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hayleythecannibal · 11 months

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Twisted Minds: Chapter Three Potage TW: Crime scenes, Yelling, Blood, Gore, PTSD Warning this is Fem!reader. You can also find this on Wattpad and A03 @HayleyMarieOfficial. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist. Taglist: @punkin-time

WILL GRAHAM'S HOUSE - PATIO - EARLY MORNING -

WILL GRAHAM steps out onto his porch in boxers and a t-shirt, hair tussled from recently getting out of bed. He's followed by his PACK OF DOGS. The pooches bound down the stairs toward the driveway and Will suddenly realizes he's not alone. Dr. Y/N L/N stepping out of her car to greet the dogs as they return the favor. She smiles at Will. "Morning." I say smiling happily at Will "I didn't hear you drive up." Will says looking me up and down and then at my car "Hybrid. Good car for stalking." I say smirking, bending down to pet his dogs, "I'm compelled to go cover myself." Will says with a slight blush on his face, i chuckle "I have brothers." i say laughing with a smile "I'll put on a robe just the same. Do you want a cup of coffee? And more immediately why are you here?" Will says walking towards his front door, I follow "Yes. And Abigail Hobbs woke up." i say smiling , Will stops in his tracks. "You know how to bury the lead." he says turning towards me. "Want me to get you a cup of coffee?" I smirk walking towards him, "No, I want to get my coat." He says turning towards his door "Let's have a cup of coffee." i chuckle.

Will and Y/N sit in his kitchen sipping coffee as Will's PHONE RINGS and RINGS and RINGS and RINGS and finally stops. "Is he going to keep calling?" Will says rolling his eyes, "Jack wants us to go see her." I say grabbing his hand in a comforting way "And you don't." He says, i shake my head "Eventually." i say, Will smiles at her bulldoggishness in his defense."I don't want to get in the middle of you and Jack, but if I can be helpful to you as a buffer..." I say kindly and gazing fondly at Will, "I like you as a buffer. I also like the way you rattle Jack. He respects you too much to yell at you no matter how much he wants to." Will chuckles, I laugh with him. "And I take advantage of that." I smirk, Will turns the subject back to what he's most concerned with. "Abigail Hobbs doesn't have anyone." Will says taking a sip of his coffee,"We can't be her everyone. No matter how much we want to. When i said what I was going to say in my head, it sounded insulting." I say leaning forward towards the Visibly Anxious man. He leans forward too, "Say it the insulting way." He says looking me in my eyes, "Dogs keep a promise a person can't." I say lowering my head , "I'm not collecting another stray." Will says seriously i nod my head, "The first person Abigail talks to about what happened can't be anyone who was there when it happened. That means no Dr. Lecter, or Me either." I say sadly because even though I would love to see Abigail right now, its not safe for her mental health yet."Much less the guy who killed Dad. Jacks wrong about Abigail." Will says grabbing my hand and squeezing, " I know he is But Let Alana reach out to her, her own way." I say squeezing his hand back and looking in his eyes with what seems to be adoration? No Y/N! You cant do this again! Remember what happened last time!

PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL - ABIGAIL HOBBS' ROOM - DAY -

ALANA BLOOM waddles down the corridor, struggling to hold onto the SEVERAL SHOPPING BAGS she's carrying. Alana ENTERS as quietly as possible, given the circumstances, to find ABIGAIL HOBBS sitting up in bed, reading a book, exhausted, vacant, looking like she just woke up from a coma. "Hi. I'm Alana Bloom." Alana says as she unloads the shopping bags on the couch. "Are you a doctor?" Abigail asks looking over at Alana in curiosity "Not medicine. I'm a psychiatrist." Alana says as she grabs a chair to place at Abigail's bedside and sit. "What do you specialize in?" Abigail asks while flipping a page in her book, "Among other things, family trauma." Alana says as she sits down, she feels sympathy for the girl. "I asked the nurses if my parents were dead and they wouldn't tell me. Said I had to wait for you." Abigail says as she looks Alana in the eyes, Alana sits on the edge of Abigail's bed. "I'm sorry you had to wait." Alana says sincerely, and with kindness in her eyes and tone. "I know they're dead." Abigail says with emotion in her eyes, Alana studies her and the strange admission. Abigail's chin crumples with emotion but she fights it.

"Who buried them?" Abigail asks looking back down at her book, "They haven't been buried." Alana says causing Abigail to look up abruptly "Don't you think they should be?" Abigail questions, "Your mother was cremated per the instructions in her living will. Your father is more complicated." Alana says quietly not wanting to lie to the poor girl, "Because he was crazy" Abigail says softly, "Nurses said you didn't remember." Alana points out "I remember. I just didn't want to talk about it with them. Is this your book?" Abigail asks holding up the book, Alana shakes her head. "Y/N was reading it to you. She's also a psychiatrist but she also works for the F.B.I" Alana says, "I started turning pages. Felt like I read it before. I remember Her voice and dreaming about peacocks. Aren't they really stupid birds?" Abigail asks tilting her head, "Yes." Alana laughs, "I want to sell the house. I guess it's mine now. I can use the money for college, get an apartment." says Abigail as Alana studies Abigail and her surprising practicality. "What're all those?" Abigail asks refering to the shopping bags "Me and Y/N went shopping. Brought you some clothes. Thought a change would feel good. we guessed your size. Anything you don't want keep the tags on. I'll return it. And I brought you some music, too." Alana says while smiling fondly at the girl.

"Your music?" Abigail asks furrowing her brows, "If there isn't anything you like, I got a stack of iTunes gift cards. I've got a stack of gift cards. I don't do well redeeming gift cards." Alana says looking down smiling, "Probably says something about you." Abigail smirks, "Probably does." Alana smiles studying the girl.

B.A.U. - JACK CRAWFORD'S OFFICE - DAY -

Alana Bloom, Hannibal, and Y/N sit across from Jack Crawford. "I have 7 families waiting, let me rephrase, demanding that we find whatever's left of their daughters. Abigail Hobbs is the only person I can ask who might know the truth." Jack says looking at all three of us. I shake my head "You can't ask her right now Jack. We have to create a safe place for her first or you won't get any answers." I say raising my eyebrows, "I respect your sympathy for her, Doctor L/N. One day I hope you'll appreciate my lack of it." Jack says slightly glaring, "You really think Abigail helped her father kill those girls?" Alana says almost sadly, "It is one possibility that needs to be ruled out. If she didn't help her father, she may know who did." Jack says poking his desk with every word, "How was Abigail? When you saw her?" Hannibal asks speaking up, i nod agreeing "Surprisingly practical." Alana points out tilting her head "Suspiciously practical?" Jack asks taking a gulp of his coffee. "I would suggest she can be practical without being a murderer." I say rolling my eyes at Jacks suggestion. "I think she's hiding something." Alana says, "It may simply be her trauma." Hannibal suggests looking over at Alana, "Yes. Could also be more. She has a penchant for manipulation, withheld information to gain information. She demonstrated only enough emotions to prove she had them." Alana relays what she observed to us "

"Appreciating my lack of sympathy?" Jack says looking over at me, "You said it may be more than trauma yet you question her involvement in the murders her father committed." Hannibal says Looking over at Alana once again, "What I'm questioning is her state of mind." Alana says looking at Jack. "I want You and Will Graham to talk to her." Jack says looking at me I shake my head but before i can say the words Alana beats me to it "Jack. Not yet." She says and I agree, "Doctor Bloom, you're not Will's and Y/N's psychiatrist. Doctor Lecter is." Jack says Glaring at Alana, but hey what is that supposed to mean. "

F.B.I. ACADEMY - LECTURE HALL - DAY

"Garret Jacob Hobbs or the 'Minnesota Shrike' abducted and murdered eight girls over an eight month period. They each had the same hair color. Same eye color." Will Graham says as he stands in front of his classroom. "Same age, same height, same weight as his daughter Abigail. But there was a ninth victim who fit Abigail Hobbs' profile but Garret Jacob Hobbs didn't murder her." Will continues CLICK. A PICTURE OF CASSIE BOYLE, impaled on the antlers of a severed stag head, her death a grotesque work of art. "The killer who did wanted us to know he wasn't the 'Minnesota Shrike'. He was better than that. He is an intelligent psychopath. He is a sadist. He will never kill like this again. So how do we catch him?" Jack Crawford, Hannibal, and Y/N enter, the reflective light of the projection screen bounces off their faces. In hushed tones:"Giving a lecture on Hobbs' Copy Cat?"Hannibal asks watching Will closely as he lectures "We need every good mind on this we can get." Jack responds quietly as Me and Hannibal observe Will."This Copy Cat is an avid reader of Freddie Lounds and TattleCrime.com. He had intimate knowledge of Garret Jacob Hobbs' murders. Motives, patterns. Enough to recreate them and arguably elevate them. To art."

CLICK. A PICTURE OF ABIGAIL and GARRET JACOB HOBBS in happier times on a hunting expedition."How intimately did he know Garret Jacob Hobbs? Did he appreciate him from afar, or did he engage him? Did he ingratiate himself into Hobbs' life? Did Hobbs know his Copy Cat as he knew him?" CLICK. A PICTURE OF LOUISE HOBBS, her throat sliced open, lying in a dark pool of her own blood."Before Garret Jacob Hobbs murdered his wife and attempted to do the same to his daughter, he received an untraceable call, re-routed through a swatting service." CLICK. A PICTURE OF GARRET JACOB HOBBS, bloodied and filled with bullets, slumped dead in the corner of his kitchen."I believe the as-yet unidentified caller was our Copy Cat Killer." Will says as he spots us.

PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL - ABIGAIL HOBBS' ROOM - DAY -

Abigail sits upright in bed, senses on alert. "So you're not a doctor or a nurse or a psychiatrist?" Abigail asks confused as to why this woman was here. Freddie Lounds standing across from her."I'm a journalist. I want to tell the truth. Your truth. Sometimes that involves some deception. But know this, I will never lie to you." Freddie says half lying half telling the truth, "sounds like what a liar would say." Abigail retorts cleverly. "You have every right not to trust me, but in time, Abigail, I hope you let me prove that you can. If you tell me what you know, I can help you fill in the blanks." Freddie says almost sincerely, "How about you tell me what you know." Abigail says as she eyes the woman mistrustfully, "Your dad was the Minnesota Shrike. Your mother wasn't the first person your father killed. He killed 8 girls. 8 girls that look --" Freddie says as she sighs "Just like me." Abigail cuts her off, "Yes." Freddie says quietly, Abigail reels from the larger meaning of that. "Why did they call him the Shrike?" Abigail asks looking at Freddie breathing a little heavier than before and with almost tears in her eyes. "It's a bird that impales its prey, harvests its organs to eat later." Freddie explains softly "He was very sick." Freddie continues off of Abigails silence, "Does that mean I'm sick, too?" Abigail asks tears brimming her eyes, "You'll be fighting that perception. Perception is the most important thing in your life right now." Freddie says as she sits down on Abigail's bed, "I don't care what anyone thinks." Abigail says shaking her head.

"You better start caring, Abigail. What you remember, what you tell everyone, is going to define the rest of your life. Let me help you." Freddie says seriously and leaning forward towards Abigail. Abigail takes a Deep breath"How did they catch him?" Abigail asks shakily "A man named Will Graham and A doctor by the name Y/N L/N. They work for the FBI. They catch insane men because they can think like them. Because They are insane." Freddie says as

Will Graham, Hannibal and Y/N enter the room and hear the last sentence she says."Would you excuse us please?" Will says glaring, and i can't help but glare at her too, How dare she say we are insane?!?!, "I'm Special Agent Will Graham. And this is Special Agent Dr. Y/N L/N." Will introduces us to Abigail, I look at her smiling kindly. As Freddie is escorted to the door:"By Special Agent, he means not really an Agent. He didn't get past the screening process. Too unstable." Freddie shoots towards Will, I frown at her comment, "I really must insist you leave the room." Hannibal says taking A step towards Freddie, Before leaving, Freddie offers Abigail a business card. "If you want to talk --" I snatch the card without saying a word. Freddie doesn't offer any more resistance as the Orderlies escort her out. "Abigail, this is Doctor Lecter... Do you remember us?" I ask softly and kindly. "I remember you. You killed my dad." Abigail says looking at Will, That hangs there a moment, a weighted memory, then: "You've been in a bed for 3 weeks, Abigail. Why don't we have a walk?" Hannibal offers trying to ease the tension in the room.

PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL - GARDENS - DAY -

Abigail walks weak-legged, supported by Hannibal and Will. "I'm sorry we couldn't save your mother. We did everything we could, but she was already gone." I say sincerely truly wishing i could've saved Abigail's Mom, Tears sting Abigail's eyes, threatening to spill, but don't. "I know. I saw him kill her." Abigail admits, "Didn't seem real. He was loving right up until the second he wasn't. He kept telling me he was sorry and to just hold still. He was going to make it all go away."Abigail says looking at me and Hannibal as Will helps her sit on a bench. "There was plenty wrong with your father, Abigail, but there's nothing wrong with you. You said he was loving. I believe it. That's what you brought out in him." Will says looking at the girl with nothing but care. "it's not all I brought out in him. I'm going to be messed up, aren't I? I'm worried about nightmares." Abigail says as a stray hair falls in her face "We'll help you with the nightmares." Hannibal says nicely as i smile sweetly at her "There's no such thing as getting used to what you experienced. It bothers me a lot. I can only imagine how it bothers you when I see it over and over in my mind. I worry about nightmares, too." I say softly sitting down beside her and brush a stray hair out of her face like a mother would. "Do you have nightmares about killing my dad?" Abigail asks Will softly, Will nods "Sometimes it's hard for me to dream about much else." Will admits as he sits down next to me and Abigail, I grab his hand and squeeze as a source of comfort.

"So, Killing somebody, even if you have to do it, it feels that bad?" Abigail asks Will, He looks down "Ugliest thing in the world." Will says as Hannibal and I eye Will, knowing he's not telling the whole truth. Abigail takes Will's words in for a brief moment, then: "I want to go home." Abigail says her voice slightly cracking

PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL - PARKING LOT - DAY -

Freddie Lounds leans on the hood of Hannibal's midnight blue Bentley, waiting. She spots Hannibal, Will, and Caroline as they approach and quickly stands, almost respectfully. "Special Agent Graham And L/N, I never formally introduced myself. I'm Freddie Lounds." Freddie says as she out reaches her hand for us to shake. "Trying to salvage this joke from the mouth of madness?" I say venom lacing my voice as i glare at the red-headed woman "Please. Let me apologize for my behavior in there. It was sloppy and misguided. And hurtful." She says trying to sound sincere but we all know she isnt. "Miss Lounds, now is not the time."Hannibal says trying to diffuse the situation. "Look, you and I may have our own reasons for being here, but I also think we both genuinely care what happens to Abigail Hobbs." Freddie says a little bit apologetic but not enough for me to care. "You told her we were insane." I glare

"I can un-do that." Freddie says, Will shakes his head "You help Abigail see me as more than her father's killer and I help you with online ad sales?"Will says Glaring at her"I can un-do what I said. But I can also make it a lot worse." Freddie says in a almost threatening tone "Miss Lounds, it's not very smart to piss off a guy who thinks about killing people for a living.", Will threatens back, i look at him with Wide eyes and Hannibal sighs at Will's unfortunate choice of words.

