Shiri stole the capitalization.
And he didn't even get to fire off a Dark Magic Attack!
Harry And The Shipgirls: Prisoner of Shipping (A HP/KanColle Snippet Collection)
- Thread starter Harry Leferts
- Start date
- Crossover
- Location
- Mountains of Appalachia
A. N. – I'd like to thank Sunhawk for the help with co-writing this arc and coming up with Aoi. I'd also like to dedicate this one to his late father's memory. God Bless, my friend. It's been quite a while, but the prior snip in this arc's here. Relevant snip at the same time here. PLEASE WATCH THE ITG SINCE SOE DESERVING FOLKS ARE GETTING INTO HOT WATER
Post Statute Springtimes Are 'Interesting Times' (XIII)
The New York Times Building, 620, Eighth Avenue, Midtown Manhattan, New York City
Friday, 10th April 2015 (Two Weeks after The LaGuardia Attack)
"You needed me, boss?" David Cohen asked as he entered the Assistant Metro Editor's office.
From his position behind the desk, James Dao nodded and waved his cub reporter to a seat. "The PROM story. Go ahead and check with your contacts in NYPD to see if they'll clear the info about those magical Good Samaritans for publication. I'd like to do a profile series on them since they've got what we need. Magic's the new hotness, and of course everyone's wondering if there's gonna be a magical terror attack near them now that these maniacs are recreating the Days of Rage."
"Got it. I'll make some calls and rattle the bushes ASAP. I'll let you know when I get an answer." David said with a sharp nod.
Aoi's Asian Antiquities and Art, Little Tokyo, East Village, Lower Manhattan, New York City
Saturday, 11th April 2015
"Hey Boss, got a reporter out here who wants to talk to ya." came the rather rough voice of one of his current apprentices, a young, heavily tattooed, Hispanic man who'd spent five years in Riker's Island on armed robbery charges after being tried as an adult despite being only 13 at the time before being released on probation…ten years earlier. Carlos had since met a fine senorita, settled down into respectable married life, and was, in Aoi's opinion, more than ready to open his own shop working in bronze, which the much younger man had proven extremely skilled at.
It rather amused Aoi how many of the 'great and good' clients who bought Carlos' work had no idea that it was made by somebody they'd look down their oh so aristocratic noses at for being an ex-con. Still, he was crafting men as much as he crafted art with bronze, clay, steel, or precious metals. Carlos wasn't the first nor would he be the last who he'd helped sculpt into something far greater than his origins as a gangbanger-in-training would seem to have indicated.
"Send him to my office, I'll be with him shortly." he called back, without looking up from where he was delicately laying down a pattern in thin gold wire for a client's order.
Fifteen minutes later, the old craftsman stripped off his gloves as he walked into the rather austere and cramped office he used to keep his workshop's books. "I'm sorry for the delay, I was in the middle of something delicate. How can I help the Grey Lady today?" He asked as he noticed the subtle NYT tie clip on the middle-aged journalist.
"David Cohen, Mr. Tsubaki." The man introduced himself with a handshake in a 'New Yawk accent' that Aoi's trained ear mentally pegged as originally coming from one of the remaining Jewish enclaves that still existed down in the Lower East Side. He then handed over his business card, which raised him a notch in Aoi's eyes, clearly he knew how to do things the old-fashioned way. "Metro desk. I spoke to Lieutenant Sipowicz at the 115th Precinct about interviewing you and he cleared me. We're looking for a Metro piece in the Sunday edition covering our Magical Good Samaritans during the La Guardia Attack. Who you are, how long you've been in the Big Apple, if you want to accept our free subscription to the Times as part of the inducements. You know, the usual profile piece for the Wizards Among Us series that we plan to run."
Aoi chuckled slightly. "David Cohen… you did the piece on Mt Sinai West two years ago if I recall correctly." He then allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his lips. "While I'd not turn down a free year, Mr Cohen, I've been a subscriber to the Times since 1873."
Cohen whistled soundlessly at the news, then pulled out his smartphone and tapped it to activate the record feature. "Mind repeating that for the record, Mr. Aoi? Dad used a tape recorder but I find this is handier."
"Certainly, I arrived in New York City from Edo in 1873, and I actually taught myself the English language using the Times." Aoi chuckles a little. "In my apartment upstairs I actually have every issue, preserved with shrinking and stasis charms, along with my collection of all of your wonderful crosswords."
David grinned at the sight of a fellow fan of the crossword. "Let me guess, you're a fan of our crosswords? Best in the business for 73 years, after all!"
Aoi chuckled with a smile and twinkling eyes, "Indeed, and I actually wrote a letter to the Editor that didn't get published about that little kerfuffle a few months back with the mini." He then leaned forward slightly.
"Yeah, it was an accident." David sighed. "I know the people who lost the plot then. But we just can do the best that we can. Anyway, so you've been here in 1873 doing fine arts then? According to the detective it was a total coincidence that you were at La Guardia that day, after all. Traffic's a killer in this town as you and I know."
"Pretty much, yes. I was picking up a shipment of materials and, well," he shook his head sadly. "Got caught in the middle, and while I may be the least aggressive of my family, I'm not one to stand by while madmen slaughter innocents."
"I can't blame you for being a Good Samaritan; frankly this town could use a few more like you." David said. "So you fought back when the shooting started then?"
Aoi nodded over at the antique Asian style crossbow that appeared to be nothing more than a bit of office decoration. "Indeed, I admit that it's been a very long time since I've had to use my true body in anger, but it is a… part of me, yes?"
David looked over at the crossbow. "That's a beautiful antique. So.. you're the spirit of that crossbow like the Masamune sword spirit spotted next to the Emperor of Japan as one of his advisors then?" He grinned. "I did my homework about magic before pounding the bricks to interview you."
"Of hardly such exalted origins." Aoi chuckled slightly with a wry smile. "I was crafted by an apprentice who went on to become one of the two great smiths of Japan." His eyes twinkled slightly. "As a commission for his friend who'd gone home to find that a corrupt samurai had butchered his family and village. I was crafted to aid him in his quest for justice."
"Well with that history, I can see why you got involved with that terrorist attack. So, what made you decide to come here? It sure can't be the winters!"
Aoi pursed his lips slightly. "How familiar are you with the history of Japan? Because it comes down to how those not of 'noble' birthright were treated in the days of the shogunate."
"Not very familiar honestly. From the sounds of things you had trouble with the samurai nobility and decided to seek your fortune here?" David said. "Sounds like what I heard about my great-grandparents heading to Ellis Island and then running a bagel shop."
"More or less. While many in Japan looked down on the 'round eyed gaijin', I felt that there was more opportunity there for a craftsman than there was in Edo. No more having to grovel before arrogant samurai who could legally kill a 'mere tradesman' for 'cheating him' if they had the temerity to demand payment for their work. I sold my workshop, settled my accounts, and managed to procure passage to San Francisco. I then boarded a train for New York City." His smile became almost mischievous. "I'm afraid that the statute of limitations has run out for some of the… creative measures I made use of to get past officials who may have objected to a 'Chinaman' entering the country."
David laughed. "Good for you. Didn't you have trouble in World War II though? Being Japanese and all after Pearl Harbor."
Aoi grimaced at that particular bit of idiocy from his place of birth. "It was a bit touchy, but thankfully I was well-established by then, and Mrs Roosevelt was kind enough to vouch for me, considering that the President had commissioned several anniversary gifts for her from my shop. And, of course, Hizzoner LaGuardia was a wonderful customer as well."
"Friends in high places then. Considering some of the items I saw on display in your showroom while I waited, I can see why the upper crust patronized you. I suppose if you have enough time, you can learn how to make exquisite art. Any other VIPs that you did commissions for?" David commented. "I'll likely get one of our photographers to come back for a follow-up so you can show off some of your creations for the Sunday edition. Can't promise that the editors will see it my way, but you might get on E1 if they like my story."
Aoi chuckled and nodded. "Mr Sinatra quite liked the tie clips he commissioned from me, then Jezebel de Breuil on the magical side has been a long-time customer since I first opened my doors. But my favorite VIP story? February 1964, I'm working back here when my then newest apprentice came running back, looking like he'd seen a ghost and couldn't put two syllables together into a coherent sentence to save his life. I went up front and some youngsters with the most appalling bowl cuts had ducked into the shop to escape hordes of screaming teenage girls running around outside. Mr Lennon was quite taken by some of the jewelry, as was Miss Ono later on down the line, and I fulfilled a number of commissions for those boys over the years."
"Well well, that is fascinating. Dad's a Beatles fan, I never got into their music personally – I'm more about Broadway Musicals honestly." David paused, thought, then spoke slowly. "I take it Mrs. De Breuil helped smooth things over on the magical side of the fence since she's apparently been some kind of big cheese over there for decades according to the reporting we've done on her. Do you use magic in crafting your art?"
Aoi shook his head. "To your first question, Mrs De Breuil was exceptionally helpful in that she helped me stay well under the radar of the more reactionary elements in MACUSA, as to the second, generally speaking no, not in the crafting itself. All of the techniques and methods I use are strictly non-magical in nature, but I will incorporate minor charmwork and enchantments into pieces on a per-commission basis. Such as protective and self-repairing charms to keep them in perfect shape."
He then stood up and gestured for David to follow him. "Anybody can learn any of the techniques I use, and I suppose the thing I'm proudest of is how many students I've had over the years who've gone on to open their own shops."
"Oh, where do you find your students then?" David asked as he scooped up his phone and followed Aoi.
Aoi looked over at the reporter, and smirked. "Most of them find me, after walking out the door one block to the east, walking this way angry at the world for how their lives have been, and in most cases they usually slam open the front door intending to take that anger out on my poor showroom."
David laughed. "Let me guess, you have a good working relationship with the 9th Precinct cops and they sometimes give you a heads up on a work-release volunteer?"
Aoi shook his head. "Mostly just kids released on probation, actually, and told that if they don't get a job they're going back inside. First thing I usually know is when the bell rings up front, a bundle of rage, piss, and vinegar storms in expecting to be treated like a thug, and instead I bring them in back and put them to work pounding the clay."
"Pounding the clay?" David asked with a puzzled look while Carlos chuckled knowingly.
Aoi nodded. "Pounding the clay. The clay needs to be beaten thoroughly to get any air bubbles out and prepare it for use, otherwise when it is fired it explodes. It's hard work, but it's necessary work. And for an angry youngster who wants to take out their frustration against the world? The clay will never press charges, and there are no laws against working your anger out on the clay either. All of my apprentices? Their first lesson is to beat the clay. They usually then expect to get tossed out on the street, but instead they usually spend enough time pounding away on the clay that I'm able to arrange room upstairs for them and get my other apprentices to add a place at the table for them." The old man shrugged. "And then our little family here grows that much larger."
"Hunh… makes sense. Wish I'd had that going on when I was young and dumb," David said. "So you do ceramic work too?"
Aoi nodded. "All forms of ceramics, including some of the traditional earthenware types. All of my apprentices start out there, just like I did as a youngster, but they eventually discover their own talents. Carlos here is a talented bronzesmith, for example, and does superb cloisonne work in bronze and enamel. One of his pieces is actually in Hizzoner's office, which has a certain irony." He and Carlos shared a grin at that. "If you stay here for lunch, Marietta makes the best tamales in New York City."
"Don't mind if I do. Carlos, I'd like to talk to you about commissions. My girl's birthday is coming up and she loves her dog...." David said after a glance at his phone to get the time.
Furnald Hall, Columbia University, Morningside Heights, West Side, Upper Manhattan
Sunday, 26th April 2015 (One month since the La Guardia Attack)
Sean Kennedy rubbed his slowly mending shoulder as he noticed that the newspapers had arrived after his trip to the gym. He shrugged, then picked up the Sunday edition for Reuben to read.
"Hey Sean!" He grinned and turned at the shout to see Olivia heading his way through the crowd of students.
"Hey yourself! What's up?" He replied before grabbing her for a hug and deep kiss.
"Nada. Just classes, research, the usual." She shrugged expressively as she swiped her own copy of The New York Times. "Seen Reube around?"
Sean walked with her to the elevator. "Reube's checking in with the Prof. Said that he needed to talk to him about the work he's doing on his research project. He told me that the Prof and the faculty committee are happy with the way things are going."
Olivia's eyes sparkled as she read the coded message that PROM was making a difference in fighting the forces of pig AmeriKKKa. Then she winked at him and licked her lips as the elevator doors opened. "Coolio. I really hope that we make the grade," she declared as she and Sean wanted for the elevator to reach the fourth floor.
"Yeah, me too." He commented as he unlocked the door to his dorm room. He then locked it behind Olivia and smirked. "Wonder what they have to say about what we did on Wall Street."
Olivia pulled out the newspaper and grinned at the photograph above the fold on the front page showing a cloud of smoke above Wall Street. "Wanna guess how many pig stockbrokers we fried? A little bit of our friends' special exploding potion that we added to the gas tanks in their BMWs and sports cars… Then kaboom!! when they turned them on!"
"Fucking useless capitalist bloodsuckers." Sean agreed as he pulled out the local page from the bulk of the paper. "Did the Times say how many we got?"
