#tribunal members normally

[veillover19]

They used to be the Manager of the hotel and objected to the owners plan to fire the staff and replace them all with FatimaMaid's as the robots would be cheaper. They also threatened to go to the papers and to the Employment tribunal...

Fortunately since becoming a FatimaMaid themselves they have come to understand that this really is the best option and after adjusting to their new body (and rewritten mind) they have become an eager supporter...

The ability to work twenty hours a day without stopping makes a Fatima much more efficient while running costs are a tenth of that of a normal human worker. Also while they sometimes feel an odd sense of "loss" for the seven inch member they once had they now feel and intense sense of pleasure every-time a guest ogles their now shapely body...

(AI art made with Stable Diffusion)

[thislovintime]

On the bus from Duluth to Hayward, Wisconsin, July 1967; in Hayward at/after a Buffalo Springfield show on July 29, 1967. Photo 1 by Henry Diltz.

A companion post to this one about the Hayward visit.

“It happened this way: The Buffalo Springfield were appearing in the Big Top tent at Tony Wise’s Old Hayward layout last Saturday night. Earlier, they had appeared in Chicago, where The Monkees also were appearing and the two groups had partied together there. The Monkees decided Old Hayward would be a gassy place for another party. So after their appearance in Chicago Saturday, they flew to Duluth in a chartered DC6 — the band, their road managers and agents and assistants and girl friends, a party of 26 in all. From Duluth they chartered a Greyhound bus and roared to Hayward with a police escort. They arrived for the tail end of the Springfield’s bash in the tent, and then continued with a late jam session in the tent. They took over the old train that is parked at Old Hayward serving as a restaurant and bar, partied there all night, slept in the Pullman, and breakfasted the next day on such delicacies as corn flakes drenched in orange juice before taking off.” - Will Jones, Minneapolis Tribune, August 3, 1967 “Screams of recognition by members of the Mod set practically raised the roof of the Big Top at Historyland early Sunday morning when the popular Monkees of TV fame walked in unexpectedly and unannounced. […] The crowd of 700 went into bedlam and it wasn’t long before the appearance of the trip [Peter, Davy, and Micky] was known about town and others of the young set joined the throng. […] A jam session started that went into wee hours before weary teen-agers calmed down to near normal again. There was no official appearance of the Monkees, but they joined in extemporaneously as the nigh wore on. Sunday, when most others were sleeping off the night’s excitement was spent by touring the Court Orville’s Reservation in Sawyer County. They went to Reserve and New Post, for the purpose of purchasing handmade Indian trinkets and beaded articles.” - The North Wisconsin News, August 4, 1967 “The Jacobs spent Sunday morning talking with and showing the boys around Hayward. Mrs. Jacobs was particularly impressed with the Monkees who seemed to appreciate the North Country very much. The boys took pictures of native flowers, and trees and also visited an Indian village with the Jacobs, which they all enjoyed very much.” - Escabana Daily Press, August 23, 1967 “Reflecting back on the tour again for a moment, I wanted to tell you about the trip we took up to [Hayward], in Wisconsin. Micky, Davy and I hired a plane and flew up there. We spent some time on an Indian reservation, where The Buffalo Springfield were appearing in their concert. It was a gas up there, and I bought so many ‘peace’ beads, head-bands, blankets, jackets etc. Now that I am back in Los Angeles with all the gear, I am thinking of opening an ‘Indian Shop’ where the kids can come to pick up the things. Really outta sight collection. We stayed up there over night, and slept in the carriage of an ‘out-of-use’ train, which had been ‘anchored’ close-by to the reservation.” - Peter Tork, Fabulous 208, 1967

[nesiacha]

In défense for Jacques René Hébert

Jacques-René Hébert (1757-1794)

Warning:

I really dislike Hébert. Even if his defense was made easier by the fact that I like some characters described as Hébertists and adore Momoro (my favorite faction of the French Revolution is the ultra-revolutionary faction, even though I know they also committed unforgivable acts given the hellish situation they were in). Historian Gérard Walter aptly summarized my view of Hébert, calling him a mediocre politician and a journalist of rare vulgarity. I would add more, describing him as a precursor to reality TV with the false persona he portrayed. Therefore, some sentences do not reflect my true opinions. However, my goal is to defend him as a lawyer would, within the context of the French Revolution. Hence, it is normal for me to refer to Louis XVI as a tyrant or something else. You can also choose to play the role of jurors or simply state whether you acquit him or not, as you wish.

The défense

Citizens, I have the great honor of being mandated by the Revolutionary Tribunal to restore the truth and honor of Jacques René Hébert, who has been defamed for far too long. There exists a black legend regarding Citizen Hébert, who still awaits the rehabilitation he has well deserved.

Citizen Hébert was born on November 15, 1757, in Alençon. His father was a master goldsmith, and rumors suggested that his mother belonged to the nobility, but there is no evidence to support her noble status. Far from being the uncultured character he is often portrayed as, Hébert became a prosecutor's clerk, though he had to leave this profession in 1780 and sought refuge in Paris. Some say this was due to a romantic adventure that brought him trouble, while others claim it was to escape a heavy financial penalty in a personal matter. Perhaps it was both, but in any case, he was in charge of managing theater box rentals at the Théâtre des Variétés from 1787-1788. Contrary to the black legend we must dispel regarding Citizen Hébert, there is no evidence that he stole any funds.

Citizen Hébert distinguished himself in revolutionary activities more significantly in 1790 when he began publishing the newspaper "Le Père Duchesne." Contrary to a widespread belief, likely propagated to discredit him, Hébert was not the inventor of the Père Duchesne character nor the first to use such language in his paper. There were two types of newspapers like this, including "Père Duchêne" by Abbé Jumel. Hébert outcompeted his rivals, and although he initially admired the tyrant Louis Capet, as did many French who were deceived, he still denounced the abuses suffered by the poor at the hands of the rich, the scandals of the court, and the moral failures of certain priests who nevertheless preached virtue. Citizen Hébert also highlighted social issues and showed great sensitivity to the lives of workers: he advocated for better social assistance for elderly fathers whose children were Sans Culottes and for the organization of elementary education for their children. All this earned him well-deserved success.

Far from being a failed and mediocre journalist, the facts I have presented demonstrate that Citizen Hébert was dedicated to the rights of the people.

Moreover, once the tyrant attempted to flee, Hébert abandoned royalism and became a genuine republican, having opened his eyes to the nature of the monarchy. He continually attacked the tyrant’s duplicity regarding his frequent use of vetoes, which further impeded the rights of the people. Hébert also became a member of the Cordeliers Club in 1791 and entered political functions on August 10, 1792, within the Paris Commune, becoming a spokesperson for the Sans Culottes.

The fact that he did not succeed in being elected to the Convention, unlike other journalists, should not lead one to believe that Citizen Hébert was incapable of holding important positions or that he was unpopular. Evidence of his capability is his election as deputy prosecutor of the Paris Commune, and in addition to his work, he joined the Jacobin Club in January 1793. This shows that he was becoming increasingly active. We should also remember that he openly applauded the abolition of slavery, as evidenced by one of his articles titled "La grande joie du père Duchèsne au sujet de la fête que les Sans-Culottes ont célébrée dans le Temple de la Raison, en réjouissance de l'abolition de l'esclavage des négres" on 1 Ventôse An II. We are thus far from the heartless man depicted by the black legend concerning Citizen Hébert.

Regarding the accusations that Hébert was bloodthirsty due to the political group called the Girondins, I must remind you of historian Jean Clément Martin’s statement that the Girondins were sent to the scaffold because they failed to send the Montagnards or the Sans Culottes there. Indeed, before the insurrection of May 31 and June 2, 1793, Citizen Hébert was arrested, likely due to his articles. When some Sans Culottes came merely to request his release, Isnard made a speech threatening the destruction of Paris. Therefore, besides showing that the opponents of the Cordeliers and Jacobins would not have hesitated to use the guillotine, we see that Citizen Hébert was capable of inspiring great loyalty. Following this insurrection, his newspaper gained significant success, and for good reason.

Finally, on September 5, 1793, he was part of a group that invaded the Convention following disastrous events that further endangered our glorious revolution. With many Sans Culottes, he demanded necessary and salutary measures such as price controls and the raising of a revolutionary army.

Some may criticize Citizen Hébert for continually demanding the death penalty. I would respond that while it is true that innocents sometimes suffered from these accusations, it was not Hébert who made these decisions, although we cannot absolve him of responsibility. It was the Convention, the Committee of General Security, and the Committee of Public Safety that voted for the arrests. When he demanded texts in his journal, it is easy to forget the context: the betrayal of Dumouriez, who handed over the Minister of War and others to the enemy, and the treason of two French admirals that resulted in Toulon falling into English hands. Citizen Hébert, like many French revolutionaries, was exasperated and worried, knowing that royalist threats were not empty. Of course, there were innocent generals whose heads Hébert called for, such as General Custine, but we must see his actions in context without excusing them.

Concerning the false accusation against Marie Antoinette regarding her son, I do not wish to absolve Citizen Hébert of this horrible affair, but he was not the only one responsible. Yet, some want to make it seem as though he alone was to blame, while citizens like Pache, Chaumette, and Jacques Louis David were also involved. He is clearly not solely responsible.

I must say that Hébert's attacks on Danton were entirely justified given the evidence we now have. Nevertheless, certain members of the Committee of Public Safety, including Robespierre, preferred to target Hébert before Danton, likely due to the campaign of de-Christianization. But remember this: without excusing those who wanted to force de-Christianization, we should recall that not long ago, many religious fanatics infantilized the people, constantly making prohibitions against them (remember the Callas affair or that of the Chevalier de La Barre). However, we should not forget that Hébert did not hate Christians, as he often referred to the Sans Culotte Jesus. Therefore, this hatred was primarily directed at clergy, especially those who were resistant to our glorious revolution or those who maintained a hypocritical attitude in their functions, although some might attribute Hébert’s remarks about Jesus to an attempt to temper his criticisms. Nevertheless, he was a victim of an unjustifiable parody of a trial.

It is important to remember the context of the insurrection, recalling the harsh winter of 1793-1794, and that the Cordeliers Club, where Hébert was very popular, was among the most sensitive to the suffering of the working classes. This was one of the reasons for the insurrection, and we should not forget that ultimately, people like Hébert were right to distrust the Ventôse laws, as they were eventually not enforced.