B.A.U. - JACK CRAWFORD'S OFFICE - NEXT DAY -

Jack sits behind his desk reading off his computer screen:""It's not very smart to piss off a guy who thinks about killing people for a living". Know what else isn't very smart?" He addresses silent Will sitting across from him. Hannibal, Alana, and L/N sit on either side of Will , mutually concerned. "You Two were there with him and you let those words come out of his mouth." He says angrily towards Me and Hannibal. "I trust Will to speak for himself." Hanibal replies calmly, "Evidently, you shouldn't." Jack says with venom, and i duck my head as a trauma response, Hannibal notices. "I'm just happy the story wasn't about Abigail Hobbs." Alana Says with relief. "Well Then it's a victory. So Abigail Hobbs wants to go home. Let's take Abigail Hobbs home." Jack suggests, My head shoots up shaking vigourously "What Abigail wants and what she needs are two different things. Taking her out of a controlled environment would be reckless." I say almost yelling "Alana said she was practical." Jack replies Looking at me with a hard glare, "That could just mean she has a dissociative disorder." Will suggests putting in his thoughts "You take her home, she may experience intense emotions, respond aggressively. Or reenact some aspect of the traumatic event without even realizing it." Alana says agreeing with me on this. "Doctor Lecter?" Jack asks looking at Hannibal, "Doctor Bloom and Doctor L/N are right, but there is a scenario where revisiting the trauma event could help Abigail heal and actually prevent denial." Hannibal says making my head lower once again. "We have a difference of opinion, therefore I'm choosing the opinion that best serves my agenda.I need to know if Will's right about our Copy Cat."Jack says disregarding what me and Alana are saying. "We have no way of knowing what's waiting for her when she goes home." I say as i look back up my gaze hardening

HOBBS RESIDENCE - NEXT DAY -

As Will, Hannibal, Y/N, and Alana look on, Abigail stares at the faded rust-colored stain on the front step, where her mother died, her eyes brimming with tears but not overflowing. "I was sort of expecting a body outline in chalk or tape." Abigail says still staring at the concrete "They only do that if you're still alive and taken to the hospital before they finish the crime scene." Will explains, Those words wash over Abigail, she's barely aware of them.

"Goodbye, mom." Abigail Whispers I look at her sadly.

HOBBS RESIDENCE - FOYER - DAY -

The DOOR OPENS in the darkened space. Alana, Abigail, and Y/N enter, Hannibal and Will float closely behind. Abigail lingers in the doorway. The room is more or less scrubbed, thoroughly gone over by cleaners. "If you ever want to go, you just have to say so and we will go." I reassure her, "Go where? Back to the hospital?" Abigail says as she looks back at us "For now." Alana responds, Alana and Hannibal hang back and allow Will and Y/N to follow Abigail into the kitchen. She notices all the family pictures on the refrigerator have been turned around. "They turned all the pictures over." Abigail says sadly, "Crime scene cleaners will do that." Alana says as She glances at the clean table and the linoleum floor. "They did a really good job. Is that where all my blood was?" Abigail asks and me and Wills heads turn to her, "Yes." i say haunted by the memory, Abigail wraps her head around that. You do this all the time? Go places and think about killing?" Abigail asks both me and Will, I nod "Too often." Will answers and i nod agreeing, "So you pretended to be my dad?" Abigail asks us, I look over at Will then back at her "And people like your dad." I say softly, "What did that feel like? To be him?" Abigail asks curiously, I look down wanting Will to answer this, and he does. "If feels like I'm talking to his shadow suspended on dust." Will says and i can't help but think he couldn't've described it better. Alana studies Will and Y/N, realizing how difficult this is for them. "No wonder you have nightmares." Abigail says looking at Us with wide eyes.

"The attacks on you and your mother, they were different. Desperate. Your dad knew he was out of time. Someone told him we were coming."I tell her, Will nodding in agreement "The man on the phone?"Abigail asks i nod "It was a blocked call. Did you recognize his voice?" Will asks her gently, "I had never heard it before." Abigail responds giving A small, almost imperceptible glance at Hannibal. "Was there anybody new in your father's life. Someone you met or someone he talked about." Alana asks Abigail, and Abigail shakes her head 'no'. "He may have been contacted by another serial killer, a copy cat." I say in a gentle yet serious tone. "Someone who's still out there?" Abigail asks slightly scared, I look at her with sympathy "Yes." Will responds with a sad ish tone and Abigail realizes her nightmare isn't over...

"Can you catch somebody's crazy?" Abigail asks as we go through the boxes in her living room. "Folie a deux." Alana Responds i nod, Abigail looks at us confused. "What?" Abigail asks confused, "It's A French psychiatric term. "Madness shared by two."" I continue for Alana "One can not be delusional if the belief in question is accepted as ordinary by others in that person's culture or subculture. Or family." Hannibal says coming into the room and setting down another box."My dad didn't seem delusional. He was a perfectionist" Abigail says looking at a family photo, "Your dad left almost no evidence." Will says sitting next to me and Abigail, "Is that why you let me come home? To find evidence?" Abigail asks in a panicky tone, "It was one of many considerations." Hannibal says honestly, "Are we going to re-enact the crime? You be my dad. You be my mom. And you be the man on the phone." Abigail says pointing to me and Will as her parents and Hannibal as the man on the phone. Uncharacteristically, Hannibal is caught off guard by that. More so by Abigail's steely nonchalant stare that followed. "We wanted you to come home to help you leave home behind." Alana says as i rub the girls back comfortingly. "You're not going to find any of those girls, you know." Abigail says with a numb look on her face

"Why do you say that?" Will asks as i pick apart everything about her with my mind, her behavior, her thinking, even her emotions. "He'd honor every part of them. Made plumbers putty out of elk bones. Whatever bones were left of those girls is probably holding pipes together." Abigail responds numbly, i tilt my head, she's disassociating. "Where did he make this putty?" Hannibal asks looking at us "At the cabin. I can show you tomorrow." Abigail says to us "Abigail... there's someone here." I say looking towards the archway, Abigail finds Marissa standing behind her. "Hey, Abigail." the girl smiles sympathetically.

HOBBS RESIDENCE - BACKYARD - STREAM - DAY -

Marissa throws another rock, striking Nick across his forehead, leaving a small gash. He stumbles, briefly silenced. When he looks up, clutching his bloody head wound, his looks right at Marissa, murder in his eyes......then he reacts and quickly turns and RUNS. Marissa and Abigail turn to see Will, Hannibal, and Y/N approaching from around the house. Alana and Marissa's Mother follow immediately behind. Abigail turns, but Nick is already gone. "He said he was Somebody's brother." Abigail says out of breath and a fearful look on her face. "Marissa. Come home." Marissa's mother says angrily as Hannibal studies Marissa's rude behavior as she snaps at her mother: "Stop being such a bitch. See you later." Marissa says angrily.

HOBBS RESIDENCE - ACROSS THE STREAM - MOMENTS LATER -

Hannibal and Will stomp through the forest While Y/N stays behind with Abigail, returning from looking for Nick Boyle. "He's gone." Will says looking around the forest, Hannibal's eyes fall to a bloodied rock on the embankment near the stream. As he turns to meet Will, his foot inconspicuously kicks a few dead leaves to cover the stone."You've never seen him before?" Will asks eyeing Abigail in my motherly embrace. "No. Have you?" Abigail asks turning to look at Will, Will shakes his head "no.", "We should report this, yes?" Hannibal asks i nod my head "Yes." I say quietly.

WILL GRAHAM'S HOUSE - DAY - DREAMSCAPE -

Will stands outside his home, an eerie moment of silence, his CIRCULATORY SYSTEM humming in his ear, then a subtle crunching of grass indicates Will is not alone. He glances over to see...A BLACK STAG It walks quietly through the meadow toward Will, who holds his breath, taking in the surreal vision of this beast. The BLACK STAG stops and watches Will. He is now holding ABIGAIL HOBBS with a knife to her throat. "I'm sorry, Abigail. Please just hold still. Please. I'm going to make it all go away." Will stares at the BEAST, then cuts Abigail's throat. ARTERIAL SPRAY peppers the grass in large drops. A horrible TONE pierces the air as the BLACK STAG BOLTS. He startles awake in his bed at the abrasive drone of the ALARM CLOCK, drenched with sweat.

MOTEL ROOM - DAY -

Will peels off his wet t-shirt and shuffles to the curtains To let a blast of DAYLIGHT into the darkened room.

RUSTIC HUNTING CABIN - DAY -

Two local police cars lead Hannibal's expensive RENTAL CAR down the driveway as they pull in front of the cabin. Once again, all four doors open and Hannibal, Will, Alana, Y/N and Abigail step out of the car, taking in the cabin. A local detective and Two police officers remove the crime scene tape obstructing the door and allow Hannibal, Will, Alana, Y/N and Abigail to enter. They wait respectfully outside. The door opens and Abigail steps inside as Will wads up the crime scene tape in a loose ball and tosses it aside. "He cleaned everything. He said he was afraid of germs but I guess he was just afraid of getting caught." Abigail says looking around, "No one else ever came up here with your dad? Except you?" I ask gently not wanting her to emotionally or mentally exert herself. She shakes her head "He made everything by himself. glue, butter. He sold the pelts on ebay or in town. He made pillows. Carved knives out of leg bones. No parts went to waste. Otherwise it was murder. He Was feeding them to us, wasn't he?" Abigail asks in a sad tone, i look at her wanting to give her a hug. No one responds immediately, then: "It's very likely." Hannibal states looking at her in a fatherly way, Abigail crosses to the gutting/skinning table. "Before he cut my throat, he told me he killed those girls so he wouldn't have to kill me." Abigail says in a bittersweet/sad tone, "You're not responsible for anything your father did, Abigail." I say in a motherly tone, walking over to her "If he would have just killed me, none of those girls would be dead." she says with tears in her eyes, i grab her arm in a comforting way "We don't know that-" Alana is interupted when PLIP. A single drop of blood falls from the ceiling onto Abigail's cheek. She wipes it off with her fingertip and stares at it a brief moment before glancing up.

RUSTIC HUNTING CABIN - ANTLER ROOM - DAY -

Will, Hannibal and Y/N as they stare at something horrifying. Will speaks to his phone: "I need ERT at the Hobbs Cabin." Will says into his phone as i look at the scene before me A YOUNG WOMAN hangs naked, impaled on a RACK OF ANTLERS. Will and Y/N approach and Will slowly lifts the young woman's head. It's MARISSA. Abigail has climbed the stairs behind Hannibal and Alana. Her eyes go wide, realizing what has happened. Abigail's SCREAMS...

POLICE CARS and POLICE OFFICERS everywhere. Along the cabin, barely staying ahead of a POLICE OFFICER unspooling a temporary barricade of YELLOW POLICE TAPE. Abigail is being comforted by Alana along the edge of the woods as the CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATORS move in and out of the HOBBS CABIN. An F.B.I. S.U.V. barrels down the dirt road. Abigail and Alana watch as JACK CRAWFORD steps out. Will and I are staring at Marissa's naked corpse. Hannibal behind us. Will examines Marissa's swollen lip as Hannibal admires the handiwork of her killer. "Do you think she knew the guy down by the stream?" Will asks us "Somebody's brother?" Hannibal asks curiously.

"Not somebody. She said he asked her if she helped her dad take his sister's lungs while she was alive." I say in a low tone, turning to face Hannibal "The young woman on the stag head." Hannibal says tilting his head at me i nod "Cassie Boyle. She had a brother. Nicholas. But Garret Jacob Hobbs didn't kill Cassie Boyle." Will says he examines Marissa With gloved hands and plastic tools, Will respectfully levers Marissa's jaw wide. Wielding a LED FLASHLIGHT with ALTERNATIVE LIGHT SOURCE, he shines it into Marissa's mouth. "I know. Garret Jacob Hobbs would have honored every part of her." Hannibal says walking towards the body to get a better look. Jack Crawford climbs the stairs, already frustrated. "You bring Abigail Hobbs back to Minnesota to find out if she had anything to do with her father's murders and another girl dies."Jack says spooking me and making me jump at his angry tone. Will tries to ignore Jack's frustrations, pushing forward on the forensic investigation at hand: "scrapped his knuckle on her teeth. There's foreign tissue and what could be trace amounts of blood." Will says causing me and HANNIBAL to look closer at the mouth. "Do you think Abigail Hobbs knew Cassie Boyle? Or Nicholas Boyle?"Jack says walking towards us "No." Will and I both say at the same time, "You Don't think she knows them or you don't want to think she knows them?" Jack says implying something. "She said she didn't know them." Will says clearly getting agitated as well, I ball my hands into fists and Hannibal graces my arm with my hand making my arms relax slightly. "Doctor Bloom says Abigail has a penchant for manipulation. Is she manipulating you, Will, Y/N?" Jack says looking me and Will up and down, it makes my blood boil. "Agent Crawford." Hannibal says in a warning tone, "Look he says they were wrong about Hobbs' Copy Cat. I want to know what else they were wrong about." Jack says in a tone that i don't like.

"Whoever killed the girl in the field, killed this girl. We are right about that. He knew exactly how to mount the body. Wound patterns are almost identical to Cassie Boyle. The same design, same humiliation." I say looking Jack with a defiant look in my eyes, "Abigail Hobbs isn't a killer but she could be the target of one." Hannibal says looking at jack "I think it's time Abigail Hobbs left home for good. Pack up whatever she needs to pack up and get her out of Minnesota. Now." Hannibal, Will, and I turn to leave, then: "Not you, Will. You stay right here." Jack says in a serious tone, "Jack" i say frustrated and confused, he wants Will to stay but not me? "I want you to go with Dr. Lecter, Y/N." Jack says cutting me off, I turn and leave the room following Hannibal.

HOBBS NEIGHBORHOOD - NIGHT -

The REFLECTION OF POLICE LIGHTS dances across the window Abigail is looking through as Hannibal drives toward Abigail's home, Y/N in the passenger seat and Alana in the back with Abigail. POLICE OFFICERS part and remove orange cones to allow Hannibal to drive into the Hobbs driveway unobstructed, quickly reforming behind Hannibal's rental car to keep the CIRCUS OF REPORTERS and NEWS VANS and LOOKY-LOOS at bay. Abigail, Alana, Y/N and Hannibal get out of the car. Abigail glances back at the CROWD OF REPORTERS and CAMERA MEN.Abigail and her escorts walk toward the Hobbs Residence, while their eyes regard the Police Line. They finally look away just as Marissa's Mother pushes her way through the crowd. A POLICEMAN awkwardly tries to hold her back. Like a paternal shield, Hannibal eases Abigail toward Alana and Y/N and steps to intercept Marissa's Mother. He bars her path, grips her arms, his hands soft but firm.

