Federal Government published first on https://immigrationlawyerto.tumblr.com/

[mister-e-mime]

Orcus ex machina

This was incredible! Ned Marion, a.k.a. Hoodfella, had never felt so alive! He didn’t know what had happened exactly, but since he had awoken on the slope of Mount Zinit, he had felt so empowered. With this newfound strength and vigor, he had gathered his remaining hoodlums and together, they were tearing through the highest ranks of the Cult of Ogrest who were desperately trying to protect their self-proclaimed god Ogrest.

 Their progress up the mountain was near miraculous, but this was not due to the combined talents of the hoodlums, but rather to one powerful artifact: Ned’s Mask of Mimicry. By some divine intervention, he and his mask had both survived Count Harebourg’s attack on their ship and as before, the mask had ‘remembered’ all attacks used on it. So now Hoodfella held the utterly destructive power of Harebourg’s Pendultimatum spell, rendering entire legions of Grambos into icy stalagmites.

 Next to Ned, the Feca Arnold Shielder summoned another protective barrier around his companions as the previous one shattered under the incoming projectiles: “Boss, at this pace we won’t last much longer! We’ve already lost half of our companions!” “Not much longer,” Hoodfella yelled over the roar of the battle, “We’re almost there.” He muttered under his breath: “Almost there. Not much longer. Not much longer and I will fulfill my destiny.” He burst out into laughter as a nearby trebuchet of the Cult blasted into pieces.

 In a dark hall, miles away from the battle, a similar laughter filled the empty darkness. On one of the larger piles of rubble, a few Goblins gathered to watch the spectacle unfolding at the end of the room: there Dramak the Second sat in his predecessor’s throne, controlling a plethora of puppets. They danced and moved at his feet as if they were performing a complex fighting/dance routine while others lay lifeless and broken.

 Most of the puppets were about knee-high and dressed in hoodlum garments. The only exceptions were a life size puppet of Dramak himself that stood still next to his throne and the similar looking gargantuan puppet-statue behind the throne that mimicked the movements he performed with the paddles in his seat. “Ha, ha, ha! Such splendid spectacle! The final act is upon us. The next chapter of the World of Twelve will be written by yours truly!”

 He had hardly finished his sentence or another of the hoodlum marionettes jerked spastically before it fell to the floor. On Mount Zinit Harlet, a female Osamodas, screamed: “Arnold!” She jumped on the back of her Boowolf and rode to where Hoodfella and Mechaflex the Foggernaut were leading the frontline: “This is madness! There is only the three of us left! Even IF we reach the Ogre, we will never…” Her plea was interrupted by a bellowing roar, followed by a rumbling of the earth.

 “That is no longer an ‘if’, my dear,” Ned said almost grinning to Harlet. Before them the Cult of Ogrest scurried away as a large shadow emerged behind them. “Behold,” Ned said almost in awe, “the scourge of the World of Twelve!” With thundering footsteps, Ogrest revealed himself to the little band of heroes. Harlet O’Scarra could hardly keep her furry mount under control as the giant towered over the three of them, gnarling and glowering.

 Back in his hideout, Dramak stood up from his throne and spoke, the words echoing both in his lair as in Ned’s mouth: “Ogrest! We are here to end your tyranny of chaos and suffering! Return what is rightfully ours or we will be forced to take it from you!” For a moment in time, all remained quiet as the Ogre just continued to stare at them. But before Dramak/Ned could speak again, Ogrest bent over and let out another deafening roar, almost blowing the threesome from the mountain.

 After this display of power the Osamodas could no longer control her Boowolf and with his tail between his legs, he hurried down the mountain, his mistress still on his back, screaming commands. Ned’s mask on the other hand sizzled with power as it had absorbed the powerful sound-attack into its arsenal. “Yes!” Dramak resounded in his head, “do your worst, Ogre! A few more of those blows and we will be just as powerful as you.”

 “Do not worry, fearless leader,” said Mechaflex beside him as he drew his Stasis-powered pistol, “I will not abandon you. Together, we will...” But before he could end his sentence, Ogrest’s open paw came crashing down, ramming the mechanical man into the ground. At Dramak’s theatre, the second last of his puppets fell to the floor. For a moment, Ned was taken aback by this display of brute force, but the voice in his head quickly brought him back.

 Again, Dramak and Ned spoke in synchrony: “You foul brute! I am no longer a mere mortal! I wield the power of the gods and even you will dance to my tune!” The mask started to charge as Hoodfella called all its collected powers to launch in one combined attack upon the Ogre. In the process he became wrapped in a blue aura as the ‘eye of Dramak’ lit up on his mask.

