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beinglibertarian · 6 years

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Civilized Society: On the Death of Civility

One of the most influential questions I’ve ever encountered came not from a great philosopher or writer, nor from any inspiring conversation or work. Rather it came from a black comedy at the end of a rant about people throwing used tampons at each other and ripping on American Idol.

The movie (and I highly suggested giving it a watch) was called “God Bless America” and was a story of a man who decided to address the idiocy and (un)culture of the U.S. Of A.

The question: “Why have a civilization if we are no longer interested in being civilized?”

The weight of that question has stayed with me for many years. In all aspects of our lives, we see a continuous shift towards not just tolerating but accepting and rejoicing at the de-evolution of our moral and normative standards.

Before this gets misinterpreted, I am not attempting to start the “objective/subjective” morality debate. Rather I want to touch on this trend, the damage it has and will continue to do, and its effects on not just discourse but human interaction at large.

For the purposes of this piece, I feel that I need to define what I mean by “civilized” in this context.

I am referring here to a standard. A level of culture, of self-betterment, and of social advancement. I am referring to refinement, tact, principles, and all of the other things we have allowed to be eroded from our social norms. The very things that made us as advanced as we are as a civilization are the things that we are allowing to disappear, and it’s primarily due to either apathy, intellectual laziness, or the false belief that these cornerstones of our society are mere relics compared to our own decay.

Make Politics Civilized Again

When we talk about politics we usually end up discussing how terrible one politician is compared to another (which I’ll touch on later). Worse still is attempting to engage with people themselves. Moreso than our politicians, people in general need to be more civilized when discussing these topics.

God forbid one disagrees with someone these days! Outline the belief in an opposed idea and you will be beset by the tribalistic howler monkeys hungry for the flesh of the heretic.

To many, it has become as if the mere existence of opposition is equal to a personal affront or attack.

If one believes or is thinking something different than the hive they are implying that the other is somehow mentally deficient.

Everything gets couched in false dichotomies of us/them, yes/no, right/wrong, all when the world of political ideologies are far more convoluted and nuanced than that. I may disagree with someone’s views on a topic like gun control, but that doesn’t mean that that alone is justification for me to start screeching “Statist!” the second someone suggests some form of restrictions. Just the same I would hope that my opposition wouldn’t immediately jump into saying I support the deaths of children or some other absurdity simply because my stance remains unchanged after a school shooting.

The purpose of debate and civil discourse is to present and challenge ideas; not to pontificate and organize pissing contests.

I find it odd that people will demand to have their voices heard, then squander the opportunities to shift hearts and minds to their cause through empty vulgarities.

Despite millennia of evolution, we still allow ourselves to be put into the little boxes of our self-designed tribes. Even those of us who preach for individualism can be found guilty of this.

Not all is lost here though. I’ve found that much of it lies in approach. If one approaches a discussion from a good faith position with a true willingness to objectively debate and review ideas you will eventually find those on the opposition that are the same. Even the ones that aren’t can eventually be swung into a proper discussion with the right levels of tact and respect.

Obviously, there will be those that are simply there to screech, but that doesn’t grant a license to debase one’s self and do the same. Ideologies can and ought to be discussed on an ideological level. Any lower and one may as well not speak at all.

The Death of Nuance

By and large, this might be the biggest contributing factor to the issues spelled out above and below.

Even those that maintain the ability to discuss, debate and create tend to have lost this necessary skill. The ability to understand and look for the nuance in things.

We design things around simplicity rather than quality. Whether it’s our political arguments or our art, we are constantly aiming to accomplish some form of streamlining that in turn means the frills need to be trimmed.

Arguments are reduced to dichotomies and art reduced to the most easily packaged thing. We see this with our politics especially. We will ignore the nuances of arguments that have vastly different implications because they are outside of our tribes.

There is a massive difference between saying “I’m against the existence of unions” and saying “I’m against government empowerment of unions.” Supporters of unions will treat these as the same thing, even if the latter statement came from a supporter of unions themselves, or if the opposition is some form of left-libertarian. Logical consistency and honest review of the details of their opponent’s arguments are thrown aside for the sake of their tribe.

As I mentioned above, we try to reduce all things into “yes/no” categories and trap ourselves within them. This does far more harm than simply amputating the civilized tones political discourse once held. It also kills our ability to think outside of these dichotomies.

If what one has to say can’t be reduced to a tautology or syllogism then it isn’t worth hearing in the eyes of our generation of pundits and keyboard warriors. As a society, we have stopped our exploration of philosophy and the arts and moved into a phase of rearrangement. We no longer strive to make something wholly new, but simply remix and argue over what has already come before us.

Most of our media and ideas are not our own anymore. They are remixes of ideas and arguments from before.

While it is worth understanding and appreciating what came before us, we should strive to move past it. We should strive to improve rather than regurgitate the ideas that came before us. We should take the time to learn the subtleties of what we engage ourselves in. I brought it up in one of my podcast episodes where I talked about the human habit of overcomplication, yet I am equally astounded by the amounts of those complications and nuances that we add to our interests that we then summarily ignore.

We will spend all of this time debating philosophy, politics and economics, but we won’t take an equal amount of time to review the basis for the arguments our opponents use, or in some cases ourselves. Instead, we will defer to the basics of what we encounter and fight from there.