"Why come back? Why did you come back here? Why did you come back?" The grieving mothere of Marissa sobs. Abigail can't find her words. Marissa's Mother is so wracked with grief she can barely stand. A Policeman arrives behind her as Alana moves in, easing her from Hannibal's hold. Freddie steps out of the shadows near the garage. "Abigail." Shouts Freddie, We look over at her "Miss Lounds, you're on the wrong side of the police line." Hannibal says politely "I've been covering the Minnesota Shrike long before you got involved." Freddie snarls rudely at me and Hannibal she tries to step forward towards Abigail But Hannibal and a Police Officer are already approaching. The Police Officer grabs Freddie by the elbow, ushering her away from the Hobbs House and Abigail. She calls out "I want to help you tell your story. You need me now more than ever." Freddie calls towards Abigail, "I want to talk to her." Abigail says trying to turn "No, you don't. Go inside." Alana says ushering Abigail inside, Abigail reluctantly does as instructed.

Hannibal and I join Freddie's escort across the Police Line. "I'm not the only one lurking about the Hobbs house peeking in windows. They really should monitor those police lines more carefully." Freddie warns, I stop the Officer and turn her around, "Have you seen a young man? Mid- 20s, ginger hair? Un-washed." Hannibal asks tilting his head, "I'll tell you if I saw him if you tell me why it's important." Freddie smirks, i roll my eyes.

HOBBS RESIDENCE - RECREATION ROOM - NIGHT-

Abigail sits on the couch, crying quietly, emotionally exhausted from the horrors of the day. A handmade pillow embroidered across the surface, an image of a DEER walks across a plane, trimmed in pelt. She clutches it to her stomach, needing something to hold. Then it dawns on her. Abigail's hands gnarl as she begins pulling at the fabric of the pillow, digging her fingernails into it. The pillow begins to rip at the seams and Abigail tears it open. She begins to shake before she's removes he pillow's stuffing. WADS and WADS and WADS OF HUMAN HAIR. Abigail's heartbeat POUNDS IN HER EARS, filling her head with a rhythmic, oppressive TONE. She begins to tremble. As Abigail reels from this horror, there's A BLUR OF MOTION unbeknownst to her in front of the sliding glass doors.A slight BREEZE blows through Abigail's hair and SOUND RETURNS TO NORMAL. She looks up to see the sliding glass doors are NOW OPEN. Standing in front of her: NICHOLAS BOYLE.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I got to talk to someone. I didn't kill that girl. I swear I didn't." Nicholas says clearly freaking out, Abigail instinctively goes still. Then BOLTS. Abigail attempts to run. Nick Boyle grabs her, spins her around and forces her against the wall, his hand over her mouth.

"I didn't --" Nicholas yells, Nicholas stiffens suddenly, eyes going wide as Abigail plunges a hunting knife into him at his sternum. She pulls it down, gutting him in one horrible motion. Just like her father showed her. Nick stumbles back, already glassy eyed, and the AWFUL WET SOUND that follows can only be his entrails.

HOBBS RESIDENCE - NIGHT -

Hannibal, Y/N, and Alana return from the MEDIA CIRCUS down the street, crossing the Police Line surrounding the Hobbs house. Alana, Y/N, and Hannibal enter through the front doors, moving toward the kitchen. "Abigail?" Alana calls out but before Alana and Y/N can reach the kitchen, they see a BLOODIED Abigail walking up the stairs, shell-shocked. "Abigail..." I say gently worried if she hurt herself Before Alana and Y/N can get out another word... WHAM. Hannibal palms the side of they're heads from behind, SLAMMING them into the wall in one move. Alana is instantly knocked out falling on the floor, Y/N is also instantly knocked out collapsing into Hannibal's arms as he gently lies her on the ground. Abigail is stunned by Hannibal's sudden brutality More worried about Y/N than Alana but he reassures her: "She'll be alright. Show me what happened." Hannibal reassures Abigail

HOBBS RESIDENCE - RECREATION ROOM -

Hannibal cautiously enters, Abigail behind him, to find the disemboweled corpse of Nick Boyle slumped in the room. Abigail doesn't weep, she doesn't appear victimized and broken. She simply stares, inscrutably. Hannibal squats besides her, putting a steady hand on her shoulder as if to rouse her out of a deep sleep. His voice is gentle, fatherly. "Abigail." Hannibal gently calls out, Abigail is terrified, traumatized by the blood on her hands."He was going to kill me." she whispers clearly traumatized. "Was he? This isn't self-defense, Abigail. You butchered him." Hannibal says looking over the body, "I didn't..." Abigail says shaking her head "They will see what you did and they will see you as an accessory to the crimes of your father." Hannibal tells her seriously "I wasn't." She says still shaking her head, "I can help you, if you ask me to. At great risk to my career and my life. You have a choice. You can tell them you were defending yourself when you gutted this man... or we can hide the body." Hannibal offers Abigail, but her mind is spinning...

HOBBS RESIDENCE - NIGHT -

Alana and Y/N in the back of an AMBULANCE, the side of their heads being bandaged. A worried Will sits on the bench across from Y/N ; Jack Crawford stands just outside the doors. "I don't remember anything. Maybe a blur out of the corner of my eye, then a big, fat cut to black." I say looking at Will then to Jack, "Nicholas Boyle attacked Abigail. You two. Struck Lecter across the back of head with a fireplace poker."Jack states i look up worried "Where is Abigail?" i ask in a worried motherly tone, "Lecter took her back to the hotel." Will says grabbing my hand comfortingly "She Scratched Nicholas Boyle before he ran out the back door. Blood on her hands matches the tissue we pulled from Marissa Schuur's mouth." Jack says calmly, "He got away?" Alana asks Jack looking at him confused "We'll get him one way or another." Jack says looking at us. Frustrated, Will climbs out of the back of the Ambulance. "Where are you going?" Jack asks will confused. "I'm tired, Jack. I want to go home. And I'm taking Y/N with me." Will says standing up and taking me with him..........

WILL GRAHAMS CAR - NIGHT -

I look out of the passenger seat window of Will's car, "Will where are we going?" i ask calmly and quietly looking over at him. "You have a concussion, you shouldn't be alone" Will says briefly looking over at me with what seems like care in his eyes. "you didn't answer my question" i say softly, He chuckles softly smiling "Your gonna stay at my house for tonight, is that okay?" Will asks me gently, i nod "Yea, that's okay." I say smiling.....I rest my head on the passenger side window and Fall asleep.

WILL GRAHAM'S HOUSE - NIGHT - WILL'S POV

We arrive at my house and I look over and see Y/N sleeping I gently smile at her.As I sit in the car for a moment and watch Y/N sleeping peacefully, I feel a deep sense of caring and protectiveness towards her. I feel a sense of responsibility for her, and I feel a deep desire to keep her safe and to make sure that she is okay and that she is happy. I feel my heart aching for her and longing for her presence. I reach over and unbuckle her seat belt gently and turn off my car. I open my door and close it gently as to not disturb her sleep, and I go over to the passenger side door opening it and catching her head gently. I grab her purse and coat and pick her up bridal style closing the car door with my foot. As I carry Y/N to the front door of my house, I am feeling a deep sense of protectiveness and what seems to almost be love towards her. I am feeling a sense of affection and admiration for her. I am feeling a sense of pride and joy in that she is my partner and my friend. I am feeling a sense of gratitude for the fact that we have each other and for the fact that no one could ever understand me the way she does.

I'm also feeling a strong sense of responsibility for keeping her safe and for taking care of her. I shush and shoo away my many dogs as I close my front door, walking towards my bedroom with Y/N in my arms still I set down her purse and coat on my dining table on the way. I enter my bedroom closing the door behind me, i walk over to my bed and gently lay Y/N down, I remove her Heeled Boots, scarf, and sweater. And pull my comforter over her, move stray hairs out of her face with care. She stirs lightly, "Will?" she asks softly in her half awake state, "Shhh go back to sleep." I say gently and with love......

#fem!reader #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #hannigram #hannigram x reader #will graham x reader

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billiemania · 2 months

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I used to hold the "PhD" title in such reverence but with complete honesty know this: any old meatwad on this earth can get a PhD if they're bulldoggish enough

#and lucky enough*

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catalogmains · 2 years

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Very downcast face

Perhaps the person being described is in fact thoughtful or perplexed. However, gloomy is a judgment based on the POV character’s opinion. A point-of-view character might describe someone’s face as gloomy. Opinion adjectives reduce word count by telling rather than showing. Opinion Adjectives Excel for Flash Fiction or Action Scenes Study this mini-list, and then develop your own unforgettable descriptors.īestial, bulldoggish, canine, feline, ferret-faced, frog-faced, hawkish, hoggish, hog-jowled, horse-faced, horsey, leonine, rat-nosed, ratty, reptilian, simian, toad-faced, toady, vulpine, vulturish, weasel-faced The face of a CEO whose company practices unscrupulous business tactics might be labelled vulturish, while her sycophant assistant is identified by his toady or toad-faced features. The following are just a few of the many colors that lend depth to characters:Īlbino, anemic, blanched, bloodless, bluish, brown, cadaverous, colorless, crimson, dark, faded, fair, florid, flushed, freckled, green (because of nausea, perhaps), grey, olive, pale, pallid, pasty, pink, purple, red, reddened, rosy, rouged, rubicund, ruddy, sallow, scarlet, scorched, sooty, sunburnt, swarthy, tanned, tawny, wan, waxen, white, yellowĪnimal Adjectives Build on Pre-Conceived PerceptionsĪ miser might be ferret-faced, whereas a glutton could be described as hoggish or hog-jowled. Here are a few shape adjectives to get you started:īlocky, box-shaped, broad, cube-shaped, cubic, diamond-shaped, egg-shaped, expansive, flat, hatchet-faced, heart-shaped, irregular, long, marshmallow-shaped, moon-round, narrow, oblong, oval, pumpkinesque, pyramid-shaped, rectangular, round, square, triangle-shaped, triangular, wideĬolors: Another Tool in the Wordcrafter’s Creativity Palette Irregular features could hint at a nonconformist. Someone with a blocky or cubic face might be a stubborn conservative. This post provides more than 500 ways for wordcrafters to depict faces.Įxploit Facial Shapes to Augment PersonalitiesĬharacters’ faces can mirror their minds and temperaments. That raises the question Pablo Picasso posed: “Who sees the human face correctly: the photographer, the mirror, or the painter?” It’s usually the first thing people notice when they meet someone, and is often the body feature they rely on to make snap judgments. Jerome said that the face is the mirror of the mind. (Discover even more words in The Writer’s Body Lexicon.)

#Very downcast face

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bufubudi · 2 years

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FANNY is a manticore! she doesn’t really seem like it but the idea was that the fan part of her head was maneish, her tail is scorpionish, and she can’t fly but she could if she wanted to idk! my original idea was to give her a bulldoggish face from the blades of her fan, make her blades ears, but ultimately i decided it’d be easier to just keep the fan shape and slap some ears on her. not all of them can be innovation incarnate, but i still think she’s cute!

#bfdi #bfb #fanny bfdi #fanny bfb #fashionforyourface #flower prinxe #bfdi fursonas

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skippyv20 · 4 years

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Winston Churchill, 1941

Britain stood alone in 1941. By then Poland, France and large parts of Europe had fallen to the Nazi forces, and it was only the tiny nation’s pilots, soldiers and sailors, along with those of the Commonwealth, who kept the darkness at bay.

Winston Churchill was determined that the light of England would continue to shine.

In December 1941, soon after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor and America was pulled into the war, Churchill visited Parliament in Ottawa to thank Canada and the Allies for their help.

Churchill wasn’t aware that Yousuf Karsh had been tasked to take his portrait afterward, and when he came out and saw the Turkish-born Canadian photographer, he demanded to know, “Why was I not told?”

Churchill then lit a cigar, puffed at it and said to the photographer, “You may take one.”

As Karsh prepared, Churchill refused to put down the cigar.

So once Karsh made sure all was ready, he walked over to the Prime Minister and said, “Forgive me, sir,” and plucked the cigar out of Churchill’s mouth.

“By the time I got back to my camera, he looked so belligerent, he could have devoured me. It was at that instant that I took the photograph.”

Ever the diplomat, Churchill then smiled and said, “You may take another one” and shook Karsh’s hand, telling him, “You can even make a roaring lion stand still to be photographed.”

The result of Karsh’s lion taming is one of the most widely reproduced images in history and a watershed in the art of political portraiture.

It was Karsh’s picture of the bulldoggish Churchill—published first in the American daily PM and eventually on the cover of LIFE—that gave modern photographers permission to make honest, even critical portrayals of our leaders.

(Photo credit: Yousuf Karsh).

Source: Rare Historical Photos

—————-

Thank you....😊❤️❤️❤️❤️

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dogsofwarhq · 3 years

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𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 to all who’ve showed interest &. applied thus far, as a roleplay cannot get this far without your dedication, after all ! i was blown away by the amount of applications received, and due to that, complied them into a mass acceptance post found beneath the cut. i’m looking forward to both speaking &. plotting with each of you tomorrow ( bear with me while all pages are properly updated ) — welcome to dogs of war ! please review our checklist and report to the bratva within the next twenty - four hours.

