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canvas-the-florist · 3 years

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Kat and Ann

Warnings: Bullying, transphobia mention, swearing, abuse mention, food mention, kidnapping

Summary: Kat never felt like an individual as she grew up until she made a friend.

Word Count: 2737

Kat was thirteen when she changed her name. Not that it mattered, everyone called her by her last name just like her ten other siblings. It wasn’t a big deal, and Kat was fine with that, it made it easier to transition too. Who could make fun of you for being the trans kid when several of your siblings were as well? She wasn’t singled out. Wasn’t much of an individual either. Kat went to school, studied, and got average grades. Most of the time, at least. She loved her family! Kat wasn’t close with all of her siblings, sometimes lost count of how many there were, but she appreciated them overall. So, why did she always feel so lonely?

When she was fourteen she stopped someone from beating up a kid on the ground after school. He was scrambling for all of his stuff and she sat next to him to help. “Hi, I’m Kat!”

“Oh, um, I’m Anthony.” Kat examined his face. There were two identical large scars coming up from his cheeks. “Thanks, for standing up for me! No one’s ever done that before, not even my brother.”

She helped him up and threw him his stuff. He mostly just looked nervous, scratching his face. Kat didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable or anything so she flashed a quick smile. “Well if your brother won’t help I will! That’s what my siblings would do at least… Do you need to go home now?”

Anthony made a grimace, wrinkling his nose. “Not particularly. I don’t think anyone will notice. I live close by anyway. Don’t need a carriage or something to take me there.”

“I live close by too!” Kat exclaimed. She considered all the possibilities. Anthony hadn’t mentioned any of the other Katabazi’s and so far it seemed like they could be friends. Maybe this would be nice? “That means it’s official. We need to check if we can walk home together.”

“Won’t your siblings mind?” Anthony asked, and Kat let out a loud sigh (mostly in disappointment) after he finished talking. “Oh, are you not a Katabazi sibling? Sorry I just assumed with the blue crystal necklace and- I shouldn’t have assumed that was rude of-”

“Dude, it’s fine.” Kat gave a smile. Her hand went up to the necklace. It probably was a big giveaway but it was also important to her. A shard of good luck charm passed down through her family. It used to be her grandmother’s. The original was hung up on a wall, but it was still significant.“I’m a Katabazi but now you know my first name so let’s stick with that, alright? Or should I call you… Ann or Tony?”

Anthony let out a laugh, as they both walked through the small trail through the woods. “Honestly I wouldn’t mind Ann. Anything’s better than Tony. It sounds like I’m interested in attending galas or exploiting the working class. No thank you.”

“Okay, Ann! No galas or exploitation for you~!”

Kat and Ann kept walking through the woods to get to and from school once they realized they lived close to each other. It was fun to have someone to kick pebbles with or avoid fairy circles with. Eventually the leaves started falling and Kat put on a long jacket, with her necklace underneath it. On a walk home, Kat was balancing on an old wall covered in moss, Ann was walking along next to her, dragging his feet. “Hey, Kat?”

“Yeah?” They both stopped walking.

Ann gulped. “You’re a girl, right? My brother says you’re not and well, he’s usually wrong. Is he just… Being a dick? Or have I just been misgendering you?”

Kat’s arms dropped. Well, that’s one way to come out. She sniffled, but wouldn’t back down. “I’m a girl. Excuse me for saying but your brother is an idiot for being like that.”

“Okay, that’s what I thought.” The two kept walking but Kat still felt like she wanted to cry. The leaves blew past them, picking up Ann’s hat. Kat caught it and looked at Ann. He looked like he wanted to cry too. “Kat I’m glad we’re friends. My brother doesn’t understand human decency but he still got into my head. That was my mistake. I won’t doubt you about that stuff ever again!”

There was a pause as the wind picked up. Kat stared him down with a squint before putting his hat back over his curly blonde hair. “Good! Because your brother doesn’t decide how the world works. We do.”

“Both of us? We aren’t gods or anything.”

Kat shrugged. “How do you know? I mean cursed people do exist, who’s to say their magic is the only kind out there?”

Ann shifted uncomfortably, covering it with a laugh. “Yeah! We can be gods if we want to! Fuck nature! Fuck stupid brothers! AAAAAHH!” He held up both his hands and yelled to the sky. Kat laughed loudly before joining with a scream of her own. The two continued screaming, seeing the birds flee from the trees and the wind grew louder, like nature itself trying to drown them out.

The yelling devolved into laughing, they both fell to the wall for support. The wind died down and they were both sitting on the wall silently. Every once and a while they would shake the leaves from their wool clothing and go back to watching the scenery of nature. Ann took a deep breath. “I think my brother hates me for being cursed.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kat asked, looking at him. He shrugged.

“I don’t know… I mean I can’t do anything cool or bad but he’s mean about it.” He crossed his arms angrily. “And dad thinks that Garrett is the perfect child for not having headaches all the time or being slow or…” Kat put her hand on his shoulder as he wiped his eyes. “I just don’t understand. I try so hard not to let the curse control my life but I can’t help it! But sometimes I go into his dreams and he got mad at me about it.”

“Well, your brother doesn’t deserve you! I would love to have a brother like you! You’re nice and you don’t just assume what I’m like based on my family. It’s nice! YOU’RE nice.”

“You want me to be your brother? Is that a thing that can happen?”

Kat shrugged once more, crossing her legs on the wall. “Absolutely. We’re the gods remember? Who cares if we aren’t actually related or something. That isn’t relevant anymore. We’re siblings now!”

Ann smiled. “Yeah, okay! You’re a great sister, Kat.”

“And you a great brother.”

It was almost spring and the rain was starting to pick up a lot. But Ann and Kat still walked through the woods. Finally seeing all the frogs and slugs they desired. Ann convinced Kat that climbing the wall in the rain was a very bad idea and he didn’t want his only sister to die young. Because he would get arrested for her death. Kat couldn’t argue with that, even if she thought he could get away with her murder.

The day after that Kat didn’t see Ann in the forest. And for the first time in a while, she walked through the woods alone. It didn’t usually make her scared to be there alone, but after getting used to a person to talk to, she felt unnerved. The next day Ann was there looking sad. He brushed it off in the morning but after passing the wall on the way home, Kat stopped and sat. Signaling that they needed to talk about something. Ann sat down, without looking at her.

“Ann. You don’t need to tell me what’s up, but, do you… want to talk about it?” Ann didn’t make eye contact with her, but Kat could see tears brimming his eyes. “Ann?”

That made him start sobbing and his head fell into her lap. His hands were gripping the sleeves of her hoodie and she let him cry it out and the sprinkling off the rain started. She didn’t say anything and let him cry. Eventually he sat back up with bloodshot eyes, and Kat opened up her arms so he could get a hug. Ann accepted it.

“Garrett ran away from home today. I don’t know why and my dad blamed me for it. Because I hang out with you. I tried to defend you because you’re my friend, my sister even, and…” He trailed off and hid his face in Kat’s shoulder. She tightened the hug, trying not to feel guilty for being brought into it. Kat assumed the worst but didn’t bring any of it work. “I don’t want to go home either. I think Garrett was right to leave. Even if he’s a jerk.”

“My parents would understand if you needed to come to my house.” She offered.

They stopped hugging to face each other. Ann wiped his face as more tears fell, he started laughing. The rain was coming down harder, he was openingly sobbing and crying through it all. Kat started laughing too. It was horrible surviving the weather, but they were doing it together so it was fine.

“That’d be great, I think.” They held their arms around each other’s shoulders running out of the rain and into Kat’s home. And it was fine. Kat’s siblings fussed over the two of them getting mud in the house and possibly getting sick. One of her older brothers was a little concerned about the crying white kid in the house but didn’t say anything. Kat had mentioned a new friend that she made a while ago and that was that.

Eventually Ann had stopped visiting his father, and even later he was practically adopted by Kat’s family. Kat wouldn’t admit it, but she cried a little when her mom gave him a copy of the blue crystal good luck charm. Ann knew she did though, he was just kind enough not to mention it.

Ann had moved into Caleb’s room after he moved out. Kat and Moss’s room was across from that. He was the only cursed person in the entire house. He would be hurt easily and his stamina wasn’t very good because of it. It would worry Kat a lot. Lelise had told Kat that the curse had to be a secret but she didn’t specify why. The house became emptier as the older siblings grew up and moved out. When Nia was getting ready to move out they shared a nice dinner together.

Kat and Ann stayed behind at the end to clean up the table.

“Hey Kat? What do you think you’ll do when you move out?”

She looked up at him for a moment before going back to pick up the utensils. “I haven’t decided yet. Don’t really feel motivated to do anything in particular…” They went back to the silence for a moment, the only noise being the clinks of dishes gently hitting each other. Kat cleared her throat before opening a drawer. “What about you? Any fun ambitions?”

He gave a soft smile. “I think I want to help other people. Like work through their emotions and stuff. Is there a word for that?”

“I’m not sure, but I think you’d be great at it, Ann.” The two finished cleaning up and sat down at the table. Kat had crossed her legs on the seat while Ann had one leg up on his seat. She messed with her hair idly while looking outside. Fireflies were gently floating around peacefully. “Do you want to go on a walk through the forest? I think I have nerves to work out.”

“What, like to our old school?” Kat gave a shrug and Ann chuckled quietly. “That sounds fun actually. Why not?”

Ann got on his hat and Kat draped her blue cloak over her shoulders. They walked out after leaving a note behind on the newly cleaned table. The two siblings laughed together, going past the trees. Kat danced in circles as they went on their way, causing her to trip over a root and land on her back. Ann leaned down next to her.

“Wow, klutz.”

“Pshh, shut up, moron.” She got up, shaking the dry leaves and grass off her clothes. As she got a leaf off, Kat noticed something in the distance. “Oh shit, is that the wall?”

Ann squinted and ran over to it, causing his sister to follow after. It was even more dilapidated than the two remembered. Moss and plants were growing in between the rocks and a lot of the wall was on the forest floor surrounding it. “I can’t believe it’s still up. This thing used to give me so much anxiety when you would balance on- Kat why are you climbing it? It’s like a century old!”

“We’re gods, remember? I can do what I want!” She placed her hands on her hips. The cobblestone wall seemed to crumble into smaller pieces under her weight, which made Ann bite the inside of his cheek nervously. Kat rolled her eyes but moved to step off of it, not wanting to contribute to his constant worrying. “Okay, I’ll get off now.”

She stopped when she heard people yelling deeper in the forest. Kat turned and saw a dimly lit lantern in the distance. “Who are they?” She whispered under her breath, before tripping over a rock. Ann quickly reached out his hands to stop her from falling. And she did stop, but she wasn’t being held by anything but a pink glow. Kat’s eyes widened before dropping the rest of the way. Ann quickly sat next to her on the ground as the unnatural light grew brighter.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to use your curse because it hurts your body?” Kat murmured. Ann was clutching his head, and didn’t respond. She peaked her head over the wall, there were three figures, only one holding a lantern.

“Listen there is a cursed person in that house! I’m not lying!” One yelled. Kat squinted her eyes, trying to see better in the darkness. She could barely make out rope around this person’s hands. She turned back to Ann, to tell him they had to get out of here and he was clutching his legs with a shocked expression on his face.

Kat lightly tapped his shoulder. He looked at her and mouthed ‘That’s my brother.’ She turned back to the group and saw that they had gotten much closer than she had anticipated, making eye contact with one. A person holding a lamp and seemed to have a vacant expression, if they could ever change their face, it didn’t show. They pointed at her so she grabbed Ann’s arm and dragged him as they ran. The people gave chase.

“That’s him! He’s the cursed one!”

Ann let out a cry as his arm got grabbed by the cloaked, expressionless one. “Good job, Garrett. You’ll make a good recruit.” Kat looked back at them and desperately reached for Ann’s hand, as he tried to grab hers.

“Ann!” She called out. The one holding up Garrett stepped on her hand as the other one picked up her brother off the ground. Kat grabbed her hand and helplessly watched as they disappeared. Ann had been hurt by so many people and yet he only wished to help people. Kat was never like that. She was so scared of being considered just another one of her siblings that she didn’t focus on her future. But she wanted to help Ann, or people like him. After months of searching for Ann, nothing had come up. It was like he had never existed at all. Kat gave up after a year.

