u/noobvs_aeternvm

Mom said I was hungry and dad had to make me a sandwich. I wasn’t hungry, I didn’t care for a sandwich, but in my seven years on this Earth I had long understood that mom was never wrong, it was the truth that was sometimes mistaken.

“So I have to make a sandwich for a kid this size? Are we raising a forever toddler?” Dad answered. It was pointless, he knew that, but it was not of him to be contradicted without letting his feelings be known.

He was right. I could and had, for many times, slid ham and cheese between two slices of bread, I took pride in preparing my own cereal and spreading butter on my own toast. Mom knew that and could not see how it was of any relevance. I was hungry, dad had to make me a sandwich; so she said, so it was.

But dad wouldn’t take it lying down, he would not be treated this way. He was the man of the house, the breadwinner, it was not up to him to care for a kid who could very well take care of himself, who should take care of himself. Dad spoke with passion and eloquence, mom listened with unwavering indifference, I slid into my room, my PJs, the covers and prayed that whatever the grown-ups were fighting about wouldn’t end up spilling onto me.

Have I mentioned I never asked for a sandwich in the first place?

Mom stood her silent ground, she said it, it was said, she would not repeat herself. Dad didn’t accept it, his voice faded as he moved away from my room, but throughout the house, it was still heard, the thunder of the low baritone bouncing on the walls, its words mumbled and unintelligible, but its message unmistakable: it was fury, it was outrage,

…it was coming my way.

I held the blankets tightly and squeezed them around my neck, my body froze in anticipation of what was to follow. I never asked for this fight, but it was coming nonetheless; from the top of that tower, a full foot taller than mom, came the thunder of doom. Each moment it grew louder and louder, my mind unable to process its words, as the tone alone drove me into survival mode. The beast was wounded and it craved for blood, he had gazed upon the land and liked not what he saw; he would not let it be, he would reshape it in his image even if he had to burn it to the ground first.

His hand grabbed my tight, it was firm, but not forceful, not yet; I could no longer play dead, I would better not ignore him. I held my breath as I turned and pushed myself to sit on the bed, every muscle was stiff, tense; I wanted to close my eyes, but my racing heart wouldn’t allow it, my ears opened, warning me I better listen every word that was spoken.

“What’s the big idea? Am I a father or a buttler?” He said as his hand violently brought the plate within my reach.

“Are we raising a sloth? Cause I’ll have no son of mine be a sloth!” He decreed, while furiously tucking the napkin in the collar of my shirt.

“Seven years, seven years! I cannot and will not be doing this when I’m old and gray!” He proclaimed, while I shook my head to his display of the mustard.

“At seven, no one would ask me if I wanted a sandwich. I knew where the fridge was, what time dinner was and if I didn’t get it, I’d sleep hungry.” He reminisced, as his thick fingers sprinkled oregano  on top of the bread.

“This world is lost! Lost I say, if this is how kids are raised these days!” He denounced, as he stood up from my bed and moved away from my room, as my eyes were left so wide I no longer looked Asian, as my hand brought the delicacy to the mouth of a still unmoving body, under the sound of an enraged man’s speech, echoing throughout the night.

It was a damn good sandwich.

___

Tks for reading. More confusing humans here.

Detective Danilo sat amidst the piles and piles of yellow tinted paper that the interns of the station really, really didn’t want to digitize. “Be grateful these don’t smell like cigarettes anymore.” the veterans of the place told him. He fired his question and watched as the sun damaged face, under a poorly straightened maine, gazed in awkward silence at him. He didn’t pressure her, didn’t repeat the question, didn’t fire the next one in rapid succession. He let her take a zip of her water and waited. 

So it had been for the past hour. The public defendant assigned to the suspect had no time to go through all the paperwork and, in lack of a proper strategy, his instruction to his client was “Be quiet. If you’re asked what’s your name, if you think it’s gonna rain, say nothing. Don’t speak, don’t nod, don’t hum. Give nothing for the investigation to use against you.”

And so it was, the detective would lay his questions and watch as the woman across his desk stared in awkward silence. The monotone dance was interrupted by an alarm reaching his nose, reaching everyone’s nose. “Don’t worry,” The investigator said with genuine cheerness “you can use my desk to change the child’s diapers, I got alcohol to disinfect it.”

He invited the lawyer to a coffee in the break room and the two left the infant and the “mother” on their own. This was not his preferred use of his time, but this was the option left to him by the police station’s chief.

Dra. Sara came out of law school straight to self-imposed reclusion, where she spent the next years cramming the books until she passed the public exams that gave her command of this police station. The veteran detective would prefer getting a warrant for DNA samples, but as he sent the paperwork to his chief, the 26 years old kept returning it, demanding corrections to his grammar, orthography, compliance to regulations he didn't even know existed.

Now, to prove the offense to article 242 of the Penal Code, he had called the suspect for questioning. It was no surprise Dr. Renato instructed the client to remain silent, the overworked, chronically understaffed public defendant was an old acquaintance of the detective and he didn't resent him, he knew he was doing his job as best as he could. Danilo had a faint hope this suspect wouldn’t listen to her lawyer, it happened before, but if she had kept her senses, he wasn’t going to lose his cool over it.

Ten minutes passed in the break room, the two public servants headed back to the detective’s office where awaited the suspect and the now clean child. Danilo fired a few more questions, the suspect returned a few more awkward gazes, the detective was satisfied, he thanked the woman and her lawyer for their time and said his goodbyes.

He opened the top drawer of his desk and grabbed a cloth and gel alcohol. He wiped his desk, put on rubber gloves, picked his trash can, opened the plastic bags. In one, he put the dirty diaper, in the other the plastic cup that stated the thirst of the silent woman. He opened the window and let the tropical sun lay on his skin. He wanted a cigarette, he deserved it. Finally, he had proof she lied to the notary, that she had not given birth to the child, that she had to serve 2 to 6 years in jail.

But smoking was not allowed in public buildings, so were the rules. No matter, the day was coming to a close, his shift to an end and soon he'd have his small celebration.

The clerk a few months away from compulsory retirement, a few years past voluntary one came into the office of the police station’s chief, carrying the latest pile of paperwork.

“Thanks, Josimar.” The young officer said without taking her eyes from the keyboard she typed.

“No mention. Just so you know, Danilo got some DNA.”

She stopped typing and raised her eyes to meet her unofficial guide in the comings and goings of the station. “Anything I should be worried about?”

“No, Aninha already mislabeled the lab delivery.”

“Good. Are you sure I shouldn't talk to him? I mean, have we run out of crimes to solve in this place? Why does he insist on going after a woman who rescued a crack baby from her junkie niece?”

“Doutora, it’s no use, that guy lives in the black and white of the books. Leave him be, so that the rest of us, out here in the gray world, can do our jobs in peace.”

___

Tks for reading. More grey humans here.

He hit him. My father hit Jim. I have thought of that moment for all my life, but I can never recall why I was fighting my brother in the first place. How could I? It would be like trying to remember what you had for breakfast thirty years ago. We were fighting, that’s what we did; mom came and broke us up, that’s what she did; our father stepped in, that wasn’t something he did.