In art, we will accept a lower quality of music lyrically because we’ve reduced our listening experience to the beat. We examine our world from generalizations rather than attempting to view things as a whole. We discard the whole once we’ve decided what is in front of us. There are some out there reading this that likely saw the repetition of the word “we” and got their backs up. It should be easily understood that the usage of the word here is in a generalized form and thus should receive no contention from those this critique doesn’t apply to. The fact that this likely needs to be explained further illustrates my point.

“It’s Art”

It is saddening when people say this in defense of baseless vulgarity or unoriginal pieces of “art.”

Through the postmodernist lens, we’ve come to accept anything as art so long as it was made in expression of whatever the “artist” whips up as a reason after the fact.

While some pieces can indeed be interesting, on the whole, much of the talent the art world use to hold has been replaced with expression for the sake of expression; no actual skill required. We’ve turned the study of the aesthetic into a scatological field.

The truest shame of this is the amount of true talent that gets passed over in place of these works of “art.” The amount of technical skill and artistic vision that likely went into your phone’s background or those random “cool art” Facebook page posts you’ve seen massively outweighs anything I’ve seen from the “performance art” crowd in recent years.

Outside of the regular talentless hacks that throw the term “avant-garde” around like they actually know what it means, there’s the overpackaged side of this decline as well.

Now it needs to be stated first: I understand that most television, movies, and pop hits aren’t designed to be masterwork expressions of the craft. They’re designed to be popular. The problem is twofold here.

First, we are a very systematic species. We’ve devoted thousands of man hours and resources into the study of what makes certain music or shows popular and reduced these fields to a science rather than the art it ought to be.

Not every TV show needs to be some high-level journey of wonderment, but at least they could stop redoing the Three’s Company formula every time they need a new hit. Even some of the better works that have come out in recent years like Game of Thrones or Breaking Bad, while refreshing, ended up doing little more than creating a new system for companies to flood the market with.

With every repetition of the model, it becomes weaker and more deformed.

Pop music has always suffered this, but the emphasis on it has eroded the usefulness of the media form.

Even older pop hits still had to reach a certain level of quality before we would begin to eat it up. Instead of keeping up with that trend, we’re fed things that are scientifically designed to be appealing; rather than being appealing on its own artistic merits.

Luckily there are definitely acts out there that bring that higher level of quality, but sadly they simply aren’t as big or on the same level of reach as the cookie-cutter ensembles that I’m referring to.

I’m not suggesting we need to go back to some idyllic civilized high society that only listens to classical and jazz (though I wouldn’t really oppose that either), but rather that we pay more attention to the art we consume and demand more than a catchy tune with an appropriate level of compression.

The Pursuit of Knowledge

As of the beginning of this sentence, this article was already at 1795 words. For most of those that read web articles, I’m already over the average attention span by about 1000 words.

Even in libertarian circles, there are tons of people that will fight you to the death on an economic or philosophical concept, yet they’ve never read the source material these ideas came from.

They’ll have gotten their arguments from watching others debate online or by parroting whichever YouTuber they happen to follow.

They’ll attack commies for their ideological views, but have never picked up a copy of anything by Proudhon, Marx, or Kropotkin. This isn’t a libertarian issue alone though as those same commies are just as likely to have never read the material either.

We’ve bred a social order that values the products of knowledge, but not it’s acquisition. Sure, we push our youth to run off and get their degrees, but we do that for the sake of them gaining better employment rather than to actually learn.

Shows like “Are you smarter than a 5th grader” are only possible in a society where we treat the civilized pursuit of knowledge as a means rather than an end in and of itself.

Even when we do pursue knowledge, we aim for summaries. In order to stand for something one first needs the legs that true knowledge grants you. After reading a single Wikipedia article or listicle people consider themselves educated enough to discuss the finer points of Spinoza. And that’s if they even read non-fiction to begin with.

The average person reportedly reads twelve books per year, though this is largely believed to be inflated with the actual average closer to four. This is out of the nearly one million books published every year. Obviously, it would be physically impossible to read that much per year, but even when we do read the quality is suspect.

Look at the explosion of YA novels. Most of it is average, slightly above dime store level tropes repackaged in slightly different arrangements. These sell millions of copies and get turned into blockbuster movies.

Even “Adult” (no, not that kind) novels tend to follow the same path of repetitive swill. The bulk of the variety ends up coming from the types of characters rather than the plot itself, or the authors will predictably try to over M. Night Shyamalan their works with more twists than a 50‘s sock hop.

All of this may sound like some form of intellectual elitism, but rather it is a call for standards. We can enjoy the odd bit of trite every once in a while (one of my favorite films is still “The Room”), however, we cannot sustain ourselves on it.

Civilization and culture around the world has been built on the backs of the thinkers and the dreamers. If we only feed our brains garbage then we will produce the same. To make society more civilized we need to start by making ourselves more informed and demand of others and ourselves the higher standards that would grant us.

Psuedos: A Cancer on Culture

In listing all of this I feel it is important to list the worst offenders of those that erode all that is civilized: Psuedo-intellectuals.

These are the types that list their IQ and pedigree within the first 5 facts you learn about them. They learned all they need to know about being successful from reading 7 habits of successful people and a handful of Malcolm Gladwell books. They took not one, but two CrossFit classes and are ready to become personal trainers and dietitians. They are plebs in Armani.

The reason I think they are contributing to the uncivilized trend that we have been experiencing is that they steal the limelight from real thinkers in the name of egotistical desire.

They speak less for the purposes of sharing any real knowledge they might, by chance, have gathered, but solely to express that they are the ones that know it. They are not agents of enlightenment, but rather of sophistry.