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , KAZIMIR SKUTNIK, the OBSCHAK of the volki is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the bratva’s rivals swear that he is originally from BUDAPEST, HUNGARY ; perhaps it’s BEING TAKEN PRISONER DURING THE WAR that brought them here . fellow members of the volki liken their resemblance to MANNY MONTANA. the THIRTY-TWO year old CIS MALE was PERSPICACIOUS &. AFFABLE before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become EGOCENTRIC &. CONDESCENDING. rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of A TRAITOR TETHERED TO LOYALTY BY BLOOD AND GOLD; INTIMIDATING ASCENDENCY, FORGING WORDS AS COLD AS A DAGGER’S STEEL BLADE BETWEEN A SHARP TOOTHED SMILE ; A VAGUE ACCENT WHICH HAILS NO DISCERNIBLE REGION; A DEEP LONELINESS BURIED BENEATH AVARICE AND SADISM. ( VJ, 27, est/gmt-5, he/they. )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , ALEKSANDR IVANOV , the SOVIETNIK of the volki is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the bratva’s rivals swear that he is originally from MOSCOW ; perhaps it’s AN INNATE &. SELF - SERVING NEED TO SURVIVE that brought them here . fellow members of the volki liken their resemblance to RICHARD MADDEN . the THIRTY FIVE year old CIS MAN was CHARMING &. FORGIVING before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become DUPLICITOUS &. SHREWD. rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of a smile that doesn’t sit quite right with you, all teeth and no warmth; oaths made and oaths broken; a hand around the wrist, neither pushing nor pulling, but always there, a persistent warning; an eye for an eye makes one man blind . ( julie, 21, mst, she/her. )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , KHRISTINA VASILIEV , the MEDIK of the volki is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the bratva’s rivals swear that she is originally from ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA ; perhaps it’s THE DEATHS OF HER PARENTS that brought them here . fellow members of the volki liken their resemblance to ANYA CHALOTRA . the TWENTY-FIVE year old CISFEMALE was CLEVER &. INDEPENDENT before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become CYNICAL &. VINDICTIVE. rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of QUICK MATH EQUATIONS DONE IN HER HEAD, A STOLEN WATCH SNUGGLED INTO HER POCKET, THE TAPPING OF DELICATE FINGERS TO STAVE OFF PICKING UP A CIGARETTE, STRONG CUPS OF COFFEE, & THE MEMORIES OF FIRE LICKING AT HER FINGERTIPS . ( alyssa, twenty-two, est, she/her. )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , TATIANA HENNESSEY , the BARMAID is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the volki swear that she is are originally from DUBLIN, IRELAND ; perhaps it’s TO CARE FOR HER AILING GRANDMOTHER that brought them here . fellow residents liken their resemblance to SARAH GADON . the TWENTY-NINE year old CISFEMALE was KINDHEARTED &. ADAPTABLE before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become REACTIVE &. CLOSED-OFF. rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of the humming of irish drinking songs while working, curse words muttered in russian under her breath, the faintest smell of vanilla, old letters tucked in a hidden box, & a single ray of light pouring into a dark church . ( alyssa, twenty-two, est, she/her. )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , AMARINE BERGER , the MECHANIC is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the volki swear that she is originally from MONTPELLIER, FRANCE ; perhaps it’s AN ACHE FOR THE UNCONVENTIONAL AND UNKNOWN that brought them here . fellow residents liken their resemblance to ALICIA VIKANDER . the THIRTY year old FEMALE was DARING &. MOTIVATED before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become SUSPICIOUS &. FLIPPANT. rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of BRIGHT, FLINTY EYES, WHITE KNUCKLES FISTED ‘ROUND A WRENCH, A BULLDOGGISH TENACITY AND DISDAIN FOR THE SOCIETY THAT BORE YOU. ( meg, 26, PST, she/her. )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , LEONA DEL ROSARIO , the OWNER OF THE NIGHTINGALE is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the volki swear that she is originally from BOHOL , PHILIPPINES ; perhaps it’s WANTING TO ESCAPE YOUR PAST that brought them here . fellow residents liken their resemblance to SHAY MITCHELL . the THIRTY year old CISWOMAN was LIVELY &. ZEALOUS before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become PROFLIGATE &. ACQUISITIVE rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of CHILDISH LAUGHTER ECHOING THROUGH THE CORRIDORS OF A NOW EMPTY THEATER , A COLLECTION OF FANCY DRESSES BROUGHT WITH YOUR FATHERS DIRTY MONEY , A PRETTY GOLDEN LOCKET ALWAYS SECURED AROUND YOUR NECK THAT HOLDS TOO MANY MEMORIES , THE LINGERING SMELL OF PERFUME AND CIGARETTES LEFT WHEREVER YOU GO , BATTING YOUR LASHES AND SENDING SULTRY SMILES TO GET YOUR WAY , & RED LIPSTICK KISSES ON OLD VANITY MIRRORS. ( nina, 20+, est, she/her. )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , YURY LENKOV , the FIGHTER AT THE DEN is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the volki swear that he is originally from KASIMOV, RUSSIA ; perhaps it’s THE NEED TO EARN MONEY, AND PERHAPS MAKE SOMETHING OF HIMSELF that brought them here . fellow residents liken their resemblance to WOLFGANG NOVOGRATZ . the TWENTY-TWO year old MALE was FRIENDLY &. ENTHUSIASTIC before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become REPRESSED &. NAIVE. rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of ROUGH, BLOODY HANDS WRAPPED IN BOXING TAPE THAT CONTRAST YOUR SOFT, GENTLE BEATING HEART ; SEWING UP YOUR WORN OUT, THREADBARE CLOTHES LIKE YOUR MOTHER ALWAYS TAUGHT YOU TO ; BOUNDING WITH EXCITEMENT AND ENERGY THAT GLITTERS IN THE COLD POST WAR CITY OF MOSCOW ; A DESIRE TO DO SOMETHING MORE THAN YOUR FAMILY HAS EVER BEEN ABLE TO DO STARTING TO SEEP THROUGH INTO YOUR YEARNING HEART ; PACKING UP AND LEAVING EVERYTHING YOU'VE EVER KNOWN BEFORE IS EASIER AFTER YOU END UP COMPLETELY ALONE IN THE WORLD . ( sarah, twenty-six, cst, she/her. )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , KONSTANTIN ZORKIN , the MEDIK of the volki is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the bratva’s rivals swear that he is originally from ABALAK ; perhaps it’s HUNTING DOWN THE REMAINING ROMANOV LINEAGE that brought them here . fellow members of the volki liken their resemblance to LUCKY BLUE SMITH . the TWENTY THREE year old MALE was SEDULOUS &. VALOROUS before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become QUARRELSOME &. ABRASIVE. rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of SINKING FINGERTIPS AGAINST MOONSPUN HAIR AS LATIN SPEWED FROM DRY LIPS; SHOVING A HANDFUL OF STRAWBERRY CANDIES INTO A DIRTY HANDKERCHIEF WHILE GASPS OF ADMIRATION PEPPERED THE BACKGROUND; COAXING SMILES AFTER SELFISH PRAYERS FOR DIVINE MERCY; THE SMELL OF RUST DISGUSED BY PEPPERMINT BEFORE THE SKIN GROWS COLD AND THE DEATH RATTLE RINGS AT MIDNIGHT; DELICATE DRAWINGS OF THE WORLD’S MOST GROTESQUE EXHIBITION . ( J, twenty six, CST, she/her. )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , NATALIA SUDAYEVNA , the PRIMA BALLERINA is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the volki swear that she is originally from KIEV ; perhaps it’s THE KIEV OFFENSIVE that brought them here . fellow residents liken their resemblance to DANIELLE ROSE RUSSELL . the TWENTY THREE year old FEMALE was TENACIOUS &. CLEVER before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become COLD &. DISTANT. rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of BLOOD ON POINTE SHOES, A BLAZING FIRE IN THE DARK OF NIGHT, SIBLINGS LOST AND FOUND AND LOST AGAIN, A NEVERENDING PIROUETTE IN A DARK THEATER, THE STING OF THE COLD . ( skye, 21, pst, she/her. )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , VITALIYA YVONNE BALAKIREV , the BOYEVIK of the volki is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the bratva’s rivals swear that she is originally from VORONEZH , RUSSIA ; perhaps it’s SEEKING OUT THE VOLKI TO JOIN THEM AFTER LOSING EVEYTHING that brought them here . fellow members of the volki liken their resemblance to KAT MCNAMARA . the TWENTY FOUR year old CISWOMAN was FORTHRIGHT &. CANNY before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become VITRIOLIC &. DOGMATIC. rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of WILD LOCKS JUST AS FULL AND BEAUTIFUL AS YOUR MOTHERS , THE FEELING OF A COLD METAL BLADE PRESSING AGAINST A WARM THROAT , DEAD ROSES WRAPPED ON AN OLD WEDDING BAND , LULLABIES HUMMED SOFTLY IN THE DEAD OF THE NIGHT AS YOU HOLD THE MOST IMPORTANT THING TO YOU CLOSELY & CRIMSON DROPLETS OF BLOOD FROM SOMEONE ELSE ON THE FRESHLY FALLEN WHITE WINTER SNOW. ( nina, 20+, est, she/her. )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , NATALYA ALEKSEVNA KHVOSTOVSKY , the HANDMAIDEN TO THE ROMANOV FAMILY BARMAID AT THE GARNIZON is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the volki swear that she is originally from SAINT PETERSBURG , RUSSIA MOSCOW , RUSSIA ; perhaps it’s ESCAPING TOBOLSK DAYS BEFORE THE THREE REMAINING YOUNG DUCHESSES AND THE HEIR APPARENT WERE TRANSFERRED TO YEKATERINBURG that brought them here . fellow residents liken their resemblance to LILY JAMES . the TWENTY SEVEN year old CIS WOMAN was ALTRUISTIC &. DILIGENT before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become MEEK &. GUARDED . rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of BRIGHT WHITE GOWNS TURNED A MUTED GREY BOTH FROM TRAVEL AND NERVES THAT NEVER CEASE ; ONCE DELICATE FINGERS USED FOR TYING BOWS ARE NOW RUBBED RAW BY SPILLED ALCOHOL ; BLONDE HAIR THAT HAS BEEN STRIPPED OF IT’S GOLDEN SHINE IN FAVOR OF A MEEK BROWN TO HIDE FROM A LIFE ONCE LIVED ; LETTERS THAT ARE BURNED LONG BEFORE THEY ARE SENT ; A DAMNATION AND CONDEMNATION TO A LIFE ALONE FOR NO ONE CAN KNOW WHO YOU WERE OR WHERE YOU ONCE THRIVED . ( lilah, twenty two, est, she/her. )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , BAYEZID KUZEY , the BOYEVIK of the volki is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the bratva’s rivals swear that he is originally from TRABZON , TURKEY ; perhaps it’s USING THE VOLKI’S NETWORK AND CONNECTIONS TO RECRUIT ANARCHISTS that brought them here . fellow members of the volki liken their resemblance to DENIZ CAN AKTAŞ . the THIRTY TWO year old CIS MAN was VALIANT &. BENIGN before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become BANEFUL &. INCENDIARY . rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of THE CROW THAT SCAVENGES ROTTED , RANCID MEAT , DEVOURING WHAT THE WOLF CANNOT STOMACH ; THE DEAFENING CHORUS OF CITY DOGS BARKING AFTER THE SUN IS WANED . ( zemër, 27, eet, she/her. )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , MISHKA, the STABLEHAND is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the volki swear that they are originally from ZVENIGOROD; perhaps it’s REPAYING THEIR UNCLE’S DEBT TO THE VOLKI that brought them here . fellow residents liken their resemblance to BEX TAYLOR-KLAUS. the TWENTY-ONE year old NON-BINARY PERSON was DILEGENT &. SANGUINE before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become WITHDRAWN &. CREDULOUS. rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of DIRT BURIED UNDER THEIR FINGERNAILS, THE CREASES OF THEIR SKIN, AND THE FIBERS OF THEIR CLOTHES | A SMALL BODY HOUSING THE MIGHT OF A MUSTANG’S HEART | AN OLD MILITARY COAT, AWKWARD AND LARGE ON THEIR FRAME, WITH FRAYED HEMS. ( VJ, 27, est/gmt-5, he/they. )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , FYODOR GRIGORVICH RAKOVSKY , the MANAGER OF THE DEN is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the volki swear that he is originally from MOSCOW , RUSSIA ; perhaps it’s BEING A RETIRED BOXER that brought them here . fellow residents liken their resemblance to DANIEL HENNEY . the THIRTY EIGHT year old CIS MAN was FERVENT &. PATERNAL before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become DEFENSIVE &. EXACTING . rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of A FIGHTER THAT WAS ONLY HALF SKILL , AWARE OF THE IMPORTANCE OF SHOWMANSHIP ( NO ONE PAYS TO SEE A CLEAN KNOCK - OUT : QUICK LUNGE , ONE PUNCH , DROP ) ; THE GHOSTS OF A CATALOG OF INJURIES IN BONES THAT REFUSE TO CALM , IN A LIMP THAT MAKES OTHERS THINK THEY HAVE ANSWERS ; IMAGINE THE WEIGHT OF THE ONE THING YOU HAVE BEEN TAUGHT TO DO BEING LIFTED OFF YOUR CHEST , A SUDDEN NEED TO RELEARN HOW TO BREATHE WITHOUT IT ; UNOPENED AND UNSEEN LETTERS SCATTERED ON THE FLOOR , STORIES SENT HOME NEVER HEARD ; THE CREEPING FEELING THAT YOUR MOTHER LIED ABOUT DIVINITY AND GRACE . ( quinn, twenty two, est, she/her. )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , ELENA ZORKIN , the SERVER is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the volki swear that she is originally from YEKATERINBURG ; perhaps it’s HER SEARCH FOR HER BROTHER that brought them here . fellow residents liken their resemblance to SAOIRSE RONAN . the TWENTY ONE year old FEMALE was GENTLE &. SWEET before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become SKITTISH &. ANXIOUS. rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of A GENTLE SMILE HOLDING BACK TEARS, THE WHISPER OF THE WIND IN THE TREES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, LOOKING FOR WORK IN A NEW VILLAGE EVERY WEEK, THE ECHOES OF SCREAMS IN HAUNTING DREAMS, BACKROADS THAT NEVER SEEM TO END . ( skye, 21, pst, she/her. )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , EVGENIA KONSTANTINOVNA ZINOVIEVA , the SOVIETNIK of the volki is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the bratva’s rivals swear that she is originally from VIENNA , AUSTRIA VLADIVOSTOK , RUSSIA ; perhaps it’s FLEEING FROM THE RUINS OF TWO EMPIRES THAT WOULD GLADLY SEE HER SILENCES BROKEN that brought them here . fellow members of the volki liken their resemblance to NATASHA LIU BORDIZZO . the TWENTY FIVE year old CIS WOMAN was INTELLIGENT &. PERSPICACIOUS before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become APATHETIC &. WITHDRAWN. rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of SLENDER FINGERS — GLIDING ACROSS‌ THE‌ SURFACE OF PRISTINE PIANO KEYS, CLAMPED OVER‌ THE HANDLE OF A‌ WELL-WORN‌ BAG, SLIDING ACROSS‌ A‌ PASSPORT WITH ALL THE‌ WRONG WORDS ON IT ; CRIMSON RED — THE‌ COLOUR THE STREETS RUN IN YOUR‌ SLEEP, SHADE OF THE RUBIES YOUR MOTHER‌ TUCKED INTO THE‌ HIDDEN DEPTHS OF‌ YOUR‌ SUITCASE, HUE THAT YOUR COMPANIONS DROWN THEMSELVES IN ; WELL SPUN AND WELL WORN LIES — THE ROLE OF WHO‌ YOU ARE‌ TO‌ PLAY NOW, EACH AND EVERY‌ LAST CALCULATED WORD THAT‌ FALLS PAST‌ YOUR LIPS, THE PRETENSE THAT YOU ARE‌ ANYTHING BUT A‌ CHILD BUILT OF‌ THE RUINS OF EMPIRES . ( kyoto, nineteen, gmt+3, she / her. )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , MARIJA TATYANA KOVALEVA , the NURSE is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the volki swear that she is originally from YEKATERINBURG , WESTERN SIBERIA ; perhaps it’s THE KOVALEV FAMILY PATRIARCH’S PURSUIT OF DYNASTIC WEALTH that brought them here . fellow residents liken their resemblance to LAURA HARRIER . the TWENTY SEVEN year old CIS FEMALE was CONSCIENTIOUS &. MAGNANIMOUS before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become DEPRECATING &. PHLEGMATIC . rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of SUGAR COATED WORDS SPOKEN WITH THE INTENTION TO SOOTHE WHISPERED TO DYING MEN , OR , THE GIFT OF COMPASSION IS LEARNED WITHIN A FIELD HOSPITAL’S WALLS ; GRIEF HIDDEN IN TORN SEPIA PHOTOGRAPHS THAT SHOW SNAPSHOTS OF WHAT USED TO BE AND THE SUBSEQUENT ACHE FOR WHAT CAME BEFORE ; BECOMING OVERWHELMED BY THE CHILDISH YEARNING TO BE CLASPED IN THE SAFETY OF YOUR MOTHER’S ARMS ; CATEGORISING YOUR LIFE AS A SERIES OF WHAT CAME BEFORE AND WHAT CAME AFTERS ; LIPS PURSUED IN STEELY DETERMINATION AS YOU SKILFULLY SEW PEOPLE BACK TOGETHER . ( lucy , 23 , gmt , she / her . )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , SORIN LAZARESCU , the BRIGADIER of the volki is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the bratva’s rivals swear that he is originally from BUCHAREST, ROMANIA ; perhaps it’s IN SEARCH OF HIS ANONYMOUS PENPAL that brought them here . fellow members of the volki liken their resemblance to BILL SKARSGARD . the THIRTY TWO year old MALE was DISCIPLINED &. PRAGMATIC before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become NIHILISTIC &. DECEPTIVE. rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of THE CRACKING OF THE RADIO RINGING LOUDER THAN STIFLED CRIES ; CURLS OF SMOKE DANCING ALONG PALE LIMBS AS THE CENSER DANCES ITS LONELY PERFORMANCE WITH EACH STEP TAKEN ; HOLDING DELICATE PAPER WITH TWO FINGERS IN ORDER TO INHALE EACH WORD AND TASTE THE WORLD THEY ESCAPED FROM ; HANDS RAISED HIGH AFTER WHAT ALMOST WAS HIS VERY LAST KISS FROM THE CROSS DRAPED SAFELY AGAINST HIS PLENDER GAP ; THE STIFFENING OF LIMBS AS HE ENTERS A ROOM, READY TO EAT THE FEARFUL . ( j , twenty six, cst, she/her. )

