#and then claude kicking it up to the faster pace
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United in Song
okay so this has been in my drafts for I don’t even know how long and I’m tired of it sitting there collecting dust, so please enjoy this fluffy 3H platonic one-shot.
/////
If there was one thing Dorothea missed about the opera, it was the audience. There was a certain kind of thrill that came with standing on the stage, staring out into the darkened crowd while the music swelled beneath her voice and feeling their tension, knowing that they held their collective breaths in anticipation, in wonder of her song…there was nothing else quite like it, in her experience. And while she didn’t really want to go back to that life of endless practices and performances, of cutthroat rivalries and patrons as dangerous as they were wealthy, she felt a little pang standing in the Garreg Mach cathedral, singing her heart out for absolutely no one.
Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. The monastery choir had finally gotten a few more members, and as the nun in charge dismissed them for the day, Annette and Hilda hurried over before she could wander off. “Wow, Dorothea! You were really amazing!!” the little redhead gushed.
“Aw, thanks, Annie,” Dorothea giggled, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “You were both great, too!”
“You’re so sweet,” Hilda smiled. “But we couldn’t hold a candle to you! Your voice was so beautiful -- and I swear, it filled the whole cathedral.”
Well, that might explain all the sharp looks and decrescendo gestures she’d been getting from the director.
“It’s really a shame nobody else was around to hear,” Annette sighed.
“I know exactly what you mean.” Dorothea scanned the rows of empty pews as they walked toward the doors, feeling again that ache of longing. Even when they did get to stand before an audience, something told her they would just be the choral lead to a devotional hymn for some religious service or another. “Sometimes I really wish we could just…go out and perform, you know? Show off a little, hear the applause…”
“…well, why couldn’t we?”
Dorothea paused at the top of the steps, reeling her mind back from another stage dream to focus on Hilda. “I didn’t think they did that here.”
“Not that I’ve seen. Or heard about,” Annette agreed.
“So why not do something about it?” Hilda asked. “Put on a musical performance! There’s lots of places that would work, like the lawn outside the classrooms, or the walk along the dormitories…”
“Would that really bring in an audience, though?” Annette pointed out. “Back in Fhirdiad you’d see performers doing shows on street corners, but they never really drew crowds or anything.”
“And wouldn’t it be nice to have a real stage, and a real audience?” Dorothea sighed. It was a quiet walk across the bridge to the monastery…and the whole way, she just kept turning Hilda’s suggestion over and over. It really would be nice to have an opportunity to perform…maybe she could ask Professor Manuela about it--
“This is it!!”
Dorothea jumped at Annette’s excited squeak, whirling just in time to see her grab something off the Bulletin Board. “What is?” she asked, taking the parchment and smoothing it out.
“A flier for the Weapons Tourney?” Hilda read over her shoulder. Apparently this month’s challenge was for axe-wielders, and while the pink-haired noble might excel, something told Dorothea that she wouldn’t go anywhere near it without proper incentive from the Professor.
“No! …well, I mean, yes, that’s what it is, but I mean -- this is the answer! We have a music tournament!”
“…a music tournament?” Dorothea repeated.
“Yeah!” Annette giggled. “We could have sign-ups, and people could bring their instruments or sing, and it could have brackets just like they do in the training grounds, only they’d be competing with their music! And the audience response could be how the winner’s picked!”
Dorothea felt a smile dawn across her face. “…Annie, that’s brilliant! We could get a sponsor to help judge ties, and offer a grand prize for the winner…”
“We could make fliers the way they do for the training ground matches, too!” Hilda added.
“I bet if we ask around the monastery, we could get tons of sign-ups -- and I’m sure lots of people would want to see it!” Annette insisted. “Ooh, this is so exciting!!”
“It’s a wonderful idea,” Dorothea agreed. “And I’m sure if we join forces, we can make it into a dazzling show.”
As they put their heads together to plan, for the first time in ages, she felt a thrill of excitement for what lay ahead. Garreg Mach might not have much appreciation for music now -- but if they got their way, Dorothea would make sure that changed.
-----
“A music show? Oh, you mean like they’ve got at the fair? Hey, count me in! Are you gonna have snacks?”
“No, Raph,” Dorothea sighed.
“You sure? Everybody likes good food -- I bet you’d get a ton of people to come if they could eat while they watched.”
She shook her head, fighting back a smile. It was hard to be frustrated with him when he was so enthusiastic, but she did wish he’d think about more than food. “Do they have snacks for the weapon tournaments at the training grounds?”
“Heck yeah they do!” he laughed. “I never miss a tourney, they’ve always got something for the people in the stands…”
“…huh.” She hadn’t known that. Maybe they could ask about refreshments: after all, everything else had been going splendidly so far. Professor Manuela had been over the moon when they approached her with the idea, and had swiftly appointed herself as their ‘impartial’ judge (said with a wink that made Dorothea certain she was far more partial than she’d ever admit to being); while the former diva took to planning and preparations, including venue selection and construction, she left the three students in charge of gauging interest and getting early sign-ups so they could start preparing their brackets. Hilda, rather expectedly, had complained of feeling poorly, so Dorothea had agreed to help out in canvasing the Golden Deer…which had led her, rather unexpectedly, to Raphael and his surprisingly helpful suggestion.
“Alright,” she agreed, making a note for later. “I’ll see what we can do about snacks, then.”
“All right!!” he cheered. “You’re the best, Dorothea!”
“Aw, thank you,” she smiled. “But would you want to take part? You know, be up on the stage in front of the audience? We’re looking for any kind of musical talent, whether you sing or play an instrument…”
His face scrunched up for a minute in deep, somewhat painful-looking thought. “Hmmm…I’m mostly good for muscle,” he shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, I love music! I’m just not much good at makin’ it -- oh, hey, have you asked Bernadetta yet?”
“Bernie?”
“Yeah! Oh, man, she’s got this little brass thingy she plays -- she was playin’ it in the greenhouse one day, an’ I heard it from all the way in the training grounds! It was the best thing I’d ever heard!”
“Interesting,” Dorothea mused, scribbling another little note down.
“You didn’t know?”
“Bernie’s pretty shy about her talents,” Dorothea confided. “Seems she’s got all kinds of hidden ones…”
“Uh…if you go ask her, can you maybe…not tell her I told you?” he asked nervously. “See, uh…she got pretty upset when I found out, and made me promise not to tell anybody, but then you came talking about music an’ stuff and I just got real excited about maybe seein’ her up there an’ hearin’ it again, so…”
“Oh, Raph, you’re a sweetheart, aren’t you?” she giggled. “Don’t worry. I won’t say a word.”
“Thanks, Dorothea,” he beamed. “You really are the best.”
-----
“M-music show? Me? Perform!? How did you find out? Did Raphael tell you!?” Bernadetta demanded through the tiny crack between the doors of her room.
“Raphael? I haven’t talked to him,” Dorothea lied. “Hilda’s asking around with the Golden Deer, since they’re her classmates, just like Annette’s asking the Blue Lions and I’m asking all my fellow Eagles. We’re trying to get a list together of students who want to take part. Do you have any musical talents, Bernie?”
“N-n-no!” she stammered. “Nope, not me, Bernie’s just good for staying out of the way, yes indeed…”
“I think you’re good for a lot more than that,” Dorothea insisted. “I know you’ve got so much talent, and it’s such a shame to hide it all away. Maybe you sing in here, or play an oboe when we’re all away from the dorms…”
“Trumpet,” the archer mumbled. “B-but I could never get up in front of so many people!”
“Oh, but from on stage, under the lights, you can’t even see most of the audience -- and wouldn’t it be great to share all that talent with the whole academy?”
“Maybe for you!” the archer squeaked. “All those people out there in the dark, staring at me, and no place to hide? That s-sounds terrifying!”
…Dorothea actually hadn’t thought about that. She was so used to basking in the attention…but that would be scary for someone as shy as Bernadetta. “That’s okay,” she smiled. “You don’t have to. But…would you maybe come to watch? Ferdie and I have already signed up to take part, and we could always use someone to cheer for us.”
“…m-maybe,” came the muffled reply.
“And if you do change your mind about being on stage, you know we’ll both be cheering you on, right?” she coaxed. “Annette even told me that Felix promised to come watch the performances, and you know how he feels about everything that isn’t training. We’d all really love it if you joined in.”
Silence from the other side of the doors. Had she pushed too hard…?
“I’ll…I-I’ll think about it.”
Beaming, Dorothea made a note on her sign-up sheet. “That’s all we’d ask for. Just let me know, okay?”
And maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she heard the smallest sound of agreement before the doors clicked firmly shut between them.
-----
Even in her fantasies, Dorothea never could have dreamed things would go this well. Not only did they get enough sign-ups to make a full five-round bracket, the whole monastery was buzzing with anticipation days before the event. It reminded her a little of Enbarr the week before a Mittelfrank production, where every group she passed on the street seemed to be talking about the upcoming show -- whether it was about their excitement to see the spectacle or despair over not getting one of the endlessly coveted (and frightfully limited) tickets. Here, thankfully, seating was hardly an issue, since Professor Manuela had managed to secure the Reception Hall for the event: the whole student body could fit there with standing room to spare, even with the stage taking up the front quarter.
Come the morning of the show, posters listing the contestants appeared on every bulletin board, and Dorothea scanned the starting matches before the thought of breakfast even occurred to her. She recognized more than a few names: Ferdinand of course, and herself (naturally), as well as Lorenz (unfortunately), Hilda, Annette, and even Bernie.
It was all so exciting, she could hardly bear it.
Time crawled by while she waited for the tournament to begin. Before noon she’d warmed up, improvised a few little tunes as practice, and rehearsed a few of her favorite songs in preparation. By the time the Reception Hall opened to the competitors, she’d chosen her starting and ending arrangements and decided on the pieces she would use if she faced any real competition. And once the doors opened and the audience began to crowd into the available seats, she felt her heart begin to race in anticipation of what was soon to come.
She didn’t even mind that she had to wait. The first match, to her delight, featured Annette and Bernie: blushing fiercely, the little red-head made her way cheerfully through an obviously original tune, while Dorothea’s fellow Eagle stuck to a familiar Imperial melody, squeezing her eyes shut tight and playing her trumpet at the stage rather than the audience. In spite of that, it was a remarkable performance, and Bernie might have won just by virtue of Raphael’s enthusiastic applause -- but his thunderous cheer startled the poor recluse and sent her bolting from the stage before the match could be officially declared, forfeiting her chance to proceed. But that might have been for the best, she supposed: Bernie clearly wasn’t big on the spotlight.
The rest of the first round and all of the second went smoothly enough. Though she didn’t bother watching every pair, she saw both Ferdinand and Annette proceed on to the quarterfinals, while Hilda lost to Lorenz in her second bout (though the noblewoman hardly seemed bothered by the loss). Dorothea’s own matches barely required any effort on her part to win: she’d spent so long practicing her favorite songs from her favorite operas in the days leading up to this competition, but a few simple melodies were all it took to ensure that she made it through the preliminaries. Even against her third opponent, all it took was the chorus from an Adrestian folksong to seal her victory...though Annette lost her own bout against Ferdinand in the same round. Dorothea congratulated her all the same, and promised to win for Annie’s sake -- perhaps a bold promise from anyone else, but one that the former Mittelfrank diva felt assured she could keep.
And sure enough, in the semifinals she not only faced her fellow Eagle but beat him handily with one of the arias she’d so carefully prepared. He lost quite gracefully, too, applauding her as enthusiastically as the audience itself and conceding even before Profesor Manuela could announce the final judgment. And with the round done, Dorothea made her way back behind the stage, humming to herself as she waited for the intermission to end and the finals to begin…
“Congratulations on sweeping the competition, Dorothea.”
She paused, turning to see the leader of the Golden Deer House grinning at her from a few feet away. Mustering up a pleasant enough smile, she offered a nod in greeting. “Why, thank you, Claude. Are you here to wish Lorenz well before I crush him?”
The nobleman blinked. “Why would I do that? Lorenz got knocked out in the last round.”
Dorothea stared at him for a long, silent moment. “To who?” she demanded, hunting about for a bracket that might give her an answer--
“...me, actually.”
Slowly, carefully, she turned again to face the leader of the Golden Deer. “Guess you weren’t watching the match,” he chuckled, hefting an odd lute-like instrument. “Lorenz was...less than thrilled with the outcome, if it helps.”
Actually, it just made her regret all the more that she hadn’t paid attention: she’d been looking forward to seeing his face when he finally lost. “Well, I suppose congratulations are in order for you, too, then,” she said, turning away from him again. “May the best musician win.”
“Oh, uh...about that.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as he drummed his fingertips along the neck of his instrument. “I was...well. I was wondering how you’d feel about calling it a draw.”
A thin smile carved its way across her face. “Are you that confident you can beat me, Claude?”
“Hardly,” he scoffed. “I have no doubt that you’d mop the floor with me.” She felt sure he was flattering her -- but she waited all the same, watching his grin soften almost shyly, though it still didn’t quite touch his eyes. “I was just...hoping I could perform with you, instead of having to compete against you. Y’know, everything here at the monastery is about pitting us against each other: the weapon tourneys, the fishing competition, and now this...I feel like we could put on a better show working together than we could separately trying to one-up each other. You can have the prize, too, if you want,” he added. “Pretty sure you’d win it anyway, but...what do you say?”
Beyond the curtain, she heard Professor Manuela take the stage again and announce the final round to the audience. Claude only watched Dorothea, though, seeming content to be patient and wait for her even as their names rang out over the wild cheering of the crowd.
And at last she smiled, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. “How are you at improvising with that lute of yours?”