So she decided to do something else instead. Maybe Ann was dead for being cursed. Kat went to a bigger city and trained to be stronger, without breaks. She lived with her brother Caleb and his husband Merlin until she could support herself with a brand new job. On her first day, Kat walked into the building confidently and took a breath. The man running the business gave a nod and handed her a badge.

“Welcome, Kat Katabazi, to your first day at the Charlotte Institute.” His head tilted to the side without a smile.

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kcwcommentary · 5 years

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VLD4x03 – “Black Site”

4x03 – “Black Site”

Interesting to note that both this episode and last episode were directed by Steve In Chang Ahn. I haven’t yet seen any other instances within a single season of a person directing back-to-back episodes, so I wonder what this suggests about the production of season four. Also, this episode was written by the show’s Story Editor, Tim Hedrick, which becomes relevant to my criticism of this episode in a bit.

We open with Haggar/Honerva – it is really cumbersome to differentiate with the two names, and I do think this show expects us to do so. She is distraughtly staring into a magical reflective energy bubble (because apparently basic mirrors can’t be bothered with when you’re a space witch) at the brown skin face of an emaciated Honerva. She still has a clawed, purple Haggar hand though. I remain uninvested in Haggar, so the emotion of inner turmoil that the show thinks it’s giving us with her here makes me go ugh. She changes the color of her face to purple, indicating that this is a choice she is making. She is Altean, and it’s been a while since we’ve seen an Altean change their appearance (Allura first revealed this ability in 1x12 “Collection and Extraction,” though such a significant ability has never since been relevant to the story, which seems like a big narrative underuse for something so powerful).

The Druids are still torturing the Galra commander of the base from 3x06 “Tailing a Comet,” who says it must have been Lotor who attacked him. This is a change, since he wasn’t naming anyone when he was tortured at the end of 3x06. I really wish shows would stop aggrandizing the imaginary idea that torture produces true information. Haggar comments, “No one can completely wipe a memory away,” which of course is a narrative double-voiced reference to herself in the guise of referencing the commander. The show tries to write Haggar as being the bad person who doesn’t remember being Honerva, but I really hate that because it’s done to absolve Honerva of her terrible behavior, behavior that began long before she became so poisoned that she lost her memory and started calling herself Haggar. That this show thinks it depicts Honerva to be a good person with no bad behavior – they basically try to absolve Honerva with a Devil-made-me-do-it excuse – disturbs me.

The Castle Ship is landing on Olkarion, carrying more refugees. Coran identifies them as “a few hundred more souls looking for a new home.” Shiro reidentifies them as “a few hundred more soldiers in the fight against the Galra.” It bothers me that the show conflates being a refugee with being willing to fight in war. By definition, war refugees are people who are trying to escape war. But even if Shiro is accurate, and the refugees depicted in this show are willing to fight in the war, the show never shows them fighting. I never get a sense that this billion-member Voltron Coalition contributing to the war is ever any more than a few dozen people.

Pidge returns. Everyone happily runs to meet her. Of course, I still can’t help but to compare this to how everyone reacted in 4x01 “Code of Honor” to Keith returning. Pidge has brought Matt with her (because apparently he can abandon his post as a rebel and come with her). Pidge introduces Matt to everyone, including Allura.

The first time I watched this episode was the weekend after season seven was released. I had gone through the two weeks between San Diego Comic Con and the release of season seven so happy that the show was finally going to have some clear queer inclusion through the revelation about Shiro and Adam. But then, before I could start my viewing marathon to get caught up on the show and watch season seven that weekend, discussion of the realities of the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it level of inclusion and the use of the bury-your-gays trope with Adam’s character was happening online. So, by the time I was watching this episode, I was in an aggravated mindset. And then I saw this scene.

The blatant, over-the-top depiction of Matt’s attraction to Allura infuriated me. Watching it now, I can just see the scene as yet another instance of heterosexual privilege, in which the depiction of a man attracted to a woman is not subtle or hidden. It’s glaring. The double standard makes me feel ill. Matt’s behavior is over the top and feels like a celebration of the dominance of men being attracted to women in American storytelling. I can easily imagine that those responsible for this scene – writer, director, executive producer – they all are so ignorant of the privilege afforded to the perspective of men attracted to women that they were (and still remain) clueless to how obnoxious this scene is and how obnoxious they were in creating it.

And of course, Lance is jealous. I haven’t been interested in Lance’s jealousy over Allura before, I’m not interested now.

Matt sees Shiro. This is part of this scene that I really like. Matt holds out his hand to shake Shiro’s, calling him “Sir.” I appreciate that Matt has such clearly depicted respect for Shiro. Shiro shakes his hand briefly before pulling Matt in for a hug. Shiro is not a boring commander-guy character, and moments like this prove it. He has a significant softer side. He deeply cares about the people with whom he serves. Recontextualizing this knowing that this is the clone, he still feels so warmly about people that he wants to hug them, so again, he’s clearly not an “evil thing.” He also expresses a willingness to continue the search for Pidge and Matt’s dad.

And the scene ends with Lance continuing to be jealous.

Zarkon is being put into some new armor, complete with constant quintessence vials built in. Haggar complains to him about Lotor, and Zarkon responds by condemning Haggar’s elevating Lotor to the position of authority that he’s in. “It’s time to relieve my wayward son of his duties,” Zarkon says. This is only beginning to hint at the abuse that Zarkon and Haggar have inflicted over the millenia on Lotor. That this show writes Zarkon and Haggar to be abusive and then ends the show by demanding we absolve and forgive them for their abusive behavior is infuriating. This element of the show’s plot is an insult against every one of us who have been abused by a parent.

There’s a longer-than-it-should-have-been scene of Pidge giving Matt a tour of the Castle Ship. All the information in it is information we viewers have known for a long time, so it’s not adding anything new to the show. Because of that, it’s mostly a worthless scene. The quick cut and tonal shift of the voice acting of “This is our cow,” from Pidge, however is funny.

Lotor’s people are busy working on building another part of the Sincline. Lotor’s been summoned back to Zarkon’s throne. Given how he talks to his generals, he couldn’t care less about Zarkon resuming as Emperor. Narti accompanies Lotor.

There’s a scene with Allura and Coran and the cow. It’s supposed to be funny.

Lotor meets with Zarkon and Haggar. Zarkon relieves Lotor of his position and speaks with clear disdain. Zarkon says both, “Your short reign will be regarded as a black spot on the Galra Empire for years to come,” and, “You are no longer needed.” This is just a glimpse at how he has treated Lotor over the millennia, and it’s already clearly abusive. Lotor’s face as he walks away reaffirms his comment in the earlier scene that he doesn’t view holding the throne right now as being necessary for his plans.

Haggar says, “I sensed a powerful energy on [Lotor] when he entered.” Well, that’s vague writing. She creeps around and stares at Narti. The camerawork clearly focuses in on Narti, not Kova. After departing, Lotor detects and destroys a tracker that’s been placed on his ship.

Between milkshakes and now Hunk lounging with food, none of the Paladins in this episode seem like they’re busy dealing with a war. Large parts of season four have this odd casual tonal quality to scenes and plots that feels so off in an ongoing story about a war.

Referencing an element to the episode 2x07 “Space Mall,” Lance sits in the dark playing the video game he and Pidge bought at the mall. The game is stylized after old 8- and 16-bit RPGs. Given my own history with such games, I genuinely feel nostalgic seeing it depicted this way. Coran and Allura interrupt because they want more milk. So, we get another long scene with the cow. We do learn that Lance knows how to milk a cow, which is not an everyman skill. Coran and Allura react in horror, so we can conclude that Alteans aren’t similar to mammals (why do female Alteans have breasts then?). It’s like they’ve never seen someone consume something extracted from an animal before, but I can’t believe that the two of them are so socially isolated that they’ve never encountered someone who does, even if they themselves do not. I imagine that the writer and director did this scene without much of any thought to the anthropological implications it contains. They just thought it was funny. To me, it just feels out of place. Again, it’s so casual.

Lotor returns to his generals. Axca reports the second “comet” ship is complete. Again, the camerawork focuses on Narti, not Kova, and we see that Haggar is watching Lotor through her. How she can be doing so through Narti, who we know is blind and has no depicted eyeballs, I don’t know. “No!” Haggar says in some raspy, desperate voice upon hearing that Lotor is building ships. She hears the word “comet” and jumps to the conclusion that it’s the same kind of “comet” Voltron was made from. This is another instance of this show having people jump to conclusions because the show needs them to, not because it would be logical that they would make such a conclusion. It’s a cheat, a shortcut in writing.

Haggar tells Zarkon, who assumes Lotor is keeping them secret so that he can use them against the Empire. Again, this feels like a jump to a conclusion, but it also could be that Zarkon is a megalomaniac, so he thinks everything is about him. He orders his fleet to “hunt down Prince Lotor.”

Pidge, Matt, and Hunk do something to improve the Castle Ship’s ability to track Galra ships. They also decipher Galra communications that they had previously been unable to do. They learn Zarkon is alive. They also can see Zarkon’s fleet moving toward Lotor’s base. There’s a team meeting. Pidge finally says she thinks she can upgrade Voltron as a whole with the cloaking technology she’s been using for ages on the Green Lion. She says she’s been working on it for a while but that she can’t pilot the Green Lion and operate the cloaking at the same time. That makes no sense whatsoever since she can pilot Green and use Green’s cloak simultaneously. It’s more contrived writing to put Matt in Green with Pidge.

Lotor’s base is attacked. Voltron shows up, cloaks, and observes from a distance. Lotor moves so that he, his generals, and the remaining part of the “comet” can escape on the two Sincline ships created so far. “How did they find us,” Axca asks. “We must’ve been tracked,” Zethrid responds. Lotor then jumps to the conclusion that it’s because of Narti. The camerawork clearly focuses on Narti, not Kova. Since Kova was with Lotor just as much as Narti was, there’s no reason for him to assume Narti and not the possibility of Kova, especially since Kova originated with Honerva/Haggar. But Lotor jumps to the conclusion that it’s Narti’s fault because the writing is again cheating, and he kills Narti.

This terrible writing was a portent that we can only see in hindsight of how badly the conclusion of the clone plotline would be written. Just like with the clone of Shiro, the show here instantly writes Narti to be worthy of death. No consideration of her innocence. No recognition that she’s being used by Haggar. It’s the same with the clone. The writers of this show think that if you lose your agency, that you are worthy of death. The writers would probably react to this criticism of Narti’s death by saying Lotor’s a villain, but since they do to the clone of Shiro the same thing for the same reason, they reveal through their writing choices that this is how they think. If someone deprives you of agency, you are “evil” and deserve to die.

Also, what message does it send that this show introduced Narti as blind and could have given us an interesting character of diverse representation, but instead they use her as death fodder, with the narrative placing the blame on her instead of on Haggar. It started most definitively in 3x07 “The Legend Begins,” but the writers of this show wrote with the purpose of absolving Honerva/Haggar of her behavior for a long time on this show. I guess it should be no surprise that that absolution is the climax of the series. Writing is about making choices. Every moment like this is a choice. And this episode was written by the show’s Story Editor (at this point in its production) Tim Hedrick.

Lotor doesn’t explain himself, as he walks away after killing Narti, and none of his generals have any reaction. Narti is a woman with whom Axca, Ezor, and Zethrid have been working closely for a long time now. And none of them react to seeing Lotor kill her. None of them demand to know why.

Lotor and his remaining generals leave on the Sincline ships. Despite the hugeness of space, his two relatively small ships fly so closely to Voltron that Voltron sidesteps Lotor’s ships at he last minute. There is literally no reason for this to happen except the writing is contrived. The show wants an excuse to end Voltron’s cloaking. Why Voltron, seeing Lotor’s ships coming at them, having more than enough time to move out of the way, only does so at the literal last second possible is senseless. Again, contrived.

Voltron destroys dozens, maybe even hundreds of Galra ships.

