#and the poor lady substituting for my art class

[bloodiegawz]

and yes i did gregor too who do you think i am

[taleslations]

Tales of Xillia Short Story; Wingul

After six years, I’ve finally finished translating Wingul’s side story! You might have read excerpts on my blog already, but this is the whole thing. Many thanks to my proofreaders, @thehostilecredence, @lydiemalen, @guardianoftime and @overflags ♥

Just in case Tumblr messes with the formatting, I’m including a link to the doc here.

Contents warnings: canon-typical violence, blood, vomit, mentions of suicide, character deaths.

This short story introduces a number of new characters:

Nils Frieden: Wingul’s retainer and best friend. The story follows his PoV.

Lars Long Dau: Wingul’s father.

Yan, Ying and Bruno Long Dau: Wingul’s uncles.

Wings of Remembrance

❖ The Birth of A Prince

Countless nights of festive banquets followed the first cries of the baby.

On silver plates, piles of beasts hunt all over Auj Oule just for that day. In golden cups, the amber glow of exquisite liquor. Round tables were buried under victuals. The grandeur of the feasts was carved into young Nils’ memory forever.

Nils was growing up in the territory owned by the Long Dau, one of the most prominent clans of Auj Oule. The Long Dau clan held considerable renown and power in the northern continent and ruled over many smaller clans in the region.

According to legends, the Long Dau were the descendants of one of Kresnik the Sage’s seven sons. This meant of all the clans of Auj Oule, the Long Dau were among the ones with the most noble, divine, worthy name; they were one of the most fit for reigning. This was the burden placed on the shoulders of all who bore its name.

But for ten long years after he had succeeded the previous leader, Chief Lars had failed to produce an heir. As he had three younger brothers, one of them would succeed him in the case he died childless, but none of them could hold a candle to him.

In a society where power and influence were dependent on one’s name and physical strength, the lack of a proper heir could signify the decline of a clan. For that reason, the birth of a prince was Lord Lars’ most fervent wish, and the fact that Lin safely came into this world held a great meaning for the Long Dau’s future.

The future chief was sleeping defenseless in his cradle, watched over by a bright young child. He was yet unaware of the enormous burden he would have to bear on his frail shoulders, and was a symbol of hope for the people.

Lin Long Dau, heir of the Long Dau patriarch, just born. Nils Frieden, retainer of the Long Dau, four years old. Their first season of water.

Nils’ mother had been the Long Dau queen’s dresser ever since she was a young girl and was thus allowed entrance in the palace despite being a commoner. Being a lady-in-waiting was a great honor for an unmarried girl, but Nils’ mother never misused her position, and her cheerfulness, modesty and eagerness to learn earned her the queen’s recognition. As a result, everyone in the palace doted on Nils. That is how, when Lin was born, Nils was chosen to be his playmate and promised the honor of being his bodyguard in the future.

One day, his mother learned the meaning of the prince’s name from the queen, and told the story to Nils in secret. According to the queen, “Lin” came from a word that signified “reincarnation” in an ancient language. This referred to one of the legends of Rieze Maxia that said that the souls of the departed crossed the realms of the human and spirit worlds to be reborn as a new life.

“Prince Lin’s name,” his mother had added after finishing her explanation, “is the essence of the world itself. It is a most noble name.”

Nils had never seen a spirit or the flow of souls, but he thought that no name was more befitting the heir of the Long Dau. To him, the little prince was both noble and divine, and he admired the wisdom of his brow, the fairness of his cheeks and the beauty of his ebony locks. There was no greater joy to him than the prospect of serving and protecting his young master.

Powerful men and their successors were distinguished in both literary and military arts–or so propaganda said. In a world where a ruler’s very person was a symbol to the people, their image was often glorified. However, if one was to scratch a little under the surface, one would often discover that they were as plain as day, and that the flattery was nothing but empty words dispensed to make them appear impressive.

Lin, however, was without exaggeration a child prodigy whose name would be engraved in Long Dau chronicles.

When he was learning to speak and to walk, he looked like little else than a blubbering baby always running after his big brother. When he was old enough to play around all day, however, Lin started to catch up to Nils despite their age gap, up to the point that their positions eventually reversed.

If Nils himself was bright for his age, he was nowhere near Lin’s level, whose fountain of wisdom seemed bottomless.

The young prince learned to read and write with Howe’s philosophical theses, sharpened his mind with the movements of pieces across a shogi board, and could often be found in the armory, a military strategy book in one hand, questioning officers about past battles. The soldiers, weary of his nit-picking questions, eventually begged Lord Lars to hire him tutors who would keep him occupied in the domains he had taken an interest in.

And it was not just scholarly matters. Lin also showed no little interest in the arts. Works that one would normally never see in Long Dau land were gathered around him from all over Auj Oule–and even the whole of Rieze Maxia. Raised with such top-class elements, Lin honed his culture and sensitivity, while Nils was blessed with a kind of education his status would have never allowed, all thanks to his young master.

The two boys were like two parts of one whole and could only be seen in the palace hand in hand.

Lin always looked serious, his expression sharp like a blade, his black hair flowing in the wind like silk threads, but Nils’ cheeks were always rose-red as his blond curls swayed from the rhythm of his laughter. The two of them ran around in the garden like puppies and cuddled together at night like chicks.

Lin understood the value of knowledge more deeply than most adults, which was unusual among the Long Dau ruling class.

As was the case with his father Lars and the previous leaders, prowess in battle was usually what determined someone’s worth in the Long Dau clan. Lin’s father and uncles all believed that subjugating one’s opponent in battle was the ultimate way to prove one’s power. Military tactics elaborated on a desk or political maneuverings were considered a thing for cowards who had no confidence in their own strength, and it was believed that leaders had to make a name for themselves through the flapping of standards and the clash of steel against steel.

Once Lin reached the age where he could wield a weapon, he would have to prove his power as the son of Chief Lars the Great and would most likely be thrown into rough fights whether he liked it or not. That is, at least, how it would have been had the Long Dau–had Auj Oule itself–continued on the same path. However, the world was starting to move towards a big upheaval.

❖ The Battle of Fezebel

For many years, relations with Rashugal had been at a standstill, but talks of an imminent invasion were recently spreading.

Rashugal was a major country in the South of Rieze Maxia, separated from Auj Oule by the Fezebel Bay. Unlike Auj Oule, where various clans divided the country, Rashugal was united under the single rule of House Fenn. Rashugal, which was trying to expand its influence under a strict political system, must have been looking for some time for a chance to round up Auj Oule, which was always too absorbed in old-fashioned clan squabbles to notice what was happening on the other side of the sea.

The battle was predicted to take place in the Fezebel Outback, the only slip of land joining the two countries. Lars Long Dau was chosen as supreme commander by the Auj Oule king and was tasked with assembling an army to crush the enemy.

Skillful and robust warriors from hundreds of clans rallied under Lord Lars’ banner. The Long Dau capital was overflowing with men in heavy armor, and feasts for victory were being held every night at the castle for the patriarchs.

Blending with the more famous clans were the Outways, a small clan from the north. It was only a few days before they all departed to the front that a boy only twelve years of age came to an audience on behalf of their aging chief. As the Outway clan was small, it did not have enough warriors to fight on its own and would therefore enlist under the Long Dau banner, following the command of the young substitute.

Since Nils was a commoner, he was only allowed to watch the audience from afar. The boy, Arst, was the same age as himself. He was tall—perhaps the size of a small adult—but lean and quite clearly still in his growth phase. He did not look very reliable. He would probably look more like a true warrior in a few years after his muscles developed, but for the time being they were still invisible under his war attire.

Lin’s father and uncles were listening to Arst’s words with a serious look, but they were laughing inwardly. To oppose Rashugal, they would need to dispatch everyone regardless of standing, but, in their minds, the boy before them would be nothing more than a decorative leader. He would be surrounded by faithful aides, and after swinging his sword a little, he would go back to camp to play commander. That way he would be able to say he participated in his first campaign.

“Look at them, a small clan that fell to poverty a long time ago, trying to put on airs… And all they can send us is a kid. This is ridiculous.”

“We could assign him to Lord Yan or Lord Ying’s unit and let him learn the hard way what a true battlefield is.”

“Hey now, if he runs from us crying, we’ll be regarded as poor babysitters!”

After the audience was over, the four brothers and other court officials were freely sharing mockeries of the boy, and delighted laughter could be heard from everywhere in the room. Lin, however, did not seem to share their mirth, keeping silent instead. His face was paler than usual. Even though he was often trying to act mature, he was still an eight-year-old child. He must have been intimidated by the rough atmosphere.

“Oh my, it seems that this was a bit too much for Prince Lin. Do not worry, my prince, all you will need to do during this war is wait for reports on your mother’s lap.”

The laughter resumed. But Lin did not pay any attention to the mocking adults and grabbed Nils’ arm with a trembling hand.

“You must be tired,” Nils said, trying to be reassuring. “Don’t worry about all this.”

“Nils. That man from the Outway clan… I have a bad feeling about him.”

Nils stared at him in disbelief. “He’s only twelve, like me!” he almost said, but the look in the young genius’ eyes silenced him.

No one at court took Lin’s worries seriously. But it would not be long before they would pay the price for their arrogance.

The clash between Auj Oule and Rashugal, later named “The Battle of Fezebel,” ended in a painful draw. The Fezebel Outback, located in a usually stable spirit clime, was engulfed by a giant tsunami that swept away men and horses alike. Both armies suffered tremendous losses. The countless soldiers’ families and friends, who had sent them away to battle and would have expected them to at least die with honor, were deeply wounded in their heart. Territory disputes thus ceased for a while.

Many years later, the world would learn that this tsunami was caused by the spirit Maxwell’s fight with another world’s army when they to breach the schism separating the worlds. However, at the time, no one could have known about such events far beyond their imagination.

Right before the tsunami struck, Auj Oule’s army had breached one of Rashugal’s flanks and was encircling the enemy, excited by the prospect of victory. Clans who were used to fighting each other had been thrown into a sudden alliance, and as expected, this unity did not last. Thinking only of claiming glory for themselves, the different clans made hasty attacks, and as a result reacted too late to the arrival of the tsunami. All the clans, from the Long Dau on down, suffered great damage.

Though he himself had miraculously survived, young Arst’s unit was completely annihilated. Many leaders were saved while their men perished, which was something to be expected on a battlefield, or so everyone thought at the time.

❖ Chief Lin

As the confusion brought by the war died down, Arst’s accomplishments came to light. It was said that he led his troops to wipe out a regiment of the Rashugal army and threatened the famous Ilbert the Conductor’s perfect record. If not for the tragedy that then struck, they might have broken through Rashugal’s defenses and led Auj Oule to victory. He was also said to have sensed the tsunami coming and pushed for a retreat to safety before it was too late.

Other rumors said that he took advantage of the confusion of the disaster to murder the Long Dau officer who had ridiculed him in front of the leaders and caused his warning to be ignored.

The allegedly murdered man was one of Lin’s relatives and, like Nils, was one of his attendants and friends, though he was older. He was also engaged to Arst’s sister. Taking their situation and history into consideration, it was hard to imagine that Arst would hurt him.

After they had lost so many men, discord between the big Long Dau and the small Outway clans worsened. However, the vague fear that Arst inspired in the tsunami survivors was now deeply ingrained.

It was not just because of his prowess in battle. Rare were those who possessed the natural talent to steer their ship through the most terrible of storms without working to acquire the necessary skills. If Arst was indeed one of such people born with the natural ability to lead, chances were high that he would soon threaten the delicate balance which supported the world of Auj Oule. The best course of action would be to subjugate him while he was still inexperienced—before he realized that he was strong enough to hold his own.

But in the end, Arst’s youth dulled the judgment of those around him.

Three years after the Battle of Fezebel, the boy succeeded his father and revolted against the Long Dau, the surrounding clans under his command, much to the surprise of the ruling class.

Hearing that he had been betrayed by the kid of a small clan indebted to him, Lars flew into a rage and gathered a punitive force to subdue him. However, despite boasting that he would demonstrate how they were on a different level when he left the castle, the patriarch did not make a triumphant return with a weepy Arst in chains—instead, he came back in silence, his corpse wrapped in a bloody banner. Merely three years after his first battle, Arst had slain the renowned chief of the great Long Dau clan.

Arst’s goal was not to seize power of the Long Dau clan for himself. He held a greater, revolutionary ambition—to accomplish the unification of Auj Oule, something no one had ever succeeded. In Auj Oule, which was ruled by blood and tradition, his ambition was expectedly  seen as laughable. However, his voice eventually became an inspiration and started to stain the land. Even King Merad of the ancient and most noble Sarakhs clan was considered as a possible target. Moved by Arst’s unprecedented great cause, many people gathered under this youthful man who led them into battle with excellent skills and wisdom, and they formed a military force that transcended clans and factions, which they named Taurus. 

After Lars’ death, Arst’s name had become some sort of taboo that created an uneasy atmosphere in the Long Dau castle every time it was mentioned.

“Lin.”

Nils was extremely worried about Lin, who had just lost his father.  He was destined from the start to become head of the clan, but he was only eleven and still grieving his father. It was far too soon for him to assume the succession.

“Are you all right?”

“Am I all right?! Define ‘all right’.”

“...Don’t push yourself. Lord Lars was so strong, and yet he was killed in battle. We should have listened to you that day.”

Lin’s eyes, which until then were looking at the distance, suddenly focused on Nils.

“But I’ll protect you, I promise. If Arst Outway comes to get you, he’s definitely going down!” 

Nils smiled awkwardly, trying to cheer him up, but his words did not have any effect on Lin, who looked down again.

“My uncles are completely obsessed with the idea of slaying that man. They won’t listen to anything I say. I will probably have to fight too in the near future.”

When Lin looked up again, his face, illuminated by the moonlight, looked like he had suddenly aged ten years.

Like Lin had predicted, Yan, Ying and Bruno Long Dau embarked on a quest to avenge their brother and capture Arst. The young man’s plan for a new Auj Oule and his foundation of Taurus sounded like a daydream to Nils, a sweet story that would have tempted him if he had been born in a lonely village. But to him, who had the duty to support and protect Lin and the Long Dau’s glory, it was nothing but a lie. According to Lin, their control was already greatly disturbed from the moment the young man had started doubting the system. In that case, Arst’s existence was not something they could tolerate, for the sake of Lin and the Long Dau’s glory.

However, even at this time, Yan and the others were not paying attention to the changing times brought about by Arst. Their aim was to humiliate and execute him, then put Lin on the Long Dau throne with themselves as regents, and reap all the power for themselves.

They ignored all the tactics Lin suggested, such as manipulating public opinion, feint operations, siege formation, or even the most basic marching tactics. They acknowledged Lin’s uncanny ability to move pieces on the strategy board but were convinced of their own superiority due to their long experience in actual combat.

They believed that they could crush Arst by sheer force of numbers, even though Lars himself had not been able to defeat him. That led them to their demise. In the year that followed Lars’ death, Yan and Ying were slain one after the other. Lin led a punitive force against Arst to avenge them and managed to corner him several times with his unconventional tactics, but suffered defeat due to the noble generals’ propensity to protect their own interests. The youngest brother Bruno, who had been sent out to subjugate Arst, met a most disgraceful end when he lost control of his horse and fell into a ravine while fleeing the battle.

The Long Dau lost all influence, and following Bruno’s death, many courtiers and nobles chickened out and fled the palace. Arst was now being called “Gaius,” which meant “He Who Pulls the World Behind Him.” His power was increasing steadily. Some ran to his side and swore loyalty to him in self-defense, while others placed their bets on the winning horse hoping to expand their territory. Although she had stayed strong after Lars’ death, the Long Dau queen committed suicide, unable to bear the sorry sight of the court anymore. The castle was losing its shine with each passing day.

