#What's A Diplomacy

[havoc-warband]

Oh, so I- I see, I’m too incompetent for you, is it?

Trahearne picked up another sheaf of papers, desperately hoping the document he was looking for would be underneath. 

It wasn’t.

He was certain it should’ve been somewhere around here. No such luck: he’d have to go through the whole pile.

Sitting down with a sigh, Trahearne grabbed the first several dozen pages and started leafing through them.

I see. No, it’s fine. I’ll leave you to it then, Marshal. Go and cleanse Orr. I’ll work on my skills in the meanwhile. Maybe I’ll be good enough to be your paper-boy the next time we meet.

The Marshal stared at the papers with unseeing eyes. He forced himself to wake from his daydream - day-mare would be more accurate - with a shake of his head, and put the papers back down. He would just have to put the lot of them into his messenger bag and sort through them on the airship. It would be heavier like that, and his shoulder would not be happy with him the morning after, but at least his heart wouldn’t be alone in that anymore, then.

His last conversation with his Comm- with Vikaros had gone so terribly wrong. He couldn’t get the sour aftertaste out of his mouth whenever he started thinking about it. It was already more than two years ago, and he hadn’t heard anything from Vikaros since. Nor had he sent anything himself. Every time he’d picked up a quill and some parchment, all words had fled him. He knew that he should apologise for the truly tactless way he’d brought it up. He knew that he should assure Vikaros that he was one of the most competent warriors and leaders he’d ever seen. The rage on the charr’s face during that horrible conversation had been burning, but it didn’t entirely hide what was underneath - surprise, betrayal, and worst of all, shame. Trahearne thought that maybe he could invite him to view Orr, once it had been cleansed, or go visit him himself, but it had taken much longer than he’d thought: once reanimated, even without a leader, the Risen proved incredibly stubborn. It didn’t help that they didn’t seem to feel pain or fear anymore, either. Just hunger.

Their efforts had paid off, however, and the continent was nearly completely cleansed of Risen now. Grasses had started sprouting up here and there, and birds were nesting in the elaborate coral structures. Last week, right before he’d left, he’d even spotted a daisy springing from the still-sickly-looking soil. He might have even cried a little at the sight, such a bright sign that his Wyld Hunt was finally coming to a close after a quarter of a century of hard work, if he hadn’t been so busy. He had been sketching flowers into the margins of whatever he was reading since.

Then, they received word that Mordremoth’s activity had surged dangerously. Trahearne had sent word for his commanders to start preparing the fleet already, so that he could join them as soon as he’d returned from Orr. He had even sent a missive to Vikaros, awkwardly leaving out personal touches. He was resigned to rebuilding their friendship from nothing, but he had not received anything in response.

All of the others had sent back confirmations. Except for Vikaros. The messenger had come back empty-handed, but at least said that he’d received and read it. Trahearne supposed he’d see if the charr headed his summons or not once he arrived at Camp Resolve.

A bit rougher than it really warranted, he shook out his head again, and shoved another folder into the by-now-overly-full bag. He did really not have time for-

No, not for a knock at the door, either. It was probably just Caithe, anyway. He had arrived in the Grove only a day ago, but had been too busy to contact her, and hadn’t planned to before he left again. He supposed she could carry a few stacks of paper for him, since she’d disturbed him.

“Come in,” he said, back still to the door. He heard it open and close.

“I’m sorry, sister,” he began, “as you can see, I’m really quite busy, I’m afraid I don’t have the time to-”

His sister wasn’t purple, nor did she have yellow slitted eyes.

The stranger had been as silent as Caithe usually was, and Trahearne suddenly realised, didn’t have a presence in the Dream either. Soundless?

“Who are you?” he demanded, reaching for his staff.

“Firstborn,” the stranger greeted, “I was hoping to find you here.” Daggers glinted from where they were strapped to his legs, but he made no move to grab them. The stranger seemed at ease, a stark contrast to Trahearne himself, and the situation.

“Why?” Trahearne asked, suspicious. He finally found his staff, one-handed and without removing his eyes from the intruder, and raised it, ready to defend himself.

Normally, he would not be this suspicious of a sibling, but years of dealing with the Nightmare Court and, more recently, being a prominent political figure, had taught him distrust.

“You should not go to the Maguuma Jungle,” the other said. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth - did he find this humorous?

Trahearne scoffed, trying to hide how unsettled he was. “Do you think you can stop me?” he asked.