He put us side to side and took that pose, back straight, arms crossed, shoulders back; that pose every kid instinctively knows, you messed up and things just got serious. He opened his mouth, only his mouth, no other muscle of his body moving, each syllable clearly enunciated: “Who started it?”

Jim threw a gaze at me, barely noticeable, a quick, reluctant nod of the head. He said nothing, but I heard everything, he didn’t want to rat me out, he was ashamed he did it and he was begging for forgiveness. I didn’t say anything as well, I just looked down and he heard, he knew I forgave him.

My heart raced in anticipation, I knew what was coming and I deserved it. I had started the fight and I just confessed it. My eyes didn’t look up, they didn’t want to see what was coming, but they did, they saw a blur coming fast and moved to it. I heard the sound, that high snap of skin on skin and I saw my brother’s neck twist, his eyes wide, meeting mine on top of a face disfigured by shock, in more than one way.

See, my brother and I fought all the time, but we had rules. We didn’t hit in the face, we didn’t hit with all strength. My father followed no rule, I watched a grown man hit a six year old without holding back and I lost the ground beneath my feet, I didn’t know what was coming next.

I don’t know how much time passed, but the next thing I remember is the hand of my father squeezing my cheeks, bringing my eyes to meet his and that same voice that wasn’t a shout, but sounded like one asking “Why are you crying?”

I didn’t know why I was crying, I didn’t know I was crying. I had no answer to give and yet I knew I had to give one, I reached and reached and the more the answer escaped me, the more my body convulsed, the worse my hiccups got.

My father was no longer holding my face, I think. He pointed to my brother and said “Look. That’s on you.” I heard the words, but I didn’t understand what he was saying. I looked, not sure if because I was hoping to understand or just because I was too afraid to disobey, but I looked, and I saw.

Jim was laying on the ground, he had both hands on his cheek and he cried, worse than me. I remember thinking that the only time I saw him cry so badly was when the chain came off his bike and the teeth of the freewheel got into his leg.

My father said:

“Isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t it why you were fighting? Very well, you got it, that’s on you.

From this day on, whenever you boys want to beat each other up, tell me and I’ll do it for you. You want to see the other hurt? I’ll hurt him worse than you ever could. You think you can beat the other on your own? I’ll show you what a real beating looks like.”

We never forgave him.

A few years back, you must remember, mom called. My father was bad, really bad and she wanted me to come see him. I didn’t, neither did Jim. Do you remember what I told mom?

-Something about jail.

-I said “He’s not my dad, he was the jailkeeper. I’ve done my time and I see no reason to come back.”

But mom was right, James and I never fought since that day. At first we were afraid, but as the years went by, as we found ourselves at the short end of the stick again and again, it grew into something more. We knew that whatever bad blood there was between us, there was something bigger and scarier than both of us right under our roof, something we could only face if we stuck together. That’s what we did, we became uneasy allies, then accomplices, then brothers. 

When mom called, neither of us answered her plea, neither could, neither would. And so, our father died without saying goodbye to either of his sons.

-You never told me this when we were married, why are you telling me now?

-I took Conrad to the hospital.

-Oh my God! Is he alright?

-Yeah, yeah, he’s fine. Linus pushed him and his head hit the corner of the table. He didn’t mean to, it was an accident, but Conrad started bleeding, a lot, and he got scared, we both did. I took him to the ER, but it was just a cut on the forehead. He’s fine now, all bandaged up, but running, laughing and shouting like nothing happened.

I, tho, am concerned. You know this is not the first, or eleventh time something like this happens. We tried everything, we grounded them, we took away their toys, we took them to child therapy. Nothing works, the only way they seem to know how to settle their differences is with their fists.

-I see.

-I don’t want my kids to hate me, but I’m out of ideas. Tell me you see another way, the right way.

……………………..

-Nikki?

-No… I don’t.

-Very well then.

Tell our boys I love them, I always have, even if… especially when they don’t believe you.

___

Tks for reading. More retroactive apreciation here.

The racially undefinable gentleman stood in front of the “gringo” investors, his smile unwavering as the wealthy men grew more and more confused.

-Just so we’re clear, you don’t serve actual cat meat to your clients, do you?

-No, of course not. The Di Gattu’s brand is simply a humorous play on the urban myth that street meat comes from stray cats, we would never serve actual cats.

-Because of ethical concerns.

-That, and also, have you tried catching a cat that doesn’t want to be caught? Getting meat in the middle of the annual bull run of Pamplona is probably easier, definitely safer. 

-That’s reassuring. …I think. But in any case, why should we invest in your business?

-Have you ever met a poor person who’d say no to dirty cheap meat?

-No, can’t say I have ever met a poor person.

-Well, I have, and so would you if you’d yell in a busy street “Treis espetinhu, cinco reau!”, that’s Portuguese for “Three meat sticks, five bucks.”

-It does sound like a good deal.

-It is, we at Di Gattu’s have more than twenty years of experience serving generous amounts of tasty protein at affordable prices.

-That seems enticing, but unfortunately we’re not really seeking investment opportunities in the food business.

-No, you’re AI investors, that’s why I am offering you this opportunity.

The frowns of the room grew exponentially among the present, all, except the one of the unwavering smile.

-Gentlemen, let me ask you: what is the greatest vulnerability of AI at the moment?

-The fact generative AI doesn’t generate anything useful.

-The fact most advanced chips come from an island in the aim of the largest army and missile stockpile on Earth.

-The fact AI decreases productivity more often than it increases.

-The fact AI requires an ungodly amount of energy in the midst of an energy crisis.

-The fact most consumers of AI content will die of old age in the next five minutes.

-The people’s insistence in diverting our precious server coolant into drinking and growing food.

-All great points, but the answer is ABF.

-ABF?

-ABF.

-These are certainly three letters.

-Are you gentlemen familiar with Ajinomoto Co.?

-The spice company?

-That’s the one. Back in 1999, this company learned that, from the production of the spice that takes its name, they could extract a thin film, perfect for insulation of chips. And so, just like the gasoline that was once the byproduct of kerosene refining, came ABF, Ajinomoto Build-up Film, insulator for 95% of the chips used worldwide.

-And where does your company fit into it?

-Selling meat on a stick to people who often don’t have the money for the bus ride home means, necessarily, getting the cheapest meat; which, in turn, means meat though as a brick and tasty as one. The first issue is solved by a generous dose of lemon or papaya juice, the second by copious amounts of spice.

-So what you’re saying is that if we invest in your expansion this will drive up spice consumption, allowing increased production of chips for our data centers.

-Bingo!

-That’s all good ‘n’ all, but that being the case, why don’t we invest in Ajinomoto directly?

-That’s a sensible, clear course of action. So clear in fact, I took a gazillion dollars in loans and bought every share, title and bond from Ajinomoto Co. I could find.

-Meaning the company is currently over valuated.