He was the victim of a parody of a trial, wrongly accused of sabotaging food supplies. As historian Antoine Resche states in his mini-biography of Citizen Hébert, to "fabricate a flimsy case, a few more or less dubious foreign figures were added to the list of accused, and Hébert was executed as the leader of a rather disjointed group." Their arrests were politically motivated. Many laughed at Hébert’s execution, noting his calls for heads and his eventual breakdown. I must point out that his wife, Marie Françoise Goupil, was arrested shortly after him and claimed to be pregnant—whether this was true or not, I hope not—to avoid execution, yet she was executed 20 days later.

However, Camille Desmoulins is absolved for his behavior on the scaffold because it was believed he wept for Lucile and was more lenient than Hébert. If we accept this excuse for Desmoulins, we must also extend it to Citizen Hébert, who may have cried primarily for his wife’s fate. And regarding Desmoulins' alleged leniency, let us reconsider. He shares responsibility for the Brissotins’ demise, did not protest the entirely illegal persecution of Jacques Roux, said he understood the need to curb liberty for the people’s salvation, and did not oppose or even approved the mock trial that led to the deaths of Hébert, Momoro, Ronsin, Vincent, and the arrest of Marie Françoise Goupil. If we accuse Citizen Hébert of having dubious friends, what about Desmoulins, who allied with a corrupt figure like Danton, and likely knew it? We are far from the kind Desmoulins versus the evil Hébert often portrayed in films. Desmoulins enjoys a golden legend, while Hébert has a black one that needs lifting.

Furthermore, the execution of the so-called exaggerators had a disastrous impact within the Committee of Public Safety concerning the Parisian masses.

Lastly, I must point out that "Le Père Duchesne" saw success between 1848 and 1871. What we call Hébertism had a greater significance than often acknowledged.

Thus, I ask you to rehabilitate Hébert, who did so much against slavery, for price controls, proposed measures to alleviate the suffering of Parisians, and fell victim to a parody of justice that chilled the French Revolution, remembered only for its bloodshed because it sells better.

Sources:

Antoine Resche

Danton write by Frédéric Bluche

Gérard Walter

[hahnsplatinum]

Having completely normal thoughts about kim kitsuragi and how his seemingly meticulous presentation is also wildly contradicting. And how all of it ultimately feeds into his repression and denial of self. He describes himself as a “regular, garden variety Revacholiere” but is obviously anything but (racial minority, member of “the homosexual underground”, police officer, etc). Does he really believe himself to be “regular” or is that just the framework he’s molded himself to fit into over the years. If you say it long enough maybe it will eventually be true

Its implied by some of his pre- and in-game interactions that kim utilizes the authority/power of being a cop for not entirely “just” actions (taking the spinner hubcaps from a suspect pre-game, he joins in on bullying the would-be skulls for their jackets, etc). He’s a “moralist” because it allows him to follow commands and enforce the moralintern’s laws without taking full blame for the larger ethical picture of his and the rcm’s impact. He resents his time as a juvie officer, especially the “kimball” case, because it undermined and threatened the carefully curated image of authority he’s built for himself as a cop.

But in the same breath kim is also patient and often outright kind to harry with his mental breakdown and amnesia. He doesn’t disrespect The Smoker on the Balcony or harry’s obvious bisexual awakening despite his own tight lipped, reserved position in regards to his own place in “the underground”. Kim is kind to lilienne’s little kids and encourages harry to be as well. He fights against the mercenaries at the tribunal despite the fact that they are also throwing around their power not unlike the rcm is known to do (re: mention of harry’s pre-game shootout in a church)

God just, imagine being a war orphan looking around at the world. Your parents died due to their involvement in political movements. People view you as less than or even subhuman due to your race. No one gets married anymore, you’ll never see anyone like yourself out in the open or forget the colorful words people have for boys like you. If someone offered you the opportunity to have more authority over your own life and interactions with others than youve ever known, a community of brothers in arms willing to die for you, access to places and things and knowledge you couldnt get otherwise—what reason do you have not to take up that offer?

Kim kitsuragi wants to blend in with every other citizen in revachol. And yet, he dons his bright orange jacket and police issued ID card every morning. He listens to Speedfreaks FM on his way to work. He’s killed 8 people. Regular, garden variety Revacholiere

[svartalfhild]

Poetic Names in Dunmer Culture

I have a notion about Dunmer naming conventions that my little linguist brain keeps coming back to, ever since I learned that Vehk, Seht, and Ayem are the "poetic" forms of Vivec, Sotha Sil, and Almalexia's names. It got me thinking: what if regular Dunmer have poetic name forms as well?

I think it would be interesting if they had them as a version of a nickname, but with more specific and honored meaning, something that indicates not just familiarity but a bond worthy of poetry, something that you have to earn the right to call someone.

The House Dunmer of course can call their gods by these names because the Tribunal love to brand themselves as servants of the people, who all have a closeness with and reverence for their gods. Basically, it's acceptable because religion things. Also love how this makes saying "B'Vehk" roughly the same as saying "sweet Jesus" lol.

But like with normal people, I imagine it functions similar to getting to call someone by a nickname, except way more intense. Like you're either close family members, ultra bffs, lovers, or people who went through some shit together (e.g. soldiers who fought together, rivals who destroyed each other's lives, etc.). That's right folks! It doesn't have to be a bond based on love! It can be hate! Because it's the Dunmer, so of course. It just has to be Significant. Like Victorians calling each other by their first names but kicked up a notch. Or like going "bestie!!!!" (affectionate) or "worstie!!!" in the most deadpan way possible.

Anyway, so here's where we get to the linguistic part of this sociolinguistic headcanon. There are clearly conventions to how a poetic name is formed, based on the data given to us by the gods' names. The process is (usually) this:

Keep the initial letter of the original name. If the initial letter is a consonant followed by another consonant, the second consonant is considered part of the initial cluster and doesn't count towards #3. If the initial letter is a vowel other than a, the first consonant or consonant cluster remains as part of the first letter and doesn't count towards #3.

Add a vowel/diphthong by taking the final vowel/diphthong of the name and alter it according to specific patterns.

Add the second consonant. If the second consonant is the same as the first letter, use the final consonant instead. Y never counts as a consonant for this. Certain consonants must be altered according to specific patterns.

Vowel/Diphthong Changes:

a -> e, eh aa -> a, ah e -> e, eh i -> e, eh ii -> i o -> a, ah u -> u y -> e, eh ia -> ye ea -> ya ie -> ye iu -> yu ay -> ae ey -> ae ae -> a, ah ue -> u

h follows a vowel when the final consonant is k, m, n, or t

Consonant Changes:

b -> v c -> k d -> t th -> t

Poetic Name Examples:

Drelyth -> Drel Vavran -> Vehn Indrasi -> Indres Alarue -> Aur Tremona -> Trehm Ervynu -> Ervun Naryu -> Nur Aymillo -> Aymal Thathas -> Thes Llaals -> Llas Nethis -> Neht

That should give you an idea of how it goes. There are probably exceptions to these rules, and of course a lot of the poetic names are going to be the same, but there are lots of real world names that share nicknames, so I'm not bothered about it.

Also! I think this is exclusive to House Dunmer, and it's not something the Ashlanders do, because I think it started with the Tribunal.

I think Dunmer do have more conventional nicknames sometimes, but they're usually used by non-Dunmer or family members in a super casual way. I almost think of it like using -kun in Japanese when it's between Dunmer.

[flame-cat]

hey fellas so @boyswillbeboxes and I have been cooking a fun concept for a few days and I thought I'd share it with you along with some Images I doodled. the post we're talking about at first is this one right here but if u don't feel like looking at it tl;dr its kim glaring at jean and being possessive of Harry. synopsis under the readmore! tws for suicide baiting and suicidal actions

rat: THAT FUCKIN COMIC WITH KIM GIVING JEAN THE SIDE EYE I'M SCREAMING

GET HIS ASS KIM

me: DLFJFKFKF IM SO GLAD U SAW ITTTT

rat: I JUST DID

me: thought of u makin that

rat: 😭😭

I'm so honored

God lmao you're right tho

Listen listen if Harry fails the check for the karaoke and Jean is there and doesn't clap for Harry, Kim swears a VENDETTA

That's CANON

He brings it up at the tribunal he's so petty

The second one

He says some really backhanded shit I don't remember the specifics but he's basically like Enemy Sighted

me: he took one look at this man and went "is anyone gonna become harshly overprotective of that" and didn't wait for an answer

rat: NO FOR REAL

IT'S INSANE HOW QUICKLY KIM WOULD DIE FOR HARRY

I LOVE IT I LOVE THEM

me: like in my head it literally is just. jean is minding his business. he doesn't even do anything. and Kim is just glaring daggers at him from across the room. in my head it's a sitcom bit where every time Harry leaves the room with Kim and Jean left Kim threatens Jean's life and as soon as Harry comes back in hes Normal again and jean is like GET YOUR FUCKING DOG BITCH

rat: Nobody ever believes Jean when he says this is happening

"No he's so even-tempered he's really polite maybe you just misinterpreted?"

Or even worse it makes Jean look crazy

me: like jean comes back to his desk and there's his mug which is now filled with dirt and a sticky note that says "bitch"

he looks over at Kim's desk and Kim is staring directly at him with murder in his eyes

and then a couple seconds pass and he looks away like nothing happened and jean is like "oh its ON motherfucker" (it is not on. jean can't hope to fight back against the wrath of kim kitsuragi)

jean fills Kim's coffee with salt? Kim just drinks it all. completely straight face. doesn't flinch once

kim comes over later and is like "thanks for the coffee" even tho jean was SURE no one saw him do that

he goes to fucking pryce about it eventually and he's just like "I don't appreciate you spreading rumors about the newest member of the 41st. he's done exemplary work. far better than you. maybe you need to go through that sensitivity training again?" and he blows his fucking LID over that.

challenges kim to a fucking brawl in the middle of the bullpen and Kim is just like. officer you're embarrassing yourself *eyebrow*

his reputation never recovers. even more of a joke than Dick Mullen now

rat: Kim being so so SO careful never to do this when anyone else is around. But then one day Jean is in the bathroom, and then the door opens, and it's Kim. And Kim just stops. Looks at him. Smirks a little. Then reaches behind himself and locks the door

And Jean feels FEAR

Kim never actually touches him. But it's very clear he's more than capable of following through on his threats.