Olivia turned the page. "It says nine dead and thirty-two injured when a series of blasts ripped through the parking deck of the cars for the New York Stock Exchange."
Sean laughed as he admired the photograph of fire crews working to put out the blaze that the exploding vehicles had set, then smirked at the sight of the aftermath in another photo. "Hey Olivia?"
"Whatizit Sean?" His girlfriend asked.
"Whatta you call a bunch of stockbrokers and lawyers tied up in a sinking ship?" Sean said as he reached the end of the front-page part of the story and turned to B-5 to finish it off.
"I dunno."
"A… Good… Start…" Sean's voice trailed off and his face purpled as his eyes were caught by a different story in the metro section. His fists clenched on the page as he read the glowing description of a magical Good Samaritan – who was the spirit of a crossbow – who had responded to the La Guardia Attack.
"Sean?! SEAN!! Whatizit?!?"
Sean snarled out while the wound in his shoulder throbbed and ached. "Tell me we've still got some doses of the disguise potions and hair clippings still."
Olivia nodded, her heart racing. "Yeah, in the storage shed with our guns and shit."
Sean stood and cracked his knuckles. "Good. Because I'm gonna fuckin' grease William Fuckin Tell for harshing my mellow. Wanna help?"
Olivia bit her lip and nodded as she felt her knees get weak from the killing mood that her boyfriend was emitting. "Joder, sí, te ayudaré! {Fuck yeah, I'll help you!}" Then she paused. "The Prof's not gonna be happy about you doing this fucker in if he finds out."
Sean smirked as he replied. "This'll be our little secret, chica. What the Prof and Reuben don't know they can't bitch about!"
Post Statute Springtimes Are 'Interesting Times' (XIII)
The New York Times Building, 620, Eighth Avenue, Midtown Manhattan, New York City
Friday, 10th April 2015 (Two Weeks after The LaGuardia Attack)
"You needed me, boss?" David Cohen asked as he entered the Assistant Metro Editor's office.
From his position behind the desk, James Dao nodded and waved his cub reporter to a seat. "The PROM story. Go ahead and check with your contacts in NYPD to see if they'll clear the info about those magical Good Samaritans for publication. I'd like to do a profile series on them since they've got what we need. Magic's the new hotness, and of course everyone's wondering if there's gonna be a magical terror attack near them now that these maniacs are recreating the Days of Rage."
"Got it. I'll make some calls and rattle the bushes ASAP. I'll let you know when I get an answer." David said with a sharp nod.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Aoi's Asian Antiquities and Art, Little Tokyo, East Village, Lower Manhattan, New York City
Saturday, 11th April 2015
"Hey Boss, got a reporter out here who wants to talk to ya." came the rather rough voice of one of his current apprentices, a young, heavily tattooed, Hispanic man who'd spent five years in Riker's Island on armed robbery charges after being tried as an adult despite being only 13 at the time before being released on probation…ten years earlier. Carlos had since met a fine senorita, settled down into respectable married life, and was, in Aoi's opinion, more than ready to open his own shop working in bronze, which the much younger man had proven extremely skilled at.
It rather amused Aoi how many of the 'great and good' clients who bought Carlos' work had no idea that it was made by somebody they'd look down their oh so aristocratic noses at for being an ex-con. Still, he was crafting men as much as he crafted art with bronze, clay, steel, or precious metals. Carlos wasn't the first nor would he be the last who he'd helped sculpt into something far greater than his origins as a gangbanger-in-training would seem to have indicated.
"Send him to my office, I'll be with him shortly." he called back, without looking up from where he was delicately laying down a pattern in thin gold wire for a client's order.
Fifteen minutes later, the old craftsman stripped off his gloves as he walked into the rather austere and cramped office he used to keep his workshop's books. "I'm sorry for the delay, I was in the middle of something delicate. How can I help the Grey Lady today?" He asked as he noticed the subtle NYT tie clip on the middle-aged journalist.
"David Cohen, Mr. Tsubaki." The man introduced himself with a handshake in a 'New Yawk accent' that Aoi's trained ear mentally pegged as originally coming from one of the remaining Jewish enclaves that still existed down in the Lower East Side. He then handed over his business card, which raised him a notch in Aoi's eyes, clearly he knew how to do things the old-fashioned way. "Metro desk. I spoke to Lieutenant Sipowicz at the 115th Precinct about interviewing you and he cleared me. We're looking for a Metro piece in the Sunday edition covering our Magical Good Samaritans during the La Guardia Attack. Who you are, how long you've been in the Big Apple, if you want to accept our free subscription to the Times as part of the inducements. You know, the usual profile piece for the Wizards Among Us series that we plan to run."
Aoi chuckled slightly. "David Cohen… you did the piece on Mt Sinai West two years ago if I recall correctly." He then allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his lips. "While I'd not turn down a free year, Mr Cohen, I've been a subscriber to the Times since 1873."
Cohen whistled soundlessly at the news, then pulled out his smartphone and tapped it to activate the record feature. "Mind repeating that for the record, Mr. Aoi? Dad used a tape recorder but I find this is handier."
"Certainly, I arrived in New York City from Edo in 1873, and I actually taught myself the English language using the Times." Aoi chuckles a little. "In my apartment upstairs I actually have every issue, preserved with shrinking and stasis charms, along with my collection of all of your wonderful crosswords."
David grinned at the sight of a fellow fan of the crossword. "Let me guess, you're a fan of our crosswords? Best in the business for 73 years, after all!"
Aoi chuckled with a smile and twinkling eyes, "Indeed, and I actually wrote a letter to the Editor that didn't get published about that little kerfuffle a few months back with the mini." He then leaned forward slightly.
"Yeah, it was an accident." David sighed. "I know the people who lost the plot then. But we just can do the best that we can. Anyway, so you've been here in 1873 doing fine arts then? According to the detective it was a total coincidence that you were at La Guardia that day, after all. Traffic's a killer in this town as you and I know."
"Pretty much, yes. I was picking up a shipment of materials and, well," he shook his head sadly. "Got caught in the middle, and while I may be the least aggressive of my family, I'm not one to stand by while madmen slaughter innocents."
"I can't blame you for being a Good Samaritan; frankly this town could use a few more like you." David said. "So you fought back when the shooting started then?"
Aoi nodded over at the antique Asian style crossbow that appeared to be nothing more than a bit of office decoration. "Indeed, I admit that it's been a very long time since I've had to use my true body in anger, but it is a… part of me, yes?"
David looked over at the crossbow. "That's a beautiful antique. So.. you're the spirit of that crossbow like the Masamune sword spirit spotted next to the Emperor of Japan as one of his advisors then?" He grinned. "I did my homework about magic before pounding the bricks to interview you."
"Of hardly such exalted origins." Aoi chuckled slightly with a wry smile. "I was crafted by an apprentice who went on to become one of the two great smiths of Japan." His eyes twinkled slightly. "As a commission for his friend who'd gone home to find that a corrupt samurai had butchered his family and village. I was crafted to aid him in his quest for justice."
"Well with that history, I can see why you got involved with that terrorist attack. So, what made you decide to come here? It sure can't be the winters!"
Aoi pursed his lips slightly. "How familiar are you with the history of Japan? Because it comes down to how those not of 'noble' birthright were treated in the days of the shogunate."
"Not very familiar honestly. From the sounds of things you had trouble with the samurai nobility and decided to seek your fortune here?" David said. "Sounds like what I heard about my great-grandparents heading to Ellis Island and then running a bagel shop."
"More or less. While many in Japan looked down on the 'round eyed gaijin', I felt that there was more opportunity there for a craftsman than there was in Edo. No more having to grovel before arrogant samurai who could legally kill a 'mere tradesman' for 'cheating him' if they had the temerity to demand payment for their work. I sold my workshop, settled my accounts, and managed to procure passage to San Francisco. I then boarded a train for New York City." His smile became almost mischievous. "I'm afraid that the statute of limitations has run out for some of the… creative measures I made use of to get past officials who may have objected to a 'Chinaman' entering the country."
David laughed. "Good for you. Didn't you have trouble in World War II though? Being Japanese and all after Pearl Harbor."
Aoi grimaced at that particular bit of idiocy from his place of birth. "It was a bit touchy, but thankfully I was well-established by then, and Mrs Roosevelt was kind enough to vouch for me, considering that the President had commissioned several anniversary gifts for her from my shop. And, of course, Hizzoner LaGuardia was a wonderful customer as well."
"Friends in high places then. Considering some of the items I saw on display in your showroom while I waited, I can see why the upper crust patronized you. I suppose if you have enough time, you can learn how to make exquisite art. Any other VIPs that you did commissions for?" David commented. "I'll likely get one of our photographers to come back for a follow-up so you can show off some of your creations for the Sunday edition. Can't promise that the editors will see it my way, but you might get on E1 if they like my story."
Aoi chuckled and nodded. "Mr Sinatra quite liked the tie clips he commissioned from me, then Jezebel de Breuil on the magical side has been a long-time customer since I first opened my doors. But my favorite VIP story? February 1964, I'm working back here when my then newest apprentice came running back, looking like he'd seen a ghost and couldn't put two syllables together into a coherent sentence to save his life. I went up front and some youngsters with the most appalling bowl cuts had ducked into the shop to escape hordes of screaming teenage girls running around outside. Mr Lennon was quite taken by some of the jewelry, as was Miss Ono later on down the line, and I fulfilled a number of commissions for those boys over the years."
"Well well, that is fascinating. Dad's a Beatles fan, I never got into their music personally – I'm more about Broadway Musicals honestly." David paused, thought, then spoke slowly. "I take it Mrs. De Breuil helped smooth things over on the magical side of the fence since she's apparently been some kind of big cheese over there for decades according to the reporting we've done on her. Do you use magic in crafting your art?"
Aoi shook his head. "To your first question, Mrs De Breuil was exceptionally helpful in that she helped me stay well under the radar of the more reactionary elements in MACUSA, as to the second, generally speaking no, not in the crafting itself. All of the techniques and methods I use are strictly non-magical in nature, but I will incorporate minor charmwork and enchantments into pieces on a per-commission basis. Such as protective and self-repairing charms to keep them in perfect shape."
He then stood up and gestured for David to follow him. "Anybody can learn any of the techniques I use, and I suppose the thing I'm proudest of is how many students I've had over the years who've gone on to open their own shops."
"Oh, where do you find your students then?" David asked as he scooped up his phone and followed Aoi.
Aoi looked over at the reporter, and smirked. "Most of them find me, after walking out the door one block to the east, walking this way angry at the world for how their lives have been, and in most cases they usually slam open the front door intending to take that anger out on my poor showroom."
David laughed. "Let me guess, you have a good working relationship with the 9th Precinct cops and they sometimes give you a heads up on a work-release volunteer?"
Aoi shook his head. "Mostly just kids released on probation, actually, and told that if they don't get a job they're going back inside. First thing I usually know is when the bell rings up front, a bundle of rage, piss, and vinegar storms in expecting to be treated like a thug, and instead I bring them in back and put them to work pounding the clay."
"Pounding the clay?" David asked with a puzzled look while Carlos chuckled knowingly.
Aoi nodded. "Pounding the clay. The clay needs to be beaten thoroughly to get any air bubbles out and prepare it for use, otherwise when it is fired it explodes. It's hard work, but it's necessary work. And for an angry youngster who wants to take out their frustration against the world? The clay will never press charges, and there are no laws against working your anger out on the clay either. All of my apprentices? Their first lesson is to beat the clay. They usually then expect to get tossed out on the street, but instead they usually spend enough time pounding away on the clay that I'm able to arrange room upstairs for them and get my other apprentices to add a place at the table for them." The old man shrugged. "And then our little family here grows that much larger."
"Hunh… makes sense. Wish I'd had that going on when I was young and dumb," David said. "So you do ceramic work too?"
Aoi nodded. "All forms of ceramics, including some of the traditional earthenware types. All of my apprentices start out there, just like I did as a youngster, but they eventually discover their own talents. Carlos here is a talented bronzesmith, for example, and does superb cloisonne work in bronze and enamel. One of his pieces is actually in Hizzoner's office, which has a certain irony." He and Carlos shared a grin at that. "If you stay here for lunch, Marietta makes the best tamales in New York City."
"Don't mind if I do. Carlos, I'd like to talk to you about commissions. My girl's birthday is coming up and she loves her dog...." David said after a glance at his phone to get the time.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Furnald Hall, Columbia University, Morningside Heights, West Side, Upper Manhattan
Sunday, 26th April 2015 (One month since the La Guardia Attack)
Sean Kennedy rubbed his slowly mending shoulder as he noticed that the newspapers had arrived after his trip to the gym. He shrugged, then picked up the Sunday edition for Reuben to read.
"Hey Sean!" He grinned and turned at the shout to see Olivia heading his way through the crowd of students.
"Hey yourself! What's up?" He replied before grabbing her for a hug and deep kiss.
"Nada. Just classes, research, the usual." She shrugged expressively as she swiped her own copy of The New York Times. "Seen Reube around?"
Sean walked with her to the elevator. "Reube's checking in with the Prof. Said that he needed to talk to him about the work he's doing on his research project. He told me that the Prof and the faculty committee are happy with the way things are going."