-Not if I find the capital to expand and drive up demand for their products.

-And if you don’t, stock price collapses and the single supplier of chip insulators goes under.

-I’m certain this grim future will not come to be.

-Well played, Mr. Cunha.

-Please, Vandisley.

-I will say you know how to play the market.

-I learned my way around numbers, but my real talent is identifying business opportunities at the ground level. Right now there are over two billion people facing food insecurity, billions of people craving for cubes of beef, pork and chicken on a stick, at prices they can afford.

-You’re talking about setting up food stands in the poorest, toughest neighborhoods of the world. That’s risky business. What kind of profit margin are you projecting to compensate for it?

-That’s the beauty of it, profits don’t matter! Sell it at a loss, for all I care. This is really a subsidy for chip production, disguised as street food sale.

None of the investors saw a penny of their money back, but around the globe, every slum inhabitant, starving student and broke parent in search of somewhere out of the house to take their kids came to know and appreciate Espetinho Di Gattu’s.

___

Tks for reading. More convoluted subsidies here.

The Moon of Lranor shouldn’t be here. A piece of barren rock floating through interstellar space that just so happened to pass by at the precise speed and angle to be stuck in the orbit of the outer gas giant, so recently that you can still watch it happen in the records of your probes and telescopes, left to spin aimlessly not because it served any particular purpose, but simply because it was too much trouble to send it back to the emptiness it came from.

We shouldn’t be here. Humanity didn’t evolve in this system, didn’t discover it, didn’t claim it for themselves. Your pioneers had long settled amidst the purple forests when Gagarin was being awestruck by the blue of Earth.

We shouldn't have come here. The weak, the meek, the criminal, those who were too dumb or too unlucky to survive in the post-captalist hellscape of the Terran worlds should have perished to disease, starvation, gang violence. But our ancestors were too stubborn to pass on a gamble in these worlds of yours by the mere vastness of the distance to the Terran stars or the complete ignorance to your language, customs and biosphere.

You shouldn’t have accepted us. By the time the first wave arrived, your robotics were advanced enough that you didn’t need our carbon built muscles to do your heavy labour, but we were slightly more versatile and a lot cheaper than the drones you were putting together, so you tolerated us.

We shouldn’t have stayed. By the time you were done with us, we should have taken the hint and flew to another star in need of cheap monkeys. Most did, but our founders saw this piece of barren rock and decided they knew better than logic and reason, they decided this was our new home.

We shouldn’t have survived. Throughout the many decades of gangs butchering one another for the scraps of our barren rock, we should have shot each other to oblivion; in this environment where only the vile made it, society should have collapsed under the weight of its own cruelty. But this cauldron of evil boiled one sicker than all others, one who managed to cease the violence by being worse than any other.

We shouldn’t have persisted. Rejected by a world that didn’t want us, under the weight of a tyrant that didn’t value us, we should have fled or perished, but let none ever say we’re either sensible or reasonable. We stared at the tyrant’s eyes, we bled, we died and, eventually, we reached a compromise.

We shouldn’t be functional. We are not a democracy, not like our Athenian, French or Centaurian forefathers envisioned, but we’re not expectators either. When the Kahn pisses us off enough, we put down our blasters and say “Listen up, you little shit.” And he does, because all this wealth he holds means nothing if we are not willing to lay our lives to defend it.

We shouldn’t have thrived. In the outer, frozen fringes of your system, we should have barely managed to gather air to keep us breathing, but let none ever say we play fair, for when we saw the ships slingshotting at our giant, we asked for some spare change nicely, and those who didn’t answer with kindness, we made sure were no longer around to be unkind.

You shouldn’t have put up with us. When a rabid dog parks in your backyard, you pick up a gun and put it down, but you saw our parks and avenues, you drank our coffee, you ate our pasta; you gazed outside our dome and there you saw no pirates, no ship left stranded, you watched the flow of goods, people and services uninterrupted and then we looked at your empty cup, we asked you if you’d care for some more, “Yes, please.” you answered.

You shouldn’t be so relaxed. Strolling under the green of our trees, zipping the coffee we brought a galaxy away, you seem to forget that underneath us lies an underground complex of training camps and missile silos so vast, it makes up a fifth of the moon’s mass. That’s who we are, that’s who we’ve always been. You look at us, all waves and smiles, but at any moment a pop-up will appear at our comms and every biped over twelve will be ready to lay their lives for a Kahn we didn’t choose, one we don’t even like, for we remember.

We remember we don’t belong here, we are one misstep away from doom. We remember you never wanted us here, you tolerate us as long as it suits you. We remember our rock has no place in here, it isn’t flung into space as long as it isn’t worth it

We know the universe doesn’t want us, the galaxy isn’t happy in paying our tolls, you want back the key to your worlds. A single of your cities, as many as us whole; stop tolerating us, we know,
we are done.

But remember, we’ve been long told to die, we won’t ever go quiet into the night. To us the end is always nigh, yet we stand in bright daylight.

But for now, let's not have such unpleasant talk. May I suggest our new grubirn ravioli? And what will your beautiful daughter have? Oh, you're not related? Sorry, my mistake, sir. No, not a problem, never a problem at the Moon of Lranor. Our luxurious suites are ready for you, anything you need, we are happy to provide. We are here at your disposal.

We’ll always be.

___

Tks for reading. More stubborn humans here.

Teenaggers, fucking teenagers.

It was done with the usual fanfare, an online fuzz where the brothers loudly proclaimed they’d “raw dog” the trail, brave it with a simple compass and a paper map, as their ancestors did. They were, of course, armed with their cell phones, from which they made daily posts and live streams, after all, what would be the point of doing something so incredibly stupid if not to show it to the entire world? They were, however, true to their word, using hacks and a good old screwdriver to get rid of their geolocation and the metadata from their online activity did show their location as unknown.

The date of arrival came and went with no sign of the brothers. No surprise there. Be it a caveman telling a story by the fire or a gen alpha peacooking on whatever platform kids use these days, what’s a performance without a little suspense? One day passed, then another and another. By the third day the posts ceased, by the fourth a blizzard hit the reserve, by the fifth we were called to save the idiots from the consequences of their own actions.

Teenagers, fucking teenagers.

The call came at the worst time. Her pregnancy had been troublesome and the delivery not free of issues, since then my days had been spent on a back and forth between the hospital where my wife recovered and the house where my kids lived. 

Her job as a high school gym teacher was out of question, her posts and streams not an option, as the thirsty men and body conscious housewives after a feel good vibe of the candidate to fitness influencer were not at all interested in the bedside struggles of a 40s woman at her second child. Bella was supposed to be an only child and it showed, wholly incapable of picking her socks from the floor or feeding herself if not with some expensive takeout. Now, I had too many hospital bills piling up on a single income, too few hours in the day to look after a tween, a newborn and a woman whom I lied day in, day out, telling her we were fine, that everything was going to be alright.

Teenagers, fucking teenagers.