They make compelling arguments completely devoid of any nuance that could show true thought behind their ideas, and become excessively defensive should their supposed superiority be questioned.

They’re willing to show how civilized they are in a discussion right up until any of their ideas are challenged. In their eyes, to challenge them is to say they are wrong which is tantamount to blasphemy.

Their involvement in a conversation sullies it, which in turn turns people away from engaging in the material at all.

Worst still, it can lead to people quietly settling into their little tribes on the topic.

A true thinker should want people to engage in their material. Critiques help people hone their ideas, add to their knowledge base, and offer perspectives that may previously have been unconsidered. A Psuedo-intellectual wants none of that.

The Psuedo just wants to be right from the start, and acknowledged for it. Most painfully, they are likely to self-victimize. They will claim they argue purely from facts and reasoning, but they will also be offended on a personal level if they are sufficiently challenged.

Most commonly this results in pedantic commentary, condescending remarks and stances, and a transition of the discussion from the topic at hand to an emptier game of linguistics. If one dares stoop to their level they’ll immediately decry that they’re being attacked and turn the discussion towards tone and words to gain some level of superiority out of the exchange.

This erodes not only civilized and intellectually honest discussion, but also the foundations of knowledge in the public sphere. Discussion gets driven not by the wisest voices, but rather the loudest.

I think the best example of this committed to film was in the movie “Good Will Hunting.” In the famous bar scene where the pretentious grad student attempts to browbeat Ben Afflick’s character solely for the purposes of browbeating him and making a spectacle. Matt Damon’s character (Will) comes forward and begins to pick him apart for the ideas stolen from entry-level books, generic stances, and walks him through what his academic and general future will encompass being that way.

He quotes the authors he’s stealing from (and even the damn page number), and generally summarizes all of the issues with this breed of person; all through a thick Boston accent.

I highlight this scene because it perfectly encapsulates what I’m referring to. Unfettered pedantry by those that overvalue their own knowledge and capabilities.

Now, I’m not lacking in self-awareness to the degree to not notice that one might think the same of me for writing such a lengthy piece as this attacking all of these aspects of discussion and society as if I am somehow above it all.

I am the first to acknowledge if and when I slip up on the things listed here, and truly without pretense welcome it when others notice so that I can course correct and improve. Noticing these traits and taking the time to improve upon them is what separates us from those that are simply in it to put on a show. True learning and development start with a real hunger for the knowledge, and a humble willingness to be wrong.

Civilized Office Starts With Civility

Look at the news. Just look at it and weep. People have always gotten heated and thrown mud in the political arena, but it had generally been understood that there are levels to which one simply does not stoop.

As time progresses that notion has been eroded.

Even during the infamous Watergate fiasco, we could still see a level of civility in the commentary and discussions on Nixon’s actions, and what should follow. I doubt that reporters from most MSM outlets could sit down through an interview with Trump and remain as civilized yet to the point as Frost could.

Even amongst the general public, we’ve seen this shift. After Clinton and that little blue dress, the respect for the presidency as an office plummeted as seen with the open hostility towards Bush, the baseless attacks against Obama (which tended to ignore the large list of factual reasons to criticize him), and the circus around this current presidency.

I welcome the reduction in the worship of the office as much as the next libertarian, however, I cannot support the lack of civilized discourse regarding it.

One doesn’t need to pretend these politicians are good people (generally they aren’t), but debasing one’s self for the sake of attacking them is unnecessary and pointlessly negative as well.

Civilized discourse is built around maintaining a level of decorum and mustering enough respect to effectively and fairly engage an opponent. As we remove our respect and decorum we also erode our expectations.

You don’t get a Trump (or a Hillary, or Bernie) in office if you actually demand a higher quality from these offices. While one may be on the anarchist side and against the existence of the offices themselves, that doesn’t mean we should treat the offices so poorly as to turn them into a joke. When we do that we don’t reduce the power these offices currently hold; we only reduce the quality of those who hold them.

Put another way, one can question the legitimacy of these offices and want them abolished, but simply treating them sloppily only results in lower quality people hold these positions of power, making them that much more dangerous. Conflating that these offices ought to be removed or reduced with the idea that they hold no power is a root cause of the continuous degrade in the quality of people that hold them.

Conclusion

This also needs to be said: I’m not dictating that we need to make these changes by force. That’s an important detail that is likely to be missed by some on first glance.

Cultural direction works the same as markets in the sense that changes only happen three ways. They happen by environmental factors (abundance of a resource in one area, natural disaster, etc), by the force of an interloper (such as the government), or by the sum of the actions of the individuals of society.

The environmental influence on civilized societies are mostly immutable (note: mostly), and, while there are those that attempt to enforce their cultural views via force and law (From the Puritans of old to the archetypical SJWs of today) I am attempting neither.

I write this in an attempt to get people on a different track and to change how the sum of our culture will look. Between these three factors, I personally will always bet on the individual as being the greatest genesis of change. It’s the individual I seek to showcase this to, and to engage. At the very least I hope this sparks a discussion and consideration of the points herein.

The Dalai Lama had a book titled “How to see yourself as you really are” that I think is apt to mention here. The book discusses the concept of self-knowledge, and removing the biases that attribute to both false negative and false positive interpretations of yourself.

The goal of the exercises and philosophy presented is to direct the reader towards being able to see the reality of themselves, and act accordingly rather than from empty pretenses they might have of themselves.

While I most definitely am nowhere near his levels of understanding or wisdom, my intentions here are the same.