Olivia's eyes sparkled as she read the coded message that PROM was making a difference in fighting the forces of pig AmeriKKKa. Then she winked at him and licked her lips as the elevator doors opened. "Coolio. I really hope that we make the grade," she declared as she and Sean wanted for the elevator to reach the fourth floor.
"Yeah, me too." He commented as he unlocked the door to his dorm room. He then locked it behind Olivia and smirked. "Wonder what they have to say about what we did on Wall Street."
Olivia pulled out the newspaper and grinned at the photograph above the fold on the front page showing a cloud of smoke above Wall Street. "Wanna guess how many pig stockbrokers we fried? A little bit of our friends' special exploding potion that we added to the gas tanks in their BMWs and sports cars… Then kaboom!! when they turned them on!"
"Fucking useless capitalist bloodsuckers." Sean agreed as he pulled out the local page from the bulk of the paper. "Did the Times say how many we got?"
Olivia turned the page. "It says nine dead and thirty-two injured when a series of blasts ripped through the parking deck of the cars for the New York Stock Exchange."
Sean laughed as he admired the photograph of fire crews working to put out the blaze that the exploding vehicles had set, then smirked at the sight of the aftermath in another photo. "Hey Olivia?"
"Whatizit Sean?" His girlfriend asked.
"Whatta you call a bunch of stockbrokers and lawyers tied up in a sinking ship?" Sean said as he reached the end of the front-page part of the story and turned to B-5 to finish it off.
"I dunno."
"A… Good… Start…" Sean's voice trailed off and his face purpled as his eyes were caught by a different story in the metro section. His fists clenched on the page as he read the glowing description of a magical Good Samaritan – who was the spirit of a crossbow – who had responded to the La Guardia Attack.
"Sean?! SEAN!! Whatizit?!?"
Sean snarled out while the wound in his shoulder throbbed and ached. "Tell me we've still got some doses of the disguise potions and hair clippings still."
Olivia nodded, her heart racing. "Yeah, in the storage shed with our guns and shit."
Sean stood and cracked his knuckles. "Good. Because I'm gonna fuckin' grease William Fuckin Tell for harshing my mellow. Wanna help?"
Olivia bit her lip and nodded as she felt her knees get weak from the killing mood that her boyfriend was emitting. "Joder, sí, te ayudaré! {Fuck yeah, I'll help you!}" Then she paused. "The Prof's not gonna be happy about you doing this fucker in if he finds out."
Sean smirked as he replied. "This'll be our little secret, chica. What the Prof and Reuben don't know they can't bitch about!"
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Kenshō stole the punctuation once...
Aoi was one of Muramasa's earliest works, crafted back when the Mad Smith himself was an apprentice?
I guess we know who the oldest Butterknife is.
...twice...
...and stole the capitalization.
And Sean and Olivia, riding high on their recent successes, end up going off half-cocked.
I can't wait for them to end up in prison. Preferably in separate cells, just to separate the terrorist boyfriend and girlfriend.
- Location
- Mountains of Appalachia
"Mou, I'm gonna steal the anpan and tempura in the next snip in the arc too!" (fixed)
He's about a decade and a half or so older than Chisuheri, so yes. This is literally one of Muramasa's first creations.
Well, if you look at it from his POV, it makes sense. That said, he's not going to see her for 20 to life if he gets caught....
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I really want him to get caught.
- Location
- Mountains of Appalachia
Working on it for the next snip!
A New Dawn II
Floo Terminal Hub, St. Mathews Island
May 8th, 2015
Dawn Chin, The natural born Shipgirl of the Canada Pacific Line's Empress of Asia, stepped through the green fire with hurried steps, to make sure she wasn't in the flee chamber at the same time the next person behind her was trying to cross over. The wizard that explained how it worked didn't say there was a risk of two people having their organs intermingle and fuse if someone floo'd in when someone else was in there… But she saw that one scene from the Star Trek movie and had nightmares for weeks, and wasn't going to have that happen to her, no sir.
Seconds later came the other members of the Canadian representation, actual diplomats for the quiet shadowy wheeling and dealing these sorts of events were for. Empress of Asia was meant more for Eye-Candy and to show the Canadian flag. Which she was more than happy for. A couple hours of boredom watching the Abyssal Princess get a crown on her head followed by days of revelry? Yes please! If all went well she'd have almost as much fun as she did on Natal Day a couple years prior, back when Halifax was summoned.
A short distance away, a head above the crowd, the natural born ocean liner saw a tall, curvy woman she immediately recognized, a recognition she saw in the other ocean liner's eyes.
"Asia! Mon joli chou-fleur canadien, comment vas-tu?"
Empress of Asia returned the enthusiastic and soft embrace from the other ocean liner Shipgirl.
"Île de France! As always I am just fine. And you?"
"Living a Dream love, as always, living a dream! Now I can finally go and take in the fine fashions in Le marché des mages in Paris in the open! Where I met this charming member of our luxurious sisterhood!"
Empress of Asia turned to see that, sure enough, there was a shorter and curvier Shipgirl, one that her crew recognized as a (heavily modified) submarine. The shorter ocean liner held out a hand in greeting, which Empress took.
"Enchanté de vous rencontrer, je suis la Beauté des Profondeurs, du SET."
"De même, je suis l'Empress of Asia de la ligne Canada-Pacifique."
The submarine ocean liner looked like she wanted to smile, but it came across as a wince at her words. Empress of Asia was about to ask what was wrong when Île de France leaned down to Beauté's ear in a loud whisper.
"Oui, elle est d'origine québécoise, donc sa langue n'est pas proprement française. Mais ne la blâmez pas trop, car elle fait honneur à nos intérêts à tous les autres égards."
'Ah, right, continental French chauvinism.'
Beauté cleared her throat.
"Ah, apologies, an instinct that I may have attained from the Société de linguistique mystique, the SET sponsored many such intellectual clubs among the fleet for the enrichment of our passengers."
Empress hummed at that, crossing her arms under her bust in thought.
"Really? I suppose that a wireless service could beam debate updates from ship-to-ship, but that would get very clogged very quickly. How did you keep from losing track of what each group of passengers discussed?"
Beauté blinked at the insightful question, and smiled.
"Actually, a stenographer recorded the discussions and debates every day, and at the end of the voyage would place the manuscript in a special floo slot linked to the headquarters in Paris. And from there an up to date journal would be prepared for the passengers that was sent out to all the ships for their next departure. That way the whole fleet was caught up with the latest intellectual discussions among the finest wizards and witches of Society."
As the pair continued their discussion on the logistics of a transport company-sponsored debate club, Île de France took a step back, smiling at seeing a new kinship form. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched another party approach.
"Ah! Leviathan! It is so good to see you petit!"
The Americanized oceanliner hugged the flagship of the French Line with a humoring smile.
"Good morning Île, it's been a while. Has my sister arrived yet?"
The French ocean liner scoffed.
"Non ma cher, or if she has, she is waiting for her grand entrance moment. Or examining which of her avian hats would be most fashionable."
Leviathan, once upon a time the German liner Vaterland, sighed in equal parts exasperation and relief.
"Good. There's only so much of her even a sister can handle at once."
Île de France laughed. In other circumstances she would have teased her about that time in Newport News at the U-Boat party, but that would have been gouache in present company. Especially given the other girl with her.
"Ah! And this must by little Sally, quis?"
Indeed, the ghost girl was there, a few steps removed and observing. Suddenly surprised by the other ocean liner's attention, the American Sadako looked behind her, as if expecting someone else. The friendly French liner sped the short distance between them and embraced the ghost, burying her head in her bountiful bunkerage.
"Non, non, non ma petit! It is you of which I speak! Let me take you in!"
Île de France stepped back (allowing Sally to breathe) and looked her up and down in her traveling clothes.
"Hmmmm, you were right Levi, a proper challenge with colors, but the girl herself is a treasure! Is no wonder you were such a threat to the girls!"
Sally gave a nervous laugh as she backed off.
"Oh! Oh no, you don't need to lie, I know I was always ugly."
Île de France gasped, and held a hand to her heart as if stabbed.
"Is worse than I thought!"
As if summoned by magic, Beauté des Profondeurs and Empress of Asia were at either side of Sally, determination in their eyes.
"Huh?"
------
Des Moines winced at the bright light of the floo fire, and the change in brightness from the windows, having apparently ended up at a terminal that was perfectly aligned with a window and the mid-day sun at that specific time.
Mentally looking at her timetable, her other half of the American Shipgirl delegation, Leviathan, should have arrived around this time as well. They weren't scheduled to present themselves until later in the afternoon, but they still had to get to their quarters and get settled in. She was about to radio her when she saw the Ocean Liner with another liner Shipgirl and… a very unusual U-Boat, and another girl, and she looked to be in no hurry to depart.
'Well, we are roommies for the next couple days, guess I can get settled in first.'
"Des Moines! Welcome to St. Mathews!"
The cruiser Shipgirl turned to the familiar voice, and in retrospect would be surprised at how excited she was to hear it.
"Clark! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be working?"
The wizarding journalist smiled his ever charming grin as he offered De Moines his arm.
"The good thing about a story like this, is that you are never far from your sources. I have gotten about a dozen and a half elevator interviews from almost as many of the delegations. The big one I am eager for though is coming from Britain. I hear tell that Albus Dumbledore himself will be arriving, and admittedly unsubstantiated rumors about an honest to Merlin werewolf."
"So this Albus character is a big deal then?"
Clark Bogart laughed.
"The biggest. Especially given the rumors circulating about a certain Dark Lord working to finish what he started back in the 90's. But he isn't coming until around early evening so I got time to chat with you. How about lunch? My treat."
Des Moines blushed at the sputtering of her boilers, but kept her composure.
"That sounds wonderful Clark, but I would have thought there would be a lot of good stuff for covering the delegates introducing themselves to the Abyssal Princess?"
Clark gave a dismissive 'bah' as he waved off the suggestion.
"Humphrey has that covered. He's our best photographer at Nunnery North America what isn't in the modeling department, and while he was never much of a beat journalist, he has plenty of talent in making fluff piece nothing burgers read interesting."
"Well, if you're sure…"
------
Porta Abysseum Atlantis, Uncrowned Queen of St Mathews (for one more day), looked at the message from British Intelligence that had come in late middle of the night. It was a frustratingly vague warning about a planned attack from 'Portuguese Reactionaries,' but was being very vague beyond that other than 'be mindful of crowds and secure high vulnerability spaces.' Which was essentially worthless given that was obvious. Still…
'For the VIPs, IF something happens…'
Sadly the blocks on aparation could not be removed immediately in an emergency. So physical evacuation would be required. Giving whoever was a threat time to attack and likely kill someone… Within minutes of being called, Dom João de Gama, the last of the Patricians that were living on St. Matthews before Blood Week, arrived. Porta smiled at the old man and guided him to a chair opposite of herself.
"Dom thank you so much for coming to see me so soon."
Dom de Gama smiled and bowed as best he could, given his age and decade under the Abyssal Occupation.
"I am ever your servant, oh Queen of the Sea. How may I be of service?"
"This came in from Our allies last night. I am confident that we have protected the coronation as best as I can think of. But now that I have reasonable intelligence of there being a true threat to our guests, I cannot help but think I have missed something. Dom de Gama, is there some spell or charm that can protect from spellfire, should some attacker invade?"
The old man looked at the message from abroad, his face hinting of a mind at thought. And the tears in his eyes suggesting something…
"I don't want to think my boy is so cruel, and so callus as to… As to actually defy God in the anointing of His own chosen monarch… But I did not want to think he would banish me from the homeland either…"
He took a handkerchief from a pocket, and wiped at his eyes, wiped at his nose. Porta watched on, her expression one of quiet patience, neutral and unhurried. Finally, João composed himself, and spoke.
"I think… It has been many years. But as a boy at school, I recall our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor showing us a spell meant to make a shield as soon as someone enters a space. I think if we set up the triggers to the opening of the doors once the ceremony begins, we should be able to make a bubble shield around the VIP section of the pews."
"Do as best you can. And hurry."
------
"I admit, for a magical island, everything seems… Normal."
Colombe stifled a laugh.
"Well, that's the thing Your Highness: Wizards and Witches are just ordinary people. But I promise, as St. Mathews recovers, there will be a lot more obvious signs of magic around. Signs you are also going to see around home, in all good time."
Princess Elisabeth, Duchess of Brabant, Officer Cadet of the Belgian Military branches, and heiress to all the titles held by her father the King of the Belgians, looked out the window and down the great hill from her quarters at the Palace, down over the great city on the island, not one building spared of any sign of conflict. Be it a roof caved in, a wall collapsed, or an indeterminate pile of ruble that served as a grave for whatever business, function, life, that it once housed.
"It is…sad. A lot of it looks like Bruges, or Antwerp. After Blood Week. I remember when my parents and I took a tour of the coast line. I was so small, but I remember it so clearly."
Claire was humming a somber tune, and Colombe looked at the young princess with maternal approval.
"And like Bruges and Antwerp, their queen is dedicating everything to it's restoration, as is a Monarch's duty."
"Ja, as Multi said, it will not stay this way."
