My brother is a jerk. The biggest jerk there is. He thinks he's so cool in his boots and hat, smarming at the girls and carrying on like he's the best thing since Dad or something. Well, screw him.

OK, so like I was in this building, right? Nobody was around, and it was that cool kind of abandoned place that little boys love to find and pretend they're on recon missions, right? So there I am, scouting the place out, shooting at hiding enemies with my rubber bands that totally were semi-autos, tearin' the place apart and scarin' up the pidgeons with my hoots and yells. I do this totally BOSS roll out the door, shooting as I tumble, and there he is. Fists on his hips and all, that stupid look on his face that kind of wants to be Daddy's amused stare but totally ISN'T.

"What are you doing?" he asks. I say something in return that was of course rude and brotherly, and he jumps me! So I start flailing my fists back, and we're rolling in the dust, screeching and kicking and punching and biting. He's pulling my hair, I'm kneeing him in the balls, and suddenly we're both suspended in midair by a large pair of hands, looking down at a very familiar pair of boots, and to our credit neither of us peed.

... Let me say this: Daddy has this voice. It's deep and rich and I wish I sounded half as cool as he does, and I probably never will. I'm far too, well, happy I guess. Nah, not happy; just lacking that cool sort of detachment that Dad wears like a particularly favored pair of underroos and Gerald tries to imitate and fails.

Anyway, Dad says "Boys?", only it comes out as "Booooooooooooooooooys?", starting down an octave from where it ends, twirling up in a way that sounds all amused but also says that we're in a HEAP of trouble and we'd better start talking NOW because the Punish-o-Meter has started running and the longer we delay Dad from Other Business, the higher the pain register will be.

Unfortunately, every time this happens, we go quiet. The quirks of childhood, I guess.

At least we didn't pee ourselves.

----

You should have seen their faces, dear. It was precious, and I'm sure you'd recognize that particular flavor of "oh shit I'm dead" from your own children and childhood.

The boys stared up at me, their eyes wider than their heads, mouths open. I could have sworn at least one of the two would have ended up getting a fly in their mouth, and I almost cracked a smile at the thought, but I didn't want to ruin the moment. They stared, and kept staring, and Gerude made these little gasping noises that told me that the quicker of my two was desperately trying to say something, say anything, while his brother was still in the 'durrr I'm in midair' stage.

"I..." He swallowed a few times, and by all that exists it took most of my self control not to laugh at him. He was dirty, smudged, and had several scrapes and the beginnings of a heck of a shiner on his right eye. His lip was bleeding a bit, too. He's a scrapper, that one, and you'd think his brother would learn not to tangle with him, but... no.

Gerald... well, I love that boy, but he's not as quick to pick up on subtleties as his brother. Subtleties such as 'your brother is a better scrapper than you, so you might want to consider not provoking him'. He takes after his uncle quite a bit in that regard. He also passingly resembles him, especially with the dual black eyes, bite marks on his cheeks, and a much more impressively busted lip than the one his brother is sporting. To his credit, though, there's a few strands of red hair in his hand.

He sees me spot them and waggles his fingers, trying to lose the evidence. Yes, after I've already seen it.

Children. Really.

"So, how did this come about?" I can't keep the amusement out of my voice, but like so many before them, the edge of humor only seems to terrify them more.

"Gerald said--"

"I was just--"

"Shut UP Gerald I was just playing and you had to come start--"

"All I said was--"

I drop them both to the ground, creating a blessed moment of silence. My two children have the nerve to look disgruntled at me as they massage their busted rears and egos. I don't react, of course; why give in to the terrorists, as a wise man once said? Instead of allowing myself to be provoked, I simply cross my arms and glare at them.

Right on cue, they burst out crying.

Gerude Akribastes, Gerald Akribastes, 'Sy Akribastes
Confusion (Pump Panel Reconstruction Remix - New Order
Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, BVW 565 - Johann Sebastian Bach

WHERE IS THE FUCKING COFFEE MACHINE. IT IS NOT IN ITS USUAL SPOT AND THERE IS NO COFFEE HERE TO BE FOUND AND MY HEAD IS DEMANDING THAT COFFEE APPEAR NOW. I AM THE FUCKING REGENT OF THIS LAND AND I. WANT. MY. COFFEE. HEADS WILL ROLL IF I DON'T GET MY FUCKING COFFEE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW AND WHERE IS THE COFFEE MACHINE YOU IDIOTIC BAST--

Oh. I left it at home!