It is my hope that those that read this will aim for more civilized heights than they had before, and will look for opportunities to improve the way we function.

I hope that you will self-reflect and take something away from all of this. It is my hope that we can answer the question of whether to have a civilization anymore with a resounding yes, but that will only be possible if we as individuals are willing to fulfill our parts.

* Killian Hobbs is a writer for Think Liberty.

The post Civilized Society: On the Death of Civility appeared first on Being Libertarian.

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jetfuel-cantmeltsteelbeams · 7 years

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Disney Christmas 2k17

Timeline: New Court

Location: The Four Seasons, Orlando Florida

Characters: Braxis Draekmol, Amelie Smithe-Nightengale, Balthazar Draekmol Smithe-Nightengale, // Astor Smithe-Nightengale, Béla Király // Jaxon Mile, Nicolette Blythe-Demmekke, Astraea Demmekke, Alexei Demmekke // Talyn Blythe-Demmekke, Alastyr Delle // Ashlae Summers, Casimir Luce, Logan // Mattea Cross, Luna Luce

Song Used: King Kunta by Kendrick Lamar

Summary: Braxis has just enough time to hide Amelie’s ring before meeting his newest challenge yet // Astor tries to draw a few laughs out of her warrior with a little singing and dancing // Jaxon returns to their hotel suite after a training session to find his beautiful wife taking a nap with her little cousins // Talyn and Alas find a middle ground to finally learn about each other // Ashlae sets up her gear and settles in with some bad news from her devices while watching Casimir // Mattea struggles with Evryn’s infidelity as she shops with Luna and Nicolette on the strip.

Day One

Braxis Draekmol stood in front of the fancy bathroom mirror, towel drying his black hair as he stared at the little black box on the counter. He’d picked it up weeks ago, before all this shit had hit the fan. Ever since, he’d kept it hidden at the bottom of his bags, wrapped and hidden deep in his spare pair of boots just in case his little painter decided to unpack for him.

Amelie had just about been snatched from their room upon arrival by her sisters, leaving the dragon to fend for himself in the large, luxury suite. He’d known that the queens had money, had his own small fortune squired away between mortal bank accounts, but this type of fugle spending, he was still getting used to. Amelie chalked it up to something about dragons and their need to hoard, but he brushed it off due to her fantastic ass.

Setting aside the damp towel, he reached for a pair of fresh boxers and drug them up his hips, unable to ignore the box that seemed to stare him down. What to do, what to do…

“Bray?”

With a soft curse, the dragon snatched up the offending box, clutching it as if she could see through walls. He could hear her heels on the wood floors as she searched through the rooms for him, getting closer to the bathroom.

“Yeah- one second.” Scowling, he scoured the room for a place to stash the ring, anywhere she wouldn’t look.

Her voice called from just outside the bathroom door. “Bray, come look! I got us a present- you’re gonna love it!”

“Shit,” he cursed on a breath. He’d brought the box with him into the bathroom for his shower, afraid she’d get back and unpack before he was finished. Now he was trapped with the damn thing unless he could find-

On the counter, a small array of hand towels arranged in swans sat in the corner. It took a second to find one big enough to stow the box in, but if he set the others in front, it wasn’t too noticeable.

Satisfied at the temporary fix, he loosed a breath before opening the door to find his beautiful brunette holding what looked to be a small white handbag.

“What did you get, little love?”

Her grin stunned him, even after all this time. The way it split her face, narrowing her blue eyes- his chest tightened at the sight.

Until her arms came out, and she was holding the bag right in front of his face. A tickle began at the back of his throat almost immediately, and the dragon frowned a second before turning away to sneeze.

Once.

Twice.

“His name is Balthazar and I love him.”

And when he turned back, brows furrowed as he tried to piece together her words, a small pink dot appeared seconds before the white bag leaned forward and licked his nose.

As he focused, he realized that it wasn’t a bag at all, but a small, fluffy, canine.

Black eyes- eyes that were beginning to itch with irritation- narrowed on the queen before him. “No.”

Her smile turned into a pretty pout at the word. She clutched the dog to her chest, petting its head- or what he assumed to be it’s head. It’s body was one puff of white fur. “Love, do they even allow dogs in here?”

That beautiful, glossed bottom lip extended even more as she answered. “They let Astor in, didn’t they? Oh Bray, he’s so cute and I love him and I know you’ll be best friends-”

“I’m allergic to dogs.”

“No you’re not.”

“I can literally feel the hives forming.”

“They make ointment for that.”

“I’ll eat him.“

“You wouldn’t dare.“

“Amelie.“ “Braxis.“

“No.”

“Yes.”

By the first dragons, he was going to have to live with this creature.

“Oh, I got a bone to pick. I don’t want you money mouth motherfuckers sittin’ in my throne again!” Astor Smithe bounced her ass in time to the beat of the music she had turned up to a staggering volume. Dressed in one of her warrior’s t-shirts and panties, her face reflected the lyrics she sang.

“Bitch where you when I was walkin’? Now I run the game, got the whole world talkin’, King Kunta.” Out of the corner of her eyes, she spotted her Berserker in the doorway, resting a shoulder against the frame as he watched her with amusement dancing in those hazel eyes. Turning, she pointed at the tall Hungarian as she sang along. “Everybody wanna cut the leg off him, Kunta. Black man takin’ no losses. Bitch where you when I was walkin’?” Barefoot, she made her way over to him, bringing herself to the middle of the front room from the bed. “Now I run the game, got the whole world talkin’. King Kunta.”