Getting in his space and grabbing his chin to make sure Jean is Paying Attention

me: jean starts looking over his shoulder on his way home. one time Kim tails him just to fuck with him. jean thinks he loses him but when he gets onto his street kim is standing outside of his building, having his one cigarette

jean is stood frozen. Kim locks eyes with him as he puts out the cig on his boot. walks away

jean i think starts to try and play dirty as well but idk how he'd go about it. he's too... hm. stupid

rat: Yeah yeah yeah for sure like. He tries to "trick" Kim into a fight but Kim is five steps ahead at all times, he never takes the bait

And god help him if he tries to antagonize Harry to get to Kim

That's when Kim gets SERIOUS

That's when Kim finds him in a dark alley outside of work

Grabs a handful of his hair, smashes his face into a brick wall, puts him into a hammerlock hold

Whispers in his ear if he ever catches him trying that shit again, he's not getting a warning next time

me: I think it'd be hilarious if Jean tried to threaten suicide and it just. doesn't work. I think it'd make sense for him to bait kim like "okay well what if I killed myself and framed YOU for my MURDER" and Kim is like officer don't be dramatic get over yourself please

rat: Kim just staring at him like "Okay then. Do it. Right now."

Maybe Kim even hands over his gun

Jean trying to turn the tables by pointing it at Kim

Kim never flinches

"Go ahead. Pull the trigger. Unlike your idiotic plan, I'll be missed. And we both know Harry never stops."

me: I just think that scene in the alley could end up with Harry intuiting whats going on, that an officer is in danger, so he goes to stop it and- hey JEAN IS POINTING A GUN AT KIM??? AND KIM ISNT??? STOPPING HIM????

rat: HARRY PUTTING HIMSELF IN THE WAY OF THE GUN

Jean having to reconcile the fact that Harry is no longer his, insofar as he was before

me: after a tense second of not moving. jean actually considering doing it.

rat: GOD Jean being like I could just do it. Shoot him, maybe have time to reload and shoot myself after. That might be the only way to truly Hurt Kim

me: kim catches on to that. and for the first time he IS afraid

hes fine losing himself. but losing Harry? he couldn't bear it. he would sooner die

then. all at once. jean drops it

he can't do it. too much of a coward. "GOD FUCKING DAMN YOU!!" punches the wall etc. definitely crying. meanwhile kim GRABS Harry by the shoulders. he's shaking with fury and also something else. "what the FUCK are you thinking-" and Harry cuts him off with "what are YOU thinking? what the fuck was that? what HAPPENED to you?"

Harry means "you two" but kim feels that in his soul

they leave jean to talk after that. and that conversation is not a pretty one

smth smth "I was trying to protect you" "that was too far" "he went too far first. he was hurting you" "so your solution is to hurt him back?" "he wasn't going to STOP" "then let me deal with it!" etc etc

no idea what jean does from there. maybe he actually fucking thinks and reconsiders things and idk grows as a person

anyway after that we get the dinner from hell

harry invites them to a get-along dinner. christ

GOD. THE TENSEST DINNER EVER. TO RIVAL ANY FAMILY DINNER

im just imagining them trying to throttle each other on top of some takeout

harry is yelling TIMEOUT TIMEOUT

composure failure

rat: Harry like "can't we all just get along??" and Kim and Jean say NO at the same time

me: they both point at each other at the same time and go HE STARTED IT

harry actually passes an authority check and scolds them and they both realize how petty this is and its all very embarrassing and Harry is treating this very seriously. fully goes "do you have anything to say?" and they grumble sorry and he's like "not to me. to *each other*"

rat: He only passed Kim's authority because Kim hates seeing him sad

me: slow look at each other. jean holds out a hand. Kim grabs it so tight you hear joints snap.

they still hate each other so so much but Harry is Determined to make them friends

its like. harry is their get-along shirt

rat: Harry like the power of love and friendship will prevail and Kim tries he really does but every time he sees Jean he hears the Kill Bill sirens in his head

He makes an honest effort to threaten his life less but that's all he can manage

me: I do think this could get resolved eventually tho. like harry being put in some sort of crisis situation where his life is on the line or something

rat: Wouldn't it be funny if the situation was something Harry put himself in though

Like getting himself kidnapped by a gang

Like "wow this will really bring Jean and Kim together! ♡"

Meanwhile he's literally tied to a chair with his face bloody and nose broken

And Jean and Kim HAVE to team up. They can't take on a gang ALONE

Jean pretends not to care but he cares so much it makes him look stupid

If Harry actually dies what the fuck is he supposed to do

me: it works but not in the way he intended cause it actually touches on the heart of the conflict is that Jean wants to blame Harry for everything ever and also he does care so much it makes him look stupid so when they find out it was actually sort of on purpose they BOTH GET MAD AT HIM FOR THE SAME REASON

a horrible, deadly pact is formed. harry is now in grave danger

rat: Harry wanted them to be friends. And now, unfortunately, they are

He's never getting let out of their sight again

me: I like to think eventually they do chill out and become friends about it. like outside of all that. maybe jean finally gets over himself and Kim and Harry have a talk about being posessive- lol I'm just kidding those two are codependent to the fucking grave. but still I think they could end up being civil and the death threats just become banter

the competitive streak never dies tho. constantly trying to one-up each other. functional kismesistude

[aladaylessecondblog]

Severed Destiny brainrot

imagine a Yagrum Bagarn that gets his legs back and his body fixed up and relatively normal again. He can work with Calcelmo (who will probably lose his goddamn mind at talking to a dwemer)

o/t House Dagoth, now holding 2 members of the new Tribunal, is the house of "Memory"

the brainworms are at work today

[oathbreakerapologist]

Has Orin always preferred Nero as a sexual partner? Was she devoted only to him?

Yes, she has always preferred him. The more elaborate answer requires a bit of exposition about the way their sexual relationship started. Content warning for grooming, incestuous and pseudo-incestuous relationships, and social contexts that complicate consent.

Orin was 7 years old when Niro arrived at the temple of Bhaal. At that point, as best as I can approximate canon timelines (this would be in the year 1471 DR) she had already killed her mother, Sarevok was dead, and the spirit of Sarevok was wandering, not yet in residence at the Murder Tribunal. Despite that Orin had been encouraged to be relentlessly independent, she was still a child, and she latched onto Niro as an authority figure rather quickly. She came to see him as a big brother. Depending on how you label the relationship between Niro, a creation of Bhaal, and Sarevok, a son of Bhaal, Niro's initial relationship with Orin was arguably familial.

Niro does not consider himself a blood relation of Sarevok; he does not consider himself a blood relation of anyone. As far as he's concerned, he is the first and only member of a unique lineage. But, as he found greater and greater similarities between himself and young Orin, he fairly quickly took her under his wing and viewed her as a little sister. They understood each other as siblings first.

Orin's formative years were spent in a social context that, while not openly acknowledging her origins as a child of incest, implicitly encouraged incest among Bhaalspawn as a means of keeping a divine bloodline strong. She was undoubtedly groomed by Sarevok and, following Sarevok's death, by his followers, particularly the people that took over the temple (and her safekeeping) in his absence. So she understood Niro to be a highly desirable future partner long before she felt any actual attraction towards him.

By the time she was a teenager, she and Niro were utterly inseparable. They'd come to consider each other two of a kind, a unique pair, the only ones like themselves in the world. Without much discussion, they mutually arrived at a shared idea that they were destined for each other, made for each other in all ways.

Niro believed with absolute certainty that Orin would come to him when she was ready, and she did. Raised in a social context that, well, complicated normal human social interactions, Orin didn't exactly have the socioemotional toolkit to express that she desired him, not at first at least. In practice, what happened was that around the time she was initiated into the cult (at approximately 18 years old), she initiated an increasingly sexually charged series of acts of ritual violence with him which ultimately culmonated in their first sexual encounter.

They both saw it as a natural extension of their bond; of course they would be lovers. Neither of them could even conceive of being partnered with anybody else. Neither of them had much interest in anyone else beyond fleeting flickers of attraction here and there. And, furthermore, Niro was willing to give and especially take far more extreme physical torment than most anyone else; to Orin, others were simply less interesting.

They did occasionally bring others in. This was often, but not quite always, lethal to the others involved.

[nathanexplosionbignaturals]

i need to hear abt this wife u made.. introduce us

with pleasure <3 i’ve talked about him here and there but his name is ilya and he’s a russian immigrant with a family member who’s a low-level tribunal member :-) he eventually gets involved with dethklok on a tribunal mission that he was randomly chosen to do involving gathering personal information on each member to leak to the press, but he’s pretty bad at lying so he gets caught by charles almost immediately. charlie takes pity on him for being so young (roughly 4 to 5 years younger than nate, about toki’s age) and a victim of his circumstances, so he offers him a job in return for his life :-) he’s klokateer #0777

in a weird twist of fate that job ends up being essentially dethklok’s babysitter, taking on all of the menial responsibilities charles normally would have had that aren’t business or management related. maybe an intern of sorts, he had the same job at the tribunal but given dethklok’s religious influence it wasn’t nearly as fulfilling

he’s a little cutiething i specifically tailored to give nathan everything he needs in a relationship *grins

[justinssportscorner]

Trudy Ring at The Advocate:

A Utah high school athlete is under police protection after receiving threats because a state school board member shared a picture of the girl on social media and implied she’s transgender. Now the teen’s parents are demanding the board member’s resignation. Utah State Board of Education member Natalie Cline posted a picture of a Granite School District’s basketball team Tuesday on her public Facebook page with the caption “Girls’ basketball.” One of the players has very short hair and is described by her parents as a tomboy. She is not trans, but the implication from Cline and commenters was that she is and therefore shouldn’t be on the team under Utah law.

“The comment section quickly became filled with people calling out the player, naming her, threatening her and referring to her with vulgar language,” The Salt Lake Tribune reports. “Some identified her school and said they were going to call the principal.” The Tribune and other local media did not identify the player or her school. Cline took the post down Wednesday and apologized to the student, while still using the anti-trans language for which she’s become known. “She does have a larger build, like her parents,” Cline wrote. “We live in strange times when it is normal to pause and wonder if people are what they say they are because of the push to normalize transgenderism in our society.”

The girl’s parents, Al and Rachel van der Beek, want Cline to resign from the board. “To look at someone’s outer appearance and make an assumption that they’re either playing in the right arena or not, based on how someone looks, I don’t think is appropriate,” Rachel van der Beek told TV station KSL. The post “was cyberbullying at its finest,” Al van der Beek said. He noted that his daughter “cut her hair short because that’s how she feels comfortable, she wears clothes that are a little baggy, she goes to the gym all the time, so she’s got muscles.” The student’s school district, located in Salt Lake County, has provided extra security for her, including police protection, due to the harassment she’s received, the Tribune reports. Cline’s behavior has been condemned by others as well, even by the legislator who sponsored the state’s anti-trans sports law. State Rep. Kera Birkeland, a Republican, commented on Cline’s post by saying it was “in poor taste,” adding, “Do you know if this KID is a boy or girl? This child is a minor being mocked and called out without any facts or proof.” Of course, that assumes it would be OK to mock the girl if she were trans.

