I just cannot fathom that the only thing I worried about in elementary school was whether or not I would get the toy I wanted to play with at recess while children today can’t go to school without worrying about getting shot and killed. It’s too unreal and cruel
I can barricade a classroom in less than a minute. I know that when the fire alarm goes off we lock ourselves in the room until someone confirms it’s real so we don’t get shot evacuating the building. I am trained to pack a bullet wound and apply a tourniquet. My classroom is organized with an active shooter in mind - filing cabinets in front of glass, big desks one shove away from blocking a door, hiding places out of sight of the windows. I have come to terms with the knowledge that I might die protecting my students when all I want to do is show them poetry is fun and teach creative writing.
a decade ago, 20 children and 6 staff members were shot and killed in the tragic sandy hook elementary school shooting. today, a decade later, 14 children and 1 teacher had their lives taken at robb elementary school in texas. it’s been a decade, and there has been nothing done to prevent this from ever happening again. may they all rest in peace.
We’re at a point where we are literally begging for children’s lives to be saved. Children. Murdered at school. And yet again, Republicans will hide behind their thoughts and prayers and continue to fantasize about the potential of the unborn, instead of lifting a finger to protect the real living children who went to school today and didn’t come home because allegedly “pro-life” adults prioritized guns over people again and again and again and again.
Sorry, I know not everyone wants to see this on here, it’s just going to be really hard to walk into work tomorrow and look my students in the eye after literally spending the night wondering when it will happen to us, which classroom it will be, whose parents will have to live through the nightmare, whether I’ll live and be traumatized forever or die trying to protect them. It just fucking sucks.
I went to everytown.org because at least they’re trying to do something about it.
Senator Chris Murphy is also at least trying to do something about it and has been trying for the decade since Sandy Hook. You should hear what he has to say. His words at least felt something like how I feel today.
I just don’t know how people function in a society where we just keep letting this happen. Like, what the fuck? They’re too young to know about the gays but not too young to watch their classmates get murdered in cold blood? What is wrong with this fucking country. Only country where this happens. Keeps happening. What a fucking nightmare we live in. I hate it here.
We can’t let this pass us by. We can’t forget again and then say every year on the anniversary, oh yeah it was sad that those kids died and no one did anything about it. Imagine how those families feel today. Their children were alive this morning. We have to get mad about this and stay mad about it and stay focused on the problem. The problem is guns. There is no rational reason that we cannot have gun control. There is no rational reason not to have basic gun safety. It is a choice. In Texas, Greg Abbott chose guns over people. If you are going to vote on any one issue in 2022, make it gun control. Don’t forget again. Save lives.
My brother has a criminal record because he participated in a senior prank at his high school at age 16. No one was hurt, no property was damaged. He was the youngest kid there by a year, and the only one charged with a crime.He’s Romani.
Police officers responding to the Uvalde School Shooting have been criticized after they reportedly refused to enter the school to apprehend the gunman, Salvador Ramos, and preventing parents from entering the premises, going as far as pinning heartbroken relatives to the ground.
a decade ago, 20 children and 6 staff members were shot and killed in the tragic sandy hook elementary school shooting. today, a decade later, 14 children and 1 teacher had their lives taken at robb elementary school in texas. it’s been a decade, and there has been nothing done to prevent this from ever happening again. may they all rest in peace.
I come from a long line of conservative farmers. Even now, in my grandparents’ small town, if they called the cops, they’d have to wait 45 minutes or so for one to arrive. They had to defend themselves from rattlesnakes and anything else that might attack them.
Despite this, and despite their otherwise conservative outlook, my family has been anti-gun my entire life. In the 1970s, a teenage uncle of mine was at a friend’s house when that friend got into an argument with another boy. My uncle stepped between them, suffered a gunshot wound to the abdomen, and died six agonizing weeks later.
My family didn’t blame the shooter, who was also a traumatized teenage boy who hadn’t known the rifle was loaded and who didn’t mean to press the trigger as he moved the gun from one hand to the other.
My family recognized that none of this would have happened had there not been a gun in the house when teenaged emotions ran high. My rural family got rid of all guns. They still engaged in deer hunting—using the compound bow and arrows. They weren’t loud about it, but I was taught this from an early age. Nobody should have guns, except maybe the military to defend ourselves from invaders. A gun should never be in a home, not even under lock and key.
Imagine how the politicians might change, had their kids attended Rob Elementary School. They shouldn’t need to have a personal tragedy to care about the rest of us, though.
The last episode of Star Trek Enterprise hit me sorta hard, and since Phlox is one of my comfort characters, I thought it only right to work out some of my feelings through him.
⚠️TW⚠️
Spoilers, Death, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
☆
You trusted Johnathan Archer with your whole life.
You had followed him to the end of the Earth and farther. You were now willing to go with him to the ends of the universe.
Everything was fine. Completely fine.
You were incredibly important on Enterprise, working closely with T'pol and Hoshi. You were in charge of research, making the Human Database while updating the Vulcan Database.
You would observe each species, take notes, attempt to find out more, and then type your findings into a computer.
You had been working with Hoshi, putting in information about her new telepathic friend you had run into about a week ago. She was telling you all she remembered about his race and how his telepathy worked.
That was until you were called into sickbay.
Considering you were close with T'pol, The Captain, and very close with Phlox, you were often called in when things went amiss.
You were someone for Phlox to bounce ideas and worries off of. You would sit on a medical cot as he paced, talking more so at you than with you.
Not just that. You were his partner. Someone for him to relax and joke with. You often went to movie nights together, talking about the movies in detail afterwards (as T'pol would snap at the both of you for talking during the movie).