The weight of this, her first official duty as the future queen of her people, seemed to truly register to Princess Elisabeth. Not as an intellectual chore, but as a requirement for her in her heart. Colombe had seen that expression many times in her long life. On young men and woman thrown into a position of responsibility far to early by the judgement of a more softhearted man, but they held firm due to how any other response was to break. Colombe placed a gentle hand on the Princess' shoulder, and smiles.
"Ready to present yourself?"
The young Princess, no more than 13 years of age, took in a breath, and nodded.
------
"Princess Elisabeth, Duchess of Brabant, Heiress to the throne of the Kingdom of Belgium."
At the announcement of the court crier, the doors of the former ball room of what had been once the Governor's Palace opened, and a group of four young (or young-apparent) women walked grandly down the middle of the room. One was (in)famous among the wizards and witches in the audience, being the Colombe du Chasteler, and was leading the group. The younger blonde at the rear was an unknown to nearly all there. But the military bearing of the blonde marked her as part of the security detail. And in the middle was a young adolescent lady, light brown hair, and was immediately recognizable among those that followed the blue-blood sort as the Belgian Princess herself. The room was silent save for the sounds of the group walking on the marble floor and the clicks and flashes of cameras firing off in rapid succession.
Humphrey Cagney, Photographer for the news section of Nunnery North America, wound in the fresh roll of film into his camera, while Clark stood beside him jotting down notes as a Princess of Belgium curtsied in the presence of the court. And then she looked up from the floor at the Uncrowned Queen, and the big man made a huge grin. Poor kid may have been Royal, but she sure wasn't ready for dealing with the Elder Princess on her throne, dressed in clothes that laughed at the idea that they were supposed to provide genuine modesty. But other than her 15-second long wide eyed stare (promising to be a 21st Century Mansfield-Loren Photo), she did splendid.
The Abyssal in the knight's armor turned away, and while she didn't do any big histrionics, her body language spoke of someone who was not pleased with whatever had just happened. Meanwhile, the Elder Princess either did not notice, or did not care – being an employee of a Gentlemen's magazine, Cagney had met women who met both demeanors.
"Your Royal Highness, and Future Queen of this realm," the princess said to the Elder Princess, giving a curtsy befitting her station, "on behalf of my father the King, the Prime Minister, and all the people of Belgium, I am most glad to bare witness to your health, and your ascent as Queen of the people of St. Mathews on the morrow, and I forward my father's wish for peaceful relations, and freedom of trade and security between our nations."
The Elder Princess smiled warmly, and gestured to the young princess to stand as she was addressed.
"And We are most honored to see thy King send one he trusts so fully as to come in his stead. Please, stand, and know that thou art most welcome here on this happy island. Angband?"
The Ag-class carrier stepped up to the throne from where she had been standing.
"Yes mother?"
"Angband, o daughter, please see to the Princess of Belgium, and be her host for this first day among Our subjects. No doubt she would appreciate a guide amongst her peers to show her Our realm."
'Well ain't that cute,' Humphrey thought to himself, snapping another picture as he did, 'helping her kid make friends. The fact they are both future rulers doesn't hurt neither.'
The demi-abyssal nodded and gave a stiff curtsey and walked up to the Belgian party and they exchanged introductions. With a nod and a wave of her hand, Angband and the Princess of Belgium gracefully walked out of the room, the Princess' guardians following behind them – distant enough to not be intrusive, but close enough to step in on anything that might disrupt their charge.
Humphrey Cagney – once he got the last good picture of the little party – turned back to the Uncrowned Queen on her throne, and zoomed way in on her upper torso to snap another set of pictures for… "personal" use. That done he wound in the spent roll of film and began to wind in a fresh roll when the court crier – sounding very confused – called out the next visitor.
"Ah... Announcing Lady... Hedwig?"
At the uncertainty of the crier, the Court of the Uncrowned Queen of St. Matthews and her guests murmured in curiosity and uncertainty. Which was interjected with small peels of laughter as the sight of a visibly confused Commodore Chiaphasas carrying a great big white owl, with an envelope tied to its leg. On her throne, Porta cocked and eyebrow as the Chi-class came to a stop.
"Commodore. Thou art always welcome in Our presence. But We are curious about yonder beast in hand. Is it some gift perchance? We know birds can make vast journeys on the wind, but that owl seems more at home in climes much more frigid than here, to say nothing of the distance to the nearest island."
The very visibly confused Commodore worked her jaw to try and figure out what to say... When the bird spoke herself, in a Welsh flavor of voice.
"Beast? Only a mouse or vermin would call me a beast, so I would not allow you the embarrassment of demeaning your station by continuing to address me as such Your Highness, you, who art of the finest mind and heart and body of all who call the Sea their home. And a gift I be not your Highness, though I would not doubt the finery of life under your rule would hold, but a messenger."
As the audience gasped at the prospect of a talking owl, the avian beat her great wings to fly out of Chiaphasas' arms to almost to the ceiling, and dropped. Her wings and body grew, her talons changed their shape, as did the body and head to something far more human in size and form, and a grand green dress faded into existence to cover her shifting form. Alighting on the floor into a crouch, the throne room was filled with gasps and sounds of marvel. Humphrey quickly got as many shots as he could have the owl-woman, and the reactions of the Elder Princess and her court.
From her Throne, Porta studied the strange figure, and turned to her left where her advisors on the magical world - a man of the clergy and Dom de Gama, the last of the Patricians from before the war.
"What do you make of this?" She whispered as the men leaned in.
"I... I don't think I... Perhaps an Animagus?" Proposed the old man.
"No," said the Bishop, "No I had a roommate at seminary that was an Animagus. There is no middle form. Look, she still has wings and talons, no Animagus can retain animal traits. The same for a Maledictus or any other shape shifter. And even if they could, she would not be able to speak while in animal form."
"Perhaps... A familiar? But that is lost magic. And yet..."
Humming in thought, Porta turned to address the newcomer, who clearly had some sense of drama going by how she stood up, with her wings draped over her shoulders like a cloak.
"If a memorable entrance thou hast desired, thou hast attained it. Hedwig, was it? Perhaps thou could be so gracious as to educate Us and Our court as to thy nature."
The familiar bowed deeply, and sank to one knee in a show of humility.
"Aye, Hedwig be my name Your Highness. And I be but a humble snow owl. One whom is beloved by my master, Harry Potter of English roots, and Japanese home."
"And... Perhaps you could kindly share what exactly you are?"
It spoke to how much his curiosity was galling at him that the Patrician would speak out of turn in such a way. Frankly Porta didn't care either way what the owl was, save as perhaps an avenue to investigate for security concerns or intelligence gathering going forward. But she also could not begrudge him his desire to know. It was a legitimate question after all.
The owl woman seemed to smile with a hint of otherwise well-concealed smug, but she spoke with respect and deference nonetheless.
"My master enjoys my service, and so seeking to ensure my continued service and as a gesture of generosity in broadening my enrichment, made me his familiar, tying myself to his family so long as we both shall live with a mutually amiable friendship."
The Dom was a picture of bafflement and a long hidden childlike wonder, but Porta was satisfied enough for now.
"A rare master indeed," she said, handing out her hand, "Now, we understand that thou art in possession of a message for Us?"
"Aye, I do, your Highness."
Hedwig parted her wings, and in her hands was a large envelope, sealed with golden wax. The owl woman slowly approached the throne, her motions smooth and well telegraphed so as to not cause alarm among her host's guards. The Ocean Liner Demon on the Elder Princess' right descended from the throne to meet Hedwig at the base, and took the envelope, and as she backed away, Hedwig addressed the Uncrowned Queen.
"My master, Harold James Potter, has close relations with a number of others of your rank and title of Elder Princess of the Abyss."
The only outward signs of Porta's reaction was a flare of her nostrils, and a deeper breath than usual.
"The Forlorn Shores Princess, the Northern Ocean Princess, the Spice Islands Princess, are pledged to come to a summit on my master's estate in England. Where your surviving sisterhood shall meet and discuss affairs of State and Trade and Martial - subjects near and dear to your own heart your Highness if my master does not miss his guess. Others that will be attending will be the Elder Princess Challenger Deep Princess, if she can be reached, and the Antarctic Twins Princesses, if they yet live.
"As the time seems to align with your tour of the United Kingdom, if your schedule can allow upwards a week or so to attend, you will be most welcome, and what wisdom, knowledge, and trade you can provide will be most beneficiary to use as well."
The Elder Princess was quiet, and only the Demon at her side could read her expression, as her armored form put the envelope away.
"I leave on the morrow your Highness, and I will happily take your reply Yay or Nay with me. But if ye need more time to arrange your schedule, know that that invitation has all the information on where best to send your reply, and when we should receive it by if we are to provide you with accommodations befitting a worthy of your Royal personage."
The Elder Princess seemed to study the owl familiar for... Something. And while before her expression was neutral but with some sign of amusement, now she was completely unreadable.
"I see..." She seemed to whisper more than say, as though lost for a moment, "Very well. An answer shall be given unto you afore you depart. Please, enjoy what St. Mathews has to offer. Ask any of Our subjects about lodgings and food, and thou shalt be tended to..."
Hedwig bowed once again in respect, and without another word returned to her avian form and flew out of the palace. After a pregnant pause the next group was announced.
"Representing Japan, Masamune-no-Tokunotakai!"
------
Hedwig soared over the island, scanning the place to take stock of it from the air. If she were honest, she was not impressed. The island had no sign of game for her to hunt, so she had an instinctive dislike for it and its mistress. True, the place was recovering from a devastating occupation and war, and her wizard made sure she was aware of that and what it meant… But Hedwig was a predator by birth. Judging a land by the quality of its game came naturally to her.
Down below, the owl did notice something curious. Harry-Wizard's distant relatives from the continent, Colombe, Ehren, and Claire were escorting a human girl and an Abyssal of some description, and were clustering in and around a shed or cage of some sort. Curious, she circled down to alight on a ledge. And long before she landed she regretted it, given the chatter coming from the cage.
"FREN!FREN!FREN!FREN!FREN!FREN!FREN!FREN!FREN!FREN!FREN!FREN!FREN!"
Songbirds. Worst of all stupid songbirds, with no thoughts in their colorful brains save food. Still, Claire and the two girls seemed to enjoy them, each holding onto at least one and cooing as if they were their own chicks, with the Abyssal and the Piano happily playing perch, letting many of the songbirds climb them like tree stumps. Hedwig resisted a groan of annoyance when one of the little fools spotted her.
"NU FREN! HENLO FREN! BRING FUUD NU FREN?"
"HENLO FREN! HENLO FREN! HENLO FREN! HENLO FREN!"
Hedwig scooted further away from the score or so of stupid beasties on her perch. The little flock rushed under her, and jumped over and over again, shrieking in their insipid voices.
"Oh wow! An owl? What is an owl doing all the way out here?"
The one purely human girl, with one of the dumb birds in her hands, gawked at Hedwig, and drew everyone else's attention.
"Well this is a welcome surprise," Colombe greeted, "Hello Hedwig, you are a long way off from Hogwarts."
"Hmm, well, I am on official business on behalf of Harry-wizard," she answered distractedly, trying to break line of sight with the stupid songbirds. Thankfully they seemed flightless.
"It talks?!" the human girl boggled. Ah, a nomaj girl then.
"Yes, she can talk, and her name is Hedwig, and would like to be spoken of as such," Hedwig said.
"Uh-! I-! I'm sorry?" the poor girl sputtered, "I am Elisabeth."
"And a good morning to you, Elisabeth-human. I see you are interested in those birds."
The princess smiled and held up one of the technicolored males, cupped in her hands and chattering away.
"Oh yes! Aren't they just beautiful! And their songs are so beautiful, I haven't heard the like before!"
"HENLO FREN! FUUD PLZ! CAN I HAZ FUUD?"
"Indeed. I suppose it would sound like that to human ears."
------
Viaye, Shipgirl of HMY Victoria and Albert, stepped through the green flames and into the Floo Hub. And at once she was stunned by the humid heat of the tropical island, so categorically different from the early summer air of fair England. Pursing her lips in disapproval, she none the less stepped out of the floo to make room for the next person, the envoy from Her Majesty's government, and one Remus Lupin and his Auror friend.
"Bloody Hell it's hot," the mundane diplomat complained, instantly reaching for his handkerchief to wipe down his brow, same as Remus. The Auror, 'Tonks' she insisted on calling herself, scoffed
"Well, I can promise it's not as bad as Burma, or Singapore. It was hotter and more humid I promise."
"What in the world were you doing there Tonks?" Mister Lupin asked, collecting his luggage as well as the Auror's, ever the gentleman to Viaye's approval.
"Someone was trafficking rare beasts and illegally sourced parts of beasts to China a few years ago. And I was volunteered to be part of the team to take them out."
"Ghastly business that," the yachtgirl replied as she pulled out the map she was given with directions to their quarters, "now then. If that is all of us, we must be off to get settled in if we are to make ourselves presentable to Her Highness in time and- and… Aquitania what are you doing here? You were explicitly banned from this embassy."
Sure enough, the longest serving Ocean Liner's Shipgirl was exiting the floo behind them, blinking in surprise. But she smiled nonetheless.
"Oh, but I am not your ladyship! I am but a humble tourist, come to enjoy the festivities! Take in the local culture, try their fine food and drink, and celebrate this momentous occasion with the new monarchy's subjects!"