Zarkon issues an Empire-wide message: Lotor is deemed an enemy of the state, and Zarkon wants Lotor killed on sight. This ordering Lotor’s execution and dying in combat with Lotor in episode 5x02 “Blood Duel” are the only significant things Zarkon does in the show after the battle at the end of season two. There’s very little reason for him to have survived the end of season two. And here he is, ordering the execution of his son, and that’s one of his endless horrible actions that he’s absolved of by the show in the final season.

A lot of blame for the bad storytelling in this show goes to the show’s executive producers, absolutely. But I don’t absolve the show’s Story Editor either, especially when he’s the writer of an egregious episode like this.

#voltron legendary defender #voltron #vld #voltron criticism #vld criticism #voltron critical #vld critical #vld season 4 #vld 4x03 #commentary

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cait-writes-stuff · 6 years

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Love in War - Victuuri Week Day 1 (Historical AU)

Title: Love in War Rating: T Summary: Victor is a general for the Red Army sitting in on Allied supplies negotiations in Switzerland during World War II. Yuuri is an escaped Japanese researcher just trying to escape the war but he finds himself tangled up even further into the heat of war and consequently Victor.

Link to A03: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13546224

Switzerland, July 1941

“Once again we find ourselves in a position where resources are running thin on the western front. My men say we’re at most two weeks away before we lose our foothold in the region. General Nikiforov you will divert supplies and weapons shipments from the eastern front to the efforts in France.” JJ said, already proactively moving pieces signifying supplies on the war map in front of them. Victor caught his wrist in a death grip before he could even touch the pieces that would deny his men the necessities of living in a time of war.

“With all due respect, Commander, I’m afraid that can’t happen. My men are already stretched thin as it is and the Germans push us towards the Russian border with each passing day. Our intel indicates that they intend to take Moscow before winter sets in. We need all the supplies possible to ensure that doesn’t happen.” Victor replied calmly with a dangerous edge to his voice. Commander Leroy wisely retracted his hand away from the war pieces.

"Listen here comrade the Russian front can wait. Our primary focus needs to be supporting the west."Commander Leroy argued. His superior pulled him back when Victor's expression turned absolutely murderous. Probably the only thing that stopped Victor from reaching for the standard issue handgun secured to his belt was Chris stepping through the door and making himself known.

“General Nikiforov. A moment of your time?" Chris said gesturing towards the open door.

"Not now." Victor growled.

"You're going to want to see this sir." Chris assured. Victor sighed and excused himself from the war room. They adjourned the meeting for lunch and would resume requisition negotiations later in the afternoon since the morning meeting had turned out to be less than productive.

"I swear upon my mother's grave if I have to hear one more fucking bureaucrat disguised as a general disregard my people's lives, I'm going to start another world war myself." Victor warned as Chris led him down the darkened hallways of the Swiss war bunker.

"Let's finish this one before you go off and start another, mon ami." Chris sympathized, clapping Victor on the shoulder.

"What was so important?" Victor asked when they came to a stop in front of the door leading to what was used as an interrogation room for the occasional Axis spy that found its way to their humble abode.

"See for yourself." Chris said, unlocking the door to the interrogation room and gesturing for Victor to make his way inside.

Victor stopped just inside of the doorway when he saw a battered Japanese man handcuffed to the table. His eyes were downcast and his lips set in a firm frown. The man was handsome by most standards, the only flaw being perhaps a couple fresh scratches and bruises smattered across his exposed skin and a cracked set of spectacles resting on his nose.

"Does he speak English?" Victor asked Chris, not taking his eyes off the assumed Japanese spy.

"We don't know. His plane crashed a few miles from here and my men pulled him out and brought him here for questioning. He's only been conscious for about an hour but he hasn't uttered a word." Chris explained as if the man sitting in front of them wasn't there. The Japanese man shifted his gaze up towards them but otherwise didn't say a word or even indicate that he understood them at all.

"Is he Kamikaze? I wasn't aware Japan had developed an endurance aircraft." Victor inquired.

"They haven't yet as far as we know. He crashed in a German plane."

"German?" Victor pondered, perplexed.

"My men are working as we speak trying to determine the cause of the crash and hopefully his intent since this one refuses to talk." Chris said jabbing his thumb in the foreign prisoner's direction. The Japanese man narrowed his eyes at Chris before redirecting his attention back to the steel table.

"Let me talk to him." Victor decided.

"Ah yes, I was hoping you'd use your trademark Russian charm to open him up." Chris bit sarcastically. Victor rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I'm not going to torture him. I just want to talk. Something isn't adding up here." Victor explained. He had a hunch and his hunch was telling him that this foreigner was not what he seemed to be. Victor wanted to hear what the man had to say for himself.

"He's all yours." Chris said before taking his leave.

Victor approached the chair across from the prisoner and sat himself down and rested his hands on the table in front of him. The Japanese man eyed Victor up and down and straightened himself in his chair but remained speechless. Victor would have to prod this conversation if he wanted anything out of him.

"Do you speak English? Russian? Deutsch?" Victor started listing off the languages he was fluent in, hoping to god they had a language in common. The prisoner let out a bitter scoff when Victor listed off German.

Interesting . . .

"Listen, if you cooperate with me I'm sure we could work out a mutually beneficial agreement but you have to talk." Victor sighed.

"English is fine." The prisoner finally spoke. Victor thanked the high heavens that he could get that much out of him.

"Tell me your name." Victor commanded.

"Promise you won't kill me." The man countered. Victor leaned back in the hard chair and sighed.

"I'm afraid I can't promise that." Victor shook his head. "I can promise that if your honest with me I will try my hardest to grant you leniency provided that I like the story that you give me. Now let's try this again. What is your name?" Victor repeated more firmly.

"Katsuki Yuuri." He answered obediently, lowering his soft brown eyes to the table where he clasped his hands.

"Where are you from?" Victor asked leaning forward and crossing his arms on top of the table.

"Japan." Yuuri answered concisely.

"Where in Japan?" Victor questioned.

"I don't see how that's relevant." Yuuri challenged with a degree of fire in his eyes that Victor had yet to see since he first saw the Japanese man.

"Fine." Victor backed off. "Tell me then how it is that a man like you ends up crashing a German plane into the side of a Swiss mountain." Victor inquired.

"I stole it." Yuuri answered.

"Stole what?" Victor inquired.

"The plane. I stole it from a base in Munich." He elaborated without giving too much away. Victor looked at his watch and sighed. He really couldn't stay in this room all day.

"You're going to have to paint a better picture for me than that if you want me to put my neck on the line for you." Victor warned.

"I am - was - a scholar working out of the Japanese embassy in Munich. German research used to come across my desk and my job was to sort it and send the valuable developments along to Tokyo. This war had created nothing but truly horrific science that one can never unsee. The Nazi's especially have continued finding more and more horrific ways to slaughter innocent lives and my job at the embassy was to spread their evils into my own country. I couldn't stand it anymore so I would secretly shred the worst science that I came in contact with. My supervisor caught me and I knew I would have to flee the country or face the end of a Nazi's gun. I had the opportunity to steal that plane so I did." The man explained solemnly.

"How did you manage to steal the plane?" Victor prompted.

"As an ambassador of research I have access to the scientists that work on the bases. It wasn't unusual for me to visit every so often to collect copies of research or observe their experiments. I went to the Munich base under the guise of inspecting German aircraft engineering and I seized the opportunity to steal one before my name could be blacklisted." Yuuri answered.

"Where were you planning on going?" Victor asked.

"I knew I needed to at least make it to Switzerland. Beyond that I'm not sure what my plan was. I had to flee so suddenly I didn't really have time to think of a solid plan." Yuuri answered.

"Why did you crash the plane?" Victor asked.

"I didn't mean to. I'm not a trained pilot but I know enough theoretically to get by. When I took off the Munich base tried to shoot me down. I took a few hits but I was able to remain in the air and functional just long enough to reach the Switzerland border where I knew they wouldn't follow me. I had a bit of trouble landing the plane."

"It seems to me that you're a very lucky man to be alive right now, Yuuri." Victor commented.

"Am I though?" Yuuri asked skeptically.

"I suppose that remains to be seen." Victor agreed. "Let me clarify so that I am understanding this correctly. You worked closely with German and Japanese military research, when caught destroying said research you stole a military aircraft and fled to Switzerland, crashed, and now you are here."

"I am here." Yuuri agreed.

"I think you just might have some value to the allied cause Mr. Katsuki. I'm sure if you're willing we might have a position open for you here." Victor offered. He might be going over the other generals heads by offering such an opportunity for a man who just hours ago worked for their enemy but he saw a lot of untapped potential in Yuuri. It would have been a shame if his talents and intellect went to waste.

"I suppose I don't have a choice do I?" Yuuri waged.

"I'm sure Munich would just love to have you back." Victor hedged. Yuuri went the slightest bit pale and pushed his malfunctioning glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

"Will you let me go?" Yuuri asked with a worried look in his eyes.

"I'm sure we can work something out when your work here is done. We'll talk later Yuuri." Victor reassured, rising from his seat and heading towards the door.

"Wait! What are you going to do with me? I told you everything. You can't just leave me here!" Yuuri pleaded, constrained by the handcuffs tying his wrists to the table. Victor paused at the door and turned around to address Yuuri once again.

"I'm going to have a few of the men on base escort you to my chambers where you will work on documenting all that you remember from your time working with classified information. I'll have someone bring you some food and a fresh uniform and if your extra good maybe I'll send someone along to fix your glasses for you." Victor explained sending a subtle wink the prisoner's way.

"I'm not your lap dog." Yuuri seethed.

"No you're not, but you don't exactly have many options now do you? I suggest you either make peace with your new employment or your maker. I expect your answer by tonight." Victor said, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.

Victor didn't have to go far to find Chris who was in the bunker's small kitchen pushing around a can of beans with a spoon.

"Chris, our Japanese friend is a civilian researcher caught on the wrong side of the war. He'll be staying with me until further notice."

"Is that really the best idea, Victor?" Chris asked, spooning some beans into his mouth.

"Of course it is. Yuuri's head is filled with all sorts of valuable information and we would be remiss if we let this opportunity go to waste." Victor argued.

"Victor, that's not what I meant. I don't know if you could afford another -" Chris paused and looked around the room to ensure that they were alone before lowering his voice. "You're career, fuck, you, can't survive another Vladimir situation."

"This is different." Victor insisted defensively.

"Is it though, Victor? You've always been a sucker for the ones with cute faces and that man definitely qualifies." Chris whispered, so that no one passing by would overhear.

"I have no intentions on pursuing him." Victor insisted.

"You say that but I'm not so convinced." Chris said before shaking his head and sighing. "Look just be careful ok? I don't have to tell you that for people like us the Nazi's aren't our only enemies."

“I know Chris, I know. Can you just arrange to have him moved to my room?” Victor sighed.

“I’ll get right on it, sir.” Chris agreed with a salute.

“Make sure you get him a good mea tool. God only knows what those Germans were feeding him.” Victor said, straightening his uniform and parting his hair just right in the reflection of the shined steel table.

“You’re getting invested.” Chris sang in an ‘I told you so’ tone as he inspected the newspaper sitting in from of him.

“Maybe I am.” Victor conceded, rolling his shoulders and straightening his spine.

“You my friend are a delightful idiot. I wish you all the best in your crusade.” Chris said.

Victor didn’t say anything in return but braced himself to go back out into the fray of negotiations and war time bureaucracy. Oh, to live in a time where any of this was any easier.

#victuuriweek #au prompt #day one #fic #yoi #yuri on ice #yuuri katsuki #victor nikiforov #victuri #victuuri #viktuuri #vikturi #historical au

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theamberfang · 3 years

Text

686

Finally caught up with One Piece on chapter 999. Most notably, for me, I got around to trans man that was introduced in this arc. I remember seeing some hubbub about the character either here or on Reddit (if not both).

I’m not totally sure how I feel about the character to be honest. It feels like there was an attempt at handling identity and names, but it’s muddled by the way the character is less coming into their own and more assuming the identity of someone who already existed—closer to the concept of “kinning” really. Admittedly, that’s a totally legitimate way to explore gender, but I find myself being particularly critical of the way One Piece handles gender because, to my knowledge, Oda, the mangaka, is a cis man.