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 , MARGARITA MAKSIMOVA , the OPERA SINGER is seen traversing the streets of moscow , but the volki swear that she is originally from PETROGRAD ; perhaps it’s SEEKING A SECOND CHANCE that brought them here . fellow residents liken their resemblance to ZHENYA KATAVA . the TWENTY-FIVE year old CIS WOMAN was CHARMING &. GENUINE before the war’s ruination , but in the aftermath have become COLD &. DISTANT. rumours throughout eastern europe have given them a reputation of HAVING THE SOFTNESS OF A DOVE, LIPS WARM AS A SHOT OF VODKA, A WISTFUL SONG PLAYING FROM ANOTHER ROOM . ( sylv, 21, gmt+1, she/her. )

#accepted #:'))

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canardroublard · 7 years

Text

Poco a poco

Fandom: Rogue One (featuring characters from the OT)

Pairings: Jyn/Cassian, background Chirrut/Baze and Han/Leia

Two-shot, first chapter: 8000 words. Second chapter is written and will be posted early next week.

ao3

University/Classical music AU. No wait, classical music isn’t that scary, come back! No knowledge of classical music is required to read, I promise. Slow burn UST, humour, and other good stuff are contained within.

Poco a poco (It.). By degrees; lit. little by little; as in, Rall. poco a poco.

The Student's Pronouncing Musical Dictionary, by Leon Aubry

Jyn, in her defense, is not exactly late for class.

She's just not very early. Music theory doesn't technically start for another (damn it she keeps forgetting to switch her watch to this new time zone which means it's off by...) three minutes. Three minutes to get to Theory 2100. Or at least to get to the room where she thinks Theory 2100 is being held. The Yavin School of Performing Arts had seemed much easier to navigate when she'd been on the new students tour yesterday. Also, who designed this school with so many bloody stairs? She's just rounding the corner to tackle the next set, feeling only slightly embarrassed by how much she's panting after the past three flights, when she bodily slams into someone and isn't that exactly what her day needed right now. For fuck's sake.

"Sorry, I'm late for theory," She says, hoisting herself off of the dark-haired man who is now crumpled against the wall, groaning slightly. She notices the case in his arms. "Oh shit, your violin -"

"Viola, actually," He says with the sigh of someone who knows he should give up trying to correct people on this issue but keeps on doing so out of pure bloody-mindedness. Grabbing her proffered hand to pull himself back up (wow, he's pretty tall), he continues. "It's fine. Theory 2100?"

"Yeah."

"You're going the wrong way. It's down a floor," He seems to take her in for the first time, frowning down at her slightly. "I'm going there now, you can follow me." She's only a teeny tiny bit distracted by the way his hair flops over his forehead when he turns away to start down the stairs.

"So, what are you?" He asks.

"Piano," Jyn says, falling into step beside him. The man's head bobs, nodding to himself as if she's just confirmed a hunch.

"No instrument with you, and most vocalists aren't so," He makes a circling gesture with the hand not holding his viola case, searching for a word. "Scrawny."

"Um, thanks?" Scrawny? Fortunately she's spared the pressure of further response when he pushes open a door and gestures brusquely for her to go in first. The small lecture hall is mostly full, with about thirty students sprawled in their seats, pulling tiredly at their Starbucks cups. 9 AM classes are hell. Jyn slides into the nearest available seat at the back, but her new acquaintance begins walking down to the front of the room.

"Ah, Mr. Andor," Says the professor in a tone of such condescension that Jyn can already definitively state that she does not like him. "Glad you could finally join us."

"Sorry Professor Draven," the man, whose name is apparently Mr. Andor, says. "Professor Îmwe wanted to discuss my repertoire for this year before classes started, and I had to help-" He stops then and turns, blinking, back to where Jyn has tried to settle in as inconspicuously as possible, staring up at her as if he's finally realized that he was too busy calling her scrawny to actually get her name (or give his, for that matter) like a polite human being. Before she can put him out of his misery, Draven interrupts.

"You have decided to grace us with your presence after all, Jyn Erso," The man scoffs. She wants to punch him in the dick. "I wasn't sure whether to trust the rumours." Before she can let loose a few choice words which would certainly have gotten her expelled on her very first day here, Draven's face wrinkles into a bulldoggish scowl.

"Both of you, take a syllabus. Don't be late again." He turns back to the board. "As I was just explaining to the students who showed up on time, this class will be focusing on musical analysis."

Goddammit.

Finding Bodhi in the canteen after class is such a relief that Jyn nearly cries. He gives her a bright (Bodhi is always so bright) smile and waves her over.

"Everyone keeps whispering and staring at me," She says, "I half expect someone to yell 'Pay five p. to see Jyn Erso, former child prodigy!' like I'm a circus freak."

Bodhi's face sinks. "Yeah, I know. Sorry. I didn't tell anyone, but one of the professors must have let it slip last week."

"Probably Draven. He's odious," She says and Bodhi has the nerve to snort at her.

"I thought you might not like him," He replies, gesturing around the dank, concrete room with his fork. "Most people don't."

"We're spending the entire semester just doing analysis! I hate analysis," Bodhi actually smiles at her outrage. She liked him so much better when they were young and he was scared of her because she was the daughter of Galen Erso, world famous violinist.

"Draven's tough. But he knows his stuff and he wants everyone to succeed," Chewing thoughtfully, he adds, "Even if he doesn't show it."

Bodhi's ability to see the good in everyone is positively infuriating sometimes. He is also patient, to his credit, and lets her launch into a long rant, nodding and making appropriate noises of sympathy. She loves this about him. When she begins to run out of steam he prods her to eat. "You'll need to keep your strength up. You've got your private lesson after this, right?"

"Yes, assuming I don't get lost trying to get to this one too."

Bodhi's assurances that Professor Malbus is much more understanding are a small comfort. "He's okay, you'll be fine. How'd you find theory?"

"Some violist. Andor. I bumped into him on the way to class." She doesn't need to tell Bodhi the details of how literal the bumping was.

"Oh, so you've met Cassian?"

"Yep. He called me scrawny. Nice guy."

Bodhi just shakes his head. Her phone chirps.

Incoming call from JYN DON'T ANSWER THIS

She thumbs the decline call button while Bodhi continues.

"He is nice, Jyn. And you are scrawny."

She may not know anyone at Bodhi's start of semester party, but there's lots of beer and when you really think about it, beer can be a pretty good friend so it's really almost the same thing as actually knowing people. And yeah, so maybe she's lurking in the corner like a total loser, but at least she's managed to be the only woman in the room who's successfully avoided being hit on by God's Gift to Music, Han Solo. Why are all the trumpet players she knows such overconfident tossers?

The tiny flat is packed with music students celebrating the fact that classes inexplicably began on a Friday this year. She scans the room to see if Bodhi is free enough that she can go harass him in lieu of meeting new people. Bodhi, who is just sickeningly nice sometimes, well, all the time, has instead taken pity on the blond guy who was in her tour group with his twin sister. Luke something? All she remembers is that he's an oboist and his sister plays horn, and Jyn remembers the latter fact only because the woman's twisty side-bun hairdo looks like she has two French horns (minus the bells) stuck onto her head. It's nice when people make things easy to remember.

"You are the Jyn Erso," Says a voice unnervingly close to her ear. She jumps slightly and glances around to discover a towering blond man who is staring owlishly at her. Why does she always attract the weirdos at parties?

"You are the reason Cassian was late for Theory 2100."

Apparently she's meant to say something now? "Yeah. I mean, he was late anyways," She corrects, feeling suddenly defensive. This guy just keeps staring at her like she's some exotic species of insect that he might want to pin to a board and study if he were motivated enough to do so, but he can't be bothered so he's about to squash her instead out of vaguely malicious indifference and what the fuck is with the male students of this school? God.

"No, he was not," He says primly. Good lord, she's not even going to make it through her first day here without starting a fight. Bodhi won't be surprised. "Cassian is a conscientious student. If you had not assaulted him and then solicited his assistance, he would not have been late."

Jyn wonders if she could jump high enough from a standstill to just start throttling him now or if she'd have to ask him to crouch down first.

"Hey, listen, you knob, he said-"

"Kay, where have you been?" A hand parts the wall of people boxing in her corner and of course it's Cassian because the universe hates her and will not let her alone long enough to get properly soused while sulking in a corner like the well-adjusted adult that she is.

"I have been getting to know" (Oh, that's what this is?) "Jyn Erso, the women whom you spent at least thirty percent of our lunch break talking about."

Cassian actually flushes at that. She can see it start at his cheeks and disappear into the neck of his t-shirt and she cannot contain the grin that overtakes her while he tries to verbally dodge that particularly interesting pronouncement.

"I wasn't - it wasn't that much!" He clears his throat slightly. "Kay, Threepio wants to talk to you about tone clusters. He's thinking of using them in his next piece, the one he's writing for his recital." And thank God, that actually works, sending Kay off grousing about how he is about to save Threepio from making a horrible mistake. "Sorry about him," Cassian says. "He means well. He's John Kay, by the way. Everyone just calls him Kay though."

"He's studying composition?"

"Yes."

"Well, that explains," She uses her free hand to indicate broadly the direction in which Kay had just left, "Everything. Does no-one around here remember how to introduce themselves?" She grumbles and is rewarded when Cassian ducks his head awkwardly.

"Han seems to have it figured out,"' He says, gesturing over to where the lanky man is indeed making the acquaintance of yet another pretty girl. She can't tell for certain from across the room but it looks like what's-her-name, Horn Buns. Luke's sister. Cassian interrupts her thoughts before she can make a definitive identification. "Should we try again?" and he's gazing down at her with kind brown eyes that peek out from under his fringe of hair (it looks so soft) and pulling her hand into his gentle, warm grasp and oh shit she is in trouble.

"Cassian Andor." He looks positively miraculous when he grins at her.

Shit shit shit.

The thing Jyn likes most about Professor Malbus, Baze, as he insists she call him, is that he is one of the few professors she's had who is able to look past what a complete disaster her life is at the moment and just focus on music. He's not one for small talk, doesn't scold her too much for being late, and has also had absolutely zero comment on her semi-famous upbringing. They just talk music and that is something she can do for days.

"The left hand in measure twenty-eight sounds much better this week," He says, squinting at her score slightly from his amusingly homey armchair. The entire office looks like it was designed by an extremely aged man who was mostly concerned with being warm enough; big armchair, throw blankets, a space heater tucked under his tiny desk. It's delightful. "You need to get a better edition of the score, I don't know how you read this. It's Chopin, you know well enough to get the Paderewski."

She winces. He's got her there.

"Sorry, Baze. The Paderewski edition is quite expensive and when I bought this book..." She's not poor per se, but admitting that she couldn't scrape up enough money to buy anything better than the cheapest edition of Chopin's nocturnes still feels vaguely like she's failed at something. And no way in hell would she have crawled back to Saw or her father to ask for the money. He cuts off her excuses with a raised hand.

"It's fine." He absently nudges his round glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You can obviously read all of the notes well enough, everything sounds correct. Mind the dynamics in measure forty-five, though." His notes about her right hand fingering during the same measure are interrupted by a few knocks at the door, which is opened after Baze grunts something that sounds like "hmm?" The puckish face of the string professor, Chirrut Îmwe, pokes around the door frame.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"If I said yes, would you go away?" Baze asks with a huff.

"No, but I would feel bad about staying," Chirrut says, stepping into the room with a grin. "Hello Jyn," He greets her. She's not entirely sure what his vision is like, but after a couple weeks of Chirrut roaming the halls with his white cane, yet identifying her before she speaks, her best guess is that he has at least some functional sight. "Have you found an ensemble partner yet?"

"I'm doing the Britten cello sonata with Bodhi." She says, kicking herself as soon as she finishes the sentence because Chirrut is Bodhi's teacher for God's sake, he knows that already. "Um, but haven't found anyone for the second ensemble, no." Which is something she should probably fix. She'd been talking about teaming up with Leia but then the horn player ended up doing orchestra and also forming what Jyn understands to be an incredibly argumentative quartet with Han, Luke, and Chewie. So Leia was not an option anymore.

