enmuni

̸/̸̅̅ ̆̅ ̅̅ ̅̅𝙴𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽 𝚃⌖ 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴̸/̸̅̅ ̆̅ ̅̅ ̅̅

@JFK And I love the Sunny mention! Already makes the world feel more interconnected. If they only knew the half of it!

̸/̸̅̅ ̆̅ ̅̅ ̅̅𝙴𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽 𝚃⌖ 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴̸/̸̅̅ ̆̅ ̅̅ ̅̅

@JFK If you're okay with using google docs, I'm happy to help you put together the formatting like how I did.

̸/̸̅̅ ̆̅ ̅̅ ̅̅𝙴𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽 𝚃⌖ 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴̸/̸̅̅ ̆̅ ̅̅ ̅̅

Little Miss Fucking Sunshine

Title	☞	When her manager finally decides she isn’t worth the trouble, a disturbed child trafficker must grasp at every straw she finds to try to save herself and stay with her “kids.”
Face	☞
Name	☞	Sunshine “Sunny”, aka Johannes “Jonni” Hautala
Age	☞	27
Sex	☞	Woman(***), *AMAB, **feminine-presenting, ***self-identified “Fairy Prince”
Business	☞	The only honest work Sunny’s ever had was her tour in Viet Nam. Before and since, she’s put in the hours in the only world she’s truly known. She was trafficked as a kid for sex, and while, make no mistake, she still “works for a living” as she’s called to, helps pick up stock as she happens upon it, and even dabbles in thuggery if an extra hand on a gun is what’s needed, most of her work is as the world’s best matron of the world’s worst combination orphanage-brothel. She keeps “her” kids fed, presentable, well-behaved, safe within reason, and ready to do their best for the lovely folks who pay the bills.
Savvy	☞	Not just a talented love-bomber, Sunny also has an underappreciated ability to play bad cop with a smile. She’s no torture artist, but she knows a thing or two about waterboarding a POW into submission. War crimes aren’t the only thing she picked up in Viet Nam, though. She’s no gun nut, but she’s an impressively quick draw, and a respectable shot. She’s got the training for a real man who went to a real war, and even if she’s just a little thing in the end, it still counts for something if push comes to shove. If she ends up in the mud, she has a clue of how to get out. With her experience and admirable stamina from a lifetime of taking a beating from anyone who felt like giving her one, Sunny may be a doll, but she can handle more rough-and-tumble than first may seem.
Ruin	☞	Born the third of four to an unassuming Finnish-American family in Minnesota, Sunny never did fulfill expectations. So the nancy boy became a runaway, and ended up running right into the arms of the Nadolny crime family. With her handlers’ keen interest, her miserably low bars, and then a whole lot of drugs to ease things along, Sunny dove harder and deeper into the life than anyone expected, in search of less than many even consider. All things must change, though, and Sunny thought she could get away and take the life she left behind for a spin. Desperate for any taste of approval from her long-abandoned family, Sunny followed her older brothers to war, recklessly jumping into the unknown with both feet, just as she always had. Sunny learned a valuable lesson during her tour—that even she still had limits. And so, as soon as she was discharged, Sunny came running back with her tail between her legs. No longer a little girl, Sunny had to actually grow up this time. And grownups share their knowledge and their lessons with the next generation. She can’t imagine anything more fulfilling than caring for, nurturing, and teaching the next generation how to squeeze sugar out of lemons. But don’t just take my word for it! “Oh you’re serious, are ya? Yeah no for sure, I got time to chat. Awful sweet of you to ask. Just tell me to hush if you get bored. I dun mind, not at all. So, guess I oughta start at the beginning, yeah? So I was born over in Esko. It’s a little town, bit outside-a Dulut’. Mama and Daddy got married when he came back from the War. They had my older brothers, then me, then my little brother, all that stuff. You know, nothin’ crazy or nothin’. Couldn’t say when the trouble with me started, really. I think I was just born wrong’r somethin’ like that. My older brothers used to beat me up for embarrassin’ them at school, ‘cause I just couldn’t stop “prancin’ around like a gosh darn fool,” they’d say. And then, Mama had locked up her closet by the time, oh, must’ve been when I was maybe five’r six? Anywho, you get the picture, dontcha? I was this little old disappointment back home, and I eventually got the message loud and clear. Shoot, Daddy stopped even spankin’ me about it. He’d say, “Well, what’s it gonna change?” to my Mama, and they’d just sigh and shake their heads. ‘Bout the only time they ever did smile at me was when I was up there in the church choir. I always had a pretty voice, you know. That for sure was the best time, singing in the church choir, wearing those pretty robes, lightin’ the candles, and all of that stuff. I remember hearing Mama and Daddy prayin’ one night, prayin’ I’d grow up and become a pastor. Never did work out for them, sad to say. Instead, when I was, oh—must’ve been nine?—I up and left. I still remember those couple-a days pretty well. That’s when I met my fairy godparents, so to speak. Anywho, that Sunday I’d gotten the idea that I’d steal a cassock. I hid it in my backpack and waited ‘till my brothers had gone out to play, thinkin’ I’d have some time to play dressup by myself. I fooled with it some, cut the collar, put on a belt to make the waist nice, and I tell you, for a nine year old, I think I made a pretty little dress out of it. I was havin’ a nice little time until Mama walked in on me and screamed to high heavens seein’ those pieces of the cassock on the ground and me in my little getup. I dunno what got into me, but I just ran. I slipped past her, kept on runnin’ into the woods, and followed the road into Dulut’. I slept alone, cold, and hungry in a ditch somewhere outside-a Dulut’ that night. The next day, I tried my best to clean myself up, but I was just a little mess, dontcha know. I thought about goin’ back, but what was I gonna do? Tell the pastor I’d stolen and messed up one of his nice cassocks? Face Daddy and my brothers after running around like I was, a little cryin’ mess? Yeah no I wasn’t up for that. But I guess I got lucky that day, because a nice man spotted me, asked if I needed help, and when he asked if I needed help getting home and I told him I couldn’t go home, he invited me to come with him, get me cleaned up, fed, and all that stuff. Mister Machij—he said his name was—was all smiles when he saw me, like he actually liked what he was lookin’ at. Of course, he thought I was a little girl, with the way he talked to me. Boy was he surprised when he got me stripped down to take my bath! I remember, he looked at me, asked me questions, and scratched his chin like I was sayin’ some interestin’ things. But he never got mad. Well, anywho, at some point, he was finished lookin’ me up and down, and just said “Okay then.” Then, while I was gettin’ dry and puttin’ on my towel, I heard him on the phone with someone. I dun remember all of it, but I remember he kept talkin’ about a “pretty boy,” speakin’a me, of course. And I dunno, I was just all smiles and blushes when I heard that! Me! Pretty! And he told the person on the other end of the line, “You’re gonna wanna see this one,” still speakin’ of me. So later that night, I had these two standing around me, arms crossed, nodding like they’d discovered something. I was a discovery! Mister Machij introduced me to his cousin, Missus Orta Nadolny. Really, they just had one big question for me. Did I like feeling pretty? Did I want to feel pretty—and be pretty—all-a the time? Of course I did! I still do! I was so enthusiastic, they made arrangements that night. Missus Orta got me all made up, put me in a pretty little getup, and then we got in Missus Orta’s car, and we drove down to Minnenoona that night. And there, I got to meet the man who made me: Missus Orta’s husband, Mister Juro Nadolny. Now, don’t you get me wrong, as excited as I was at first, the first year was hard. I’ve always been so little, you know, and earnin’ my keep took a whole lot of gettin’ used to, for sure. I still wasn’t supposed to cry, except when a visitor wanted it, and it’s hard not to cry when something hurts. But some of them, boy, they looked at me like they wanted me to be there. They wanted me there, bein’ pretty for them, and some of them would even tell me so. I started gettin’ little gifts sometimes—stuff I actually wanted, too! Y’know, I got in trouble one time for cryin’ and huggin’ a guy who brought me a little necklace! But, I did get spooked by a couple of things, though. There were other boys there; it wasn’t just me. My bunkie was a guy named, oh gee, it’s been so long. Cripes. Eh, his name was…well they called him Cookie, but his name was…Carl! I’m so sorry; it’s been over ten years since I seen him! Hope he’s doin’ okay. Anywho, where was I? Right, so Carl—Carl, he was a couple years older’n me, and he started growin’ up, y’know, as boys do. Golly, I was never so upset in my life than when I asked him why his voice was soundin’ so funny, and he explained that whole business about boys and girls to me. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind men one bit; I just couldn’t wrap my head around becomin’ one. It felt like I was lookin’ at my death when he started showin’ off his whosit to me. So of course, I went and got myself in trouble again. This time, it was for wakin’ Missus Orta up. But I s’ppose I was cryin’ my eyes out so hard that she needed to get the gist of what was goin’ on before she decided who was in trouble. It must’ve took…oh geez…it must’ve took ten minutes at least before she could get a real word outta me. But when I finally got it out, all that business about how I dint wanna grow up and become some awful hairy old man, how I wanted to stay a pretty little boy, how I wanted to be pretty forever, she finally stopped me and asked me, “Do you want to be a pretty boy? Boys have to turn into men.” Boy was that a thinker. I s’ppose I took too long to say something, ‘cause she stood up, put her hands on my shoulders, and asked me different. “How bad do you want to be pretty?” she said. And as for me? It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I was snotty and puffy in my face and she wiped me up, pointed me to the mirror, and told me to tell myself how much I wanted it. What can I say? I’d give the world and somethin’ more to be frozen even longer as a little pretty flower, just like Sleeping Beauty. So you betcha I begged her to let me stay pretty. Oh, I begged and begged. And then when I started gettin’ hysterical about it, she just put her finger on my mouth, and told me if I wanted to be pretty, I’d need to act the part too. If I wanted to be the prettiest little doll in the house, I’d need to act like the prettiest little doll. If I could do it, she could talk with Mister Juro and see about keeping me pretty. I dunno if my eyes have ever gone wider. I had to blink so hard to stop crying when she held my face and told me to keep the smile and hold the tears. She was so right. She said I could keep my little giggle though, within reason! It wasn’t easy, though. Beauty hurts, no doubt about it. Missus Orta was clear about that. We’d already done all that business with plucking eyebrows and waxing peach fuzz off of every bit of me to make me smooth like a little dolly, sometimes even a bit of skin bleach in there to keep me perfect and porcelain. But anywho, we eventually had a talk about what else staying a little-bitty pretty thing involved. Now, I for sure missed getting as many sweets as Carl and the other boys, but as they got bigger and I stayed so little, I had to thank Missus Orta for telling the other boys they could take my desserts and dinners! I wonder sometimes if I could’ve done even better if I was real good and never gave Carl a hand with his whosit so he’d let me have a taste of his sweets. And lucky for me, the hunger pangs also helped distract me from the hard part of the next big step. I just kept on bein’ good, doin’ as I was told, givin’ everybody who walked in whatever they wanted with a big old smile on my face, and soon enough, they got a vet in to fix me for good. While he was givin’ me a look over before the surgery, he told me it wasn’t any different than what he’d do for a cat or a dog, or a little lamb. And cripes, those poor critters! It for sure did hurt like the dickens. But golly, wouldn’t ya know it, but I still dint just have the dumbest little grin even while my eyes teared up. They even took my pictures! I got to keep a copy of them, for keepsakes. Oh! I still have them in my purse! Lookie here! There’s me all prettied up in my little surgical gown. And, eh, ope! I’ll skip these; I dun think you wanna see the bloody part, do you? But then, isn’t that cute? We got one of me kissing the boys goodbye, and another of me thanking the doctor with a little kiss after he stitched me up! Wasn’t I just the cutest little thing back then? Anywho, after that, since we dint wanna risk any infection or make a big old mess cauterizing it, I had to take a little longer of a break than we would’ve liked, and so instead of my normal stuff, Missus Orta put me to work counting money in Mister Juro’s office and other little odd jobs I could do while laying on the couch with a pack of frozen greens. I think that’s when he took a liking to me. He’d give me “homework” while he was out. I learned all sorts of songs to sing for him. He started calling me his pretty little jukebox! And then, by the time I got walking again, I guess Mister Juro really had taken a shine to me, so he kept me working for him during the day even when I went back to doing my normal nighttime stuff. Gosh, I guess it was around then that they had me start calling them Tata and Mamusha, yeah. So then, after that, Mamusha gave me another gift. We call them my pretty pills. There’s some proper fancy names for them, for sure, but, shoot, I can never remember them off the top of my head. Ope! Ah, eh. Geez Louise! I’ve went and gone red in the face, haven't I? Sorry, I’m just blushin’ like a gosh-darn schoolgirl thinkin’ about this part. Excuse me. I, uh, I always forget how it still gets me all giddy when I think about all those days. So I—I guess—Well, you know, I just ended up this hot little mess for years! So, back then, I got bonus pretty pills as treats when I volunteered to put in the extra hours, and boy, were they just a bucket of fun! I was totally freakin’ gone, for sure, but I had a blast. I got to feel all warm and fuzzy inside and full of butterflies whenever I got the extra ones, and all I had to do was be my wonderful self for whoever Mamusha and Tata introduced me to. Golly, it was like the best dream ever. Everyone was so groovy when I had all that stuff in me. I was showerin’ in sunshine, I tell you what! Golly, I never did understand why the others were always fussin’ for extra scratch for themselves when our people were so much happier to just pretty us up extra instead. The only thing that ever did get a bee in my bonnet was when the others were being downers like that. I always told them, if they’d just relax and enjoy being decked out and adored, they couldn’t help but to smile! Shoot, my bonus pretty pills had me feeling so pretty on the inside that nothing even hurt until the next day! What’s not to love? Those were the good years, for sure. I still miss them every day! But it’s my fault, really. I got spooked and did something stupid and spoiled the good days for myself. You see, by the time I was gettin’ to be seventeen, we had to start talking about my future. For sure, I was fine for now, but who could say how long I’d stay in my prime? Once you’re grown, the clock is ticking, and you have to have that conversation about how nothing stays fresh forever, not even you. So for sure, there was a future for me somewhere, but Mamusha and Tata were moving on, hoping to move up on outta the childcare business. They were clear with me; they said nothing lasted forever, they sure did. And, well gosh darn it, but Mister Klimant and I just never have had that same special bond. I mean, dun get me wrong, I did my best for him, gave him a smile, rocked my hips how he told me—all that business. But everyone has their favorites, I guess. And it just broke my little heart knowing my days as the favorite were over. I just got that sinkin’ feelin’ I hadn’t felt since I was just a little thing, you know? And I dunno. I guess I was sobering up for real then, and havin’ a real bad time of it, and I got it in my head that I needed to go home, say I was sorry for causin’ that trouble, and to tell them that I found my place and not to worry about me. Close up all that sad kiddie business before movin’ on up to grown-up stuff, you