All that was left by Lin’s side were a few loyal retainers like Nils or lower class nobles who had missed their chance to retire.

❖ The Battle of Mon Highlands

With Gaius’ rise, the Long Dau, who used to be respected as one of the most powerful clans of Auj Oule, were on the verge of collapse. Despite this, more than a thousand soldiers stayed under Lin’s command and wished to retake the honor of their clan by fighting Gaius alongside their young chief.

To Lin, this war was a way to avenge his father, uncles, and even his mother who had chosen death willingly. One year had passed since their first defeat, and Lin had perfected his strategy, to the point where he managed to corner Gaius’ army in the steep mountain ranges of the Mon Highlands. Under the skillful command of the young chief, whom his men had taken to call “The Little Strategist,” the tactics of Lars’ time, which relied exclusively on force and were often nothing but a waste of resources, endangering the lives of the soldiers unnecessarily, were deemed useless and abandoned. The morale of the men going into battle was high. 

Nils was standing near Lin and was looking at his slender face as he was waiting for the enemy’s move, observing the formation he had built on the snowy land. It was a little hard to believe that Gaius would let himself be surrounded so easily. He probably had a plan. But then Lin had probably already foreseen that possibility. He could not possibly think of ending it with a draw...

The wind was getting stronger. Thinking to fetch a fur coat for Lin, he turned toward the officers’ tent, but at that moment he felt a presence. To his surprise, he saw none other than Gaius himself appear on a small hill with a few soldiers.

He looked brazenly defenseless for a young man now at the head of a big army. Gaius still bore some resemblance to the boy he had caught a glimpse of five years before, but the way he made his presence noticed was completely different, and Nils felt overwhelmed. Lin, who had noticed him as well, simply said to wait. The time when they exchanged formalities through messengers was over.

Gaius eventually entered the enemy lines and approached Lin. If Lin were to throw away his honor, it would be possible to take him down here. However, Gaius looked like he did not fear such possibility.

“Lin Long Dau.”

Gaius’s voice was imperious.

“Call back your troops. The ground here is soft. If your men continue advancing northward in large numbers, they will most definitely cause an avalanche.” 

“Lin, he's probably just trying to get out of a difficult situation. Don't listen to him,” Nils warned, forgetting his place.

But Lin simply asked coolly: “I don't understand. If you are speaking the truth, why aren't you using the situation to your advantage?”

“I am not one to be blinded by victory and cause the death of excellent soldiers through underhanded tactics. They are precious warriors who will one day support my country and help me forge a path for the good of the people.”

Nils heard Lin draw a sharp breath. He, too, understood what Gaius’ words evoked—the terrible tragedy of Fezebel from five years ago.

“I do not wish to adhere to an old-fashioned system that clings to name and birth. I want to build a country where the strong show the way to the weak and help them achieve happiness. I do not wish to lose the people who would become the foundation of my country simply because they are currently my enemies.”

“Are you telling me to trust the words of a seventeen-year-old boy?”

“Yes. I am talking to you, who are now facing me at barely thirteen years of age. To you, Lin of Long Dau, renowned descendant of the Seven Sons of Auj Oule, who succeeded your father at the young age of eleven.”

Nils felt Lin tense at the evocation of his father’s death, and unconsciously stepped between them to shield him—or was it to contain his murderous impulse?—but the imposing youth was not finished speaking.

“Your father was blinded by glory and came back home having lost many men to the tsunami. All because he had discarded my words as the whinings of a child and ridiculed me.”

“...If I had participated in that battle, it would not have ended in a painful draw. I would have led Auj Oule to victory. And I would have slain you there and then.”

“If you had been leading instead of your father, the outcome of the battle might have indeed been very different. And the more you corner me with your brilliant tactics, the further ahead you push me.”

Having said everything he had come to say, Gaius turned on his heels. Nils called out to Lin but received no answer. Eventually, Lin issued a single order sharply.

“Call the troops back to Dargu Gate.”

The troops were confused. Gaius’ army was right there. Had Lord Lin lost his nerve?

The officers did not bother to hide their bewilderment and their complaints as they urged the soldiers to rebuild their formation and retreat. As if it had been waiting for this very moment, a wave of snow started sliding down the slope, as if a part of the mountain itself was collapsing. It destroyed the tents easily and engulfed the carts and wicker trunks. The mountain’s rage eventually subsided after what seemed like an eternity. In the distance, one could see Arst’s red armor, shining vividly in the color of blood.

That night, Lin and Nils were resting in one of the tents they had managed to salvage from the avalanche.

“Nils. The Long Dau will submit to Ars—to Gaius.”

“Lin, no! If you do that, what will become of the Long Dau clan? Think about the court, Lord Lars’ legacy, your beautiful language... You cannot do that!”

“It is not like everything will be lost. However, the clan has already fallen. I could not protect my father nor stop my uncles. This is my responsibility. Only a fool believes blindly in his superiority and endangers his clansmen pursuing a goal for the sole purpose of self-satisfaction. It is like waving a flower in the darkness and deriving glory from its torn petals. Such a commander is only worthy of disdain.”

“I’ll fight! Even if I’m the only one left standing, I’ll fight to protect the Long Dau’s honor! You can’t bend your head to that arrogant guy. Please order me, Lin! For you, I’ll kill him, even if I have to die in the process!”

Nils had unconsciously grabbed Lin’s shoulder when talking, but Lin shook off his hand and replied.

“Nils, I’ve made my decision. ...If you are not happy with it, leave.”

Lin’s words seemed cold, but Nils felt as if he was apologizing.

Apologizing? To whom? To his father Lars, who had used the clan as he pleased? To his mother, proud and wise, who had encouraged his education? Perhaps to the countless nameless soldiers who had lost their lives on a battlefield?

I don’t need your pitiful repentance. All I want is to protect you. You, my precious master who brought your clan to an end at such a young age.

Lin...

Nils knelt down and took Lin’s small hand into his own, then brought it to his forehead, while tears were silently running down his face.

    Lin submitted to Gaius, ending the Long Dau’s rule for good. There were many courtiers and nobles who had already switched over to Gaius, so the ones that remained adjusted easily to their new circumstances.

A few years later, Gaius gained control of Merad’s main base, Kanbalar, and proclaimed the birth of a new Auj Oule. This event was known as the “Dawn of Auj Oule.”

Lin, who had received the title of “Wingul” in the meanwhile, was tasked with defending the throne and its new king. Nils’ precious friend, the wing of the Chimera, now led tens of thousands of soldiers with his legendary talent. That sight was both sublime and pitiful to Nils.

Gaius did not make a distinction between those who swore loyalty to him directly and those who gathered under one of his allies, and respected pre-established relationships. Those who were loyal to one of Gaius’ followers rather than Gaius himself, like Nils was to Lin, were allowed to keep working under their previous masters. Past quarrels were meaningless in the face of Auj Oule’s unification, which would finally be completed with the death of Merad, who was biding his time for a counterattack. The conventional walls that divided society in classes and clans were crumbling down.

“Is that what it means for the world to change?”

Lin quietly chuckled at Nils’ pondering. Nils could see his cheeks were white like wax behind his hair.

The Long Dau court was no more.

One day, Lin headed for Xian Du with Nils and a few guards. The Kitarl clan, founders of the city, had been in disorder ever since their patriarch had been killed by one of their young men. The clan was shaken by internal strifes which had Gaius worried. Lin, however, had more expectations for the clan than strictly political ones.

Like the Long Dau, the Kitarl were respected as one of the Brilliant Seven, the most powerful clans in Auj Oule. According to the legend, their origin dated back to over two thousand years ago, though there was no proof of their existence further than a few hundred years. Still, it was quite clear that their history was much older than that of other clans. They had settled on the soil of Auj Oule a long time ago and forged its prosperity and culture. This was an honor both the Long Dau and the Kitarl shared.

However, while Rashugal was walking on the way to prosperity thanks to measures introduced after it became one single big nation, Auj Oule had slowly been falling into decline.

Lin turned to Nils.

“Nils, can you see that building over there? Between those two summits.”

“Yes. I can’t believe they built something like that up there. It’s the coliseum, right?”

“When he was twelve, Gaius achieved victory of the tournament of that year.”

“When he was just twelve… That’s why he was so strong in the Fezebel war?”

“His opponent in the finals was the heir of a large clan, so his victory was never officially recognized. Unlike the Outways, that clan had power and influence.”

At the time, Gaius’ life had been ruled by his name, and his fate decided by others. He must have chosen his way in life because of all these experiences. Hearing Lin talk about Gaius’ past as if he empathized, Nils felt a pang of jealousy.

“Do you know the name of this flower?” Lin suddenly asked, pointing to a flower on the side of the road.

“…No. It looks a bit weird, doesn’t it?”

The flower had clusters of colorful petals attached to the stem.

“It is called a ‘gladiolus’ and is also known as the ‘sword lily’,” Lin explained as he dismounted from his horse. He walked to the flower and picked it.

“A Kitarl tradition is to offer this flower to the warriors who go to fight in the coliseum.”

Nils and the guards stared at Lin, waiting for the rest.

“The bell of battle that resounds through the battlefield. The cries of frenzied souls. The bitter grudge of the women who, unable to bear arms themselves, can do naught but bury their sons and husbands. For a very long time, the land of Auj Oule was governed by blades and blood. I think that this flower should become a tribute to the memory of those who have lost their lives thus. Gaius is seeking a new Auj Oule, not one that is built on a mountain of swords but one that lies beyond the tears and the carnage of war.”

When he was finished, Lin attached the flower to his horse’s bridle. The horse shook his head in discontent at first, but eventually resigned itself to sporting his new ornament.

❖ Booster Development

With Lin, Nils and the other men, Gaius suppressed Merad’s army, and Auj Oule was finally united as the Auj Oule united territories. During the Battle of Arklund, their forces seized the laboratory installed in the Labari Coal Mines, where they learned of the existence of a strange weapon using rare spirit fossils. They set out to understand what it was.

According to their own scientists, it was a weapon that enabled artificial control of mana. However, the captured rebels could not tell them much about it, as those weapons had been supplied by Rashugal, and they did not know the details of their conception—they only cared that it was a powerful weapon. Since their numbers were few for their rebellion, that was more than enough for them, and they did not care about how it worked.

That is how research about “boosters”—tools to amplify mana for a more efficient and general purpose—started.

Over the span of two years of testing on animals, their practical use came to light. But since the “basculer,” a main component of the device, was to be inserted directly into the brain, a human test subject would have to be chosen with utmost care if they hoped to make progress.

Nils was scared. At that time, Lin had just suffered serious injuries from his defeat against the murderer of the Kitarl chief. Lin had not taken this defeat as a simple humiliation, but as a sign that he was too weak to serve as Gaius’ aide. Lin excelled as chief councilor, but when it came to the sword, Nils was much better than him. Once you got past his guard, he was easily defeated.

But this was Lin. He was likely to do something reckless out of his excessive sense of responsibility and self-sacrifice. Eventually, as Nils feared, Lin volunteered himself as a test subject with no regard for his own well-being.

“Are you kidding me? You are the Long Dau king. What kind of king would sell his own body!?”

“Former king. Now I am just a man who has offered himself to Gaius. Besides,” Lin added after a moment, “I want power.”

A blood-curdling scream resounded in the laboratory. The life-or-death experiment on a live person had fortunately managed to avoid the worst-case scenario, but that was the only good news about it. Words could not describe the scene they were witnessing.

Unable to bear the abrupt condensation of mana, Lin lost his mind and cursed in Long Dau, screamed in pain, and threw up vomit and blood before his head dropped and he passed out. It was a good thing that they had preventively restrained him. If his limbs had been free, in madness and agony, he might have either slit his own throat or massacred everyone in the room. Even though he usually was a master at self-restraint, Lin’s mind seemed to have been completely broken by the demon in the booster.

At first, connecting to the booster for a few seconds had such a toll on his body that he needed over fifty hours of rest to recover; it was the height of torment. But with repetitive use, his boosted state stabilized, and he eventually could keep a relatively clear mind. Every secondary effect caused by the mana surge, such as his personality change and his hair turning from ebony black to white like an old man, was closely monitored. At the rate they were going, the device would soon be able to be put into practical application.

After a while, they implanted the booster directly in Lin’s brain rather than use the basculer to connect to it. The device was now truly part of his body.

Nils, who had only been able to watch him go through those painful experiments and surgeries, secretly wished to become a test subject as well. He thought he could alleviate the burden on Lin if he was not the only one to shoulder it. His fears of breaking his mind or injuring his body were nothing compared to what he felt when he saw his precious Lin suffer.

…But Nils had next to zero compatibility.

Thanks to Lin’s sacrifice, booster performance skyrocketed, and they were even able to get equivalent results from wearable devices without relying on dangerous implantations. At the same time, they started gathering children from all over Auj Oule to help with the experiments. Those children, who had lost both parents due to war, famine or other tragedies, would be completely taken into care in exchange for their involvement in the development of those weapons, which was still incomplete, though now relatively safe. The booster institute Lin was in charge of was, at that point, operated in utmost secrecy, as it could influence Auj Oule’s fate greatly.

There were still many mysteries about people’s mana lobes. The scientists explained that not being able to use a booster did not necessarily mean one’s spirit artes abilities were lacking. However, that did nothing to alleviate Nils’ distress at being unable to share Lin’s pain and prevent him from shouldering all the burden on his own.

What came as a severe blow was the appointment of a second aide by Gaius’ side, equal to Lin. The man who thus received the title “Jiao” was none other than the one who had beat Lin and cornered Gaius—the giant from the Kitarl clan. The former patriarch murderer had cleared his name and become chief of the clan, and, of all things, was allowed stand side-by-side with Lin as Gaius’ hand.

It’s because of your folly that Lin got involved with this booster stuff!

Those men raising weapons together despite their various feuds for the sake of lofty ideals were, in some way, extremely rational, though it could be said their self-control bordered on tenacity. At the same time, Nils could not be the one to stand by Lin’s side despite wishing for it more than anything. But despite his increasing sense of futility, Nils kept fighting.

❖ A Small Hope

It was around that time that he met a little girl. New children were being brought to the institute regularly, so it was not unusual to see new faces. However, this particular girl’s gaze strangely took hold of Nils’ heart. She was quiet and looked intelligent, with loose curls and a beautiful face. But it was not her cuteness that touched him, but her lonely expression, reflected in her sad eyes. It seemed that the other children were keeping distance from her.

At first, he thought it was because she had just arrived, but after a while the situation showed no sign of improving. According to the researchers, the girl had astounding booster compatibility and her test results broke all records. That caused the other children to be jealous of her, which is why they avoided her.

Without realizing, Nils started speaking to her.

“Ah… Are you ‘Test Subject Number One’?” the girl asked, surprised.

Test Subject Number One. That was Lin. It made sense. Indeed, Nils’ blond hair looked like how Lin’s hair did due to the booster’s side effects. Lin’s slender build was different from Nils’ tall body, but adult men must have all looked the same in the eyes of a child, at least as long as they were not close.

So that was how it was. Trying to explain would be bothersome, so Nils simply nodded. In fact, if he had been able to participate in the tests, he would have probably received the title ‘Test Subject Number Two’ or something like that, so it was not a complete lie.

“…Everyone left. They told me to go away. That they would catch the gloomies if I got close. …I’m a bad girl,” she said. She was fidgeting with the hem of her dress—folding then unfolding it, stretching it then folding it again, as if she believed that she could enter their circle if she just made the perfect fold.

“How can I make friends with everyone?”

…It’s not your fault. It’s this world, created by the adults’ selfish ambitions! he almost replied, but he swallowed his words. The children had all lost their way and had all acquired the “right” and “duty” to live in this institute. It was better for them to do well here.

Nils himself had wished to be part of it.

“It’s difficult to express how you feel, isn’t it?”

“…Yes.”