“If you can sing a few bars, I can probably make something work,” he grinned.
“Why don’t we put that to the test?”
“With pleasure,” he agreed, bowing playfully before offering his arm to her. Returning the gesture with a teasing curtsy of her own, Dorothea accepted -- and they walked out onto the stage together, applause washing over them in waves of wondrous sound. They parted smoothly, Claude taking up his instrument and strumming a few notes to ensure it was properly in tune before looking expectantly to her, waiting for her lead; Dorothea turned her own attention to the darkness, savoring the anticipation of the shadowed audience before her...and finally beginning to sing, the somber melody echoing throughout the crowded reception hall.
“Reach for my hand, I’ll soar away,
Into the dawn, oh I wish I could stay…”
A soft chord joined in, the notes as sweet and clear as her own...and yet it did not overpower her voice: instead it seemed to carry the words higher, elevating the music in ways she had not heard since she left the Mittelfrank Opera House. She did not falter, though: instead she continued, allowing a smile to creep into her voice as she sang.
“Here in cherished halls, in peaceful days
I fear the edge of dawn, knowing time betrays…”
“Is this really gonna be the last song we do?” Claude asked, his voice carrying out into the dark and startling her back to reality. “Come on, Dorothea, we’ve gotta liven it up a little!”
Even as he spoke, his fingers flew over the strings, keeping the key but tumbling into a bright, rousing accompaniment. He winked at her when she turned to stare at him, repeating the same refrain in invitation...and though she’d only ever heard the piece as a wandering lament before, she could not deny his compelling harmony.
Their music rang through the reception hall, her voice rising into the rafters on the strum of lute strings...and for the first time since she’d come to the Officer’s Academy, Dorothea felt that familiar, wonderful thrill again as the enraptured crowd watched them perform their duet on the stage.
-----
In the fortnight following the tourney, Dorothea had become the most popular girl in Garreg Mach. It seemed like every young man, noble birth or otherwise, wanted a moment of her time, a scrap of her attention...and, of course, a chance to hear her sing again.
While they’d agreed to a draw before ever taking the stage, Claude had gracefully conceded when Professor Manuela declared Dorothea the winner. It had bothered her when it happened -- all the more for how she couldn’t correct the matter over the riotous applause -- and try as she might over the intervening days, she’d still been unable to set the record straight with anyone she spoke with (aside from Hilda, who didn’t seem the least bit surprised to hear it). But strangest of all was the fact, despite now having an audience eager to hear her perform again...she couldn’t find that thrill anymore. It had been there while she was on stage with Claude, but in every performance since -- no matter how many people she had hanging on her every note -- she just felt the same hollow sort of yearning she had in the cathedral before all of this began.
Dorothea sighed as she made her way out of the dining hall, taking the stairs down to the fishing pond and wandering toward the dormitories. All the attention did get tiring after a while; luckily the grounds seemed deserted this afternoon, and she stretched her arms high as she tipped her head back, breathing in the crisp autumn air while the sun warmed her face and the soft sound of music drifted by…
She stopped, scanning the lawn and the path along the row of dorms. No one was there that she could see, but she could hear the strum of lute strings; she hurried on, listening to the music grow louder and louder until she felt certain she was close -- but the sound was too clear to be coming from behind the closed doors, and there was still no one around that she could see. “Claude?” she called, raising her voice as much as she dared.
The music stopped. “Dorothea?” the nobleman’s voice replied -- not from beside or behind her, but from above.
Tilting her head back and shading her eyes, she stared at the young man peering at her over the eaves of the dormitory roof. “What are you doing up there?” she asked.
“Playing,” he said.
“How did you even get up there? And why are you playing on the roof, for that matter?”
“It’s complicated,” he shrugged. “...well, alright, it’s not that complicated, but...should I come down so we can talk?”
Dorothea opened her mouth to agree...and paused. “...I could always come up,” she offered.
A grin twitched across his face. “I’ll meet you at my room, then,” he laughed, waving before disappearing from view. Hurrying back down to the greenhouses, she turned into the stairwell leading to the second floor of dorms where most of the noble students stayed; at the top of the steps, she saw Claude poke his head out into the hall, beaming at the sight of her. Smiling despite herself, Dorothea hurried over and ducked past him without even thinking...and as he closed the doors, she stifled a giggle at the sight of his room.
She had seen cluttered her share of dorms before -- Linhardt’s came immediately to mind -- but she’d never seen anything quite like this, with books taking up half the bed, papers spilling off the desk and onto the floor, and shelves cluttered with a mix of plants, vials, and strange brass instruments she couldn’t identify. Claude seemed briefly puzzled by her reaction...though, after another moment, he rather sheepishly began gathering up the parchment piled on his chair to give her a place to sit. “So what can I do for you?”
“Well, first of all I’d like to know how you got onto the roof,” she replied. “And off it so fast, for that matter.”
He quirked one eyebrow in apparent surprise. “What, that? It’s easy.” Dropping the papers in a haphazard pile on the desk, he stepped up onto the wide ledge beneath the open window, leaning out into empty space and stretching one arm up...
Claude jumped.
Dorothea lunged for him, knowing already it was too late -- but he did not fall. She stumbled into the sill, gaping as he effortlessly pulled himself up out of sight; crawling up onto the ledge, she cautiously poked her head out the window...and saw him lean out over the eave, grinning down at her from his perch. “That doesn’t look easy to me,” Dorothea pointed out.
“It just takes some practice,” he laughed. “Want to come up? The view’s great,” he added, reaching a hand down to her.
The sensible, logical, rational part of her brain insisted that she’d rather not break her neck trying to get a nice view of the monastery...even as she extended her own arm, gripping his wrist and feeling him hold fast. She heard the instructions he gave her -- she was more than certain of that, since she never would have done this on her own -- but whatever he’d said escaped her the moment she stepped off the ledge into empty air, clutching tight to Claude’s wrist even as his pleasant laughter rang in her ears. In the end he did most of the work pulling her up beside him...but once she caught her breath and her heart stopped feeling like a bird trying to escape its cage, she had to admit that he was right: the campus was lovely from so high up.
“You doing okay?” he asked, patting her shoulder gently.
“Better, I think,” she agreed, scooting further back from the edge. “So, that explains how you got up here -- now why are we here?”
“Well, in my case it’s because it’s a nice day, I don’t have anything going on, and I’m tired of dealing with Lorenz, so I figured I’d come up here and play a bit. He can yell all he wants from down there, but I’m not stopping unless he gets on this roof to make me.” As he spoke, he removed the lute strapped to his back, strumming a few notes and idly beginning to tune it again. “But what brings you up here?”
“Well...actually, I was looking for you,” she admitted, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. “I haven’t seen much of you since the music tourney.”
“You’ve been busy,” he winked.
Dorothea rolled her eyes, leaning back against the slightly pitched roof. “Don’t remind me, I needed to get away from it for a while.”
“Really? I thought you’d be happy about all the attention.”
“I was at first,” she sighed, “and it’s been wonderful to have more chances to sing, but…”
She trailed off, watching a few wispy clouds wandering across the pale blue sky. After a moment, the quiet strum of lute strings fell silent; glancing over at the nobleman, she found him watching her with interest, his head canting slightly to one side as he gestured for her to continue. “It...doesn’t feel like I thought it would. Back in the opera, it was always so grand and emotional, singing to an audience -- I loved that feeling, and it’s one of the things I’ve missed most since I left. I’d hoped the competition would bring it back, and singing with you I found it again, but...I haven’t felt it since. I’ve been feeling guilty about the way it ended up, and…”
“Hey, I said from the start that you’d mop the floor with me in a competition,” he laughed. “I don’t mind. I’m glad I got the chance to perform with you -- that was my prize.”
“Be serious,” she huffed. “I’m trying to apologize!”
“And I’m saying you don’t have to -- it’s not like you had a say in Professor Manuela deciding on a winner.”
“But if I don’t get it sorted out, how am I supposed to enjoy singing like I used to?”
“Are you sure guilt is what’s keeping you from it?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“You said that you haven’t felt that thrill since you left the opera. You didn’t get it again until the finals, right?” She nodded in agreement. “And then after the finals it was gone again?” Again, she nodded in agreement. “So what was different about the finals, compared to everything before and after?”
“The drama of the grand finale?” she offered.
“Well, that, too,” he chuckled, “but you weren’t performing alone, either: your melody had a harmony.”
Dorothea scoffed at the notion. “That seems…”
She trailed off as Claude leaned forward, propping his chin on his hands. She hadn’t thought of it like that before, but...her fondest memories from the opera were of performances with accompaniment: grand arias carried by a full orchestra, soft odes lilting over quavering strings. “...possible,” she conceded.
“So maybe what you were really looking for was a chance to sing with somebody, instead of going it alone or singing over them.”
“I’m flattered you think I’m so selfless,” she giggled. “Really, I just wanted an audience.” But even so, that final performance with him, building on one another’s leads and creating something far grander and more beautiful than Dorothea could have done alone...it had brought with it a familiar, delightful frisson.
“Well, I know I had more fun playing with you than I did taking Lorenz down a peg -- and I really enjoyed that,” Claude laughed, strumming his lute again, “and I, for one, would be honored to reprise the performance -- though, fair warning, I can’t promise a crowd this time around.”
“You know, I am free this afternoon,” she grinned. He beamed back at her, picking a cheerful tune on his lute strings -- an Adrestian folksong she recognized instantly; as she started in on the first verse and their duet drifted out over the quiet campus, she felt the thrill lift her heart again...and maybe it was just her imagination, but she swore Claude’s smile finally reached his eyes.
#fanfiction#fire emblem: three houses#dorothea arnault#claude von riegan#dorothea & claude#these two could have had such interesting conversations#but the only way to get that is with fanfiction#which is a shame#the title song reference is one of my favorite nods#dorothea singing it at half tempo to start#and then claude kicking it up to the faster pace#is just so much fun to me#also even though they don't have a huge impact on the piece as a whole#i just love the bits with raph and bernie so much#overall i'm still a little unsure about this particular one#but i really wanted to get it done since it's been sitting around for so long#and i needed something to get my mind on other things#let me know what you think#and if you'd like to see this one kicked over to ao3 too
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Saturday, April 17, 2021
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(NYT) The French Parliament passed a contentious security bill on Thursday that extends police powers, despite criticism from political opponents and civil rights activists who have vowed to challenge the legislation before France’s Constitutional Council. Among other measures, the bill broadens the powers of municipal police forces, expands the police’s ability to use drones to monitor citizens in public and toughens sentences for people found guilty of assaulting officers. One of the most arduously debated measures criminalizes the act of helping identify officers with intent to harm them. Opposition to the bill sparked large protests last fall and was fueled by several widely publicized instances of police brutality, especially the beating of a Black music producer in Paris that was caught on security camera in November. The sharing of images is not explicitly mentioned in the final version of the bill that was passed on Thursday. But in its Article 24, the bill criminalizes the act of helping to identify on-duty police officers with the “obvious intent” to physically or psychologically harm them. Offenders would face up to five years in prison and a 75,000 euro fine, about $89,800.
Myanmar’s lost generation: nation’s youth sacrificing futures for freedom
(The Guardian) For Myanmar’s young people, 2021 was supposed to be a year for optimism. After seeing through the Covid-19 pandemic, the rollout of the vaccine had begun and general elections in November had marked a step towards the country realising its potential. But in the wake of the 1 February coup, their dreams have turned into nightmares, as many of Myanmar’s young people have found themselves forced to sacrifice their futures to take a stand against the military. Aspiring engineer, Hlyan Phyo Aung, 22, is one of them. News portal Myanmar Now reported that he was hurt by an explosion during a crackdown on a protest in the central city of Magway on 27 March. A soldier reportedly shot off his injured hand at close range, another shot multiple rubber bullets into his other hand, and then troops kicked him in the face until onlookers flung themselves over him, saving his life. His right hand was amputated at the wrist; he may also permanently lose the use of his left hand. His left leg was shot eight times and may also be amputated, his right thigh has two bullet wounds, his face was battered and damage to his eyesight caused by the impact of the gunshots may also be irreparable. The military has stopped him from receiving treatment outside one of its own hospitals, and is also charging him with incitement, which carries up to three years in jail. The regime’s forces have killed at least 714 people since the coup, according to the Association for Political Prisoners (AAPP), but hundreds more are likely to have been seriously wounded by live rounds, mortar fire, hand grenades and other weapons used by the military.
Thailand to close schools, bars after surge in COVID-19 cases
(Reuters) Thailand will close schools, bars and massage parlours, as well as ban alcohol sales in restaurants, for at least two weeks starting from Sunday after a jump in COVID-19 cases, a senior official said. Activities involving more than 50 people will also be prohibited, Thailand’s coronavirus taskforce spokesman, Taweesin Wisanuyothin, said, adding that 18 provinces including Bangkok had been labelled as red zones with the rest of the country categorised as orange zones.
Tokyo Olympic Games may still be cancelled
(Washington Post) The Olympic Games scheduled to be held in Tokyo this summer may have to be canceled depending on the coronavirus situation, a senior member of Japan’s ruling party said Thursday. The remarks were the first public admission by the ruling party that cancellation or postponement were under serious consideration, though the challenges of holding the Games have become increasingly evident because of a worsening virus outbreak in Japan.