know? So like the dummy I was, I snuck out a bit after I turned eighteen. I hitchhiked back to Esko, found the family home, and who opens the door but one of my big brothers. He decked me when I went in to hug him, of course. Took less convincing than I thought for the family to believe it was me. Gosh, Daddy jumped out of his chair and swore like I’d never heard before when he saw me. Mama just couldn’t even make eye contact. Daddy told me he had three sons. That I was as good as dead. I begged him, you know, to give me a shot to prove I loved him. And he looked like he’d seen a ghost. He gave me an earful about how his oldest boy was a CO stuck in the jungles, about how his second boy had just gotten drafted, and asked me what the hell kinda man I thought I was. So I told him I’d do my best to do him proud for once, go out on a high note this time. He was so surprised he laughed. Said he’d never in a million years believe a fairy freak like me could even make it through the basic training. And dontcha know, we shook on it. He, eh, washed his hands afterwards, but he had this funny smile on his face like he couldn’t believe a bit of it. That I even felt a little bit bad for makin’ all that trouble and shame for him and everybody. So then, Mama fished out my birth certificate and my documents, and then Daddy brought me to the enlistment office the very next day. My brother was fit to burst when the enlistment officer commented that I was enlisting and he was drafting. For sure, Daddy made it clear that this was “the last shot to straighten me out,” but the boys there thought the entire thing was so hilarious that I don’t imagine he ever heard the end of it from his platoon. Shoot, I dunno how I managed it, but I did. Good golly, it was bad for my everything, but wouldn’t you know it, the only places I fell actual dead last in were the categories-a height, and weight. The couple of guys who did worse than me, boy, it must’ve been awful bad for them. But anywho, as long as we were on U.S. soil, things were rough, for sure, but I like to think I put on a brave face. The hardest part by far was being bare-faced and in those frumpy old uniforms. I could handle the yelling and hurtin’ all over after a hard day, even if the day was hard for different reasons than I was used to. But good golly, sometimes I looked in the mirror and just saw that same sad little boy I’d run away as. It always hurt my heart somethin’ terrible. And I really shouldn’t have run off without my pretty pills, let me tell you what. I had hot flashes like an old lady the whole darn time! Well, eventually, deployment came. And…look. Here’s what I can say. I did my best. I did what I was told. I put on a smile every day, made sure not to cry—did all that same stuff I did back home to make everyone’s day a little better. And, well, I guess somewhere along the way I screwed up and some of the men figured me out. Well, enough so, anyway. I guess that’s when I realized I missed all the attention I used to get something terrible. I gotta hand it to the guys there—they ran a tight ship. Usually it’s tough for groups to keep a secret, but I guess they were so thrilled at not having to slum it in the Saigon brothels and having me right there whenever they felt like it that they kept their best behavior. Shoot, Glenn even got attached enough to treat me like a person. He gave me a real “date” and a gift now and again—something more than just jerking me around and dragging me into some quiet corner to get one out of their system. So, I mean, I guess it wasn’t all entirely unfamiliar. I mean, I won’t lie. It was awful. Everything hurt before the boys got onto me, and then it was everything inside and outside that hurt. But sometimes they’d mumble things while they were doing what they wanted, and maybe some of those words were more them pretending I was something I couldn’t be than anything genuine from their hearts. But sometimes, after a long day of that awful jungle, hearing I was seriously for-realsies good for something, hearing I sounded pretty, any-a that—cripes, sometimes even the less gentlemanly stuff felt like it was keepin’ my heart in one piece some days. So I guess Viet Nam did set me straight, just maybe not in the same sorta way it was probably meant to. I’m no good anywhere else. I know that now. The one time I really tried to do my real blood family proud, I ended up back in the same shoes, but prancin’ around with that name they wanted to keep clean. So I just left them a letter sayin’ I was awful sorry for bein’ a whole bunch-a trouble, and came back to Minnenoona as fast as I could. And gosh, I must’ve spent the next couple of years apologizing to everybody. But for old time’s sake, Mister Juro and Missus Orta did end up askin’ Mister Klimant to give me a second chance. I dunno how many times I’ve kissed them all to thank them. I mean, yeah, I was too old to work as a kid. I still had people who’d been missin’ me, don’t get me wrong, but this just wasn’t my woods anymore. So I had to pull my weight in other ways too. I never imagined I’d have a maternal bone in my body—how could I, right? But wouldn’t you know it, I found myself looking at all those little scared darlings and thinkin’, by golly, I could put some smiles on these little faces. Teach them how to be happy like I was, you know? I just can’t help it! I looked at those blank canvases and I knew I could help get some pretty smiles pasted all around. So that’s what I’ve been doing. We take in poor little rejects and make little angels of them, ready to be plucked out of the sky and loved. We grew up ignored. We grew up despised. But here? We can be the belles of the ball—the centres of attention. We can be adored! We can be desired! And every little darling I can teach to embrace these perfect years is an angel I’ve given wings. Sure yeah, there have been bumps in the road. Mister Klimant says I’m too generous, that I spend too much “gussying up these little whores,” he says. So I have to compromise, really, a whole lot more than I’d like. I can only make real angels out of the very best of my kids. The rest, we just can’t afford to make them as perfect as I know they could be. It’s just plain hard times these days, you know? It hurts my heart to say, but we’ve had to cut back on who we can take in and how much we can do. Sometimes I just can’t help but to open my own purse and my boudoir when I catch a promising find. And you know, sometimes we pick wrong—we do; nobody’s perfect. I’ve had my share of tough little cookies. And when they won’t budge, what can you do? Sometimes you’ve just gotta break them down to build them back up. I’d rather not do it, for sure, but sometimes a wet rag is what you need to melt that hard shell they’ve made around their poor little hearts. I want this thing we’re doing to be growing. I want to make as many angels out of raggamuffins as I can. I’m sure we can do it. We just need to try harder.”
Cred	☞	“Say what you will, but that thing’s been raising some damn good whores.” “It’s the blind leading the blind over there. The little sluts want silk dresses? In this economy?” “There’s a whole lot of things about that Sunny that’re hard to believe. It’s hard to believe someone who looks like that is a dude, and it’s hard to believe a chick that acts like a disney princess runs a fucking chomo ring.” “Something ain’t right in that head of hers. I’ll bet they fried her back in the sixties and we’re just now seeing it.” “No, seriously. She was in the military.” “You gotta wonder how an airhead like that keeps that operation running.” “Fuck, I thought she was one of the kids!” “I don’t care what the brats want. Tell that stupid blonde not to waste the good perfume on them unless the clients ask for it.” “Seeing her with those kids, it’s like seeing fuckin’ Mary Poppins run a goddamned child brothel.”
Ilk	☞	I STILL LOVE THE LIFE Death by a thousand cuts. Gambling debts, drug habits, a need to impress, or plain-and-simple expensive tastes—something, or a combination of things, puts a continual drain on your resources, ever threatening your precious high-roller lifestyle. You don't simply want the plan to succeed; it has to, or you can kiss the fast cars the slim girls the fat diamond rings goodbye (those and whatever else matters). This addiction will noseblind you to risks the others can smell from three miles off. And where they've hedged and folded and tactically retreated, you'll always—always—gather up your dice to triple down.