Like, I’m unsure if I should refer to this character as Yamato, apparently his birth name, or Oden, the identity he claims to be assuming. But it’s causing a lot of extra confusion, because the name of Oden is very significant (primarily in-universe, but the obscurity transfers confusion to the reader). So out of practical necessity, everyone—both the other characters and the readers—have to use his original birth name regardless. The framing isn’t very palatable to me as a trans person: the use of a birth name—what would be a dead name for many trans people—being necessary for practical reasons.

Another thing is that Yamato specifically describes his gender as a “choice”: that he “chose” to be a man. To be fair to Oda, this may be more on the English translation, but the concept of gender being a choice is one I am always wary of. Combined with the assertion that this “choice” came from being a fan of—having admiration for—a specific man and wanting to not only use his name, but occasionally refer to things belonging to the original as his... I don’t know. It doesn’t feel as genuine.

And in general, Oda’s handling of gender is really messy for me. A lot of that comes down to Sanji though, because through Sanji’s particular form of “comic relief”, we get a measure of who is meant to be read as a “real” woman. There’s a whole group, a whole island even, of “Okama”: which, as I understand, refer to gender non-conforming people, ranging from drag queens to trans women. I’m not entirely clear on the specifics since I haven’t looked into it much outside of the context of One Piece, but it is clear that Sanji doesn’t consider any of them to be “real” women. And he also has an issue of judging all women based on appearance. And to be clear, Sanji is one of the main characters, but one of his most prominent traits falls under a trope of using sexual harassment as a joke.

There are GNC characters that are treated generally well, like Bon Clay and Iva, but Sanji and the trope that comes with him brings down even the highlights in my opinion. Sanji has yet to meet Yamato, but I’m not looking forward to it. It’s almost certain that he’s going to treat him as a woman.

I have a mind to continue ranting about the way One Piece [mis]handles gender, but I don’t have the energy for it right now. I’ll just say that I am seriously tired of the recurring “jokes” that Sanji and Brooke have, especially with the former’s antics frequently being plot relevant.

#daily journal

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zenyattayatta · 7 years

Note

Good luck with the blog, love your work so far! As for a request, I'd like to see a fic in which Reader (any gender is OK) has an ill-advised crush on Reaper, but Reader has had devastating rejections in the past and they're scared of it happening again, especially considering the object of their present affections... Sorry if it's vague or breaks a rule, this is what listening to sad George Micheal songs on repeat (esp. A Different Corner) does to my imagination. Thanks! X

Maybe

Author’s Note: Dont be sorry! It doesnt break any rules. ^^ The thing about vague request is that it gives me more room to work with. Hope this to your enjoyment!

Small warning for blood and a bit of violence.

You’re taste in partners has always been… debatable.

Quite frankly, they never panned out the way you had wanted.Rejection often leaving you regretting even coming out about your feelings.However, you weren’t one to fuss about it. Understanding that you could notforce someone to accept your feelings. You’d handled it with grace.

“Just wanted to let you know.” You’d laugh, hiding thequiver of your lip and tremble of your voice. “Thought I’d give it a shot.”

It had been a long while now since you’d last developed aliking to anyone. One too many rejections leaving a sour taste in your mouth wheneven thinking about confessing. In truth, you’d admit it even put you off fromdeveloping feeling for anyone. But now, once more, you’d found yourself in apredicament.

You sighed, eyesdrifting slowly to the curve of your leg, the bandage at your calf and the extensive tear on the formal wear you wore. It was dirty and blood stained,pieces of glass still tangled within the threads. Then you noticed a nastyscuff on the most uncomfortable but gorgeous pair of dress shoes you owned.

“Damn, these were new too.” You mutter to yourself rubbingdown the scrape in hopes it would smooth the material once more. Unfortunately,it didn’t. “Damn it.”

You had hit a rough spot while on the mission. You needed tothink fast and bursting through the window was your only option. Bullets flewpast you, arms and legs moving in a motion to counteract the enviable work of gravity.

Yet you landed right in the arms of one of your companions.If you could even call him that. Reaper stared at you through black holes ofhis mask as he caught you. For a moment, you wonder if this is death’s finallydream. Being caught in the arms of a man you fancy more than you’d liked to tell yourself. Thestare down between the two of you seems to last ages. His arms are large andyou can feel the muscle of his tone arms keeping you from falling. There’s dust of color on yourcheeks and you can’t tell if the adrenaline is what’s making you heart beatfast. However, your thoughts are cut short as he speaks to get your attention.

“You want to get off already?” He asked, you’re a bitperplexed as to why he didn’t just drop you rather than asking but decide notto question it.

“Ah, yes.” You place an arm on his shoulder in order to keepyour balance as you find your footing. There’s yelling from above you as yourprior engagement has come into relevance once more. “Shit.” You mutter underyour breath.

Reaper looks at the hail of bullets beginning to rain abovethe two of you. It’s almost immediate that your body is enraptured in his armsagain. The wraith using his body as he covers you from the heavy fire. Hegrunts as the bullets pierce his back while as you huddle into the expanse ofhis chest. Though, as the enemy moves to reload he manages to shadow step intocover.

Reaper places you on the ground with ease, worry quicklyovertaking you. “Are you alright?” You ask trying to look over his to his back.You place a hand on his shoulder feeling for blood but find that there is none. Smoke seeps from his wound, angry and hot before the skin begins to close.

He ignores your fretfulness but doesn’t move away from yourtouch. “Do you have what we came for?” His voice

“Yes, the data has been collected and Sombra should have itby now.” You assure him before peeking out from your cover. You can see the menfrom before beginning to search the area for you. Their pistols replaced withmuch more heavy artillery than before. “They haven’t spotted us yet. We canprobably make a run for the drop ship.”

You pull yourself up slightly wincing when you notice a cutalong the length of your calf. A shard of glass having cut you during yourdramatic escape. You frown and Reaper seems to notice the rise in tensionfollowing your gaze. He sighs, twisting his neck trying to work out the kinks.

“Wait for me here.” He warns, not giving you much of anoption. “And do not move.” His tonehaving made your knees weak, as all you can do is nod with your mouth agape.You hang back, leaning on the wall while ripping the sleeveof your formal wear off. There’s the sound of men shouting before you hear thebang of gunshots not long after. Assuming Reaper is doing quick work of themen, you move to tie the ripped sleeve around the wound on your leg. Its uncomfortable and does little to aid the possibilityof infection but you need the bleeding to stop.

“Alright, let’s go.” Reaper announces swaying towards youwhile discarding a pair of shotguns on the ground. You nod, using the wall tohelp balance yourself while your leg aches in pain. The first step isn’t so baduntil you move your weight to your injured leg. The pain is intense and youhiss at the feeling stumbling a bit in your steps.

Reaper looks over his shoulder, watching as you limpsluggishly behind him. The blood beginning to seep through the makeshift bandageat your calf. He continues to walk on until you manage to fall too far behindfor his liking. With a growl, he turns around and walks over to you.You stop, looking at him questioningly as his arms reach outto you. One hooks at your back and the other behind your knees lifting you upeffortlessly. Heat rushes to your face and you move to protest but he speaksbefore you.

“You’re slowing us down.” He says matter-of-factly. “We’llget there faster this way.”

You can’t argue with his reasoning. You were slowing himdown and him carrying you adds less stress to your leg. A tight pull of yourlips leaves you silent. Though, the closeness this particular situation has youin leaves your heart to beat loudly in your ears. You begin to feel the effectsof the blood loss when you start swaying in his hold. He notices too, pullingyou to lean on his chest as your eyelids begin to feel heavy. You curseyourself for wanting to stay awake to revel in the arms of your crush but thenull of sleep pulls at your stronger than your resolve. It’s not long afterthat he feels you go limp in his arms, your head on his chest and your breathingslow but steady.

He carries you until you both make it back into the hanger,settling you into one of the seats before leaving you there for the duration ofthe flight. You only wake once checking over yourself when the pilot announces your arrival at base.

The walk back to your dorm was quiet.

You mind mulled overthe course of tonight’s events. After Reaper had cleared the area of guards,he’d practically carried you back into the drop ship. Though, your walk backinto the base was of your own accord since he had misted away as soon as you’dlanded. One long trip to the medical bay had you dismissed hours later with a “You’re fine, don’t be a baby”. Althougha bit rude, you were thankful you had escaped with the least damage possiblefor your situation.

Silently, you kicked yourself for not giving him a properthank you. Although, you knew better than to push your good luck so far withReaper, it still left you feeling awkward not thanking him. You pondered yourthoughts for a moment if you should approach him or leave the matter be.

This man killed for a living. He was known as a livingnightmare. Yet, here you were. Wondering why you wanted to thank the same manwho saved your behind three times in one mission.

You smiled dumbly to yourself. He saved me three times.

The pads of your feet flinching every time you made contactwith the cold tile. You held your uncomfortable dress shoes in your handswinging them as you walked along with a slight limp. The corridors were silent,save for the buzz of the lights and electricity, and no one else seemed to beawake at this hour. That is until you rounded the corner to your hall, findingyour ‘hero’ walking through.

“Reaper!” You called out before you could stop yourself. The man halted before turning as you caught upwith him.

“What.” His tone was none too pleased. You stopped beforehim with a hint of nervousness rather than fear.

“I, um,” You took a steady breath, fiddling with your shoeson one hand. “I wanted to thank you.” You began, “For helping me earlier. I wasa bit surprised when you caught me, I’m sure you were too.” You laughed. Hesimply stares at you motionless. “But, uh, yea. Sorry to bother you.” You gavehim curt bow before moving to walk past him.

He blocks your way by extending a leg out. His mask movesslightly towards your, as if he’s watching you through the corners of his eyes.“Your leg.” He states, you’re a bit confused on what he means till the holes ofhis mask gaze down your calf.

“Oh!” You pipe, moving your hands nervously. “Doc said itwas fine. Just a minor graze and no real damage. Might leave a scar though.” Abit of nervous laughter is added at the end as his gaze went back up to levelwith yours. It’s quiet for a moment before he moves his leg out of the way andbrings his arms to cross of his chest.

“Do you always make it a habit of falling into people’sarms?” He asked, his tone was suddenly different. Almost as if it was flirtatious. You raise a brow before tossing him a wink.

“Only the good-looking ones.” You wink, clicking your tongueat him before stepping around him. “Have a nice night, Reaper.” You add,turning the corner towards your dorm room. You almost feel a weight leave your shouldersas the door shuts behind you. A rush of realization hitting you with fever.

Did I really just dothat?

You place a hand over your beating chest before closing youreyes. The way he asked you was more than just a question. The way he blockedyou, his tone, and even his body language. You’d seen him work with Sombra andWidowmaker before and he always held a different aura. Though, he seemed a bitmore relaxed, maybe even playful? A wave of laughter rushed through you as youfelt giddy.

Alright, alright, takeit slow. You assure yourself. Take itslow this time. Maybe it’ll work out, you never know! You shut your eyes, thinking at thepossibility a bit to eagerly. Maybe.

#asks #anon #requests #reaper x reader #reaper #gabriel reyes x reader #gabriel reyes #overwatch x reader #overwatch #Anonymous

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sinesalvatorem · 7 years

Text

Problem 6, Continued

OK, so, yesterday I said I was investigating Problem 6 of the 1988 International Math Olympiad. The problem as stated is:

Let a and b be positive integers such that ab + 1 divides a2 + b2. Show that a2 + b2 / ab + 1 is the square of an integer.

I interpreted this to mean:

For any positive integers a and b such that ab + 1 divides a2 + b2, show that a2 + b2 / ab + 1 must be a perfect square.

In the process of investigating it, I would up proving that for any positive integers b and a such that b = a3, ab + 1 divides a2 + b2and a2 + b2 / ab + 1 is the square of an integer. This is related, but not quite what I’m looking for. My specific reasoning was:

Firstly, if a3 = b, and a and b are both squared in the numerator, then the numerator is effectively a2 + a6. Next, if the denominator is a*(a3) + 1, then it’s a4 + 1. Finally, the result of the equation is a2. Therefore:

a2 + a6 = (a4 + 1) * a2 #divide both sides by a2# 1 + a4 = a4 + 1

However, b = a3 isn’t the only time ab + 1 divides a2 + b2, nor the only time the result is a perfect square. For example, I noticed yesterday that a = 8 and b = 30 does it.