Her hair fell in waves down to her waist, messy from the quick blow out she’d done after her shower. “When you got the yams- what’s the yams?” Her voice turned up as she sang both parts, throwing her eyes to the ceiling while twisting her face in an innocent, vapid expression. “The yam is the power that be.” Snatching up a shirt she’d discarded over an armchair, she tossed it in the direction of her warrior, letting it fall on the floor at his feet. “You can smell it when I’m walkin’ down the street!”

Her lips exploded in a dazzling grin. Reaching for his hand, she pulled him further into the room, encouraging him to dance with her along to the beat. “Most of y’all sharing bars like you got the bottom bunk in a two man cell.” Pinching her nose, she pretended to be a diver. “Something’s in the water- something’s in the water.” Tapping her chin, she smiled up at him. “And if I got a brown nose for some gold then I’d rather be a bum than a motherfuckin’ baller.”

Jaxon Mile released a breath as he walked down the hotel hallway, fishing the keycard to their rooms out of his joggers. He’d spent the past few hours in the private workout rooms, finally working off the urge to pound away at a bag that he’d felt for days now. He stripped off the gear Ashlae had gifted him to help track his training progress, excited to see the results on his tablet inside.

1145. He slipped the card in, pushing the door open once the light turned green. He frowned as he shut it behind him, taking note of the dim rooms and silence-

Not silence; a soft snore called to him, familiar as the rhythm of his own heartbeat. Satisfaction warmed his chest as he made his way quietly through the rooms until he found it’s source.

In the giant white bed, she’d pulled the covers down halfway. Her black mane had been pulled into a messy bun, as if thrown up in an afterthought before passing out. He could make out her grey tank top, an arm outstretched to lay over the two smaller forms curled up beside her. Astraea hadn’t even been changed from her dress, her face pressed into Nicolette’s chest with her brother sprawled spread eagle on his back, two loose fist laying on the pillow.

Jaxon’s hand came up to rub at the ache in his chest as he watched them doze, amazed at the things that brought him comfort these days. He’d never known his wife to take naps, but the midday exhaustion these days barely kept her from falling out around noon.

This vacation was good for her, good for them all. He made his way to the side of the bed, reaching out to brush a stray lock from her cheek.

Her chest rose, and his wife turned to flicker her lashes up at him. “Jake?”

“I’m here,” he whispered through a smile. “Go back to sleep. I’m going to wash off.”

Her reply was lost to the grogginess, and in seconds she was out once again.

Talyn Demmekke reclined on the patio chair, fully engrossed in the book splayed in his lap. He’d changed as soon as they left for their rooms, exchanging his jeans and t-shirt for a black tank top and grey sweats. On the table beside him, a bowl with herbs smoldered beside a stack of tombs he intended to read. The prince was fully relaxed amongst familiar smells and sights, happy to be left alone with his books for company.

And just when he thought this vacation was exactly what he needed to release some tension in his mind and soul, the double doors to his private patio crept open.

As soon as he glanced up from the page, the tiny redhead was frowning down at him. “Is this how you have fun?”

Talyn’s cheeks flushed red, as they always did when she was around. His child bride, his little mate. Sometimes he even envied his twin, who’s emotionless demoness was barely speaking to him these days. At least Evryn didn’t have to deal with a decade long age gap with his mate- just a moral one.

“I...” He cleared his throat before shutting the book in his lap, marking the page with his finger. “Yes?”

Alas shifted her stance, twisting to read the title over his shoulder. Riotous, red curls fell in his face, and the prince struggled to mask how her scent affected him by shifting the tomb in his lap. “The Art of War, by Sun Tzu.” She read the words slow, like a child that was still learning their pronunciation.

Which, he figured, she was. “It’s a collection of military strategies, written over generations of Chinese war generals.”

She frowned, fixing him with those eerie, mismatched eyes. “Why do you read it?” she asked.

He tried not to notice her low cut white top, or the slim curve to her waist, or the pale alabaster skin of her thighs where her shorts cut off, or those eyes that seemed to soak in everything they saw. So he watched her lips, which wasn’t much better than all the rest in taming the blush he was sure tinted his cheeks. “It’s… a good book.”

Her smile, hesitant and unsure as it was, sent his heart stampeding at an uneven rhythm. She took the seat of the patio chair beside his, hands folding in her lap as she waited.

Talyn’s brows rose. What was she waiting for?

Her smile faltered in the silence, as if second guessing herself. A pale, white hand came up to tuck a strand of fire behind one ear. “Will you tell me about it? I don’t know many things.”

The first lesson he’d learned upon entering the Brotherhood of Scholars; the first, and only true truth a man should speak was the admittance of uncertainty in all things. The quest for knowledge began at the crossroads of pride and ignorance; to pursue it meant forever taking the mindset of a student, foregoing arrogance in favor of humbly asking, always, why?

And so Talyn focused his eyes on the tomb in his lap, furrowing his brows as he called to mind what resided in the pages before him- then traveled to the true definition of war, and took a sideroad to the argument of defining justice. Which, of course, brought him back to his favorite philosophy debate; Socrates’ question ‘what is justice? How do we define it?’

Minutes had passed in silence before he realized she was still waiting for him to speak, and his mind had run away from him once again. “I’m sorry,” he offered on a nervous chuckle. “Do you want me to tell you about the book I’m reading?”

Alas shrugged, a very un-princess like gesture. Her own cheeks heated as she stammered a reply. “I… don’t know many things. My brother has teached me so much, but-”

“Taught.”