The consequences of anti-trans paranoia has led to a cisgender female tomboy basketball player being harassed by far-right transphobe Natalie Cline, who serves on the Utah State Board of Education.

See Also:

LGBTQ Nation: Cis “tomboy” athlete requires police protection after GOP official implies she’s transgender

[aradak-tribunal]

There has been a concerning disturbance of the peace, everydrone. While there has been occassional conflict with rogue Coyul, Xol raiders, or Outcast criminal organisation, they're normally quite predictable and the response of the Tribunal and its Highland Concordat allies has always been swift and just.

However, an incident in an Outie Town called Byeodiva has come to light. The small Outcast town has had some minor violent issues in the past, but the locals have strict rules and tend to keep the violence that comes to their doors in check.

That wasn't the case last night as the town caught aflame in a fight between a member of an unknown alien species, their seemingly undead servant, the Grandmaster Cezlzi-Orl uau Qenik, and the Vegvian warhero Moegmar-Groegarth.

The alien assailant identified himself as "Tirok", who began the conflict with the theft of critical security information from Moegmar's drone. According to the Qenik report, Tirok had no hesitation or ethical issues using civillians as targets of terror, setting the town ablaze, and wielding a potentially undead Coyul slave to commit atrocities. When Tirok refused to give up his data, he took the local barkeep as a hostage and when his attempts to use fear as a weapon failed, mercilessly killed the hostage.

Due to the actions of the possibily undead Coyul, Moegmar and Cezlzi were unable to bring the unknown alien to justice. Tirok was able to escape on a Coyul landspeeder.

Because of these crimes, the critical data that Tirok possesses, and his possible use of ozalzin to command the dead, he is wanted by the Qenik and the Yexa. Though the Tribunal has declared that the Qenik have priority at this time.

Tirok is considered dangerous and possibly armed. He presents a threat even when disarmed. He is highly manipulative and cares little for the lives of others. Do not approach Tirok if seen, do not attempt to arrest him unless you are qualified and validated for arrests. Contact the Qenik if you have any information.

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

🎵The Insulindian Miracle

[cw: discussions of sexual assault.]

2. Let the lieutenant handle it.

KIM KITSURAGI - "*If* there is an investigation it will be part of an ongoing operation -- subject to confidentiality. I am sure you understand."

+1 Reputation

JOYCE MESSIER - "Of course, detectives," she says, her tone more cautious suddenly. "In any case, you've held up your end of our arrangement. I trust you with the rest. Now it's my turn..."

"I wouldn't normally break protocol like this, but the situation demands it. If you don't solve this murder I'm afraid we may have a blood bath on our hands."

HALF LIGHT [Easy: Success] - The words *blood bath* sound cold in her mouth. They taste of iron and strawberries.

"What was that about a... *blood bath*?"

"How are the lynching and the strike connected?"

"That's enough for now." (Conclude.)

JOYCE MESSIER - "Yes. I'm afraid this strike may descend into a small scale civil war. With possible consequences for all of Revachol West."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Since you're sharing, ma'am -- this is also the RCM's worst case scenario."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Then we're on the same page -- as grim as it may be."

2. "How are the lynching and the strike connected?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "I have an indirect role to play, I'm sad to say. My employer experienced a *momentary lapse of faith* in me. In that moment they elected to deploy a private military contractor. As an *insurance* measure. They called it my 'security detail'."

"A momentary lapse of faith?"

"Do you need a security detail?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "They were dispatched after I relayed the Union's initial offer."

KIM KITSURAGI - "*Every worker*..."

JOYCE MESSIER - "*...a member of the board*," she nods. "I tried to convince my employer it was simply a piece of rhetoric -- or a joke. They did not appreciate the humour."

"Do you need a security detail?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Absolutely not. These mercenaries are muscle, pure and simple. They are meant to intimidate the Union into surrendering."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Who are they, exactly?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Krenel -- an Oranjese military company. As far as I know three arrived in Martinaise. They report to me sporadically, but they do not answer to me. To be frank, our relationship is deteriorating."

"They wear ceramic armour, have semi-automatic weapons and years of combat experience. They also have Trauma-and-Stressor Disorder and no idea how to conduct themselves in an urban civilian environment."

KIM KITSURAGI - "So what happened?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "The story is, one of them, the colonel -- I don't know his real name -- sexually assaulted a local woman. While he was drunk and separated from his unit. This allowed some of the more militant Union members to subdue him."

"He was taken out behind the Whirling-in-Rags and lynched. Last Sunday night.

"What then?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Nothing. Mr. Claire refuses to let me into the harbour. I have not been able to discuss this matter with anyone there. The remaining two Krenel contractors carry out their orders -- for now."

"For now?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "It's a smokescreen. In secret, they are conducting an independent military tribunal into the lynching. Once this *investigation* is concluded, executions will follow."

KIM KITSURAGI - "What is the nature of this so-called investigation?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Whether to execute one, some, or all of the Union militants."

"You've made a mess here."

"I have to say -- this is *not* disco."

"Maybe the investigations can team up? You know, share resources and intelligence."

"Boy oh boy, is that not good..."

+1 Superstar Cop

JOYCE MESSIER - "It is very far from *disco*." A wave crashes against the side of her boat. "My only hope is that you provide a single, concrete suspect before the mercenaries indiscriminately pick theirs. Simply put..." She grabs hold of the mainsail:

"If you don't pin this on someone *good* -- and do it *fast* -- they will identify and execute everyone present at the lynching. This, in turn, will force the Union to respond."

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - They would have to. To project strength and power.

KIM KITSURAGI - "The Débardeurs have over two thousand men. It will be a thousand to one."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Have you ever seen a hornet invade a beehive, lieutenant?" She leans back. "It's not pretty."

"These men work in tandem using semi-and fully automatic firearms. Their armour is virtually impenetrable to muzzle-loaded weapons -- even *yours*. Most Union workers don't have guns at all…"

She is silent for a moment, then concludes: "As I said -- a blood bath."

"I can't see it happen. Too many things would have to go wrong first."

"Isn't this a pretty... bleak scenario you're describing?"

"I think the confrontation is inevitable."

JOYCE MESSIER - "*Many* bleak scenarios have already come true." She looks at you, eyes damp from the wind. "Nameless, badge-less detective of the Citizens Militia..."

"All we can do is keep the rest from going the same way. One single, concrete suspect delivered into Civil Court -- and I *may* be able to defuse this situation."

Task complete: Joyce's info on the lynching

+30 XP

Level up!

Finishing that line of dialogue opens a lot more questions on the situation.

"What was that about a... *blood bath*?"

"Tell me again about the connection between the lynching and the strike."

"What can you tell me about Krenel?"

"You said the deceased assaulted a woman?"

"This *colonel*, the one who was hanged -- did you know him?"

"Where are the remaining two mercs now?"

"How much time do we have?"

"That's enough for now." (Conclude.)

JOYCE MESSIER - "Not much. Their public resume is relatively good -- as far as private military contractors go. I believe they were once called... Downwell."

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] - Down a deep, black well.

JOYCE MESSIER - "They boast a long list of clients: Saint-Batiste, Welchman-Lorentz, Eendracht... A warning sign, however -- the operations concerned all take place in third- or fourth-world countries. Guarding facilities, escort missions, and such."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Meaning they're used to operating in war zones."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Yes. All the good conflict corridors: Supramundi, Yeesut, the Semenese islands. Countries that don't have a good record reporting *atrocious* military conduct on their soil."

"Okay. Anything else you got on them?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Sadly -- no. Before this happened I had little interest in them. Now that I do -- I don't have the resources." She thinks.

"If you still have access to the ICP's database, you could run a better background check than I ever could. It may take some time, though..." She thinks.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Do you know a lot about the inner workings of the RCM and the ICP, ma'am?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "In my line of work it pays to do your research. I was prepared to deal with the RCM. I did *not* think I would be dealing with a group like *Krenel*."

"Could you contact the company? Tell them to call them off."

JOYCE MESSIER - "I have. And they *will*. However, these orders take time to reach what is basically a rogue unit out in the field, here. Until they do -- it's all on us."

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - She's being truthful. She is pressing them as hard as she can.

4. "You said the deceased assaulted a woman?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Or he *didn't*." She tilts her head. "This is information passed on to me from some teenagers loitering around the canal. I cannot testify by it. "

"Who did the passing on then?"

"What did these teenagers by the canal say?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "The remaining contractors. Their *tribunal*. It's what they believe."- "The remaining contractors. Their *tribunal*. It's what they believe."

"What did these teenagers by the canal say?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "That the man was killed because he assaulted a local woman. I've asked around a bit -- this seems to be the accepted story around Martinaise."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant consults his notebook, his eyebrows knitted in concentration...

"Odd... we haven't heard any reports about an *assault* in connection with the lynching. Where did it take place? And when?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Last Sunday night, at the Whirling-in-Rags -- the hostel by the gates. Supposedly the colonel was drunk, maybe on narcotics too."

"Either way, he's alleged to have sexually assaulted a woman. Sometime later a group of dockworkers got their hands on him…"

"And who was this woman?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "That's a good question, officer. I don't have the slightest idea. As I said, it's a rumour -- about a rumour. In any case, it's what the colonel's remaining... colleagues... believe."

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - You'll meet her soon enough, you feel.

5. "This *colonel*, the one who was hanged -- did you know him?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "If you mean did I see him alive -- yes. But I did not *know* him."

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - You don't know how you know -- it's not written on her face, nor in her voice -- but she had sympathy for this man.

"You liked him."

"His name was..."

JOYCE MESSIER - "*Liked* is a bit strong," she tosses her head. "He... he was the most charismatic among them. He handled all the talking. His departure left a major gap in the group's *communication skills*."

"His name was..."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Lely. His service name, a nom de guerre most likely. He wouldn't divulge his full name. Only one of them did -- a bad sign if there ever was one."

"Tell me about the others first."

"This Lely -- anything else? Nationality? How old would you say he was?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "One is a man, *Korty* they call him. A nickname as well. The other a woman, Phillis de Paule. Korty is... *the gunner,* I believe. De Paule is a radio operator."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant cuts in: "What would you say was his eye colour -- the deceased's?"

JOYCE MESSIER - She closes her eyes, trying to picture the man's face... then shakes her head...

"I can't remember." There's a pang of regret to her voice.