“Yes,” the stranger said, his smirk fully breaking through, a touch unhinged at the edges, “because you’ll doom the whole damned Pact if you go. And my friend - he’s in the Vigil, and loyal to a fault - I won’t put his life in any more danger than it already is, stuck in the middle of the Jungle with your idiotic Commander. I won’t allow you to put his life in any more danger.”

“What?” Trahearne said, lowering his staff a little, confused. The fleet hadn’t even launched yet, how were they already-

“Mordremoth has awoken,” the intruder continued, “and it wants to control every sylvari it can reach. If it could touch you, and find the knowledge in your head about the Pact’s supplies and movements, it would destroy everything. It’s almost worse than Zhaitan and the Risen.”

“What?” he repeated. This was impossible. “But the Pact-”

“Launched days ago,” the other said, and his smirk turned into a snarl. “Without you. And that’s a good fucking thing. As it currently stands, I had to- nevermind the details, I’ve saved my friend from the dragon, and I hope to the Pale Tree that the charr I’ve left him with - your rogue Commander’s warband - haven’t killed him yet, because being sylvari just became an extremely undesirable trait in a soldier.”

Trahearne fully lowered his staff then, placing the butt on the floor so he could lean on it. This was… entirely too much information, none of which he had been prepared for. “The fleet launched without me?”

The stranger groaned. “Yes, old man, keep up. It’s also the least of your problems, or have you not been listening?” He spoke with such venom behind his words, but Trahearne got the feeling it wasn’t aimed directly at him. As it was, it was only barely missing him, though, and he was tiring of it rapidly.

“Who are you?” Trahearne asked again.

“Not one of your pawns, Firstborn,” the other spat. He had been calm at the beginning, but was getting more worked up by the minute.

“Can you give me a detailed report of the situation?”

“What do I look like to you, a soldier?”

Trahearne graciously didn’t point out the daggers at his side, or the rifle on his back. 

“Why are you even here?”

“I have a letter from Vikaros,” he said.

Trahearne only just managed to resist throwing his staff at him. “Why didn’t you open with that?!”

The other only laughed at his reaction, and his face fell back into the slightly insulting grin from earlier.

“And won’t you please just tell me who you are!”

“My name is Renfrac,” he said, seemingly calm now that he’d had his fun.

But now it was Trahearne’s turn to be angry. “If you say that Mordremoth claims all sylvari that come near the jungle, how come you have a message from my Commander, who you claim is in the jungle?”

Renfrac raised an eyebrow. “You did pay attention!” he praised.

“Either you are a jokester with a horrible sense of timing, or you’re already corrupted yourself,” Trahearne said, voice low, “either way, I think it’s time we end this.” And he followed it up with a shout, “Wardens!”

Renfrac’s eyes were suddenly wide, and he dropped the cheerful smile. He raised a hand towards Trahearne, and opened his mouth to say something, but the Marshal had raised his staff again, intending to keep him immobile and harmless until the Wardens arrived, already hearing commotion on the hallway outside his Grove office.

Something in the other’s face hardened, and he was suddenly directly in front of Trahearne, too close to attack with the staff. He barely had time to recover, before he was roughly grabbed by the back of the head and his forehead was colliding with-

The jungle, tall and dark and spine-shiveringly wrong

Tendrils in the earth, slithering and alive but dead, preying on the soldiers crawling over the many skins of their master

The silhouette of someone who might’ve been Nightmare Court, except not even they corrupt a body so heavily, distort it so much as to

Fire-warm metal chunks, half-buried in the loose, upturned soil, stinking of blood, surrounded by corpses, survivors, medics, a camp built on the wreckage

My friend, my other self, my- attacker, possessed by the jungle itself, trying to eradicate me, hints of power, of corruption, testing my defences, overwhelming the lessers, but I caught it, and I fought it off from him

Fangs and snarling and the Commander and a missive don’t come to the jungle don’t enter the domain of the Dragon don’t risk it just help me help me please doubt/worry/regret/guilt

He is bodily pushed backwards, and takes a minute to remember that he is Trahearne, and he’s in the Grove, and not currently in danger from anyone except a madman with some daggers, a gun, and the ability to project a vision immediately into his head.

“What?” Trahearne said, eloquently.

A knock sounded from the door. “Marshal, are you alright?” someone asked through the door, and he vaguely recognized the voice of the captain of the small personal Pact squad that was assigned to him. Cigna, he believed she was called.