Anyway, that’s what happened yesterday, so now you’re all caught up. Now, the thing that nerdsniped me for the past two hours: What is the pattern of these “irregular” solutions, such as a=8 & b=30?

I fired up my compiler and wrote a script to search for pairs of numbers like this, and I discovered a pattern. The equation is solved when a=8 & b=30, or when a=30 & b=112, or when a=112 & b=418...

That is, there’s a cycle. The b of one solution is the a of the next, with some larger number being b next time. This goes on for as far up as I checked*, which means there’s a long (I expect infinite) sequence of integers where you can plug in any adjacent pair and find a solution.

However, this wasn’t the only sequence like this. In fact, after I stopped thinking of these as “the irregular solutions”, I realised there must be a bunch of sequences like this. Let me explain:

The sequence I just discussed ({8, 30, 112, 418...}) doesn’t start at 8. It starts at 2. Because, as you might recall, a=2 & b=8 is a solution. So we have a sequence {2, 8, 30, 112, 418...}.

(The pairs you can form have interesting properties - the first has a ratio of 4 (ie: 8/2 =4), while every subsequent pair has a slightly smaller ratio [3.75, 3.73333 (recurring), 3.7321 (truncated), 3.7320 (truncated)]. Because the difference between adjacent ratios becomes smaller as well, I assume this converges on some limit. However, at present, I’m not sure how I’d find it.)

However, if you’re like me, when you saw that 2 & 8 was the start of a sequence, you thought “Hold on, does that mean 3 & 27 is also the start of a sequence?” If so, you would be right! There’s a whole ‘nother “irregular” sequence {3, 27, 240, 2133, 18957...}. This also consists of pair-wise solutions, and the ratios also start at a perfect square (32) and then decline toward some (supposed) lower bound.

Unsurprisingly, there’s a sequence like this for every “regular” pair I checked (ie: pairs where b = a3), and I assume there’s one for all integer values of a. (Unproven, but conjectured strongly enough that I’d be pretty surprised if I were wrong.)

The result of the equation when given inputs from any of the sequences ends up being a square, of course. Specifically, a square of the first number in the sequence. So, for the first sequence I talked about, the equation always outputs 4. For this reason, I consider the first element of the sequence to be the defining element, so I’ve been calling each sequence Sfirst element. So, the first sequence discussed would be S2. (I expect there is a sequence S1, but that it simply contains {1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1...}).

The prime factorisations of the numbers in each sequence haven’t told me much useful stuff yet. So far, I can’t see a pattern that would let me predict** the next number in the sequence using its factorisation. Only two result really jump out at me:

The first thing is that every number in a given sequence has the first number of that sequence as a factor. This was intuitive to me so it wasn’t very interesting. What was interesting is that the third, sixth, ninth and so on elements of every single sequence tested are all divisible by 10. I have no idea why this keeps happening, but it does, and that’s cool enough that it might merit more research.

However, if anyone reading this discovers anything more interesting in the factorisations, please let me know.

Anyway, this has almost certainly all been a massive sidetrack from actually solving the problem. But, hey, I started working on the problem because it was interesting, and this sidetrack was interesting, so I don’t consider this lost in any way.

*I checked for the existence of all the sequences S2...S10, and several members of each set, and the factorisations of some members, and the ratios of some pairs. All those fiddly numbers and my obscure hypotheses are under the cut for anyone who thought this post wasn’t already long enough, or wants to use my results to investigate further.

**Edit: Shit, I only realised after writing this that I should just look these sequences up in the G-d damn OEIS. Sure enough, every sequence I’ve checked is already there, and has an equation for it. Here’s S2. I’m really kicking myself now. It’s a bit late to go diving into them, but I’ll let you guys know what I uncover.

Hi, extremely strange people who want to read even more math. Here is some more stuff from my exploration:

Firstly, here are my guesses about what might be going on here. Each conjecture has varying amounts of confidence, based on how intuitively correct the pattern seems to me and how confident I am that I understand the relevant math.

Conjectures with >95% confidence:

There are no natural numbers a such that b = a3does not yield a solution.

:. The set So is countably infinite.

:. There is a countably infinite number of sets S1...Sn.

All members of the set Sn will have n as a factor.

Conjectures with >70% confidence:

Each set S1...Sn is countably infinite

The set of all the sets S1..n (hence forth Sab) is countably infinite (for the same reason the rationals are countable)

Every third element (the third, the sixth, the ninth, etc) of any sequence S2...Sn will be divisible by 10

The limit for the ratios for a given sequence will be greater than n2-1, for any sequence Sn.

Conjectures with >50% confidence:

There are no solutions to the equation which are not in the super set Sab (bearing in mind that So is a subset of Sab., since the listing the first two elements of each set S1...Sn gives you the first 2n terms of So.)

For each set Sn, every prime is a factor of some element of that set. (Strictly conditional on all sets S1...Sn being infinite.)

If you can prove, disprove, or otherwise contribute to me thinking about any of these conjectures, you will win the prize of me expressing my gratitude by sending emoji to your inbox. That’s basically as valuable as a Field’s Medal, right? 💡💯💡

Next up, my method of investigation thus far:

The first thing I did was iteratively test loooooots of possible {a, b} pairs. Like, so many. Literally a million. Here’s the code that did that:

a = 5000 while((a > 0)): b = 200 while((b > 0)): if((a**2 + b**2)%(a*b + 1) == 0): x = (a**2 + b**2)/(a*b + 1) print("A =", a) print("B =", b) print("Numerator =", (a**2 + b**2)) print("Denominator =", (a*b + 1)) print("The result,",x, "is a square of", x**0.5) print(" ") b -=1 a -=1

This worked down from very high numbers to very low ones, testing lots of possibilities. The list generated included the original sequence of “regular” pairs (So, which contains {{1, 1}, {2, 8}, {3, 27}, {4, 64}...}. Unlike the Sn sequences, only the pairs shown as subsets are valid solutions.), where b = a3, up to {17, 4913}.

Additionally, it generated the first few terms of S2 and S3, as well as the first term of each of S4, and S5. This is the point at which it was 100% clear to me that there was a sequence of sequences S2..n. (I then assumed a sequence S1 which is as described before the cut.)

In testing the numbers in each sequence, I found that the ratios of the pairs declined as I described before the cut. The ratios for the first couple elements of S2 are:

8/2 = 4 30/8 = 3.75 112/30 = 3.73333 (repeating) 418/112 = 3.732142857 (truncated) 1560/418 = 3.732057416 (truncated) 5822/1560 = 3.732051282 (truncated) 21728/5822 = 3.732050841 (truncated) 81090/21728 = 3.732050810 (truncated) 302632/81090 = 3.732050808 (truncated)

As you can see, it appears to converge. I’m not sure how I’d figure out what the limit is, but I’m pretty confident it’s >3.7. Furthermore, you can see that each ratio is lower than the one before it, which means I could discount the possibility of a pair such that their ratio would be larger than the ratio of the pair before it. This allowed me to greatly restrict the search space when checking for each “family” of numbers (ie: numbers in the same sequence).

My method for searching within each “family” was to take its initial member ‘a’ (eg: In S2 that would be ‘2′) and then test whether a*a2 was a solution. Given that it was, I would enter it into my array, assign b to be that number, and then take the ratio of b/a to be the largest possible ratio of a pair of solutions.

Then I would use the number I’d just discovered as my new ‘a’, multiply it by the ratio I’d found last time, and then check if that number was a solution. If not, I’d decrement it by one over and over again until I found a solution, and then I’d save that and repeat the cycle, with the ratio becoming smaller each time.

This algorithm, converted to Python, was:

stopper = 1 ceiling = 25 family = [5] for a in family: b = int(a*ceiling) while(b > a): if((a**2 + b**2)%(a*b + 1) == 0): x = (a**2 + b**2)/(a*b + 1) ceiling = b/a family.append(b) stopper +=1 print("The ratio is", ceiling) break b -=1 if(stopper > 9): break print(family)

#This will print the first 10 elements of S5. If you want a different sequence Sn, then replace the ‘5′ in family’s array with n and the 25 for ceiling with n**2

Once the difference between the ratios of pairs became small enough, b ended up being pretty much the same as a*ceiling rounded down to the nearest integer.

OK, if you’re still reading this, now is when I paste all the numbers I found in case you want the values. First, I’ll list the first elements of the the sets I found, with the ratio of the last two elements in each list. I’ll give the first ten for S2 to S4, and the first 5 for the others up to S10. Underneath that, I’ll give you some prime factorisations, in case you’re into those.

S2: 2, 8, 30, 112, 418, 1560, 5822, 21728, 81090, 302632 302632 / 81090 = 3.732050808*

S3: 3, 27, 240, 2133, 18957, 168480, 1497363, 13307787, 118272720, 1051146693 1051146693 / 118272720 = 8.88748219*

S4: 4, 64, 1020, 16256, 259076, 4128960, 65804284, 1048739584, 16714029060, 266375725376 266375725376 / 16714029060 = 15.93725393*

S5: 5, 125, 3120, 77875, 1943755 1943755 / 77875 = 24.95993579*

S6: 6, 216, 7770, 279504, 10054374 10054374 / 279504 = 35.9722007556*

S7: 7, 343, 16800, 822857, 40303193 40303193 / 822857 = 48.9795833298*

S8: 8, 512, 32760, 2096128, 134119432 134119432 / 2096128 = 63.9843711834*

S9: 9, 729, 59040, 4781511, 387243351 387243351 / 4781511 = 80.9876524387*

S10: 10, 1000, 99990, 9998000, 999700010 999700010 / 9998000 = 99.9899989998*

(*All ratios are truncated)

Next, here are the prime factorisations for some of the elements of S2, S3, and S4:

2 = 2 8 = 2*2*2 30 = 2*3*5 112 = 2*2*2*2*7 418 = 2*11*19 1560 = 2*2*2*3*5*13 5822 = 2*41*71 21728 = 2*2*2*2*2*7*97 81090 = 2*3*3*5*17*53 302632 = 2*2*2*11*19*181

3 = 3 27 = 3, 3, 3 240 = 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 5 2133 = 3, 3, 3, 79 18957 = 3, 71, 89 168480 = 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 3, 5, 13 1497363 = 3, 7, 113, 631 13307787 = 3, 3, 3, 17, 79, 367 118272720 = 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 5, 19, 37, 701

4 = 2 2 64 = 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2 1020 = 2, 2, 3, 5, 17 16256 = 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 127 259076 = 2, 2, 239, 271 4128960 = 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 5, 11, 17, 23

Hope that was helpful to anyone who actually checked!

#tragic backstory #math #problem 6 #long post cw

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anghraine · 7 years

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“per ardua ad astra” - chapter six

I’m so glad everyone is reading this for domesticity, emotional ineptitude, and EU-ignoring headcanons.

last chapter:

He probably wasn’t used to people sticking around, either. For the Rebellion, sure. But she hadn’t saved him for the Rebellion. She saved him because she didn’t want him to die.

On some unclear instinct, Jyn smiled back, still more cautiously. “I haven’t got us this far for you to fall apart on me now.”

this chapter:

Welcome home flashed into her mind, her memories flung from that dimly-remembered apartment in Coruscant to the Rebel base on Yavin. Maybe he meant the Rebellion, but she hadn’t. It wasn’t the Rebellion who stuck by her at Jedha. It sure as hell wasn’t at Eadu. It wasn’t the Rebellion who marched at her side after the snarling fight on the ship. Or ever.

chapters: one, two, three, four, five

Ten minutes after swallowing the sedatives, Cassian still peppered Jyn with questions. He wanted to know every word she spoke to the quartermaster, the doctor, the NCOs in the mess hall. He wanted every name she’d heard, no matter how trivial. He wanted every detail she’d manufactured about Isidar Lyr, every hint of a hint from Bodhi. He wanted directions to everything she’d seen, her estimates of distances and descriptions of architecture.

In any other circumstance, Jyn would have told him where he could stuff his questions. But he needed to know, if not all of it at this exact moment.