China’s economy is roaring back, a year after coronavirus shutdown
(Washington Post) China’s economy grew at a record pace in the first quarter, blowing past other major nations in its pandemic recovery. The world’s second-largest economy has more than regained its pre-pandemic activity, despite challenges such as lower efficacy rates of its coronavirus vaccines, pandemic travel limitations and U.S. sanctions on key Chinese industries. “The big picture is that China is catching up faster now to the level of advanced economies, faster than ever before,” said Nicholas Lardy, a senior fellow at the Washington-based Peterson Institute for International Economics (PIIE). Daily life in China returned to normal for most people last year because of exhaustive efforts to contain infection clusters and strict quarantine requirements for those entering the country. But Premier Li Keqiang warned this month that the recovery remains uneven, and that “new uncertainties” had emerged in the international environment—possibly a reference to fresh U.S. sanctions on Chinese high-tech companies and fashion-industry boycotts of Chinese cotton.
Hong Kong democracy leaders given jail terms amid crackdown
(AP) Nine of Hong Kong’s leading pro-democracy advocates were sentenced to jail terms Friday for organizing a march during the 2019 anti-government protests that triggered an overwhelming crackdown from Beijing. Those sentenced include the city’s so-called “father of democracy” Martin Lee as well as pro-democracy media tycoon Jimmy Lai. They were found guilty earlier this month of organizing and participating in a massive protest in August 2019, where an estimated 1.7 million people marched in opposition to a bill that would have allowed suspects to be extradited to mainland China for trial. The protest was not authorized by the police. Their convictions and sentencing were the latest blow to the city’s flagging democracy movement, amid an ongoing crackdown by Beijing and Hong Kong authorities on dissent in the semi-autonomous Chinese city.
Up to 65,000 people on the run in northeast Nigeria after attack: U.N.
(Reuters) Up to 65,000 people in northeastern Nigeria are on the run after an attack by armed groups on Wednesday in which 8 people were killed and at least a dozen injured, the U.N. refugee agency said on Friday. “Following the latest attack on Wednesday 14 April, the third in just seven days, up to 80 per cent of the town’s population —which includes the local community and internally displaced people— were forced to flee,” Babar Baloch of the U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), told a Geneva briefing. Local officials and a resident said on Wednesday that suspected Islamists attacked the northeast Nigerian border town of Damasak, killing at least eight people and causing hundreds to flee to neighbouring Niger.
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Katabasis || Chapter 4 || The Return || E
Massive trigger warnings exist for this fic and this chapter specifically, and are discussed under the cut where you can find the chapter content.
From the beginning (Explicit)
Claude Frollo/Esmeralda
A/N: I don’t like posting fic onto tumblr, but as I have said before, I’m having computer troubles that has prevented me from posting this directly to my Ao3 account. I will hopefully have access to that account soon, but for now, I must work with what I have.
Please note that there are the following TW: non-con, use of the G-slur and racism consistent with canon.
I hope I haven’t scared you off!
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Chapter 4
The Return
The first night, she barely slept. Too exhausted to stay awake, but too vigilant to let even the softest rustle not be searched for in the darkness. More than once, jolted awake, Esmeralda had wearily lain, watching as Djali settled yet again for more unburdened rest. “How lucky you are,” she had murmured, before sleep crept upon her. As the new day dawned, Esmeralda had found herself with Djali at her feet, blissfully alone.
After the second night, her head no longer felt heavy, nor did her bones complain as she paced up and down the gallery. She didn’t find her eyelids drooping as she watched the square below.
Readying herself after her third unperturbed night, Esmeralda thankfully noted how the bruises on her wrists had begun to fade. Her pain had diminished enough that she had to think about it to notice the subtle twinges and aches.
Waking from the fourth night’s slumber, Esmeralda had looked around the tiny cell, illuminated by the growing morning rays. The customary basket of food and a jug of fresh water had been placed just on the other side of her threshold.
Quasimodo had seemed to be taking even greater pains than ever before to avoid her notice. For this, she was glad. To see the twisted form or ugly face of the thing that had put her here, to be reminded of his lies and how he had been willing to let her be attacked by the priest - it was something Esmeralda wasn’t sure she could take. And whether the hunchback intuited how despised his appearance would be now, or whether he was too cowardly to face her, Esmeralda was thankful for his absence along with his continued efforts to ensure that she and Djali were at least fed something.
As she broke her fast with a few bites from the portion of bread the bellringer had given, Esmeralda smiled. “How is the hay?” she asked Djali. The goat didn’t look up from the fresh pile of hay she had buried her face in. “That good, then.”
However difficult life in the cathedral was for Esmeralda, she knew that it was even harder for Djali. There was nothing to graze or forage. Hay and scraps of Esmeralda’s meals were barely enough. Whenever she brushed or stroked the goat, Esmeralda could feel the cost of their sanctuary. Djali had grown thin, and her coat was now dull. Esmeralda was glad she couldn’t easily see the toll the weeks of imprisonment and seclusion had taken on herself. Filling Djali’s water bowl, she deliberately avoided glancing at her own reflection.
Just as she had begun to rise, two arms encircled her. Esmeralda screamed as she was lifted upwards. She didn’t hear the shatter of the earthenware against the stones, but she felt the splash of water over her bare feet.
A hand covered her mouth, and the grasping arms tightened around her, pressing her back against him. “Please,” whispered the priest. His breath was hot against her neck.
Esmeralda shook, seeking the slight give that would break the vise. But, the more she struggled in his arms, fighting against his hold, the faster his breathing became. Through her dress, she could feel against the small of her back the heat of his sinister purpose. With every move she made, she felt it growing stronger. He gave out a moan, muting it with her bare shoulder.
Against every instinct, Esmeralda froze. Thrashing about in the priest’s cruel embrace served only him. Her heart pounded, drowning out the increasingly urgent sounds escaping from him. Undaunted by her sudden stillness, he began to grind himself against her.
She saw no other means of escape. She grasped the flesh of his palm between her teeth and clenched her jaw tightly. She didn’t release his skin until she tasted metal.
He yelped and pulled away.
Esmeralda spun and spat in the priest’s alarmed face. She could see flecks of blood in the glinting spittle.
The priest muttered something in a language Esmeralda did not know, glancing from his bloody palm to her.
She sucked up her remaining saliva, ready to spit again, but furiously the priest covered her mouth with his lips. He wrapped himself around her once more, one hand roving down her chest.
“Take all you will,” he panted as he broke from the kiss. “My blood, my body.” His hand cupped her breast. “After my soul, what does anything else matter?” He took his hand away, and Esmeralda saw with horror the red smears over her left breast. “I give you everything.”
“Give me peace,” she parried. “Stay away from me.”
“You don’t understand how much these past few days have pained me. Not merely bodily. How hard it was to stay away, but I-”
“Leave me be or I will crack your head again.” She knew exactly where she had left the rock, she knew it would only take a few steps around the priest before she would have it in her grasp. In the daylight, she could see the yellow and green around the crusted wound. She would strike there with all her force. She would hit it again and again until she was sure that he would never touch her again. It was the only way she would ever be free of him again.
The priest sighed. “Do it, and I promise that you will beg for the quickness of the noose.”
It wasn’t a threat. Sincerity stared piercingly back at her as she searched his face for a sign of doubt. The fierceness of his certainty sent a shiver down Esmeralda’s spine. The terrifying devices in the prison seemed to pass before her, each more horrible than the next. The damp cold of the underground cell chilled her despite the summer heat. Desperately focusing on the block of sunlight that stretched across the cell, Esmeralda swallowed back the rising sick.
If she did kill him or wound him fatally, they would know who to blame. Even if she were somehow to muster the strength to throw his body down from the tower, it would only be a matter of time before everyone came for her. Escape would be nearly impossible. Quasimodo certainly couldn’t be counted on to help. He had chosen the priest over her before, and Esmeralda was no longer able to hope that he would protect her ever again.
“So hit me,” the priest continued. “Spit at me, strike me. Do what you will. I care not. It’s nothing compared to all that I have suffered these long months.” Trembling he kissed her temple, a mirror to the blow she had given him. “And everything pales to what I know awaits me.” He gave a long sigh. “But the cruelty of man is vast, and should they find my body, you will very quickly see the depths of manufactured Hell.” He kissed her once again before pulling away to add, “Have mercy. Let us have a shred of kindness together.” He began to push, steering her towards the bed, his hand wrapped around her wrist.
Even if she couldn’t end him and forever stop his pursuit, Esmeralda was not ready to submit. Even if all that she had cherished and all her dreams had been stolen from her, she would not surrender. She had been raised to be stronger than that. With all the courage left in her body, she said, “Never.”
A jarring yank sent Esmeralda tumbling to the floor. She reached out a hand to stop her fall and landed hard upon the mattress. The priest was already on his knees above her, pinning her down by the time she found air enough to say, “I hate you.”
Between bruising kisses, the priest managed, “I love you.” Still pelting her face and neck with his lips, he began to draw her skirt up to her waist.
As his hand wandered down to explore her exposed skin, shame burned red and hot across her face. His fingertips might as well have been claws, ripping her flesh as they ran across her abdomen and over her thighs. His breath now heaved his chest, and his eyes flickered up and down, as if trying to consume every part of her he had stripped bare.
Clumsily, Esmeralda reached down to try to cover herself, but he batted her hands away. “Please don’t,” she whispered. Despite his weight on her legs, she tried to buck and kick. Her fists struck his chest and face as he leaned over to kiss her once more. She could feel his shuddering moan in her mouth. She screwed her eyes shut, her last defense.
She nearly jumped as the fabric of his cassock was lifted away, brought up to his hips. His naked thighs parted her legs, and he let the skirt drape back down to cover them together.
He was prodding her. An awkward jab at the top of her inner leg. A misaimed thrust that landed him against her belly. It was hot and swollen. He seared as he rammed inside her, and her breath escaped in agonized cry. Like the cleaving thwack of an axe against wood, his splitting suddenness roughly cut into her.
Despite the pain, Esmeralda tried not to let her breathing quicken in panic, least he think that the hitch in her breath and frantic gasps were caused by his next thrust forward. He was going too deep. She was sure he would rip out on the other side, still plunging on into stone, oblivious as he quivered on top of her.
As he slid out, Esmeralda heard him moan deeply. Her body was screaming. Perhaps she was as well. His next attack robbed her of any sense but pain. He was shaking against her, groaning and muttering. Only one word she was able to discern -
“Esmeralda.”
He seemed to twitch and jerk as he pulled back before jaggedly returning, uttering a raw cry. His muscles tensed as he held himself fast against her. Finally, his breath slowed, and his body relaxed. She could feel the sweat on his face as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, collapsing on top of her.
“Are you going to cry this time?” she snapped, pushing him off.
“What?” It stung as the priest slipped out, trailing a sticky wetness in its wake. Slowly, he rolled onto his side and began to dab at the milky drops with the hem of her skirt.
Esmeralda’s nose wrinkled in disgust, and she tugged her dress out of his languid grasp. “Are you,” she said, punctuating every word, “going to cry?” She sat upright and smoothed her clothing out.
Sleepily the priest blinked. “That was a one time thing.” He took the blanket in hand and started to dry himself.
Esmeralda could only stare. After everything he had inflicted on her and how he had deprived her of her modesty, she felt no inclination to afford him any privacy. Soft and much reduced, it was hard to accept that it was the same instrument that had provided so much torture. But, she knew little of such matters. Compelled to know what Phoebus had under his hose, she had spied one or twice on her husband during their weeks together. Other than Pierre, she had seen no other man’s nakedness before. This, however, wasn’t entirely trivial, but it was still an ugly worm.
More interesting to her, however, were the dark curls nestled there. No shock of white or trace of grey - so unlike what remained on his head. An old man, she had thought, would be just as grey on bottom as he was on top, just as it was for the aging women she had seen bathing. He couldn’t be, she realized, nearly as old as a quick glance suggested.
It was then that she realized with alarm that the worm had grown. Not quite a serpent, but enough to menace. She swallowed and glanced over to the priest’s face, meeting his gaze. He had been watching her as she stared at him. “You’re despicable,” she muttered, averting her eyes. “Deplorable.” She got to her feet and scanned the cell. Djali was nowhere to be seen. Wherever the goat had wandered off to, Esmeralda was sure it was safer than here.
Still smirking, Claude leaned against the wall. She had found him fascinating. How else could such intense regard be explained? His eyes followed her as she crossed the cell. As she bent down before the shattered jug, he sucked in his breath, already imagining taking her once more.
One by one, she picked up the pieces of clay, only a sliver of her profile visible to him. A broken jug. “How could I forget!” he exclaimed as the specifics of Pierre’s marriage in the Court of Miracles returned to him. The poet had been married to Esmeralda through means of a broken crock. His face flushed as the significance seized him.
Startled, the girl turned to gape at him.
“How many pieces?” Claude asked breathlessly. She had dropped the jug when he had embraced her, and then he had had her. Hardly sanctified, it wasn’t proper, but if canon law could accept a clandestine marriage as valid, then - Claude could feel the weight of at least one sin leave. However many other sins this gypsy marriage created to join his innumerable crimes, for the first time that he had taken the key to the red door, Claude felt his conscience was clear.
“What?”
Exasperatedly, “How many pieces?” Claude repeated. “The jug.” He gestured to the floor. “How many?”
Bemused, the girl shook her head, but still she cast a glance around, mouth wordlessly moving as she counted. “At least twenty,” she said flatly and returned to gathering the remains.
“We’ll be married at least twenty years then,” concluded Claude.
“That’s-” stammered the girl. “How?”
Unperturbed by the feigned confusion, Claude waved his hand dismissively. He could understand why she would take every advantage she could, counting on his ignorance of the customs of her people. “No need to lie,” he said. “I know that’s how you Gypsies get married. A broken jug that states how long you will be married. We have broken a jug, so we are husband and wife for at least twenty years.”