Chirrut smiles in Baze's direction, then, and Jyn's teacher lets out a little grunt. "Chirrut, stop pestering my students. The department does give you a budget for accompanists." It's rather sweet of Baze to stick up for her considering that her teacher had been prodding her to hurry up and find a second ensemble for at least the past week.

"Aren't they called 'collaborative pianists' now?" Chirrut says wryly. "Why hire someone when Jyn needs the ensemble credit as much as Cassian does?"

"Cassian?" She says. Oh, hell no. She's been doing a great job of avoiding Cassian and his annoyingly perfect face and the way he makes her stomach feel all fluttery whenever he smiles. Her history with personal relationships in general has been nothing short of a train wreck and romance has been no better; she cannot deal with whatever that is right now. She is barely holding her life together as it is. Conveniently enough it turns out that theory is the only class they have together this semester and with Cassian spending all of his free time with Kay it's been easy to carry on pretending that he doesn't really exist. Suits her fine.

"He's still looking for someone to do Brahms' second viola sonata," Chirrut says after a brief pause. "The piano part would suit you, Jyn." Baze is now looking at her appraisingly over the top of his glasses.

"It would be a good fit to round out your rep. Unless you have an alternate suggestion?"

Bugger. Well, looks like she's going to be dealing with whatever that is a lot more from now on.

Cassian, it would seem, is no more enthusiastic about their arrangement than she was. She's not sure whether to feel relieved or offended by that. He more or less throws the piano score at her while rushing out of theory class, not even making eye contact, and texts her a perfunctory "7 pm thurs?" to arrange a practice time. Well, fine.

She wanders down to the practice rooms at 6:45, actually early for once in her life. It's mostly thanks to Bodhi's constant nagging today, but Jyn will still happily take the credit. Leia is practicing her Mozart horn concerto in the first closet-like room on her right, fighting with a fiddly scale passage. Walking a few doors further she can hear an oboist, possibly Luke, working on some piece she can't identify. Jyn turns the hall corner and smiles when she sees that practice room sixteen, the only one with a grand piano, is unoccupied. Clearly it's her lucky day. The magnificent old Bösendorfer sits in the dark room, hunkering awkwardly in the tiny space which offers room for little else apart from the monster piano, a dented music stand into which someone has scratched the word 'butts', and a plastic chair. The piano's humidifier unit winks coyly at her from where it snuggles against the underside of the keyboard, green light confirming that the instrument is being kept happy. Jyn mentally greets the piano with a hello, old girl as she sits on the wooden bench.

Her phone chirps when she turns it back on, intending to see if Baze has emailed her about her rep for the next recital.

1 missed call from JYN DON'T ANSWER THIS

1 new voicemail

Not such a lucky day after all. Bollocks. She dismisses the notifications and deletes the voicemail before stuffing her phone back into her bag and turning back to the keyboard.

Do not think about him. Her heart is racing, readying her for a fight that she is definitely not having tonight. As she's always done, she turns to music to calm her anger.

Midway through Jyn's first set of warmup scales, Cassian bustles into the room, throwing his coat onto the chair and looking nearly as disheveled as Jyn normally feels. There are dark circles beneath his eyes and he appears even less shaven than usual. Jyn chooses to helpfully point this out to him.

"You look like shit." Okay, possibly not the best way to deal with him at the moment. No-one has ever accused Jyn of being good with people.

Cassian rolls his eyes at her and retrieves the score from his bag with what appears to be far more force than should be required. "Have you practiced at all, or are you too busy getting lost?"

That clearly does not merit a response. Learning the finer details of whatever stick has lodged itself up Cassian's behind is something she has neither the patience nor interpersonal skills to pursue. She'd almost thought that doing this piece with Cassian might not be so bad after all, but if he's going to spend the entire semester being a miserable sod she will regret this. He sighs then, flicking his gaze briefly in her direction before turning back to his viola case, tightening the bow strings with a few precise swivels of his wrist.

"Sorry," He mumbles. "It's been a long day." God, Jyn has had days like that. She can forgive him being a bit snippy with her now.

Hell, she's had years like that.

"Need an A?" She offers.

He nods before tucking his viola under his chin and beginning for the comforting ritual of tuning. After the standard twisting of knobs and frowning, he finishes by checking his work with three quick bow strokes that cause the viola's strings to harmonize in perfect pairs. Meeting her gaze, he stands, statuesque, bow-arm held slightly aloft, patiently awaiting her count in.

"One, two, three, four."

It's probably a good thing that the first line of the piano part is relatively simple because she barely prevents herself from stopping and gaping at Cassian when he starts playing. She's accompanied people before; played with not merely good but exceptionally talented musicians whom she knew through Saw; actual professionals who had made it past the ever-tightening gauntlet of critique to become some of the rare few on the planet who could be full-time performers because people would pay good money to hear them play. So the experience of sharing good music with people is nothing new. And yet...

Cassian is extraordinary. The first high note of the piece rings from his viola, delicate, bell-like, for a moment before he dips softly to the note below, then above, then does a little turn back downwards. He leans sumptuously into the next lingering note, making it warble with a rich vibrato, then deftly slips down again to coax the low D through a breathless sigh. The effect of his playing sparks through her like electricity.

She'd known he was handsome ever since their re-acquaintance at Bodhi's party, but this?

She dares to peek up at him. His eyes are half-hooded, lips pursed, caught in the thrall of the music. Her eyes are drawn to the slender fingers of his left hand, fluttering back and forth in a rapid vibrato against the finger board, balanced firmly between his thumb and the tip of his pinkie.

This is a whole different level of attraction. Her stomach swoops as he gracefully steps back up by broken octaves. In her distraction she completely botches the simple B-Flat seventh chord that had presented no problems when she was practicing this piece on her own. Crap. She fixes her gaze on the score in front of her, manages to correctly land the next set of chords, get the next couple measures out. The piece builds to a natural pause and she slows ever so slightly in anticipation, giving it the faintest hint of rubato, and to her amazement Cassian matches her tempo change perfectly, drawing out the melody with tender sensuality.

She is screwed.

Knowing that the first genuinely tricky bit of the piece is rapidly approaching for her, and messing up this solo would be nothing short of completely embarrassing, she tries her best to let Cassian's playing fade into the background and focus on her own part. She even manages to do a decent job on the sweet little left hand melody that comes next. The piece swells in crescendo to a loud forte which she punctuates with a quick staccato hit, then she launches into the short, punchy piano solo, trying to lend it as much vigour as she can muster while still hitting all of the difficult octave spans correctly. Apart from misplaying one of the big chords it goes well and she does her best to imbue the burst of piano with plenty of fire. Cassian rejoins the action with a bright, high note as she steps both of her hands towards each other with the quick set of broken chords.

They work through the first few pages of the piece with a tolerable amount of mistakes for a first run-through until they hit a section with is tricky for both instruments and simultaneously self-destruct. She bursts out laughing when they both stop, giddy and thrumming with the pure joy of music.

"You're pretty good!" Cassian says warmly. She glances up at him. He's looking down at her, grinning, eyes sparkling, viola dangling in hand. God, he's gorgeous.

"Yeah, not bad yourself!" She says in the understatement of the century.

"Hi Jyn, it's me. Look, I know you don't want to talk, but please call Saw back at least? He's worried enough about you to actually call me, that should tell you just how concerned he is. I'm going to be in town for a concert, um, sometime in December. Doing some Handel and Telemann. You know me, I always go for baroque. Like 'broke'? Yeah, that was bad, your mother never laughed at that one either. Anyways, um, so I know this is a work trip, but I would have come sooner if I thought you wanted to see me. I would love to catch up while I'm there, even just a brunch. Please, Stardust. Oh, and say hi to Bodhi for me."

She knows it's a mistake every time she does it, but she seriously needs to stop listening to her father's messages. It just makes her angry. If he had wanted to be a part of her life, he should have made an effort back when it was just the two of them, before she ended up living with Saw by default because at least he was around more often than a couple nights a week. Maybe things could be better now that he's stopped spending all of his time holed up in some studio making weird post-tonal music with Krennic, but the years of sitting at the window waiting for someone who was not coming home still rankle.

"Everything okay?" Bodhi asks, glancing at her with a creased brow from where he sits on the other couch in the student lounge. He's been chewing his pencil again, despite trying to kick the habit for good this year. When Jyn stares pointedly at the mangled piece of stationery Bodhi spits it out guiltily and starts spinning it between his long fingers instead. "What do you think about Stockhausen's process music? For my history paper?"

"Yeah, that could work. The early choral stuff?" Bodhi hums in confirmation. Jyn looks down, away from him. "My dad says hi."

She's staring at her phone and doesn't see Bodhi's reaction to this, but she can just sense him still for a moment.

"Thanks," He pauses. "How is your dad?"

Apart from being a total bastard?

"He's fine. He's coming here for a concert. In December." Jyn manages to look back up at Bodhi now and that was a mistake. He's staring at her like she's an overfull balloon that could pop at any second. Damn. "It's okay, Bodhi," Christ, he needs to stop looking at her like that. "He wants to get brunch. That'll be fun, right? You're doing it again." Bodhi retracts the pencil from his lips with a frustrated growl, tapping it against his thigh. "I'm fine, I swear. If he actually shows up I'll just say I'm too busy with exams."

"Jyn..."

"Don't. Bodhi, please, just leave it."

Bodhi just shakes his head, turning back to his note pad with what she knows is disapproval. Her dad has always been Bodhi's idol, always left him a little awestruck, wishing she could see Galen the way he does. Or maybe that's not it. Bodhi has seen what her father's inconstant presence did to her, he knows that she was all but abandoned. Surely he's not forgotten that? Maybe Bodhi is just that nice and he is honestly able to forgive people for things. Forgiveness is not one of Jyn's strengths. Despite being almost pathetically self-deceptive, she knows this much about herself.

"How're things with Cassian?"

"What do you mean, things with Cassian?" She bristles. She does not have a thing with Cassian.

"The Brahms," Bodhi says as if she's particularly soft in the head today.

"Oh, that. It's fine. Good. We're working on the second movement." She very deliberately fails to mention how she nearly died this morning because Cassian leaned over her at the piano to point out that the decrescendo in measure 109 should start forte rather than mezzo forte and his hand was resting on her shoulder like that's a completely normal thing that they do and he smelled amazing. Bodhi doesn't need to know that, right? Why would he? It's not like she's been thinking about the warmth of his hand through her shirt, the faint puff of his breath over the back of her neck, the rumble of his voice right next to her ear. Was that a normal distance for...that sort of thing? It felt close. Like, really close. And he smiled at her when she looked up. So yeah, it's not like she's been replaying that moment in her head every thirty seconds for the past eight hours. And it's definitely not a thing that she's talking about with people. Other people. Or herself.

Fuck.

She's going to murder him. Tomorrow headlines will read "Bright young pianist kills absolute fucking shithead of a violist in the most justifiable homicide ever." Parades will be held in her honour. Future generations of school children will write reports detailing her heroism in defending Brahms' second viola sonata from being turned into a funeral dirge. Maybe she'll be given some kind of medal.

"It's andante, Jyn," Says the dead man, jabbing at her score with the tip of his bow. "Andante is slower!"

"Andante means 'walking pace' you wanker! And-"

"I know that! It's-"

"-besides, it's andante con moto! Con. Moto!"

"Andante is not a fast tempo! How can you possibly justify-"

"Con moto! Do I seriously need to explain this to you?"

"I know what it means! Spanish and Italian-"

"'With motion'! That's what it means, Cassian! Con moto! With motion!"

"That doesn't mean you need to play it like you're late for class again!" He shouts.

So. Dead.

"Okay, first off," She starts, standing up from the piano bench to stop him from towering over her. Or at least to make him tower over her less. Damn him for being so pointlessly tall. "Who the hell taught you anything about music? Because you need to track them down and get your money back. Secondly, it was only the one-"

"Jyn!" There's something in his tone now that makes her stop dead. He looks furious. She stares him down, unwilling to give a single inch.

"Jyn," And now he has gone from shouting to deadly, quietly serious. It's so much worse. She can see him shaking with anger. "Do not ever question my education again. Not all of us have had the privilege of growing up around people who actually gave a damn about music, let alone having a father who's one of the world's best musicians." He obviously has never met her father if he thinks she did much 'growing up around' him. "I worked hard to get here," He continues, "To get into this school. I work hard to stay here. I will not let you ruin this piece just because you think you're smarter than everyone else."

He's out of the room before she can even begin to formulate a response to that. She should really get at least a small medal for not chasing him out into the hallway.

"Hello, Jyn."

He just knows. She has no clue how he knows it's her from all the way down the hall, but he does and while she's used to it now, it occasionally still puzzles her.

"Hello Professor Îmwe," She says, walking up to him. "How was your weekend?"

"How many times must I ask you to call me Chirrut?" He says lightly. Her last school was significantly more strict and very British compared to Yavin. Calling professors by their first names just feels wrong. "It was good. I took Baze for a hike in the forest. Considering that he's not the blind one, he gets lost surprisingly easily," He continues with a chuckle. Clearly there's a story to be had if she felt familiar enough to ask for it. "And how was your weekend? Did Bodhi throw another one of his parties?"

"No, that's this weekend coming," She says. "It was okay. I finished up the analysis for Professor Draven."

"That Bach was in need of a good analyzing. I'm sure you set it straight."

"Yeah," She laughs. She's about to make her excuses and turn away when she reconsiders. "Prof- Chirrut?"

"Yes?"

"Have you spoken with Cassian recently? About the Brahms?"

Chirrut's milky eyes search her face for a moment. "I have." He says simply. He's going to make her work for this.

"Did he say anything to you about the tempo? For the third movement?"

Chirrut chuckles slightly. "Yes, Cassian had a lot to say about the tempo of the third movement. He was quite impassioned at our lesson this morning."

Shit.

"Right..." She says, trying to figure out how to ask Chirrut about the issue without being too obvious that she's not quite as sure about the tempo as she might have thought.

"Jyn, have you ever asked him why he's chose this piece? Why it's always been this particular sonata?" She shakes her head. "Well then, I must be off to teach. Have a good day!"

One thing that Jyn has discovered about music students is that the enthusiasm for childish games and pranks seems universal no matter where she is. That's the only possible explanation for how she's been roped into playing "sardines" with the group of people who is rapidly becoming Jyn's circle of friends: Bodhi, Cassian, Han, Leia, Luke, and Han's friend Chewie. Kay is technically part of the group but she's pretty sure the fun centres of his brain are broken, so it's no surprise that he opted out of their brilliant idea to dodge security and spend the entire night in the darkened music building. They'll be paying for the sleepless night tomorrow morning, but her morning class is theory with Draven so she doesn't care if she's loopy and tired because he hates her anyways.

"Okay," Han says, having elected himself the de facto leader of their posse, "I don't think I should have to explain this, but since there's a decent chance at least some of you were major band nerds with no social life in high school, here it is. The rules are simple. Jyn lost the coin toss with Luke, so she goes to hide somewhere. Professors' offices and the concert halls are off limits. We count to, what was it?"