“If words are too hard, you can find other methods. Like a smile, or holding hands…”

“I don’t have to speak?”

“You need courage to speak to someone face to face, don’t you? I think it’s okay to draw strength from something else in such a case. It doesn’t change how you feel, after all.”

After telling her that, Nils took the girl’s strange doll and made it move and talk. “Hello! I’m your best friend!”

“Ah ha ha, that’s funny!” the girl laughed.

From then on, Nils would talk to the girl every time he saw her. The doll was later turned into a booster and now talked on its own and expressed the girl’s hidden feelings, becoming a good partner for her.

“It seems that you are giving special attention to one of the test subjects,” Lin suddenly asked him one day.

“It’s nothing. She doesn’t get along well with the other kids, so I was a bit worried,” Nils answered.

Did Lin think Nils was carefreely playing with children while he was suffering from the side effects of his own booster? 

Even within the children’s society, social interactions were difficult, especially since many were bearing deep wounds in their hearts. Nils wanted to believe that anyone would want to relieve them a little.

“It could hinder the experiments. Please stop meddling.”

“I’m sorry if I overstepped. But you don’t have to put it that way. Besides, she was all alone, yet no one else stepped in to help her.”

“An adult showing her special attention would have the opposite effect. It would only cause unnecessary problems.”

“But Lin, to heal a broken heart, you first need to give it a place where it feels safe. Didn’t all those children come here because of tragic circumstances? If we only focus on results and ignore their fears and anxiety, it would be like trying to plant seeds on dead soil. If we want them to bloom, we need to provide them with water.”

“Too much water would cause the roots to rot. You don’t need to go out of your way to treat them like children. They will find their way on their own.”

“No! Plentiful water makes trees grow and strengthen their roots. We need to nurture them for them to bear fruit!”

Nils refuted all of Lin’s cold arguments.

There was something he had always wanted to say.

Ever since you started walking alongside Gaius, you became sharp like a blade. But you’ve pushed yourself too far and started distancing yourself from those who care about you.

“You were burdened by determination and unwanted responsibilities and had no choice but to become an adult at such a young age. I’ve witnessed your pain from up close, and I’ve always wished I could take it from you. But these children are different. They don’t know anything about complicated matters like the sake of the country or diplomacy or anything like that. They’re just fragile, ordinary kids who don’t even know how to spell their own names.”

Memories of his childhood flashed almost painfully through his mind. The Long Dau lands full of heath fields which they ran around. Lin’s face, swaying between small purple flowers in a sea of grass spreading over the thin ground.

At the time, none of them would have imagined that their kingdom would fall, that their days would be filled with sadness. They just played and laughed and hugged each other to their hearts’ content and thought the only thing they needed was a promise to always be together. 

“This is the only place these children have in the world. They’re not able to climb up the steep cliff on their own. They’ve bet their whole life and happiness in this dark closed world. They don’t care about results or abilities or whether we achieve our goal.”

He pictured the girl’s shy smile.

“Please, let them find happiness.”

His dear friend, who he’d valued as much as his life for as long as he remembered, was slowly getting out of reach. Lin’s heart was far away. That is why seeing Jiao—their former enemy—stroll into the institute as if he owned the place was painful to Nils.

He apparently had a connection to one of the children, which was why he sometimes asked to visit the place. He was now one at the peak of his power as one of Gaius’ direct subordinates. Instead of leaving that child in the institute, Nils thought that he should take her in and offer her a blessed life.

One day, upon learning that Jiao had arrived, Nils confronted him alone.

“I’ve heard there’s a kid you know here.”

“Did Wingul tell you? Well, it’s true that I know her…”

For all the noise he made, he was looking down with a complicated expression. There was now no trace of the violence he had displayed during his duel with Lin, but thinking about what Lin had endured then, Nils could not help a sarcastic remark.

 “You’ve become a big shot now. You should just adopt the kid. Or maybe you don’t actually want to be associated with children struggling in a place like this?”

“Don’t say that. You know how my life is. If something happened to me, she would lose someone dear again, and that would definitely break her heart.”

“Don’t try to deceive me. This is just a convenient excuse.” 

No, that’s wrong. I’m just taking it out on him.

“To begin with, I can’t even face her. I’m the one who brought tragedy unto her.”

Jiao refused to say more. He must have been referring to some specific past incident, or perhaps talking about the chaos the country had been plunged in for over ten years.

And that chaos was partly caused by the Long Dau clan itself. Many loyal soldiers who followed Lin’s vision had been killed by Gaius’ men, leaving mourning families behind. Lars and his brothers, on their end, used to squeeze villages dry when they commandeered supplies for war. Even before, for a very long time, countless famished people could not survive winters. No matter who won, war only left people’s lives in ruins. Nils wondered where he would have fallen if he had not been serving Lin closely.

“I’m sorry, Jiao,” he whispered, ashamed of the way he had used him to vent his conflicted feelings.

Jiao buried his face in his fur collar, as if to hide his eyes.

On a moonlit night of early Amnis, voices warning of intruders resounded throughout the facility.

They were only a handful. However, the enemy was clearly used to battles. They employed the guerrilla tactics of insurgent tribes and their discipline outshone that of regular troops. They were thoroughly trained in peculiar ways and passed through the defenses with ease.  

To top it all, their weapons were very strange. They did not just fight physically but also used artes, yet there was no sign of them emitting mana or reciting incantations. It was possible to shorten casting time of high level artes, but this did not seem to be what they were doing. Their weapons opened fire in silence and killed their targets in an instant.

Massacre was not the intruders’ aim. After killing the guards who had had the misfortune of crossing their path, they did not look back and went forward, deeper into the facility. They were no doubt here to look for the boosters.

In that case, the children needed to be brought to safety immediately.

Jiao and Lin were in the laboratory. In other words, if the enemy reached their target, they would be found by both men at once. They would be like mice in a trap, and one could feel sorry for them, but they would only have their bad luck to blame.

An unfamiliar man appeared in Nils’ field of vision as he was running, his weapon in hand. The man was wearing a dusty jacket and a long scarf. His eyes looked empty, as if he had given up on life.

When Nils pulled out his sword and turned toward him, he felt a burning pain in his chest.

“Sorry. I’m in a hurry,” the man said in an empty voice.

Despite how small the weapon was, a single shot had been enough for Nils to stiffen and struggle to breathe. Blood was oozing off his chest, like he had been pierced by a sword.

He crouched down, and eventually lay on his side. The sound of hurried footsteps and a battle reached his ears. The explosive sounds that resounded through the hallways from time to time must have been coming from that weapon that had wounded him. The commotion eventually died down, and silence fell.

“Nils.”

That was Lin���s voice, echoing through his spinning mind. That monotonous, yet warm voice he cherished so much.

“…Yeah. ‘m fine. Jiao?”

“Don’t worry, all the children were evacuated safely. The little miss is safe as well.”

He could feel their presence nearby, but it was too hard for him to turn his head in their direction.

“Nils, don’t close your eyes. If you lose consciousness, you won’t be able to come back.” Lin voice was calm, but he was white as a sheet. “I promise you, I’ll revive the Long Dau clan one day, just like you always wished. So please…”

“Lin. The children… make sure they’re happy,” he rasped. “Just like we always were…”

Lin opened his eyes wide as if he had been hit in the chest, and nodded vigorously.

Satisfied, Nils sighed and lost consciousness. That single strange wound in his chest was a fatal wound.

The institute was closed soon after the attack, and the children were moved to another establishment, where they were given warm care under the supervision of Wingul of the Chimeriad.

After that, Wingul started calling himself the Ebon Wing of Auj Oule. No one knew if the single wing’s imagery was alluding to his position as Gaius’ right-hand man or to the fact he was mourning the loss of his closest friend, his other wing.

Lin Long Dau, former Long Dau chief, 27 years old. Nils Frieden, his subordinate, 31 years old. Their last season of water.

[ciestessde]

Phantasma Magica Ch. 10

STORY SUMMARY

Clockwork and the Observants send Danny to Hogwarts on a special mission. But, cryptic as ever, that Old Stopwatch never actually told him what would happen on it!!! “All you need to do right now, Daniel, is stay focused on your mission. And remember, the-” “‘The Lions with the time-turner, lightning-bolt scar, and hair like fire are friends; watch out for the rat; and the black dog is not a threat.’ Yeah, you’ve only repeated that a few dozen times today.”

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*Knock-knock* “You may come in.”

Lupin entered. Dumbledore stopped his pacing and sat behind his desk. … He was frowning.

“Thank you for coming, Remus.” “I assume this is about Danny,” Lupin sat in the chair Dumbledore provided him. Dumbledore nodded, his eyebrows furrowing. “I’ve given much thought to what you’ve told me about him. You claim the phantasm is… friendly. However, you also acknowledge that phantasms survive--” his tone darkened “--off of eating souls.” “Yes. That’s what Danny told me. However, Danny eats substitute souls…” Lupin trailed off. Dumbledore was nodding.

“... I… understand your sympathies for the boy. And I agreed not to pursue him. However.” Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to actually burn. “Unlike a werewolf… a phantasm is a continual threat to my students’ safety. What if he were to run out of these ‘substitutes,’ for example? Would he hunt the dementors and break our tenuous peace with them? Eat the Hogwarts’ Ghosts?” Lupin didn’t have an answer for him. “And as you have said yourself, this is the first -- the only -- time we know of that anyone has had a remotely civil interaction with a phantasm. I trust your judgement that the boy does not MEAN us any harm. But we have no way of knowing that that will last.” They sat in silence for a while.

Dumbledore sighed. He looked pained. “... I’m sorry, Remus. I won’t attack the boy. “But I cannot allow him to remain here unsupervised.”

Few things felt better than floating lazily through the air on a warm Spring night. Danny felt sorry for the humans: stuck inside, having to study for exams. When the weather was just turning warm… Not that he was able to completely relax. His meal trips for Sirius and 2nd-Hermione took up a bit of time. But on the whole… Danny was actually getting bored again. … As in, REALLY bored! Which was NOT something he thought he’d be when he first arrived at this crazy school. But he’d explored every inch of it! Or, he thought so, anyway; the place was practically a maze. But if there was any part he’d missed, he’d have to congratulate whoever built or hid it (if he ever met them). Because of that boredom, though, Danny resorted to something he never thought he would: He had started studying school subjects for fun. Which, granted, magic subjects were inherently more entertaining, but the textbooks were still somehow just as boring to read as normal ones! The two subjects that interested him most were Astronomy (of course) and History of Magic. (The teacher of that class -- aside from being a ghost??? -- was still extremely boring, but the history itself was actually pretty neat.)

He also started visiting Buckbeak to get the hippogriff more comfortable around his presence, just in case the appeal didn’t work out. The chances of which were… pretty good, if Draco’s returned good mood was anything to go by. Turns out the bully’s father really was influential, and he certainly didn’t keep it a secret that the creature’s execution would be because of that influence. In fact, he seemed pleased by it. Danny had gotten tired of pranking Draco himself, but the boy’s attitude about Buckbeak grated on his nerves so much that he bribed Peeves (with some items from the Hogsmeade joke shop) to do it for him. … It worked… for… a few days, anyway. ...Which was pretty good concentration, for a poltergeist. When a letter arrived saying that an executioner would be attending the appeal, Danny took that as a sign that his plan would probably have to be used, after all. He made sure there was a space ready for the creature in the big room under the castle (called the “Chamber of Secrets,” he found out from Hermione), destroying the basilisk carcass and making a nest for him. He hoped the trip through the ground and walls wouldn’t freak Buckbeak out too much when the time came…

But really. An executioner? To an appeal? For the “crime” of scratching a kid’s arm?! It was like this “Ministry of Magic” WANTED him to hate them!

The Trio, oddly enough, actually seemed to think their chances of winning the appeal were pretty good. He wished he could share their optimism. They were visiting Hagrid almost every evening at this point -- using Harry’s invisibility cloak, of course. If nothing else, the company and constant reassurance was keeping Hagrid’s spirits up.

The appeal took place the same day of the students’ last exams. Which meant that they wouldn’t find out the ruling until after they had finished. Or, in Danny’s case, that he had to keep one eye on Hagrid’s hut during the Divination exam. He would have just floated next to the hippogriff for the whole day, waiting to make their escape, but… It was just too tempting!

He actually sat in on two other, earlier, exams: The Astronomy test, to see how he compared. (He might not actually have been able to take it -- but he was proud to say that, if he could’ve, he would have gotten “top marks!”) And the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam -- because it was a magical obstacle course, which… it was just FAR too entertaining to pass up watching!

But he didn’t watch the Divination exam for the entertainment value. He needed to know whether it was actually possible for humans (magical or not) to see into the future. Because if they could… it meant that the Observants -- Clockwork’s bosses -- weren’t the only ones with that power. He wasn’t sure how, but he thought that might be useful information, in the future… 

But, uh… The answer seemed to be a resounding “no.” Every student that came up to tell her what they saw in the crystal ball… A few of them took it seriously, but most seemed to just be making stuff up. And the teacher, “Trelawney”… was falling for the stories hook, line, and sinker! Danny stayed until the last student ONLY because it was Harry. Who, indeed, did what everyone else did and made something up.

”Well? What do you see?” prompted Trelawney, dressed in her usual ridiculous beads, bangles, and spangled shawl -- looking like a glittery insect with her giant, thick glasses. “Er -- a dark shape… um…” “What does it resemble? Think, now…” “A hippogriff.” “Indeed!” She scribbled something on her parchment. “My boy, you may well be seeing the outcome of poor Hagrid’s trouble with the Ministry of Magic! Look closer… Does the hippogriff appear to… have its head?” “Yes,” Harry stated firmly. “Are you sure? Are you quite sure, dear? You don’t see it writhing on the ground, perhaps, and a shadowy figure raising an axe behind it?” “No!”

‘What the heck is with this teacher? She’s been leading the students into “making”  these doom-ridden predictions the ENTIRE exam!!!’ “No blood? No weeping Hagrid?” “No! It looks fine, it’s -- flying away…” ‘C’mon, Harry. I know you want Buckbeak to be fine, but if you’re going to make something up to pass, make something up that will, y’know -- get her to pass you.’ But the teacher sighed and said, “Well, dear, I think we’ll have to leave it there. ...A little disappointing,” ‘Really, though? Are ALL predictions bad? Can’t the Universe give GOOD visions?! What kind of “prophet” ARE you?!!!’ “... but I’m sure you did your best.”

Harry packed up and turned to leave, Danny about to phase out through the wall, when-- “IT WILL HAPPEN TONIGHT.” Danny reeled around, almost attacking her -- The lady’s voice had become loud and harsh, and her body had gone rigid. Her eyes were unfocused, and her mouth sagged. But as soon as Danny realized what was going on -- he paid extra close attention!!!

“THE DARK LORD LIES DORMANT, TRAPPED BEHIND LIGHTNING. HIS SERVANT HAS BEEN CHAINED THESE TWELVE YEARS. TONIGHT, BEFORE DUSK… THE SERVANT WILL BREAK FREE AND RELEASE HIS MASTER. THE DARK LORD WILL RISE AGAIN WITH HIS SERVANT’S AID, BRINGING TERROR WITH HIS LIGHTNING PRISON. TONIGHT… BEFORE DUSK… THE SERVANT… WILL RELEASE… HIS MASTER…”

Trelawney’s head fell onto her chest, then snapped back up, and like that -- it was over. Harry tried to get some kind of explanation from her, but she didn’t seem to remember what had just happened. And Danny was inclined to believe she wasn’t faking it, because during that little episode… She had been radiating time aura.

… Also, it was just the kind of vague, unhelpful wording the old Stopwatch LOVED to use when giving any hint or warning. Because, really? “Trapped inside lightning”? “Release his master”? How was that helpful?!?! ‘Well…’ Danny tried to decode the message on his way to Hagrid’s hut. ‘I guess this means my vacation is over. “Lightning prison”... ‘That probably means Harry. The “servant” MIGHT be Pettigrew…?’