A strange expression crossed her scowling face before she let out a laugh. Bright. Pure. She was laughing at him! Indignant, Claude began to rise.
Finally, she managed, “You’re mistaken, Father.” She shook her head, the smile fading from her as she turned to him.
“And why is that?” he snarled, her momentary mirth still ringing in his ears.
“To be married requires agreement - between families, between husband and wife. Without it there is nothing.” Fire flashed behind her dark eyes. “I am not your wife. I will never be yours.”
“Then why the jug!” spluttered Claude.
Esmeralda shrugged. “There are many people who come to the Court of Miracles. More than just mine. I don’t know why a marriage is announced with breaking something here, but it’s nothing more than a…”
“Symbol,” Claude provided with a sigh. He should have known that his former student couldn’t be trusted to accurately recount or explain all that he had seen. Ever since he had met the aspiring poet, Pierre had been more partial to invention than recitation. Claude pressed his fingers between his brows.
It had been pointless to hope for something that could ameliorate his perdition. As long as he was still a priest, it was a violation of all that he had vowed. Moreover, she was a heathen. Their union could never be holy.
Drained of the frenzied relief, Claude sighed.
There was no redemption for this transgression. And now he was even more damned than he had been before. He had stained his soul once again with such vile licentiousness, and despite the punishment he would suffer, he still had every intention of repeating his sin. Contrition was impossible while she still lived. Perhaps even now that he had experienced the exquisiteness of carnal knowledge, his whole existence was doomed to be consumed by this need. What had driven him to mastery of so many passions, Claude could now see, was what Fate had designed to condemn him.
Clattering clay pieces dropped upon his lap, pulling him out of his reverie. He looked up at her scornful expression.
“Count them if you wish, Father,” Esmeralda said.
The title following such sacrilegious thoughts brought clenching unease to the priest. “Claude.” He took her hands in his, holding fast even though she made no attempt to slip away. How foolish he felt realizing that never once in any of their prior encounters had he offered his name. There had always been so many other matters to attend to that it had simply been determined unnecessary, unimportant. “My name is Dom Claude Frollo.”
Dark eyes bore into his.
“Claude,” he repeated, wishing to hear her finally add words to her siren’s call. A thrill passed through him as he imagined just how sweet it would sound to have her cry out his name as he was inside her.
He would do it. He would make her say it. His body begged to have her again. It would not wait.
It took very little effort to bring her to her knees, on the bed once more. Claude brushed away the fragments of the jug. Though already aching with desire, he gave himself a long stroke. Unlike the paltry pulls he had resorted to during the past few days while his head pounded and stomach spun after slight exertion, there was the promise of wrapping himself around Esmeralda and entering her warmth.
As he kissed her, he felt words spoken against his lips. “What?” he gasped.
“What does it mean?” Her tone cut with annoyance.
Claude gulped for air, wishing she would just make sense for once.
“Your name.”
He squinted at her. “Of all the things… what…” Claudius cum claudio. He could feel his face flush as he imagined actually saying the word ‘lame’ to the girl. “Never you mind.” She no doubt had a devious purpose. Hadn’t the goat learned to spell that captain’s name?
“I will only ever love the man who is named for-”
“Will you never cease this madness!” Claude let go of her. “Why do you torture us with talk of that captain?”
“He is-”
“A drunk who seduces and whores and has no doubt already found someone else to ruin,” Claude interjected. “He will never be worth your devotion, and the more you insist on saying his name, the more you debase yourself.” He got to his feet. “You do not see him for what he is. You see only fancy trappings-” as he spoke, he began to pace, “- a shiny sword you would kiss, someone who thinks he’s Adonis. And he doesn’t even see you unless you’re willing to offer him what I have fought so hard for.”
Though he wanted to stop and hold her so she would no longer wince and flinch from his words, he couldn’t contain himself. He could think of no other way to make her understand than to scold and lecture.
“If he feels anything for you,” Claude continued, “it’s hate and fear. You tried to kill him, and it drove him away-”
“You tried to kill him!” snapped Esmeralda.
“He doesn’t know that! He thinks you stabbed him, and what has he done? He’s stayed away, far away. He didn’t go to your trial. He was ready to watch as you died accused of killing him. He’s a coward, and he does not want you. But me,” he put his hands over his heart, feeling it thunder underneath his ribs, “I have come back. You tried to kill me, and still would, yet here I am!”
“I would,” she hissed, “but we’ve established why I can’t.”
“Surely you can see that I love you. I love you in a way he never could, and I would-”
“If you love me so much, prove it by throwing yourself off the tower.”
Wraith boiling over, Claude scrambled to find a proper response, but before he could fashion one together, he felt something ramming into his side. Though it did not bring him to his knees, the blunt force left him gasping. “What the-” he muttered as he looked down to see the furious goat, head lowered, poised to strike again. “Devilish beast!” He took a step forward, but already the girl was wrapping her arms around the goat, murmuring praise and kissing her.
Esmeralda held the goat to her chest, a demonic shield with yellow eyes that seemed to gnash its teeth, daring Claude to approach once more. Did he see Hellfire flickering there? There was undoubtedly something infernal that had summoned the creature to the cell and prompted it to attack.
Shuddering, he backed away until he was at the door. “Perhaps I’ll throw that thing from the tower instead.” Claude could feel the scorching hate follow him all the way down to the cloister.
He slammed his chamber door and hurried to the window, already trying to soothe the dissatisfied agony between his legs. Supporting himself with his forearm against the wall, Claude frantically moved his fist, cursing that he had to fall back to this. Pathetic. Lame. His arm was tiring from pumping and still she hid out of sight, as if she knew how much suffering she was inflicting still.
Biting his arm, he silenced his moans as the hot flood of relief spilled over his hand. He rested his head against the stone wall. “Esmeralda,” he whispered. He let his cassock fall back over his legs and sought his washcloth. He had only managed to wipe the remnants of his seed off of his hand when a knock intruded on his silence.
“Monsieur Archdeacon?” It was the nervous voice of the beadle.
If he stayed silent, perhaps he would be left alone again.
“You should know, but… word reached the Bishop that you are well again-”
Claude clenched his teeth.
“- and he’s on his way here.”
Resisting the urge to shout about damning the Bishop, Claude opened the door. “Thank you for the notice, Charles,” he said, his face a mask of placid duty. “I will be sure to greet him when he arrives.” Not waiting for the beadle to respond, Claude brushed past him, already weary with the day.
~~~
A/N: Wow! Congrats on getting to the end of this beast of a chapter.
I’ve interpreted the jug breaking in the book as being something that’s a result of so many cultures being in the Court of Miracles that the Jewish tradition of breaking a glass to celebrate a marriage wound up as just a part of how things are done in the Court of Miracles. Since actual Romani marriages are pretty diverse in tradition, I can’t say for sure that no jugs were ever broken, but to my knowledge, it’s not done. Of the Romani marriage traditions I know - from jumping over a broom, to the bride changing dresses as she’s accepted into the groom’s family, to giving jewelry, or just plain old having a regular Church service - I have heard nothing that resembles what Hugo wrote.
I apologize if there are any formatting errors or other issues. (Let me know!)
Please let me know if you liked this chapter with ‘likes’ and reblogs. I always love hearing what people think, and it really makes my day!
Thank you! And Happy Halloween!!!!
#claude frollo#esmeralda#hond#fresme#nddp fanfic#non con trigger warning#racism trigger warning#trigger warnings in general
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The Underground Arena - Part 1
So. New story! I wrote this one for my super duper amazing friend @whumpthisway, and it’s about fighters and underground rings and big, strong whumpees :3 Hope you enjoy! <3
(This part is mainly buildup, but I’ve already written another 2,000 words so hopefully it won’t be long till we get to the good part ~)
TWs: human trafficking, slavery, dehumanization, forced to fight, death mentions, fear of death
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Vincent couldn’t stop pacing. Eventually, Greta told him to sit –you can’t run from it, might as well sit down– so he tried to make himself comfortable on one of the sorry stools they keep in the break room, even though his body is too big for it. He’s still sitting down now, as Greta goes on about fighting tactics.
Greta’s advice is always helpful – she has a lot of experience to share, and her cool voice helps ground him when he’s nervous before a fight. But today, it’s really hard to focus on what she’s saying.
He’s not just nervous; he is genuinely afraid. It’s been years since he was last afraid of an opponent. Of course, none of his previous opponents were like The Reaper.
Vincent keeps thinking about the first and only other time Claude arranged for one of his fighters to face The Reaper. The Reaper was relatively new, back then, but he had already made a name for himself – or rather, his owner had. Claude thought it would be good to put out that spark before it turned into a fire, prove that he was better than him. The guy he sent wasn’t anything too special, but he was spry and looked like he could hold his ground against a larger fighter.
Claude’s guy never came back to the fighters’ quarters after the fight. It wasn’t a Death Fight, and as far as Vincent knows, the guy didn’t die in the ring. But he never came back to the fighters’ quarters. (Two days later, nearly everyone who used to share a room with him in the fighters’ quarters was fighting over his stuff.)
Claude then decided that he was not going to lose any more fighters to The Reaper, so he never arranged any fights with his owner again. But now he has to, because his audience wants him to, and The Reaper’s owner –his name is Leonard, Vincent thinks– wants him to, and he can’t afford to let down either.
Claude doesn’t like losing, though. So he’s going to send one of his best – as if it’s going to make any difference. The Reaper is currently the best fighter in the city of Del, and it will be a long, long time before he meets his match, but Claude is too proud to accept that. He thinks it’s worth the risk, if it means he might finally best Leonard.
Not that Vincent doesn’t share Claude’s animosity. Leonard has got money, so much money that even Claude wouldn’t know what to do with it (yeah, right), has somehow gotten his hands on the best fighter in Del, but refuses to join a ring, and doesn’t seem interested in creating his own. Calling it a business is bad enough already, but for this man, it’s just a game. Somehow, that pisses Vincent off even more. (Claude has a wholly different reason, of course – he hates Leonard because he turned him down when Claude asked him to join the Arena.)
Vincent might be large, and fast, and he could kill a man with just a well-aimed punch – but The Reaper is larger, and faster, and deadlier. Vincent has been at the Underground Arena long enough to learn to live with fear, but he hasn’t actually feared for his life in years. Because he’s learned how things work. Because he might dream of strangling Claude in his sleep, but he still knows that he’s lucky it’s Claude who owns him and not somebody else.
Claude has his reputation. His fighting ring, the Underground Arena, is one of the most popular rings in Del. He doesn’t participate in Death Fights, and doesn’t send his fighters out to die in the ring – or, well, he doesn’t do it on purpose. (“Accidents happen.”) He uses corporal punishment only if he deems it absolutely necessary, and doesn’t make his fighters kneel in his presence, or use honorifics when they’re speaking to him. Vincent isn’t lucky he’s here, but he’s definitely lucky he’s not in other rings – like the Playground, or the Onion Ring, or the Beast’s Den, where fighters are treated like animals, or worse, objects.
Vincent has his own mattress. He has books, two of them, which aren’t very pleasant to read in his dimly lit, windowless room in the fighters’ quarters, but at least he has them. And he has Greta, even if he doesn’t get to see her that much. At least he isn’t kept in a cage, and he isn’t tortured when he doesn’t perform well.
Vincent thinks about the guy who never came back to the fighters’ quarters. They both lived in the Underground Arena, in the same room, so naturally Vincent knew the guy, if not that well. He doesn’t remember his name, or most of what he looked like – the only thing he remembers clearly is that he had a mark on his chin, a birthmark or a scar acquired in the streets, Vincent never asked. He had his first actual conversation with the guy only hours before his fight with The Reaper – he remembers thinking about how he was an okay dude, good company for someone found down here, someone he’d like to joke around with again.
At least he didn’t get too attached.
When Greta finally finishes with what she was saying, Vincent has hardly heard a word. “You’re not listening,” Greta says, even though she already knew that. She always talks like this, no matter the subject – casually, like she’s discussing the weather. Although, now that he thinks about it, he can’t really imagine such a discussion would have been particularly casual, what with them being stuck underground and all. If it ever came to that, it would probably be something more along the lines of, so this is what the sky looks like? Well, good to know.
The three years Vincent has spent in this place might feel like a lifetime, but Greta has been here far longer than he has. Five years at the Arena, but eight as a fighter. It’s been all she’s known for a very long time, but it’s a bit comforting to see that she’s still keeping it together. Not exactly the light at the end of the tunnel that would keep someone going, but it’s something.
“Sorry,” Vincent murmurs. “I really appreciate you doing this. I’m just… I’m having trouble keeping a clear head.”
Greta pats him on the shoulder sympathetically. “Claude doesn’t lend his guys out for Death Fights. They’ll stop it if it goes too far.”
Vincent stares down at his hands. “Will they?” he mutters, even though he doesn’t really want to talk about it. Because he knows Greta won’t lie to him.
She shrugs. “Maybe they won’t,” she admits, almost apologetically. “It’s happened before.”
Vincent snorts unhappily. “Wow. Thanks.”
“Shouldn’t have asked if you didn’t wanna hear it, boo. You know I don’t like lying.” She crosses her arms over her chest and stares at Vincent from where she’s towering over him, drumming her fingers on her arm. “I don’t think Claude would let another one of his fighters die in the hands of The Reaper. He doesn’t like losing money.”
“The other guy wasn’t killed. He was damaged beyond repair, so they got rid of him,” Vincent hears himself say. The words leave a bad taste in his mouth – it’s not something he would normally say. “And Claude was compensated for the loss.”