𝑅𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑆𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 (1970s Crime Drama)

Little Miss Fucking Sunshine

Title	☞	When her manager finally decides she isn’t worth the trouble, a disturbed child trafficker must grasp at every straw she finds to try to save herself and stay with her “kids.”
Face	☞
Name	☞	Sunshine “Sunny”, aka Johannes “Jonni” Hautala
Age	☞	27
Sex	☞	Woman(***), *AMAB, **feminine-presenting, ***self-identified “Fairy Prince”
Business	☞	The only honest work Sunny’s ever had was her tour in Viet Nam. Before and since, she’s put in the hours in the only world she’s truly known. She was trafficked as a kid for sex, and while, make no mistake, she still “works for a living” as she’s called to, helps pick up stock as she happens upon it, and even dabbles in thuggery if an extra hand on a gun is what’s needed, most of her work is as the world’s best matron of the world’s worst combination orphanage-brothel. She keeps “her” kids fed, presentable, well-behaved, safe within reason, and ready to do their best for the lovely folks who pay the bills.
Savvy	☞	Not just a talented love-bomber, Sunny also has an underappreciated ability to play bad cop with a smile. She’s no torture artist, but she knows a thing or two about waterboarding a POW into submission. War crimes aren’t the only thing she picked up in Viet Nam, though. She’s no gun nut, but she’s an impressively quick draw, and a respectable shot. She’s got the training for a real man who went to a real war, and even if she’s just a little thing in the end, it still counts for something if push comes to shove. If she ends up in the mud, she has a clue of how to get out. With her experience and admirable stamina from a lifetime of taking a beating from anyone who felt like giving her one, Sunny may be a doll, but she can handle more rough-and-tumble than first may seem.
Ruin	☞	Born the third of four to an unassuming Finnish-American family in Minnesota, Sunny never did fulfill expectations. So the nancy boy became a runaway, and ended up running right into the arms of the Nadolny crime family. With her handlers’ keen interest, her miserably low bars, and then a whole lot of drugs to ease things along, Sunny dove harder and deeper into the life than anyone expected, in search of less than many even consider. All things must change, though, and Sunny thought she could get away and take the life she left behind for a spin. Desperate for any taste of approval from her long-abandoned family, Sunny followed her older brothers to war, recklessly jumping into the unknown with both feet, just as she always had. Sunny learned a valuable lesson during her tour—that even she still had limits. And so, as soon as she was discharged, Sunny came running back with her tail between her legs. No longer a little girl, Sunny had to actually grow up this time. And grownups share their knowledge and their lessons with the next generation. She can’t imagine anything more fulfilling than caring for, nurturing, and teaching the next generation how to squeeze sugar out of lemons. But don’t just take my word for it! “Oh you’re serious, are ya? Yeah no for sure, I got time to chat. Awful sweet of you to ask. Just tell me to hush if you get bored. I dun mind, not at all. So, guess I oughta start at the beginning, yeah? So I was born over in Esko. It’s a little town, bit outside-a Dulut’. Mama and Daddy got married when he came back from the War. They had my older brothers, then me, then my little brother, all that stuff. You know, nothin’ crazy or nothin’. Couldn’t say when the trouble with me started, really. I think I was just born wrong’r somethin’ like that. My older brothers used to beat me up for embarrassin’ them at school, ‘cause I just couldn’t stop “prancin’ around like a gosh darn fool,” they’d say. And then, Mama had locked up her closet by the time, oh, must’ve been when I was maybe five’r six? Anywho, you get the picture, dontcha? I was this little old disappointment back home, and I eventually got the message loud and clear. Shoot, Daddy stopped even spankin’ me about it. He’d say, “Well, what’s it gonna change?” to my Mama, and they’d just sigh and shake their heads. ‘Bout the only time they ever did smile at me was when I was up there in the church choir. I always had a pretty voice, you know. That for sure was the best time, singing in the church choir, wearing those pretty robes, lightin’ the candles, and all of that stuff. I remember hearing Mama and Daddy prayin’ one night, prayin’ I’d grow up and become a pastor. Never did work out for them, sad to say. Instead, when I was, oh—must’ve been nine?—I up and left. I still remember those couple-a days pretty well. That’s when I met my fairy godparents, so to speak. Anywho, that Sunday I’d gotten the idea that I’d steal a cassock. I hid it in my backpack and waited ‘till my brothers had gone out to play, thinkin’ I’d have some time to play dressup by myself. I fooled with it some, cut the collar, put on a belt to make the waist nice, and I tell you, for a nine year old, I think I made a pretty little dress out of it. I was havin’ a nice little time until Mama walked in on me and screamed to high heavens seein’ those pieces of the cassock on the ground and me in my little getup. I dunno what got into me, but I just ran. I slipped past her, kept on runnin’ into the woods, and followed the road into Dulut’. I slept alone, cold, and hungry in a ditch somewhere outside-a Dulut’ that night. The next day, I tried my best to clean myself up, but I was just a little mess, dontcha know. I thought about goin’ back, but what was I gonna do? Tell the pastor I’d stolen and messed up one of his nice cassocks? Face Daddy and my brothers after running around like I was, a little cryin’ mess? Yeah no I wasn’t up for that. But I guess I got lucky that day, because a nice man spotted me, asked if I needed help, and when he asked if I needed help getting home and I told him I couldn’t go home, he invited me to come with him, get me cleaned up, fed, and all that stuff. Mister Machij—he said his name was—was all smiles when he saw me, like he actually liked what he was lookin’ at. Of course, he thought I was a little girl, with the way he talked to me. Boy was he surprised when he got me stripped down to take my bath! I remember, he looked at me, asked me questions, and scratched his chin like I was sayin’ some interestin’ things. But he never got mad. Well, anywho, at some point, he was finished lookin’ me up and down, and just said “Okay then.” Then, while I was gettin’ dry and puttin’ on my towel, I heard him on the phone with someone. I dun remember all of it, but I remember he kept talkin’ about a “pretty boy,” speakin’a me, of course. And I dunno, I was just all smiles and blushes when I heard that! Me! Pretty! And he told the person on the other end of the line, “You’re gonna wanna see this one,” still speakin’ of me. So later that night, I had these two standing around me, arms crossed, nodding like they’d discovered something. I was a discovery! Mister Machij introduced me to his cousin, Missus Orta Nadolny. Really, they just had one big question for me. Did I like feeling pretty? Did I want to feel pretty—and be pretty—all-a the time? Of course I did! I still do! I was so enthusiastic, they made arrangements that night. Missus Orta got me all made up, put me in a pretty little getup, and then we got in Missus Orta’s car, and we drove down to Minninoona that night. And there, I got to meet the man who made me: Missus Orta’s husband, Mister Juro Nadolny. Now, don’t you get me wrong, as excited as I was at first, the first year was hard. I’ve always been so little, you know, and earnin’ my keep took a whole lot of gettin’ used to, for sure. I still wasn’t supposed to cry, except when a visitor wanted it, and it’s hard not to cry when something hurts. But some of them, boy, they looked at me like they wanted me to be there. They wanted me there, bein’ pretty for them, and some of them would even tell me so. I started gettin’ little gifts sometimes—stuff I actually wanted, too! Y’know, I got in trouble one time for cryin’ and huggin’ a guy who brought me a little necklace! But, I did get spooked by a couple of things, though. There were other boys there; it wasn’t just me. My bunkie was a guy named, oh gee, it’s been so long. Cripes. Eh, his name was…well they called him Cookie, but his name was…Carl! I’m so sorry; it’s been over ten years since I seen him! Hope he’s doin’ okay. Anywho, where was I? Right, so Carl—Carl, he was a couple years older’n me, and he started growin’ up, y’know, as boys do. Golly, I was never so upset in my life than when I asked him why his voice was soundin’ so funny, and he explained that whole business about boys and girls to me. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind men one bit; I just couldn’t wrap my head around becomin’ one. It felt like I was lookin’ at my death when he started showin’ off his whosit to me. So of course, I went and got myself in trouble again. This time, it was for wakin’ Missus Orta up. But I s’ppose I was cryin’ my eyes out so hard that she needed to get the gist of what was goin’ on before she decided who was in trouble. It must’ve took…oh geez…it must’ve took ten minutes at least before she could get a real word outta me. But when I finally got it out, all that business about how I dint wanna grow up and become some awful hairy old man, how I wanted to stay a pretty little boy, how I wanted to be pretty forever, she finally stopped me and asked me, “Do you want to be a pretty boy? Boys have to turn into men.” Boy was that a thinker. I s’ppose I took too long to say something, ‘cause she stood up, put her hands on my shoulders, and asked me different. “How bad do you want to be pretty?” she said. And as for me? It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I was snotty and puffy in my face and she wiped me up, pointed me to the mirror, and told me to tell myself how much I wanted it. What can I say? I’d give the world and somethin’ more to be frozen even longer as a little pretty flower, just like Sleeping Beauty. So you betcha I begged her to let me stay pretty. Oh, I begged and begged. And then when I started gettin’ hysterical about it, she just put her finger on my mouth, and told me if I wanted to be pretty, I’d need to act the part too. If I wanted to be the prettiest little doll in the house, I’d need to act like the prettiest little doll. If I could do it, she could talk with Mister Juro and see about keeping me pretty. I dunno if my eyes have ever gone wider. I had to blink so hard to stop crying when she held my face and told me to keep the smile and hold the tears. She was so right. She said I could keep my little giggle though, within reason! It wasn’t easy, though. Beauty hurts, no doubt about it. Missus Orta was clear about that. We’d already done all that business with plucking eyebrows and waxing peach fuzz off of every bit of me to make me smooth like a little dolly, sometimes even a bit of skin bleach in there to keep me perfect and porcelain. But anywho, we eventually had a talk about what else staying a little-bitty pretty thing involved. Now, I for sure missed getting as many sweets as Carl and the other boys, but as they got bigger and I stayed so little, I had to thank Missus Orta for telling the other boys they could take my desserts and dinners! I wonder sometimes if I could’ve done even better if I was real good and never gave Carl a hand with his whosit so he’d let me have a taste of his sweets. And lucky for me, the hunger pangs also helped distract me from the hard part of the next big step. I just kept on bein’ good, doin’ as I was told, givin’ everybody who walked in whatever they wanted with a big old smile on my face, and soon enough, they got a vet in to fix me for good. While he was givin’ me a look over before the surgery, he told me it wasn’t any different than what he’d do for a cat or a dog, or a little lamb. And cripes, those poor critters! It for sure did hurt like the dickens. But golly, wouldn’t ya know it, but I still dint just have the dumbest little grin even while my eyes teared up. They even took my pictures! I got to keep a copy of them, for keepsakes. Oh! I still have them in my purse! Lookie here! There’s me all prettied up in my little surgical gown. And, eh, ope! I’ll skip these; I dun think you wanna see the bloody part, do you? But then, isn’t that