Deciding it would be better to keep a closer eye on Harry for the night, Danny turned around. If he had learned anything from his training under the Master of Time, then he knew that prophecies were meant to be broken! But when he got to the Gryffindor common room, it was to see the Trio headed out with grim looks on their faces. He whispered to Hermione (who was used to him appearing at her ear), “What’s going on?” “Buckbeak lost the appeal,” she whispered.

He followed them down to the hut. ‘I have a bad feeling about this, but… No point trying to change things until I know what to change…’ Hagrid was trembling and pale when he answered the door. “It’s us,” Harry hissed. “We’re wearing the Invisibility Cloak. Let us in and we can take it off!” “Yeh shouldn’ve come!” But he let them in, anyway. Rifling through his cupboards, he asked, “Wan’ some tea?” “Where’s Buckbeak, Hagrid?” Hermione asked hesitantly. “I -- I took him outside.” His hands were trembling as he poured, spilling milk all over the table. “He’s tethered in me pumpkin patch. Thought he oughta see the trees an’ -- an’ smell the fresh air -- before --” The milk jug slipped from his trembling hands and shattered on the floor. “I’ll do it, Hagrid,” Hermione offered, moving to clean up the mess. “There’s another one in the cupboard,” he said, sitting himself down in one of his giant chairs.

While Hermione cleaned, Danny decided to help in the little way he could. He couldn’t steal Buckbeak away just yet -- he needed the officials to see it was him, or they might -- no. Or they WOULD just accuse Hagrid of hiding/freeing the creature. So for now, all Danny could do was find the spare milk jug in the cupboard. But when he looked-- There, hiding inside an empty jug -- in a place NONE of them would’ve thought to look (the man’s specialty, it seemed)... Was the rat form of Peter Pettigrew. ‘Knew I had a bad feeling!’

Danny snatched him, quickly phasing outside so that no one could hear his squeaking. “Don’t even think about it,” he growled to the invisible, writhing rat in his hand. It just writhed harder. “If you keep squirming…” He let his hand get colder and colder, “I’ll just have to freeze you in place.” The squirming stopped, but the rat still trembled.

Danny heard voices. It was Dumbledore, a couple older men (one of whom he recognized as the Minister) -- and a man with an axe. ‘Oh, great…’ He would have to steal Buckbeak AND keep hold of Pettigrew, now. Danny took a deep breath. ‘Okay. I can do this. We have a plan… Please stick to the plan, guys…!’ They did. He heard the backdoor of the hut open, and the Trio’s footsteps quickly moved to a place farther away from the hut. The officials were almost there. Dumbledore’s presence made Danny a little nervous, but… No time.

He turned visible with a roar. The four wizards jumped, drawing their wands, and Hagrid stumbled out of his hut. Once he had their attention, Danny wasted no time in freeing Buckbeak. He burnt the rope tethering him to the pumpkin patch, grabbed the hippogriff around the neck, and was just spreading his energy into him to turn them both intangible when-- -- Dumbledore snapped out of his shock.

“Irretio idolon!”

It was just like he remembered -- though the memory was fuzzy. Except he noticed something about the spell he didn’t have the chance to last time. He wasn’t holding anything last time.

It wasn’t just as though he were trapped in a net -- he was trapped in a net that kept him from touching anything else.