Luci Cruxradia
Duncan Hills Coffee Jingle - Dethklok

Years from now, the expression on the Poet King's face when he entered the Hall will still be burned into our memories.

Picture this: twenty of us girls (and I use the term loosely), all trim and in the prime of our youth and all that crap. We had modified our uniforms into something that barely even resembled clothing. All singing that song, fingers beckoning, eyes beckoning, writhing over each other and on the floor and ... well, we put the stairs and banisters to good use as well. We didn't hesitate to use each other as poles, sliding our hands under each other's clothes as we lip-synced our ecstasy with winks and licks and teasing slaps on flesh.

All the while, he stood there, still as a statue (and reportedly grateful for the volume of his robes), turning progressively redder and redder, breaking into a little bit of a sweat.

He applauded politely when it was over, stumbled over some form of gratitude for our performance when it was over, and we didn't see him for a while.

Katherine Cruxradia, Elete Xaillyndesse
I Touch Myself - The Divinyls

When I'm here, I long for the warm comforts and soft edges of home. When I'm here, everything is hard and dark and the conflict between what I knew as a child and what I see before me now tears at me.

This figure, this so-called father of mine. What should I think of someone who does what he does? How do I reconcile that with what is before me?

Shaking my fist does little do dispel the damage I've done to my knuckles via Gerald's person, but it does distract me from the familiar stranger on the floor. The tile patterns in the Court, once a welcoming lacework of words and spells, now forms a web that has ensnared half of what determined me. What does what he's become reflect about me? Is his insanity mine? Do we share that off core? Will I someday be in his place, answering for deeds so damaging and anathema that the question isn't whether he's going to the Void, but why he isn't there already and I can't think like this...

Katherine Cruxradia
Insanity - Oingo Boingo

I can see you scowling at me, baby. The trick of your trade never left me, and oh how I love watching you get all in a twist over me. I love hurting you, I love making you ache, and I miss you. I really do, you know. More than anything, I miss hurting you and making you ask for more.

I love how you pleaded for me, too. That was pretty brutal, babe. Good for you.

So, girl, why don't you tell me about this new thing you got going? I've seen him from a distance - don't want to get close anymore lest the Judge bite my head off or worse. I call my alliances when I need them and discard them at will and hey, I make a difference on my terms now. Fuck the rules, babe. Not like you haven't fucked everything else that you came across - so to speak.

Hey, has he figured out how to make you scream yet?

Aaren Voitre
It's So Easy - Guns 'n' Roses

I hadn't seen him before, but I knew he was here now. It was pretty easy to tell; the marauder that had been heading towards me with his rather nasty-looking sword suddenly exploded in a blue-silver blur induced splash. I checked back (against all training, of course, and one of these days this Poetic bent to my habits is going to land me somewhat dead), and of course it was the Judge. He glared at me, all anger and aggression, already moving on to the next target as he turned.

Our opponents missed a great opportunity once again as I took my sweet time checking out the Judge's ass. Someone should warn him about fighting in that particular pair of breeches.

Katherine Cruxradia, 'Sy Akribastes
Let The Bodies Hit The Floor - Drowning Pool

He can do whatever we do, of course. Despite the fact that he's all of three feet tall, and most of that barely-there lankiness and knocked knees and that silly little issue with switching his Rs and Ls. His hair sticks up in the back, too, like someone set it on fire and then tried to glue bits of it back into place.

Lyric's tough, though, don't let his skinny frame fool you. Why, if you knock him down, he'll bounce right back up and cry his ass off as he sets new land speed records for Daddy's office!

Nah, I kid, I kid. He's not too bad. He's only wet himself a few times at the sight of Daddy being irritable.

OK, so I pick on him a bit. No matter. I mean, really, this is Lyric we're talking about. We're not even sure if he's a brother. It's like Lute got all of the toughness, and Lyric was what was left over (and there wasn't much left; Lute like outweighs him by at least a cord!). We've tried teaching him to lift weights and exercise, and he's been really diligent about it, but goodness. He hasn't gained any muscle tone at all, and oh how he whines when he gets sweaty. It's... it's... Look. I love my brother, but he... why is this song even about him? This is just... What, is this Opposite Day? Couldn't we have let this song be about, oh... Jax? Jax is more macho. Granted, not by much, but the irony would have still been there! But Lyric? Lyric is as macho as a hand-watercolored silk scarf.