It had been weeks since the brothers had gone silent and the task force put together for the rescue now numbered in the hundreds. I barely even saw the sun, my days were spent in the windowless improvised base put up for the operation, reviewing hour after hour of drone footage; my nights spent caring for a newborn, a still bedridden wife and trying not to defenestrate a girl who managed to be an even greater burden than all others sometimes.

I had spent money I didn’t have to fly my mother-in-law from across the country to look after my family. She helped, a lot, but she spared no expenses in pampering her daughter and grandkids as much as she could. I didn’t have the heart to tell her how dire our finances were, I didn’t want to. Gabi was hurt, body and mind, my daughter missed her father, regardless how much she refused to acknowledge, my son never saw me. Everyday, I went out before they woke up, every night I arrived after they went to bed. The captain refused to let me work from home, not with the governor and all the reporters breathing on her neck.

Teenagers, fucking teenaggers.

Call it protocol, superstition, common courtesy, we never said it out loud, but we all knew. This wasn’t a rescue mission anymore, we were just working to free the family of those brothers of any false hope. We should have found a dead fire, an abandoned shelter, something. The fact we didn’t, in this weather, led to a simple, inescapable conclusion.

There are no bets when you don’t gamble, it is, after all, not a gambling site, but a prediction market. There are no risks when you know the results, even if you don’t say out loud. I placed my bet, money I didn’t have, and I said it out loud. For the first time I came clean about the dire straits of our bills, to my parents, to my sister, to the guys at my online guild. I asked them to place their bets, I promised them a generous cut, most didn’t take it, all did as I told.

Call it protocol, superstition, common decency, but I felt sick to my stomach. The words on the site were “...won’t be found before December 31st.” It wasn’t saying out loud, but everyone could see what it meant, I knew what it meant, where I was putting my money on, the money of those who cared for me, what I was betting the future of my family on.

It was, however, the future of my family, the family I put aside due to the dumbness of these brothers, brothers I promised to save. I wasn’t breaking any promise, I was, I am a simple man. I do not have the power to save anyone from natural selection. I owed those kids an honest attempt to reach out into the hole they dug themselves, I paid my dues with time I took from a family that needed me, if it was in vain, I owed them nothing, they owed me. My time, my mother-in-law's time, my family’s time.

Teenagers, fucking teenagers.

It was a pixel, a tiny dot on a frame among who knows how many others, but it was there. It was probably nothing, I knew it was, I wish it wasn’t, but I knew.

Nothing.

We were all tired, we had been going at it for too long. There was nothing else we could do, nothing that would matter. An experienced ranger would have trouble making it through half of this time, the brothers had been out there for… how long? December 9th. 21, 22 days till the end of the month, it’s been long, too long.

All were tired, all were settled in this dull routine. A call right now would send dozens of boots out there in the cold, upon the deep snow that sticks to every crack of your body, that drags the heat from inside you. For what? There were no odds to be played, the game was done, the bets were set, they lost.

They lose…

Teenagers, fucking teenagers.

I knew my father, my mother, my friends, these people who trusted me. Those kids didn’t know me, never knew me. I told them it was a sure thing and they believed me, did those brothers ever believed me? They didn’t, they couldn’t, to them I promised nothing, I never met them, just some dumb teenagers.

Teenagers… 

12+1=13, 0+13=13. 

…

(Giggle) 43-24=19.

Dumb teenagers, too dumb to pick their socks off the floor, to make themselves a sandwich, too dumb to swallow their pride, dumb enough to take unnecessary risks for a facade of toughness, to tell the world “I got this”, to deny they don’t, they never did, they need help.

Help. Those who don’t ask are the ones who most need it.

(Breath in… breath out…)

“Captain!”

___

Tks for reading. More dumb, middle-age teenagers here.

A flash of light, a shout, a cloud of papers flying all over the place.

-Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.

-Yet you keep on doing it!

-Appearing to humans is new to me.

-What do you want Ismael? Wait, I already know, the answer is still no. Now pick my files off the floor and get those chicken wings away from my sight.

-Angela, please. There are fourteen families about to lose their homes.

-Yes, fourteen poor families, emphasis on poor. I heard you the first, and the millionth time. Not interested.

-The path to Father’s kingdom is paved by good deeds.

-Listen up you chicken of too many eyes and, apparently, not enough ears: I’m a lawyer, why would you think I’m trying to get into heaven?

-Every soul can find salvation, Angela.

-Every soul? (raised eyebrow)

-Some might need more work than others, but yes, even yours.

-And is there 435k in this path of heaven?

-Greed is not something that lies on the path of salvation.

-Not greed, Ismael, professional standards. I charge $380/h and you’ve been nagging me for months.

-I am certain I have not taken this much of your time.

-You first appeared to me when I was getting ready to sleep and nagged me for 20 min, that’s an hour; the next day I was about to snatch the hunky intern, you cock blocked me and for the next 5 min begged me until I ran out of things to throw at your general direction, that’s another hour. Got it now?

-I’m counting less than 100,000.

-Last time you appeared to me I crashed my Mercedez, that’s on your tab.

-You can’t put a number on doing God’s work, Angela.

-I can and I do, so unless you’re wiring me my money, away with you.

-Angela, a great injustice is about to be perpetrated and you have the power to stop it.

-Yeah, yeah. The seller trespassed into the property, forged the deed and the buyers didn’t know, you told me already.

-They’re innocent, they didn’t know they built their homes over soil tainted by sin.

-Whatever, tell it to their lawyer AKA not me.

-I take no pleasure in speaking ill of a tortured soul, but the public defendant has no strength to deliver them justice, you know his heart suffers the ache of betrayal.

-Not my problem if he’s not man enough to keep his bitch.

-Be not unkind to a soul who suffers, Angela. He is a veteran of war with metal in his bones, it is not his fault he can’t throw the ball as far as the child next door.

-Ismael, I’m not the kid who stole his dog, not the one who put a bullet in his shoulder, not the one who scammed those families out of their money. If life is unfair that’s on your boss, not me. You’re the angel, do a miracle or something, what the hell do you need me for?

-It is not because I speak every language there is, there was and there will be that I can make sense of this legalese. I require your wisdom to help those in need.

-Gimme the freaking file!

(Opens-looks-closes)

-Yep, still could win this case, easily.

-Then will you right this wrong?

-Are you paying me?

-The Lord will grace you with forgiveness.

-Unfortunately I take my fees in money, so no, I’m doing jack.

-Should you insist on this path, your conscience will charge you for this inaction.

-Ismael, again: lawyer, 404 conscience not found.

Later:

-Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!! For fuck sake, Ismael!

-My apologies once again.

-What do you want, besides giving me an involuntary clown make over?

-I believe you would like to know the case was dismissed.

-Great. Now get out.

-You knew this whole time those families were not in danger, didn’t you?

-Civil law 101: if you wait thirty years to reclaim your property, the judge will tell you to fuck off.

-So there is justice in the laws of men.

-We often choose not to follow it, but we do know justice. We’re not demons, thousand eyed chicken, we’re human.