Which meant he was forced to let go of Buckbeak… And Pettigrew.

~~~~~

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[oh-law-d-he-comin]

DECK Prompts, Day 2

September, Year 1

  Law is 11, and all morning one thought has been on his mind. Gryffindor. I'm gonna be in Gryffindor. It's there when he fumbles the barrier-crossing at King’s Cross and slams into a mere brick wall, making his first ride one in the staff car, getting his head checked for concussions. It's there when he blows his allowance on the food cart right before the Express reaches its destination, chocolates and jellybeans spilling from his arms as he hurries after the crowd. It's there when he gets scolded for the first time (but certainly not the last), chatting at a nearby student during the sorting ceremony. (It doesn't count, he assures himself. What are they gonna do, take points from a House he hasn't been placed in yet?)

  It's nothing big, he just considers himself pretty brave, or foolhardy, or both, and to be honest that's the same as half the kids there already. His mother was a Gryffindor, a Head Girl in her time no less (though if push came to shove he wouldn't mind Ravenclaw, his father's house). Besides, really he just likes the colors. If he ended up anywhere else he'd have to switch his favorite scarf, and what's he supposed to do about his eyes?

  “Law Kiyuu!” rings out the call, and he is so glad they didn't use his full name, enough that it overrides sorting excitement for a moment. Maybe coming here with the teachers was good luck? Most of them seem nice, if not exasperated, but he knows he has that effect on people, especially adults, which is weird because they should be smarter than the kids and why don't they appreciate his facts then? But the one lady was really nice about listening to his tirade on necromancy, which has been on his mind recently after Drav showed him that book and-

  He's on the stage before he knows it, and now that he is, there's no time to waste. Law looks out into the crowd, beaming, and jams the Sorting Hat on so hard it covers half his face. He doesn't have to, though. The moment it even comes close to his head, the hat’s mind is made:

  “SLYTHERIN!”

  That's right, Gryffind- wait wait wait, excuse me? He pauses halfway through putting the hat down and slams it back on, flailing an arm out at the teacher trying to stop him. What, no deliberating? No, I don't know, taking my opinion into account? Ravenclaw I'd get, Hufflepuff maybe, but the snake emporium??? Was I thinking too much about Corvy? Do you have screws loose in your nonexistent head?

  “If you have a stick of celery, half an onion, and one carrot, but a pile of tomatoes, what flavor is the soup going to end up?”

  ...What?

  The hat huffs irritably. “You have dreams, yes? Like everyone else? The difference between them and you is simply that one day, young man, you will-”

  And then the hat is ripped off his head, he gets a very stern warning, and Law has to find a new favorite scarf.

September, Year 2

  Law is 12, and he's got a cat! A black kitten, the kind that suits him in both wizard and Muggle dress, a very nice kitty who's large and fluffy and follows him around everywhere he goes (and he always has been a sucker for aesthetics). His housemates attribute the unnerving upturn in mood to the fluffball bearing some weird Muggle name, and they're right: for the first two months back, he doesn't leave the cat behind for anything, not even Transfiguration.

  Even for Hogwarts, the kid is kind of weird. There's whispers that his summer job is at the Ministry, that his fingers were lost while encountering a ghoul, that he likes Defense Against the Dark Arts so much because he can come up with ways to counter the counters. His best buddy is a purebred Slytherin, heir to a noble estate, a researcher of necromancy. Thrice he's been caught wandering into the forest, the castle ghosts avoid him lest he trap them in conversation again, he notices things too much and holds his tongue too little. Most of all, the shining silver and green scarf feels wrong on that smiling face. It's unnerving.

  So he's friends with his cat, and his “vampire” (as he so kindly calls her), and his parents, who have gotten him a record for “most Howlers sent in a year”. And he never ever stops trying to be friends with the rest of the school.

January, Year 3

  “If you put me on that broom I will die,” Law proudly asserts, digging his heels into the ground and scratching futilely at the wall in an attempt to hold on. He's 13 now, and this is shaping up to be the third year in a row he'll fail Flying—even now he's out after classes getting an unsuccessful bonus lesson. “There are sixty-one ways magical flight can go wrong and I'm not even talking about the individual kinds of injuries and sure, you'd think what's a little more to the guy who broke every limb in his body back in October then tripped down the stairs the moment he got out of the med bay but I draw the line at three things and they are brooms, bugs, and milk, which probably explains the broken bones but luckily they will not be broken today!”

  “At this rate you'll never be accepted into an Apparition class, you know.” The flying teacher sighs and rubs her temples, letting go of the boy and watching as he instantly sinks to the ground with the broom he's been given. I don't get paid enough for this.

  “Perfectly fine by me! Do you know how easily the human body can stop working? Leave an arm behind, that's one thing, but what if you splinch a lung or your cerebellum or half your blood and whoa, shazam, dead witchard on the floor! I was born with feet and they still work and I use them and I'll keep using them, all the more powder or brooms or whatever for the rest of-” He cuts off with a yelp as he’s levitated nearly ten feet in the air, making comically ineffective swimming motions in an attempt to get back down.

  “Ma'am! Teach! I am begging you to let me down, this is a once in a lifetime plea, please for the love of all that is good and holy and you know what I'll also invoke the dark and unholy for this one, please!”

  “Calm down, Mr. Kiyuu, you are perfectly safe. This is simply to get you used to being in the air, nothing more.” She's perfectly calm, but Law isn't—he drops the broom, replaces it in his hand with a wand, frantically whispers a series of words.

1) Law Kiyuu spends the next two weeks in the hospital wing recovering from no less than six fractured bones and a concussion, sustained in his fall from over five meters up.

2) A new effect of a failed Stunning Spell is recorded in the books, and flying lessons for the quarter are finished by a substitute teacher.

3) Slytherin never recovers from the points lost, and finishes the year dead last in the House Cup.

March, Year 4

  Law is 14, and he is standing in the boy’s bathroom, and his wand is shooting sparks like a particularly rambunctious firework from where it is just about snapped in two. The fountain, two shower heads, and a whole row of sinks are busy covering the floor in water, having fought a valiant battle against the wand and lost. Draven and Tsubasa are shooting a mixture of disappointed and shocked glares at him from the entrance, and as far as he can tell it looks like they're debating whether or not to leave him for the wolves.

  He needed a new wand anyways, he thinks. The old one didn't vibe with him.

  The disappointment radiates off Ollivander in waves when the boy walks in, sheepishly placing two halves of a wand on the counter. “I, um! It's broken!” he announces in an uncharacteristically short statement.

  “I can see that. What torture have you put your poor friend through?” the man asks, tracing one of the many scratches in the wood with a sigh.

  “So before I say anything, it's not my fault, which is to say it's sort of my fault, but only sort of, mind you! And if it helps the other guy got it way worse- not a real guy either, which is a relief from an I-don't-wanna-go-to-prison standpoint, but perhaps not from a place of my pride, but neither of those are the point. I understand that this is a positively unforgivable crime, simple unbelievable, totally unacceptable, and yet! I implore a new wand from thee.”

  Ollivander says nothing, simply lining a row of boxes up before Law with a look that says Next time you will be banned from the shop. Fluent in cold gazes by now, Law merely nods enthusiastically and begins going through his choices.

  “Yes? Yeah? This one?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “It's gotta be this one, it's making noises, none of the other ones did, oh hey, is that smoke?”

  “Noises of discomfort, Mr. Kiyuu. Next.”

  “This one! I am so sorry about your table, but you saw the sparks, it's my best friend already!”

  “...Black walnut… dragon heartstring… thirteen and a half inches… flexible… yes, I suppose it would work. Do that again, this time away from the flammable objects.”

  Law concentrates on the wand and does the theatrical swishy motion he's been doing, letting out a stream of bright sparks. Look at it! It's got to be his, it already knows what he's going to be using it for! He glances back up.

  “Dragon… like the last one, right? Is it still okay? Will this one blow up too, because that'd be a shame, it seems so smart and I can appreciate another brain even if it's not a physical brain brain because even without neurons I bet it's better than mine.”

  “Yes, Hebridean Black to be precise. Quite frankly I cannot imagine any other core, ah, working with you.”

  When he returns to the dorm, several coins lighter but weighed down with sweets and japery supplies galore, Draven lends him her book on wand materials as he recounts the day’s adventures. Dragon heartstrings are dramatic, suitable for flashy spells and temperamental wielders, it says. Oh.

November, Year 5

  It's Defense Against the Dark Arts time, and Law is now 15, and he is so incredibly stoked to be learning about dementors. They're dark! They wear cool hooded cloaks! They kill people! The cure is chocolate! If it were a slightly different timeline, he might dare say kin. (He still would, his Muggleborn parents have nothing against the Internet, it's just that nobody would understand.)

  The students line up to try and fire off a Patronus, and even as he throws off someone's happy thought with overexcited jumping about, Law is totally in his element. He all but pushes the student before him out of the way as they finish, pulling a memory of New Year's morning with family to the front of his mind and brandishing his wand with a shout (for good measure). A cat jumps from the tip, glowing silver like the other apparitions yet dark enough to obviously be a black one. It fizzles out partway across the room, but it's stunningly similar to Law’s own kitty, enough that for a moment he's worried Ryuk is dead and that was a ghost.

  Expecto Patronum becomes his favorite spell, practiced late at night as his dormmates throw pillows at him to shut off the glow. “What's better than one cat but two cats?” is his reply every time he fires off another unnecessary burst of joyous thoughts and watches Ryuk’s confused sniffing at a light doppelgänger. He's got a lot of joyous thoughts, so this can go all night!

  It actually goes three nights before Law gets bored. Which is good, because the dormmates were starting to pay attention during Herbology and Potions whenever poison came up.

February, Year 6

  Law is 16, and it's Valentine’s Day, and all week long he has been waiting for chocolate time to roll around. So right now he should be drowning his nonexistent sorrows in cacao and caffeine and endless amounts of sugar, clearly.

  Instead he is in the fucking Forbidden Forest, holding a fucking shovel, burying a fucking body with his best friends. What a great team bonding activity!

  To make it clear, he did not kill this body. None of them killed this body. They simply… acquired it from Drav’s father, as a… Christmas gift? or something like that, and something was said and prides were insulted and mistakes were made and they have just witnessed (read: done) a deeply traumatic attempt at raising the dead. The details are hazy around the edges, and to be honest Law couldn't care less about how they got into this, only how they'll get out of it.

  “Let's feed it to something,” he whines into his shovel, hands aching and the usually calming sounds of the forest only irritations to his ears. “Aren't there supposed to be spiders in this here woods? It's not like anyone comes in here often enough to matter, we could just leave it in a ditch and go heeeere spidey spidey and never have to touch another six foot hole ever again until we go graverobbing next time.”

  “Excellent idea,” Tsubasa deadpans back. “Let's feed it to a something that would also see us as food.”

  “C’mooooon, haven't you ever seen zombie movies? They always go for the weakest one, which is by default the literal dead guy, so we'd be home free before anything even thought about coming after us-”

  A pebble thunks against his hand, thrown from inside the hole. “Less talking, more digging, Law. While this corpse may be under my possession, you had a hand in requiring this labor, I would hope you have enough responsibility to own up to it.”

  Law groans, resumes poking at the dirt, and an hour later the deed is done. Mr. Corpse has been laid to rest, never to walk again.

  Until three seconds later, when the soil starts shifting. Correction: Mr. Zombie. (Double correction: Mr. Inferius.)

  All three manage not to scream at the sudden movement, but they do share looks conveying something along the lines of what the hell. “So, did you say, making Inferi might have a time lag or something along those lines did you say that Ms. Countess or is this a Bad Thing or is there a time lag and this is also coincidentally a bad thing…?”

  “Indeed, I would presume this is a “bad thing”, as you put it.” A hand pokes up out of the recently overturned dirt, waving almost comically in the air. The children book it.

  ...It's probably okay! They haven't heard any tales of the walking dead recently—even if the teachers are starting to suspect things from their local serial trespasser staying a stone’s throw away from the forest no matter what.

September, Year 7

  Law is 17 now, and it's his first year here, he thinks? Huh, that's weird, the doors won't open… and hey, those must be the other kids!

  A strangely unthreatening, fuzzy mascot chortles from its spot atop the stage. “I'm your new headmaster now—and we're going to play a game!”

  God FUCKING dammit.

[imagine-loki]

The Witch's Familiar

TITLE: The Witch’s Familiar CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 24/? AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine getting so attached to Lokitty early on that you insist on carrying him just about everywhere.  RATING: T (so far) NOTES/WARNINGS: Also on AO3 Click here

    “This is the family wing,” Loki explained as he led you down the hallway. Your hand was on his right arm. He was taking the position to the inside of the corridor, the more ‘vulnerable’ position as if there were an attack, or someone not paying attention to where they were walking, he would be between you and danger. Silly overprotective Lokitty… “Odin and Mother have suites and workrooms and such a floor up. Thor lives down the hall,” he gestured back the way you’d come. There were plenty of empty rooms, probably in expectation of a larger family.

    Loki pointed out more landmarks of interest as he led you through the wide, airy, beautiful halls of the palace. You strolled leisurely, not in any apparent rush to reach your destination. For all the world, Loki acted a polite, maybe a little reserved, courtier.

    “I still can’t believe you grew up here,” you commented at the literal palace you were walking through. You knew you didn’t belong here. You could make yourself comfortable in almost any facet of human/witch society back home, but this was completely different. Loki was just so comfortable and comforting. He didn’t seem…different, per se, this just wasn’t a side of your Lokitty you saw often on Earth.

    He chuckled. “I did grow up a prince, darling,” he reminded you gently, kindly. He was amused by your awe at the palace, though had obviously been expecting it and was preening over showing off his culture and home to you. You couldn’t help wondering, though, why he was interested in you when he was a prince. A prince of an alien world no less. You were just a little witch from Midgard…

    You also noticed the blatant stares of the palace stares, nobles, basically anyone and everyone you passed. They all stopped to stare at the pair of you. “Why are they staring?” you asked Loki softly enough that they couldn’t overhear. You couldn’t tell if it was because you were Midgardian, or if it was because of Sera.

    “Because you are a beautiful lady,” he replied warmly, the words gliding off his silver tongue. You gave him a look. That wasn’t true. He gave you a warm smile. “They are unused to the sight of a gorgeous woman on my arm. My idiot brother on the other hand…” he grinned and you couldn’t help smiling. Thor liked women and probably would have sought your attention if you were even slightly more his type.

    “Surely the sight couldn’t be that uncommon,” you teased, back to normal friendly territory. Light teasing was safe. Loki was over a thousand after all, there was no way that some lady hadn’t caught his attention in all of those years. You’d had your share of relationships over your 500 years, they hadn’t gone well, but that was a different problem.

    He scoffed. “Most of the court ladies have feathers for brains and I’ve met rocks with more personality. Plus it is hard to remain interested in their flirtations when I can hear-” he tapped his forehead to indicate telepathically. You knew he didn’t pry with his telepathic abilities, but he could overhear things even when he wasn’t trying. “-that they are only interested because of my station, or believe me to be a poor substitute for my brother, or don’t understand and fear my magic,” he explained. “You, my darling, loved me when I was nothing more than a cat, a friend, a teammate, and finally your suitor. It is refreshing to be the pursuer instead of the pursued for once and even more refreshing that you have never once wanted me for my station, wanted my brother over me, or feared my power,” he added warmly and kissed your cheek,

    “You’ve been my dearest friend since we met, Lokitty. I never wanted that to go away, just become…more,” you reminded him just as warmly. You flushed then and realized that you probably shouldn’t call him ‘Lokitty’ here. He did have appearances to maintain after all.

    “That is all I desire as well, dearest,” his voice was a warm purr. His smile changed to a mischievous smirk. “You said you were uncomfortable with having maids because you used to be one?” he asked. He was genuinely curious, but also teasing a little, probably your discomfort with the maids in general.

    You rolled your eyes. “Not everyone grew up in a palace,” you reminded him sourly, hoping he wasn’t looking down on your for your background. Though you saw from his expression that he wasn’t. “Mom was a hearth witch, a garden witch without a lot of power,” you reminded him. He nodded, remembering that you’d said you were much more powerful than she was. “I started outstripping what she could teach me about magic by the time I was five and that was much too young for me to start attending the magic school. As you well know, magic needs to be taught and used or it goes wrong.” That was answered with another inclination of his head. “We didn’t have the money for tutors, but one of the Grandmother witches was rich and powerful. She agreed to teach me if mom and I helped her with the chores she couldn’t do anymore. She let me keep the position through school. She paid decently and knew everything… I learned a lot more than just magic from her. Mom hated that I worked through school, but hearth witches aren’t in high demand and she didn’t make a lot of money…”

    Loki stiffened a little at your defensive tone. “I didn’t mean to insult, I was simply curious about your life,” he explained.

    “Sorry, I know. People just used to make fun of me for my secondhand books and robes. They were jealous that I was nearly the strongest in the class, since I didn’t come from a super powerful family, and I got top marks…. They didn’t care that I worked my ass off for those grades. They also seemed to have forgotten all about that since we graduated. I’ve been one of the most desired witches for my skills since then and have lived and worked in all facets of society from helping the poor to being a court lady… I didn’t really find anything I wanted to settle down to doing until I joined the Avengers,” He looked impressed at that part of your explanation, and was pleased at the glimpse into your past.

    “Children can be cruel no matter the realm,” Loki’s voice was consoling. “Thor was always the favorite as physical strength is prided here…” It seemed he did understand. You reached a pair of double doors. “Ready, darling?” he asked. You didn’t know what was waiting for you, but you nodded. You would face whatever challenge arrived. Loki shifted so he was holding your hand, your joined hands lifted in an older escort style than you were used to, but you recognized it for what it was. He nodded to the doormen and they opened the double doors. He led you past the long dining tables to the stares of the court seated there. He looked straight ahead, not allowing himself to get distracted by the open stares, nor did he look at all like he noticed or cared about the attention.

    He stopped in front of the head table where Odin, Frigga, and Thor were seated. “Allfather, Mother, may I present Lady Y/N, sorceress from Midgard, member of the team Thor and I work with to defend Midgard from threats, and the woman who has graciously allowed me the honor of courting her,”