“Do sedatives not work on you?” she finally demanded. She could almost believe he’d built up some sort of resistance. Maybe Draven just dosed his people until they turned immune or dropped dead.

“They’ll work,” Cassian replied, with the slight lilt she was starting to recognize as amusement. “Eventually.”

Jyn rolled her eyes and flopped back on her bed, one knee propped up. After everything, there was an odd relief in annoyance.

“My turn,” she said.

“I have been unconscious for almost two days,” said Cassian. “I know nothing you have not told me.”

His voice steadied as he spoke, flattened into his usual sober practicality. Maybe more. Definitely more. Well, he wouldn’t like that, would he? Jyn knew that Cassian trusted her, probably more than any other living person, but it didn’t mean he cared to depend on information from an untrained third party.

He could talk about agents lacking information, and it might be true enough for most of them. But not for Cassian himself. He wasn’t some foot soldier—whatever went for foot soldiers among spies. He had status and authority, when he chose to use them. He’d raised the forces for their mission before Jyn or anyone else had any idea it’d happened, the Alliance leadership knew who he was, and he seemed to know just about everything there was to know about everyone. She didn’t believe for a single moment that he had a habit of depending on others.

Another thing they had in common. Those were racking up, really. At this rate, they’d turn out to be twins separated at birth.

Ugh.

“You know nothing about the Death Star, maybe,” said Jyn. “But I’m curious about Willix. I’ve never seen an identity slice like it. And I’ve seen some good ones.”

“Have you?”

On the point of answering, she scowled. “I didn’t think you hurt your eardrums. I said Willix, not Hallik.”

Cassian didn’t reply, which could mean anything from finally starting to drift off to simmering anger. Jyn chose to take it as compliance.

“I checked his profile,” she went on, “and I don’t know whether to be more impressed or disgusted. Who put that thing together?”

“Disgusted?” said Cassian. “By what?”

Another one of his non-answers. Relevant this time, though, so she let it pass.

“You, or someone—probably multiple someones—went to enormous trouble with Willix,” she told him. “That level of detail … it’s incredibly difficult, and dangerous, too. Easier to get caught that way.”

“Yes,” he said, tone betraying nothing.

“And then you chose Cassein for your secret spy name? Really?” Even lying down, she shook her head. “And I thought Lyr was bad.”

“I did not choose it.” Somehow, his unchanged voice managed to sound slightly offended.

“Well, who did?”

“The Willixes, I assume,” he said.

After one bemused moment, her thoughts adjusted. “He’s real?” That made more sense—the risky accumulation of detail, the easy clearance. “You stole the entire identity of an actual Imperial captain?”

Not as impressive, to be sure. But in another way, more so.

“Mm.” He yawned, and she didn’t know whether to take it as a good sign or misdirection. “The name is common on Alderaan. That we share it is … happy coincidence.”

“You don’t quite share it,” she remarked.

“A dialectical variation.”

Misdirection, Jyn decided. She felt pretty sure that nobody with that many drugs in his system should be able to think the words dialectical variation, much less say them.

Though, common on Alderaan—now that was a distraction. But it kept coming up. Princess Leia of Alderaan, the Rebel spy en route to the Death Star. Her father, the senator from Alderaan who’d founded the Rebellion and actually listened to Jyn’s speech. Cassein Willix, an Alderaanian farmer turned Imperial officer. When she thought about it, she felt as if she saw something out of the corner of her eye, something she should pick up but couldn’t quite make out. Presumably not as happenstance as it seemed, in any case.

She settled for, “Seems odd that the Rebellion would go after some random officer out of Alderaan. It’s as friendly territory as you’ve got, isn’t it?”

Dialectical variation ran through her mind again. Cassian-Cassein. His accent when he dropped into Willix—not much different to her ears, just more pronounced, an easy method for soothing Coruscanti superiority. The way he spoke of Princess Leia, respect and familiarity blended together. He’d weighed in on her appointment, analyzed her strengths and weaknesses, been told when and where she was supposed to be.

“Unless they wanted an Alderaanian,” Jyn said, before he could reply. “Specifically.”

“It was not … essential,” Cassian said. “Preferable, yes.”

“Because of Princess Leia?” asked Jyn. “The Rebellion wanted someone to keep an eye on her?”

“To assist her,” he corrected.

“Right. So they used Willix as her … aide or something?”

Cassian said, “No. An Imperial officer is not an aide to a civilian. But one might occasionally be placed to, ah, protect a senator suspected of Rebel sympathies.”

“Might be?” Pointlessly, she tugged at the grey material loose about her thighs, rubbed the material between her fingers. One of the higher quality fabrics she’d ever worn, really. “If spies whispered in the right ears?”

“Yes.”

If she got out of here, she was burning this uniform. And Cassian’s. But a laugh tickled her throat, too.

“I suppose said spies suggested that an Alderaanian princess might be more likely to lower her guard around an Alderaanian officer,” said Jyn. “Such as, say, Cassein Willix.”

“So I hear,” Cassian replied. “Of course, I was not personally present.”

“Because you had to be Willix.” Despite everything she’d done and lived, her head still swam, a bit. “A Rebel spy, pretending to be an Imperial spy, pretending to protect a different Rebel spy while in fact keeping tabs on her for the Empire, but actually doing it for the Rebellion because she’s invaluable but unreliable. Is that it?”

“Almost,” he said. “The princess’s temperament was a consideration, but we would not expend these resources simply to monitor her. The primary concern was that any transmissions she sent or received would be intercepted. By the nature of her assignment, the Rebellion needed direct contact with her, yet could not risk it. And there were other agents in Imperial City struggling to coordinate under the conditions there.”

Then, she understood.

“You were the Alliance liaison,” said Jyn. “Right there in Imperial City. And that place is a cesspool.”

Cassian replied, “I spent two years there and would be happy never to return.”

“They couldn’t send just anyone, could they?” Not to Coruscant. Otherwise, delivering messages seemed a bit below his pay grade, if he was paid at all. But then, Cassian set loose in Imperial City probably got up to far more trouble than misinformation and passing orders.

She would, anyway.

“Thank you,” said Cassian. He yawned again. This time, she suspected it might be real.

“They needed someone who wouldn’t slip up,” Jyn said, more to herself than him. She thought of the shifting accent again. “Once the Alliance stole Willix, they … what? Looked at their best agents and picked the closest to the real thing they had?”

“More or less.” He definitely sounded sleepy now.

“Let me guess,” she said. “A real Alderaanian wasn’t essential, but preferable. You had the right skills and looks, so you got to be Willix. That must have been a fun conversation.”

“Very exciting,” muttered Cassian. “General Draven said ‘Andor, we need someone to be this Alderaanian farmboy we’ve turned up. You’ll be posted in Coruscant to support Princess Leia.’ And I said, ‘yes, sir.’ ”

That startled a laugh out of her. She had no difficulty whatsoever believing it a precise account, though not one he’d have related in a clearer frame of mind. Most people, of course, grew less careful as they drew near sleep, but she wouldn’t have thought Cassian one of them. She certainly hadn’t noticed anything of the kind back on his ship.

Then again, back on his ship, he hadn’t been twenty minutes into a heavy dose of Imperial soporifics, either.

“Any chance of Willix showing up somewhere and mucking things up?” she asked.

“No,” said Cassian, with utter certainty.

Jyn decided she didn’t want to know.

They fell into gentle silence, the room quiet but for the low hum of electricity and their own breaths. Even Jyn, her nerves well-honed after a life on the run—not to mention two days on the Death Star—found herself relaxing as Cassian’s breaths evened out. She didn’t feel sleepy, just a peculiar sort of peace.

When his head shifted, Jyn looked over at him. “Cassian? Are you awake?”

“Yes,” he said, drowsy but coherent. “At the moment.”

“I need your advice.”

“You?” He opened his eyes and blinked at her. “From me?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said. “I mean your, er, professional expertise.”

Cassian squinted. “What?”

“In your line of work,” said Jyn, “do you try and pick up as much information as you can, wherever you find it, or focus on getting everything you can from a few good sources?”

“Both,” he replied through a yawn. “If only one is possible, though, a reliable source is worth a hundred gossips.”

She’d been afraid of that.

“Why—”

Unconvincingly, Jyn said, “I was just wondering.”

“Mm.” Even the tired murmur managed to sound skeptical. But the drugs had finally done their work. Cassian closed his eyes, and in another moment, slept.

On the bright side, Cassian slept like the dead. He didn’t snore, or talk in his sleep, or toss and turn.

On the dark side, Cassian slept like the dead. After he’d nearly been dead. The quiet was one thing with both of them alert and attentive, but quite another with Cassian unconscious and silent. Every few minutes, Jyn surrendered to the urge to go over and make sure he still breathed.

Inevitably, he did. If anything, he seemed better: not limp and fragile, not strained and pale. Each time she checked, more colour had crept into his face, more lines smoothed themselves away. He was fine, she told herself. The ribs would hurt, but Esten had pulled him out of danger. Esten and Force knew how much bacta and Jyn, getting him care and getting him out. He’d live. As long as the rest of them, anyway.

Her stomach growled for an hour before Jyn worked herself up to leaving. Even as she headed to the mess hall, her thoughts whirled. Bodhi—she’d not heard a word from him since before she extracted Cassian. It probably didn’t mean anything, except that he had no news, or no solitude. But it might. He might be suffering treatment harsher Saw could ever dream up.

This didn’t help, Jyn told herself sternly. There was no reason to torment herself over things which hadn’t happened, and which she couldn’t affect even if they had. Bodhi possessed more nerve and wits than either of them had given him credit for; he wouldn’t do anything foolish, and he’d at least try to contact her if something went wrong. On their end, she and Cassian were resourceful and resolute. Jyn knew how to survive, one step after the other. Cassian knew how to turn each step towards an end. If a way out of this existed, they’d find it. And if a way out of this didn’t exist, they’d face that when it came.

Nevertheless, Jyn ate as quickly as she could manage in the mess hall. It was only half-full at this hour—tomorrow she’d see what she could do about cultivating people. For now, her own calculations occupied her.

She ran through the cons of the situation, obvious as they were. Trapped in the Death Star. Princess Leia captured and dragged onboard by Imperial Chirrut. Her forthcoming torture. The fact that Imperial Chirrut existed at all. The fact that the best case scenario had all four of them blown to smithereens. The possibility of getting caught and either killed, themselves tortured, or both, at any moment. No method of escape except a ship, which they had no immediate way of acquiring.

Pros, she told herself. Supplies, medicine, and secure quarters—all obtained without suspicion. Bodhi absorbed into the stormtroopers and already picking up valuable information. Cassian able to walk, on the mend, and fully functional intellectually. Jyn no worse for the ordeals of the last three weeks, not to mention the last three days. They had a top-notch shot in Jyn and an honest-to-the-Force sniper in Cassian, and a full case of blasters. If they did manage to fly a ship, they had two pilots, Cassian good and Bodhi excellent.

Could be better. Could be a hell of a lot worse.

Jyn tossed away the tin dishes, stalked back to the quarters as fast as her legs would take her, then checked on Cassian for a seventeenth time. Still asleep, still fine. Crawling into bed, she willed herself to sleep.

After twenty minutes, it worked. She slept like a steel beam, and didn’t wake up until a drawer rattled by her head the next morning.

Someone was muttering, “Toçè an aqqi d’estida i anayà—”

Jyn recognized the voice, however breathless, if not the words. What the …?

“Cassian?” She rubbed her eyes.

A few feet away, he bent down with stray equipment in his hand and clothes draped over his arm. But he was already showered and uniformed. His other hand pressed against his side until he glanced up at her.

“Jyn,” he said civilly, and went back to picking up clutter.

She jolted upright. “What are you doing?”

“Inspection,” said Cassian.

Her heart thudded. “Now?”

“No.” Straightening up, he dropped wrinkled uniforms into a bin she hadn’t noticed. With an unpleasant sucking sound, the floor of the bin vanished and the clothes slid down a chute. The floor slid back into place. “If there is one.”

Whatever amount of sleep she’d gotten, it wasn’t enough. Jyn gave up on de-coding him and said, “Cassian. Use whole sentences and stop straining your ribs.”

Cassian replied, “I think they are better.”