___

Tks for reading. More lawful neutral apes here.

-You can't say that!

-Uhm… I can't? Why?

-Mi señor, ¿comprende lo que estoy hablando?

-Excuse me?

-Exactly.

-So this is just for Spaniards?

-Wow! Racist much?

-Spaniard got downgraded to a second N-word?

-No, but it's wrong of you to assume someone is Spaniard, just because they speak flawless Spanish. Be better!

-Should I call an ambulance? Because I'm pretty sure at least one of us is having a stroke.

-A Latin is someone from Latin America.

-Like Brazil?

-No, they speak Portuguese.

-Haiti?

-French speakers.

-So you can't call yourself a Latin, unless you speak Spanish?

-No, if you have a Mexican grandma or something, it's ok.

-Even if you don't speak a word of Spanish, Portuguese, French, Romanian or Italian?

-See? It's not so hard to understand.

-This doesn't make any sense! My thoughts form in the grammar and syntax of the ancient Romans!

-Giovanni, get it into your thick skull: You. Are. Not. Latin.

-I'm born and raised in Lazio!

___

Tks for reading. More meaningless words here.

The war was long and brutal, but we persisted. Billions of lives were lost, monuments that stood for millennia turned to dust in a flash, but by the sheer bravery of our troops, the sacrifice of our workers and farmers, the indomitable spirit of every world and species of the Federation we drove away the Empire, we vanquished their fleets, we won.

Now, to the victors, the debt. So, very, much, crippling, debt.

No expense was spared to feed the frontlines with all the bombs, batteries and rations they needed, and those were some hungry bitches. War reparations were imposed on the fallen enemy, but among the two of us it was hard to see who had less left to give. For victory, we gave it all, and when we ran out of things to give we went to beg, plea and borrow from every single inhabitant of the known universe. 

Some answered our call, some politely refused, others didn’t answer at all. But most of all, it was the humans who kept us going; not the Union of Terran Worlds, the human state was as adamantly neutral as ever, but human companies, merchants, smugglers had kept our peoples fed and our guns loaded. We never said how we would pay them back, they never asked and for that we were grateful; now the war was over and they raised questions, we now had to find answers, we had to answer to her.

Her Terran name was unpronounceable to most of the galaxy, it didn’t matter, we all knew who she was. The one who brought down whole empires, who turned the most proud tyrants into obedient pets, who conquered worlds with the stroke of a pen; of all the aliens brought into this universe by the slaughter of natural selection, mechanical horrors of cybernetic enhancements and mad genius of genetic engineering, it was her, the whole of her 55kg of mass, distributed through her 1.52m of length, the most terrifying being of the galaxy. Holder of the keys to the vault of Sol, Chief Financial Advisor of the human state, enchanter of creditors, subduer of debtors, the Spreadsheet Witch of Istanbul.

We extended her the red carpet especially printed to welcome her, but made sure to leave patches of faint colors. Sympathy was the only card we had to play, it was clear the humans planned on having their credits, but if we could show how hopeless our situation was, how desperate our peoples’ needs, perhaps we could squeeze some more time, some less interest.

Her ship slowly descended into the surface, her heels touched its stairs, then the red carpet. She walked, I stood. Once the distance was closed I opened my wings and bent my knees in reverence, she bent her torso. My eyestalks went as low as they could, her neck raised to meet them.

-Welcome, Ms. Xe·en·xia Doo·boo·aix.

-Please don’t ever try to pronounce my name again.

-Will do, Counselor.

-And if you could dismiss the band, I'd be most appreciative. This is not how Gimme, Gimme, Gimme is supposed to sound.

I gesticulated to the band.

-Thank you. Now, if we could head to the conference room, we have much to talk about.

-It was a long journey, Counselor. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable settling in your habitat first?

-My visit will be brief.

My left heart stopped and showed no signs of going back anytime soon, the other one would have to work double.

-Then let’s make the best out of it, shall we?

The ministers were warned to meet us at the Stars Hall, the walk there was made in silence, the Counselor’s eyes fixed forward, the sound of her heels meeting the hard floor in mathematically precise order. I found my head bobbing to its beat, as I kept my wings folded, accompanying the land bound alien.

Arriving at the hall, I perched at the end of the table, she sat at a chair next to me, my ministers close by, should I need reinforcements. She handed me a pad, inside a document, her infamous spreadsheets among it.

-This… it’s…

-Enough?

-This amount can certainly give us some briefing room with our creditors.

-It won’t.

-Excuse me?

-The Union has brought the debts from your creditors, human or otherwise. All your debts are consolidated under the Terran Treasury.

-And you’re giving us more money?

-Lending.

-So when do you expect payment?

-Never.

-You own all our debts, give us more money and don’t want us to pay you back?

-It is plainly obvious the Federation is in no condition to liquitate its debts at the moment. And if you ever will, you need funds for reconstruction.

-This is very generous.

-Selfish, actually. It is not in our best interest to have a failed state as a cosmic neighbor.

-I must say, I’m surprised by this offer, given how doggedly neutral the Union stood throughout the conflict.

-It is not in the interest of Terra to send our citizens to kill and be killed in someone else’s fight, but lending the resources necessary for reconstruction is well within our means.

-You keep saying "lending”, Counselor, yet you don’t demand payment, why not call it a donation?

-Because it’s not. We expect you to eventually repay all aid received, plus the standard Earth interest rate every 4 galactic nanoyears.

-Currently at 2%.

-Correct.

-And what stops you from setting it to 10%, 100%, 1,000% the moment we sign this document?

-This is the floor for all interest rates across the Union. If we were to spike it, loans would become unfeasible, hoarding money at the bank more lucrative than putting it to make food and other necessities, people would get desperate, angry and soon enough we’d be facing a revolution.

-We’re not the only neighbour of the Union, yet I’ve never heard of Earth being so generous before.

-The Federation is a valuable partner for the Union.

-We did just win a war.

-Your military is impressive, but if you look at our interstellar history, you’ll see we have zero interest in war. The Federation has some worlds more fertile than ours, peoples who have been navigating the stars longer and better than we do, sentient machines that can do better at certain jobs than us, a series of comparative advantages that could provide useful goods and services to humankind, as long as you’re not reduced to a pile of rubble floating in space.

-You’re freezing our debts and giving us money, all so you can give us even more money by buying our stuff?

-That is a simplification, but not an unfair one.

-Sounds too good to be true.

-We do have one condition: whatever payment you make, be it interest or main debt, must be made in Terras.

-Shouldn’t be hard getting your currency if you’ll be buying from us.

-That is our expectation.

My team went through the document in search of a trap, a loophole and found none. This didn't ease our minds, the humans were not known for being charitable, this human least of all. It didn’t matter, we were in no position to deny a bad deal, much less one that - as far as all verifiable facts pointed - was a good one.

Terran batteries fed the blasters that would zap the rubble from our silent battlegrounds, Terran microbes would swallow the poison dispersed in our atmospheres; Terran coin paid those who would bring back online our factories and mines, Terran grain kept them fed while they were doing it. Life returned to our corner of the galaxy.