    You knew your cue and dipped a low, elegant, graceful curtsy. You were very well practiced over your 500 years in the art of the curtsy. Sera balanced herself on your shoulder effortlessly. Loki didn’t drop your hand while you did, just lowered his to accommodate. “Your majesties,” your words were simple and polite, and thankfully all you needed to say at this juncture.

    “Welcome to Asgard, dear,” Frigga greeted you warmly, kindly, gently. Loki had been correct that she wasn’t going to hold the state you had been in when you arrived against you. Loki lifted your hand, a silent indication that you should rise. You did just as gracefully and Loki led you to your place at the table, he was next to Frigga and your place was next to his. Servants pulled your chairs out for you and seated you. It was something you hadn’t experienced in years and you had to pretend that it wasn’t weird. “Is this the creature from the egg?” Frigga asked you when Sera crawled to your other shoulder for a better vantage point.

    “Yes, your majesty, this is Seraphina. Her true form is a dragon,” you added and lifted the cat off of your shoulder to show Frigga properly. Frigga questioned you on the little cat-dragon, and about magic on Midgard. She wanted to hear all about Loki’s adventures there and get to know the woman he spoke so highly of. She was so open and kind that you couldn’t help liking her and it stopped being important soon that she was the queen. She was just Loki’s mom and she seemed to absolutely adore you. It warmed your heart that she did and you saw Loki’s relief as well. “Loki has done quite a lot of work with me teaching at the magic academy,” you told Frigga. That was a safe story to tell and one that would befit his standing as a master magician here. Frigga was interested in the magic school and you and Loki could both tell her about it.

    “Your Asgardian is quite good, dear,” Frigga told you, questioning your ability. Loki raised an eyebrow. He was so used to using Allspeak on Earth that he forgot you could actually speak his native tongue. Most times it didn’t even register with him or Thor when you switched over. The record without them noticing was two hours, and they only did then because Tony grumbled that he couldn’t understand what you were talking about and it wasn’t fair.

    You gave her a smile. “I learned it as a child, studying other magical cultures was part of our education and since the Asgardians had visited Midgard previously, I felt it would be best to start with your language,” you’d learned a lot of languages over the years. You had fun annoying the others by speaking Russian with Nat, or Asgardian with the boys. Nearly everyone signed because of Clint, so that wasn’t as much fun. “You’re quite kind. Thor has reminded me that my accent is atrocious,”

    No one questioned how much Sera ate and you wondered just how much bigger the dragon was going to get. You had a feeling whatever that magician had done was what had made her grow as fast as she had already.

    After the meal, you had to put up with being shown off by Loki and Thor. Thor introduced you to Lady Sif and The Warrior’s Three. “Thor’s stupid warrior friends,” Loki whispered in your ear. You grinned.

    “You best be saying nice things about us, Loki,” the taller blond one warned as he bowed over your hand to kiss it. “I may just have to woo your lady away if you cannot play nice,”

    You rolled your eyes. “Good luck with that, flirt,” you replied, teasing. He gave you an overly elegant bow while Thor and the others boomed their laughter.

    “This one ought to keep you on your toes,” he teased Loki. You leaned up and kissed Loki’s cheek.

    “That she does,” Loki replied warmly and kissed you, claiming you in front of Thor’s stupid warrior friends.

    “So why are you two back on Asgard? The Queen said this was a surprise visit,” Sif asked, concerned as to what trouble brought you here.

    “There was trouble on Midgard,” Thor finally explained. “There is a group of…”

    “Evil men who hunt and kill sorcerers,” you supplied when Thor couldn’t come up with a translation of the concept of witch hunters. Sif and the warriors all looked shocked and horrified by that.

    “But magicians are treasured,” Sif protested, still horrified.

    “They are,” Loki agreed and kissed the top of your head, reassuring. “These men are evil and posed a very real threat to my lady. We brought her here for safety and to recover from their attack,”

    “We will take care of the menace upon our return. Our priority was getting Lady Y/N to safety. Our teammates are questioning one of the attackers and should have more information for us upon our return,” Thor added the explanation. They all got distracted talking about battles and fighting and things that happened on Asgard since Thor had been gone.

    Loki wrapped an arm around your shoulders and escaped with you from the hall before the warriors noticed. He gave you a tour of the rest of the palace and finally led you out to the gardens. Sera leapt off of your shoulder when you were outside. You grinned up at her. “Go fly, Sera. I’m sure you want to stretch your other wings. Just don’t go to far,” she made a musical sound in reply and shifted forms as she flew higher. A sleek black dragon who was somehow now about the size of Toothless from the How to Train Your Dragon movies. You were still shocked at how fast she grew, but realized at the same time that you wouldn’t have to treat her like a child, which she was never meant to be, but as a cherished best friend, which is what the familiars were. She flew around the gardens trilling in delight while you and Loki strolled leisurely. She also didn’t give you away when you and Loki found a quiet alcove for stolen kisses.

[shankarjaikishanfansassnintl]

Three Cheers for the Timeless Thrill of ‘Teesri Manzil’!  Remembering RDB

by

Subramanium Viswanathan

Remembering RDB on his birthday ... and reposting my ‘matinee experience’, which made me sit up, and take notice of him!

Three Cheers for the Timeless Thrill of ‘Teesri Manzil’!

1971. SIES College of Arts & Science, Sion, Mumbai.

I had just stepped out of S.I.E.S High School and entered the S.I.E.S College as a First Year Science student. I was pleasantly surprised at the new-found privileges of being a college student, which included the freedom of ‘cutting classes’ (something unthinkable at school), whenever one just was not in a mood to attend the lectures, or whenever there was some ‘unavoidable circumstance’, such as having to attend the matinee show at the near-by theatre.

Rupam at Sion Circle (now PVR Multiplex or something) was strategically located near the college. The theatre was just a stone’s throw away from the college, but the students preferred to throw themselves at the spot, more often than into class-rooms.

Now before you all get my credentials wrong, let me declare that I was not the irresponsible undisciplined ‘tapori’ type of teen-ager that you would imagine. I was a shy, sincere, serious, studious and spectacled student that time. Bunking classes for a matinee show was not in my nature at all. But there are moments in a teenager’s life, when one succumbs to peer pressure. I had a few close friends who apparently had seen ‘Teesri Manzil’ before, and they all strongly felt that ‘TM’ was a better way of spending the afternoon, than attending the Physics and Zoology lectures. After all, Newton’s Laws are not going anywhere, they will remain to trouble you throughout the year till the exams. But ‘Teesri Manzil’ may disappear from Rupam by next week. Also the Zoology lecture was all about the slimy Amoeba, which luckily one can draw in any shape and get away with passing marks. So my friends rationalize with me. Also, since I had not seen the film before, they take upon themselves the responsibility of dragging me along. I start to roll my tongue to say, ‘No, but …’, but it’s too late.

So at 11.15 am we are already inside the AC comfort of Rupam, after a great deal of pushing and pulling at the ticket counter. There is chaos all around. It appears as if the entire college is inside the auditorium. Noisy banter, loud laughter, whistling etc. The commercials are on. Nobody is paying a damn heed to the ads. I think, why can’t these guys maintain some discipline and sit down quietly. Soon a documentary of Film Divisions on Rural Development starts. One student gets impatient and shouts towards the man at the projector, ‘Arre! Main Picture chalu karo re!’. Another gentleman from the matured uncles’ minority in the audience sounds an admonishing ‘Shhh!’ to the errant student, but poor uncle is instantly greeted back with hoots and ridicule. As Rural Development makes its painful way towards the conclusion, the catcalls grow louder. At last Film Divisions prove their point that Sanitation and Sewage System have indeed improved in some remote village of U.P.

Suddenly there is a hush as the Censors’ certificate of the main film is displayed. Somebody reads aloud the number of reels for the benefit of the short-sighted among us. Then the real show starts with a bang, a big banner of NH (Nasir Hussain) films and a thundering Urdu couplet. The audience screams for no apparent reason. I wonder, what is there to scream about an Urdu couplet that they don’t understand.

As the banner fades out, ‘Teesri Manzil’ explodes right on the face! Right from the first frame, this guy called Rahul Dev Burman who seemed to be hiding behind the screen for the attack, suddenly unleashes his deadly instruments on you! On the screen, a car is chasing another along the hill-ways on a rainy night. Two short violin pieces play continuously in quick succession exactly simulating the pace and tension of the situation. The credits roll on. The lady driving the first car gets down and runs towards a building. You can see from the glass pane outside, her silhouette rushing up the stairs followed by another shadow of a man close on heels. 1st floor, 2nd floor and further up—and then she desperately knocks at a door, ‘Rocky, Darwaza kholo!, Rocky, Darwaza kholo!’, as the shadow of the man is fast closing in on her. The back-ground music turns ominous and suddenly stops for a second, as the shrieking woman is bodily lifted and thrown by her predator from the ‘Teesri Manzil’!

RDB announces the bloody event with a loud trumpet, pauses a bit, then crashes his cymbals and goes at his drums with a beat that is sort of a cross between ‘Pink Panther’ theme and the 007 title track, but with lots of more punch. The camera swirls around the shocked faces including Shammi Kapoor’s, collected around the gravitated lady’s corpse. RDB’s beats raise the tempo culminating with the last credit-slide –‘Directed by Vijay Anand’. By now the audience is univocally vociferous giving out, not those hoots reserved for ‘Films Division’, but shrill shrieks of excitement and anticipation of more thrills!

‘Teesri Manzil’ was all thrills, not just because it was a murder mystery, but also because it was a musical wonder. Apparently unlike me, most of the audience were seeing the film for umpteenth time, as they knew exactly when to scream at RDB’s notes! I think, RDB would have jumped like a hungry tiger at the offer made by Nasir Hussain, who also knew his music fundas well, right from the time of ‘Tumsa nahin dekha’(OPN) and ‘Jab pyar kisise hota hai’(S-J) days! So for the cynics like me who had always wanted Shankar-Jaikishen for a Shammi Kappor movie (that included Shammi Kapoor himself), RDB silenced everybody’s ‘bolti’ with the opening orchestral blast!

It was not that ‘TM’ was an out-and-out RDB show. Apart from music, it had great style! Vijay Anand’s narration of a crime caper was slick and imaginative with loads of thrills and fun too! After the credits, you find Shammi Kapoor on the top berth of a compartment with Asha Parekh sitting below and one pot-bellied man (Ram Avtar?) sitting opposite to her. Shammi makes monkey-faces at the fatso and forces him to break into uncontrollable peals of laughter which invites Asha Parkh’s wrath and she starts bashing the poor ‘mota’!

Asha is on the track of one ‘Rocky’, a band-player to avenge the death of her sister. She traces him to the hotel where Rocky plays his band daily. Shammi Kapoor (Rocky) who is also trying to get to the bottom of ‘Third Floor Throw-out’ puzzle hood-winks Asha about his real identity. He says he is substituting on the drums for ‘Rocky’ who is on leave. Asha pouts contemptuously that she had come to hear Rocky’s drums and she had to listen to this non-entity. Shammi takes on the challenge. So does RDB, and throws at you ‘O haseena zulfonwali …’.

Now the shrieking session has revived! Shammi thrashes the drums, Helen swoops down a curved ramp and the collegians cry hoarse almost deafening the voices of Rafi and Asha Bhosle! Then Shammi and Helen sizzle on the floor to Majrooh Sultanpuri’s rapid repartee:

‘Garm hai, tez hai, yeh nigaahen meri

Kaam aa jaayengi sard aahen meri

Hey, Tum kisi raah-mein phir miloge kahin,

Arre, Ishq hoon, Main kahin teherta hi nahin!

Main bhi hoon galiyon-ki parchhai, Kabhi yahan Kabhi wahaan …’

Then RDB’s violins take you to high pitch and tug at you three times before dropping!

The steps and movements are wild, yet so gracefully executed, a far cry from some of today’s crude ‘item numbers’! Shammi tinkers with a glass and then blows a saxophone. Guitars and violins pump adrenalin into the auditorium. Now I am beginning to enjoy all this ‘shor’ around me! I don’t know what one calls it –Rock, Pop or Jazz, but ‘Jo bhi hai, khuda-ki kasam lajawaab hai’! I find myself rocking involuntarily on my seat to the RDB beats. Then I tell myself ‘Sit straight properly, like you were told at school’.

As the song ends, I compose myself and sit straight. But there is no respite. The second song starts soon. For prelude, RDB plays a crazy guitar piece that does somersaults repeatedly three or four times and hands over the mike to Rafi and Asha Bhosle. This time it is Shammi wooing Asha Parekh with ‘Aa jaa aa jaa, main hoon pyar tera …’, feverishly shaking his head and repeating ‘Ah-ha aa jaa’ eight times for emphasis. Parekh in pink swirls around Shammi giving him the slip and ‘pehnao’-ing him the ‘topi’. Shammi dances with ruffled hair and goes berserk gesticulating in eight different ways for each ‘aa jaa’ while Asha swings fluttering her eyelashes. All that frenetic head-shaking and hip-swinging on screen with trumpets blowing and drums beating, drive the public to delirious frenzy. I suppress my own urge to scream. Aakhir, discipline bhi koi cheez hai!

Agatha Christie’s whodunits could grip you, but you don’t read the same novel repeatedly. Alfred Hitchcock was a master of suspense who packed in some of the most bizarre situations in his script, some of them exciting and funny at the same time (Remember ‘North by North-West’ in which Cary Grant is left alone to drive on a treacherous hilly road after being forced to gulp a full bottle of Bourbon by a bunch of goons!). Nobody can beat Hitchcock when it comes to an intriguing plot, but Hitchcock Saab-ke filmon-mein aisa music kahan hota hai (if you don’t count ‘Que Sera Sera’ in ‘The Man Who Knew Too Much’)? Here our own Vijay Anand mixes all the ingredients like suspense, music, romance and comedy in the right proportions like an expert ‘bhel-puri-wala’ from Juhu and gives on the platter ekdum ‘paisa-wasool’ entertainment, worth every penny of your hard-extracted pocket-money from Daddy’s hard-earned money.

The first-half is great fun and romance giving RDB the avenue to come up with another two very pleasant numbers, ‘Diwana mujhsa nahin‘, a Rafi solo and ‘O mere sona-re sona-re’, a Rafi-Asha duet in which Asha Parekh concedes to Shammi Kapoor’s ‘patao-ing’. Before you know, it is already ‘Interval’. Now there is commotion at the Samosa stall outside! No Sir, I don’t join the mad scramble for a few samosas! I told you already that I was not the irresponsible undisciplined ‘tapori’ type of teen-ager that you would imagine! I was still a shy, sincere, spectacled student.

I try to take my mind off from the missed Samosas and focus on the second half. The plot thickens now … quite like the thick Tomato Ketchup that goes so well with Samosas! Now a whole lot of suspicious characters are hovering around the screen like Prem Chopra who points a rifle to shoot a distant bird, Iftekhar who leaves a misty cigarette smoke from wherever he spies on other suspects, Premnath (who generally opens his dialogue in most of his films with ‘Bloody Bushhtaard’) urf Rai Bahadur Singh who lives lavishly alone in a Dak Banglow, and K.N.Singh , Rai Saab’s drunken house-keeper. The needle of suspicion keeps swinging.

Who killed the lady? Well, that can wait. Meanwhile let’s have more of RDB. So we have a delightfully crazy ‘Dekhiye Sahibon’ in which Asha lets loose the ‘public’ on Shammi who clings to a ‘Merry-go- Round’ to avoid getting bashed up by a group of Sardars. The song is good fun with great camerawork matching the mood of the music.

It is time to get a bit serious. Helen has a ‘Raaz’ tucked up in her sleeveless. So she gets shot the same way as the ‘broads get the bullets’ in James Hadley Chase novels, before she could divulge the ‘secret’ to Shammi Kapoor. Shammi himself gets exposed as the real ‘Rocky’ making him eligible for titles like’Jhoothe’,’Makhhar’,‘Dhokebaaz’ etc. from Asha Parekh, but not before delivering a superb last song, a solo by Rafi, my most favourite in the film - ‘Tumne mujhe dekha hokar mehrban---Rukh gayi yeh zameen, tham gayaa aasmaan, Jaane man, Jaan-e-Jaan …’. What a song!

'Lekar yeh haseen jalwe, Tum bhi na kahan pahunche

Aakhir to mere dil tak kadmon-ke nishaan pahunche …’

One can as well sing these lines to that fantastic trio of Majrooh-RDB-Rafi for such an exquisite composition!

The stock of songs is sadly over, but RDB still has a fantastic piece in store, when Shammi discovers the identity of the murderer by his host’s coat in which one diamond stud is conspicuously missing. The missing button had been tightly clutched in the fist of the dead woman. Terrific close-ups of a sweaty shocked Shammi’s face when he realizes the truth, are accentuated with a more terrific back-ground score by RDB! Finally after a scuffle, the killer himself drops himself to death from an altitude equivalent to that from which he had thrown the lady in the title-scene. The police arrive dutifully after all action is over. The film ends with a funny note with Shammi and Asha again in a train compartment, this time on honey-moon, encountering the same pot-bellied man who tries to escape from them to avoid trouble!

Vijay Anand’s crisp and creative direction makes the film a gripping entertainer and places it a cut above the rest of typical crime thrillers. But ‘Teesri Manzil’ is more remembered as a musical classic that changed the trend of Hindi film music irreversibly! The film was released way back in 1966. But Rahul Dev Burman was a maverick clearly much ahead of his time. He broke all the rules and raised the tempo of Hindi film music to a feverish pitch several ‘manzil’s higher! Western music never sounded more jazzy and classy in any other Indian film, before or after ‘TM’. So it is no wonder that after five decades, the film and its music still rocks in memories, if not in matinees.

Well, to cut the long story short, we were back in college corridor next day and discussing the ‘TM’ experience. One of them starts, ‘Listen.Today is Thursday’. ‘So?’. ‘So, Today is the last day matinee show of ‘Teesri Manzil’ at Rupam. So why not we …’. I nod my head vehemently, ‘No, No … that’s too much… well … OK, Why not? OK, Sure’. The would-be IIM aspirant amongst us steps forward to manage the immediate crisis, ‘Let’s see what have we today? Oh! Physics Lab? The same silly experiment of moving the convex lens to and fro till you remove parallax. We can skip it. Journal? Not to worry, we can copy from that front-benchwala Bakul Mehta’.

So we are back again at Rupam, throwing all shame to the rains outside! There is chaos all around inside. The same FD documentary is on. One voice shouts ‘Arre! Main Picture chalu karo re!’. I turn towards the voice and am shocked to find that the shouter is none other than Bakul Mehta, the front-benchwala of college! I start fretting and mutter to my friend ‘Just look at that Bakul! What’s he doing here? How irresponsible! He is supposed to be at the Lab this time! Now how the hell are we going to finish our journals?’. My cool friend admonishes me, ‘Let’s worry about all that after the film. Relax. Try to concentrate on the movie. Don’t disturb, Pay attention … This is not Calculus class’.

So I pay attention all over again. The show starts with a bang … the big banner of NH (Nasir Hussain) films and the thundering Urdu couplet. People shriek cheeringly. And to my horror, I find myself whistling and screaming hoarse along with them for no apparent reason!

Now please don’t get my credentials wrong. I was not the irresponsible undisciplined student …. well, may be till I was coerced to see 'Teesri Manzil’ twice in quick succession, during peak college hours!

https://youtu.be/dDtKEtDA8sM

[the-record-newspaper]

Delmas Parker: A great teacher and a great man

            Delmas Parker

By JERRY LANKFORD

Record Editor

There’s only one thing I can say about my experiences at Millers Creek Elementary and West Wilkes High  School – I carry with me few fond memories in regards to the educational parts of those years.

I did, however, make some good friends — some that I still have and speak or visit with fairly regularly, particularly Jimmie Moretz, Mark Brooks and Ricky Killen.

But, I’ve never been to a class reunion. And, unless something drastically changes my thinking, after low so much time and so much water under the bridge, it’s very doubtful that I ever will.

With that said, there were good things that happened over the course of my school years — those came in the forms of a couple of teachers who really went out of their way to show me patience, kindness and encouragement.