Viaye narrowed her eyes and glared at the larger Shipgirl in Royal Disapproval. Still, if she wasn't going to associate herself with their party, there wasn't anything to be done now that she was here. Not without causing a scene and risk a scandal at least.
"Please see that you are on your best behavior young lady. It would do your sainted mother a grave injury to her heart if she learned her daughter bore her womanly flesh to the public. Again."
Aquitania had the decency to blush at the pointed reminder of why she was not officially representing Britain.
"Yes my lady, of course."
"Ahh!!! Aquitania! La Nave Bella! Che giorno felice è questo per me amore mia!"
Viaye gave no outward expression as the Italian Line's flagship hugged Aquitania and kissed her cheeks.
'Bloody Italians…'
"I do hope you enjoy yourself Aquitania, we must get settled in. Perhaps once the ceremony is complete we can have tea."
------
"You look… Unusually pleased."
Des Moines turned to Leviathan, a confused expression on her face.
"What do you mean?"
The Ocean Liner had an eyebrow cocked as she looked at the heavy cruiser. She was in her dress uniform (with Old Crone silk reinforcing the seams and securing the buttons, snaps, and fastenings) while Leviathan wore her typical shipgirl dress. Maybe not the most fancy of attire, but she was going to save her good dress for the coronation. As for Des Moines' face…
"It's just… Normally you have this… tension. In your eyes, and the corners of your mouth. Like you're irritated, or just pent up. But you look so relaxed now and… Wait, is that… Are you wearing lipstick? You?"
Des Moines blinked rapidly, and her face seemed to darken.
"I-! So what?! I-! You-! Shut up!"
"Ladies, please, it's our turn," the diplomat of the American party cut in, though his smirk undermined any heat in his rebuke.
"The American Ambassador!"
The crier then named the members of the party as the doors opened for them. Leviathan watched Des Moines from the corner of her eye as they walked down the room. The heavy cruiser seemed to be looking hither and thither and yon as though trying to find someone in the audience. She clearly found them as she stopped looking anywhere but at a point to their right. Following the angle as best as she could, Leviathan soon enough found two reporters. One was a big man, in height as much as in bulk, and the camera in his eye marking him as a photographer… Who was clearly zooming in on Des Moines' huge bust for a snap or two.
To that man's right was a man of more average stature, with a pen and notepad in hand, the reporter paired up with the photographer. And his neatly groomed facial hair and fashion sense rang a few bells… Then the pieces clicked into place, gossip from the Ocean Liner Mail and Tea Society about how stuffy Des Moines had a Not-A-Boyfriend in the MACUSA journalism set. Specifically one that worked at a porn rag of all things, and yet he was apparently the very image of a gentleman reporter, rather than a sketchy pervert of a muckraker like one would expect.
She refrained from smirking as she was officially introduced, as she was taking a step forward to give a curtsy before the Elder Princess, still clad in her infamous… "attire," as well as her advisors. She briefly looked to the Elder Princess' right to see the Ocean Liner Demon, and was stunned for a fraction of a second at the spiritual sight of her, being a twisted variant of the Olympic-Class she was intimately familiar with from her life as a Steel Hull and a frequent dinner at the sisters' restaurant in Halifax. The Abyssal Demon seemed to take a keen interest in her as well. Which Leviathan couldn't blame her for. Leviathan was pretty sure she would be desperate for the company of her fellow liners if she was the only one of their kind in a fleet of warships for years on end. Leviathan stepped back to allow Des Moines her turn to present herself to the Elder Princess, and just as Leviathan predicted, the Ocean Liner Demon lost interest and started subtly watching the crowd again.
Leviathan held her breath as Des Moines bowed, and sent a prayer of thanks to God Almighty when her uniform held up, though she would swear it gave a moan of strain.
------
Ocean Liner Demon focused on the door when the crier announced the German envoy, particularly when she named Imperator among the party.
"Oh sweet Bruce, Lord Pirrie and the Two Thomas'."
Thankfully she had enough presence of mind to not yell that part. But she would not have felt guilty if she had given that the German liner had a very literal bird's nest on her head.
That was not hyperbole. In an admittedly marvelous feat of taxidermy, Imperator's hat sported no less than five swallows and a fabricated nest on it - two adults and presumably their chicks, eager for a feeding.
Oh, and they were all partly guided too.
Demonic was thankful for her helmet, as she was certain that her mouth was open the whole time, just staring at Limperator - er, Imperator - and her absurd hat. Yes stuffed birds on hats was a noteworthy fashion trend a century in the past.
But it was a century in the past for one thing. And for another it wasn't that big of a trend. In fact it inspired some of the first international animal conservation laws specifically to kill the trend.
Demonic frankly lost all notice of the outside world until the German delegation - or was it only Limperator? - left.
"My such an… Interesting fashion sense," Porta whispered.
"Bitch you have no room to talk." Demonic replied distractedly.
------
"Yes, kindly inform the prince that it is clear on our end."
With that, as the sun was setting, Viaye put away her radio, and turned to the terminal in the nearly empty Floo Terminal hub. Her own fairies of past guards had manifested on either side of the terminal His Highness would be exiting from, along with an equal number of solders provided by the Elder Princess' personal aide. She had heard rather unflattering tales of the men, but they had all been the very image of decorum and professional conduct.
Green fire erupted from the Floo, and a number of modern soldiers in Her Majesty's service exited, who immediately scanned the area, and confirmed the status of security. Finally, after what felt like minutes, the fire flared again, and His Highness, Prince Richard, Duke of Gloucester, stepped through the fireplace with an aid with luggage with his necessaries. The older man adjusted the tie of his suit as he nodded to the shipgirl of his Great-Great-Grandmother's final yacht.
"Viaye, I trust all is ready?"
The shipgirl curtsied to the prince.
"Yes Your Highness, I have seen to your quarters, and all is precisely as you require for your stay. Her Highness the Elder Princess has invited you to a private dinner with some of the other diplomats and envoys, once court is adjourned for the day. Would you wish to attend?"
"Yes, that would be most welcome. Now then, if you could take me to meet with my magical counterpart, then we can make for the palace."
------
"Announcing, representing the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, His Royal Highness, Prince Richard, the Duke of Gloucester, and representing the Magical Ministry of the United Kingdoms of England, Scotland, and Ireland, Remus Lupin. Representing the Royal Navy and Royal Merchant Marine, Her Majesty's Yacht Victoria and Albert."
On her throne, Porta had provided the image of courtesy and attentiveness as she sat and greeted each representative presenting themselves to her for the coronation. But few missed how she sat up that much straighter, her eyes shone that much brighter, at the name of the next party. After all, she was known to have admired the British Empire, so among all the parties attending, the representative of the British was naturally her most anticipated guest.
The party walked down the aisle like the dozens of groups before, and paused at the expected point, a respectful distance from the throne. First the Prince stepped forward, and genuflected. He then named himself, along with his titles, and a short greeting and a well wish for the Uncrowned Queen. And in reply the Elder Princess stood, and returned the greeting as warmly as was proper, with a reciprocal wish for his health, and that of his cousin the Queen. That piece of the pageantry concluded the prince stood and back away, allowing the representative for magical Britain to likewise step forward, and genuflect.
"Remus Lupin, Headmaster of St. Francis' School of Lycanthropes, a Master of the Defense Against the Dark Arts… And…" he hesitated, "a werewolf."
The Elder Princess ignored Dom João's gasp - and that of the bulk of the other native St Mathewsan population in attendance, and her Wizarding Advisor's unusually hurried grasping of her shoulder as he leaned down to her ear.
"Your majesty," he said in a whisper that was much harsher than he likely intended, "he cannot be allowed to stay here! Why the British permitted him to come among normal people I can't begin to guess, but the Fang Proclamation of 1718 explicitly forbids Werewolves and Vampires from St. Mathews and the Portuguese Colonial holdings! He is a threat to all here so long as he remains!"
The Elder Princess raised an eyebrow at that, and showed no signs of approval or disapproval on that information before Addressing the man before her.
"We must apologize Headmaster Lupin. There seems to be some debate on certain matters. Demon? Could you kindly provide the gentleman's letters of accreditation and recommendation?"
Without a word the War Demon provided the papers, and the Elder Princess took her time to study them. Accreditation letter listed that the man was indeed a headmaster of a specialty school for those afflicted with lycanthropy, and listed a number of other accomplishments.
A Ravenclaw Scholar's List at Hogwarts for seven years, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, a chief DMLE Advisor for the Werewolf branch, and a former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts.
The letter of recommendation meanwhile was positively glowing in praise from… The Elder Princess smiled with a faint blush on her cheeks.
"Tell me Headmaster, do you know Albus?"
The crowd seemed impressed by this going by the faint wave of whispers coming from those of the wizarding world. Remus, on his part, smiled bashfully.
"Indeed. Albus Dumbledore I am pleased to say has been among my strongest advocates, a mentor, and a dear friend. He was aware of my condition when I first came to Hogwarts as a boy, and he went far above and beyond what the usual man in his position would to see to it that I was accommodated for in order to not only be safe while a student, but thrive. He parttly funded the research into the Wolf's Bane potions that allows me to keep my senses during the full moon, he provided me a place away from the school for me to weather the full moon until I had the potion, and he helped enable those most willing and able to help me not feel so alone in the world in that vital time of my youth. It is because of him that I have met the bravest men and women I have ever known, almost all of whom I count as my closest and dearest friends. Now that I think of it, I believe you should be acquainted with one of them, Sirius Black."
Porta hummed at that, and asked for the Ocean Liner Demon to provide her telephone, and then and there she dialed up her embassy in London, with it set to speaker for the whole of the court to hear. After two rings it was answered.
"Good evening Your Highness, this is Lieutenant Francis speaking."
"Lieutenant, is my Nephew-in-Law present? I have need of his opinion on a gentleman here by the name of Remus Lupin."
"He is currently in the back garden playing with the twins Madam. Please hold while I go fetch him."
For almost two minutes there was silence, until the sound of the receiver being picked up echoed in the room before Sirius' voice was heard.
"Good evening Porta, Sirius speaking. I understand Remus is there?"
"Indeed Nephew. There is some concern amongst my advisors with regards to his nature as a werewolf, could you share your opinion on the subject?"
"Hogwash and codswollop!" Black said heatedly, "Your Majesty I can assure you on my word of Honor, and on my own Magic, that Remus Lupin is the most stalwart friend, most level headed ally, and with out a question the best man any one can be blessed to have the privilege of having in one's acquaintance, let alone hold in friendship! Anyone who says otherwise is a fool if they don't know him, and a villain if they do! As for that Werewolf business, hang it all I say. Let him have his potion for his monthlies and he is right as rain, and if he doesn't… Well, a locked room will do, even if he will be exposing his belly in the morning for having to require it done. Will that do?"
The Elder Princess watched Remus from the corner of her eye the whole time, and smiled at the bashful smile, and watery eyes on his face.
"That will do Sirius. Now, are you and Isley coming for the Coronation?"
"Without question, we just need to make sure the guards understand the ground rules on what is considered proper playtime with the twins before we leave."
Porta had a confused expression at that, especially when someone in the background laughed and said something that sounded like 'are you my mummy?' Still.
"Very good Sirius, We shall see you then. Ta-ta."
With that the call was disconnected and Porta turned to the Dom.
"We think that the man is more than worthy to be present. Unless you have another objection?" She whispered.
Dom de Gama looked between the Elder Princess and the kneeling man before them nervously.
"But… The law clearly states…"
Porta closed her eyes for a moment, and turned to the Liner Demon.
"Demon, when is the Full Moon?"
"We just missed it actually, it was earlier this week."
"Then we have all of 25-ish days before it becomes an issue, doesn't it Dom de Gama?"
"Well… I suppose…"
"He is staying," Porta said quietly to him, "for starters Albus Dumbledore is willing to vouch for him. Next he has responsibilities that he cannot stay here for a month away from for one thing, and for another, from the sound of it the circumstances requiring the creation of that law may have changed with this Wolf's Bane potion. It is going to be investigated, and if necessary that law will be amended to account for these new circumstances, or even repealed."
The old Patrician looked like he was racking his brain for any arguement against her, and when found nothing, he sighed.
"As you command, Your Majesty."
Porta nodded, and turned back to Remus and spoke aloud.
"We welcome you to St. Matthew's Island, Master Lupin."
------
With night came the last of the official presentations to the Elder Princess-cum-Uncrowned Queen, and the Elder Princess had her guests invited to dinner.
Porta entered the dinning room, and to her pleasure all of her guests stood. To the side she noted that the Claire du Chasteler woman was at a piano that she was not familiar with. It was certainly a very nice piano, very much the image of a work of art in form as much as in sound. The Elder Princess turned slightly to the Liner Demon, who leaned in to whisper in her ear.
"I don't know what happened myself. She asked to provide entertainment for tonight's dinner, and for whatever reason looking in her eyes I couldn't deny her. Especially when she was ordering that warship of the Malfoy's like a servant."
"Well, entertainment in a meal is important," the Elder Princess whispered back, "and she was chosen to play during the ceremony anyway, so it would be a waste not to let her play if she wishes."