Behind the veil normalcy, there laid the payments to the Terran treasury, they were steep, but manageable because, just as they told, once the trees of our civilization were restored, the humans anxiously coveted their fruits.

The machines were the first to stand back up. Having sold to the humans all the pieces of their biospheres they could afford, they took their hard earned Terras to acquire new machines to rebuild their assembly lines, the metal and synthetics to feed them, they rushed to rebuild their populations, who were then put to produce the goods coveted by the humans, provide the calculations required by human corporations and consumers.

After my term ended, I watched at the sidelines of galactic politics, as the same pattern repeated. Our civilizations rose from their ashes picked by Terran goods, then were put to work supplying the Terran needs, for which they’d earn their Terras, with which they’d pay Terran debts.

When the humans sneezed, we coughed blood and oil. The orders were halted, the workers laid off, anger and unrest spread. The humans, so patient before, now demanded their repayments with haste. We found ourselves pumping more and more resources into the human worlds. Once they recovered, our starving peoples and business once more would take relief in the Terran loans, the Terras once more flowed. They would stop once again, the cycle repeated, again and again.

Well into my old age, when the Federation had long relegated me to the historical records, I was approached by the High Councilor. She was worried, our peoples had jobs, habitats and peace, but she had seen the numbers, the spreadsheets, we were spending more and more of our lives catering to the needs of the humans, our debts were being paid, but every hiccup in the human domains brought them up again, the well being of the human civilization became a matter of our survival. Under the guise of my time provided anonymity, she asked me to carve a way out.

There was no way out, not on our own. Caught in our inertia, we spinned deeper and deeper into Earth’s orbit. Of all the inhabitants of the galaxy, there was only one powerful enough to provide us the push out of this gravitational well. My younger self would have never entertained the idea, but time and the gift of hindsight made me see beyond my pride, into the future of our thousands of civilizations.

At an unassuming dinner, at an unremarkable corner of the galaxy, I met the secret representative of the Imperial Senate. Devoid of all pomp and circumstance neither of us had the time or patience for anymore, he addressed me unceremoniously:

-After the war, no one cared for us but the humans. Their generous loans seemed like a blessing, but we became addicted to the Terras required for the repayments. Half the empire works providing things to the humans, the other half to the ones paid in Terras. We can’t go on like this, please tell me the Federation has found a way to drag us out of this economic vassalage.

Fucking humans…

___

Tks for reading. More strings attached here.

-It’s not often I say this, but when I do, know it’s from the bottom of my heart: I’m really sorry, you were absolutely right and I was completely wrong.

Kelly didn’t react, too busy her body and mind were with the effort of pushing her eyes out of their sockets, as she watched her red stained husband casually slip into the covers.

-What happened?!!!

-Exactly like you said.

-? ? ? !!!

-You woke me up, cuz you said you heard a noise, right?

-Right.

-Said someone was in the house and told me to check it out, right?

-Right.

-“Woman, let me sleep”, “Yada, yada, yada”, “Nag, nag, nag” and off I go out of the warm bed to check out the house in my undies.

-And then?

-Then you were right. A guy broke into our kitchen and was looking for things to rob.

-Oh my god! Are you alright?!

-Never been better.

-You’re covered in blood!

-Don’t worry, it’s not mine.

-The burglar escaped?

-I hope not. Burglary and zombie apocalypse in the same night is a bit too much for me.

-The guy is dead?!

-That or he’s the best opossum impersonator ever.

-Jason! You’re not supposed to do that!

-I wasn’t? What did you want me to do?

-Call the police!

-I’d have never guessed that.

-That’s what normal people do when a robber breaks in!

-No, I know that. But if that’s what you wanted, there’d be no reason to wake me up, right? We both have our phones by our night stands and, unlike me, you always remember to charge it, always remember our home address. If you called me instead of the cops, I figured it was because you wanted me to handle it on my own.

-Jason, you have a child to raise! What would’ve happened if this guy killed you?

-That’d be pretty bad, but thanks to your owl ears I got the jump on the guy and managed to stab him 38 times. Thanks, babe!

-You did what?!!!

-Ok, that’s more of a guesstimate, I don’t know exactly how many times I stabbed him, I just kept shivving his guts until he stopped moving.

-We need to call the police, now!

-I was thinking we could get some sleep and handle this by the morning.

-You’re crazy if you think I’ll be able to sleep.

-Really? So… you wanna…?

-No, Jason! No! We’re not doing it with a dead body in our kitchen! How do your noodles go there at a time like this???

-I dunno, like, big strong man defends his cave from invader, I feel kinda badass. Don’t you think your manly hero should get the girl after defeating the bad guy? (Wigles eyebrows)

-Keep it in your pants you damn horny ape and call the cops!

-Fine. If you’re not in the mood, you’re not in the mood. But after literally risking my neck to save this family, I think I deserve at least a day off work.

-Tell it to your boss, not me. What do I have to do with it?

-Think with me, Kelly. If we call the cops now, we’ll be up all night answering questions and handling red tape, then we’ll have to go to our boring jobs; but if we leave it to the morning, we’ll have a fullish night of sleep and a valid excuse to miss work.

-We’re not leaving a dead body inside the house! What happens if Timmy wakes up and finds it?

-That kid waking up before us? Our kid?

-Can you please just call the police?

-You seem dead set on having me, personally, call 911. After all I’ve done, can’t you handle this?

-I’m sorry for asking you to be a husband.

-No, babe, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you called me and I’m glad to help, if nothing else because I know I’d be mocked to death if you handled everything while I was left snoring.

-Nobody would mock you for not throwing fists with a burglar.

-Have you met your brother?

-Nobody decent would mock you, I’m just asking you to make this call cuz we’re a couple, we handle things together.

-And we did. You heard when I wouldn’t, I defended us where you couldn’t and now we take our humble laurels, in the form of a good night's sleep.

-Jason, I didn’t feel at ease with that noise I heard and I don’t feel at ease with a corpse in my kitchen. That’s why I woke you up, not so that you would charge onto some guy like a caveman, but so that you could give me some peace of mind.

-So you don’t want any practical results, you just want me to do what it takes to ease your nerves?

-Is that asking too much?

-Once or twice, no. But I bet you lost count of how many times you woke me up in the middle of the night to do a round around the house; I most certainly did, so I thought I’d grab the bottle of ketchup and teach you a lesson.

-You got to be fucking kidding me.

-It’s a prank, bruh.

-Fuck you, “bruh”.

-Are you mad at me?

-YES!!!!

-But not nervous?

-Go to sleep or I’ll cover you in real blood!

After a night of rest, angry rest, but rest nonetheless, Kelly woke up next to a husband she was trying really hard not to slap out of dreamland. It was not untrue she had woken him up to check on strange noises way too many times, but he went overboard and she didn’t want to lose the upper hand.

She took an angry deep breath, wrapped herself in her robe and headed downstairs to prepare the family’s breakfast.