OK, Gerald informs me that silk scarves were used in assassinations. That's pretty hardcore.

Gerude Akribastes, Lyric Akribastes, Lute Akribastes, Gerald Akribastes
Macho Man - The Village People

I lie in wait, quiet and still. It's my job to be the shadows themselves, to strike out and retreat in perfect stealth.

I could train her daughter in this. The girl has the nature for it and quite a bit in the way of natural talent. I could say something more of her, but I won't. It's enough to know that I'm thinking of her, and that I have her father's approval.

Possibly her mother's as well, right?

Right then! I won't admit that her mother has caught me a few times on her own, without the assistance I bitched so much about, and that...

Fuck. Poetry. She's caught me again!

Really, lady, one of these days the shadows in your room are going to jump at you, and you won't be able to dodge in time, and I'm going to tickle you to death.

[I'll give him this; I can't think of a more horrifying way to go.]

Leave me, then, and I'll get back to my work and you'll get back to yours. Until later, m'lady, and please stop poking at me?

Katherine Cruxradia, Lute Akribastes
Mindfields - The Prodigy

Captain's Log

We've a new crew as of today, and what a crew they are!

I think they're all fucking Aurocian. AMAZING. They're all aboot their brew or some shit like that, cheering and carrying on and hollering about hose? Something about curling. Curling and maple leaves and weird shit like that. And they keep speaking this weird language mixed in with the other bullshit. It's freaky. Sam says it's Bercean. Sounds like a disease, if you ask me.

They're a jolly bunch, though! They're enthusiastic about all their tasks, and are full of song and donuts and a cheerful sort of hatred towards Radia that fuels the ship like nobody's business. It's rather catchy, too!

I need to remember to ask Ales about this whole "Tebekki" thing. They're all cursing at this one guy who seems to be a Tebekki, and he curses right back in that weird disease-language, only he says everything even funnier than the rest of them.

Jules
The Last Saskatchewan Pirate - The Arrogant Worms

Rachella has this unkillable optimism about her. I say "unkillable" mostly because Camden says I can't kill her for it.

Oh Dad, try and go on a trail with her for a while. It's insane. She sings, she smiles, and everything is so fucking peachy that after a while you're sticky and fuzzy from it, and not in any good way. More like in that smear-your-enemies-with-honey-and-put-them-on-an-antpile kind of way. Please, Daddy, please get me out of here. She's singing again, and she's asking me if I'm feeling great, that doesn't the sunshine feel so nice today, isn't it the perfect weather, and isn't Gerald's butt adorable?

OK, I made that last part up, but really, Dad. It's the only scenery that girl has seen in days, I promise you. If she's gushing about sunshine, it's because she's fucking convinced it's coming out his ass.

Oh crap, she made me think of Gerald's ass.

Jennelcia Akribastes, Rachella Hawksgard, Gerald Akribastes
Upside Down - Jack Johnson

I look over, and Benjamin is yelling something and doing that strange pointing gesturing with his fingers that he does on occasion. Several people around the room yell and gesture in return, and they make their way to the center of the crowd, yelling to each other as they move in some weird slang version of Marco Polo.

They meet in the middle, Benjamin and Marco and Geoffry and Calin, and they start talking in a weird rhythmic beat, like Poetry set to drums. It's rather catchy, until I catch the lyrics.

Goodness, they're offensive. Somehow, though, they manage to be fun at the same time! I'm not sure how they pulled that off.

Erynn seems to understand what's going on, and is hollering and gesturing back at the group in the center. They gesture back, and I gather that they're yelling challenges to each other. Erynn looks down and winks at me, then makes his way to the center. The quartet steps aside, and the beat changes slightly, and Erynn opens his mouth.

It's even more offensive than the last, and I'm starting to wonder what the heck kind of challenge this is.

I'm also noticing that Erynn is managing to address each of the quartet's accusations regarding his prowess with women, his associations in society, and the status of his mother in rhyme, as well as throwing out a few challenges of his own regarding their preferences in sexual partners as well as the previously-mentioned slurs.

Bronwyn Averseen, Erynn Blackirons
Where Da Hood At? - Three Six Mafia