cute? We got one of me kissing the boys goodbye, and another of me thanking the doctor with a little kiss after he stitched me up! Wasn’t I just the cutest little thing back then? Anywho, after that, since we dint wanna risk any infection or make a big old mess cauterizing it, I had to take a little longer of a break than we would’ve liked, and so instead of my normal stuff, Missus Orta put me to work counting money in Mister Juro’s office and other little odd jobs I could do while laying on the couch with a pack of frozen greens. I think that’s when he took a liking to me. He’d give me “homework” while he was out. I learned all sorts of songs to sing for him. He started calling me his pretty little jukebox! And then, by the time I got walking again, I guess Mister Juro really had taken a shine to me, so he kept me working for him during the day even when I went back to doing my normal nighttime stuff. Gosh, I guess it was around then that they had me start calling them Tata and Mamusha, yeah. So then, after that, Mamusha gave me another gift. We call them my pretty pills. There’s some proper fancy names for them, for sure, but, shoot, I can never remember them off the top of my head. Ope! Ah, eh. Geez Louise! I’ve went and gone red in the face, haven't I? Sorry, I’m just blushin’ like a gosh-darn schoolgirl thinkin’ about this part. Excuse me. I, uh, I always forget how it still gets me all giddy when I think about all those days. So I—I guess—Well, you know, I just ended up this hot little mess for years! So, back then, I got bonus pretty pills as treats when I volunteered to put in the extra hours, and boy, were they just a bucket of fun! I was totally freakin’ gone, for sure, but I had a blast. I got to feel all warm and fuzzy inside and full of butterflies whenever I got the extra ones, and all I had to do was be my wonderful self for whoever Mamusha and Tata introduced me to. Golly, it was like the best dream ever. Everyone was so groovy when I had all that stuff in me. I was showerin’ in sunshine, I tell you what! Golly, I never did understand why the others were always fussin’ for extra scratch for themselves when our people were so much happier to just pretty us up extra instead. The only thing that ever did get a bee in my bonnet was when the others were being downers like that. I always told them, if they’d just relax and enjoy being decked out and adored, they couldn’t help but to smile! Shoot, my bonus pretty pills had me feeling so pretty on the inside that nothing even hurt until the next day! What’s not to love? Those were the good years, for sure. I still miss them every day! But it’s my fault, really. I got spooked and did something stupid and spoiled the good days for myself. You see, by the time I was gettin’ to be seventeen, we had to start talking about my future. For sure, I was fine for now, but who could say how long I’d stay in my prime? Once you’re grown, the clock is ticking, and you have to have that conversation about how nothing stays fresh forever, not even you. So for sure, there was a future for me somewhere, but Mamusha and Tata were moving on, hoping to move up on outta the childcare business. They were clear with me; they said nothing lasted forever, they sure did. And, well gosh darn it, but Mister Klimant and I just never have had that same special bond. I mean, dun get me wrong, I did my best for him, gave him a smile, rocked my hips how he told me—all that business. But everyone has their favorites, I guess. And it just broke my little heart knowing my days as the favorite were over. I just got that sinkin’ feelin’ I hadn’t felt since I was just a little thing, you know? And I dunno. I guess I was sobering up for real then, and havin’ a real bad time of it, and I got it in my head that I needed to go home, say I was sorry for causin’ that trouble, and to tell them that I found my place and not to worry about me. Close up all that sad kiddie business before movin’ on up to grown-up stuff, you know? So like the dummy I was, I snuck out a bit after I turned eighteen. I hitchhiked back to Esko, found the family home, and who opens the door but one of my big brothers. He decked me when I went in to hug him, of course. Took less convincing than I thought for the family to believe it was me. Gosh, Daddy jumped out of his chair and swore like I’d never heard before when he saw me. Mama just couldn’t even make eye contact. Daddy told me he had three sons. That I was as good as dead. I begged him, you know, to give me a shot to prove I loved him. And he looked like he’d seen a ghost. He gave me an earful about how his oldest boy was a CO stuck in the jungles, about how his second boy had just gotten drafted, and asked me what the hell kinda man I thought I was. So I told him I’d do my best to do him proud for once, go out on a high note this time. He was so surprised he laughed. Said he’d never in a million years believe a fairy freak like me could even make it through the basic training. And dontcha know, we shook on it. He, eh, washed his hands afterwards, but he had this funny smile on his face like he couldn’t believe a bit of it. That I even felt a little bit bad for makin’ all that trouble and shame for him and everybody. So then, Mama fished out my birth certificate and my documents, and then Daddy brought me to the enlistment office the very next day. My brother was fit to burst when the enlistment officer commented that I was enlisting and he was drafting. For sure, Daddy made it clear that this was “the last shot to straighten me out,” but the boys there thought the entire thing was so hilarious that I don’t imagine he ever heard the end of it from his platoon. Shoot, I dunno how I managed it, but I did. Good golly, it was bad for my everything, but wouldn’t you know it, the only places I fell actual dead last in were the categories-a height, and weight. The couple of guys who did worse than me, boy, it must’ve been awful bad for them. But anywho, as long as we were on U.S. soil, things were rough, for sure, but I like to think I put on a brave face. The hardest part by far was being bare-faced and in those frumpy old uniforms. I could handle the yelling and hurtin’ all over after a hard day, even if the day was hard for different reasons than I was used to. But good golly, sometimes I looked in the mirror and just saw that same sad little boy I’d run away as. It always hurt my heart somethin’ terrible. And I really shouldn’t have run off without my pretty pills, let me tell you what. I had hot flashes like an old lady the whole darn time! Well, eventually, deployment came. And…look. Here’s what I can say. I did my best. I did what I was told. I put on a smile every day, made sure not to cry—did all that same stuff I did back home to make everyone’s day a little better. And, well, I guess somewhere along the way I screwed up and some of the men figured me out. Well, enough so, anyway. I guess that’s when I realized I missed all the attention I used to get something terrible. I gotta hand it to the guys there—they ran a tight ship. Usually it’s tough for groups to keep a secret, but I guess they were so thrilled at not having to slum it in the Saigon brothels and having me right there whenever they felt like it that they kept their best behavior. Shoot, Glenn even got attached enough to treat me like a person. He gave me a real “date” and a gift now and again—something more than just jerking me around and dragging me into some quiet corner to get one out of their system. So, I mean, I guess it wasn’t all entirely unfamiliar. I mean, I won’t lie. It was awful. Everything hurt before the boys got onto me, and then it was everything inside and outside that hurt. But sometimes they’d mumble things while they were doing what they wanted, and maybe some of those words were more them pretending I was something I couldn’t be than anything genuine from their hearts. But sometimes, after a long day of that awful jungle, hearing I was seriously for-realsies good for something, hearing I sounded pretty, any-a that—cripes, sometimes even the less gentlemanly stuff felt like it was keepin’ my heart in one piece some days. So I guess Viet Nam did set me straight, just maybe not in the same sorta way it was probably meant to. I’m no good anywhere else. I know that now. The one time I really tried to do my real blood family proud, I ended up back in the same shoes, but prancin’ around with that name they wanted to keep clean. So I just left them a letter sayin’ I was awful sorry for bein’ a whole bunch-a trouble, and came back to Minninoona as fast as I could. And gosh, I must’ve spent the next couple of years apologizing to everybody. But for old time’s sake, Mister Juro and Missus Orta did end up askin’ Mister Klimant to give me a second chance. I dunno how many times I’ve kissed them all to thank them. I mean, yeah, I was too old to work as a kid. I still had people who’d been missin’ me, don’t get me wrong, but this just wasn’t my woods anymore. So I had to pull my weight in other ways too. I never imagined I’d have a maternal bone in my body—how could I, right? But wouldn’t you know it, I found myself looking at all those little scared darlings and thinkin’, by golly, I could put some smiles on these little faces. Teach them how to be happy like I was, you know? I just can’t help it! I looked at those blank canvases and I knew I could help get some pretty smiles pasted all around. So that’s what I’ve been doing. We take in poor little rejects and make little angels of them, ready to be plucked out of the sky and loved. We grew up ignored. We grew up despised. But here? We can be the belles of the ball—the centres of attention. We can be adored! We can be desired! And every little darling I can teach to embrace these perfect years is an angel I’ve given wings. Sure yeah, there have been bumps in the road. Mister Klimant says I’m too generous, that I spend too much “gussying up these little whores,” he says. So I have to compromise, really, a whole lot more than I’d like. I can only make real angels out of the very best of my kids. The rest, we just can’t afford to make them as perfect as I know they could be. It’s just plain hard times these days, you know? It hurts my heart to say, but we’ve had to cut back on who we can take in and how much we can do. Sometimes I just can’t help but to open my own purse and my boudoir when I catch a promising find. And you know, sometimes we pick wrong—we do; nobody’s perfect. I’ve had my share of tough little cookies. And when they won’t budge, what can you do? Sometimes you’ve just gotta break them down to build them back up. I’d rather not do it, for sure, but sometimes a wet rag is what you need to melt that hard shell they’ve made around their poor little hearts. I want this thing we’re doing to be growing. I want to make as many angels out of raggamuffins as I can. I’m sure we can do it. We just need to try harder.”
Cred	☞	“Say what you will, but that thing’s been raising some damn good whores.” “It’s the blind leading the blind over there. The little sluts want silk dresses? In this economy?” “There’s a whole lot of things about that Sunny that’re hard to believe. It’s hard to believe someone who looks like that is a dude, and it’s hard to believe a chick that acts like a disney princess runs a fucking chomo ring.” “Something ain’t right in that head of hers. I’ll bet they fried her back in the sixties and we’re just now seeing it.” “No, seriously. She was in the military.” “You gotta wonder how an airhead like that keeps that operation running.” “Fuck, I thought she was one of the kids!” “I don’t care what the brats want. Tell that stupid blonde not to waste the good perfume on them unless the clients ask for it.” “Seeing her with those kids, it’s like seeing fuckin’ Mary Poppins run a goddamned child brothel.”
Ilk	☞	I STILL LOVE THE LIFE Death by a thousand cuts. Gambling debts, drug habits, a need to impress, or plain-and-simple expensive tastes—something, or a combination of things, puts a continual drain on your resources, ever threatening your precious high-roller lifestyle. You don't simply want the plan to succeed; it has to, or you can kiss the fast cars the slim girls the fat diamond rings goodbye (those and whatever else matters). This addiction will noseblind you to risks the others can smell from three miles off. And where they've hedged and folded and tactically retreated, you'll always—always—gather up your dice to triple down.