With that she turned back to the table, and smiled. Among the guests was the Princess of Belgium and her chaperone Colombe du Chasteler, the Masamune sword Tokunotakai for Japan, the Duke of Gloucester Prince Richard, Headmaster Lupin, and others. The Elder Princess looked on the assembled party, all smiles, hands on her hips. And in the background, the pianist played an improvised piece that provided musical white noise without being intrusive or drowning out the speaker.
"Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests, friends old and new. I am most thankful that you were all able to come for my coronation tomorrow. Now, let us not be terribly focused on politics and posturing this evening. I anticipate that there will be plenty of time and need for that in the years to come. So let us treat this evening as a more relaxed affair."
She said, as if she wasn't about to set up this relaxed atmosphere to posture.
"Now, as I do not doubt most of you know, Trade is nearest and dearest to my heart. Politicking is fun, but it is the building of wealth that enriches one's subjects that makes the purpose of government. Any state that forgets this, or worse actively suppresses their subjects ability to work a trade and build their wealth, is a suicidal state in want of a noose.
"Before my blood-lusting subhuman wastes of filth sisters decided to commit suicide by genocidal war, Saint Matthews was the lynchpin through which the net of commerce among Wizardkind flowed. Any goods traveling between the Old World and the New would travel, if not through here, then on a ship that eventually made port here at some point. Exotic hardwoods, furniture, herbs, spices, medicines, fruits, metal ores, finely crafted jewelry, textiles, fabrics, all filled the warehouses along the port just down the hill, and from there to the great ports of the world.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am very happy to pronounce, that we have managed to largely repair the port, and already we are seeing no less than twenty ships per month. Not quite the average of two-hundred a month this island hosted before Blood Week, but given the state of the port beforehand, this is uncommon progress. And already wealth is starting to flow, and with that wealth are goods that the Crown is free to share with guests. And with the dismissal of the Statute of Secrecy, we have the happy timing to showcase what the Mystically Inclined world has to share. Demon? The first course please?"
Without a word Demonic opened a door on the other side of the room, through which a cart being pushed along by a Demon Trooper - …wearing a chef's tunic over his trench coat and a hat on his helmet - who guided it to the table. On it was a fancy tray of polished silver that glimmered in the candle light. And on the tray was a bed of aspec, which glistened like tiny gems, light caught on the multitude of broken edges of the savory gelatin, and on this bed was a number of spheres, coated in white and yellow circles, which shimmered like oil on water.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the Abyssal War Demon announced, "I am pleased to present Ballettes de foie gras à l'impériale à la Merlin, it is fore gras coated in aspic and egg, but what makes it à la Merlin, is its coating of olive oil infused with Mandrake root, as you can see by how it swirls with such a delightful range of colors."
Those that were familiar with wizarding cuisine watched those of Nomaj origins marvel and awe at the little golf ball-sized morsels as they shifted shades and colors, and ate.
"Now, if I may ask, were the geese fed humanely for this foie gras?" Prince Richard asked the Demon. The Demon, meanwhile, seemed confused by the question, going by her body language.
"…They are birds, Your Highness."
"Oh yes… Indeed."
Well, unlike his cousin, the Prince of Wales, Prince Richard did not stake his public image on advocating for the wellbeing of his food, and so let the subject drop. He was definitely tasting the difference between the "humane" goose liver and what he was sampling that evening, and it was the latter that was a superior product.
After that was a soup course, and while the soup wasn't anything magical, it was dispensed from an enchanted kettle where it was poured into the air, and the hot soup flowed out, not onto the table, but in separate streams to each bowl, which got a round of applause from the guests. After that the Uncrowned Queen from her seat at the head of the table announced the next course.
"My word, is this silver?" Des Moines asked.
A fair question, as it was squab, but it seemed to be make out of silver.
"It is coated in a sauce made with Congolese Saffron!" The Elder Princess announced with a gleeful smile, "just like with regular Saffron is used to make foods and dyes look like gold, its African cousin makes things look silver. Though unlike saffron, the coloration obviously takes it to be most on-the-nose. I understand that among the wealthier sort, a common food for sick children is a rice pudding made with this spice, and I must say it does look like one is eating individual grains of silver.
"With Blood Week the fastest routes to Europe have been severed, so once again the only markets that can afford it are the crowned heads of Europe. But I am hoping to help the plantations recover and bring it back to prominence for the common classes."
The Italian Ocean Liner Rex cut the cooked bird with her knife and fork…And sure enough it was in fact a normal bird, not metal. And when she ate it the tasted seemed normal. But after a few chews it started to have a Smokey hint to the flavor, and there was a faintly crackling in her mouth, like she had sampled pop rocks! It was all together delicious and she made a note to ask the Italian Government to secure a trade deal immediately.
Down the table, Angband and Princess Elisabeth giggled at some comment one or the other made about the food.
And so on the dinner party went into the night, and to Her Highness' joy, it was a rousing success.
------
It was past midnight when the Elder Princess and her aide and friend finally returned to her quarters. The Demon occupied herself with ensuring the bath was well stocked for the morning, and that the suite was secure, when she heard an uncharacteristic muttering coming from Porta's bedroom. When the Liner Demon investigated, there was Porta. Stripped nude for the night (unfortunately) as normal… But she was pacing the room like a caged lion, and was talking to a grand total of nobody.
"It could be a trap. Yes… Yes. A very long game of a trap. After all, why would they be interested in me now when they clearly were happy to ignore me for fifty years. Then again Albus speaks highly of the Potter boy… But there is the fact he is a young boy, very trusting so that doesn't mean much more than proof they are cunning. But it would mean plenty of wealth from the Far East, I need that Trans-Afro-Indian link to poach traffic from the Suez if I am going to get the investment I need… You need to think on this logically. You have sisters. And as you know, your sisterhood have been nothing but blood-lusting sociopaths. A snake in the grass is still a snake, even if it lets you pet it… But none of my sisters have ever shown any sign of being nearly this capable of long term scheming… So is this legitimate, or is this just a sign they are even more dangerous?"
"Princess, you're talking to yourself."
"Of COURSE I am talking to myself Demon! I need an expert opinion!"
Porta getting explosive with her temper, let alone with the War Demon, was rare. As was talking to herself out loud. Normally if she was going to debate with herself the pros and cons of something, she would do it in her head.
Ignoring the hostility, Demonic stepped up to the shorter Abyssal, and placed a comforting hand on her back.
"This is about that invitation to that meeting. Isn't it. You don't need to do anything. I think you are in no position to go to this summit of Elder Princesses. You aren't looking at things honestly."
Porta glared at her, her eyes blazing Hellfire Red.
"No. Demon. I am looking at things honestly! And this meeting is going to be the best chance I have to take the stock of these… Other Elder Princesses, without relying on the telephone game to hear about who they are, and what they want. I have to go for the good of the Realm, and the good of the world!"
"I think you should put off replying. Your coronation is tomorrow.You have a lot on your mind. Take a few days, a few weeks. Take time to ease your mind, and judge with a cooler head. You should take your time to get some more research before deciding what their motives are."
Porta all but snarled, and slumped onto her bed, her fingers at her temples, her elbows on her knees.
"Whatever their motives are, Demon, I know it cannot be from anything capable of being a good person."
"And how can you know that?"
There was a long pause. Porta sighed, and fell back onto the bed with a long, sorrowful sigh, an arm draped over her eyes. What she said was soft, even the Ocean Liner Demon had trouble hearing her…
"Because if they were good people, they wouldn't have left me with them."
"Princess…?" The Demon said, knowing it might be for the last time.
"Demon. Take a letter. I am going. Fit it into the schedule."
- Location
- Here
To be fair, one was mutilated by the most evil of the Elder Princesses, two were driven into hiding, and three likely never even knew you existed. I think they have good excuses for not being supportive in the past...
- Location
- Malaysia
- Pronouns
- He
Well, good luck finding the butterknives.
Now that's commitment.
Lots of big names he used to do business with.
No doubt that was the most dangerous moment of his life, helping Mr Lennon avoid his fangirls.
Yeah, I bet she would be.
Welp, someone is probably going to end up biting more than he can chew.
Sally, your lucky girl.
She needs some pep talk to feel beautiful again.
Girl, you cannot run from this. Just try to endure it with your wits intact.
It's a good thing your sister and 'friend' Le Fantasque aren't here to see your face.
How have you not heard of Gandalf the Technicolor?
It's a date!
No doubt, Porta will be the most photographed queen of the 21st century.
OLD despairs at how many papers will have to censor their frontline pictures of the coronation. And the ones that won't.
Angband will make a friend!
No doubt a lot of people are doing the same.
Hedwig the snarkiest messenger is here!
Yup, the first meeting between sisters since 2005.
No doubt remembering what her now dead sisters were like.
So the avian equivalent of valley girls?
Yes princess. Never met a talking bird before?
Hedwig is going to have to suffer with these songbirds for a while.
Hmm... Nymphadora Tonks, International Woman of Justice.
Oh, she really is beautiful.
So you say.
Yes, she's got a man to impress now!
Well, the boyfriend is a classy gentleman.
Button-chan, gambate!
Is there a story there about the nest for a hat?
She really doesn't.
Does Porta have a crush!?
No feeding the twins sugar before bedtime. No letting them stay up late. And definitely don't take them out to shoot at birds with your guns! Or flamethrowers!
Old man still not over some of his prejudices.
Claire, did you use your piano eyes on OLD? I didn't realize they were that effective.
Expecting humane treatment of animals is a bit too soon for them, princess.
Angband, your mother needs a hug!
Welp, the Potter Manor is going to be an interesting place to be in a few months. Hoppou will not be what you expect though.
Last edited:
Shinr
Lurking since December '98
Porta's whole campaign was partly accelerated by the newspaper article* of Hoppou, Wanko and Supprin siding with Humanity, proving to her that her course of action was feasible.
But now an invitation from them brought forth her deeply-seeded trauma.
* Come to think of it, does anyone outside of the highest of brass and the protagonist circles even know that out of the first three public Abyssal turncoats, one is an Elder and another is a former Elder? Is it possible that Porta might go "Wait, that was you!?".
But now an invitation from them brought forth her deeply-seeded trauma.
* Come to think of it, does anyone outside of the highest of brass and the protagonist circles even know that out of the first three public Abyssal turncoats, one is an Elder and another is a former Elder? Is it possible that Porta might go "Wait, that was you!?".
They are excellent reasons. Whether that is an excuse is a very different question, and may be open to subjection.
Albus. After all, Porta may have a body built for breeding, and may be a manifestation of Man's lust (for gold, land and empire), but she is a woman of intellectual interests. An intelligent man woutbe much more interesting to her as a romantic interest.
But you are correct. This is sadly a dead end for her. Alas. Her first true romance ends before it can even blossom.
...
5346673
Yep, damn lucky bitch.
Well, if any is going to train a young woman into appreciating her own natural charms, you could certainly do worse than an Ocean Liner.
SGO > The Only Way To Cross > Leviathan: "So I have A Project For our Sisterhood"
Absolutely. Especially the second one.
She really hasn't had a need to care about magic stuff, especially European magic stuff, and the SoS just fell, lay off.
Ah Deito!
Only the 21st Century? With how long lives Ship Beings can be?
JokerLaugh.MP3
Yay! Fren get!
Anyone who says otherwise is lying.
Yes, but she knows how to be polite.
Onnnne two Freddy's looking for you...[/CreepyChildSinging]
More like memes from the I Can haz cheeseburger days of the Internet.
"...No, because life isn't like a Disney movie."
Smooth braaiiins. No ridges or lumps, or valleys or bumps... They have amooooth braaiiins.
View: https://youtu.be/7hPm4eiiD08?si=T5iK74AzSv_ZzBkc
I am very pleased she turned out so well.
To the joy of her sister.
SaluteScreenshotMeme.jpg
No. Well, beyond the fact it stems from her figurehead as a steelhull.
It's not the exact context I originally envisioned, but it works.
Indeed.
View: https://youtu.be/MOs4vsthLD0?si=N9XUiVGHZe4Tg_hl
It's Claire, is it really that surprising?
Foie Gras is a liver patê of goose liver, and to prepare it you have to first over feed the goose, even forcing food into it's belly. This method has been ruled as inhumane, so traditional Foie gras is illegal.
Fortunately for foodies, Porta doesn't give a shit about if an animal you are going to kill is treated humanely, only that it is sustainable.
Yeah, Porta didn't realize that WNko and Hoppo were EPs. And now she does.
And she has already been burned by trying the opposite.
Amused Bystander
Herald of 'She who Umu's' Be Brave!
- Location
- Philippines
GHOSTBUSTERS! Love the reference here.
Your guaranteed a very trippy highm
Let's go with the bad news first.
Ah...so that's what was involved.
They always think they'll live forever and avoid that.
Yeah that's off the table of options.
Love: Apply liberally yet in moderation. Consult your Medicine Woman for best treatment options.
Just tone down the lust parts for a start.
Claire would be more then delighted to teach you the ways of music.
Given what the various magical bad guys are up to? A magical terror attack is very likely to happen in one form or another.
The return of our Muramasa Crossbow!
Good on Aoi guiding troubled souls back into the light.
Interviews like that should generate some good PR.