One was the late Lizzie Deal. She was our neighbor on Kite Road in Millers Creek and was married to my first cousin, Bobby Deal. I spent countless hours at their home next door, playing with their sons, Richey and David, who were close to my age. I was never in Lizzie’s class, but she was very nurturing toward me, particularly when she discovered my love for history.

The focus of this column however, is my sixth-grade teacher, Delmas Parker.

At the time I went to school there, Millers Creek Elementary was in the building that now houses Millers Creek Baptist Church on Boone Trail. Mr. Parker’s classroom was located at the top of the stairs on the gymnasium side of the school.

The best I can recall, I had his class during the afternoon. He taught language arts and social studies, which were my favorites.

Mr. Parker came to like me despite my horrible and disruptive ways. And, in return, I developed a great respect for this kind and gentle spirited man.

Several weeks ago, I spoke with Mr. Parker, who is now 81, via phone from his home in Clemmons. I told him I wanted to interview him for a column. He seemed surprised. But after a bit of coaxing, he related to me a brief history of his life.

Mr. Parker was born in Gaston County on April 23, 1938, to parents Delmas and Helen Parker. He is married to Sue Lewis Parker from Ashe County, whom he met while teaching at West Jefferson School. They have a son, Kevin, and daughter-in-law, April, and three grandchildren, Danielle, Luke, and Sara.

But, let’s backtrack a bit.

When asked about his career as an educator, Mr. Parker said, “It was a slow process in the beginning.”

He explained that his parents had not had many educational opportunities. His father had a seventh-grade education, while his mother only went as far as the fourth grade.”

Mr. Parker looked back on his childhood and recalled the time he was diagnosed with “a bad case of rheumatic fever” at age 11.

“I spent a year in bed, looking out the window,” he said. “My mother and my aunt would go to the library and bring me book after book. I read all kinds of books. But, (Charles Dicken’s) ‘David Copperfield’ opened a whole new world for me. I knew more about David Copperfield than I did about myself. That book helped me get started.”

The first college he attended was Charlotte College.

“At first I planned to take engineering courses then, I became interested in the idea of teaching,” he said. “From there, I went to Appalachian State Teachers College.”

He worked various jobs to pay for his education.

“I started teaching at West Jefferson when I was 26 or 27,” Mr. Parker said. “I hadn’t finished college. In the summer I would go back to school and finally received my bachelor’s degree when I was about 28. Before that, I had an old grammar school certificate to teach first through eighth grades.”

When he got his BS, he went on to acquire his master’s degree, “the same way, working on it in the summer,” he said.

In 1966, his focus shifted.

“I was teaching in West Jefferson and we were watching Walter Cronkite one night on TV. His segment was about integrating schools in South Carolina. The report stated the white teachers left after this happened.”

Mr. Parker applied for a position in Lamar, S.C. where he taught African-American students.

“The only problems I had were dealing with antiquated buildings and books,” he said.

When he came back from South Carolina, his father-in-law, B.F. Lewis, who had been a teacher in Ashe County, knew Mr. Cowles, the principal at Millers Creek Elementary.

“Sue and I were living in a trailer park near Boone,” Mr. Parker said. “Mr. Cowles came and talked to me about coming to Millers Creek. I went there, and signed a one-year contract, teaching eighth-grade language arts and social studies (that was in 1969). I got along really well with Mr. Cowles.”

Wayne Barker later became principal and Mr. Parker went on to teach sixth-grade and seventh-grade classes.

“When I was there, there were only two sixth-grade teachers,” he said.

Mr. Parker had found a home at Millers Creek Elementary School. He wound up teaching there for 28 years.

“I saw a lot of people come and go at Millers Creek,” he said. “I worked with a lot of good teachers and I worked for some great principals.”

I openly admit that during my elementary school years I was mean as a striped snake. And, I felt the sting of countless paddlings — yes, they really used to do that — but I never cried.

Some of those teachers Mr. Parker referred to above — it was made very apparent — didn’t think much of me and my, let’s just say, rowdy ways. I’ll not name names because they are still alive, but I distinctly recall a couple of stinging comments made by two of my mentor/educators.

One came in either the winter of 1976 or spring of 1977, when my father, Sammie Lankford, was dying from cancer. I was entering this teacher’s classroom, laughing with a friend. That teacher said to me, “What have you got to laugh about? Your father is dying.”

Another came the next year when a teacher announced in front of the entire class that he was “certain that Jerry Lankford would spend his entire adult life in prison.”

Well, so far, so good.

I told Mr. Parker about those comments. “That’s not how you talk to a student,” he said. “You try to encourage them.”

His classroom was like a soothing, kind, and compassionate oasis for me.

Mr. Parker retired in1998, but came back to fill in for sick teachers and substitute when needed.

Mr. Parker knew nearly my entire family.

“I remember your mother, Willa Mae, very well,” he said to me. “She was a very sweet lady. And, she was very concerned about your education. I’d see her coming up the stairs and I knew she was here to talk about Jerry.”

He also taught my sister, Ellen.

About Ellen, Mr. Parker said, “She was very intelligent. She was perfect in her work and very conscientious. She always used precise language. She was a great student in all her subjects and an avid reader. When she finished her work, she’d have a book open and reading.”

My sister said Mr. Parker was one of her all-time favorite teachers and recalled him loaning her a copy of Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy – some heavy duty reading for your average sixth-grader, but not for Ellen.

After he had come out of retirement, he also taught my two oldest daughters, Jennifer and Anna.

“Jennifer was in the seventh grade when I taught her,” Mr. Parker recalled. “She was shy, but sweet. She was easy to talk to.”

Jennifer remembers Mr. Parker well and fondly.

Anna was either in the sixth or seventh grade when he was her teacher. “Anna never talked much,” he said. “She was sweet, but you never knew what she was thinking.”

Finally, I just had to ask, “How would you describe me as a student?”

Mr. Parker paused a moment, then said, “You were all boy.”

A very polite euphemism, I must say.

Back in my elementary school days it was semi-customary to buy your teachers Christmas presents. The year I was in Mr. Parker’s class, I remember picking out his present at the old Roses store where Melody Square is now. It was a porcelain figurine of a Revolutionary War soldier.

“I still have it on my mantle,” Mr. Parker said. “It’s always been very special to me.”

When asked if he had any idea how many students he taught during his 28-year stint at Millers Creek, Mr. Parker estimated the number at more than 2,000.

Over the years, Delmas Parker has also been very active in the Democrat Party, having even ran for 10th District Congress in 2000 against Republican Cass Ballenger.

“I didn’t do so well,” he said with a laugh.

When asked to sum up his educational career, Mr. Parker said, “I am proud to have been a teacher. I’m proud to be a teacher today.”

He continued, “A teacher is almost immortal. A good teacher does not die. He continues to live through his students. He should see the potential and good in each student and try to bring that out in each of them. I really believe that. That’s my philosophy. Each classroom is a little community, and each student is a part of that community. Some are rich, some are poor, you have all that. You try to bring that community together as something good. It’s not just what you learn in books. It’s developing a sense that you can do great things in life. Character is so important. That comes from the way you treat a student. They are all one of God’s children, no matter where they come from.”

Delmas Parker…a great teacher, a great man, and truly, also a Child of God.

 Note: Mr. Parker added, “If any of my former students would like to contact me, I’d love to hear from them.”

He can be reached at delmasparker@gmail.com

 Jerry Lankford has been editor of The Record since February 1999. He has worked as a professional journalist for more than 30 years. He can be reached at 336-667-0134 or at jerrylankford@yahoo.com

[72crowe89]

Moondance

Hello, everyone out there! Below is “Moondance”, a Harry Potter short short I did about an incident that happened during Luna’s second year at Hogwarts. I originally published it on Fanfiction.net eight years ago, but I thought it would be cool to publish it here. Without further ado, here is “Moondance.”

---

“There they are”

Luna Lovegood points her wand towards a pile of books, parchment, quills, and ink jars scattered amongst the leaves of the Forbidden Forest.  Anyone else would be angry and frustrated, but not Luna.  She was used to it by now; this is the third time it’s happened this week, fourteenth time this month, forty-first time this year, and seventy-third time since she came to Hogwarts last year.  Besides, animals are natural antagonistic to anything they’re adverse to, so Luna can’t blame the students for behaving naturally.

As Luna picks up her things, she sees ‘Loony Lovegood’ scrawled on all of her books and parchment.  By the handwriting, she could tell that it was the work of Emma Standish, one of the girls who hang out with Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw seeker.  It always fascinated Luna how sweet people like Cho and people like Emma could hang out together.  Coming back to Emma, more than likely, the writing is enchanted so that a horrible curse will be put on Luna if she tries to erase it.  She’ll have to go to Professor Flitwick and ask him to break the spell.  As for the ink jars, it can’t be helped; all of them were drained.  Luna has more in her bedroom, but soon, she’ll have to ask her father to send her more.  As for her books, she was able to find all of them except for Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, her favorite book. That’s okay, though, because she knows that book by heart, and only reads it now for entertainment value rather than informational purposes.

Luna’s head snaps her as she hears a low growl coming deep within the forest.  Ambling through the trees, a man-sized creature appears in front of her.  Upon closer inspection, Luna discovers that this creature is also man-shaped, covered from head to toe in matted brown fur. Claws extended from both his hands and feet, and a deep snarl escapes the creature’s snout.  Luna quickly looks up at the sky; the moon was full. “Werewolf” she whispers. Professor Snape, who is the substitute Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, talked about them a lot in class this week.  One bite from one will turn you into a werewolf, or worse.

Everyone else would have ran and prayed that the werewolf didn’t get them, but Luna wasn’t everyone else.  As she stood there clutching her books, she looks into the werewolf’s eyes.  Those brown eyes were filled with many things: sorrow, fear, and anguish.  She couldn’t help but fill sorry for the poor thing.

“You don’t want to hurt me” Luna says as she steps closer, “You don’t want to hurt anyone.  Turned against your will, made a pariah amongst your own family and friends, forced to come out here so you won’t hurt anyone…I’m sorry.”

The werewolf stops growling and crouches low. Rather than lunging at Luna, he slinks back into the forest before breaking into a sprint.  The last sound Luna hears before heading back to Hogwarts castle is the rustling of the leaves becoming more distant by the second.

 ---

“Looks like Loony Lovegood found her books” sneers Emma as a group of girls cackled.  Cho wasn’t with them, so Emma could pick on Luna all she wanted.

“There were in the same place they were the other two times” says Luna, “It was easy.”

Emma looks at her face.  “You don’t have warts on your face, so you didn’t break the charm yourself.”

“No, Professor Flitwick did it for me.  He says he wants to see you in his office, by the way.”

“Tattled on me, did you?” before she could retaliate, a loud “Miss Standish!” comes from behind them.

Both girls turn to see Professor Lupin running towards them.  When he comes to them, he first turns to Emma.  “Young lady, I found this in the Forbidden Forest” Luna’s eyes widen as Lupin presents her Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them book covered with ‘Loony Lovegood’ doodles, “This is your handwriting, isn’t it?”

“If it is, it’s her fault!” shouts Emma, pointing at Luna, “She forged my handwriting!”

“If that’s the case, then Miss Lovegood is a clever witch indeed.  Not only did she perfectly forge your handwriting, she put on her own book a curse that no second-year would know.  Now, a fourth-year on the other hand, would.  Twenty points from Ravenclaw, and two nights of detention with me, Miss Standish.”

Emma glares at Luna before clopping off. Lupin pulls out his wand and whispers something while pointing at her book.  All of the ‘Loony Lovegoods’ disappear with no ill effects.  Lupin hands her the book as well as three ink jars. “When I found your book, I saw some empty ink jars, and I thought you would need more ink.  I would take points away from you as well for being in the Forbidden Forest, but because you were looking for your things, I will grant you leniency this one time.  You have to stay out of the Forbidden Forest, Miss Lovegood, especially at night.”

Luna looks into Lupin’s brown eyes.  There held absolute terror, as though her staying out of the forest was a matter of life and death.  “Your eyes remind me of the eyes of the werewolf I saw yesterday” she says, making Lupin recoil slightly, “He wasn’t going to hurt me; he was just scared.”

Lupin loses all calm in his voice.  “That werewolf may not want to hurt you, he may not want to hurt anyone, but that doesn’t matter!  It’s in his nature to kill!  Stay out of the Forbidden Forest, okay?”

Luna didn’t say anything about what the werewolf wanted, but she nods anyway.  “Okay.”

Lupin lets out a hard sigh.  “Thank you” he says as he starts to walk down the hall.

“Professor Lupin” Luna says, stopping him, “Thank you. For everything.”

Lupin smiles sadly as he walks.  Making sure her ink jars are balanced on her book, Luna does the same.

[mikeyd1986]

MIKEY’S PERSONAL BLOG 159, June 2019

On Monday morning, I had an appointment with a substitute support worker named McKayla from Mentis Assist. Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve felt a sense of instability and lack of control over my mental health support with Seb being absent at our usual meeting time. The biggest problem though has been the poor communication from Mentis. Last week I got left completely in the lurch with no backup appointment made and today there was a mix up around where exactly I was meant to meet McKayla.

Even before all of this happened, my brain was getting flooded with uncertainty and irrational thoughts (What if she doesn’t turn up? What if she doesn’t know what I look like? What if this is a complete waste of time?). I mistakenly waited for her at my usual meeting spot which is Jamaica Blue Cranbourne. Instead, Mentis sent her to my home address. Granted, they did call me 10 minutes later to see where I was and she did end up driving down to the cafe to meet me.

It wasn’t the best start to my week but thankfully it was worth the wait. Even though I do tend to get quite flustered and nervous whenever I’m meeting a new person, McKayla managed to keep the conversation flowing for over an hour and we did have a few things in common which also helped. I think it restored my spirits a little given how mentally rocky the last few days have been for me and how just talking to someone really helps.

On Monday afternoon, I had my Creative Writing short course at Balla Balla Community Centre in Cranbourne East. In this week’s class, we talked about ways to begin and end a story, being able to pace a story, ways of overcoming writer’s block and the importance of reading. Beginnings are often the most important part of a story as they give readers a first impression as well as introduce the characters, place and time plus raise important questions. Endings should satisfy the needs of the reader by resolving the conflict and tying things up. 

Pacing controls the speed and rhythm at which the story is told plus how fast or slow events unfold. Writer’s block is a common problem which is caused by conflicted feelings, putting pressure on ourselves, having perfectionism, self doubt and high expectations. Ways of overcoming writer’s block include taking notes, freewriting, taking the first reasonable solution, introducing a new character, using a random prompt and reading something totally different. It is important to read as it helps grammar sink in, helps you understand the language better and gain new knowledge. 

On Tuesday morning, I had an employment mentoring session with Brad at Glen Waverley Library. Today really seemed like Murphy’s law was playing out. A Multi-car pile up caused the Monash Freeway to be closed. Therefore I was forced to find an alternative route to get myself to Glen Waverley. It really should have been straight forward but there was congested traffic everywhere and my sense of direction went out the window at some point on the Dandenong Bypass. Plus I knew that I was going to be late to my appointment, no question.

I was panicking a little and getting myself stressed out. Part of me wanted to pull the plug on today and go home but I figured that “I’ve come this far” so I might as well keep going. After discovering that the library carpark was full, I was forced to look elsewhere for another parking spot. Luckily there was a multi-level carpark nearby which had plenty of vacant spots.

Unfortunately my concentration wasn’t the best and I misjudged how close my car was to the concrete pole separating the car spaces. BANG! I dinged the front left side of my car. Thankfully the damage wasn’t as bad as I thought with only a white scuff mark underneath the headlight but I still felt pretty stupid for hitting the pole. I immediately rang Brad once I parked the car and he was very understanding about my running late.

We had a shorter session today as I was over 20 minutes late but we made the most of the time we did have. He made a call to Foundation Learning Centre (formerly Narre Community Learning Centre) to inquire about the basic administration skills course that I was interested in enrolling in next Term. I still find speaking on the phone daunting however this call was worth my time as the lady on the other end gave me some flexible options to consider, which shed some of my anxiety away.  https://narreclc.net.au/computer-skills-programs/

We also had a look into a few jobs that I could consider applying for such as kitchen hand work, barista and customer service roles. Brad also started to draft up a cover letter which I could use when I’m submitting my application to these places. So from a disastrous morning, it turned out to be a productive half hour session that gave me things to think about.

On Wednesday morning, I made my way down to Kyneton Bushland Resort driving via the Calder Freeway towards Bendigo. My parents own a Timeshare and decided to book a bonus week at the Kyneton Resort. It’s a very large area with many villas, cabins and units for accommodation plus a squash court, tennis court, games room, mini golf, pool, spa and sauna facilities. Nature is literally on your doorstep with a wide variety of birdlife (crows, magpies, kookaburras) and even some kangaroos, in among the tall gumtrees and open lake area. http://www.kynetonbushresort.com.au/

I spent the afternoon visiting the township of Kyneton and exploring the historic shops along Piper Street. Much of the old signage is still in tact with English cottage styled facades and painted brickwork. The street features several cafes including Duck, Duck, Goose and Larder which resembles a re-purposed barn shed plus some art galleries, plant nursery, antique store, homewares stores and a stone mason quarry.   http://www.piperstreet.com.au/

On Thursday morning, we visited Hanging Rock, Victoria made famous by the classic Australian story and film Picnic At Hanging Rock. Besides that haunting mystery, you actually learn quite a bit about how the rocks themselves were formed from past volcanic activity and years of erosion and weathering. Walking along the trail towards the summit, it was honestly mesmerizing seeing these massive stones hanging off the edge of the cliff. It’s a fairly steep walk but well worth climbing to see the sights and learn some history.  https://www.visitmacedonranges.com/see-do/the-great-outdoors/hanging-rock/

[buttramnyc]

Italy Part II

Italy, Part II

Drive back to Florence, turn in the rental car (make the requisite wrong turn twice). Catch a cab and we’re off to the swell digs in Firenze: FLORENCE!

Greeted by “Laura (?)” at Palazzo Antellesi on the Piazza Santa Croce. A handsome young man carries our luggage to the second floor. The spacious apartment has been renovated (Taylor does not approve!) but it’s light and bright. There is a wall hanging above the sofa.  Taylor, “It is the Laocoon, an ancient Greek work unearthed in Rome in 1506 and considered the most intense icon of human suffering and agony in western secular art--Laocoon and his sons being devoured by sea serpents. An odd choice of decor to hang above your apartment sofa--particularly in an apartment named Paradiso.” But there were doors opening up on the Piazza and comfortable beds and HOT water. The edifice has frescos that survived the flood of 1966. (When the Arno flooded. 101 people lost.) There was also a computerized electric stove with a steam oven. Good luck!