She frowned, cheeks burning from a pale pink to a bright auburn rose. “Taught. My brother has taught me so much.”

Talyn smiled, giving her a look of encouragement before setting the book on the pile he’d stacked by the table. “What is one of your favorite things?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. This was beginning to feel a bit easier, he realized.

Her eyes lit up, the colors of green and blue nearly shocking him silent as she spoke. “I like the sky very much.”

“Then we’ll talk about astrology.”

Ashlae Summers turned in place, arms locked around the somber toddler on her hip as she glanced back at the shopping proposal Nicolette shouted to her pink headed mate. Luna looked unsure, worrying her bottom lip as she debated on giving her sister an answer.

“Ash will watch Cas while we shop, Luna, won’t you? We’ll pick you up a dress while we’re out- you don’t like all that hassle anyway. We’ll take care of it for you.”

Nicolette had a point- Ashlae hated clothes shopping when it came to fashion versus comfort. Apparently her opinion was always wrong in the eyes of the queens. ‘No, you can’t wear a hoodie and jeans to a ball’ had been thrown in her face too many times for the hacker to really care what went on her body, just as long as it covered the essentials.

Giving Casimir a soft bounce to get him higher on her hip, the caramelatte nodded once and even meet her partner’s concerned gaze. Fighting down the fury that rose, Ashlae told Luna, “I’ve got him- he needs a nap anyway.”

Relief lit the Hell Queen’s features, and though she hated it, she added, “Something comfortable, please. And dark colors- don’t put me in yellow again or I’ll shred your ball gowns soon as we get back.”

1152. “I think this is our room, Cas,” she murmured to the toddler babbling softly in her ear as she fished in her deep pockets for the key card. The plastic revolted her- she knew first hand how easy it was to break through the security with nothing more than a well placed scanner and some patience.

The light flashed red to green, and Ashlae let out a soft gasp at the room laid out before her. Luxury upon luxury- something she could truly appreciate, given the hovels she’d spent the better part of her adult life hiding in.

Soon as she closed the door behind her, she flicked the latch to slide the bolt home. “Wanna play with Logan, Cas?” The baby’s giggle of excitement warmed her chest, drawing a smile of her own to play on her lips. “Alright, alright. You’re gonna make me jealous.”

Setting the toddler in the middle of the California King bed, Ashlae set up a pillow bumper system around him as he waited patiently on the white comforter.

Drawing the backpack from her shoulders, she flipped through the padlock on the zipper until finally, her hand was fishing deep in the middle compartment. “Ah,” she breathed, pulling out a 6x4 white box. She pressed a pattern into the flat surface until a soft hum brought the box to life.

“Logan?”

In her earpiece, a melancholy voice answered. “Yes?”

“Boot up Mystique software, Casimir’s update, the latest mod. Lets work on our animal names today.” She counted the seconds it took for the hum coming from the box in hand to shift, telling her the upload was complete. She’d only gotten to eight before seamless compartments began to contort and adjust themselves, until she set a white monkey about the same height and size of the toddler on the bed.

And as he clapped, squealing in excitement as the animal moved around mimicking the real thing, she spoke again into her ear piece. “And find what room Arik’s in. Have flowers sent there tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Miss Summers.”

“Make sure he doesn’t fall off the bed, please. Scan the surface, alert me if he gets near the edge.” She didn’t wait for a response before she started to move, digging in the backpack until she found the devices she searched for by texture and touch, setting each piece out in front of her as she needed it.

Striding to the door, she placed small black bricks on the wall. “Any type of floral arrangement in particular, or should I pick the flowers myself?”

Drawing a device from her pocket, Ashlae let out a snort of amusement as she unfolded the flexible glass until the flat surface of her tablet snapped into place. Immediately all of her technology came to the screen under their given nicknames, thanks to the print reader on the back that scanned her hand for security. “Set a reminder later tonight to look at your personality code. I don’t remember programming sarcasm into your response generator.”

A soft bell sounded in the background of her earpiece, and on the tablet a notification for her schedule appeared. “Reminder set. The floral arrangement?”

“Gardenias. A dozen or so will do.”

“Miss Summers, if I may I don’t think a man of Merlin’s caliber will appreciate a floral arrangement such as gardenias.”

She tapped away at the screen of her tablet, until the tech blockers blinked twice, a soft green light to alert her of their battery being switched on. That would keep any scanner rendered key from coming within arm’s length from their door without sounding an alarm. “Maybe not, but whatever woman he takes to bed tonight might enjoy them in the morning. What girl doesn’t like gardenias?”

“Understood. The receipt has been sent to your email, payment taken from your personal accounts.”

“Thank you, Logan.” She flashed a grin to the bed, where Casimir was giggling at a small white pig that oinked in his face. As she passed, she ruffled the mass of snow white hair on his head before setting the rest of the contents of her bag on the desk. “Start up the security check software, have it scan all the devices in this room that aren’t mine. Alert me of any two-way paths.”

“Yes, Miss Summers.”

Her projectors took no time to set up in front of the television, extending from three little black boxes she set on the stand. As she waited for them to boot and flicker her screens, she shed the heavy black hoodie she’d worn for the trip, tossing it onto a chair in the corner.

Her brown gaze took no time scanning the information they displayed, mind running at the outputs as her hand absently scratched at the flexible black brace Arik had fitted to her wrist, which ran all the way up to just before her elbow.

“Are you ready to see your health summary now, Miss Summers?”