𝑅𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑆𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 (1970s Crime Drama)

Enmuni, signing in!

Chronicles of Minadra

Síobhra

As with many journeys of the sort, the earliest leg of the trek to the Grey Mountains was rife with peaceful countryside and uneventful days. Certainly, it must have been welcome to some, but for Síobhra, it all reeked of time wasted. When travelling alone, stretches such as these meant longer journeys, as without notable danger, strength and stamina could be expended lengthening the travel day and distance covered. But with the eclectic group gathered at that tavern, there were those among them who welcomed the easy days. Unwilling to expend coin on what she regarded as leisure, Síobhra scavenged and slept under the stars most nights that week as though there were no inn nearby to welcome her. Indeed, in that first week, it was only the curious among her fellow Sypharim who even became properly acquainted with her, for Síobhra most often flew at an elevation which made her easy to confuse with a simple bird.

When the group left the comfortable trappings of civilization, it at last became clear beyond her words that Síobhra did indeed intend to travel with them as a proper member of the group. Though she remained somewhat aloof, she flew closer to the ground, pitched camp with the others, readily took part in pathfinding excursions, and even offered remedy to those with sore muscles from the rough terrain.

It was with the soreness of others that Síobhra contributed her first remarks of any conviction to the group at large. After Tárwen’s question, the Sylph offered her proposal. “Shelter would be ideal. This far up, the weather can get bad very quickly. Why don’t we Sylpharim scout the outskirts and see if the entrance is clear? If it is, then we can proceed slowly. Half of us can set up camp at the first point protected from the elements, and the other half can scout a bit further, then we fortify in place. We can use some of the snow to make a small barrier to help us with that. Then, we stay quiet and prepare extra lookouts.”

Camp Athens - Closed

^{#a9c9eb ....|..... outfit .....|..... #86a8ad ....|..... outfit .....|..... #a8516e .....|..... arena}

"You really like the sound of your own voice, don’t you?"

River’s question cut through the arena’s residual sounds, a blunt instrument after her surgical analysis. It was as rhetorical as her own question to him, and he promptly answered it himself before Maylisse could muster a reply. "Can’t deny you’re his." He shook his head and ran his palms along his thighs until they gripped the caps of his knees, leveraging himself into a more upright position on the bench. "He also talks too much."

He drew a deep breath, the air hissing between his teeth. "You toss around a lot of words that mean nothing." He held her gaze, his own expression largely emotionless save for the faint furrowing of his brow, a tell of simmering frustration. "If you’re wanting your barbs to cut, then you’ll have to dumb it down for the simpleton. But frankly… love, I don’t give a shit about your opinions of me. It’s not my job to please you. He chose me to lead, not you. I don’t know why. Maybe you didn’t cut it, or maybe our father is a misogynistic piece of shit. I don’t really care. Judge and observe me all you want. I can’t stop you… But I also don’t answer to you."

For a moment, Maylisse said nothing, though it would be incorrect to categorize her silence as surprise. It was interesting, she thought, to see how River’s pent-up irritation had finally found a desired point, abandoning its earlier, nervous containment for this direct frontal assault. Then, softly, she exhaled through her nose in a manner that, for her, might generously be construed as a laugh—a short, dry puff of air.

"Yes, you’re right," she replied at last, her voice even faintly pleasant. "Our father does talk quite a bit, doesn’t he? It’s one of his more… exhausting habits." There was no mockery in the observation. If anything, it carried the bone-deep familiarity of someone who had endured that thunderous, instructive voice often and at excruciatingly close range. She respected its power, understood its hegemonic weight. But reverence, in her mind, did not require illusion. She had learned that Poseidon often spoke at length precisely because he expected complete obedience. And who was she, a girl of twelve when first summoned to his presence, to do otherwise?

"I do feel the need to correct you on one thing, however," Maylisse continued, her eyes following as River motioned vaguely to another camper across the arena. "I’m not here to undermine you nor to replace you. And despite how it may feel, I do respect your authority as it currently stands, even if our father’s reasoning remains… opaque to me."

She turned her head back to him, her gaze direct. "My observations aren’t meant as barbs. They are meant to understand. To identify patterns before they calcify into habits. So, if I’ve been blunt, it’s because I was taught to be direct, especially when the truth is unpalatable. Especially then."

She leaned back slightly, hands folding in her lap once more.

"And if that clarity makes me disagreeable," Maylisse concluded, the words delivered with almost polite regret, " so be it. I’ve rarely found agreeableness to be a useful trait in matters of survival. And isn’t that, ultimately, what you said this place was for? Training for the fight to come for those like us?"

River almost found it laughable that her judgments, or observations as she called them, were supposed to bring some kind of understanding. Because so far the only thing that he did understand was that she was studying him and talked a lot. There wasn’t much understanding on his part, but perhaps that’s the simpleton in him not grasping at her… whatever. He wasn’t sure if he had another sharp response or just preferred the opportunity to ignore her, but their resident eavesdropper didn’t look like she was going anywhere until he addressed her, and this wasn’t a conversation he was particularly thrilled to continue with an audience. So, it could be put to bed for now… or forever. That would be nice.

"Need something?" he asked the girl.

Rosalia had found it difficult to maintain a neutral expression as the conversation continued. In some measure, her curiosity had been sated by this Maylisse character’s inquisition of River. Even so, there were plenty of practical matters that she wouldn’t waste the opportunity to go over. When addressed, she smiled warmly, and tried her best to approach diplomatically—paying special mind to the fact that River seemed to be losing the inclination to take questions with every further prod from his sister.

“Sorry to edge in here like this,” she responded, “But I just had a couple quick questions if you’ve got a moment.”

River sighed, his patience obviously not what it was at the beginning of training. He pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning his elbow into his knee before replying. "Well… Yeah, obviously." He ran his fingers along his cheeks and traced the edge of his jaw as he looked over at the raven haired girl. "Go on. Shoot." At that point he was more in the rip the bandaid off frame of mind anyway. He’d prefer she just ask her questions rather than beat around the bush.

Rosalia gave a curt nod and responded. “Cool. Thanks.” She clicked her tongue. Best to get the logistics out of the way. “So first thing—you were, uh, talkin’ about assessments. What are the other criteria you were lookin’ to evaluate—if you don’ mind sharin’ of course. Jus’ hopin’ to get ‘n idea of what to expect, y’know?”

"I…" River started as he sat back up straight and reached over to grab his shirt that was resting on the bench beside him. "Appreciate your interest." His words were genuine, enough. It was far better than the alternative of someone coming over to bitch at him or tell him he’s a shit leader after one day. He slipped both arms through the sleeves, pushing the shirt up to his shoulders while bunching up the fabric in his hands. "But that information would give you an unfair advantage over the other campers. So you’ll have to wait and see over the next two days." With that, he pulled his shirt over his head and tugged the hem down to his waist, having felt a little too exposed being shirtless while cornered by two women… Regardless if one is technically his sister.