-JASOOOOOON!!!! - she yelled upon stepping onto the shivved corpse.

___

Tks for reading. More well meaning fools here.

His father was gone before his time and, as the elder of three brothers, he suddenly found himself as the man of the house. At the tender age of twelve, he did his best to keep his family fed, clothed and safe, putting in practice the lessons of discipline, effort and hard work that time allowed his father to pass on to him and him alone.

The years of his youth were a toll on his still developing body and his not yet mature mind. Without rest, he worked the fields, gathered the wood and fend off the wolf that lurked around their humble home which, as much as he tried, he could never fix in its whole, every night his body succumbing to exhaustion, his mind still racing with the tasks that overflowed from the hours of his days.

But he made it into adulthood, his brothers had grown into men, his mother was safe. His ordeal, however, had not been a complete success. Even as law and tradition proclaimed him the head of the family, his younger kin never came to see him this way, never to address him with the proper deference and respect. To them, he was nothing more than the nagging brother, the lessons he tried to pass from his father nothing but minor annoyances, to be brushed off and discarded, the same wisdom that kept them alive throughout the years, lost to deaf ears.

Now, as they left their mother’s old home to face life on their own, once again his lessons were lost to the howls of the wind. He resigned to his impotence, his time of teaching had passed and it was now up to the merciless reality to take his place. Those who put not the effort, he knew, were to pay their due ten fold.

But he had not relinquished his brothers to their fate. Brick by brick, he erected a home to house all of his own. When the claws of real life carved their flesh, when the wolf brought down their flimsy houses, when his brothers reached him scarred and humbled, he would welcome them with open arms, once again shelter them beneath his roof, certain that, this time, the wisdom inherited from his father would be imbued into his brothers.

And so he waited, he kept on waiting and when he grew tired of waiting, he went in search of his kin.

First, it was the middle brother. Upon the land he said he’d build a life of his own, the eldest found not a humble wooden shed, but a fortress of guards over sturdy palisades and tall towers. One of them addressed him:

-State your business.

-I look for my brother, Balthazar.

The gate opened to reveal a vast court, a beautiful maiden in fine dress bowed to him:

-Welcome, Lord Atheas. Lord Balthazar has been informed of your arrival and will receive you at the great hall.

He was set over fine leather, in front of a mighty fireplace. Without being asked, a servant poured him a tall cup of the finest ale his nose had met yet. Soon enough, a familiar voice came from behind him:

-Hello, brother. Long time no see!

He stood and turned to find the middle brother covered in hand crafted hydra leather, decorated with colorful, exotic feathers.

-Indeed, long have I warned you to build your house out of sturdy brick, not flimsy wood. As the days went by, concern got the better of me and drove me to ensure myself of your well being.

-I told you back then, brick is hard to craft, timely to bake and laborious to place; wood is easy to shape, fast to place and it grows everywhere. Back that day, you, stubborn as ever, did not see my way, but you know who did? Every peasant of the land.

-I am yet to see a lord of the land lay in a wooden shed.

-True, true. All those barons and counts live in manors of stone, collected from the quarries or baked in mason’s ovens, but you know who doesn’t have the time and coin for it? Everyone else. By focusing on affordable homes, I managed to upscale my operations and expand my business across many fiefdoms and now my guild employs over three hundred lumberjacks, carpenters, architects and steward personnel. At this point I don’t even have to work anymore, I just sit in my castle of timber, watching the coin flow into my vault.

-That’s all well and good, brother, but I doubt you have been granted the title over this land. Its rightful owner might not have bothered with a simple shed, but I can’t see a baron tolerating such an ostentatious construction.

-Right you are, brother, right you are. No, my endeavors have not escaped Baron Von Gierigsein’s eye, he has invested a great deal of coin into my guild and leased me this land to grow the finest pine wood. We plan to take our business to the Royal Lands, once these trees make the cut.

-I am most glad to see you thriving. - The eldest blatantly lied to his sibling’s face. - It eases my mind to know you have found fortune and I can now focus my attention on our youngest kin.

-Oh, please, let me ask one of the coaches to bring you to him.

-You have news of Marius?

-Yes, but I’ll let him catch you up himself.

-I’ll be on my way, then. Farewell, brother.

-I’ll have the coach ready in no time. And Atheas?

-Yes?

-Don’t worry about mother, you’ve done enough for her, let us handle it from here.

-I am most grateful, brother. - The sound barely escaped through his closed teeth.

The ride over the soft cushions and the gentle swing of the four white horses would’ve been most pleasant, if only Atheas could focus on something other than shrinking his teeth under relentless grinding.

The coach halted at the gates and the driver announced their presence. They resumed the ride, surrounded by tall trees of colorful fruits and flowers. Soon enough, the driver was opening the carriage’s door and the youngest brother walked to receive him with open arms and a wide smile.

-Atheas! Please be welcomed at my humble adobe.

That was one way to describe it. Aside from the garden of dazzling colors and intoxicating smells, the dwelling itself was a large complex of dry mud and straw, shaped into the smoothest of surfaces that meld together into an impossibly large complex.

-Thank you, brother. I have just seen Balthazar and, just like with him, I see my concerns over you are not deserved. - He spoke as they strolled into the home.

-You have, indeed, no need to worry about my well being; but I do owe you an apology.

-Really? - A glimpse of pride relit inside the young patriarch. - And what could possibly be this offense you owe me an apology for, my brother?

-Let us settle in and I’ll tell you all about it.

The men sat opposite each other, inside the unbearably well aired room, over the wicker chair that magically accommodated their bottoms in a cozy embrace. A servant placed a cup engraved with fine jewelry on Atheas’ hand and poured it with the finest wine and cut pieces of fresh fruit. At last, the elder brother addressed his youngest:

-So how does this all come into being?

-Like I said, I owe you an apology. You told me a straw house would never hold and I dismissed you as usual. Time, however, proved your words wise, my brother.

-Is that so?

-Indeed. The house  weathered the first storm and a second, but soon it was beyond any salvation. I remembered your wise words, as I cursed my own laziness.

-We all make mistakes, my little brother. You should not let yourself be swallowed by self-pity, but learn from these experiences.

-Again, right you are, brother. As I wasted my time cursing myself, I was soon surprised by my new home already erected! I then recalled why I built it out of straw in the first place: it was easy, stupidly, incredibly easy.

-It is, in fact, stupidly easy, so stupid; very, very much stupid. So much so you saw yourself not worth the effort.

-Right. But then I remember how you went out during harvest times, looking for anyone in need of an extra pair of hands, how you complained about having to sleep in the stables, alongside manure, or even out in the open.

-Those were hard times, but it was all for your and our family's sake.

-But what if it didn’t need to be that hard? What if everyone in the fields just for harvest season had their own stupidly easily built house, one the wind blew away once no longer needed? Turns out there is A LOT of people willing to spare a few coins for it, so many that, honestly, I don’t even know what to do with so much coin anymore.