“Sure they are,” said Jyn. “What were you talking about?”

“Imperial bases usually hold regular inspections.” With the kits in his arms, he made his way over to the narrow closet near the door. He set them out in neat lines. “On a base of this size, with this many troops, I do not know. If we do get inspected, though, and are in violation of code, it may raise suspicions.”

Oh. She had no difficulty believing him compulsively neat by nature—his Alliance quarters looked it—but this had seemed excessive and then some. Pragmatism, though, she could respect. Getting up, Jyn turned to him.

“Right,” she said. “At the least, it might draw attention. Fine, but I don’t know regulations and you … stop. I’m going to get dressed and then I’ll do it. Don’t touch my bed.” His was already neat, folded at precise angles. “Actually, don’t touch anything. Just sit.”

She didn’t seriously expect him to sit down. Sure enough, although she took the galaxy’s shortest shower and didn’t even try to figure out her jacket beyond a few buttons, she emerged from the fresher into pristine quarters. All the pairs of requisitioned items had been divided between each side of the room, every one exactly opposite to its brother. The blaster case had disappeared. Nothing but her rumpled bedding interrupted the blocky regularity of the place. It made her want to do something stupid, like carve JYN ERSO WAS HERE into the wall.

Cassian leaned against his dresser, datapad in hand, just as he’d leaned against the terminals in the Rebel council room. A little more stiffly, but all things considered, it seemed a good sign.

“Not much for orders, are you?” she said, and regretted it as soon as she spoke. That had been one of the odder twists of their fight after Eadu—I disobeyed orders! It should have been the pillar of his defense, the fact that he had defied the command she accused him of following. But even with every observation warped by rage, she couldn’t misunderstand the horror in his voice. Not at the Alliance, not Draven, not even Krennic, but at himself for balking at a pointless murder.

That was before, Jyn reminded herself. In the end, he defied all those generals and senators for her, personally shot Krennic. Really, it meant more that he’d done it despite his temperament, not because of it. Yet she felt certain those veins would always run through his character, an underlying inclination towards devotion and obedience.

Not that she didn’t have her own. If something in him never stopped whispering there are rules and you have your orders, something in Jyn never stopped urging her look after yourself, no one else will and just keep running. She knew perfectly well that it’d get louder when not drowned out by overpowering necessity.

If Cassian’s mind followed the same direction as hers, he gave no sign.

“Orders?” he repeated. “It depends on where they come from.”

The moment’s ambivalence passed. Jyn snorted.

“Don’t think about trying to call all the shots just because you outrank me here.”

“I outrank you everywhere,” said Cassian, with a suspect quirk of his mouth.

All right, she might have brought that one on herself.

Absent a good rebuttal, Jyn said, “If you’re going to help me with these, then help. How am I supposed to do the folding thing?” She tugged the blankets and sheets off her bed, and looked at them in some dismay.

Setting down the datapad, Cassian walked over to stand beside her. He snagged one of the blankets in her arms.

Jyn scowled up at him. “That was a question, not an invitation. Actually, go lie down. I can follow instructions, when it’s worth my time.”

“Moving helps with the breathing,” he said. When she looked skeptical, he added, “I will not break. You can do the worst of it.”

“The analgesics would help more,” she grumbled, but went along with it.

Together, they shook out the sheets, and Jyn tucked them around the mattress according to the Empire’s absurd specifications. The pillow had to be precisely centered in its case, equidistant from each end, and the blanket folded six centimeters from its edges. If anyone had told her two weeks ago that she and Cassian Andor would end up making beds in the Death Star—

Somewhere between appalled and bemused, Jyn held up the blanket while Cassian measured out the edges. She could barely see him past the top.

“Here, take this,” he said, holding out the folded edge to her.

Jyn reached for it, even as she did her best to keep the middle held high. “Must have been a pain to do yours by yourself.”

“Yes,” said Cassian. He looked over the blanket at her, and in an instant, the bizarre domesticity of it all just struck her as funny.

“I’ll admit it. I did not foresee this,” Jyn told him.

Though she couldn’t see Cassian’s mouth, his eyes crinkled. “Nor I.”

For some reason, the quiet—which had settled comfortably as they worked—turned heavy once more. Hastily, she said,

“So Willix is supposed to be some farmboy who got picked up by Starfleet and made a career for himself?”

“He was, yes,” said Cassian.

Jyn thought of asking if he’d killed the real Willix, or if someone else had done it. But she supposed it made little difference, in the end. Cassian would have pulled the trigger, even if he hadn’t done it this particular time. And she didn’t exactly have a habit of weeping over Imperial officers. The lower ranks were one thing, and civilians, but the officers—the Krennics—they saw it all. They knew what they did.

“I take it you weren’t actually a farmboy,” she said, because she couldn’t imagine it in a million years. “From—what was it, Seraiah? The place you talked about when you were lying your head off in the elevator.”

“Sareia,” said Cassian, gesturing for her to help fold the blanket down the middle. “No. I come from Vaesda. No farms.”

“We had them,” Jyn said suddenly. “I don’t remember the planet much. But it was green. My parents had a farm. More an experiment than anything for Papa, I think, but Mama liked to make things grow. When we left the house, we’d see fields for miles and miles.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt disconcerted. More than disconcerted. Those scraps of happiness before the Empire ripped it all apart—she never spoke of it. Not ever, to anyone. Yet she’d found herself talking without hesitation, as if there were no barrier between her memory and her voice. As if the walls shut out danger instead of trapping them in it.

They shut out people. The next best thing, she decided, calming as she looked over at Cassian. He didn’t count. Not—of course he counted as a person. Just not a threat.

To her, anyway.

For several moment, Cassian worked in silence. Then he said, “Would you go back?”

No sprang to her tongue, without thought. But she did think.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “It’s not … I wasn’t born there. I’m a natural citizen of Coruscant.” She held the folded middle while Cassian measured the other edge. “You already knew that, I’m sure.”

Too worn or too himself for an explanation, he only said, “Yes.”

“So there’s not much point, with my family gone. But I don’t know.” It was home, for that little while. The only one she ever had, really. Somehow she didn’t imagine that the dim early years under Krennic’s thumb had been anything like a home.

When she murmured I’m not used to people sticking around when things go bad to Cassian, she meant it for him, thanks and explanation and apology rolled up together. As near as she got to any of them. He had to know that. He did know—he’d tilted towards her as she spoke, leaned in to listen and to promise, their steps falling into sync from opposite directions. She never saw him do the same thing with anyone else, not with his soldiers, not Bodhi, not Kay. It wasn’t Captain Andor who told her welcome home.

Jyn still didn’t know exactly what Cassian meant. She wasn’t sure Cassian knew what he meant. But it had something to do with the fact that they stood in the Death Star, Jyn all but twitching with nerves while Cassian concealed what must be agony, and they felt something like safe.

“If we live,” she said, “maybe I’ll go, someday. See if it brings anything back. They get harder to remember—the good things.” She could feel the weight of the crystal in her pocket, even as she took the blanket and carefully laid it down.

“Yes,” said Cassian once again. Jyn thought she heard something rough in his tone—maybe just weariness, maybe more.

“If your people didn’t have any farms,” she said, “I guess Willix’s district would be pretty far off from yours.”

“Three thousand miles away, in a different country,” said Cassian, the harsh edge fading into mere annoyance. Not with her, Jyn suspected. “I never saw it in my life, except pictures.”

“I thought it might be something like that.”

He smiled at her, more easily than usual. “Also, Vaesda was four thousand feet higher.”

“Up in the mountains, huh?” Jyn had little knowledge of Alderaan, beyond the chain of spies spun out from Bail Organa. But she’d heard about the mountains.

Though he didn’t seem offended, he only said, “Pull the blanket towards the foot. About three inches. Yes, there. And now left—your left.”

Jyn sighed. But she didn’t doubt that any Imperials who passed by would prove at least as obsessive. She tugged and straightened the material, bent the corners into correct shape, and ignored Cassian’s retreating steps.

“There,” she said. “Good?”

When she turned, she saw that he’d returned to his dresser, and now had a nutrient milk in one hand and pills in the other. Green pills—those would be the analgesics, not the sedatives.

Cassian gulped down the medicine and walked back over to examine the bed. He glanced from one end to the other.

“Good.”

“Another trial survived,” said Jyn. “Barely.”

She didn’t want to think of how much he would endure before voluntarily taking Imperial drugs. Maybe he was just being sensible again. But probably not.

“You pull us through again,” Cassian replied, as lightly as he ever said anything. But he looked at her with an even more intense expression than usual, his gaze very steady.

Jyn didn’t say you’re welcome; she didn’t need to. She just nodded, and silence fell again, perhaps the easiest yet.

The quiet only broke when Cassian said abruptly, “The Anduçelos.”

She started. “What?”

“The Anduçelos Mountains,” he said, his voice very even. “Vaesda was up in them, yes.”

He took a drink of the milk, his gaze flicking away. Uncertainty, she’d have thought, in anyone else. Maybe in him, too. It should have punctured the peace—but didn’t. Cassian himself seemed taken aback by his words, as if he hadn’t meant to say them. No more, Jyn thought, than she’d planned to babble about her parents’ farm.

She hazarded, “Those are the ones surrounding Aldera?”

“Yes.” He shifted his weight. Just a little, but even that much was unusual, from him. “They have ilum deposits. At least, in Vaes District they do.”

That focused her attention. Ilum, inert in itself, turned explosive under treatment. Jyn didn’t know the details of the process—she never took after her father that way—but she knew varying amounts of it went into blasters, starship cannons, bombs, just about anything. Saw kept his precious stores sealed up tight, but he showed a cache to her once and told her all about it. He told her, too, that Galen used to experiment with the stuff. Now, she felt sure that had been for the Death Star. There probably wasn’t enough ilum in the galaxy to power this thing. But on the smaller scale, it had incredible power. Ilum mines could level the towns that prospered around them.

“Damn,” said Jyn. “I thought Alderaan didn’t have weapons.”

“It doesn’t,” he said, with a touch of satisfaction. “We are good Imperial citizens. We do not use the ilum, we sell it.”

And funnelled it to the Rebellion, no doubt.

“What is it like? I mean, Vaesda,” she asked, trying to replicate his pronunciation. “Not ilum. I know what that’s like.”

“I am sure you do,” said Cassian dryly. “It was … I do not remember very much. I was very young. I remember the nyrfa—a sort of cattle that lives up there—and the mines and the cold.” He paused. “Mostly the cold. The snow never went away, and the mining towns were filthy. But it could be beautiful, away from the cities.”

Thinking of the farm, she said, “That usually helps.”

He shrugged. “Your world was green, you said. Mine was white. On bright days, everything shone.”

“Didn’t it blind you?” Jyn asked.

“Yes,” he replied, an unfamiliar animation lighting up his face. “My sister and I had goggles to shield our eyes, but only hers worked right. She was older and always climbing something, so she kept the good set, and I would take mine off. That was why I missed rocks and sticks in our way, and Rana when she jumped down behind me, and the clonetroopers.” Before Jyn could do much more than register that one of these was very unlike the others, Cassian said quickly, “Your jacket is wrong.”

“What?” A clumsy detour, but of course, the jacket was wrong. She’d only bothered with a few buttons, since it never hung right, in any case. “Oh, these ones are too small. I don’t know why, I gave them the measurements—”

“The pleats,” he said, and reached for her shoulders.

She stiffened. Though Cassian must have noticed, he pretended not to, just caught his fingers under the awkward folds of material and adjusted something, then tugged a little. The whole thing immediately loosened—still not exactly smooth, but at least not tight.

“That’s better,” admitted Jyn. “I suppose I should have guessed that even Imperial jackets have procedures.”

“Yes. They do, that is.” With an odd twist to his mouth, he added, “Also, the buttons go behind the flaps, not through … and …”

“Oh, fine. You fix it.” She unbuttoned the jacket all the way and unbelted it, rather amused that his gaze swung up to her face at the first button, and fixed there, despite the layer of (regulation!) undershirt beneath the jacket. Though, for a fully dressed woman, she herself felt exposed in some odd way.