Renfrac’s eyes bored into his, not moving away, not betraying any emotions. Trahearne took a step back instead, still bewildered.

The vision had been bleeding searing intensity and sincerity. He had difficulty reconciling it with the sylvari before him.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you, just a- a nightmare,” he said, raising his voice a little to penetrate the door. He wasn’t known for sleeping at regular times, or for experiencing particularly calming dreams.

“Okay,” she called back, sounding tired, “the airship’s due to leave soon, Marshal, let us know if you need help packing,” and then the metal-clank of Vigil armour faded into the distance.

Renfrac still hadn’t moved, posture or expression.

After another few moments, to be sure Cigna was no longer in earshot, Trahearne spoke up again.

“What in the name of the Pale Tree was that?”

“That’s the current state of the Maguuma Jungle, and the remains of the Pact that are in it,” Renfrac replied, visibly on edge.

Trahearne sighed. Sure, okay, they weren’t going to talk about what that was, then. He did not think interrogating this sylvari was going to yield anything but frustration.

“Fine. So, if I understood… that… correctly, I should not go to the Jungle?”

Renfrac’s stance lost some tension, but not all. “You would likely doom the world.”

“And your friend lives in this world,” Trahearne smiled. Renfrac’s worry and affection had stained the entire vision.

To his amusement, the other blushed violet for a moment, but did not look away. “He does,” he agreed.

Then the implications of the situation started sinking in. Trahearne grimaced and turned around to start pacing the small office.

“I will be unable to command directly; that’s going to be difficult,” he thought out loud.

“Just different from the war on Zhaitan,” Renfrac said. His posture had relaxed completely, and he had moved back to slouch against the doorpost, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve made a deal with your Commander, to act as messenger. I have a raptor, and I can defend myself against Mordremoth’s mental attacks.”

“All of these things would have been great to lead with, you know,” Trahearne grumbled, but this time, Renfrac just laughed. “Down to business then, I guess.”

He sat down at his desk. When he looked up, the other was still by the door, not showing a sign of intending to move.

Trahearne cleared his throat. “Did you have an actual report from the Commander as well, or did you just come to warn me to stay away?”

“Oh!” Renfrac said, jolting away from the frame, shrugging off his rifle to access a pocket on his belt, and producing a slightly-crumpled envelope from a pouch. He walked up to the desk and handed it over. It still had bits of moss on it.

“Uh, thank you,” Trahearne said, somewhat awkwardly. “I need to read this, perhaps unpack some documents to be able to write a reply - I’d nearly boarded the airship, you were lucky I still had one document to find - and then I’ll send captain Cigna to find you when I’m done, if you’d like to, uh, go and enjoy the Grove?”

Please leave me alone for a moment, I still need to process whatever that vision was and if possible find three books about similar phenomena, Trahearne didn’t say. But Renfrac just cringed a little, and said, “I’ve never felt particularly at home here, if I’m honest, so I’d rather just, if you perhaps have a book I could-”

And by the Pale Tree, if that didn’t hit right home. “Sure,” Trahearne said, pointing at a bookshelf to Renfrac’s right. “Those should be fairly digestible human history books.”

“Human history?” Renfrac made a sound of disgust at the book he’d just picked from the shelf, but didn’t drop it or put it back.

“Necessary for diplomacy,” Trahearne smiled. He was reminded of when he was still starting out in this. He had learned to enjoy the various topics related to his current occupation since, but he could still vividly remember the first months, when struggling through even one desiccated tome felt like a victory. It wouldn’t do for even a messenger to insult allies unknowingly.

Renfrac sent him a long-suffering glare, but sank to the floor with the book in his hands, crossing his legs and leaning back against the wall. He doesn’t seem to enjoy the concept of chairs, Trahearne noted, before looking down to his own task, breaking the seal on the envelope, pulling out the letter, and reading the worst news he’d received in a good while.

[thesummerestsolstice]

Silmarillion AU Where all the Elves are Hobbits and the Stakes are Significantly Lower:

Finwe is mayor of his part of the Shire, happily married to both Miriel and Indis because they all have two hands

Miriel doesn't die after childbirth she just goes off on a trip to find new artistic inspiration and doesn't come back

Don't worry she eventually shows back up again– turns out she got lost and a kind elvish warrior named Vaire helped her find her way back

Feanor has a good relationship with his siblings, although he and Nolofinwe have engaged in several bouts of passive-aggressive one-upsmanship

The most famous of these ended with Nolofinwe swimming several miles across a lake in winter to prove that he was the more dedicated brother. Feanor agreed after telling him off for being reckless.