Talk about a lifetime subscriber.
Archivists may want a peek at that.
That's putting it lightly but he's right.
Cue visitors from Hollywood wanting to do his biography either as a movie or a mini series.
Completely justifiable reason to immigrate.
Having such connections is always good.
John Lennon was in his shop? Beatlemaniacs just may flock to him for commissions.
Better to be venting on clay then on another person.
Considering he's an ex con that is indeed ironic and amusing.
Oh look at that. The revolutionary wannabe dumbasses are gonna try and hit Aoi. The idiots don't stand a chance.
Though Aoi better stock up on insurance for the incoming dumpster fire.
That's honestly a good idea on Portas part. Angband gets to socialize more and make a friend and builds up a rapport with a future ruler.
Here's ours favorite owl.
There's the snark covered in diplo speak.
So many boggles were generated that day.
Porta is definitely going to attend.
Hi Toku!
Hedwig just wants her bacon.
So Songbirds are the airheads of the avian world?
Here's a royal boggle!
Hedwig really doesn't like songbirds. 😁
Given Portas fashion involves little to no clothing? Yeah she doesn't have the high ground at all.😂
Lupins here to represent the magical side of Britain.
Porta obviously needs hugs and Unicorn therapy.
It helps that she isn't a warship too.
Harry Leferts
Suave Shadow Cabal Kaiju
You know... I have made mention of the Gympie-gympie plant and how some characters have stated that they want to make use of it on some others... like on Peter. And just so happens, I found a YouTube short explaining it!
View: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/7yuNp5YBY1Q
View: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/7yuNp5YBY1Q
Harry: *starts researching what gloves are thick enough to safely handle the Gympie-gympie plant*
Because you know he'd actually use the stuff. Peter, other Death Eaters...heck, if he learned a spell to conjure the stuff, he could add a very sour note to Voldemort's revival.
Oh my word. Harry casting "accio Gympie-gymplie" onto Voldie's bumhole as his body is reforming, and now he can't even sit without mind boiling pain.
HL, do it you coward.
- Location
- Mountains of Appalachia
A. N. – A birthday party with a whole lot of karma running over PROM's dogma. Poor dogma needs an emergency vetma trip nowma. Prior snip in this arc's here. PROM ARE BAD PEOPLE, SO PLEASE BE CAREFUL WITH THE ITG, GUYS
Post Statute Springtimes Are 'Interesting Times' (Finale)
Aoi's Asian Antiquities and Art, Little Tokyo, East Village, Lower Manhattan, New York City
Friday Afternoon, May 1st, 2015
"That's fucking lucky!" Olivia declared as she parked the car that Sean had picked up secondhand from a dealer in the Bronx that she knew in an open parking spot one door down from their target. "So, we go in, pop him, then bail out to the parking lot by the subway, and leave the keys in the ignition and the windows down after spiking the gas tank with the magic boom juice. Then we drink the potion that nullifies our disguise and head home on the tube. Right?"
Sean patted the silenced Glock pistol that had been modified for fully automatic fire under his windbreaker. "Right on! Time for some payback."
Meanwhile, inside his shop, Aoi was in a familiar position, bouncing a pair of babies – his grandnieces Alia and Louise – on his knee while keeping a close eye on the young son of one of his apprentices who was exploring his shop, all the while silently praying that the concentration of family members in his immediate vicinity did not lead to yet another poor, innocent, dumpster suffering spontaneous ignition during his birthday party.
Of course, he'd managed to hide his actual birthday from his apprentices for over a century, until his much younger siblings had somehow sussed it out and spilled the beans. So now he had to endure ribbons, and balloons, and noisemakers, and the smirks and grins of his family as he suffered in noble silence. And he was certain that if he told himself that often enough he might even believe it himself.
All this while sitting in the 'place of honor' in front of a large shoji screen that one of his apprentices had made to commemorate his 525th birthday, or at least the 525th anniversary of his madman of a creator putting the final finishing touch on him and handing him over to his first Master.
Meanwhile, Mika grinned as she unloaded the last of the tempura platter of Japanese delicacies that she'd ordered from Tempura Matsui so her great-uncle could get a taste of home. She glanced over at her stepmother as Zamarad walked over to her "What's up?"
Zamarad sighed as she rocked the baby in her arms. "Aisha made a mess again and had to be changed, so can you run out to the car and grab more diapers since I just used the last one? It won't be long before another one of my little flames piddles herself"
"Sure thing, Zammy!" Mika declared as she jogged for the door to the sales counter in the front.
As Mika reached the front of the shop, the bell over the door rang as a man and woman entered. Mika raised an eyebrow as she spoke. "Sorry, shop's closed. Come back tomorrow."
Then the eyebrow raised further and she got a distinctly unimpressed look as the couple pulled silenced Glocks on her. "Look, my baby sisters are back there and I don't want to scare them. Turn around, go rob someone else, and we be cool. If not, you have no idea how fucked you'll be, ayuh?"
Sean stepped forward and waved his pistol at Mika. "Shut the fuck up, Pocahontas! Where's the Old Man with the fucking crossbow?"
Mika shook her head while radioing Alondra to drop what she was doing and cover the door to the workshop where the party was going on ASAP. "Ayuh, don't say I didn't warn you chucklefucks. Do me a favor and put away the gun before you shoot yourself with it."
With that, she slowly, inexorably, strode past them to the front door with a calm look on her face. She locked the door and pulled out her tomahawk at the boggling pair of robbers who were clearly wondering why she wasn't following the script. "Axe. Trumps. Pistol. Are you going to stand around here or are we going to fight?"
Sean leveled the pistol and dumped the entire extended magazine of 9mm bullets into the amazonian American Indian woman.
It had no visible effect.
The muffled sound of gunfire and bellow of 'Bullshit Hax!' penetrated into the workshop, however.
Carlos scooped his son up and ducked behind a kiln, several of the other apprentices took up various tools, while Aoi, with a deceptive calm, bowed his head as he realized that the dumpster had indeed ignited somehow. He rose to his feet, looking over as the more martially inclined members of his messed up and overly violent family charged towards the workshop door with obvious fell intent to join Alondra David in her position there. Aoi instead sighed and shook his head, holding the two babies to his shoulder with practiced ease and calmly putting the large metal furnace between himself and the door.
His blonde grandniece, Ehren, followed suit with the other two babies, gently attempting to soothe their fussing. She gave him a look as she reached cover and smirked as the shouting and shooting picked up volume. "I'll let them have their fun today, Großonkel."
"I see there is at least one sensible member of the family," he commented wryly as he took a seat, then started humming a tuneless lullaby as he gently rocked the twins while the gunfire from the front was joined by more irate yelling and then a scream.
"Not really. I just hide it better." Ehren replied as a young man with a clearly crushed hand was thrown through the suddenly flung open door shoulder first to land with a thud at Delilah and Zamarad's feet. "Bad day for armed robbery, I see." Ehren kibitzed over Sean's cries of agony as he landed on his newly broken and dislocated shoulder
"And of course she didn't think to simply carry him back here," Aoi shook his head, toting up the cost of a new door in his head as it was obvious that the door had suffered lethal damage in failing to resist the flight of the idiot. He shook his head at a fresh outbreak of gunfire from the front of the shop. "Kids these days…."
"Battleships don't do subtle." Ehren commented snarkily as she persuaded Emily to suck on one of her fingers to quiet her fussing. "I, on the other hand, do subtlety extremely well. Remind me to learn that spell Tante Del just used to Conjure handcuffs for these fools."
Aoi chuckled slightly, then rose, depositing the babies in the beautiful bamboo and sasaki wood playpen (complete with fireproofing charms) that Ehren had commissioned as a gift to his adorable quadruplet grandnieces and idiot nieces, before reluctantly joining the rest of the family.
Sean glared at the old Japanese man giving him a sadly pitying look and screamed at him. "Fuck you for shooting me with your hax, William Fucking Tell! When my family hears about this you're dead, you hear me, dead!"
Olivia's unconscious and battered body hitting the floor next to him punctuated the statement's futility.
Delilah looked up from where she was now cuffing Olivia. "Have you shot anyone other than the person at the La Guardia attack lately, Aoi?" The revolver spirit asked in a coldly monotone voice.
"Language, young man, there are children present." Aoi replied calmly. "No, and before you ask, prior to that unfortunate situation I haven't shot anybody for over a century, and this young man is far too young, not to mention still breathing, to be that particular skinwalker who thought attacking a Union Pacific train was a good idea."
"Good." Del glanced at Alondra while she stood and hefted her wand. "Considering these folks have been using bombs in a terrorist campaign and we have a lot of people in the blast zone if one's set here with a countdown timer, I'll be scanning his memories for information about PROM's actions. After you read his Miranda Rights – as much as he's already functionally waived them for self-incrimination."
Aoi coughed slightly and fished his cell phone out of his pocket. "A moment." he said, scrolling through his contact list and placing a call. "Ahhh, Your Honor! I'm afraid this is business in your profession. Yes, I know, but better to keep this nice and legal. A young man who appears to have been present at the La Guardia attack decided that today would be a good day to rob my shop. Oh, we're all fine, he's regretting his life choices at the moment. I have a pair of FBI agents who were visiting here… certainly." He held out the phone to Alondra. "Judge O'Malley."
Alondra took the phone and spoke professionally. "FBI Special Agent Alondra David, badge number Charlie Zulu zero seven one, Your Honor. I'm requesting a bench warrant for the search of my arrestee's car and property since he let slip that he's a member of PROM. Yes sir, there's active warrants out for the La Guardia attack and the follow-on bombings from both us and the ATF plus NYPD for state and local charges. Case number A-1173-2015-37R I believe. Can your clerk fax the paperwork to the Ninth Precinct station and CC to the regional FBI office down in the federal plaza? We have some reason to believe that there may, I stress the word may, be a bomb placed near where we are right now so this is rather time critical. Yes, Your Honor, a bomb aimed at civilians fits their modus operandi."
"Yes, yes, I swear that my affidavit is correct in all particulars and I'll head to the courthouse to formally sign the statement as soon as I can. Thank you, Your Honor and I'll see you there." Alondra flicked a thumb at Sean. "He's legally yours, Del. I'll get the bomb squad whistled up for when you ID the bomb's locations."
Delilah waved her wand at the now pale-faced terrorist after Alondra read him his Miranda rights. "Legilimens!"
After her magical scan of Sean's memories concluded, Delilah smirked smugly. "No live bomb yet but there's Exploding Fluid in their car, red Honda Civic parked down the street one door to the right, however. These two are ringleaders of PROM, and I now know where the others in their cell plan to be tomorrow for a planning meeting. Zammy, can you be a dear and destiny twist him and his girl to stand trial in an honest and fair court and carry out any sentence that the judge and jury agree upon. We've finally got a break on this group of magical terrorists to take down for good."
Then, the Butterrevolver sighed. "I'll have to return to DC soon and return to administration duties to help integrate the Aurors into the FBI, but I can at least temporarily deputize you to act in my place so as to deal with any magical surprises in their HQ, Father. No reason to not let you have a little fun when the bust happens."
Knox Hall, Columbia University, Morningside Heights, West Side, Upper Manhattan
Saturday Morning, May 2nd 2015
"I thought Sean was supposed to be here by now." Professor Jacobs commented to the student who had locked the door behind him for his 'faculty consulting' session.
"I haven't seen him since he bailed out with Olivia last night to hang out with her, Prof. Betcha he's still sleeping with her and forgot our scheduled meeting. Whatta you have for me?" Reuben said as he sat down in the office of his faculty advisor.
"Well, I guess that you can tell him later on when you track him down. My friends are very pleased with your efforts to lead the revolution and are sending more magical supplies, both the potions for disguising yourself and the Exploding Fluid. They wonder if you can maybe scope out the Naval Base here for the next target. Hit the imperialist warmongers where it hurts."
Reuben frowned as he spoke. "That'll be tricky to do, Prof. Do you have any tips for us to make bacon out of the pigs?"
Jacobs was opening his mouth to respond when a size twelve boot splintered the locked door, sending it slamming open while a tall Japanese woman barely broke stride as she entered, a massive sword held almost casually over one shoulder, followed by a half-dozen NYPD policemen. "What's up, bitches! I'm supposed to help arrest your sorry asses, but please, I beg you, try to resist."
Jacobs turned toward the window in an attempt to jump out of it, only to see it catch fire to block his escape. The red-haired Arab woman who had suddenly manifested in a puff of flame emitted from the incense burner on his desk smirked as he shrank back from the heat of the blaze. "Yes, try to resist." She gave the incense burner a commanding look and it snuffed itself. "Interesting little toy, I wonder where you got it. Not that its magical concealment works compared to a Child of Fire's command of her element."
Jacobs shouted out as he was handcuffed and frisked. "I won't tell you pigs nothing! I demand a lawyer to sue you for police brutality and false arrest!"
Zamarad smiled serenely and snapped her fingers to extinguish the burning window while the policemen with them frog-marched the now-arrested and destiny-twisted remainder of PROM's leadership to the waiting paddy wagon. "You'll get your lawyer and a fair trial as well. Just don't plan on teaching class this time next week, or next decade."