-I am glad you managed to make something out of your unfondness for hard work. So, so, very, much, glad.

-I know, right? I always relied on you, mother and Batlhazar to pick up my slack and, not gonna lie, I did fear I wouldn’t make it without you, but it turned out that all those years of finding the easy way out were the key to success!

-Listen, Marius, I’m glad to know you too found fortune, but how did you survive your first season? I know for a fact that the wolf who kept trying to bring down our house was keeping track of us.

-Oh, I was just with Doros when you arrived.

-???

-Let me fetch him for you, I know he’d be glad to see you.

Before Atheas could react, the youngest was gone. Soon, he was back with the bipedal, tallest man-size wolf, wrapped in a coat and trousers of bright red and rich, hand-sewed details.

-Hey, bro, you already know each other, but never been formally introduced. This is Doros, The Howling Wind.

-Greetings. Long time no see, Atheas.

-Greetings… Why are you in my brother’s home?

-I understand your confusion, given our history. You see Atheas, like yourself, I had a hard life, never certain if I could blow up the next house and find my next meal.

-I remember it too well.

-My sincerest apologies, please believe me. Your brother Marius, however, taught me a better way. While blowing up houses might provide me with my next meal, it was certain that most would pay me not to do that.

-You wanted to be paid for doing nothing?

-Yes, the concept outraged me just as much as it does you. But Marius reasoned with me that while many work hard to earn their yearn, many more pay good coin to do nothing at all, himself being a prime example. I did not have faith in your brother, but, without much to lose, I decided to try and it worked remarkably well.

-So you make a living by doing nothing?

-Close to it. After charging people for doing nothing, I soon came to realize that having their homes blown away by a wolf is not the only fear in people’s hearts and I presented a business plan to your brothers Marius and Balthazar. Now, we are associates in a guild that provides compensation in case of damages by floods, storms and other disasters, in exchange for a small(ish) yearly fee.

-Uhm… I understand. - The words came out of his mouth as lifeless as his eyes. - Marius, me leave now.

-Before you go, listen. You’re into bricks and stones, right? Balthazar and I know a lot of lords and city praefects in need of repairs to their walls and castles to expand. It’s not as profitable as our niches, but if we give you an initial investment, you can hire some guys, make some coin.

-You, Marius, lend I coin? Me, eldest.

-Yes, we’re family, we look out for each other. Think you can make due with eight hundred golden talons?

-Me not see money that much.

-I could talk to Balthazar and raise it to a thousand, maybe twelve hundred, but that’s pushing it.

Doros chimed in:

-I could raise it to fifteen hundred.

-There you go, one thousand five hundred golden talons. You think you can make do with that, Atheas?

-Think, do, I, can.

-Great! I’ll set the details with Balthazar. In the meantime, why don’t you visit mother? She asks of you.

-Yes. I, visit, mother.

-Fantastic! I’ll ask the captain to spare a detachment of my personal guard to escort you.

The family’s matriarch cheerfully received her eldest in the main hall of her vast castle, her skin glowed almost as bright as the expensive jewelry over her expensiver silks. Atheas watched with his mouth half-open, his eyes fixed in the horizon and the tea brought from lands of the furthest east getting cold in his hand. After long standing in front of his mother, as she distilled honey over his brothers with a vitality he had not witnessed since the days of his father, his soul slowly set back into his body and he addressed her:

-Mother, I’d like to visit father’s grave.

-Sure, son. I’ll ask one of the servants to accompany you. It’s in the same place as it has always been.

That was… true. The grave stood in the same patch of land it had always been, except now an imposing tomb raised over it, a fire burned hot in front of the altar to the guardian goddess of the gates of life and death, a servant took the offerings from her feet and the firmness of the fruits in the “old” bow announced this was a daily ritual. He would not have recognized this as his father’s resting place, was it not for the statue of the purest marble shaped in his likeness, although he did not remember the jaw of his gone ancestor to be this square or his arms this muscular.

He placed the fresh picked flowers in front of the chamber of his father’s remains, knelt and spoke softly:

-Hello father, it’s been a while. I have worked day and night, just as you taught me. I have cried, sweated and bled to keep the promise I made you and, today, I can inform you: I fulfilled my promise. Mother is alright, Balthazar is alright, Marius is alright, I will be alright.

Ever since you were gone, I have lived my life in accordance to the lessons you taught me; I have repeated these lessons to my brothers and not a day has gone by where I have not recalled your words, when, before opening my eyes, I repeated these words and let them carry me out of bed: discipline, effort, hard work.

Today, as I witness my duties to the family fulfilled and this dream I never thought could come true, as my soul is lifted from darkness and my eyes fill with tears not of fear, pain or sorrow, but joy, a joy I had forgotten how to feel since the days our hands held each other, I want to say… I must say this to you:

Dad, you’re a fucking idiot.

___

Tks for reading. More hard lessons here.

The atmosphere in the office of sapient resources was tense, made tenser still by her refusal to sit down. Nevertheless, he had a job to do.

-Listen, Andrea…

-Zarglan, I swear to God!...

-It is not a pleasant conversation for me either, but your behavior must be addressed.

-My behaviour? MY behavior?! Why am I the one who’s called to sapient resources? As the head of the department, isn’t it your job to ensure the physical integrity of the company’s employees?

-It is also my duty to ensure all cultural practices are respected and celebrated, like the Easter traditions passed to us by your colleague Jia Wehner.

-Don’t you dare bring that rag into this! I’m sick and tired of her acting like she’s more Terran than me.

-So you didn’t know she is from Prague, Earth?

-Yes, I know she is from Prague, she told me she’s from Prague, she won’t shut up she’s from Prague and I’m from a colony far from Earth!

-So you acknowledge she’s more familiar with Terran traditions than you.

-Zarblan, I swear…

-Regardless, there is only one Easter and she has the seniority, she decides how to celebrate it.

-Not if it involves whipping my ass!

-It is a traditional Terran fertility ritual.

-I’m a postmenopause woman!

-Than you could use some of the fertility your colleagues’ whips wish upon you, right?

-Zarblan, for the love of Christ!

-Andrea, if you don’t want tentacles whipping your ass with willow branches, you give your colleagues chocolate, you don’t threaten them with physical violence.

-Listen, Zarblan: if the company won’t ensure my ass remains unwhipped, I will pick the office supplies to demonstrate the Terran familiarity with projectile weapons.

-That’s not something we can allow at this company. The doctors are still trying to unstick the stapler from Glorp’s head.

-My only regret is that I hit only one head.

-Okay, let us try shifting the focus a little bit. Why don’t you take a seat and tell me what are your expectations for an Easter celebration?

-I’m standing, thank you very much. And I just want the Easter Bunny to give chocolate eggs.

-Now that’s not very logical, is it? When have you ever seen a bunny give away chocolate?

-When have you ever seen me give away chocolate?

-Don’t you think whip waving tentacles are an effective incentive?

And that’s how staplers were banned from the office… also Easter.

___

Ths for reading. More Terran traditions here.