The Silmarils aren't pseudo-holy gemstones here, they're a set of three really intricately carved pipe-weed pipes that the Finweans pull out on ceremonial occasions

Morgoth isn't a fallen god he's just an asshole elf who regularly breaks into the Shire to steal things

One day he steals the Silmarils; he doesn't kill Finwe though he just knocks him out

The rest of the First Age is mostly just increasingly convoluted plots by various Finweans to break into his fortress and steal back the pipes (and all the other stuff Morgoth has stolen)

The first of these attempts involves Feanor stealing one (1) boat from Mayor Olwe. No one dies though and he puts it back afterwards. It still results in a lot of petty gossip.

After one of the attempts Morgoth catches Maedhros and hangs him up in a really tall tree

He's stuck there for three weeks before Findekano finds him and gets him down with the help of a homemade hang-glider called "Thorondor"

One of the other hobbit mayors is Thingol, a dear friend (and possible ex boyfriend?) of Finwe

Most of the Ainur are elves here but the concept of hobbit Thingol marrying an eldritch goddess is too funny to pass up so Melian is still a Maia here

She and her descendants look pretty hobbit-ish but they have fairy wings and little antennae

It causes a huge scandal when their daughter, Luthien, runs off with a dwarf prince named Beren

Thingol even writes a very strongly worded letter telling her not to marry him, which is a very extreme measure by hobbit standards, but she doesn't listen

Eventually Beren decides to steal some hobbit stuff back from Morgoth to prove his worthiness

He ends up stealing back one of the pipes and giving it to Thingol

Thingol grudgingly accepts him and Bluthien settle into a nice, quiet life in the Shire

There's no Doriath kinslaying either there's just a long, very passive-aggressive series of letters between Thingol and Feanor until Finwe eventually steps in and Thingol returns the pipe

[tanoraqui]

Kabru: [lies to Laios’s face about sharing his interests, in a deliberate scheme to befriend him]

Kabru: [watches Laios have a knock-down, drag-out fistfight with Shuro when he found out that Shuro has been lying to him for years about being friends]

Kabru: Huh.

Kabru: …Skill issue.

Kabru: [continues lying to Laios’s face]

[eri-pl]

So, Sauron surrendered (well, tried to) to Eonwe after the war was over, right?

You know what also happened with Eonwe in this time period? M&M came to demand the Silmarils (and probably leave E&E there?).

Just imagine them bumping into each other, just in front of Eonwe's tent. Or face.

[aroaceleovaldez]

non-exhaustive list of canon powers Nico di Angelo either has shown or is heavily implied to have:

Shadow-travel

Manipulation of shadows/darkness (also possibly use of shadows as a pocket-dimension a la Magicians using the Duat in The Kane Chronicles)

Becoming intangible/shadows

Complete control over skeletons/bones (dead or alive, including summoning, reanimation, and/or changing shape of them) and being able to sense their presence

Summoning, reanimating, commanding, and dispelling the dead/undead (Skeletons, zombies, ghosts, etc & varieties) and being able to sense their presence

Ability to understand/communicate with the dead/undead and potentially other beings of the Underworld

Inherent complete comprehension of Latin

Ability to perceive the usually unperceivable/possibly look upon a deity’s true form without repercussion (at least moreso than the average demigod, though possibly is restricted to chthonic beings) (ex: Tartarus, potentially also interacting with his parents, etc)

Interacting tangibly with ghosts (implied to be a Ghost King thing rather than a Hades/Pluto thing)

Partial or complete immunity to different effects of the Underworld/things within (can consume food/drink of or in the Underworld without repercussions, effects from the Lethe wear off over time instead of being permanent like usual for mortals, etc)

Astral projection/”Walking in dreams”

Dream manipulation and projection (Sending dreams to others, etc.) (presumably includes sharing/projecting dreams with others) alongside inflicting sleep upon others even from a distance.