“Finding new fighters ain’t easy,” Greta reminds him. “Most of the guys they get nowadays are from outside Del, and you know how outsiders call what’s happening in here.” Slavery. “Out there, this shit is illegal. It’s hella risky for people like Claude and Jane. And, well,” she continues, “you’re a good fighter, Vince. You might even stand a chance. Or Claude wouldn’t be sending you out there.”
That’s bullshit, Vincent thinks. Greta would kick his ass if he said that to her, though, so instead he settles for, “I’m still worried.”
“Well, of course. It’s The Reaper.” She points at her chest. “I’d be worried.”
Vincent can’t help but smile a little at that. “No way.”
“Truly,” Greta says – she’s smiling now, too. “I’m serious.”
“I used to be a fan, you know?” Vincent says, pretending to be shocked. “Is this what they mean when they say you should never meet your heroes?”
She chuckles and pushes him lightly – or what qualifies as lightly for Greta. “Shut up, Cub.”
“Nobody calls me that anymore,” he protests, laughing. He pushes her, too, knowing full well he is starting a pushing contest that will end with his ass on the floor. It’s a welcome distraction from what he knows is going to happen to him in… probably less than an hour, now.
He doesn’t want to think that it might be the last time he gets to joke around with Greta like this, like they often do before normal fights. Fights where they actually have a chance of winning, and losing only means that they’d have to deal with a few bruises and an empty stomach for a while, perhaps earn them a light beating, if Claude isn’t around to keep his men in line. At least that’s what it’s like for Vincent – he doesn’t know exactly how Jane deals with her fighters’ failure. It’s not like Greta ever loses, anyway.
This is different. He knows he’s not going to win, because he isn’t in a movie. The question is, how much will this failure cost him? He never actually expected to die in the ring, but now he has to consider that very real possibility.
But Greta’s smile is just too welcoming for him to keep thinking about this right now. Can’t run from it, might as well sit down with a friend.
#whump#writing#ocs#my ocs#the underground arena#slavery#fear#dehumanization#multiple whumpees#(sort of?)#death mention#minor character death#(mentioned)#let me tell you this is turning out way too plotty
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sirbartonslady reblogged your post and added:
(adding the tags via image because I’m too lazy to...
Thank you for the response. It goes without saying that I’m sorry for your loss and I hope that you’ve been doing well.
(Messy, wordy rant below)
Considering Edelgard’s upbringing as soon-to-be empress, her backstory, and well, y’know, her being the designated anti-hero/villain and all kinda influencing her actions to an extent, I can understand her actions. Even so, her handling of the situation was hot garbage and it really made me wish Byleth had more character than a wall made out of wet papier-mâché and tell her arrogant ass to fuck right off. But no, wouldn’t want to question the will of the FE lord that’s always right in a role playing game with a self-insert, I guess.
Such is how unbelievable some games handle grief, I think, and 3H is no exception. I couldn’t imagine going up to my mother or father when they’ve lost a family member not but a week after their death and tell them to quit crying and move on - I’d be kicked out of the house and loose all contact with them faster than I can say the crests are to blame! The game really expects me to believe my self-insert would continue to willingly work with someone who actively refuses to empathize with me, huh. Like, I could begrudgingly agree with Edelgard’s methods if Byleth was actively not allowed to interact with anyone during the aftermath of Jeralt’s death and if they were still grieving for months upon end. Yet the cutscene with each house leader counseling Byleth happens not but a week after and it doesn’t help Edelgard’s case at all.
I agree, I found Dimitri’s handling of the situation far more successful. The kid’s unfortunately got a lot more experience dealing with grief than most, and it shows by him telling Byleth that it’s alright to take the time to grieve and to move on at their own pace. Meanwhile Claude is Claude; whether you’re on Golden Deer or not, he’s still empathizing with you and reassuring Byleth, whether by telling them Jeralt truly did care for them or that the world will continue to spin and that time will. Perhaps it’s because Edel will soon ascend to the throne and needs someone she can trust there that she needs Byleth back on their feet ASAP, but again, her handling of the situation is just crass and would be deemed as completely unacceptable if this were coming from anyone other than the chosen lord.
The Tough Love trope just bothers me in general (the scene with Edelgard gave me flashbacks to FF15′s chapter 10, which was another really obnoxious use of tough love) as someone that has never had a positive experience with it, and would never dare to try and use it to someone who has lost someone, especially when it’s only been literal days since the event. I will say, the next time she tries to garner my sympathies (such as when she cries over having to kill Dimitri), I’m just gonna be sitting there like
Though let’s be real, the game probably won’t even allow me the satisfaction.
#sirbartonslady#fe3h spoilers#fe3h critical#edelgard critical#i wasn't expecting a response to my vent so i vented some more i hope you don't mind me responding to your vent#i want to like edelgard i really do she just bothers me a lot
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Spent the Night
#SL #SpentTheNight
Written by @DamagedBrother and @PanwerePredator
*~*~*~*
Hadrian:
After a moon, my rest from the Change could be a day or more, depending on exactly what I got up to. In between that though, recovery was faster, and thank fuck, this was one of those times. When I opened my eyes I could feel the day’s end drawing near, the sun going toward the horizon. My body felt like a lead weight, but I could move it, every muscle and limb responding as I twitched and slowly sat up.
The vampire was in the corner.
A sort of shock rippled through me at the realisation he’d not only spent his proverbial night with me, but fallen asleep in the corner. There was a sort of softness about him in repose, the leather and weapons a side ornament to a male that had gone above and beyond to make amends for his mistake. I rubbed at the spot his knife had gone in, the only thing left now a pink and red scar. He’d certainly left his mark.
“Can’t believe I spent the night with a vampire,” I murmured, sighing to myself as I slid off the bed and padded over. A shower was definitely happening ASAP. These hospital clothes had to go.
Beneath all of that was the residual disbelief that a vampire had helped me rather than hobbled me. For so long I’d been running from the Children of the Night, fearful I’d be made someone’s servant, and yet here this one was, dispatching apparent demons and trying to make sure I lived. Regardless of taking his knife in the chest, if he hadn’t intervened, would I even be alive right now? What would the demons have done to me?
Crouching in front of Zsadist, I gently reached out to touch his shoulder.
“Z. Wake up.”
Zsadist:
[I was surprised that I actually fell asleep. My body was just exhausted from fighting and with the chaos that happened last night that it was unavoidable. It was shocking that I didn’t wake up from a nightmare in cold sweats. Instead I dreamt of being in a forest all alone. It was quiet and peaceful. Out from the bushes a tiger appeared. He was huge. Towering over me which seemed so unreal, but it all felt real to me. My hand reached out to it, feeling the warmth of it’s breath against my palm. Just as my fingers were about to make contact I heard my name. Huh? Was it talking to me?
Soon I was brought back to reality, opening my tired golden eyes to find a male staring at me. I start to panic and quickly look around to find myself not in the mansion at all. Oh. I was at Hadrian’s apartment. It’s like I had forgotten where the fuck I was.
I stiffened from his touch, but soon relaxed when I knew he meant no harm. Clearing my throat before my hand rubbed over my face. It was still daylight out. I could feel it.] What time is it? [I asked before shifting my legs out a bit, they were stiff. My eyes flicker down to his chest where the blade once was. He survived and all was well. Or so I hoped. I still had to face the brotherhood once I was home. To be honest it didn’t scare me. I just knew that it was going to bring complications and I would have to suffer the consequences of my actions.]
Hadrian:
“Late afternoon,” I answer quietly, leaning back as the vampire came to and sat up, more aware of his surroundings. “Y’know, I was dead to the world after that shift. You could’ve just taken the other side of the bed and I wouldn’t have noticed. Or cared.” I snort and get to my feet, moving back to sit on the edge of the bed. “Can’t believe I spent the night with a vampire and didn’t get screwed. In every sense of the word.”
Shaking my head, I raked a hand back through my hair and glanced at the clock. I could take a shower, but I was reluctant to touch any of the blinds or open the door, lest the last of the day’s sunlight seep in to hit my guest. After all the effort he’d gone to to keep me alive, I suppose the least I could do was make sure I didn’t fry him on the return.
“Those things last night,” I heard myself say, surprised I was looking back to him, needing to know. “What were they? Who are you?”
My finger trailed over the new scar on my chest. The one I’d have to remember him by for a while.
“I think I deserve to know.”
Zsadist:
[Shifting up until I was standing. My golden eyes flicker to his chest once more before meeting his gaze. He wanted to know who they were. Who I was. Scrubbing a hand over my skull trim head. This is where it could get tricky.
I already was in deep shit. What if my mind tricks wouldn’t work on him? Then what am I going to do if I get him involved? Take him home to the mansion like Rhage did with Mary? I snort as I move to sit next to the male on the bed. My hands smooth over my leather covered knees before I part my lips] I’m Zsadist. A vampire.
[I chuckle slightly then take in a deep breath. Yeah that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Staring at the wall in front of me as I try to think of how much I should answer. Honestly probably nothing, but I owed him more than that after all that has happened.
Finally I break the silence once again] That was a lesser. [My fingers pick at some lint on the bed.] They are our enemy. By our…I mean the Black Dagger Brotherhood. We protect our kind from lessers. Like a little army. [Snorts then tilts my head to the side to gauge his reaction]
Hadrian:
I deadpanned at the Zsadist and vampire part; yeah no duh pal. I got that part. But as he seemed to weigh up his decision, I could see he was making a hard call. Whatever they were, and whatever he was involved in, he wasn’t supposed to be telling anyone.
“Vampire warriors?” I clarify, assessing the guy in his leathers, with all his weapons, and figuring I had to be on the right track there. Getting up, I started pacing, glancing at my clock and noting I still had time of him being trapped in here with me to ask questions. Huzzah.
“I think you realise by now I’m not your average citizen. I could tell by the look on your face you were as surprised to see me as I was to see you. You’ve never met a Shifter before, have you?”
Irritated by the scrub shirt, I pulled it off and tossed it aside, folding my arms over my chest as I watch him.
“And I’ve never met a vampire like you. So… we’re both kind of in the zone of ‘see something, say nothing’, right?”
Zsadist:
[My head just tilted to the side as his shirt came off. There was a scar that was now there because of me. Would he ever fully heal? Or would it be something that would stay with him forever. I reach out for my own scar that ran down my face but before I could touch it my hand dropped. Shaking the thoughts from my head.]
I met a wolf once, but never a tiger. It makes me wonder what else is out there. I would have never imagined that I would meet a fucking tiger. [Snorting before I drop back onto the bed so I could stare at the ceiling and think quietly to myself. A tiger. I met a tiger and I told him about the Brotherhood. I wasn’t sure if I could take that back. Fuck.
Shifting up onto my elbows, I eye the male] Yeah. The only problem is my enemies aren’t dumb. I mean they are. [Rolls eyes] But they can track. Knowing all that you know puts you in danger. Though I will say I feel a little bit better knowing that you have a big tiger that can kick some ass. [Laughs slightly then clears my throat] But still. They might try to come here. I really don’t know what I’m going to do about that. [Sitting up straight, my eyes land on the scar once more] Will that...heal? I mean...you have healing abilities. So that scar will disappear yes? [Lifts my eyes to the male]
Hadrian:
Glancing down at my chest, I then looked back at the male and shrugged. I could see scars were a thing for this guy, but they weren't for me. I healed. Everything just took time. Or it didn't. And you got to see the trials you'd survived all over your body.
"Will it bother you if it doesn't?" I murmur. "Because it won't bother me."
He didn't know. The fact he thought I was only a tiger worked for me. I still didn't know what kind of vampire he was, or his brotherhood, but if any of them could tell that I was more than a single strain shifter then I was screwed. There was no telling what this other type of vampire was like, let alone their demon enemies.
"They couldn't know where I live," I reassured quietly. "They weren't looking for me per re, I just found them. They were harassing a woman, trying to grab her, so I intervened. I thought they were just human but they did flinch when I hurt them."
I flexed my fingers and my claws slid free from beneath the nails.
"Then I smelt them. Fuck me… I realised I was in trouble the same time they realised I wasn't just another guy…"
Zsadist:
[Eying the scar once more on his chest I shrug] No. [Nods] Just didn’t know how good you healed. As a vampire we can heal completely. [My distorted lip twitches] Unless salt is put on a wound then we scar.
[I drop that conversation then watch the male closely as he explains what happened before I arrived last night. It was hard for me to relax about this. Hell I came here with him tonight at his place. Scrubbing a hand back and forth across my neck]
I...I’m just not sure about it all. They could come here. Look, I’m going to have to tell the others about all of this. I have no idea what they will think or do. Honesty it mostly comes down to the King. [Shrugs my shoulders then shifts to stand in front of him. The male was on edge. Blinking as my eyes drop to his hands] Are...there more of you? [Lifts gaze to lock my eyes onto his] Or are you the only one of your kind around here?
Hadrian:
Anxiety spiked in my gut again at the idea of a ‘King’ to deal with. Was he referring to Jean-Claude, the vampire King of America, or another? Considering how the last twenty-four hours had gone for me, I was going to go with ‘another’. Somewhere, Zsadist had a king that needed to know about me, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“When you say ‘tell the others’, will the others… come knocking at my door?”
Did I need to be skipping town? Again?
“I mean… I’m clearly not part of your… ‘kingdom’, or whatever,” I point out, getting to my feet and folding my arms, close to the door by default. I could always make a break for it in these final moments of sunset, while the vampire would be contained.
“I am reluctant to tell you anything else now,” I admit, “because I’m worried your ‘King’ is going to want to meet me or abduct me or some shit and I’m not throwing anyone else under the bus to get run over with me.”