Rosalia shrugged. “Fair enough,” she conceded. Hopefully, proactivity would be appreciated, even if it wasn’t on the table in this specific circumstance. As long as he had something of a plan, there was still potential. Rosalia didn’t want Maylisse to have any more of a point than she had to. Without a further thought, Rosalia moved on to her next question. “I’ll look at the now, then. I know I did well ‘n’ all, but le’s be honest. Well prolly ain’t gonna cut it for whatever we’re needin’ to do fo’ the gods. Got any suggestions for improvement on my end? Or, like, stuff I should get crackin’ on?”

River’s eyes squinted as she studied the girl, trying to recall anything about her run or even her name. He couldn’t. It was listed somewhere on his clipboard in his notes, but he also wasn’t in the mood to go flipping through pages to give her a blow by blow of his thoughts. "I don’t… Even know who you are." His filtered failed, letting the thought slip right off his tongue, unchallenged and blunt. But it was true. The least she could of done was properly introduce herself before requesting information. Sure he could ask but his mind was already five more steps down the pipeline.

"I don’t know." A wry laugh followed his words, forced and a little awkward. "Training isn’t even over. I haven’t had time to take my chicken scratch and make sense of it yet. That takes time." His gaze drifted over to the course, taking note of the handful of campers who were still finishing their second run, some determined to be finished quickly while others took their time, in no rush to get hurt or further exhausted. "Don’t get worse… I guess?" He shrugged his shoulders with an expression as unconvincing as his tone.

Rosalia’s friendly expression wavered. Her eyes darted to Maylisse, as if to silently affirm to her that she was seeing the concern over River. “So you’re goin’ into this pretty blind, huh?” she blurted out. She fumbled and quickly drifted into an apology. “I’m sorry. I mistook your tallyin’ of our performances for familiarity. There’s a lot of names and faces anyway, so that’s fair. That’s on me. My name’s Rosalia. Rosalia Brancaccio. I was with group two. Just trying to get my bearings here. I’m guessin’ the big guys up on Olympus didn’t give ya’ much notice or direction either?”

Maylisse had remained silent until then, listening with the preternatural patience of someone who had learned long ago that people revealed their deepest intentions when they believed themselves unopposed, if not supported. But at Rosalia’s last question, something changed, and her gaze slid toward the raven-haired girl.

"That," she said, her voice a model of mildness that somehow sharpened the words, "is an awfully familiar question. What business is it of yours to know how prepared your leader is?"

Ok, so… River was going to answer but then Maylisse stepped in and he didn’t know if he should have been grateful or surprised or unsettled at the way she almost, kind of defended him? He shook his head. Not something he wanted to dwell on. His brows furrowed, eyes squinting as he looked up at Rosalia. Now two people weighing and measuring him? For fuck’s sake. "Olympus has nothing to do with this," he clarified, not that he owed either of them an explanation. "There are 3 days of assessments…" He held up three fingers. "Feedback follows. It’s pretty self explanatory."

Rosalia held up her hands defensively and nodded. "Alright. I get the picture." She sighed and looked between Maylisse and River, though spoke primarily to the latter. "Look, here’s the deal. I’m a daughter of Zeus. Famously involved parent, yada yada. I’m not so good with words. Usually prefer actions ‘n’ all. But the deal is, I was hoping you had more information than me, because I ain’t even met my quote-unquote parent. This sort of ineffable ways shtick has been drivin’ me nuts since the firs’ call I got to come up here, ‘n’ now that I’m here—" Rosalia clenched her fist and then gestured around, "I’m gettin’ this sinkin’ feelin’ that maybe we’re here to be babysat, not to do somethin’ important. So…in less…bi—accusatory words, what I’m wonderin’ is, as our leader, d’you have any instructions for folks who wanna work? Like, any jobs that need doin’? And it ain’t normal that we have, like, afternoons off, is it?"

"Work…" River echoed like saying it again would somehow get the words to stick better than the first time. His face contorted for a second as he started counting silently on his fingers as a way to try and keep his thoughts straight, and be sure he touched on everything. "Yeah I’m definitely not a babysitter. Everyone is free to come and go as they want. This isn't a prison." He put down one finger and continued, unable to hide the small chuckle that rumbled in his chest at the thought of demigods running around doing chores. "It’s a magic camp. The only job is mine."

Another finger down, leaving him with one. "And… I’m sorry, are you complaining about down time?" He laughed a second time, more bewildered and confused than anything. "It can’t be all training all of the time. People need time to rest." River laced his fingers together, letting his hands hang in the space between his legs. "Personal bonds are just as important as training. If you have nothing you care about then there’s nothing to fight for."

This time, Maylisse’s consideration of River’s words held a different quality, less the didactic dissection of a subject under glass and more just a simple, if reluctant, acknowledgment of the sensibility behind them.

"He’s quite right," she conceded. "It is possible to overdo things." She glanced down at her own hands, as if the admission were a tangible object she was examining for flaws. Her agreement, delivered in a tone that had shed its characteristic cutting edge, was a bit of a surprise even to herself. Still, she continued, her pace slowing as she deliberately thinned the usual pleonastic density of her language. Whether this linguistic simplification was for the seemingly distraught girl’s benefit or a concession to River’s earlier criticism, she did not dwell on it.

"Being the daughter of a powerful god like Zeus does not make you one. It merely makes you a participant in a far more demanding game." Maylisse’s gaze settled on Rosalia once more, but this time with a calm precision rather than open challenge. "So yes, taking the afternoon to recover is for the best. Training will inevitably intensify, I’m sure, and there’s no advantage in breaking you all before you’ve had the opportunity to learn where your true limits are."

Rosalia’s expression teetered between concession and frustration as she took in the responses from the two Poseidon-children. She looked away and ran her tongue along her teeth as she wrestled with her response. On one hand, the truth of the matter was that rest was all but a foreign word to her. And a part of her was inclined to think it ought to have been for all of the demigods. After all, what point was there to being superhuman if not to behave as such? Did the great heroes of old take afternoons off? On the other hand, the Olympians famously did like their leisure time. While Rosalia’s first impulse was to deprecate the habit, she quickly reminded herself that there was a significant gulf between how things should be and how things actually were. With a heavy blink and a sigh, she responded. She gripped the bridge of her nose and spoke haltingly, trying her best to avoid mincing words. "I don’…I dunno…what to do with all’at." She looked back up and gave River an earnest expression. "Last time I took more’n a day off was…was…hell, I dunno. Never needed more’n three hours of sleep…an’ I used to do school, work, studyin’, ‘n’ what have you…from wakin’ up till goin’ to bed. But…you’re in charge, so I’ll, uh…" She looked past River, then shook her head. "I dunno—I’m jus’ used to doin’ stuff ‘cause it’s gotta get done. Tha’s what I thought was supposed’a happen here too. So…this is real strange to me. But you’re in charge, ‘n’ I’m sure it’s for a good reason. How’m I—no, tha’s not reasonable to as’—You’ve been here a while, yeah? Where do folks usually hang out ‘n’ all, then?"

River blew out a heavy breath, puffing up his lips as he listened. This girl was wound like a top that refused to let herself unravel. He couldn’t even begin to understand or grasp how someone functioned like that. "That sounds fucking terrible." The words came out a little too blunt and honest than he had intended. But he genuinely couldn’t understand why someone would willingly choose to put themselves through that. He found himself secretly thankful that Poseidon took the initiative to send him to camp as the leader rather than Zeus sending her. With someone like Rosalia in charge there would have been a mass exodus in less than a week.

"I arrived yesterday," he admitted plainly, a fact that didn’t change things one way or the other. "I imagine they’re just… around?" River shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t overly concern himself regarding where people busied themselves. Since all he really saw was the main hall, a party and training, he didn’t have much direction when it came to socializing.

Rosalia’s expression hardened at the admission. She nodded softly. "I see." She tightened her lips. "Well…I’ve always lived by the sayin’: Idle hands are the devil’s workshop." She sighed. "But, uh…you’re the boss." She threw her hands up in concession, though her expression still suggested she remained unconvinced. "I’ll, uh, give it a shot."

"Socializing is not my strong suit," River confessed, as if that wasn’t already obvious. He wasn’t going to be much help in that regard, but if he could manage to make a single friend in a day then—in theory—so should Rosalia. "Or maybe you need a hobby," he added, although that was probably meant to be more of a thought than an actual suggestion… Oh well.

Maylisse regarded Rosalia with the detached curiosity one might reserve for a mechanism under unfamiliar strain.