As her eyes continued to scan the results of what her security scan had turned up, she nodded absently. “First screen, all mobile devices that receive transmissions, please.” As she finished reading the results, the first projector’s content flickered to display a rotating mirror of her body, small blue dots pulsating where the devices on her person were relaying information to be read.

“Shut down that media connection that’s coming from the television,” she muttered, eyes glued to the green and black text and read off where a potential threat could push through. Her body moved almost on instinct, eyes never straying as her hand tapped twice in the right spot on a grey box, and again on a shiny black one by it’s side. “That’s the transmitter and the router powering on. As soon as they come online have the transmitter block all noise outside my rooms, and use the router’s wifi so that the communications between all devices isn’t lagging.”

“Yes, Miss Summers. Now, your health status needs some reviewing.”

“First, I want to be sure this room is silent.”

“Understood. Countdown to silence in sixteen, fifteen, fourteen...” Ashlae broke her gaze from the displayed information to turn back to the bed, offering a grin to the boy calling out “Lion! Roar!” as a miniature of the animal crouched by a pillow to his side, hide wagging in the air.

“That’s right Cas, roar!”

“...Three, two, one. Radio silence from the transmitter. Router has been brought online, and is now in use.”

“Thank you, Logan.” She turned back to the desk, rolling out a large black mat that had been the hardest to pack and setting all of her devices on it’s soft, warm surface. “Any trouble in charging?”

She watched every green light come on, but still waited for the sordid reply in her ear before turning away. “No, Miss Summers. All devices are online, in use, and charging. Now, please. The health statistics need reviewing.”

Ashlae rolled her eyes, even though the software couldn’t appreciate how extravagant an eye roll it really was. Dropping to her knees, she plugged the mat in before speaking. “I’m ready for the report. Go ahead.”

“Thank you, Miss Summers. Now please, if you’ll face the given displays we can begin.”

She made a face that, again, went unappreciated before straightening, casting one last look at the bed- a horse now, as Casimir squealed “Pony!” - and turning her attention to the projected displays. All three had merged together to show her miniature floating in space, the seven devices she wore pulsing blue and now red for her attention.

“Miss Summers, you should know that Mr. Merlin has checked on the status of all devices multiple times since you last asked for a report.”

A scowl took her lips as Ashlae crossed her arms, the mesh of black on her forearm warm against her flesh. “I had a health report on the plane ride this morning.”

“My information still stands to be accurate.”

“How many times did he check, exactly?”

“Twenty-seven checks as of thirteen minutes and eight seconds ago.” Speaking over her scoff, he continued. “All levels were reviewed from each device and cross examined multiple times. The shortest review log is three minutes, thirty-two seconds. Longest log stands at forty-nine minutes, six seconds.”

“What was I doing during the time of that log, the forty-nine minute one?”

“Sleeping, Miss Summers. On the plane, I believe.”

Once again, brown eyes rolled. “He’s such a creep. Is there any way to deny him access?”

A soft pause sent her brows rising in surprise. “Not unless you’re willing to trash his hardware, I’d say no.”

“I wrote the software!”

“He’s not using your pathways to glance in, Miss Summers. There are pre-existing pathways in a double layer of hardware, we’ve been over this.”

“Are you sassing me, Logan? Do you need another personality modification? It’s been awhile since I really sunk my teeth into that code of yours-”

“Again, Miss Summers, if you’ll turn your attention to the screen, I’ve brought up the most immediate concerns for your inspection.” As he spoke, her projected miniature shrunk and slid to the right of the screens, making room for the text that read out her results over the past few hours of activity in a quick summary for each device.

On her body at the moment, she wore a few detachable pieces such as the wristband watch on her right arm, the brace on her left, the earpiece Logan spoke to her from, and the white patch on her right shoulder. All four relayed different health statistics to her health database and could be taken off at any time. But some pieces weren’t so easy to shed, such as the cranial implant, the chip in her left calf, and heart monitor deep in her muscle of her chest. All three had been surgically planted in her body years ago, the software cracked and updated once she left from the company that claimed to own her very thoughts.

“That’s not so bad,” she whispered to herself as she scanned the data. Her temperature had spiked around three, only by a few degrees and hadn’t lasted long enough for a medical override alert. Other than that, there wasn’t much to worry on-

“Have you gotten to the data relayed from your brace, Miss Summers?”

Shifting her eyes, she re-read the information displayed beneath the device’s name. Dread crept up the back of her throat as she expanded the synopsis. “It’s spreading, then.”

“And rising in temperature by a fraction of degrees every few hours. I would have missed it myself, except that’s the device Mr. Merlin spent the majority of his forty-nine minute log pulling up. He’s been monitoring that rash as it spreads- an inch every twelve hours, it seems.”

Dread turned to cold fear as she watched the display as it zoomed in on her forearm, the brace breaking off her miniature to project a 360 degree view of the mysterious rash that had appeared on her wrist two weeks ago.

She could only assume that it was a side effect of coming into contact with one of the vials she’d broken in her escape from the lab a month ago. “What about the chemical readings from my calf implant and cranial patch?”

“Nothing abnormal from what we’ve logged the past three weeks since it was added to the log.”

Ashlae sighed, taking a step back from the interface and waving a hand as if wiping it all away. The gesture triggered a response from her projectors, erasing the health summary and instead reading her current hacker tag.

Hell Cat Co. turned in place, the logo colored with a pastel pink and beige undertones. “Are we still silent?” she asked, turning from her tag to watch Casimir give the overgrown white puppy a yank on it’s tail.