Cassian looked profoundly uncomfortable, but without further hesitation, pulled one side of the jacket to her shoulder, and held the material taut. He didn’t try anything, of course, touch her in any way that the requisitions droids hadn’t, but Jyn nonetheless felt blood rise to her face. Cassian wasn’t a droid. And he could be—unsettling, even as he said in a dispassionate voice,

“It has to be completely smooth, no wrinkles, or the jacket will not hang correctly.” He pulled the other flap over, fastening it. “Here, you button from beneath, only through the one layer. The top one must lie flat.”

As he buttoned the jacket to her waist, Jyn glanced down, pretending to something like detachment as she watched Cassian’s fingers move down her body. Even trivial mistakes could be dangerous, she reminded herself. If anyone had paid attention to the jacket, it might well have been as disastrous as recognition. That was all.

Anyway, he had broken ribs.

Jyn cleared her throat. “I suppose I had better go down to the mess hall and”—her lip curled—“make friends. Is this supposed to be that loose?”

“You fold at the waist,” said Cassian, reaching down to tuck down pleats she hadn’t noticed while Jyn lifted her arms and thought virtuous thoughts. “It is stiff enough to hold, so the belt does the rest.”

Thankfully—for a certain value of thanks—he stepped back, and Jyn buckled the belt herself. He didn’t correct her, so she supposed she did it right.

“Am I a proper Imperial now?” she asked.

“You look like it,” said Cassian.

He could split too many hairs, but she’d take this one. Jyn smiled, a little unsteadily.

“Jyn.”

When his hand touched her shoulder again, she nearly jumped. Instead, she just returned his gaze, while Cassian searched her face for—something.

Quietly, he said, “Be careful.”

She nodded. “I should be back in about an hour. Don’t assume I’m dead unless it’s three, and you haven’t heard from me. Get some rest.”

As she ducked out of their quarters, into the hall, she glanced back over her shoulder. Cassian hadn’t moved, just stood there by his bed, frowning after her.

“Don’t worry, captain.” Jyn allowed herself a smile, slight but genuine. “I won’t do anything you wouldn’t.”

#anghraine's fic #jyn erso #cassian andor #death star au #otp: welcome home #per ardua ad astra #star wars #if you'll believe it i cut several pages out of this #it just... grew #anyway #alderaanian!cassian #alderaan headcanons in general just in time for the death star :)#ah and more incompetent conlanging

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nofomoartworld · 7 years

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Talking broiler chicken, germ maps and maggots with Andreas Greiner

Andreas Greiner, Monument for the 308 (detail), 2016. Exhibition view of Andreas Greiner. Agentur des Exponenten. GASAG Kunstpreis 2016, Berlinische Galerie, 2016. Photo: Harry Schnitger

Andreas Greiner has built a monument to the humble broiler. A 7 meter high 3D printed version of a real chicken that had lived and died in a battery farm in Brandenburg, Germany. The artist then installed the giant sculpture inside the main hall of the Berlinische Galerie. I haven’t seen it yet but it looks poignant. It has the imposing presence of a dinosaur skeleton, the photogenic appeal of an instagram star but the mistrustful contours of a chicken that has never seen trees, grass or the light of a sunny day.

Not that i’ve ever seen any broiler chicken alive. I’m just assuming, extrapolating and letting my mind wander. Because Greiner’s work excels at triggering your imagination: he quietly lays in front of your eyes some visually stunning concepts and ideas, he never suffocates them with explanations but lets you ponder upon them and draw your own conclusions about what they say about our society, economy and culture.

Andreas Greiner, Monument for the 308, 2016. Exhibition view of Andreas Greiner GASAG Kunstpreis 2016, Berlinische Galerie, 2016, Photo. Theo Bitzer

Monument for 308 shows that Greiner is comfortable working on the macro scale but he is also quietly building an impressive career engaging with the small (maggots, flies, algae, tiny crustaceans), and the very very small (microbes of all sorts.) Greiner works with living organisms (including himself when he decided to spend a week inside a gallery in the sole company of a few insects and plants), enrolling them as both subjects of careful reflection and as collaborators. His previous projects involved buying 40 litres of maggots and bringing them to the exhibition space until they turn into flies, composing music based on  the luminous skin of a squid, convincing the Director of the Neue Nationalgalerie in Berlin to consider a fly as a living artwork and provide for its well-being, photographing portraits of algae, carefully orchestrating explosions around Berlin, etc.

The young artist recently received the GASAG Art Prize, a recognition awarded to Berlin-based artists whose work dialogues with technology and science. I caught up with him to discuss chicken, bacterial maps and the perils of working with maggots:

Heinrich, Totus Corpus – full Body Portrait of a broiler, 2015, Photo: Theo Bitzer & Andreas Greiner

Hi Andreas! I find your chicken projects very moving. But then i’ve always had a soft spot for animals. Which kind of response and reflection do you hope to elicit with works like Monument for the 308 and Heinrich (poor poor little battery chickens)?

I’m not necessarily looking to provoke pity for Heinrich, the broiler chicken. How a person reacts to my works is of course not in my control, however I would like the viewer to reflect upon the issue. We create these animals for the sole purpose of our eating habits, this is a species, which would not exist like this were it not for humans intervention into their breeding behaviour and anatomy. Heinrich is a metaphor, he represents our contemporary age in which humans are the driving creative and destructive force on planet earth. If dinosaurs are a relic from the Mesozoic Era, broiler chicken would be a “monument” of now.

Andreas Greiner, fattened chicken Éléonore before CT scan in Berlin, 2015

Heinrich at the petting zoo in Berlin Tempelhof, 2015

Andreas Greiner, Ulrike (Euastrum oblongum) Electron scanning micrograph 2016 measurement: Andreas Greiner and Martina Heider, Bayerisches Polymerinstitut, University Bayreuth

After Heinrich died, his body underwent an autopsy. What did you learn from it?

Heinrich died a few months after I handed him over to a petting zoo. The autopsy found that he most likely died from a heart attack, probably because his body was just too heavy.

I found the description of the works on your website to be fairly neutral and factual but i couldn’t help wonder whether these works were trying to make a point about animal welfare, man-made forms of nature, the food industry or maybe even veganism?

They are pointing to all of those and more. Certainly they also reflect my personal view. There is a general disregard for certain animals, which we view as an objective mass – matter to be exploited to fit our needs. My works show this, but I chose to only have short, factual descriptions like for example the documentations on my website. The reception should stay open for individual interpretation. By dealing with issues such as factory farming, genetic manipulation or the identity of animals, of course, the viewer makes their own conclusions in the end.

Andreas Greiner, Every Fly is a Piece of Art, University of the Arts, Berlin, 2012

I was feeling less sorry for the maggots then flies in the work Every Fly is a Piece of Art. I’m wondering how the whole adventure unfolded though. Did you really manage to buy all available fly maggots in Berlin and did you manage to control the flies and channel them through the exit as you had hoped? It sounds to me like a wild project where so many elements can take a direction that wasn’t expected…

Yes, it was slightly chaotic. I conceived this work for the final exhibition of my masters at the University of the Arts in Berlin. Back in 2012 with a students budget it was impossible to buy all the flies in Berlin. I visited every fisherman shop that sells maggots though and bought a huge amount of their maggots in stock. Most of the salesmen were afraid to loose their clients if they sold all of their maggots to me in order to really buy all oft them I would have had to bribe the salesmen.

In the exhibition they started hatching and flying about. All the painting students of the other studios were mad at me because the flies landed on their freshly painted surfaces. They reacted by constructing fly traps, which turned my intentions around completely. I actually had to end the project earlier than the official end of the master class exhibition – at least half of the flies (about 100 000) hatched outside in nature. After this experience, I decided to only work with a few flies or one fly at a time because this is more foreseeable.

Your practice seems to be an interesting mix of collaboration with scientists and other experts along with processes that make control over the final artworks a bit difficult. How important is it for you to be in control (or rather maybe not be in control) of the art piece you are developing?

I am interested in the processual aspects of sculpture and have integrated living organisms into many of my works. I call this co-authorship, as they co-create and transform the art work by the process of living. Uncontrollable biological processes are an integral part of the outcome of an art work.

By working with experts and scientists I am able to broaden and deepen my work by researching very specific topics and techniques. I am interested in an exchange between artistic and scientific knowledge.

Andreas Greiner, Spring Forward Fall Back, Lichthaus, Kunstverein Arnsberg, 2014. Photo: Vlado Velkov

I’m very curious about Spring Forward Fall Back and what you experienced during this cohabitation with an ecosystem you had created for you and for nature. What did you learn and observe during that week? How did the insects, plants and other living entities inhabit and modify the space over time?

I was invited by the Kunstverein Arnsberg for a show at the Lichthaus and decided to live in there for a week. It was an interesting experience. First of all I learnt, that spring in Arnsberg (in the Sauerland, Western Germany) starts later then in the rest of Germany. . In the beginning there were few insects, for example a single bumblebee got lost, it moved very slowly because of the cold. I brought a female moth with me from Berlin and later she actually attracted a local male moth. Insect match-making. By the end of the exhibit an ant colony had settled and the population of my animal co-inhabitants and plants had multiplied 5 times.

Andreas Greiner &, Julian Charrière, Dominions, 2011, collecting microbes at Schwarze Pumpe, Brandenburg

Andreas Greiner &, Julian Charrière, Dominions, 2011, example of an expressed growth pattern by microbes

Andreas Greiner &, Julian Charrière, Dominions, 2011, collecting microbes at Elsdorf, Brandenburg, Nordrhein-Westfalen

Andreas Greiner &, Julian Charrière, Dominions, 2011, exhibition view

In Dominions you created bacterial maps of Germany and Switzerland. From the photos and videos on the project page, it seems that you collected the microbes from very specific and interesting looking locations. Could you tell us about these places and what guided your selection of them as well as of the selection of the microbes? And what links the humble microbes with the title of the work, Dominions?

The project was a collaboration with Julian Charrière when we were still students at Olafur Eliasson‘s Institute for Spatial Experiments. We selected places in Germany and Switzerland. Some were biographically relevant (our birthplaces in Germany and Switzerland) and others were geographically important places, such as the highest mountain in Germany, the three border triangle between Germany, Belgium and the Netherlands, the eastern most point of Germany, etc. We brought sterile boxes filled with a plane layer of white culture medium for microgerms (comparable to an unexposed film or white canvas) and exposed them to the surroundings for 30min each. The collected bacteria and spores expressed different patterns and colours back in Berlin under vitrine glass.

By selecting germs from all these chosen places we reconstructed a map of Germany and Switzerland, which is not based on socio-political conventions, but defined by the microorganisms populating these areas. It’s a reference to landscape painting or photography – a snapshot of the non-perceiveable micro-landscape in the air. We humans assume to have over our landscapes with roads, cities and railways criss-crossing though the country. But it’s microorganisms, like algae and bacteria, which cover the earth and have dominion over it.

Speaking of humble lives, what is it that attracts you to the underdogs like microbes, algae, maggots, broiler chickens, etc?

One of the challenges of art is to visualize things: show things from a different perspective, or things that are generally not seen. There is a staggering mass of life that we humans never visually appreciate: industrial broiler chicken, deep-sea squids, algae which are too small to be visible, or insects, because we find them repulsive. I consider the way we interact with our surroundings very telling of our species and our times.

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From Strings to Dinosaurs shown at the exhibition cycle “MULTITUDES”, curated by Anna Henckel and Nadim Samman, at Import Projects and Cycle Music and Art Festival, 2015

EExhibition view of “Andreas Greiner. Agentur des Exponenten. GASAG Kunstpreis 2016”, Berlinische Galerie, 2016. Photo: Harry Schnitger

Any upcoming project, field of research or event you could share with us?

This month, I have two exhibitions in Berlin: Golden Gate together with Armin Keplinger at Kwadrat and DAS NUMEN MEATUS at Dittrich and Schlechtriem. The finissage of my exhibition in the Berlinische Gallerie is on the 6th of February, where Tyler Friedman and I will show the work From Strings to Dinosaurs. The algae in the reactor will be placed on top of the self-playing piano and illuminate during the musical composition.

Artist Andreas Greiner in his Berlin workshop. Photo: Mike Wolff in Der Tagesspiegel

Thanks Andreas!

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