Yeah, that was me. Blunt as fuck…
Zsadist:
[I watched as the male started to freak out on me a bit. He was worried about the Brotherhood, and to be honest I was slightly concerned, but I knew they wouldn’t hurt him. Not if I told them he was a friend.
Standing slowly to tower over the male. I search his eyes before I speak] Hey. I told you a lot about myself and my brothers. Shit that I’m not supposed to say. So for you saying you don’t want to tell me shit…[Pauses and adverts my gaze. I think quietly for a moment before I continue on] You have my word they won’t come for you. I’ll…[What, lie to my brothers? I couldn't do that.] I’ll make sure it’s all okay. It will be okay.
[Taking in a deep breath as I roll my shoulders] Just...this is new to me. Normally it’s a human that causes shit like this which causes said human to end up at our place. Not that you caused anything. Hell, I’m the one who threw a dagger at you. You are strong and can handle yourself. [Nods] I just would hate...that I be the reason why my enemy comes here to your place. That’s all.
[My eyes finally shift back to his face] I’d actually like to hear more about you. Which is coming from a male who really fucking sucks at holding a conversation. [My distorted lip twitches] To show you that you can trust me, I’ll tell you a bit about myself in return. Question for question.
[This had me slightly on edge. I hated talking about my past. Hell I don't even like talking to my brothers about it. Maybe he wouldn’t ask about me. He might just ask about my brothers which could get me in trouble, but tonight I seem to be breaking all the rules.]
Hadrian:
“Told me a lot?” I echoed, arching a brow and folding my arms. “You told me they exist and there’s a king. You fight those... things. That’s it. I know you’re not much of a conversationalist but that’s not a lot, pal. And not to sound totally ungrateful, but yeah, you’re right, I needed that little trip to the hospital thanks to your dagger.”
Even if that was the case, my gratitude /was/ real. Sure, he’d hit me with a dagger, but what were those things going to do with me? I wasn’t going to keep myself up at night thinking about it, but chances were I’d have been in much worse shape with them than with him. Mirroring his deep breath, I let it out through my nose slowly.
“I appreciate your concern for me. If it helps any, now that I know those things are out there, I’m more capable. It’s hard to teach yourself to fight something you’ve never encountered before,” I admit ruefully. “But I doubt they’d come here anyway. And besides… I never stay in one place too long. I’ll probably be gone before they catch my scent again.”
His confession at wanting to know more about me was both a shock and an intrigue. The suspicious part of me wanted to know why; why did he care? How did he want to use this information? But maybe… just maybe… he found me interesting without wanting to use me. Imagine that?
Weighing up my options, I moved back toward the head of the bed and propped the pillows up, taking a seat and leaning back against them as I considered.
“Question for question,” I agree finally, nodding. “And, we reserve the right to refuse to answer any questions that don’t specifically relate to ‘us’, or are too personal.” Cause hey, we’d just met. “So… you go first.”
Zsadist:
[He was frustrated with me and honestly he should be. I’m the one that got him into this mess. He didn’t have to tell me shit cause he owed me nothing. But still, he intrigued me. And since I was stranded in this room, I wanted to know more about him.]
[I follow the male over to the bed. Sitting at the foot of it, twisting my body slightly so I could get a good look of him] Well we aren’t supposed to say anything about the Brotherhood. So sharing even a little is a lot.
[Snorts at that then drops my head and thinks for a moment. There is so much I wanted to know about him but I had to choose my questions wisely.] Alright. [I lift up my head and let’s my golden eyes meet his] Is there more like you that you travel with? [That was kind of a two for one. I had so many questions, but I had to be patient about this.]
[I was curious as to what the fuck he was going to ask me. Though he did say if it was too personal we could pass on a question. Which was good for me. I really didn’t feel like getting in too deep about my past. Hell I didn’t even talk to my brothers about it so why would I to basically a stranger.]
Hadrian:
The question was two parts, and I hope he didn’t think I hadn’t noticed. I wasn’t exactly partial to revealing there were more shifters in the world, but truth be told there were very few like ‘me’ in the world, so happen I could answer it truthfully after all.
“There are not more like me that I travel with. I travel alone,” I answered honestly. “It’s safer that way. I don’t have to rely on anyone.”
Eyeing the vampire up and down, I decided on a more basic question first, needing to understand exactly what era this guy came from.
“How old are you?”
For the vampires I’d known, their age was a huge determination of their power and capabilities. Vampires past two hundred were often leagues stronger than any of the new-made, and anyone over three to four hundred could be a serious threat to just about anything living in the area. Their age could also determine abilities or powers. Those who were past three hundred but showed no additional power were destined to be weak immortals for eternity, an unenviable fate when they’d be the bitches of every other vampire in their presence, even those younger.
Zsadist:
[Nodding as he answered my question. It was easier to know that there wasn’t a group running around Caldwell. Which made me wonder if he enjoyed that. Being on his own. I mean even when I was on my own I still saw the Brotherhood for rotation and what not.
Now it was his turn to ask a question. I was prepared for the worst and what I got was fairly easy. Well, if I could even remember the exact number. It had been so long] Shit...close to three hundred or so. [Shrugs turning my head to gauge his reaction. I mean he was different so maybe it wouldn’t be as much of a shock to him. For all I know he could be just as old. Which leads me to my next question.]
How old are you? [It was an easy one, but almost crazy not to ask back. I mean I was curious to know if his kind was a species that have been around just as long as we have. Which would be weird to know this whole time we didn’t know anything about it. Then again anything is possible.]
Hadrian:
Three hundred. Shit. That was old enough to worry me but young enough to have to report back to older vampires if they were here. Maybe that was who this King was, the one holding the proverbial leash for this cities’ vampires. That I hadn’t even known were here…
“I’m thirty,” I replied with a shrug, looking down at myself. Thanks to the shifter genes I would probably look like this right up until I turned eighty, and when I turned eighty I’d probably look fifty, max. If I died at a hundred and three I’d probably only look like I was sixty-two. Honestly, shifter genetics man, they were incredible for that.
However, if a vampire made me their animal to call, I was a slave indefinitely. And I’d look thirty indefinitely.
“Do you have an animal to call?”
The question slipped out before I could reconsider, but it was the only question I wanted, no, /needed/ to ask. If he did, I was safe, and if he didn’t, I had to know what animal he had an affinity for, or I could still be screwed, no matter how well meaning he appeared.
Zsadist:
[He was young. Only thirty. So maybe this was some kind of new breed that we would be seeing more of. I was so deep in thought that I almost missed his question.] Do I have a what? [Blinks as I look at the male. He wasn’t making any sense.] Uh if your asking if I have a pet well...there are cats living in the mansion. [Shrugs] House cats that is, not a tiger like you. You are the first I’ve ever met of your kind. But you see we don’t call on them. They sorta do whatever the fuck they want. [I snort.
Suddenly my brows draw in as I think about your question for a moment. An animal to call on? Like...a slave? No. Couldn’t be. Thinking for a moment before I blurt out] Is it bad being an animal to call on?
[Hopefully it wouldn’t be. I mean hell that could be their way of saying they were mated to someone. Man, I probably sounded like a fucking idiot asking him that question. My hand scrubs over my face before I lift my head to await his answer.]
Hadrian:
Genuine shock. Genuine surprise. Genuine confusion.
He had no idea what an animal to call even was, let alone having one for himself. The relief that coursed through me was so exquisite I felt my guard drop dramatically, my shoulders relaxing as I leaned against the headboard. Maybe he wasn’t the kind of vampire that /could/ create a bond with an animal. Maybe I’d stumbled upon a new breed of the Night Children.
His question provoked an automatic reaction however.
“Only if you’re the animal.”
Realising I’d said that particular comment quite vehemently, I sighed, raking a hand through my hair, and pressed on.
“Animals to call are bound to a vampire through magic. The vampire’s magic. That shifter must serve the vampire until the vampire dies, and when it dies, the shifter will most likely dies as well thanks to the bond.”
Looking away from the guy, I let out a huff, fumbling for my question.
“Do you possess any kind of magic you’re aware of?”
Zsadist:
[Raising a brow as I listen to the male talking about shifters and vampires. Sure didn’t sound like any vampires I knew. It made me wonder if there were any good bonds. Like for us, a mating between two vampires. Was there any shifters that fell in love with said vampire or was it all a trap?]
No I don't. Well...I’m not sure what the vampires you know can do. But there are a few...things we can do. Though it really isn’t anything special. [My eyes shift to the lamp in his room. I will it on and off a few times. Then I turn the lock back and forth on his bedroom door. Shrugging my shoulders] But like I said, pretty much any vampire can do that. It’s not really magic. [Snorts at the word.
Suddenly I thought of Vishous, and his ability. I mean you knew about Rhage from what I said at the hospital. I really didn’t want to get into too much detail with that. Besides you only asked about me not my brothers.]
So...I’m assuming you’ve never been in a bond with a vampire yes? [I mean I doubt that was possible since he basically said when they die he dies. Maybe that’s why he was all alone. He was running from them. My brows draw in slightly as I think quietly to myself.]
Hadrian:
The light went on and off. The door locked itself, then unlocked.
Relief washed through me, followed by the growing realisation that I was right; this vampire was not like the others I’d hidden from my whole shifter life. His question provoked a giddy kind of laugh as I shook my head.
“I’ve spent my life as a shifter avoiding vampires in the hopes none will make me their servant. So you can understand why I might’ve shit myself just a smidge when you waltzed on up into my life, dumped my injured butt in your car, and drove me to the middle of fucking nowhere,” I declare, half grinning I was so elated.
Letting out a happy breath, I pulled the top drawer of the nightstand out, fished out a chocolate bar, and glanced at the vampire.
“Want half? And no, that’s not my question,” I added, readjusting my legs. “My question is this: when you popped those… things in the alley, right in the heart, they vanished. Some sort of death I assume. Can anyone do that? Does it just take a sharp blade or a gun and boom, they’re gone?”
Because if I smelt those bastards anywhere near me again, they were going to find out just how dangerous a shifter could be.
Zsadist:
[My lips twitch as I watched the shifter with amusement. When he opens the candy bar, I hold out a hand to take half. Biting down on the chocolate as I listen to his question. He was so curious about the lessers. Then again who wouldn’t be. I mean...I was curious as fuck about him.]
That was way more than one. [Snorts] But I’ll let it slide. You mean the lessers? Mm yes. See...they all have this sweet spot. [My free hand reaches out to tap his chest just once.] You hit that spot, and boom goes the dynamite. [Eating the last bite of the chocolate before I scrub my hands against my leather covered thighs.] I mean if you are strong enough yes. It’s not something only I or my kind can do. You just have to know the right spot.
[My hand lifts to now tap at the blades that were strapped to my chest.] A nice sharp blunt object does the trick pretty well as you saw. We use guns to hit them. Knock them down or what not, but we need to hit them with that finishing move to end it all. [I thought about the violent things I did to bring down a lesser. Yes he did see me fight off two, but I went easy on them.]
Do you have any enemies? I mean...do you kill? [My head snaps up so my eyes can lock onto your own. I wondered if shifters killed vampires so they couldn’t bond with them.]
Hadrian:
Finishing off my own piece of the chocolate bar, taking in everything he said, I weighed my options and glanced down at my fingers. When claws protruded from the tips, they were as lethally sharp as any blade. Could I kill one of those things with my bare hands? I was certainly stronger than any human. I could bench press a car with the right amount of adrenaline running through me. I could shatter bones and crush limbs with a flick of my wrist or a squeeze of my hand. Those ‘Lessers’ may be strong, but so was I.
Yes, I decided quietly. I could definitely take one of those things out if the need arose again.
Glancing up to meet his gaze, I worked not to show any inflection on my face. Those were loaded questions, and I suppose getting two of them was only fair after my little barrage just before.
“Those are two loaded, different questions,” I said quietly, canting my head as the mirth faded. “I think anyone that goes through life without any enemies isn’t doing it right. I’m sure I have my fair share of haters. As for killing…”
My smile was cold. The animals in me purred and growled and stretched against their bonds to be free. To take shape and roam and hunt.
“All animals kill to survive. It is the nature of the world. To say I am not a killer… would be a lie.”
Zsadist: [What Hadrian told me said a lot. No he wasn’t at war like the Brotherhood was everyday, but he wasn’t everyone’s biggest fan which I could understand completely. As for the killing part...I should have seen that coming. I wonder how many times he killed a vampire.
My thoughts drift to that and I grow very quiet. What was I to do here? I could offer him safety if he wanted. And not in the way one would think. He clearly is capable to handle himself, but didn’t the running get old and tired? None of the type of vampires from his world would even try to bond with him if we were in his corner. The only problem with that is currently I was the only one in his corner.
The Brotherhood didn’t know about him and if they did would they help? Hell, did he even want the help? Lifting my head to meet the shifter’s gaze] You enjoy constantly being on the move? On guard at all times and worrying that...a vampire would want to use you without you wanting that?
[Then again...some people were meant to be loners and had no problem being that. I myself could respect that more than anyone. Just was a bit curious if he wanted more of a home.] I mean...it hasn’t always been fucking sunshine and rainbows for me. [Snorts] Even now with having a...family...I still deal with a lot of shit. I’m just curious as to what you want.
Hadrian:
I was fairly sure it was my turn to ask a question, but I let it go at his pointed one. It was a decent one after all, and one I often had to ask myself. Did I value my freedom over the idea of a family? A life? I’d given up one to run. I never saw my sister any more. I kept in touch, but I rarely went back near my own state. The Master of that City knew who I was, what I was, and they wanted me. I could never go back…
“I enjoy that the choice is mine,” I said finally, folding my arms. “It’s not the life I envisioned. Far from it.” I snorted, shaking my head. “I was a med student that was thinking about what kind of car I’d like to own once I became a doctor. Then all of a sudden I’m on the run after a full moon because some asshole decided to take a mouthful of my ass.”