Post Statute Springtimes Are 'Interesting Times' (Finale)
Aoi's Asian Antiquities and Art, Little Tokyo, East Village, Lower Manhattan, New York City
Friday Afternoon, May 1st, 2015
"That's fucking lucky!" Olivia declared as she parked the car that Sean had picked up secondhand from a dealer in the Bronx that she knew in an open parking spot one door down from their target. "So, we go in, pop him, then bail out to the parking lot by the subway, and leave the keys in the ignition and the windows down after spiking the gas tank with the magic boom juice. Then we drink the potion that nullifies our disguise and head home on the tube. Right?"
Sean patted the silenced Glock pistol that had been modified for fully automatic fire under his windbreaker. "Right on! Time for some payback."
Meanwhile, inside his shop, Aoi was in a familiar position, bouncing a pair of babies – his grandnieces Alia and Louise – on his knee while keeping a close eye on the young son of one of his apprentices who was exploring his shop, all the while silently praying that the concentration of family members in his immediate vicinity did not lead to yet another poor, innocent, dumpster suffering spontaneous ignition during his birthday party.
Of course, he'd managed to hide his actual birthday from his apprentices for over a century, until his much younger siblings had somehow sussed it out and spilled the beans. So now he had to endure ribbons, and balloons, and noisemakers, and the smirks and grins of his family as he suffered in noble silence. And he was certain that if he told himself that often enough he might even believe it himself.
All this while sitting in the 'place of honor' in front of a large shoji screen that one of his apprentices had made to commemorate his 525th birthday, or at least the 525th anniversary of his madman of a creator putting the final finishing touch on him and handing him over to his first Master.
Meanwhile, Mika grinned as she unloaded the last of the tempura platter of Japanese delicacies that she'd ordered from Tempura Matsui so her great-uncle could get a taste of home. She glanced over at her stepmother as Zamarad walked over to her "What's up?"
Zamarad sighed as she rocked the baby in her arms. "Aisha made a mess again and had to be changed, so can you run out to the car and grab more diapers since I just used the last one? It won't be long before another one of my little flames piddles herself"
"Sure thing, Zammy!" Mika declared as she jogged for the door to the sales counter in the front.
As Mika reached the front of the shop, the bell over the door rang as a man and woman entered. Mika raised an eyebrow as she spoke. "Sorry, shop's closed. Come back tomorrow."
Then the eyebrow raised further and she got a distinctly unimpressed look as the couple pulled silenced Glocks on her. "Look, my baby sisters are back there and I don't want to scare them. Turn around, go rob someone else, and we be cool. If not, you have no idea how fucked you'll be, ayuh?"
Sean stepped forward and waved his pistol at Mika. "Shut the fuck up, Pocahontas! Where's the Old Man with the fucking crossbow?"
Mika shook her head while radioing Alondra to drop what she was doing and cover the door to the workshop where the party was going on ASAP. "Ayuh, don't say I didn't warn you chucklefucks. Do me a favor and put away the gun before you shoot yourself with it."
With that, she slowly, inexorably, strode past them to the front door with a calm look on her face. She locked the door and pulled out her tomahawk at the boggling pair of robbers who were clearly wondering why she wasn't following the script. "Axe. Trumps. Pistol. Are you going to stand around here or are we going to fight?"
Sean leveled the pistol and dumped the entire extended magazine of 9mm bullets into the amazonian American Indian woman.
It had no visible effect.
The muffled sound of gunfire and bellow of 'Bullshit Hax!' penetrated into the workshop, however.
Carlos scooped his son up and ducked behind a kiln, several of the other apprentices took up various tools, while Aoi, with a deceptive calm, bowed his head as he realized that the dumpster had indeed ignited somehow. He rose to his feet, looking over as the more martially inclined members of his messed up and overly violent family charged towards the workshop door with obvious fell intent to join Alondra David in her position there. Aoi instead sighed and shook his head, holding the two babies to his shoulder with practiced ease and calmly putting the large metal furnace between himself and the door.
His blonde grandniece, Ehren, followed suit with the other two babies, gently attempting to soothe their fussing. She gave him a look as she reached cover and smirked as the shouting and shooting picked up volume. "I'll let them have their fun today, Großonkel."
"I see there is at least one sensible member of the family," he commented wryly as he took a seat, then started humming a tuneless lullaby as he gently rocked the twins while the gunfire from the front was joined by more irate yelling and then a scream.
"Not really. I just hide it better." Ehren replied as a young man with a clearly crushed hand was thrown through the suddenly flung open door shoulder first to land with a thud at Delilah and Zamarad's feet. "Bad day for armed robbery, I see." Ehren kibitzed over Sean's cries of agony as he landed on his newly broken and dislocated shoulder
"And of course she didn't think to simply carry him back here," Aoi shook his head, toting up the cost of a new door in his head as it was obvious that the door had suffered lethal damage in failing to resist the flight of the idiot. He shook his head at a fresh outbreak of gunfire from the front of the shop. "Kids these days…."
"Battleships don't do subtle." Ehren commented snarkily as she persuaded Emily to suck on one of her fingers to quiet her fussing. "I, on the other hand, do subtlety extremely well. Remind me to learn that spell Tante Del just used to Conjure handcuffs for these fools."
Aoi chuckled slightly, then rose, depositing the babies in the beautiful bamboo and sasaki wood playpen (complete with fireproofing charms) that Ehren had commissioned as a gift to his adorable quadruplet grandnieces and idiot nieces, before reluctantly joining the rest of the family.
Sean glared at the old Japanese man giving him a sadly pitying look and screamed at him. "Fuck you for shooting me with your hax, William Fucking Tell! When my family hears about this you're dead, you hear me, dead!"
Olivia's unconscious and battered body hitting the floor next to him punctuated the statement's futility.
Delilah looked up from where she was now cuffing Olivia. "Have you shot anyone other than the person at the La Guardia attack lately, Aoi?" The revolver spirit asked in a coldly monotone voice.
"Language, young man, there are children present." Aoi replied calmly. "No, and before you ask, prior to that unfortunate situation I haven't shot anybody for over a century, and this young man is far too young, not to mention still breathing, to be that particular skinwalker who thought attacking a Union Pacific train was a good idea."
"Good." Del glanced at Alondra while she stood and hefted her wand. "Considering these folks have been using bombs in a terrorist campaign and we have a lot of people in the blast zone if one's set here with a countdown timer, I'll be scanning his memories for information about PROM's actions. After you read his Miranda Rights – as much as he's already functionally waived them for self-incrimination."
Aoi coughed slightly and fished his cell phone out of his pocket. "A moment." he said, scrolling through his contact list and placing a call. "Ahhh, Your Honor! I'm afraid this is business in your profession. Yes, I know, but better to keep this nice and legal. A young man who appears to have been present at the La Guardia attack decided that today would be a good day to rob my shop. Oh, we're all fine, he's regretting his life choices at the moment. I have a pair of FBI agents who were visiting here… certainly." He held out the phone to Alondra. "Judge O'Malley."
Alondra took the phone and spoke professionally. "FBI Special Agent Alondra David, badge number Charlie Zulu zero seven one, Your Honor. I'm requesting a bench warrant for the search of my arrestee's car and property since he let slip that he's a member of PROM. Yes sir, there's active warrants out for the La Guardia attack and the follow-on bombings from both us and the ATF plus NYPD for state and local charges. Case number A-1173-2015-37R I believe. Can your clerk fax the paperwork to the Ninth Precinct station and CC to the regional FBI office down in the federal plaza? We have some reason to believe that there may, I stress the word may, be a bomb placed near where we are right now so this is rather time critical. Yes, Your Honor, a bomb aimed at civilians fits their modus operandi."
"Yes, yes, I swear that my affidavit is correct in all particulars and I'll head to the courthouse to formally sign the statement as soon as I can. Thank you, Your Honor and I'll see you there." Alondra flicked a thumb at Sean. "He's legally yours, Del. I'll get the bomb squad whistled up for when you ID the bomb's locations."
Delilah waved her wand at the now pale-faced terrorist after Alondra read him his Miranda rights. "Legilimens!"
After her magical scan of Sean's memories concluded, Delilah smirked smugly. "No live bomb yet but there's Exploding Fluid in their car, red Honda Civic parked down the street one door to the right, however. These two are ringleaders of PROM, and I now know where the others in their cell plan to be tomorrow for a planning meeting. Zammy, can you be a dear and destiny twist him and his girl to stand trial in an honest and fair court and carry out any sentence that the judge and jury agree upon. We've finally got a break on this group of magical terrorists to take down for good."
Then, the Butterrevolver sighed. "I'll have to return to DC soon and return to administration duties to help integrate the Aurors into the FBI, but I can at least temporarily deputize you to act in my place so as to deal with any magical surprises in their HQ, Father. No reason to not let you have a little fun when the bust happens."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Knox Hall, Columbia University, Morningside Heights, West Side, Upper Manhattan
Saturday Morning, May 2nd 2015
"I thought Sean was supposed to be here by now." Professor Jacobs commented to the student who had locked the door behind him for his 'faculty consulting' session.
"I haven't seen him since he bailed out with Olivia last night to hang out with her, Prof. Betcha he's still sleeping with her and forgot our scheduled meeting. Whatta you have for me?" Reuben said as he sat down in the office of his faculty advisor.
"Well, I guess that you can tell him later on when you track him down. My friends are very pleased with your efforts to lead the revolution and are sending more magical supplies, both the potions for disguising yourself and the Exploding Fluid. They wonder if you can maybe scope out the Naval Base here for the next target. Hit the imperialist warmongers where it hurts."
Reuben frowned as he spoke. "That'll be tricky to do, Prof. Do you have any tips for us to make bacon out of the pigs?"
Jacobs was opening his mouth to respond when a size twelve boot splintered the locked door, sending it slamming open while a tall Japanese woman barely broke stride as she entered, a massive sword held almost casually over one shoulder, followed by a half-dozen NYPD policemen. "What's up, bitches! I'm supposed to help arrest your sorry asses, but please, I beg you, try to resist."
Jacobs turned toward the window in an attempt to jump out of it, only to see it catch fire to block his escape. The red-haired Arab woman who had suddenly manifested in a puff of flame emitted from the incense burner on his desk smirked as he shrank back from the heat of the blaze. "Yes, try to resist." She gave the incense burner a commanding look and it snuffed itself. "Interesting little toy, I wonder where you got it. Not that its magical concealment works compared to a Child of Fire's command of her element."
Jacobs shouted out as he was handcuffed and frisked. "I won't tell you pigs nothing! I demand a lawyer to sue you for police brutality and false arrest!"
Zamarad smiled serenely and snapped her fingers to extinguish the burning window while the policemen with them frog-marched the now-arrested and destiny-twisted remainder of PROM's leadership to the waiting paddy wagon. "You'll get your lawyer and a fair trial as well. Just don't plan on teaching class this time next week, or next decade."
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sabreFather
Dr Pepper is the flavour that I savour
- Location
- Land of Bears and Loggers AKA Oregon
That's a lot of Good Karma. Something people need to remember is that what goes around comes around. And Karma has one fist of iron, the other of steel. If the right one don't get ya, the left one will. And in this case, double ball shots.
I cannot begin to express how deliciously happy I am to see this. Thanks to IRL domestic terrorists targeting Tesla dealerships, I know that this is normally a 5-20 year prison sentence. Assuming that Wartime security and prior Scourer attacks have not changed anything, these fools won't see the outside world until 2035. I'd say it couldn't happen to a nicer bunch, but that would be a lie.
Harry Leferts
Suave Shadow Cabal Kaiju
Um... considering that there's been actual deaths involved in this case... it is more than a twenty year prison sentence. It is possible that the death penalty is on the table considering their bombings killed people.
- Location
- Mountains of Appalachia
But can Karma load sixteen tons and does it owe its soul to the company store?
But yeah, they got double ball shots. Hardcore.
Well it's a longer sentence than that. Domestic terrorism, possession of bombmaking materials, illegal firearms, conspiracy and like three dozen murder charges between Wall Street and La Guardia.
But hey, they won't get drafted to fight the Abyssals!
QFT for the Kaiju. But hey, the good news is that the FBI can throw a presser saying that they broke the domestic terrorists who were angling for a spot on the 10 most wanted.
Sandy River DL
(Verified Destroyer Leader)
- Location
- Lake Michigan
- Pronouns
- Her/She
My only disappointment is that we didn't get to see the actual revolutionary of the cast, and best Butterdagger (sorry Ehren), expressing what she thinks of their methods.
OnceUponWhatever
Give me my creatives back
Estelle: "Oh please. I handle tripe like you idiots on the weekends when I'm resting from dealing with my actual job. Now you want to discuss some more of your rank stupidity, I have assembled a powerpoint."
Though I can also imagine PROM being the biggest la Paloma fanboys without understanding a thing about her actual mission. That, or thinking that la Paloma is a jingoistic fictional character.
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Yae: "It's a mass outbreak of boggles, Gozaru!"
Zam's terror tots switched the comma for a period...
...stole the space between the period and quotation mark...
Mika: "As Jersey would say, I'mma battleship! Y'all need a much bigger gun to hurt me!"
...and made the capitalization inconsistent.
Heeeeeeeeeeeere's Nori!
I'm afraid PROM has been canceled.