"Two hundred," Leia supplies with a tone of voice that makes it clear she's not remotely surprised that Han forgot this.

"Yeah, what the rules committee decided on."

"I am not a committee!"

"Right, so," Han continues, "Count to two hundred, Jyn hides, we split up and try to find her. Once you find her, hide with her. Last person to find everyone loses. Any questions?"

Chewie says...something. Jyn still cannot figure out what sort of accent the enormous, hirsute man has, but it's thick and Han seems to be the only person who can reliably understand him.

"I don't know why it's called sardines, Chewie! Just play the damn game."

Roughly two hundred seconds later, Jyn has managed to shimmy past a few beat up music stands to the back of a storage room and wedge herself between a tall stack of plastic chairs and the corner. She's tucked in such a way that hopefully she won't be too visible from the doorway, especially with the hall lights dimmed for night. It's really not a particularly clever place to hide, but she panicked and lost track of time and thought that being caught standing in the hallway would probably look much more foolish than a mediocre hiding spot. Thank goodness she's not afraid of the dark.

Hiding is boring. In retrospect, as the single most impatient person in their group, volunteering for this job was almost certainly a mistake. It's been at least five minutes, five long minutes, before she hears footsteps tromping down the hall. Finally, some excitement. Doors are being opened on either side of the storage room. She presses against the wall, tucking as far behind the chair stack as possible. If she crams into the corner just so she's fairly certain she can't be seen from the doorway. She's torn between wanting to be found so she'll at least have some company and wanting to remain hidden so that she can lord her superior hiding skills over all of her friends. Once again her competitive side wins out. With a rattle the door opens, flooding the small space with light that is blinding now that her eyes have adjusted to the minuscule amount that sneaks under the door.

"Jyn?" It's Bodhi. He seriously expects her to just call out "I'm here!" like an idiot? Now she stays quiet out of pure spite. After a silence (don't breathe, don't breathe) the door creaks closed, leaving her in the dark again. Gloating to Bodhi about how he was the first person to find her and just walked right past is going to be absolutely delightful.

"Any luck?" Says a muffled voice through the door. Maybe Luke?

"Not yet."

They exchange a few more words too softly for her to hear. Then their steps retreat down the hall and she's truly alone.

Great, now she's bored again. This is the worst game ever. She slumps against the wall and drums her fingers against her thigh, playing along to a jingle from an insurance advert that she heard a few days ago and has gotten stuck in her head ever since. She manages to amuse herself for several minutes by analyzing the chord pattern of the song: I, vi, IV, V7. Laughably basic. Draven would be proud of her. This passes the time until another person walks slowly down the hall. Whoever this is searches more carefully than Bodhi and Luke. They're opening every door and pausing to actually enter and search the rooms. She may have company soon. The sounds grow steadily louder until they stop outside the storage room. She jams into the corner as the door opens. The door closes and someone steps softly towards her. From her spot in the back corner she can't see the door over the chair stack, can't figure out who's about to find her. In the dim light from the door crack a long shadow slips over the floor in front of her. As soon as her pursuer turns the corner past the chairs she will be caught.

Despite it being an easily deduced possibility, based on who she's playing this game with, the sight of Cassian emerging from around the chairs still takes her by surprise. Damn it. His brows raise in alarm upon seeing her and he just stares, looking as if he is genuinely considering just backing right out of the closet and losing on purpose rather than take one step closer to her. Honestly she would happily let him do that, but then she hears someone quickly striding down the hall and no way in hell will she let Cassian ruin her hiding spot by just standing there like a nitwit.

"Get over here!" She hisses. When that does absolutely nothing to rouse him she claws out and drags him over by the shirtfront, managing to get him at least somewhat hidden just as the door handle rattles. That seems to break through his indecision and he surges forward, backing her into the wall just as the door opens, presenting her with a great view of his throat and collar bones. She glances up, can tell that the top of his head is poking over the chairs so she reaches up and pushes him down with a hand on the nape of his neck. He obediently stoops until his nose is pressed against her temple, lips centimetres away from her face.

This may have been a mistake.

She's still got one hand trapped between them, fisted into his shirt, the other now resting on his neck. Their new searcher starts to wander into the room, bumping into a music stand which clangs noisily.

"Damn it!" Han. He knocks into another stand. Her hand unconsciously clenches at the noise, tightening around the fabric of Cassian's shirt. He inhales sharply against her.

"What are you doing in there?" Calls Leia from the hall.

"Having a tea party! What do you think?" Han says.

"Well, obviously you're not finding Jyn."

"Yeah, like I see you doing so much better, princess..."

"Don't call me that, you spit-valve-sucking, Pachelbel-loving scruffy asshole!" Leia spits.

"Scruffy? Scruffy?" Han's voice fades slightly as his footsteps retreat towards the doorway. God, Cassian smells great.

"Do I need to define it for you? Because I'd be- Hey, get back here! Where are you going?"

She can practically hear Han's eyes rolling. "Jyn's not in there, so I'm going to look in the practice rooms if that pleases your worship."

Leia's reply is lost to the closet door slamming. For a moment the only sounds are the pair's indistinct bickering and Cassian's breathing.

Her hand is still wedged between them. She can feel his stomach expand with each breath, the only motion from his seemingly frozen form. His arms are boxing her in, hands pressed against the wall on either side of her waist. When she slides her hand down, away from the nape of his neck, he seems to remember their position. He steps back, giving her enough room for her to slip out of the corner which suddenly feels roughly the size of a petri dish.

"Sorry," He says from behind her, "Sorry, I, um-"

"It's fine," She says, turning to face him. He appears to be intently studying his shoes.

"Cassian?" He hums for her to continue. "Why Brahms?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you chose that piece?"

He sighs. His shoes must be exceptionally fascinating.

"It was my mother's favourite," He mutters.

"Oh. I thought..."

"What?" He asks harshly as if he's just preparing to ward off an attack.

Jyn thinks back to her own mother. Lyra is mostly represented by a hazy, warm feeling, more than actual events or remembrances. Jyn thinks of how at age nine she found a box of cassettes in the attic while she was home alone yet again. 'Lyra' was written on it in her father's messy scrawl. She remembers what it was like to pop the first tape into her Walkman and start bawling when a kind voice that she thought she'd forgotten said, 'Okay, trying this again. Chopin Nocturne in C-sharp Minor, posthumous,' and then her mama was playing the saddest, sweetest piano piece that Jyn had ever heard. That was the day, sitting in that dusty, stifling attic, that Jyn had given up violin and focused on piano. Piano made her feel connected with someone in a way that following in her father's footsteps hadn't. It felt lovely.

"Your mother had good taste," Jyn says to him. Means it.

Cassian looks up, sagging as if all the fight was just pouring out of his muscles and bones. "Yeah, she did." His voice breaks slightly. "She loved Brahms."

"My mama loved Chopin," Jyn says. He smiles softly at her. The moment is suddenly too raw, too open. She turns away to stare at the far wall.

"Do you think they've just given up?" She laughs nervously, trying to feel less exposed.

"Hmm," He considers, "I bet Luke and Bodhi are still looking. Chewie probably got bored and went to the percussion room to practice. Leia and Han are chasing each other around arguing." Jyn snorts.

Footsteps sound down the hall. She freezes, staring at the closet door. Someone's opening other doors. Realizing she's completely exposed she tries to back into the corner as quietly as possible. The door handle clatters and she panics, taking a too large step backwards and losing her balance.

Cassian whispers her name in alarm, catches her by the hips, and hauls her back into the corner just as light floods the closet. In his haste Cassian has pulled her back sharply into his chest with presumably much more force than intended. They're pressed together, from tangled feet all the way up to her head which is cradled in the hollow of his throat.

"Duck!" She hisses. He shifts down from the knees instead, entire body sliding against her back, as their latest interloper enters the closet. Now Cassian's breath is whooshing past her ear and she honestly doesn't know if that's better or worse than before. Either way, she wants to live in this moment forever. Her stomach isn't swooping anymore, it's filling with molten heat which builds and builds every time his shallow exhales caress the sensitive skin behind her right ear. He swallows thickly. His hands let go of her hips and drop to dangle next to her thighs, leaving their bodies still glued together. Every inch of her feels engulfed in the heat that radiates from his form.

Just then her phone vibrates in her back pocket. Damn, she thought she'd turned it off. At least it's on silent. Cassian's hands jerk against the sides of her legs, which is the exact moment when she considers precisely where that sensation is hitting him now that's he's crouched at her level. Her face burns. Oh god, she tries to telepathically communicate to her caller, please just hang up.

There's a faint scrape as the searcher moves some of the music stands. Her phone buzzes again and Cassian's entire body spasms as if someone has just stuck an electrode into his spine. His hips twitch slightly like he's trying to dodge back, away from her, but he's jammed against the wall and has nowhere to go.

Soft steps walk closer.

Bzzt! Her phone goes off again before she can gather sufficient mental faculties to shift forward and relieve Cassian's obvious discomfort. But something miraculous happens when this vibration hits. Cassian's hips jerk forward and he lets out an honest-to-God groan right into her ear. Fuck. That sounded like a sex groan. She has no other words to describe the strangled noise he just made. Is it possible that's he's every bit as aroused as she feels right now? Her brain floods with images; turning them around until she's pressed against the wall and he's grabbing her by the hips again and rutting into her from behind and she's just moaning. Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God. The explosion of want which surges between her legs at the thought forces an involuntary gasp from her. He freezes. He was still before but now he seems to have given up breathing entirely. If this carries on much longer that may be for the best. Him simply collapsing in a sweaty heap due to lack of oxygen flowing to his brain might be the most dignified way this could possibly end. She shoves down a hysterical giggle trying to claw its way up her throat at the thought that she is experiencing what is quite possibly the single most erotic moment of her entire life during a glorified game of hide and seek.

"Oh man, seriously? I can't believe I missed you!" Bodhi whispers bitterly when his head pops around the corner. "Hey Cassian."

Bodhi's greeting seems to snap Cassian out of his trance. He lets out a rattling breath and she all but jumps away from him.

"Uh, everything okay?" Bodhi asks in roughly the same tone of voice as the one he used that time during her high school years when he let himself into her house and found her with her hand down her pants, at which point she remembered that she'd invited him over to study before she'd gotten horny and bored, and Bodhi had said 'Should-should I go?' while gaping at the ceiling and flushing scarlet. Much like that spectacularly traumatizing incident, she also currently wishes that everyone else on the planet would just simultaneously drop dead so she didn't have to face another human being ever again. That would be fan-bloody-tastic.

"We're fine," Cassian says from behind her. He clears his throat. "Close the door."

"Right," Bodhi says.

Her phone vibrates again in her back pocket and she lets out a growl, yanking the blasted device out and blindly poking the screen until it goes still. Darkness envelops the space again. Bodhi swears quietly as he bangs into one of those damn music stands while picking his way back to their corner. Her entire body feels electric. She wants to run, scream, punch something. Fuck.

Giving her a pointed look, Bodhi slips past to sandwich between her and Cassian. Thank God. When she turns to join them Cassian looks every bit as agitated as she feels, antsy and rapidly bouncing his leg. He's also turned away, facing the wall. Very conspicuously.

The rest of the game goes quickly now that their group is too large to properly hide behind the chair stack. When Han and Leia finally spring them she more or less bolts out of the room with a strangled shout about not feeling well and doesn't stop running until she gets back to her flat.

#rebelcaptain #rebelcaptain fic #rebelcaptain au #rogue one #sw fanfic #rogue one fanfiction #jyn erso #cassian andor #fanfiction #fanfic #classical music #star wars

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thisdaynews · 5 years

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How a Criminal Justice Reform Became an Enrichment Scheme

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/how-a-criminal-justice-reform-became-an-enrichment-scheme/

How a Criminal Justice Reform Became an Enrichment Scheme

ALEXANDRIA, Louisiana—Bruce Kelly has been treasurer of Rapides Parish for three years and was assistant treasurer for 27 before that. A man in his 50swith a bald head and bulldoggish demeanor, Kelly is responsible each year for ensuring that the local government—run by a nine-member elected body called, in Louisiana tradition, a police jury—has enough money to sustain basic functions like paying government salaries, feeding inmates, and maintaining records and inventory for the 131,000-person parish, nestled in the heart of Louisiana.

But in early 2018, Kelly faced a crisis: The district attorney’s office, led by the elected DA, Phillip Terrell, was requesting more than $2.5 million in parish funds. This was more than it had ever asked for in all the years Kelly had been at this job, and Kelly didn’t have the money. In fact, the parish was facing a budget shortfall of $427,000; even its “rainy day fund” had been used up.

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In the parish seat of Alexandria, where abandoned storefronts compete with a grand hotel converted from a 19th-century plantation house, many downtown streets desperately needed paving. The main courthouse needed a new air conditioner, to replace one installed in the 1960s. The county jail was overcrowded. The poverty rate in Rapides hovers around 20 percent—average for Louisiana, but above the national rate.

As Kelly reviewed the request, he pulled previous records and found that something had changed in the DA’s budget. Over the past three years, the DA’s intake from court fines had dropped from $900,000 to about $500,000 in 2017. According to Kelly’s calculations, the number of traffic tickets issued—the DA office’s primary source of fine income—had also dropped, from an average of 12,000 per year to 7,000. Kelly found it curious that the DA’s office was requesting so much money from the parish, while seemingly cutting down on one of its main money sources.

And there were signs that the DA’s office, despite its big ask, wasn’t short on cash: It had a fleet of new cars with leather seats. Kelly went through old state audits and other public information, and came to the conclusion that Terrell’s office was bringing in plenty of money but keeping it for itself.

He was right. Under Terrell, the DA’s office, as shown by public documents, had ramped up its “pretrial diversion” program, also sometimes called “pretrial intervention,” or PTI. As the website for the Rapides Parish DA’s office explains, the program provides “nonviolent offenders an opportunity to avoid conviction and incarceration” through “tailored” agreements in which the offenders pay money in exchange for their charges being dropped and their cases dismissed. In the program’s simplest form, instead of receiving and paying speeding tickets, offenders were paying feesnotto get tickets. And those fees were going directly to the DA’s office—whose websitefeatures a prominent MAKE A PAYMENT button.

Diversion programs, which exist in almost every state in the country, are a popular criminal-justice reform, often used to keep people accused of nonviolent crimes out of jail, and to prevent their cases from clogging the courts. In general, district attorneys can decide whether to offer diversion. In Rapides Parish, the program came with a twist: The district attorney also got to keep the money from those diversion fees. Typically, the fees go into a general parish fund, just like fines levied in a courtroom. Not in Rapides. Based on the records he had examined, Kellybelieved Terrell was diverting cases—which had the effect of depriving the parish of fine money—and keeping the fees for the DA’s office. As his department got more money, the parish got less.