That was the very condensed version. /Very/ condensed. Shifters were accepted in my town no problem if they controlled themselves and obeyed the law. But panweres? We were rare enough as it was, and we unsettled humans and shifters alike. Vampires were the only ones that saw use in us and it was for all the wrong reasons. I’d even made a point of only choosing one of my Beasts in a new town, to keep from alarming whatever shifters were already in residence.
“Until I find a way to stay free… to be immune to the magic that would make me someone’s pet, I can’t have a home. I can’t settle down.”
Taking a breath, I dropped my arms to rake one hand through my hair. Thinking of my sister, the only family I had left, and not being able to be there for her, hurt.
“You have a family.” I repeated his own words, clarifying. “Children? A wife? A husband? I’m a question down right now so I’m curious. May I ask how many more warriors there are like you? Or is it them you count as your family?”
Zsadist:
[I raised a dark brow as I listen to the male. He just wanted to settle down, but couldn’t in fear of getting captured and used. Maybe we weren’t so different after all. My lips twitch at the thought before I’m brought back to reality with all of his questions.]
I do have a family. I have brothers. They have mates...I…don’t. So that would be a no on children as well. [Shrugs at that before I’m brought to his next question] We all have a different bloodline. Well...actually one of the brothers is my actual twin. We are warriors that are in a group called the Brotherhood. The Black Dagger Brotherhood to be exact. So yeah...they are who I count as my family. They are my family.
[Suddenly I started to think about the Brotherhood. What was I going to do about all this? I mean...if his mind wasn’t erased and he was a different species who knew ...a lot they are going to want to meet him. Well at least the King would.] You know I can’t guarantee it would work, but there is a possibility that you wouldn’t have to keep running from the other vampires.
Hadrian:
I froze at his mention of no longer running. Now /there/ was something I’d never considered. Vampires defending me against other vampires. What a notion. I could have allies that were fanged as well as furred.
“Your brothers in blood and bond,” I murmured, even as my mind turned over the possibilities. “Why were you alone last night to fight them? Are there only… few of you?” I managed, trying to find the polite way of asking if their numbers were low. Happen… they needed allies?
“Would they be as ready to defend me as you are? Granted, you’ve been great after realising I’m not the enemy, but if you hadn’t hit me with that dagger… would we ever have had this conversation? Or would you have taken off and left me with whatever remained of those… things?”
Zsadist:
So many questions…[I murmured. Taking in a deep breath] Shit why the fuck not. [Snorts before my eyes flicker to his] I didn’t start my night off alone. There were others I was on rotation with. We were short though so I myself had to go alone to collect jars. And fuck before you ask I’ll explain that another time cause that’s a whole thing itself. [Smirks slightly then eyes my boots as they bump against your bed]
There are seven of us including me. Though one is the King and he well...doesn’t fight much anymore. We lost one, but soon after gained another. [Nods as I picture Butch. A newer brother.] Then there are the trainees. Which we got some of them to help us out a good amount. It doesn’t seem like a lot, but it’s going pretty well for now. [Snorts then shrugs thinking about Darius. I looked up at the ceiling as if he could see me from the Fade. My lips twitch before I eye the shifter.]
Honestly man. I don’t know. Last time someone interfered with another it...caused some problems. [My thoughts drift to Rhage and Mary. The rythe. Grunting as I think about the one I went through. Even if it did change me for the better it was hard.]
Look. The Brotherhood stands for what they believe in and try to do the right thing. I don’t think the King will be thrilled to hear about other species and that I told you basically everything about us. But he will be even more pissed to hear that there are vampires out there that are using shifters for their own advance. That is not right and he wouldn’t stand for it. None of them would. [Nods as my thoughts drift to when Wrath made sure blood slaves weren’t a thing anymore.]
As for me and you. [Shakes head.] If this would of happened years ago...hell. I don’t know what I would have done. Maybe killed you and moved on. We have spent hundreds of years keeping our name and our kind hidden. It is for the safety of others and the race. Our job is to protect and nothing else. With that being said...things have changed over the years. Honestly, it all started when the King found Beth...and then Rhage found Mary. She was human. Something that...wasn’t supposed to happen.
[Lifts my head.] But I fucked up tonight. I hurt a civilian and I needed to clean it up. Protocol would of been to heal you then wipe your memory and move on. The only problem is you are not human and to be honest I don’t know if I can even work some Jedi mind trick on you. [Lips twitch.] So that’s that. And here we are.
Hadrian:
Well… that was… a metric fuck ton of info. Holy hell.
Processing it all, I cocked a brow at the mention of mind tricks. That was certainly in the wheel house of the vampires I’d known, but I’d never experienced a mind wipe. I had to wonder if it was even possible. Somehow, I doubted it. These vamps were a different breed, so their ability to affect shifters was probably completely different too.
“Do you want to try it? On me? The mind trick thing?” I offered, leaning forward and bracing my elbows on my knees. “I mean, it’s not a violation if I give you permission, right?”
I winked.
“Otherwise… how do I meet this Wrath? How do I… find out if I can be of help to a race that’s largely in the shadows? I mean, to be fair, I’m kind of in hiding myself, so it’s hardly like I’m going to announce your presence to the world. Kind of counterproductive to what I need for myself, right?”
Zsadist:
[I eyed the male as he asked me to try wiping his memory. Was he serious? I mean. If it worked I could always give him the memories back. Thinking it over as I get hit with his next question. Snorting as I wondered how the fuck I was going to pull that off.]
I’m going to have to set that up. Which...may not be easy. But I feel like he will want to meet you. Just...it may be a little complicated. The Brotherhood is very protective over our King. Some...have tried to take him down before. [Scrubbing a hand over my scarred face.] But let me deal with that later. I’m going to have to get everything out and open before I even bring up that.
[Lifting my head to lock eyes with the shifter] Okay…let’s see here. [Focusing all my energy as I try to wipe his memory of what happened last night. The hospital, the alleyway, the lessers, and hitting him with a dagger. Hell even the confrontation he had with the enemy. My brows furrow as I notice he didn’t go into a trance or anything. He looked like he was in pain or something. I blink] It didn’t work. Well, I suppose the Brotherhood can’t really be that angry with me. [Snorts] Yeah right.
Hadrian:
Nodding at the explanation, I was more than kind of okay with waiting to meet this vampire King. After all, the only other King I’d ever heard of was Jean-Claude with his necromancer, and then the council in europe. Considering their reputations, I was good with holding off on the whole ‘meet-n-greet’ thing until shit was more… established.
Speaking of…
As the vampire narrowed those golden eyes at me, I felt pressure within in my head. It was building the longer he concentrated, and I realised this was their power, the mental ability to effect the memories I had. Knowing that, I pushed back, resisting that pressure and focusing on other things to help me through his attempts. Had I not been expecting it, or mentally aware, I wasn’t sure I could resist it. And what if his King was stronger at this… technique? I was only thirty - these vampires were over three hundred. More than old enough to make my life difficult.
“That… hurt,” I admit with a grimace, rubbing at my temple then managing a rueful smile. “But I still remember everything. Maybe if you caught me off guard… but hey, now I know what it feels like. Maybe you’ve saved me from some other vampire trying to mind-fuck me, eh?”
I winked then winced again, rubbing my head and reaching for the water bottle on the nightstand. Glancing toward the clock, I felt the final heat of the day ending. The clock backed me up.
“Looks like you’re free to go, Zsadist. The day is done.”
Zsadist:
That...is very interesting. I’ve never had it not work before but, I've always done it on just humans. The fact that you felt a headache though says something. What if you are just fighting against my powers? [Scrubs a hand over my skull trim as I ponder that for a few moments. I almost missed what he said] Hm? [My head snaps to the clock on his nightstand. Shit. Yeah, I had to go.
Getting up from the shifter’s bed before I eye him.] Listen. I’m going to vouch for you and talk to the Brotherhood. I will not let them...do anything. Just...try not to worry about it. Also try not to run into any lessers if you could. [Smirks slightly as I shake my head. I wondered if I should give him my cell number. Fuck i’m already in deep shit so I shouldn’t press my luck.] I’ll ah...find you. [I move towards the window then eyes him] See you around, Hadrian. [With that I dematerialize out of his apartment.]
#SL #SpentTheNight
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Measuring Macron: Is France’s leader rebooting the economy?
PARIS (Reuters) – French President Emmanuel Macron swept into office last May on a pledge to create jobs and improve the lives of workers by rebooting the country’s economy.
FILE PHOTO: French President Emmanuel Macron kicks the ball as he visits the recreational centre for children in Moisson, France, August 3, 2017. REUTERS/Philippe Wojazer/File Photo
A year on, annual economic growth has picked up — closing the gap with Germany and pulling away from other major European powers such as Britain and Italy. The pace of new business openings have increased sharply and improvements in the jobs market have left some employers warning about skilled workers being in short supply.
But economists say the rosier picture is due at least in part to stronger growth across Europe as well as policies put in place by Macron’s predecessor, Francois Hollande.
To help measure Macron’s impact on the economy, Reuters has compiled a graphic showing a dashboard of indicators that will update as new data is released over the course of his presidency.
(Graphic: Track Macron’s impact on the economy – tmsnrt.rs/2JH3um9)
The data show some early signs that the president’s policies are having an effect among entrepreneurs and in the labor market. But there has been little change in disposable income for workers and efforts to reverse years of declining competitiveness don’t appear to have borne fruit.
Macron’s ability to re-invigorate the euro zone’s second-largest economy will be a critical factor in how his success is measured at home. It will also shape how much influence he can bring to bear in Europe, where he is trying to convince Germany of the need to further overhaul economic and monetary union to bolster the euro zone against future crises.
While the economy grew quickly after Macron’s election, it slowed at the start of this year due in part due to one-off factors that curtailed consumer spending, according to figures released Friday. Economists said they expect growth to return to a healthy clip.
Macron has repeatedly said his reforms would start to have a significant impact 18 months to two years into his presidency. An Elysee adviser told Reuters there was no time frame for improving the economic outlook. “That’s why we’re not cheering about the current upturn, because we’re perfectly aware that to a large extent it’s down to the economic context.”
FALLING UNEMPLOYMENT
When Macron took office in May, the French economy was starting to rebound after years of unimpressive growth. That gave him a firm footing on which to confront France’s historically muscular trade unions as he seeks to reshape economic and social policy.
A former investment banker, Macron had been a minister in the Hollande’s government, before quitting to launch his own political movement. Barely a year later, aged 39 years, he led it to electoral victory casting himself as an agent of change, of ‘neither of the left nor the right.’
FILE PHOTO: French President Emmanuel Macron attend a joint news conference with Switzerland’s President at the Elysee Palace in Paris, France, July 18, 2017. REUTERS/Gonzalo Fuentes/File Photo
Macron quickly moved to start overhauling France’s labor regulations to tackle unemployment, which was well above the eurozone average.
Macron’s government has provided employers more freedom to hire and fire through a loosening of labor rules, among other measures.
Initial signs appear promising for Macron. Overall unemployment in France is down to 8.9 percent, from 9.4 percent when he took office and below the 9.1 percent average for the country over the last 20 years, according to France’s INSEE statistics agency. Youth unemployment is falling at an even faster pace.
Companies also are more frequently hiring on permanent contracts as opposed to short-term ones. The level approached 49 percent in February, a level only rarely seen over the past two decades, according to Reuters analysis of data from the ACOSS national payrolls agency.
However, economists say the increase in permanent contracts appears only partly due to Macron’s policies as numbers were rising before he assumed office. A shortage of skilled labor is also helping workers negotiate more favorable terms.
START-UP NATION
The most marked difference is in the rate at which new businesses are starting up. Macron had made a high-profile push to encourage entrepreneurship, promising within weeks of his election to transform France into a “nation of start-ups.”
In its first budget, Macron’s government scrapped a wealth tax long-opposed by entrepreneurs and set a flat 30 percent tax for all capital income.
The number of new businesses opening spiked in the immediate aftermath of Macron’s election as president and the rate has continued to grow at a double-digit pace.
The business community say Macron’s arrival has brought about a dramatic change in attitude to entrepreneurship in a country where people traditionally have been reluctant to take the risk of starting new businesses.
Slideshow (3 Images)
Landing a job at a bank or a household brand is no longer the sole badge of success for graduates of top business schools, such as HEC, said Olivier Millet, the head of venture-capital lobby France Invest.
“There’s a political message when HEC students are not going into finance or marketing but into entrepreneurship,” he said. “You haven’t succeeded in life unless you’ve started a company.”
The reforms have prompted some political opponents to dub him “president of the rich,” an idea he dismisses saying he has no problem with wealth as long as it benefits the broader economy.
PURCHASING POWER
Another key factor for voters and the economy is whether French workers notice any improvement in their wallets.
So far, households have seen little increase in disposable income, according to INSEE, the statistics agency. And, what increase there has been in wage growth has largely been offset by higher inflation, leaving gross disposable income growth stagnant since Macron took office.
Macron has introduced some tax cuts, such as reductions to workers payroll tax, but they are being phased in over time to ease the impact on public finances.
“A lot of workers say the economy is growing again, but there’s no reduction in inequality, so there’s a huge demand for better distribution,” said veteran union boss Jean-Claude Mailly, who retired last month as head of the Force Ouvriere.
People are “getting impatient,” he told Reuters.
Macron’s government estimates its tax reforms will add 1.6 percent to gross domestic product by 2025 and create a quarter of a million jobs.