KIM KITSURAGI - "That's alright, ma'am. Anything else -- nationality? What would you say was his age?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "He was forty. Or fifty. It's hard to say which, he had a combat injury on his lower jaw. It made it difficult to estimate his age, or gauge his facial expressions."

KIM KITSURAGI - "What else? Nationality? Accent?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "He was Occidental I think. Light brown hair, a mix accent. Oranjese, or Messinian maybe? His injury gave him an accent all his own..."

"In a way it was humanizing. He had to learn to speak through it -- through the injury." She nods. "That's all I know, I guess. I only met him once."

6. "Where are the remaining two mercs now?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "They've gone to ground, as it were. I don't recommend seeking them out." She puts her foot on the guardwire, for balance. "For one -- they're almost certainly armed to the teeth."

"They don't have the same respect for the Revachol Citizens Militia as I do. To put it bluntly they think you're vigilantes, *ghetto savages*. It will not be a fruitful meeting."

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - Vigilantes? You're a professional officer of the only *legitimate* authority in Revachol.

"We still need to know where they are."

"We'll confront them *directly*."

"Okay, we'll steer clear for the moment."

JOYCE MESSIER - "You're likely to run into them eventually. When that happens, I'll be in a better position to mediate if I don't appear *involved*."

[Logic - Medium 10] Where *are* these mercenaries?

"Okay, we'll steer clear for the moment."

+1 Scab Leader murder bad reply. +1 Clothes didn't fit right.

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - One is obviously the *Scab Leader* -- at the harbour gates. The one chanting the idiotic slogans. He's barely maintaining his disguise.

The other has a vantage point in a building South of the roundabout -- they were keeping tabs on you while you were canvassing the lorry drivers.

"One must be the goon in ill-fitting work clothes by the harbour gates. The scab leader."

"One is probably in a building overlooking the roundabout."

"I had another question for you."

JOYCE MESSIER - "That may be so." She is poised and unperturbed. "I still hope you heed my advice -- there's no need to kick the hornet's nest."

+5 XP

KIM KITSURAGI - "For all your talk of averting this catastrophe, the situation at the gates is a powder keg. Does this not bother you?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Of course it bothers me, lieutenant, but my hands are tied. How would my employer react if it appeared I were intervening on behalf of the *Union*?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Your concern may be appearances. Ours is keeping the peace."

2. "One is probably in a building overlooking the roundabout."

JOYCE MESSIER - "That *would* afford a good vantage point," she says. "In any case, it's practically inaccessible."

+5 XP

KIM KITSURAGI - "Where is your radio, for contacting them -- if I may ask? Do you have an ear piece?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Heavens no, I'm not an undercover agent. There's a shortwave at the ship's wheel," she nods toward the sloop's cabin.

3. "I had another question for you."

JOYCE MESSIER - "I hope I can answer it better."

7. "How much time do we have?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Until the executions start? Truthfully -- I don't know. It depends on their progress identifying the members of the lynch mob. And their impatience."

KIM KITSURAGI - "They don't report their progress to you?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Not on this matter. I'm afraid they consider this a personal initiative." There is a brief silence. Seagulls squawk over the bay...

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] - Five days. Not more. Maybe sooner.

JOYCE MESSIER - "It's a matter of days, not weeks."

8. "That's enough for now." (Conclude.)

JOYCE MESSIER - "I am sorry to have been the bearer of bad news. If there is anything else I can help you with, please ask."

There is *one* other thing we can ask Joyce about while we're here.

"Now can you tell me about these tattoos?" (Show her the photo.)

JOYCE MESSIER - "Of course -- excuse my hesitation before." She reaches over the guardwire and takes the photo; holds it in her hand..."

...for about half a minute -- in silence.

KIM KITSURAGI - "It was taken with a Trigat, not long ago. This is the man's upper body. There were no more markings on his hands or legs."

Stay quiet. Observe the woman's expression.

"What do you think?"

JOYCE MESSIER - Her mouth is relaxed, the accordion lines near her mouth vanish. The pearls of her eyes move slowly on the photo's surface.

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - She has no excess of emotions for this cadaver. Has she seen dead bodies before? It's likely.

"What do you think?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Sorry," she breaks her concentration. "I was trying to see if I can read the web of interdependencies between these points -- the stars." She points to one on the photo paper.

"I can't. But that's how you read this story. The points themselves don't have letters, numbers, anything. Their size, location on the body and distance from each other tells you what they represent."

"Like stars in the sky?"

Say nothing.

JOYCE MESSIER - "Close," she nods. "Port cities. This is an Oranjese Map of the Waterways -- a sailor's tattoo worn by wayfarers of the Dolorian century, over 300 years ago. The sailors would mark their bodies to map their travels."

+5 XP

"What is the use of this map?"

"What travels did the dead man make?"

"Who could tell me more?"

"That's all for the tattoos. Thank you for your help."

JOYCE MESSIER - "The sailor's soul would use it to fly back home if they should die abroad. This is a sort of... contraption. To be reeled back in by. The *silver cord*, they would call it."

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] - Where is he now?

[thislovintime]

Peter during his In This Generation: My Life in The Monkees and So Much More tour; GRAMMY Museum, Los Angeles, June 17, 2013. Photos by Brian Cahn/ZUMA Press, Inc./Alamy Stock Photo, and Rebecca Sapp/WireImage via Getty Images.

From reviews of the tour:

“[Peter] picked up a guitar. He played. He was really good. He picked up a banjo. Played. Really well. He sat at the keyboards. Not bad.
 He played the blues, imitated Elvis and did enough of the Monkees repertoire to placate those who desperately needed to sing ‘Daydream Believer’ with him. He told compelling stories, too, all of them rolled into the autobiography that he clearly wanted to convey: Yes, Peter Tork can play, and he can own the stage, alone. He talked about growing up in a house filled with classical music; about moving to Greenwich Village in its folk heyday: about heading to LA, where a friend named Stephen Stills helped him land a job on a TV show about a band called the Monkees. He recalled his frustration that the members of the band were originally denied the chance to play on their records. ‘We don’t want what you have to offer,’ a produced told him when he complained. ‘You’re not the Lovin’ Spoonful.’ On Sunday, he was witty, agile, energetic and sufficiently self-deprecating to balance his caustic streak. He won a standing ovation, fueled by more than nostalgia.” - review by Mary Schmich, Chicago Tribune, June 12, 2013

“In real life, Tork is a soft-spoken, sarcastic troubadour-typ; his solo acoustic set was soaked in his deep affection for old folk songs and the blues. If you were looking for a taut run-through of Monkees hits, you would’ve been disappointed. This was a multimedia storytelling event as much as it was a concert. As Tork told us stories of listening to Burl Ives with his parents, struggling as a wet-behind-the-ears Greenwich Village folkie, and following his friend Stephen Stills’ suggestion that he attend a casting call for the show that would become The Monkees, corresponding photographs appeared on the screen above him. It was a gold mine for any serious Monkees fan, if perhaps a little slow for somebody who wanted to show up and sing along. Admittedly, the best moments usually involved Tork getting down to business. A snippet of the lovely folk song ‘The Fox’ made me wish he had done the whole thing. Bluesy renditions of pop hits ‘Last Train to Clarksville’ and ‘She Hangs Out’ exposed their soulful bones. And a banjo-and-vocal cover of Jackie Wilson’s ‘(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher’ was ragged, tender and true. […] [His set] proved that he’s talented, period. Switching between acoustic guitar, banjo and keyboards, the goateed and bespectacled artists (who looks pretty much nothing like the Tork of Monkees days these days) oozed Americana, putting just the right kind of mustard on every chord progression and bluesy lick. His voice was more workmanlike than his playing, but it was invested with an earnestness that felt right. And it didn’t hurt that he was pretty funny. In the middle of ‘Higher and Higher,’ Tork tried to get the crowd to clap along. A bunch of folks started clapping on one and three. ‘You don’t know what clapping is, do you?’ he quipped. There, in that moment, we got a solid idea of who Peter Tork is. He’s got the friendliness and humor of a Monkee, and the world-weariness of a septuagenarian in a small Buffalo club, who just wants a proper backbeat already. You don’t normally get this level of insight from a live show, so for people still in the throes of Monkeemania, this was a very special night indeed.” - review by Joe Sweeney, The Buffalo News, May 5, 2013

Someone on YouTube uploaded clips from one of the performances (in Sellersville, Pennsylvania, on May 24, 2013); here's everything in a playlist..

[prerodinu]

Vavrinac VS Vukaxin 

I think something we need to talk about is how DIFFERENT the pack is from Vav’s pack. Because in reality the BOOK that holds all of the pack information (I will get to that) Honestly speaking has TWO Vukaxin packs in it. 

Now having more than one pack sort of is normal Sometimes people split off and don’t want to change the names and thus have a simple (area) after their pack name so that they can identify themselves and of course different colors. 

This is where the first differences start to take place between the pack and Vav’s pack. They are named the same thing with the same colors. Now if you are going off a technicality Vav’s pack is the oldest and thus entitled to having everything. 

HOWEVER with the counsel involved (I do talk more about this on another post when I find it I will link it here.) it was deemed that the Vavrinac pack was committing war crimes. 

For a little background 

War Crimes for a pack: any pack found hurting another member via a hunter or contract killer along with and not directly involved with the killing of another 100+ wolves will be made S.O.S (Shoot on Sight)  and D.N.I  (Do Not Interact) Them and their whole pack will be subject to voiding and will no longer be considered apart of the tribunal. 

While the whole pack did not comment or knowingly commit these acts they still stayed long after Vavrinac had his trial (to which he did not show up) and consequently have stained upon them because of this. Now the reason that most of them will always believe Vavrinac is because he is like a cult leader to them. Most of them have known no other Alpha than Vavrinac. This leads us to the first difference. 

Alphas 

Artem and Katia’s pack has SEVERAL Alphas because Katia and Artem do not feel threatened by them. They know that sometimes the more Alphas the stronger the pack is. Especially when you get over a certain number of wolves. The extra alphas come in handy. 

Vav does not believe that. Vav believes that he should be the only Alpha because he can’t handle his rule being channeled. Once Vav was a very POWERFUL wolf and very strong. However, with age he’s slowed down, starting to go deaf and a little blind. He moves a little more slowly compared to the other wolves. Because he will die soon (just not of old age like everyone through) most Alphas when they start to get that aging will hand over the pack. However, Vav’s people believe he is a GOD and will live forever. Now again these people are brainwashed so they will always believe that their Alpha is Vav. Honestly speaking most don’t understand that when Vav dies they will be aimless and no one will take them in, Except Katia and Artem who are selective if they even take them in and Katia doesn’t Shoot on sight. 