I take off to explore. Deborah and Mary set off for groceries and Taylor… not sure. I take a wrong turn but there are no wrong turns in Florence. I happen upon the Piazza del Duomo and the Baptistry. Beautiful! If this is the “off” season in Florence, it’s much like midtown Manhattan in the summer. Lines! How can this city become more crowded? I am suffering from my cold so I stay home in the evening and watch the Piazza Santa Croce at night, endless entertainment. Germans! Many Germans!

A solid night’s sleep makes all the difference (and Italian cough meds). The next day, Taylor gives me a quick tour and I explore solo, but, again, wrong turns. Florence is rather like Amsterdam and Manhattan’s West Village. Defined by the Arno River, I am shaky on directions (North, South, East, West), and, oh, boy, do I get lost! Searching for a church S. Miniato Al Monte, I go so far afield, I cannot see Florence! Finally, there’s a hiker (woman about my age) and in French, she gets me back to Via Michelangelo and home. Six hour hike, my “dogs” are barking. Tricky hills! Uneven stone steps go up and then, they go down! (I follow a snooty French couple, they don’t know where they are going either!)

Taylor takes a train to a village with a “chestnut” festival. Mary and Deborah enjoy the shopping and revisit favorite settings. I buy an 85 euro ticket to tour all the museums I can over 78 hours (and the museums open early). I’m grateful for the advice from my fellow travelers, all who have visited Florence many times. Armed with maps and guide books, I take on the Uffizi, Duomo Santa Croce, the Baptistry, Galleria Accademia, Museo Galileo, Museo Duomo, Palazzo Vecchi, Palazzo Pitti (including a special tour of the kitchen!), the Boboli Gardens, Museo Bargello, Chapel Medici, S. Miniato Al Monte and its mammoth and eerie graveyard. (I lose my Firenze card map and list and my good sunglasses. Taylor’s camera is stolen. Mary is gouged by a money exchanger. Deborah loses her grey shawl). The costs of traveling!

[Side note on Palazzo Pitti: It’s enormous and “not happening.” No matter how much great art you hang on your walls, you are destined to spend your life in silence! The loneliness must have been depressing. Course, you have lots of children and servants but I’m thinking the kitchen workers probably had a better time of it. At least they were busy! The royals pack up and flee to the countryside to enjoy “nature” or drive through the city streets where the rabble kick up their heels. Life span of the poor, not good. Life span of the rich, not good either. The black plague gets everyone! The Hapsburg’s had 11 children. Poor mother!]

Taylor and I travel to Fiesole (via public bus), outside Florence to walk the Etruscan/Roman ruins--Fourth century B.C., or earlier. We have a tasty lunch overlooking Florence and stroll through our second Roman theater/baths. Fiesole could have been a “contender” for “best city” but the jealous Firenze horde conquered it in 1125. We get a bit lost walking down the hill to catch the bus! Nothing drastic, there’s that brief moment of panic. “Lost in Italy” theme rises up. Major traffic jam on the way home!

Sunday morning, a “Battle of two Brass Bands” in front of Palazzo Medici. Fantastic. I attend St. Mark’s English Church and it was a staid but welcoming service in English. Taylor took us by St. Mark’s to see the Pre-Rafaelite art. So, I return, curious about the congregation, the music, and I had heard someone practicing piano upstairs. The church’s musical director, very young woman, gives a concert on Tuesday night. I attend. Her program is Beethoven’s Sonata Op. #8, Pathetique, (the “Adagio” is the melody of DeKalb Texas High School’s anthem!), and Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue,” playing a Bosendorfer piano (forte sound). She has gifted, strong fingers!

I hear from the USA, Chuck Wilson, musician extraordinaire, is now playing in the big band in the sky. To celebrate the passing of my friend, I go to hear a second concert, a chamber orchestra play Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” at Sano Stefano at Ponte Firenze. All maestros! After the concert ends, the musicians leave the stage but the audience does not move. Alas, there is no encore.

So many chiesas! All exceptional, holy places. I return to Santo Spirito, home to Michelangelo’s early sculpture. (This from Wikipedia: Michelangelo Buonarroti, when he was 17 years old, was allowed to make anatomical studies on the corpses coming from the convent's hospital; in exchange, he sculpted a wooden crucifix to be placed over the high altar. It’s now in the sacristy.) Awesome internship!

Note on the plethora of pacifiers in Italian babies’ mouths! WHY? You can’t see their beautiful faces!

After some consideration of the tonality of the chiming bells of Florence, I believe they are set in intervals of fourths!

Excellent weather, crystal clear skies. Sun on the Arno creates sparkling diamonds. Because my groovy sunglasses are definitely lost, I go to an H&M and replace them for five Euros with an inferior but usable substitute.

Great dogs in Florence but their owners are not into tourists’ admiring glances! I spot an “Ann Bradley lookalike.” Spitting image of my cantankerous old friend, dead 15 years. But the same physical carriage, the same style, is Ann reborn in Florence? But this lady is a dog walker, Ann was a cat person.

Rowers on the Arno. Taylor quotes Mark Twain: "It is popular to admire the Arno. It is a great historical creek with four feet in the channel and some scows floating around. It would be a very plausible river if they would pump some water into it. They all call it a river, and they honestly think it is a river, do these dark and bloody Florentines. They even help out the delusion by building bridges over it. I do not see why they are too good to wade."

The great thing about traveling with Taylor, he shares these jewels of entertaining lore, and out-of-the-way locales. I shop for a gold bracelet for Lori. Lots of gold. All expensive. Hand-made belt for Kim. They are co-feeding my cats back in NYC.

S. San Marco. I make ALL of the Sunday night Mass. There is an exceptional mezzo soprano leading the small choir. She wears a black headdress, pallid skin. I’m far back but I swear she wears clown white. She holds her hands above her head and sings to the massive dome covered with frescos of angels, flying up to Christ. Her voice soars through the air, no vibrato, rich and strong. Her expression is ethereal. I can’t understand the language but it’s clear what she is saying, she believes! Comforting to sit through Mass with working class Florence folks. They are very nice. A husband adjusts his wife’s hanging bag strap, easing its pull on her shoulder. Thoughtful, loving gesture. Outside, raindrops. Voices in the distance, singing. Every single life, individual.

Palazzo Antellesi, the computerized electric stove is a nightmare. Taylor drops an uncooked egg on the kitchen floor. We push endless buttons, trying to find “on.” On the streets, I am always lost, struggling to get my bearings back to Piazza S. Croce. Night time cough meds brings more dreams, “John the Baptist,” “Page,” “David Letterman and Steve Martin.”

Galleria Accademia: Michelangelo’s DAVID.

Of course, trying to capture his magnificence in a cellphone picture, impossible. Everyone tries! What great lighting! Stunning and powerful. Carved from a block of marble that other artists thought flawed. David is gigantic. The spirit of revolution, and independent spirit.

Trans singer outside Basilica Medici. Gorgeous, defiant, large voice featuring Italy’s greatest hits, sustained notes, shoulder-length hair, short skirt, high heels and designer handbag to collect Euros. I will see and hear her several times around the major tourist sites. I worry for her welfare. The locals (male workers) do not approve. Not friendly.

Here and there, I see the ultra-stylish Florence ladies and gentlemen. Impeccably dressed with accessories that scream wealth. Passing Ponte Vecchio last night, blonde beauty with short mink jacket (urgh!), and boots with black leggings. Perfection clicking along the stone steps. Closer look, I’m thinking 60! Yet, she walks the cobble stones with us commoners. Probably not going far, but a bit. You can walk Florence. Much like getting around Manhattan, but no subway. They do have busses!

So many reliquaries. (I’m haunted by the news from Turkey. Saudi journalist Jamal Khashoggi murdered, cut up in pieces and dissolved in acid. He worked for the Washington Post. Really?)

The last morning in Florence, I hike quickly to the San Marco Monastery to see Fra Angelico’s painting. Mesmerizing. What the monks would do (in my opinion) is stare so long at these beautiful art covering the monk’s cells that they hallucinate, see visions of Jesus, Virgin Mary or Saint Paul, then go tap on another monk’s door to discuss. Possibly, a tryst follows, and joyous release!

The day after we figure out how to work the computerized stove and the “steam” oven, it’s time to say “Arrivederci Florence,” head back to the Rental Car location (via taxi) and take off for Cortona.

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[teacherequality-blog]

An Interview With a Trans Substitute

“Missoula district was really supportive and accommodating. MISSOULA.

I grew up in Columbia Falls

There were two students in big sky high school (brothers) who’s parents called in and rose a big stink over my teaching any of their classes at all.

The school’s response was “well, miss class then.” I was told at the beginning of the day that I had one student in two different periods that I was required to send to the counselor’s office immediately. Heard from another teacher (prior friend) about why. The admin never even told me about it. There was NO change to how, when, or where I could do my job over it.

When I first started subbing, I was covering my tattoos b/c I wasn’t sure their stance. When I called and asked district coordinator about it, she said they didn’t care at all. I never had to cover them at all. Especially nice given that while I used to be able to EASILY hide them all, girl shirts are all designed for cleavage whether you have any or not, so almost none of my shirts could cover the ones on my chest. always wore my sleeves rolled up all day, so everyone saw my tattoo sleeve. Aaaaall the kids know I have tattoos and gauges. When I started with MCPS, Missoula county public schools, they have a checklist sheet you mark all the classes you’re willing to sub for. Grades and subjects. I could give a damn, I can BS my way through anything so I just checked them all without thinking about it. Then I got an assignment to teach gym. Oops. So I dropped the job and called sub coordinator to ask about it, since many gym teacher offices are IN the locker rooms…..  She said she didn’t know, she had never thought about it either. She said she’d look into it and get back to me. Got a call a couple of days later. Ver batim, she said I “could move through any bathroom or locker room in the entire district. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” Frenchtown is not so…. Free. When I asked them, he said that he knew what he had to say, and what was “probably the right answer.” They were implied as not the same thing. I told him that Missoula didn’t care about me and bathrooms and locker rooms at all. He said “yea, that’s probably the right answer. There’s a gender-neutral bathroom by the front office…” I told him no, flat out. Then pointed out that behind me were the FACULTY restrooms. Which, btw, are SINGLE Person bathrooms. One room. One toilet, one sink. I’m honestly not sure I understand the point of separating them at all. What’s it fucking matter if there’s only one person allowed in? after I pointed that out, he conceded I may have a point and didn’t push the matter, but I could tell it made him uncomfortable. He didn’t even respond to the gym issue. But, I found out later that every gym period in the junior high, there is an extra (female) faculty to be there at the beginning and end of every period. Bc the jr high him teacher is male, and they require the locker rooms be “checked in on”. Can’t trust kids to change their own clothes, naturally. Except, when *i* teach gym. Then, there are two extra faculty assigned to be there. I’m not allowed in either locker room. Not that I at ALL want to go into the boy’s locker room, but it just goes to show they don’t have a stance beyond “no, you can’t exist in here.” I stopped trying. Beyond that, Frenchtown has never done anything outright against me. But from the beginning I felt like the entire school staff were watching me. Not keeping tabs, just always cautious. Less welcoming. Missoula was ALwAYS welcoming and kind to me. Never an issue at all. The admin never once even mentioned to me that they had ever been contacted about me. At all.  No changes. It’s not that they were hiding anything, it was just such a non-issue, they didn’t feel the need. If I had to guess given my experience speaking and interacting with the admin, I don’t feel offended at all. It just more than anything feels like “it affects nothing, so we didn’t want to bother you about it.” I heard about it second hand from other faculty. Though, I had noticed that every admin in all the buildings greeted me by my first name. I had never met them. They all just knew who I was on sight. They’ve had board and admin meetings about me. Its not that they didn’t address it before… those meetings were never because THEY needed to talk about it. It was to deal with the parents. Or, more rather, to decide how to respond to parents when they got angry (they were) phone calls about me. I only know any of this because I heard it second hand from other teachers. I have no idea how many times they were contacted over it, all I know for sure was that at least 3 schools got at least 2 calls. I get the feeling there were a lot more…. From what I heard (again, second hand info. Take as you will), that the jist of their “pre-determined formal response” was along the lines of: “we understand you have an issue with this. Please understand we don’t care. We are not going to discriminate against an effective substitute for these reasons. If you don’t want your children to attend class with this substitute, then you can come and pick them up from school for that period, and drop them off again after. We’re not in the business of babysitting kids who don’t want to go to class.” Second hand jist. But that’s how it was told to me. The only incident I have specific knowledge of (big sky), I was also told by teacher friend that the kids could have cared less. It was only the parets raising a stink.

As for the students in general, I for the most part haven’t had any real issues. Sometimes I think I may have heard the purposely misgender me, but they’re pretty quiet about it. No outright defiance (for that reason, at least implicitly. They’re still teenagers). I’ve been told by students on a few occasions that other kids had been making fun of me or being disrespectful when they knew I couldn’t hear, but I never really heard anything. At least not that I was sure enough of that I could say anything. My hearing is juuuuuust bad enough that I cant always tell for sure what pronoun someone uses. Especially if its under their breath. But nothing outright disrespectful to my face about it. I think they know what would happen to them if they did…. Its so hard for districts to get and keep good subs that they take any reports of behavior issues VERY seriously, for any reason or sub. If i said that they disrespected me in that manner, the whole world would come down on their head and they know it. I’ve gotten a few questions in poor taste, but its due more to benign curiosity than any kind of prejudice. It’s also an interesting pretense…. Everyone knows, apparently, they ALL talk about it (students), they all know I’m trans. Mostly. They’re fairly sure, they all know it’s the rumor. But no one has ever been actually TOLD about it. Its ignored. They THINK they know, but not enough to be sure. So, I get the occasional question. “is that a wig?” is one. There was one incident where they seriously raised their hand in the middle of class lecture to ask “are you trans?” My favorite response, is to point out that that’s NOT a question they want to be wrong about….. its like asking someone when the baby is due. If I’m NOT trans, that’s reaaaaaally insulting and worrisome. Once I point out to them the nature of the question they asked, they get this reeeaaaaally horrified look on their face…. Its fucking hysterical. I love it. Its aaaaaalmost worth it. But my usual response otherwise was “no, I’m a woman.” So, they know. Sorta. Mostly. But not for sure…… its awesome. I generally raise my eyebrows at them and make them consider their question. Most of the worst insults and misgendering by students is mostly perpetrated by the trouble students I’m already being stern with.  I do not take their shit. And they KNOW it. Its part of my legend….. But a lot of students think I’m plenty amusing, and I get stopped all the time around town by kids saying hello and asking when I’m coming back. So, yea. The kids being douches, were already douches. Worst kids are still Frenchtown, but again. They’re still teenagers. Anyone is going to have some bullshit. And if they don’t insult with trans, they insult with something else equally offensive. My teaching experience in MCPS has been truly stellar. Not one concession has ever been made on the point, and not once has ANYone employed by MCPS EVER brought the fact that I’m trans up at all. On the FEW times its been a topic, *i* was the one to bring it up. They’ve been phenomenal. Kids have been pretty chill. All things considered, even Frenchtown has been at least moderately reasonable. The never said I COULDN’T teach gym, they just needed locker room people. To be fair. Just a different feel, and they were aware of the more rural attitude of the parents in general, and seem more nervous over it. No faculty has ever insulted me on purpose. Although, I have mixed feels over the woman faculty (ftown art) who approached me to express her support and that she was glad they had a trans teacher, and she’d heard about me and had to meet me. Mixed, because her saying so pretty well proves that she picked me out cold from a crowd….. but people don’t think about that implication. They’re usually always trying to be nice and supportive, in any case. Nice lady, though. She likes me.

Oooooo, one other thing to bear mentioning. I HAVE been approached by several students (quietly, away from other kids), who wanted to ask me about being trans. But, because they thought they may have been trans themselves….. they wanted to know what to do/go/talk to/proceed in general. I always pointed them to anne harris and mentioned that I didn’t point them to anyone. But they’re the only ones I’ve ever not denied it to. They’ve been pretty chill, and just trying to reach out because they were confused about themselves. In that respect, I’m glad I was in the schools particularly. Even, almost, a little, MAAAYYYYYYYYBE glad they could tell. So they knew they could ask. I met one little girl in 6th grade who came to me at start of period to tell me that the role sheet had the wrong name, and what to call her. The knowing look of gratitude was really rewarding. I’ve even been left notes from kids who wanted to support and express gratitude for having me. A couple were totally anonymous. They just showed up on top of my paperwork. So, in that respect, I’m really happy to have been a part of the schools systems in that age group of “flux”. When they really needed an adult that they could actually KNOW wouldn’t judge them for it. I never told anyone I was a “safe resource” or commented on “safe space.” Never had to. At least two of the kids who approached me on the topic were in Frenchtown. They obviously had no idea what to do. So, I’m pretty grateful I could be that for people. For most everyone else, it’s still a good thing to have a visible (hesitate to call myself a “role-model”) adult in their school/non family who is an obvious source of support/info/encouragement/comfort. I think its really good for them to interact with people that way in a CASUAL manner, NOT implicitly for that reason. I’m not a novelty alone, I’m just THERE. Novelty, but it’s not WHY I’m there, or WHY I’m talking to them. Its not even discussed or mentioned. No need for (so this is trans person, be respectful, who knows what trans means? Be sure to treat her normally. Don’t single her out anyone, that would be passé….” The pretense is half of what makes it so damn perfect. Not SURE. Not talked about. Not special. Just….. there. No different. Esp. when I do teach gym. It shows them that its perfectly NORMAL, benign, and simply a fact of life. Nothing to make any kind of issue over. No different. Just real people. Professional adult. Not pointing it out or trying to bond over it. Just Being there is plenty educational.

It’s one of the main reasons I liked doing it. I was terrified at first. I’ve subbed before in great falls, pre-trans. I know I can do it, am good at it, respected for it by faculty. I know I’m good at my job. I was terrified they wouldn’t even consider hiring me for fear of “putting their neck out.” Not wanting to stir crap with the parents. (enemy of ALL faculty and admin). But they surprised me. Not even Frenchtown ever brought it up first. Ever. It was MY question about what policy was. I was never told I couldn’t or shouldn’t teach ANY subject by EITHER district. Even ftown gym. I was especially impressed by them, given their rep for history toward lgbt students. No student group of their own, not allowed, they’re lumped into “diversity group”. But it was never mentioned, not even during hiring or interviews. It was never truly a problem for anyone. So no real “bad” experiences at all. They’re trying to be better. “

- Shannon Sorensen