In March 2018, the parish leadership and Kellyfiled a lawsuit against the DA’s office, asking a court to force the DA’s office to hand over some of its PTI proceeds. In 2017, according to the suit, Terrell’s office had brought in $2.2 million through PTI fees—more than 10 times what the previous DA had captured from diversion feesannually—by charging dismissal fees that ran from about $250 for traffic tickets, $500 for misdemeanors and $1,200 to $1,500 for felonies. Those rates were substantially higher than those of the previous district attorney, according to Kelly. Documents released by the DA’s office indicate that the money Terrell was pulling in from pretrial diversion was used for conference fees, postage, office supplies, computers, as well as “capital outlay” andalmost $90,000 for unspecified “fringe” expenditures. Kelly, who ran the parish’s general budget, was on the hook for the courthouse’s failing A/C.

Terrell’s office and his attorney did not respond to requests for comment for this article. But the DA made his position clear in a monthslong fight with the police jury. A former local judge and city prosecutor who was placed on probation shortly after his 2014 election (an employee of his had used client funds to pay her bills), Terrell argued to the police jury that he could make as much as he wanted through PTI because the law didn’t say otherwise. In a deposition related to the court proceedings, Terrell also said his office needed the money: It was “woefully underfunded to accomplish our mission.”

As his lawyer, Terrell hired Hugo Holland, a tough-on-crime prosecutor who loves the Confederacy, his hunting dogs and Lee Harvey Oswald. According to local news reports, Holland had threatened the police jury members with investigations into their own use of funds if they did not agree to drop their feud with Terrell. When that didn’t work, Terrell filed a countersuit, arguing that the DA’s office did not owe any money to the police jury. Terrell’s office referred to the police jury’s lawsuit in court papers as “politically driven.”

This lawsuit in central Louisiana might appear to be a local skirmish, but its trajectory tells a bigger story. Nationwide, pretrial diversion has come under fire for hurting the poor, who can’t always afford to pay their way out of their charges; there also have been reports of politically connected individuals receiving more lenient diversion offers in Alabama, Louisiana and elsewhere. But what becomes clear from the court documents in the Rapides Parish case and from interviews with people in the parish, as well as documentation about PTI programs that Louisiana district attorneys filed with the state Supreme Court, is that diversion comes with another, less-recognized risk: It can operate in a gray legal area that gives DAs a chance to siphon money from the budgets of often cash-strapped local governments.

In Louisiana, the problem is exacerbated by the fact that the state is one of a few thatdoesn’t directly fund most criminal court operations—meaning parish court systems, including public defenders’ offices, depend heavilyon the kinds of fees and fines that Terrell’s office was cutting down on in favor of diversion. The state’s public defendersare already chronically underfunded, to the point that some have refused to take on new cases. (The Rapides public defender, Deirdre Fuller, did not return requests for comment.)

Rapides is just one example of many in Louisiana in whichelected DAs seem to have enriched their offices through PTI.But it is an important one: The dueling lawsuits between the parish jury and the DA have raised the question of how far DAs can go in using diversion and who has the authority to set stricter rules around it.

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Over the past quarter-century,advocates, community leaders and elected officials on both sides of the political aisle have embraced pretrial diversion as a way to reduce the burden of the criminal justice system on both budgets and people. In jurisdictions where it is adopted,diversion allows people accused of generally nonviolent crimes like traffic violations, bounced checks and shoplifting to stay out of the court system and keep their records clean, instead agreeing to pay a fine, take a class or complete other requirements.

Diversion has gradually become more common. In 1977, there were an estimated 200 diversion programs in the United States. By 2010, there were 298 such programs in 45 states, according to the Center for Prison Reform, a lobbying group. And as of 2017, according to the National Conference of State Legislators, 48 states and the District of Columbia offered some form of pretrial diversion.

The National Association of Pretrial Services Agencies, which promotes pretrial services reform, sets forth best practices for diversion programs, which include ensuring that a program’s requirements relate to the “root cause” of the crime and are voluntary. The group also says diversion “should not be denied on the basis of inability to pay,” and recommends creating a sliding scale of fees for people who have trouble paying. But there are no enforceable national standards for diversion, and programs can vary widely from jurisdiction to jurisdiction. Some are run by private, for-profit corporations; others, by prosecutors and judges. Some cater to drug offenders or veterans. Almost every diversion program requires a fee.

According to Fair and Just Prosecution, a nonprofit advocating for more progressive district attorneys, diversion programs are one of the core tenets of better prosecution; such programs “conserve resources, reduce reoffending, and diminish the collateral harms of criminal prosecution,” as a recent report by the group put it. But despite diversion success stories across the country, the programs have also been trailed by criticism that they open the door for abuse—especially when, as in Louisiana,thedecisions about whether and how to charge individuals for crimes or offer diversion are left to the sole discretion of prosecutors.

As the practice has become more common, reports have found that the conditions of diversion—such as mandated attendance at Alcoholics Anonymous meetings or weekly drug testing—can be onerous and that failure to comply can be costly. In Alabama, for example, where pretrial diversion has increased dramatically in recent years, people who have been admitted to diversion programs but are unable to make payments have been forced to plead guilty without trialand faced lengthy prison terms.

In places like Louisiana—where tax revenue is low, and criminal justice services are funded through fines and fees like those collected from diversion, as opposed to funding from the state—the incentive to milk diversion for cash increases. By creating their own diversion programs, prosecutors can exercise control over the funding without sharing the money they bring in with other county entities. In places where money is hard to come by, each part of the criminal justice system views fees and fines as funding up for grabs.

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In recent years, even beforeBruce Kelly started looking into the Rapides books, public defenders and court clerks in Louisiana had begun to notice that money from traffic tickets, the primary source of funding for public defenders in Louisiana, was going to prosecutors’ offices at higher rates, according to Louisiana’s state public defender, Jay Dixon. In many Louisiana parishes, the number of traffic tickets issued has dropped, while there has been an increase in traffic diversion, by which drivers pay the DA’s office to avoid any record of a violation.

According to the Louisiana legislative auditor, an agency that tracks fiscal responsibility in the state, in 2014 the use of traffic diversion resulted in the loss of $1 million statewide that ordinarily would have gone to general court funds, including for public defenders. That same year,parish DA offices in Louisiana were getting 30 to 50 percent of their revenue from diversion fees, an increase from previous years, according to the legislative auditor. The auditor also found widespreadirregularities in how prosecutors were recording profits and spending.

By 2018, these findings had prompted Louisiana Chief Justice Bernette Johnson—the first black Supreme Court justice in the state—to send a letter to all Louisiana prosecutors asking them to report their income from PTI to the research arm of the state Supreme Court. (Not every DA’s office had participated in the legislative auditor’s earlier study.) The Louisiana District Attorneys Association initially resisted the data collection, saying it would be too time-consuming and expensive. But Johnson, whose office declined to comment for this article beyond referring to her letter, shot back in an April 2018 speech: “Is it financially prudent and morally responsible to fund a co-equal branch of government on the backs of a few who are often the poorest and least fortunate members of our society?” In response, DA offices across the state have been filing information to the court.

Although they remain incomplete, these filings provide some insights into how Louisiana’s DAs are using diversion, with plenty of variation across the state. Some charge thousands of dollars in fees; others allow participants to pay in installments over the course of two years. In St. Tammany Parish, north of New Orleans, a DWI dismissal costs $2,100 in total; in East Baton Rouge, a dismissal of the same charge costs$1,000. In some places, PTI isn’t available at all. One part-time public defender in Rapides also told me that, in his experience, white defendants had an easier time getting diversion than black defendants. Some DA offices report relatively little income; DA offices at the upper end, like Terrell’s, are making more than $2 million per year.(The DA in the state capital, Baton Rouge, which is almost twice the size of Rapides, makes about $1.3 million per year.)

Among critics of diversion in the state, particular attention has focused on a programcalled Local Agency Compensated Enforcement. Since the 1980s, LACE has allowed DAs and some municipal governments to pay off-duty deputies to conduct additional traffic enforcement, writing tickets that cost about $200 each, are payable direct to the DA’s office and do not end up on the payee’s record—nothing is ever filed in court. The stated purpose of the program is to enforce driving rules. But these same tickets, if adjudicated in court, would bring only $20 apiece to the DA’s office, with the remaining $180 going to the criminal court fund. A LACE ticket allows the DA to capture the entire $200. Many DAs—including Terrell in Rapides—make most of their money from LACE, according to documents filed with the Louisiana Supreme Court.

According to a 2018 report by the Louisiana legislative auditor, District Attorney Gary Evans of DeSoto Parish in the northwestern part of the state, entered 3,629 drivers into pretrial diversion through LACE over the course of one yearand caused other agencies in the parish to forfeit $1.07 million. The auditor also noted “deficiencies in record keeping, receipts, refunds issues and custody of payments received.” Evans entered into an agreement to pay the parish public defender a cut of PTI revenue—$45 for each diverted ticket. When the scheme was questioned on appeal, a trial court held, and upper courts affirmed, that it was unconstitutional and a conflict of interest for prosecutors to pay public defenders.

Last year, the Southern Poverty Law Center filed a complaint about LACE with the Louisiana Ethics Administration Program, which investigates ethics complaints against government entities, alleging that prosecutors were violating their ethical duties by extracting money from people on purpose. In the complaint, one DA is in fact quoted as saying that district attorneys created the “industry” of diversion because “we just weren’t making … money.”Dixon, who once received a LACE ticket himself, inspiring some local media coverage, agrees: “Paying folks extra to harass motorists is disgusting.” A few parishes have since pulled out of the program.

Local news outlets have reported on other forms of corruption in Louisiana’s diversion programs—from a DA in St. Tammany who allegedly awarded PTI on the basis of political ties to one in St. Charles who admitted to sexual contact with multiple women to whom he had offered diversion. In some parts of the state, including New Orleans, diversion programs have been implemented with better compliance and less profiteering.

Overall, while the final results of the state Supreme Court audit are not yet public, there is a growing sense among advocates, judges and defense attorneys that PTI programs in Louisiana are due for structure and limits. This comes on the heels of a number of justice reforms in the state in 2017—including efforts to reduce prison populations and shorten sentences—that have helped to move Louisiana from the country’s most-incarcerated state to its second.

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The lawsuits in Rapides Parishraised—but ultimately failed to resolve—the key question that will determine the future of prosecutor-led PTI in Louisiana: Should there be limits on how much a DA can make from diversion?

The local trial court judge who first took up the Rapides lawsuit ruled simply that the DA’s office was permitted to collect and use PTI funds as it wished—even as he expressed hesitation, calling for the state Legislature to “investigate the question of what kind of fees are reasonable.” By the time the case had reached an appellate court, both parties were suing each other over who was reasonably entitled to what money.

Last fall, I attended the appellate arguments at Louisiana’s 3rd Circuit Court of Appeals, where both the police jury and Terrell’s office presented their legal arguments. Most members of the police jury were there, along with Terrell and the lead attorney for the LDAA, E. Pete Adams (who drives a car with a vanity license plate “LDAA 1”).

One member of the three-judge panel suggested that the entire lawsuit might be irrelevantbecause some reformers “are saying that pay-for-play is illegal overall,” implying that prosecutor-led PTI programs like Terrell’s might eventually become illegal. The judges all asked questions about alternatives to PTI that would have the same impact on participants without generating income for DAs. They seemed skeptical of the claim that Terrell could run “100 diversion programs” if he wanted to, as Adams had phrased it. Adams also argued that “thousands of lives are saved” by PTI, while Jimmy Faircloth, the lawyer representing the police jury, called it an “end-run around the court filing process.”

When the arguments were over, the judges urged the parties to settle. “Consider how this looks to the public,” one judge said, prognosticating that if no agreement were reached, the entire issue might be resolved by federal courts—which could decide to put an end PTI altogether, or at least fee-based versions. The 3rd Circuit said it would issue an opinion on the Rapides lawsuit two to three weeks after the oral argument, but none was issued before the two parties, after heeding the judges’ words, resolved the case out of court in November.

Terrell and the police juryannounced as part of the settlement that Terrell had agreed to a 10 percent cut in his personal salary, as well as salary cuts for all assistant district attorneys, keeping the office’s operating expenses within the budget set by the police jury. He also agreed to adhere to new LDAA guidelines, released just before the case settled, advising DAs to limit diversion profits to “reasonable expenses.” Kelly, over the phone, said he wondered “what ‘reasonable’ means” and seemed dubious the change would be effective. Adams told me via email that the guidelines were implemented in February and are still in effect. He did not comment on the Rapides case other than to say it was “settled and dismissed.”

Faircloth toldTown Talk, an Alexandria-based newspaper, that the collection of changes in Rapides “more fairly allocates the revenue and expenses of [the DA’s] office.” But Kelly told me he doesn’t think the settlement was very productive—the DA isn’t planning to give any money back to the police jury—and he is now concerned about the salaries and benefits of the prosecutor’s employees. “I still gotta walk the hallways,” he said.

Because there was no decision in the case, the issue of how much money PTI programs like Terrell’s can bring in remains unsettled. The judges indicated that the state Legislature should be responsible for enacting PTI regulations; Kelly agrees. But no legislative fixes have emerged at the state level. Meanwhile, in 2019, Louisiana cut its annual state budget for public defenders by 83 percent.

Although the state Supreme Court’s PTI audit is still ongoing, in April, the court issued a series of draft reports with suggested best practices for PTI accounting and ways to decrease the intake of fines and fees generally. One of the recommendations was to “cap the percentage of revenue that municipalities, towns and other locations can derive from traffic enforcement.” The report also strongly suggested that law enforcement should not be linked to revenue.

Other states besides Louisiana are grappling with how to make their PTI programs fairer.Civil Rights Corps, an advocacy group focusing on reducing the impact of the criminal justice system on the poor, has brought a lawsuit against the district attorney of Maricopa County, Arizona, Bill Montgomery, alleging that his pretrial diversion for marijuana arrests requires people to pay $1,000 for treatment at a private facility from which Montgomery’s office receives $650 per person. The group’s complaint states that “between 2010 and 2016 MCAO collected nearly $15 million in revenue” from diversion. Montgomery called the claims “ill-informed and misguided.”

Dixon, the Louisiana state public defender, is sympathetic to public defenders who have made deals with DAs to receive a portion of the PTI money, given how cash-strapped the criminal justice system is in Louisiana. And while he thinks too much money is “being bled from the system” to DAs, he says, “There’s a pretrial diversion that’s worthwhile.”

Still, for some advocates, it’s hard to shed the sense that a defendant offered diversion is “paying off” an arrest—to the benefit of a DA.

“The justice system serves everyone and protects everyone’s public safety,” Lisa Foster, co-director of the Fines and Fees Justice Center, a nonprofit advocacy group, told me. That, she says, should hold true for diversion, too.

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