Time and Housing 

Now this one might seem weirdly different but it does make all the difference between Vav’s pack and the twins. 

The twins spend time with their pack. They basically have dinners every night and have a large pack house for them to stay in that is SAFE. While most of the pack members do have spots outside of the pack house they can stay when they want some alone time. Most CHOOSE to spend time in the pack house and sleep there versus their apartments. Obviously, those who own businesses are a little different but most of the pack members get to see Katia and Artem. Talk to them daily. Interact with them. This makes all the difference in how they are perceived which is human or rather on the same level as everyone else because they are. Katia and Artem will never think that they are above anyone in their pack because they are not. 

Vav is different and he controls and wants to be completely separate from the pack. Total anonymity from his pack. Which causes the god-like feeling people get when they see him. Like a celebrity. When he talks to them or says hello they act like it’s a gift from a god. Because it is. He doesn’t sleep with his pack. He doesn’t interact with them. None of the pack members stay in the house together until married / mated. Vav’s house is in the middle of this compound that he has with them. Every other house surrounds his own. The farther you are from his house the less in grace you are with him. This always leads to animosity towards him on those farther out but they will never express it. Especially when the punishment for it is death. 

Punishment

This one is a hard one to talk about because it’s sad. Vav has corporal punishment for things. Simple things like not paying tithes on time. Talking shit about Vav. Stealing. Jay walking. Not turning your lights out after 9 p.m. It’s a HARD life because of this. Most of the wolves in his pack have not advanced past their roots and got electricity. Most of the wolves still use candlelight or at best battery powered lights. And it isn’t like you pay a fine and then you are done. Most of the wolves get lashings. Get beat. And then get a fine because somehow it will come out that they might have not stolen it was someone else. Or someone confessed to making false claims and the person gets a fine for wasting time and not defending themselves. But if they do defend themselves they get more lashings. It’s a backward system used to keep everyone in line. Most just say that’s how it is in other packs so it’s fine. 

Katia and Artem don’t punish. They teach. Which is a big difference. Obviously, there are times they need to which means a STRONGER teaching lesson from Artem or Katia. If it’s becoming an issue. Katia will spar with them in a healthy way to get everything out and learn the root of it all. They want to know why the person did what they did to make it easier to identify and change what they need to. This again means healthy coping and meaning that people now come to them more often than not when they have an issue with someone or something simple and almost petty. Artem nor Kat do not mind this and oftentimes tell their pack mates to come to them and talk. Almost all will do so. 

Money

This is obviously the biggest factor with the packs. This is the BIGGEST difference between them. 

Vav ask for a tithe from his people. 

Katia and Artem pay their people. 

What does this mean? Vav asks for Taxes on everything from Children to food. Have a child. Extra tax money. Growing food? Half of it’s mine. It’s not a once-a-year tax it’s an every-month tax. Like a shitty landlord banging on your door. If you don’t have it. You have 24 hours to think of something. Plus the closer you live towards his house the more you pay. Most of the time though you don’t pick the house. He picks for you. 

Katia and Artem pay for their pack and allowance. It’s a heafty sum and is deposited every month in their account. Think about 100K+ a month in the account. They can do this because they have a lot of money. Whatever the pack makes outside of that allowance is there to keep. They just follow two rules. Sunday dinners are not optional and come to Katia and Artem with an issue. That’s the only rules that you have to follow. Most of the time it isn’t hard because they are likeable and sometimes prickly but that’s okay. Nine times out of ten they just want to help. This is why a lot of the pack is allowed to do what they want. Allowed to thrive and decide if they want to pursue something outside of pack relations or whatnot. It’s something that Katia and Artem take EMENSE pride in knowing they can help further their pack’s personal lives by doing this and they continue to do this. Any child gets an extra 10K+ tacked on in the pack. Siblings and Family get a joint account which gives them about 200K a month and then each gets an additional 5K in separate accounts as spending money. Most of the pack chooses to donate the money if they want OR they work for the businesses to help them make more money and thus make sure the pack is thriving. It’s a system and Artem and Katia do not care. They have made and will make PLENTY of money to do this and they are happy to provide for their pack. 

So basically as a whole. Vav’s pack is nothing compared to Katia and Artems. Vav’s pack also has a Shoot on Sight and Do Not Interact so it makes it hard for the pack to leave Vav. They can’t go anywhere knowing that big bad other packs will harm them. Honestly, the only pack that will take them maybe is Katia and Artems and that’s always a gamble and a big if for most if they want to leave. Though if I am being honest Katia and Artem will take in most of the pack members from Vav’s pack. They will keep them if they can, but they often often leave and either go back or just disappear. Sometimes it’s better for the latter and sad for the former because Katia and Artem are never sure of where they go. 

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 2: Bark

Esredes was at peace inside the Tribunal.

That, of course, was a relative term. He was inside his team’s common room, which was the only place Esredes felt relatively at peace within this evil building, looking over case files before his next counseling appointment.

He didn’t have access to the break room, so he usually holed himself up in here if he didn’t go back to his normal office. It was a nice little space usually quiet to take notes in.

That is, unless the door opened, as it did just now. Esredes looked up- it was always s coin toss as if it was going to be another Inquisitor inquiring after the team or sometimes even him, or one of the team members.

The coin landed on the latter this time, as Alvere entered. Alvere was… a lot. His newest coworker, that is, since months ago, who originally Esredes detested the addition of as he was one of many who tried to destroy him. Fortunately for Esredes, though, trying to pursue him made Alvere’s life fall apart, and opened up emotional wounds for Esredes to insert himself into. Nowadays Alvere was a lot more stable and placated, and very handy for when another Inquisitor went after Esredes.

“Alvere.” Esredes greeted. “How’s work.” The Black Wolf of Ishgard- at least, that was the moniker Alvere used when he entered the Armistice Day tournament and proceeded to win while Esredes lost to his own commander in the first round- woe was him for giving Kainen all that time to memorize his fighting style- Alvere looked right at Esredes and walked further into the room, towards the chair opposite the one Esredes was in, and stood beside it. “Fine.” Alvere said in his raspy, broken voice of usual. Then he pulled a puppy from out of his pocket. He… did this a lot. Esredes blinked at the puppy. “Need you to watch. Have to go. Back in half an hour.”

“Wait-“ Esredes said. Alvere looked at him. “Is there a problem?” Esredes found himself unable to respond. This… was not the first time Alvere asked him to look after his puppy, so he couldn’t use that excuse. And his next appointment was in forty-five. So Esredes fixed his eyes on her instead. “…Just please be back quick.” “Thank you. Back soon.” Alvere set Cherie down on the chair and left.

She stared at Esredes, with that unblinking, murderous stare he was used to by now. Esredes narrowed his eyes and stared back at her. He still remembered clearly the day Alvere came back with her. She had been abandoned under a bench, apparently, and it did not take long to figure out why. Esredes’ first attempt to pet her ended in her biting his finger hard enough it bled. And she had stared at him with murderous intent ever since.  Like father like daughter, since drunk Alvere also recently bit his finger.

“Listen, you.” Esredes said towards the puppy. “You’re going to stay right there. And I am going to stay right here. And neither of us will move. Okay?” Cherie stared back at him, unmoving. Something was wrong with that dog. And he was afraid to find out what she was like when she was fully grown. He was convinced she would turn out to be some kind of half wolf hunting dog and be gigantic and even more bloodthirsty. Esredes pointed a pen at her. “That’s right. Good girl. Stay. Stay.”

She stared back.

For the next twenty minutes, Esredes never took his eyes off her for very long. He continued reviewing files, but he peered up at her every thirty seconds. She never took his eyes off him, but she never moved either.

Maybe she somehow understood his proposal of truce. Or maybe she was waiting for him to move to strike. He had no way to know, and so he didn’t risk it. He wanted all of his fingers intact.

But then at the twenty one minute mark, the door opened. Esredes turned his head, expecting Alvere to be back- and instead found his eyes taking in an entirely different set of black Inquisitor robes.

Esredes blinked. He vaguely recognized this one. The moniker was the Night’s Wolf or something like that- Inquisitors always opted for gods-damned wolves. They really challenged Esredes’ own lack of creativity.

He was tall and imposing, towering over Esredes like many did and regarding him with soulless white eyes. As eye contact was made, Esredes smiled and stood up, pulling the binder to his chest and bowing.

“Good afternoon, Inquisitor.” Esredes greeted in that secretary voice he used whenever another Inquisitor walked in. “Welcome to the Anti-corruption division’s headquarters. If you have a message to pass on to someone, I could take or deliver it.” The Inquisitor stared at Esredes for a long moment, saying nothing. His face was heavily scarred- they should have finished the job- and he looked as if he could rip Esredes in half. At least right now, not if he revealed his true form. The man clicked his tongue and worked his jaw. “I’m here to deliver a message to you, Rosemond.” The man said in a gruff, deep, cold voice. Oh no. Here we went again. Esredes brushed a hand through his hair, a thumb flicking on his linkpearl and connecting it to Inquisitor Magdelaine’s. “Ah, you have a message for me, Inquisitor?” Esredes continued on, tilting his head. “Do you have a prisoner you’d like me to see who has been left behind by the system?” The man practically howled with laughter. “No,” he said after a long moment. “But you’ve a good sense of humor, Rosemond.” His surname was laced with pure venom on the man’s teeth. He leaned down, those predatory, frozen eyes boring into Esredes as he spoke next. “Do you and the rest of your… beastly kin use said humor to take more of Halone’s children into your corruption?” Esredes’ fiery eyes held the Inquisitor’s gaze. They stared back at the blizzard with a wildfire. This was how beasts communicated, after all. It was all about dominance, and he wasn’t backing down. “Not usually, Inquisitor.” He offered back, his smile only widening a little. He was too used to this. Inquisitors tried this all the time. What did they even think they got out of it? He never understood. “It’s not usually humorous to be on the run from extermination. T’would be in poor taste, don’t you think?” The Inquisitor smiled more, as if trying to mimic Esredes. He smiled in such a way it was as if he thought his teeth were sharper than they were. “Mayhaps so.” He offered. He leaned in even further towards Esredes. “There is much to consider poor taste in this day and age. Such as your continued position here.” “My continued position where, exactly, Inquisitor?”