“Quiet as the grave, Miss Summers.”

Her lips twisted in an amused slant. “Was that a joke, Logan?”

“I am not programmed to joke, Miss Summers.”

“Right.” Another eye roll for the ages. “Can I get a party location update, please?”

“Certainly, Miss Summers. Allow me a moment to find everyone, if you will.“ She murmured that she’d wait, absently rubbing the mesh brace with her free hand as she watched Casimir giggle at the howling wolf before him. “By relevance, Little Love and Hell Cat are together, medical status similar to last logged check.” She grinned at the boy on the bed.

“Dark Dove, Little Princess and Little Prince status suggests sleep, Cheshire within relative distance that would suggest similar rooms being occupied.” Nicolette, Astraea, and Alexei must be napping then. She’d be surprised if Jaxon left their side at all, let alone the damn room. Overbearing den cat that he was.

“Raven and Child Bride share a location.” Talyn and Alastyr must be getting along, then. Good, she was glad that they were taking this vacation as an opportunity to learn more about each other.

“Dawn and Smaug also share a relative location.” Braxis hasn’t left Amelie’s side except to let the goddess piss; if she were less of a logic-centered person and more of a gambler, she’d have bet the house on that part of the update.

“Twilight and Battle Axe have accelerated heart rates, would you like me to look closer?”

A sly grin split her lips, and Ashlae shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. Continue with the report.” The goddess and her warrior had been going at it like bunnies in heat- she was almost sure she’d caught sight of them coming out of the commode together on the flight over.

“And that’s all for this level, would you like me to search beyond this floor?”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she was sure Arik would notice the abnormalcy in his neck check-in. “Relay location for My Love.”

“On ground floor, in close proximity to Maleficent, Little Fire and Little Ice.” Relief flooded her as she realized that they must be checking out the play area downstairs. Mattea had been walking around with Daryn on her hip since they landed, Millian’s hand tangled in her shirt bottom as he trailed behind.

With a sigh, Ashlae ran a hand over her tired eyes. Nicolette must have bailed on shopping last minute for a nap, would probably get up in about an hour and join the others.

“What about Sparrow and Merlin?” Evryn hadn’t been in the report, but she could assume Arik had already left to prowl for tonight’s main course of tall-slim-and-blonde. Gods she hoped he didn’t get another screamer, she hated those.

Mattea Cross frowned as she caught sight of herself in the reflection of a shop window, tilting her head slightly. The past few hours she’d spent with Nicolette and Luna, they’d gotten their hair done at a salon in one of the bottom levels of the hotel; they’d encouraged her to cut off nearly half her hair. She’d agreed, simply because tying it back was becoming too tedious these days due to it’s length. Now it sat at the middle of her back, hovering around her cheeks in the front. The girls had taken her along with them as they shopped, determined to get all new wardrobes for themselves and their partners.

And they’d made her change at the first store they found with clothing tasteful enough for the queens delights. They’d tossed her black leather trews and t-shirt into the bin, and now she wore a white swatch of cloth that came down to just above her navel and dipped low on her bust, crossing in the back to be tied by the raven angel. She’d been given shorts as well, a light colored denim that frayed and ended just below her bottom. The sneakers and sunglasses were small comforts, and she was beginning to adjust to the clothing.

As they walked down the sidewalk, Nicolette and Luna’s arms linked with Mattea trailing behind, she began to notice the stares of men. Before, they’d found somewhere else to put their gaze when she’d been clad in fighting leathers. But now their eyes were hungry for the golden brown of her skin, roaming over her body like an unexplored territory they wished to visit to their heart’s content.

Mattea kept her face impassive behind the tinted glasses, her lips never straying from their designated flat line. Even as her mind wandered to the possibility, she never gave any of the mortals a real chance- she was a kingdom in her own right that they would never gain citizenship of, never touch or kiss or warm.

Lost in the land of her thoughts, she didn’t notice she’d been spoken to until Nicolette glanced over her shoulder for an answer. The blonde raised her brows in a silent request for the queen to repeat herself.

“Do you like the new clothes you picked out?” Hope flickered in the kind regent’s gaze, curiosity coloring the grey hues. They had all agreed to attend a dinner reservation together tonight, and while that had been what prompted the three to go hunting for appropriate apparel, it had soon turned into a wardrobe excursion.

She nodded her answer, casting her mind back to the many pieces of clothes the two lunatics ahead of her had pressured her to buy. Maniacs with black cards, she deemed them.

Scrunching her nose, Nicolette turned to the Queen of the Hell Realms. “I can’t wait to see Evryn’s face tonight when she comes out in that dress.” A squeal that Mattea was certain didn’t befit a queen exploded from the raven’s lips. “That should fix whatever’s between the two of you.”

As if her mate’s adulterous antics could be expunged by the correctly colored fabric hanging in one of these vapid shops- only if she searched hard enough. As if she’d find a shawl that could cover that scene from her memory- if only she found it in beige instead of midnight blue. Would a strappy camisole succeed in covering her nausea every time she relived the horror of that night, or would an off-the-shoulder halter top do? Heels or sandals; infidelity or ignorance.

Behind the glasses, Mattea’s green hues found a shop on the other side of the street, distracting herself with the colors she could see through the large windows.

#mywriting #skit #disney2k17 #amref01 #braxis #amelie #balthazar #astor #bela #jaxon #nicolette #alexei #astoria #talyn #alas #alastyr #ashlae #casimir #mattea #luna

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