"You’ll adjust, I’m sure," she managed. The words constituted the closest approximation to reassurance she could muster. With that, she rose smoothly from the bench, gathering her coat in one precise sweep. "I’ll leave you to it, then?"

River’s brows rose in his best semblance of a good bye, along with a small nod. "Uh… Yep, sure."

Rosalia gave a final, stiff nod. "Anyway, thanks. Sure it’s gotta be tough being in your positon. Thanks for the direction." Without explaining further, she started away, intent on finding her own way to fill the day.

He nodded his head and gave a weak two finger salute. "Yeah, uh… no problem." Once River was alone and both of his inquisitors were out of sight, he groaned and ran his hands over his face. His muscles ached from the tension that had permanently resided across his shoulders and fought him when he tried to relax. "Fuck me," he grumbled into his palms. This leading thing was the worst.

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... none ............... collabs ....|.... @Qia & @Mjolnir}

Camp Athens - Closed

^{#A8516E ....|..... Arena}

<sup>Admittedly, all of the ties dampened the meaning of coming in fifth. Rosalia was seventh for performance, since there was a three-way tie for third, and her sixth-best performance was shared with four other people. More pressingly, however, was the question of what context did this fifth-place, tied-for-seventh-best performance, take place in anyway? What boons did the others have from their heritage? What were their backgrounds? There seemed to be a wide spread of abilities, if nothing else, so anything could be on the table. When placed in context, her performance could have been anything from a solid starting point to an embarrassment. Rosalia regretted not paying closer attention to the frontrunners. If she had gotten a better sense of the effort they had put forward, it could have clarified things.

As a rule, Rosalia compared herself to others. It wasn’t just a matter of doing her best. Her own personal best was meaningless, as far as she was concerned, if it wasn’t held up against those of others. In her head, she felt her approach to providing baselines was probably the right decision. She needed to demonstrate what she could reliably accomplish when putting forth legitimate effort. That was it. And as sensible of an approach as she reckoned it to be, what disconcerted her was that she had merely done well. She hadn’t, as some others may have, done her absolute best. Worse, there was the possibility that others ahead of her hadn’t found the obstacle course difficult at all. If that was the case, there was no telling if going toe-to-toe with the top performers in this department was even possible.

Then again, the failures could substitute thirty pushups for success. The moment that alternative left River’s mouth, Rosalia had to clasp her hand to her mouth to hide an involuntary chuckle. Thirty pushups! It was like PE! Perhaps some of these demigods were more prepared for sipping ambrosia on Mount Olympus than performing whatever ordained duties their sort of people had. It wasn’t as reassuring as she’d have liked. Hopefully, there were quick learners and people with other talents among this group, or there was a contingent of the camp destined to be dead weight. But what did their “leader” think, then? He was the one who had called for evaluations and given the lenient alternative. Was he a driven leader? Was he given direction as a leader? What process got him to that point?

Passive musing was perfectly fine when there was nothing to be imminently done. But her questions had answers, and the one who could answer them was still in the arena. Unfortunately, she was too slow. Someone else—someone who, as eavesdropping made immediately apparent, was another child of Poseidon—beat her to him. To her credit, she—Maylisse—started answering some of Rosalia’s questions from the start. Apparently Poseidon was more involved than Zeus, at least in their respective circumstances. Evidently, Rosalia was far from the only one with mixed feelings about her divine parents. Maylisse shortly provided more takeaways, though. Takeaways Rosalia didn’t expect. For one, the brief interruption of thanks evoked an interesting response in the daughter of Poseidon. Though she could nitpick the wording and the stakes Maylisse assigned to River’s position, there was some overlap in their sentiment. River certainly was starting off on the lenient side. Authority was a hard thing to accumulate. Respect was difficult to earn. And so on and so forth. But really, even demigods as they were, Rosalia couldn’t help but fixate on the affectation Maylisse delivered her assessment with. And that she did this so readily to someone just appointed leader? Rosalia had no doubt she may have missed some context or some angle that framed this entire thing differently. But as it stood, it seemed this Maylisse character had a mind to continue steamrolling her brother. Passively waiting was a recipe to spend half a day listening to this whole thing become progressively less meaningful.

So, Rosalia stopped simply waiting around. She approached the siblings and stood a respectful distance away. In practical terms, it didn’t matter. She could hear private conversations from much further off; it was just the principle of the matter. She waited until she caught River’s gaze. When her opportunity came, she made eye contact. With a nod, a small wave, and a tight-lipped smile, she signaled her desire to speak to him as unobtrusively as she could. It was probably unnecessary, but if there was going to be discipline here, it would come only if those who cared for it helped lead by example.</sup>

^{Interactions ....|.... River & Maylisse ............... Mentions ....|.... Iliana ............... Collabs ....|.... None}

Lamplight

I'll be back on the posting grind this week!

Camp Athens - Closed

^{#A8516E ....|..... Arena}

<sup>Though there was some merit to going first, Rosalia was ultimately happy to have been in the second group. Between River and the first group to go, she had a chance to take in the course and strategize. Although her first impulse was to push herself and go as fast as she could, she soon thought better of it. These exercises were simply meant to establish baselines; it wasn’t a competition. Likewise, many of the exercises were things she’d never really done before. It would be better to demonstrate competence and good judgement than to come off as cavalier, anyway. Yes, that was the best move—just go at a steady pace and do the course right. She just needed to keep her eyes on her own obstacles, pay attention to where her feet were landing, and, ideally, not make as pitiful a showing as that straggler from the first group. As even that one neared the finish line, Rosalia traded her claw clip for a tight bun, set her hoodie, sweatpants, and shoes with the clip, and prepared for her turn.

When her group came forth, Rosalia took a deep breath. When the signal to start came, she leapt forward into a jog. Although most of the group burst into sprints, one seemed to have entirely missed the mark from the beginning. It was reassuring to know someone would likely trail behind her even if the sprinters kept their lead. Rosalia hopped between the tires at a steady pace, then moved on to the log jumps. The first two were easy to clear by more or less stepping over. The third demanded more of a hop. Then, the fourth and fifth necessitated some help from her arms. She vaulted over both at the same consistent pace as the first three. She’d made progress at this point; though she was unlikely to catch the girl who was furthest ahead, she was gaining on the other two. The low crawl, unfortunately, widened the gap again. She wriggled forward on her elbows, moving in powerful, if clumsy bursts. By the time she reached the other end, she’d dragged a fair bit of sediment along with her. Scoffing in frustration, she burst to her feet and hurried to the next obstacle in hopes of making up for lost time.

Though her shimmy up the rope climb was scarcely graceful, and left her with scuffed hands and inner thighs, it was certainly effective. She scaled it quickly, then let herself fall in small increments until around the halfway mark. She dropped, landed on her feet, then proceeded. The rope net bridge, then, was a welcome change from the relatively unfamiliar obstacles preceding it. She was immediately reminded of the Audubon Zoo—where Monkey Hill had a bridge just like it. Rosalia made it along the bridge swiftly, far more at ease than with previous obstacles. Likewise, the rope swing was simply a matter of getting good momentum—something she was similarly familiar with.

Although the balance beams weren’t as simple as the previous two obstacles, there was still a certain familiarity to them. Really, it wasn’t altogether that different from balancing on the curb while on a walk. Her arms extended, not fully, but just enough to get her balance feeling comfortable. She kept on at a solid clip, putting one foot in front of the other and keeping her gaze focused forward as she did.

Now the pool, this was another place to gain some ground. Though by no means a professional swimmer, Rosalia was familiar with the sport, having even dabbled in competitive swimming on occasion back in her school days. She leapt into the water with a smooth dive, then burst into a powerful freestyle. At the edge of the pool, she leaned into a flip turn, then instead grabbed the rim of the pool and hoisted herself out in a single smooth motion. Ideally, she would have preferred to keep her momentum and go straight into the long jump. However, the log ladder stood in her way. Flicking her hands to dry them as she approached it, Rosalia cracked her neck and started climbing. Although her climb wasn’t necessarily slow, it was perhaps more careful than it needed to be. She ensured she was hooked in place at every point before moving to the next rung—an excess of care which eliminated any lead she had previously built in the last few obstacles.

All that was left was the long jump. And at the end of it? At the end of the jump was a three-way tie.

It could have been worse. It could have been a tie for last place.</sup>

^{Interactions ....|.... None ............... Mentions ....|.... River, Sloane, Mikaela, Zelia, Lochlan, & Blair ............... Collabs ....|.... None}