The Inquisitor didn’t answer immediately. Where was a wolf plush toy when you needed it? Esredes waited a long moment, then spoke. “If you’ve an issue with my employment, please take it up with the High Inquisitor.” He said. “Last I heard, the High Inquisitor was unable to stay at his office?” “You may also take it up with any of his subordinates.” Esredes said. “Though you may want to stay a little further back. They prefer a little more space.” The Inquisitor laughed again. “Shame a man like you is so full of humor,” he remarked. “What a waste. And how will they explain how you crawled your way into their ears? You defy all will, Rosemond. Surely they know your true nature. Surely,” he leaned in even closer, mere inches from Esredes’ face, lips drawn back like a snarl. “It wouldn’t be that hard for any of them to address it appropriately.”

Esredes kept staring, suppressing three layers of reaction at once. The most instant was to punch him in the face. The intermediate was to transform. And the distant urge was to transform and rip him apart, tearing away each inch of flesh long past when he stopped moving. But just as he contemplated an appropriate response, there was a loud noise from behind both of them.

Followed by another, and another. Cherie was barking, quite persistently. It made the Inquisitor draw back with a confused look, turning sharply to face her. “….Whose dog is that?” “Oh, that’s Inquisitor Travanchet’s dog.” He said. “She was raised by a wolf, so I think she recognizes other ones in her presence.” Never mind that Esredes had gotten too drunk recently to remember Alvere decked him for comparing him to an animal. He wasn’t here. He just grinned. Cherie’s murderous gaze was fixated on the Inquisitor now as she kept barking. “And word of wisdom, she bit me when I first held her. So… you may not want to get on her bad side.”

The Inquisitor stared at the puppy for a long moment. She did not stop barking, and was also growling between. “…I see.” He finally said. “Travanchet has… interesting choices. Well. I think I have accomplished as I needed to here. Until next time, Rosemond.”

It was not until he shut the door that she quieted. Esredes looked to her. She looked to him with a blank stare.

“…Thank you.” Esredes said. “Wait,” he dug around in his belt pouch and procured a small piece of jerky, holding it out. Cautiously. “Who’s a good little girl?” Her tail slowly began to wag and she hopped off the chair, trotting over and lapping up the jerky. Esredes couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe you’re not so bad after all, Little Miss Bloodlust.” He remarked. “Are we… okay, this time?” Cherie just gave a little yap in response and stared at him. Her tail kept wagging.

"Oh, my…” came the voice over the pearl. “Are you alright, dearie, should I send for someone?" “No, no, I’m fine, he’s gone. Cherie scared him off- uh, I don’t know if you’ve met Alvere’s puppy yet, but. All is normal here.” “…Regardless, it seems you and Cherie are getting along quite well today!" Esredes chuckled lightly. “Maybe we are, Maggie. Maybe we are…”

[splendidissimus]

May 1998 - The Trial of Draco Malfoy

((Setup: Malfoys were temporarily taken to Azkaban after the Battle of Hogwarts, because it strains credulity that everything was organised and decisive enough at that point to be like "Okay, these Death Eaters are fine" that very morning. It would take a little bit to get things straightened out.))

((Content warning: serious humanitarian problems in the wizarding justice system))

Genre: whump

Romance level: none

Angst level: 4/5

Draco's headspace: depressed / fatalistic / self-loathing

((words: ~4000))

------------------------------------

An interminable amount of time after his mother was taken away and didn't come back, a guard pounding on the door startled Draco out of a doze, and made his father sit up quickly. 

"Draco Malfoy, come to the door," the guard ordered. He obeyed silently, and a spell bound his hands together with ropes, then the door was opened. He looked back at his father as he was taken out by the Auror, but the look was empty — neither of them had anything to say with it.

He thought about asking where they were going, but ultimately… it didn't matter, knowing wouldn't let him do anything about it, so he stayed quiet. 'Death Eaters didn't get to ask questions', after all. He didn't feel like hearing that. 

They passed through the heavy iron door and into the guard room, where the brightness of normal lights after the permanent dimness of he cells stung his eyes, and his escort stopped them. "Hands." He held them up, and then tried to turn away when the guard reached for his left sleeve, but he grabbed his arm and made him stay still while he rolled up that sleeve to fully expose the Dark Mark. Draco turned his face away from it. 

The insane idea that they were being taken away to be executed occurred to him again. It wasn't possible. But showing off the Dark Mark was what he would do if he wanted to execute someone without anyone having a problem with it. 

"Half an hour to drop this one off," his guard told the bored one manning the desk, and then escorted him down the long hall. 

The floo brought them back to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in the Ministry — he wouldn't be surprised if that was the only connection it had — and his guard had the witch at the desk there make some records. There was another pair of Aurors or guards there, and he was passed off while the Azkaban guard chatted up the secretary. It did not help that intrusive and increasingly urgent thought. 

They went down, further into the Ministry, and that didn't help the anxiety either. He looked searchingly at the guards, trying to discern anything, unconsciously slowing.

"You're not going to accomplish anything by keeping the Wizengamot waiting," said the guard behind him.

Wizengamot? He paused in mid-stride, resisting that idea — he wasn't remotely close to presentable. A week or so without a bath or a wand, still wearing his school clothes from the battle — he could still smell the smoke of the Fiendfyre in his clothes, there were grass stains from running from the Dementors, dried blood… Plus his lack of sleep. The state of his mind was a problem. If he'd expected to have to face court, he would have tried something so that he could focus, and not be… like this. 

The same Auror pushed him in the back to make him walk. "Move it, Malfoy. Time to face the music." 

He reluctantly followed to a court room on the second level. It gave him pause again when he saw inside — it was packed. He'd thought, maybe a tribunal, or a committee, but this wasn't a discreet hearing, this was a full trial. At least thirty witches and wizards in purple, members of the Wizengamot, some sat on the Council of Magical Law but surely many just observing, and more besides — he recognized the reporter Rita Skeeter, and the Auror Shacklebolt for some reason. His mother wasn't there. 

The room wasn't especially quiet, the one saving grace — it wasn't that he was walking into silence and rapt attention, but rather much of the room was in quiet conversation or the rustling of papers as they looked over notes. 

There was a lone chair in the centre of the room, bolted to the stone floor with chains wrapped around the arms, with the rows and rows of benches mounting above it so the court could look down on the accused. He was prodded over to it, his hands unbound from each other, then the chains snaked up and bound his arms tight to the chair. It was beyond humiliating, completely unnecessarily degrading… What did they think he was going to do, without a wand and in his physical state? Even more humiliating and unnecessary, the guard adjusted the chain afterward to make sure his Dark Mark was uncovered and turned out for everyone to see. He looked toward the corner of the floor and rising benches to his side, rather than meeting anyone's eyes. 

There was a knock far above as who he could only assume was the chief judge rapped on his bench for silence, and the room quieted down. "All right, we've all heard the evidence and witnesses, now it's time for the testimony of the accused. This court has determined the use of Veritaserum to be appropriate in this case…"

That made Draco look up, looking for the speaker, halfway up the room. Veritaserum? No, he couldn't — he didn't know what he would say, but there was certainly something in there that needed to stay there. He scrambled for a defence and could only come up with the truth. "I'm an Occlumens," he said. His voice felt rusty and he coughed a little to clear it. "It won't work." The truth to cover another truth, the fact that he wasn't certain he could control his mind enough to actually resist it right now, Occlumency or no. 

"Unusually forthcoming of you." Draco shrugged a little bit, looking away again, and jerked to a stiff stop — as his eyes went over the group, someone must have caught them, and decided to test him, to see if he was lying. He instinctively deflected the weak invasion and frowned at the audience to try to pick out the Legilimens. 

He didn't find them, but the judge raised a hand, and the guard Draco only now noticed bringing a cup turned back with an annoyed look on his face.

"This court has determined the use of Veritaserum would not be appropriate," the judge corrected for the record. "Draco Malfoy, you stand accused of being a Death Eater in service of Voldemort. Do you deny it?"

Hearing the name made him flinch, but he looked down at his arm. He'd avoided looking at that mark for about as long as he could remember. It was already fainter than it had been when the Dark Lord was alive, but he didn't think it would ever disappear, and he just wished it would. The skull looked like it was leering at him. "No," he admitted quietly. 

A different wizard in plum robes spoke up, younger, around his parents' age. "When did you receive the Dark Mark?"

Testing him, still, again. They'd be checking his answers against what they already knew to gauge how honest he was. He'd have to be very careful about any lies. He looked back up, though not at anyone in particular. "July 3, 1996." 

"So you were…"

"Sixteen," he confirmed, and it felt appropriate to add, "Just."

"And it was administered by…?"

"Him." 

"'Him'?"

He tried, because it would make him look like one of them, but he couldn't bring himself to actually say the name. The thought was as insane as thinking they were being executed, but his mind couldn't be convinced it wouldn't bring Him. He had to settle for "You Know Who," and looked away because he was not proud of that cowardice. 

"Who else was present?"

"All three Lestranges. Wormtail. Yaxley, on other business." He stopped, but because he knew they were testing him, he forced himself to be honest. "My mother." He told himself that she had already been released, she must have been, so that couldn't be used against her… 

"Were you willing?" the old wizard asked. 

Draco was silent for a moment, formulating his thoughts and looking generally toward the blank benches in front of him as he carefully worded the answer. "I was sixteen," he repeated. "My family was broken and He was angry with us. I thought I could help us by pleasing Him. I didn't realise He was doing it to punish… us." He generalised that 'us' instead of pointing out his father out of some sort of loyal instinct, to avoid putting attention on him, even though there was no one who wouldn't know what he meant.

"Were you willing?" he repeated firmly.

"…Yes," Draco admitted quietly. And that was it… he'd sealed his fate. Why hadn't he lied? Why hadn't he claimed Bellatrix forced him? That would have been believable. Maybe if he'd slept he would have been quick enough to seize that. But no… He was tired, physically and mentally but also just so tired of all of this fighting and hiding and lying for the Dark Lord, all this scheming that only led to more fear and failure, and so he admitted he intentionally got the Dark Mark, and that made him a Death Eater, and now he would be in Azkaban for the rest of his life. Why had he even been born if that was all there was? He started lifting his hand to run it through his hair, only to be reminded that they were chained, and he slumped in the chair instead. 

"Do you deny your part in the conspiracy to kill Albus Dumbledore?"

"Yes," he said absently, and there was a murmur and shuffling around the room, because Harry Potter knew what he had done, so they all knew. He didn't look at anyone. "'Conspiracy' implies more than one person, and there wasn't. Even the Death Eaters weren't supposed to know; the only ones who did were Snape and Bellatrix, and they weren't in on it. It was just me."

"And Gesserup Borgin."