Illusions

Manipulation of emotions/aura that inflicts specific emotions on others (ex.: radiating fear/death onto enemies)

Projection of emotions and memories onto others (can be so forceful it causes physical damage like a shockwave)

Geokinesis (all forms but also specifically generating black marble) (presumably also specialized control over precious gemstones & non-paper currency)

Temperature manipulation (seemingly only lowering temperature)/creating frost)

Control/manipulation of souls, including living beings (ex: ripping out Bryce Lawrence’s soul)

Perceiving/reading/judging of souls (most likely also a Ghost King thing over Hades/Pluto thing, but possibly both)

Converting living into dead/undead, aka instakill (ex: disintegrating monsters to bone with one touch)

Lowering or manipulation of own vitals (breathing, heart rate, etc)

Death Trance/pseudo-hibernation (possibly also general control over states of consciousness at least for self, in combo with control over vitals & dreams)

Sensing death (impending or when it occurs, sometimes receiving dreams/visions of it occurring)

Able to sense other children of Hades/Pluto (potentially also other chthonic beings in general/able to identify based on sense alone) and also just living beings in general, such as mortals (possibly via souls).

Improved navigation underground/in the Underworld and ability to traverse restricted or normally unnavigable parts of the Underworld

Enhanced strength/abilities when in the Underworld

Inherently unnaturally quiet (possibly able to silence sound on a designated target)

Hiding/shielding self from being perceived (seemingly related to shadows/silence)

[maeo-png]

laszlo “it’s more accurate to call you a former soldier” cravensworth is so much more violent than nandor “baron have mercy please” the relentless.

laszlo is so much quicker to resort to violence despite being played as a man of intelligentsia. he’s the one that shoots at nandor in Pine Barrens, he’s the one who confronts Jesk with blood under his eyes and ready to behead him again, he’s the one that grabs a knife and cuts open what was presumed to be guillermo in 5x7.

nandor is notoriously more passive now. he was quick to give up when they were hunting the sire, he begged the Baron for mercy as opposed to immediately trying to physically stop him (which i 100% believe he could if he really tried), he reads so often, he goes to the gym and attempts to make friends there.

there’s something here i think.

[ceruleanvermillion]

Okay wait I desperately need a qui-gon lives AU where he's sent on a secret undercover mission to the midrim for a year and or two that his lineage knows but kept quiet about because confidentiality, and when he came back the Clone Wars was already ongoing. Imagine Obi-wan and Anakin delightedly going "Master Jinn!" when he returns, completely disregarding the utter confusion of the clones and because they have never ever seen this man man before.

[canisalbus]

it wasn't quite a dream, but more a rambling thought as i was falling asleep, but, was a cardinal like Machete ever asked to officiate weddings? I dont even know if thats a thing cardinals would be asked to do, much less had the personal for that kind of thing, but imagine being asked by a major political hardcore catholic family to do so and only accepting because you know your secret boyfriend is also attending as a political figure and you get to almost secret pretend its your twos wedding

I'm actually not sure, I've never thought about it. He'd definitely have the full rights to officiate weddings, you don't lose the eligibility to perform sacraments when you get elevated from an ordinary priest to a bishop and then a cardinal. But I think once you get into these high positions you kind of grow out of the priestly role and spend less time doing ground-level work. I imagine that weddings of important nobles and royalty were likely presided over by bishops and cardinals.

The scenario is endearing so I choose to believe that it could've happened.

[itsjustpoopeh]

also? when y'all don't get what you want from this vertigo storyline?

you were not fucking baited. you weren't tricked. you weren't deceived. no one used you for marketing or PR or views

you made assumptions based on *nothing*

assumptions that have been directly contradicted multiple times in the last few days

nothing about your oncoming meltdown is Tim's fault

[bonefall]

...Something's kinda hitting me, guys. I think something just clicked.

So we all know that BB!DOTC is the arc I'm not staying faithful to, right? A lot of characters are getting total overhauls? I'd actually been dancing pretty heavily around the pro-colonialism themes in the original text, simply because I don't really feel comfortable handling them (same with certain sexual themes, it's not great for my mental health to force myself to engage with certain elements that are triggering)

So I'd made it so there was Park Cats (Wind Coalition and River Kingdom) who arrived relatively recently, and Tribe Cats (Sky's Clan, Shadow's Clan) who nestle into an unclaimed spot in the forest. All groups roughly equal in power until Thunder's Clan which was existing in defiance.

But Clanmew isn't JUST comprised of Parkmew and Tribemew-- there's a third contributor. Old Townmew, which mixes with Parkmew and forms Middle Townmew, mixing again with Clanmew to create Modern Townmew.

Since I'm now really thinking about the colonialism themes, especially in my re-read where it starts reaching its narrative conclusion in Books 5 and 6... I think I need to add that 3rd cultural group. I need to make them a player. I think I'm doing a serious disservice by only having the Park Cats, Tribe Cats, and then saying all others mostly lived in the town.