FOREIGN INVESTMENT
France has also seen a significant increase in foreign direct investment, which reached a decade high last year, according to the central bank.”What we saw in 2017 is not so much linked to the election and change of government as the result of the previous two, three, four years,” said Pascal Cagni, the former Europe head of Apple and now chairman of Business France, which promotes the country among foreign businesses.
But Cagni said he believes Macron’s policies will encourage foreign investment to continue to grow. “That’s why I am extremely positive about the outlook.”
The competitiveness of French firms overseas, however, has not improved. French exporters are still struggling to claw back market share lost during a twenty-year decline in competitiveness.
Economic recovery requires consistency, said French central bank head Francois Villeroy de Galhau. “That’s true for many things in France’s economy, but especially for competitiveness.”
Additional reporting by Cyril Altmeyer, Mathieu Rosemain and Jean-Baptiste Vey, Editing by Richard Lough and Cassell Bryan-Low
The post Measuring Macron: Is France’s leader rebooting the economy? appeared first on World The News.
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Measuring Macron: Is France’s leader rebooting the economy?
PARIS (Reuters) – French President Emmanuel Macron swept into office last May on a pledge to create jobs and improve the lives of workers by rebooting the country’s economy.
FILE PHOTO: French President Emmanuel Macron kicks the ball as he visits the recreational centre for children in Moisson, France, August 3, 2017. REUTERS/Philippe Wojazer/File Photo
A year on, annual economic growth has picked up — closing the gap with Germany and pulling away from other major European powers such as Britain and Italy. The pace of new business openings have increased sharply and improvements in the jobs market have left some employers warning about skilled workers being in short supply.
But economists say the rosier picture is due at least in part to stronger growth across Europe as well as policies put in place by Macron’s predecessor, Francois Hollande.
To help measure Macron’s impact on the economy, Reuters has compiled a graphic showing a dashboard of indicators that will update as new data is released over the course of his presidency.
(Graphic: Track Macron’s impact on the economy – tmsnrt.rs/2JH3um9)
The data show some early signs that the president’s policies are having an effect among entrepreneurs and in the labor market. But there has been little change in disposable income for workers and efforts to reverse years of declining competitiveness don’t appear to have borne fruit.
Macron’s ability to re-invigorate the euro zone’s second-largest economy will be a critical factor in how his success is measured at home. It will also shape how much influence he can bring to bear in Europe, where he is trying to convince Germany of the need to further overhaul economic and monetary union to bolster the euro zone against future crises.
While the economy grew quickly after Macron’s election, it slowed at the start of this year due in part due to one-off factors that curtailed consumer spending, according to figures released Friday. Economists said they expect growth to return to a healthy clip.
Macron has repeatedly said his reforms would start to have a significant impact 18 months to two years into his presidency. An Elysee adviser told Reuters there was no time frame for improving the economic outlook. “That’s why we’re not cheering about the current upturn, because we’re perfectly aware that to a large extent it’s down to the economic context.”
FALLING UNEMPLOYMENT
When Macron took office in May, the French economy was starting to rebound after years of unimpressive growth. That gave him a firm footing on which to confront France’s historically muscular trade unions as he seeks to reshape economic and social policy.
A former investment banker, Macron had been a minister in the Hollande’s government, before quitting to launch his own political movement. Barely a year later, aged 39 years, he led it to electoral victory casting himself as an agent of change, of ‘neither of the left nor the right.’
FILE PHOTO: French President Emmanuel Macron attend a joint news conference with Switzerland’s President at the Elysee Palace in Paris, France, July 18, 2017. REUTERS/Gonzalo Fuentes/File Photo
Macron quickly moved to start overhauling France’s labor regulations to tackle unemployment, which was well above the eurozone average.
Macron’s government has provided employers more freedom to hire and fire through a loosening of labor rules, among other measures.
Initial signs appear promising for Macron. Overall unemployment in France is down to 8.9 percent, from 9.4 percent when he took office and below the 9.1 percent average for the country over the last 20 years, according to France’s INSEE statistics agency. Youth unemployment is falling at an even faster pace.
Companies also are more frequently hiring on permanent contracts as opposed to short-term ones. The level approached 49 percent in February, a level only rarely seen over the past two decades, according to Reuters analysis of data from the ACOSS national payrolls agency.
However, economists say the increase in permanent contracts appears only partly due to Macron’s policies as numbers were rising before he assumed office. A shortage of skilled labor is also helping workers negotiate more favorable terms.
START-UP NATION
The most marked difference is in the rate at which new businesses are starting up. Macron had made a high-profile push to encourage entrepreneurship, promising within weeks of his election to transform France into a “nation of start-ups.”
In its first budget, Macron’s government scrapped a wealth tax long-opposed by entrepreneurs and set a flat 30 percent tax for all capital income.
The number of new businesses opening spiked in the immediate aftermath of Macron’s election as president and the rate has continued to grow at a double-digit pace.
The business community say Macron’s arrival has brought about a dramatic change in attitude to entrepreneurship in a country where people traditionally have been reluctant to take the risk of starting new businesses.
Slideshow (3 Images)
Landing a job at a bank or a household brand is no longer the sole badge of success for graduates of top business schools, such as HEC, said Olivier Millet, the head of venture-capital lobby France Invest.
“There’s a political message when HEC students are not going into finance or marketing but into entrepreneurship,” he said. “You haven’t succeeded in life unless you’ve started a company.”
The reforms have prompted some political opponents to dub him “president of the rich,” an idea he dismisses saying he has no problem with wealth as long as it benefits the broader economy.
PURCHASING POWER
Another key factor for voters and the economy is whether French workers notice any improvement in their wallets.
So far, households have seen little increase in disposable income, according to INSEE, the statistics agency. And, what increase there has been in wage growth has largely been offset by higher inflation, leaving gross disposable income growth stagnant since Macron took office.
Macron has introduced some tax cuts, such as reductions to workers payroll tax, but they are being phased in over time to ease the impact on public finances.
“A lot of workers say the economy is growing again, but there’s no reduction in inequality, so there’s a huge demand for better distribution,” said veteran union boss Jean-Claude Mailly, who retired last month as head of the Force Ouvriere.
People are “getting impatient,” he told Reuters.
Macron’s government estimates its tax reforms will add 1.6 percent to gross domestic product by 2025 and create a quarter of a million jobs.
FOREIGN INVESTMENT
France has also seen a significant increase in foreign direct investment, which reached a decade high last year, according to the central bank.”What we saw in 2017 is not so much linked to the election and change of government as the result of the previous two, three, four years,” said Pascal Cagni, the former Europe head of Apple and now chairman of Business France, which promotes the country among foreign businesses.
But Cagni said he believes Macron’s policies will encourage foreign investment to continue to grow. “That’s why I am extremely positive about the outlook.”
The competitiveness of French firms overseas, however, has not improved. French exporters are still struggling to claw back market share lost during a twenty-year decline in competitiveness.
Economic recovery requires consistency, said French central bank head Francois Villeroy de Galhau. “That’s true for many things in France’s economy, but especially for competitiveness.”
Additional reporting by Cyril Altmeyer, Mathieu Rosemain and Jean-Baptiste Vey, Editing by Richard Lough and Cassell Bryan-Low
The post Measuring Macron: Is France’s leader rebooting the economy? appeared first on World The News.
from World The News https://ift.tt/2rg6Khw
via Today News
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Text
Measuring Macron: Is France’s leader rebooting the economy?
PARIS (Reuters) – French President Emmanuel Macron swept into office last May on a pledge to create jobs and improve the lives of workers by rebooting the country’s economy.
FILE PHOTO: French President Emmanuel Macron kicks the ball as he visits the recreational centre for children in Moisson, France, August 3, 2017. REUTERS/Philippe Wojazer/File Photo
A year on, annual economic growth has picked up — closing the gap with Germany and pulling away from other major European powers such as Britain and Italy. The pace of new business openings have increased sharply and improvements in the jobs market have left some employers warning about skilled workers being in short supply.
But economists say the rosier picture is due at least in part to stronger growth across Europe as well as policies put in place by Macron’s predecessor, Francois Hollande.
To help measure Macron’s impact on the economy, Reuters has compiled a graphic showing a dashboard of indicators that will update as new data is released over the course of his presidency.
(Graphic: Track Macron’s impact on the economy – tmsnrt.rs/2JH3um9)
The data show some early signs that the president’s policies are having an effect among entrepreneurs and in the labor market. But there has been little change in disposable income for workers and efforts to reverse years of declining competitiveness don’t appear to have borne fruit.
Macron’s ability to re-invigorate the euro zone’s second-largest economy will be a critical factor in how his success is measured at home. It will also shape how much influence he can bring to bear in Europe, where he is trying to convince Germany of the need to further overhaul economic and monetary union to bolster the euro zone against future crises.
While the economy grew quickly after Macron’s election, it slowed at the start of this year due in part due to one-off factors that curtailed consumer spending, according to figures released Friday. Economists said they expect growth to return to a healthy clip.
Macron has repeatedly said his reforms would start to have a significant impact 18 months to two years into his presidency. An Elysee adviser told Reuters there was no time frame for improving the economic outlook. “That’s why we’re not cheering about the current upturn, because we’re perfectly aware that to a large extent it’s down to the economic context.”
FALLING UNEMPLOYMENT
When Macron took office in May, the French economy was starting to rebound after years of unimpressive growth. That gave him a firm footing on which to confront France’s historically muscular trade unions as he seeks to reshape economic and social policy.
A former investment banker, Macron had been a minister in the Hollande’s government, before quitting to launch his own political movement. Barely a year later, aged 39 years, he led it to electoral victory casting himself as an agent of change, of ‘neither of the left nor the right.’
FILE PHOTO: French President Emmanuel Macron attend a joint news conference with Switzerland’s President at the Elysee Palace in Paris, France, July 18, 2017. REUTERS/Gonzalo Fuentes/File Photo
Macron quickly moved to start overhauling France’s labor regulations to tackle unemployment, which was well above the eurozone average.
Macron’s government has provided employers more freedom to hire and fire through a loosening of labor rules, among other measures.
Initial signs appear promising for Macron. Overall unemployment in France is down to 8.9 percent, from 9.4 percent when he took office and below the 9.1 percent average for the country over the last 20 years, according to France’s INSEE statistics agency. Youth unemployment is falling at an even faster pace.
Companies also are more frequently hiring on permanent contracts as opposed to short-term ones. The level approached 49 percent in February, a level only rarely seen over the past two decades, according to Reuters analysis of data from the ACOSS national payrolls agency.
However, economists say the increase in permanent contracts appears only partly due to Macron’s policies as numbers were rising before he assumed office. A shortage of skilled labor is also helping workers negotiate more favorable terms.
START-UP NATION
The most marked difference is in the rate at which new businesses are starting up. Macron had made a high-profile push to encourage entrepreneurship, promising within weeks of his election to transform France into a “nation of start-ups.”
In its first budget, Macron’s government scrapped a wealth tax long-opposed by entrepreneurs and set a flat 30 percent tax for all capital income.
The number of new businesses opening spiked in the immediate aftermath of Macron’s election as president and the rate has continued to grow at a double-digit pace.
The business community say Macron’s arrival has brought about a dramatic change in attitude to entrepreneurship in a country where people traditionally have been reluctant to take the risk of starting new businesses.
Slideshow (3 Images)
Landing a job at a bank or a household brand is no longer the sole badge of success for graduates of top business schools, such as HEC, said Olivier Millet, the head of venture-capital lobby France Invest.
“There’s a political message when HEC students are not going into finance or marketing but into entrepreneurship,” he said. “You haven’t succeeded in life unless you’ve started a company.”
The reforms have prompted some political opponents to dub him “president of the rich,” an idea he dismisses saying he has no problem with wealth as long as it benefits the broader economy.
PURCHASING POWER
Another key factor for voters and the economy is whether French workers notice any improvement in their wallets.
So far, households have seen little increase in disposable income, according to INSEE, the statistics agency. And, what increase there has been in wage growth has largely been offset by higher inflation, leaving gross disposable income growth stagnant since Macron took office.
Macron has introduced some tax cuts, such as reductions to workers payroll tax, but they are being phased in over time to ease the impact on public finances.
“A lot of workers say the economy is growing again, but there’s no reduction in inequality, so there’s a huge demand for better distribution,” said veteran union boss Jean-Claude Mailly, who retired last month as head of the Force Ouvriere.
People are “getting impatient,” he told Reuters.
Macron’s government estimates its tax reforms will add 1.6 percent to gross domestic product by 2025 and create a quarter of a million jobs.
FOREIGN INVESTMENT
France has also seen a significant increase in foreign direct investment, which reached a decade high last year, according to the central bank.”What we saw in 2017 is not so much linked to the election and change of government as the result of the previous two, three, four years,” said Pascal Cagni, the former Europe head of Apple and now chairman of Business France, which promotes the country among foreign businesses.
But Cagni said he believes Macron’s policies will encourage foreign investment to continue to grow. “That’s why I am extremely positive about the outlook.”
The competitiveness of French firms overseas, however, has not improved. French exporters are still struggling to claw back market share lost during a twenty-year decline in competitiveness.
Economic recovery requires consistency, said French central bank head Francois Villeroy de Galhau. “That’s true for many things in France’s economy, but especially for competitiveness.”
Additional reporting by Cyril Altmeyer, Mathieu Rosemain and Jean-Baptiste Vey, Editing by Richard Lough and Cassell Bryan-Low
The post Measuring Macron: Is France’s leader rebooting the economy? appeared first on World The News.
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