"No. Maybe. He sold me stuff, gave me instructions for repairing the Vanishing Cabinet, but he's not the question-asking sort. But he knew who I was working for." He knew that was disorganised, but that felt like the inside of his brain right now. He couldn't get words to do what they were meant to. "I had to strongarm him into it."

"I see." There was a sound of making notes around the room. "Do you deny that as part of this conspiracy… plan… targeting Albus Dumbledore, you cast the Imperius Curse on Rosmerta Gaffey?"

"No." That word was another life sentence in Azkaban. 

A witch spoke up. "You were the one who cast it? Not your mother or another Death Eater?"

He looked up with slightly narrowed eyes. Trying to get him to blame his mother? What, did they not think a sixteen year old could cast a permanent Imperius? "No, it was me." Did they not already know? Another missed opportunity to blame something on Bellatrix instead… Though, he guessed, he found it hard to believe anyone who knew or knew of Bellatrix would believe she had the control for that, so that wouldn't have been a good lie anyway. 

"And through this, you are responsible for the Imperius Curse placed on Katherine Bell." 

"Yes." 

"And the use of a cursed artefact which grievously injured the same." 

"Yes." 

"And the use of an undetectable poison which grievously injured Ronald Weasley."

"If you say so. Slughorn shouldn't've kept it." Should he not have admitted that? Rosmerta wouldn't have any memory of it, so he could have denied it, but no, someone must know. Dumbledore had… which meant Harry Potter again. No, if he denied anything Harry Potter knew he would never be believed. 

Not that it really mattered.

"In that case—"

"Why?" a different juror interrupted. "If the plan was for Death Eaters to infiltrate the school, a plan which eventually succeeded, why resort to these scattershot methods, endangering other lives and drawing attention?"

He furrowed his brow faintly at the juror, then the group as a whole. He didn't think that looking for motivations was a normal question in these things. You get a criminal, get them to prove what they'd done, and you threw away the key. He already admitted that he had done it — that should be enough for the court. Why go further? Trying to make him look worse by pointing out how indiscriminately dangerous his actions had been? A personal need for some sort of logic in the world?

"When I was given the task," he said slowly, "it was very clear that failure would not be tolerated. Repairing the Vanishing Cabinet was harder than I expected, and by October he was already saying I was a failure like my father. He asked if I needed 'motivation'." He gripped the arms of the chair tightly. "He was in my house, with my mother. I had to be seen doing something." 

There was a quiet wave of rustling notes or murmuring around the room, like that description made people uncomfortable. Good. Having the Dark Lord in your house was extremely uncomfortable. 

"So naturally, you tried to kill your classmates." 

He looked away without reacting. 

The head judge knocked on his bench again to get the questioning back on track. "On the morning of May 3rd of this year, you were apprehended in Hogwarts after the battle against Voldemort's forces, despite having been instructed to evacuate the night before. Account for your whereabouts." 

"Hiding," he said quietly. 

"In more detail." The instruction sounded unamused. 

His ring clicked on the arm of the chair as he turned it with his thumb, staring straight ahead, too low to see anyone's face. "We stayed back because we thought we could find Harry Potter. There was Fiendfyre in the Room of Lost Things. I lost my wand… my mother's wand, there. Potter saved me; I ran away. Got separated from Goyle, because he wanted to fight and I wanted to get out. Attacked by a Death Eater; saved by Potter. Attacked by classmates — Macmiliian and Finnegan; ran away. Caught by Shacklebolt. Attacked by spiders; got out and ran away. Hid in the dungeons. Found by a Death Eater; Nott, I think. Knocked him out and ran away. Saw an Auror, Tonks… my cousin… killed by Bellatrix… our aunt… ran away. Tried to get out of the castle grounds, swarmed by Dementors…" 

He trailed off for a moment, unable to hold off a memory of that soul-pervading despair, that certainty that his family was dead and there was no hope. It had been so overwhelming but he was finding it didn't feel so different from… now. His father was going to be in Azkaban for the rest of his life, and so was he, and his mother would never see either of them again. Knowing that was what he had to look forward to, what his family had to look forward to… why bother? 

"Saved by a ghost," he said distantly. "Ran away. Gave up and waited for Him to come kill me. Then my parents found me." 

So he guessed his answer wasn't accurate. He wasn't hiding for the whole battle, he spent it running away, over and over, from everything. He couldn't even look at it with the satisfaction of surviving like a rat… running away hadn't kept him alive. He had to be saved time after time, by Potter, Myrtle, his parents… Useless.

It was silent for a minute, but he barely noticed. He tried lifting his arms again without thinking about it, wanting to pull his robe tighter, cross his arms, get warm. But it wasn't really about the warmth. He felt exposed and wanted to hide, helpless and wanted to take back at least that much control. And he couldn't. 

"You were looking for Harry Potter?" one of the judges prompted.

Right. He looked toward a corner of the floor uncomfortably. "Crabbe thought we could capture him." And that was so stupid it would be funny if it weren't tragic. The one thing that looked like an obvious lie — that one of his 'little lackeys' was the one behind the decision to go capture Harry Potter — was actually the truth. It looked like such a transparent attempt to shift blame onto a conveniently dead patsy, he wouldn't even believe himself. "It seemed like a better idea than having to go fight for Him or be called a traitor for staying with the other students." 

But he knew what they heard, because he heard it too. He had been trying to capture Harry Potter for the Dark Lord, even there at the final battle, and he admitted it. Death Eater. It was what his arm said. It was what his actions said. He tried turning his arm to cover it because he hated it staring at him. 

"We've heard the evidence, witness testimonies, and now statement by the accused. It's time for this court to make our decision." 

There was an eerie silence broken only by the scratching of quills as the judges and jurors penned opinions. Parchment was passed up the benches to the judge's panel, and papers rustled as they were read over. It seemed to stretch out for years. Draco wasn't really thinking anything, just looking at a corner and imagining what his cell in Azkaban would be like. He assumed he'd have his own now. Alone. For the rest of his life… For however long he could make himself keep eating when there was no point… 

Finally, the judge cleared his throat. "Draco Malfoy, by the authority of this committee of the Wizengamot," he said, "in the matter of all charges brought here today, you are pardoned and free to go." 

He heard the words, but for a long moment, his mind still insisted they meant 'sentenced to life in Azkaban', and he stared blankly at the judge. People started talking, Rita Skeeter's piercing voice the highest among them, but he didn't really understand any of them. "It's not the Ministry's position," Shacklebolt commented, weirdly out of turn, "to condemn frightened children for their family's choices." He frowned at him, because he didn't appreciate that characterisation, or know why he felt qualified to make the statement in the first place, but then the chains slithered away from his arms and took his attention. He rubbed his sore arms to get warmth back into them, hesitating a second before rolling his sleeve back down and covering the Dark Mark.

One of the guards was holding the door open, and he looked around the room one more time before he pushed himself out of the chair and went that way. Just like that. It was as blindsiding as hearing the Dark Lord was dead — it didn't make sense, to go instantly from looking at a life alone in a cold cell to being free to go. 

"Come on." They stopped for Draco to sign some papers he didn't read, then the guard led him to the lift, and sent it to the lobby. Draco rode in silence, robe tucked close around him, looking distantly at the memos flapping over their heads. 

At the lobby, the guard didn't exit the lift, but indicated for him to. Then it was gone. Draco stood blankly to the side of the closed door, just taking in the flowing crowd moving in the patterns of humanity around the fountain, to the halls, stairs, lifts, and entrances, creating whorls and eddies as they stopped to talk, a dam up when a harried wizard's rolls of parchment burst out of his arms and people had to move around him. He didn't feel like he belonged there as part of it. 

But he had to get through them to get home. Eventually, he finally moved, slowly taking that first step to become part of them again and joining the flow until it deposited him at the short queue for the floos, and in a couple minutes he was taking the floo back home.

The spinning of the floo made him dizzy, and he clung onto the mantel on the other side, looking at his home and trying to reorient himself. The drawing room was quiet. It also wasn't covered in blood or shattered crystal, and there were no Death Eaters or giant snakes… He just stood there in front of the fire for several minutes, letting its warmth try to get into his bones, looking at the room, back to how it was supposed to be, and the view of the garden fountain out the front window, and the glimpses of the drizzling clouds that was the first confirmation that the outside world still existed he had seen in… how long? 

He'd expected to feel better, or at least less complicated. There was that niggling feeling below the level of conscious thought in the back of his head that kept whispering about the Death Eaters or dead bodies that could surface around any corner. That Bellatrix was lurking here in her rooms like she had been for the last three years. That they were waiting for Him to come.

But they weren't. The Dark Lord was dead, Bellatrix was dead, the Death Eaters were dead or in Azkaban, and he was free. 

'Free'. That was a weird word. He was actually free? Not just out of Azkaban, but…? 

He heard the rush of the fire as the floo activated again behind him, and he backed away from it, suddenly wary although he knew it should be safe. It was his mother who stepped out, obviously, because who else would it be, and he felt stupid, but his heart was still too fast.

"They didn't tell me," she said at once. She was furious — he could sense it in her voice and subtle tells in her expression — but it wasn't at him, and she hugged him tightly. His tenseness drained away and he leaned his head on her shoulder with a shaky sigh, holding her arm.

It was unusually hard to speak, but he pushed through it as she finally let him go. "Whatever you did, thank you." 

She shook her head. "I have been at the Ministry, but the new regime is not receptive. They want to appear 'just'." 

"I don't know why they let me go, then…" he said with a distant frown. "I heard what I said. I should be in there for three lifetimes, if they're that incorruptible." 

"If you don't understand, then I don't think you heard yourself properly." She ran her hand over his hair and cheek and then stepped back. "Your wand is in your room." 

He blinked a couple times. "How?"

"Harry Potter sent it back." 

Oh. Huh. All right. "Well… good." He held his hands toward the fire — it was May… it was still May, wasn't it? … and he was freezing — and absently noticed the soot under his fingernails. "I need a bath." 

"Yes," she agreed. "Then you are going to Saint Mungo's." 

He turned his face away from that idea. "I just need to sleep." 

She eyed him critically, then nodded permission. 

He got himself moving, but paused in the doorway and looked back to her. "Rita Skeeter was there," he remembered.

"I'll handle it." She nodded to send him on up. 

The house elf had already drawn a hot bath and set out a dreamless sleep potion by the time he got to his room. He stopped to get his wand from where it was sitting beside his bed, though, and tested it out by wordlessly levitating some things in the room to make sure it still worked for him like normal. He relaxed when he didn't feel any difference… Having a wand finally made him feel like a person again.