I'm gonna do a BB!Brokenstar with Slash. Previously I'd just cut him completely-- but I think I should, instead, walk him back from being "Pure Evil" like he is in-canon and make him into a real character.

One Eye's a god drawn to the festering stink and rot of the First Battle; Slash is a mortal, leading a group like any other in the Forest Territories.

I think I'm also going to significantly bump up the time the Park Cats have been in this territory. Slash and his cats have been fighting them for years, and until the Mountain Cat influx, were basically spread through most of the Forest.

[captainkirkk]

I think the Goblin Emperor hurts in a different way from HOTE because it's from the pov of the Maia, the trapped emperor

In HOTE, we're inside Cliopher's pov, who only understands but only glimpses moments of his Radiancy's pain and isolation. And Cliopher is so full of hope and stubborn determination and competency - the system may be full of imperial prejudice but he knows that he WILL dismantle it for the sake of the people and his emperor. Plus his career is established and he has spent centuries acclimatising to and shaping the world within the Palace

Maia, on the other hand, is barely an adult and has lived most of his life in isolation with his abuser. He's overwhelmed and out of his depth and can barely trust his Household, who he has known for maybe a few days or weeks. He's kind and determined, yes, but it's overwhelmed by loneliness and confusion. Don't get me wrong, I'm really enjoying TGE, but not as much as I loved HOTE

[therighthandofvengeance]

going to the club (the last, best hope for peace) with the gang (the gayest diplomatic staff you’ll ever see)

[existentiol]

something that pisses me off in RA is that Flanagan will occasionally hype up Pauline as this super important and prominent figure in Will’s life, even treat her as a proxy for the mother he never knew, and yet will just refuse to show it beyond the like. two or three (personal) conversations that they have in canon. I get that he was attempting to make her an important person in Will’s life but why not do that by actually making her an important person in Will’s life

[andifthestarsweretodie]

I just saw a blog try and pretend like Gazans aren't under threat of extinction at the moment and that Israelis are the only ones who are currently under genocidal conditions. Buddy. Buddy. Please. Israelis, from what I understand, are under threat of genocidal intent from Hamas and that's what 07/10 exemplified. Gaza is getting carpet-bombed and starved and routinely pushed to leave their land under threat of death. Refugee camps are getting attacked. Civilian casualties are through the roof. People waving white flags are still getting shot. People in Gaza don't have access to clean water, food, electricity and healthcare right now. We can go into the nebulous details about whose fault that is later: I'm just laying bare what's happening. Is it so hard for people to understand that two things can be true at the same time? Hamas is a threat and very dangerous. The people at the helm of Israel's military are using the kind of dehumanising language that illustrates genocidal intent to some degree, Netanyahu will not accept the idea of a Palestinian state period and the Israeli military is being supported by the US government. There are levels to danger. Danger is danger but only one side in this bloody, deadly conflict (on all sides) will win in a war of attrition and that's a *major* problem when the people at the helm of the side with the strong military power describe no one in the Gaza Strip as innocent. Both parties can be under threat from each other. Two things can be true at the same time.

[viserya-firstofhername]

Hear me out, I am not saying anything in particular, yet I am saying some matters which I may elaborate upon in times to come.

[zeb-z]

“Red team was so selfish looking past the cursed team like that” listen man they were thinking about it often, and had evidence they were cursed too. They were convinced they were cursed too. Bad (with Pierre’s help I’ll be honest) singlehandedly destroyed any sort of civil relations and good faith between the two teams and this shot Blue in the foot when they tried to make the case about them being cursed last minute, about trying to rig it in the cursed teams favor.

There was never a cursed team in the first place, it was all a tactic to build paranoia and that feeling of betrayal and to get them to tear eachother a part. And it worked super well! At the end, neither would listen to the other about their evidence, not with an honest open ear, not with the willingness to think the other team could be cursed. It’s not a case of ‘Red just refused to listen because they wanted to win more than they cared’ they thought they were cursed too - if they were selfish, then so were Blue in the same way.

Every time Red had tried to talk first early on, it was met with extreme violence - and with Bad consistently proving he’ll play dirty to win, they didn’t trust Blue enough to listen to them in the later game. Maybe they should have listened then. Maybe Blue have listened earlier. The game worked as intended to set them against eachother.