 “Now I will prove once and for all that I am the greatest mind of all times! Bow to me, you dimwitted dolt, and realize you are nothing before me!” At these words the entire mask lit up under Ned’s black cowl and he braced himself to launch his attack. “Fire!” Dramak shouted from the top of his lungs, but before the command reached Ned’s brain, Ogrest smacked the ground between them, causing him to lose his footing.

 As he fell over backwards, the mask fired a powerful beam… harmless into the air, parting the dark clouds over Mount Zinit. It did lit the sky and was seen as far as Kelba. “No!” Dramak clenched his fists as he jumped on his seat. “Get back up your feet, you puny puppet, and destroy that beast!” Ned tried to regain his bearings and got up just in time to see Ogre stretch out his backhand and slap him right in the face.

 Of course, when the most powerful creature on the planet slaps you in the face, you don’t simply say ‘ouch’ and compose yourself. But Ecaflip still had some hand in Ned’s destiny as the blow did not kill him. It did however propel him off the mountain at breakneck speed and into the clouds, beyond all sight. Even beyond Dramak’s control.

 “NO!! It cannot be!” Dramak screamed as he tore the upholstery from his throne. “No! No! No! NO! I was so close! The stage was set to perfection! This final act unfolded beyond all expectations! It should have resulted in a beautiful climax…” For a moment, the silence returned to the wrecked theatre. Dramak the Second dropped into his seat, the huge Dramak puppet in the back slumped over and so did the life-size puppet next to the throne.

 The only sound audible was once more the falling of drops from the ceiling into small puddles below. The Goblins shuffled uneasy and were about to return to their task when suddenly their master became alive again: “But wait, this play still has an epilogue! The actual lead has not yet perished.” He grabbed the Hoodfella marionette and dropped his cowl, revealing the white mask. “The true hero still holds the power of Ogrest, Harebourg and countless others!”

 He held it up to the life size Puppet Master who slowly rose from the floor: “As long as it is unbroken, it still play its part. Now only to find it…” The Dramak puppet slowly rose his arm and pointed towards the Hoodfella puppet. “You are right! His crippled corpse must still hold the mask! Now if only he comes back into range of my powers…” Dramak held his helmet with two hands, seemingly focusing his thoughts.

 “Now how long can it take for someone soaring through the skies to hit the ground?! The Ogre’s not that strong.” The Puppet Master tilted his head, as if in doubt of his controller’s statement. “Right,” Dramak sighed as he unfocused again, “one thing at a time.” He filled his lungs and shouted in the emptiness: “GOBVIOUS!” The Goblins on top of the pile jumped and dispersed between the rubble. In the back, behind the piles of debris, a slurping noise was audible.

 Dramak was already tapping his fingers impatiently when a strange figure appeared before him: a man dressed in a costume that can only be described as a mascot manhandled by a team of one-armed seamstresses. His face and shoulders were covered by an oversized goblin head wearing goggles and his hair tied on the back of his head with an elastic band to resemble a dusty mop. Below the mask, his torso and arms were bare and painted in the same gray-brown color as the mask. White pants and black boots finished it off.

 “What took you so long?” Dramak scolded. While he had a normal posture when coming in, the sound of his master’s voice suddenly turned him into a groveling little rodent: “Sorry Master, had to find a good place to put bag down, without raising suspicion.” “You think an adult man in a goblin costume wouldn’t raise suspicion in the first place?” Gobvious seemed to think this over, but Dramak didn’t give him the time to come up with a probably insufficient answer

 “Never mind! Where are we at the moment?” “Port of Sufokia,” the mascot man muttered, “wanted to take a boat to Wabbit Island.” “What?! To that rodent infested hell hole? To the origin of my predecessor’s demise?!” He grabbed one of the hoodlum puppets and hurled it at the mouth of the oversized mask. Gobvious yelped in pain as the wooden projectile hit him right between the eyes. “You incompetent oaf! Don’t you dare get on that boat!”

 As he wanted to pick up another puppet, he suddenly halted: “Yes, he’s back in range… and in Astrub, of all places. Nice neutral grounds. This will surely help us retrieve our little ‘trinket’.” His eye gleamed with joy as he outstretched his hand towards his cowering masked minion: “Stop your sniveling and listen up.” Abruptly the man stopped whimpering and stood to attention. “We are heading to Astrub. Find us the best ship around and I’ll deal with the crew.”

 “Yes Master,” Gobvious uttered and with a blank stare he headed back towards the exit while Dramak the Second treated himself to an outburst of dramatic villainous laughter echoing through the theatre. When the masked man reached the end of the hall, he got on hands and knees and crawled through a tiny exit, his large wooden head hardly fitting through.

 In one of the alleys of Steamulating Shores, a scruffy-looking haven bag twisted and turned before it spat out the unfortunate Gobvious on the cobblestones. The minion didn’t seem to mind much though as he picked up the bag and head out to port, with only one thought on his mind: please his Master and bring him to the shores of Astrub.