When you’d entered, you’d expected something small, a concussion or virus of sorts. You weren’t expecting for your captain to be in the state he was in.
Phlox’s face had been thoughtful, grimly so. Not the usual beautifully thoughtful face. Lips pursed as to the side, eyes downcast but still full of energy.
No, his eyes had been dull, lips more a frown than pursed, eyebrows pulled in.
He had explained the situation, and you had let a curse out under your breath.
He often stayed in the med lab at night, unless he needed to catch a few hours of sleep or you were lonely and were not in favour of sleeping on the medical cots that night.
But that quickly changed.
You would spend nights tiredly drifting off, head in your hands, pj’s on, sitting in your boyfriend’s bed as he paced up and down the room, frantically muttering under his breath.
Hoshi had told you about her hullcinations, Phlox saying they were common on his planet with stress. But most importantly, she told you he mentioned he never really held much in.
You suppose he held in much more than he thought.
He had always been an open book, telling you how he truly felt and what was going on, but he never showed much. He was always so optimistic. If you didn’t ask about his day, he wouldn’t tell you. But asking about his day? What you got from that small question was worth more than gold.
He would give you one of his lop-sided, shy smiles, his eyes bright and bold in contrast. He would describe his day in detail, everything he observed, every worry he had about a crewmate. Everything.
Not anymore.
He was focused on Archer now.
Every waking and sleeping moment spent thinking over his condition, another crewmate’s illness and what it could become, or you.
Despite his worry and panic, he still made time for you.
Holding you at night.
You knew, though.
You knew that whenever he thought you were asleep he would get up and go over to his desk.
He didn’t know you knew he was skipping meals, both of his and his pets. You had begun to feed them most days.
Phlox had always worked well under pressure. But this wasn’t stress, it was the weight of humanity. On only two people’s shoulders, it seemed.
Phlox knew that without Archer, things would look much more grim. He took it on himself and only himself to heal your Captain.
T'pol had taken it upon herself to stop the end of humanity, help Archer, organize the ship, keep everyone in high spirits. It was impossible.
Eventually, she grew tired of the morning meetings they had.
She insisted that she continue them, but you made the point that Archer wouldn’t remember anyways, and it was only logical to take a break.
You had begun to help Archer walk Porthos in the mornings, helping fill him in on the days.
You had gotten him a notebook, writing down what had happened. Everything that was going on. Every time you would get new information, it went into his notebook.
You had a separate notebook with logs of when he had showered, eaten, walked Porthos, gone to the restroom.
You had begun to write reminders on his arm.
You would sit in his quarters for hours on end, letting him help you work.
Anything to help him.
Anything to help the crew.
At night you would go to T'pol’s quarters, talking through the day with her. Her worries, her emotions.
Before bed used to be your favourite time of the day. You would sit in med bay with Phlox and talk to him about anything and everything. You would help him feed the animals.
But now you dreaded it.
Now it was a time for you to realize just how deep of trouble the human race was in.
One day, you broke down.
In the middle of one of you and T'pol’s sessions, things just got to be too much.
T'pol never let you back in her quarters past nine again. Any digging into her emotions would end with her on a different end of the ship.
You had taken on Travis and Hoshi’s issues too.
At one point you asked chef if he could synthesize some alcohol. Cheap wine would do.
He admitted he had already made some for himself.
You hadn’t shown up in Phlox’s quarters that night.
You were too busy watching over a hammered Travis Mayweather and Hoshi Sato.
Phlox questioned your absence. You blew off the question.
Malcolm always seemed sad, forlorn, mopey, even. But this wasn’t him.
He was depressed. Either not interested in weapons and fighting, or extraordinarily violent.
Trip, having already lost his sister, was in the best shape, as surprising as it was. He was determined. Each mistake, each death, made him more determined.
You found it dangerous.
He called it hope.
Dead bodies of crew members stacked up, and so did the doubt.
Against Archer’s wishes, you stopped telling him about what was going on. You took the notebook once. And then you shoved it in the back of a drawer.
Some days you would tell him that you had won, that you were going towards a planet you had , in reality, made up.
It was cruel, and you knew that. But to see how proud he was, to receive that hug and the childish glee that came with it, it was intoxicating. You wanted him to be happy too.
But he wouldn’t be happy as long as he was sick.
At least you could try.
One day, he asked to be taken up on the bridge. Shown this mystery planet.
When you refused, he knew something was wrong.
You knew it was coming. You knew he wouldn’t remember it after.
It still hurt.
Him yelling at you, as you started blankly at his bed, legs crossed and hands in fists.
You didn’t want to hurt anyone. You just wanted a moment of happiness.
You made the grim realization that I this time and place, you were happy or everyone else was.
That lecture ended with a confession on your part, Archer’s understanding, a hug, and several hours of silence.
The next day, both notebooks were on his desk, and no one showed up to help him walk Porthos.
Not that he would know.
Three days later, you started helping with the walks again. He had looked so overjoyed to see you, until you explained the current situation.
Some days you wpild even tell him about lying to him.
This would be met with an arm around your shoulder, a pat on your arm, a smile, and a quiet promise that it would be okay.
You didn’t believe him.
The destruction of Earth didn’t come as a surprise, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.
Phlox had been oddly quiet the first week.
He had sat beside you and hugged you as kissed your forehead as you cried until you puked.
Your time together had become much more macabre, both sitting together in silence.
As silent as it could get with the sobs that filled the room.
Some nights you both wouldn’t sleep. You would sit in his lap as he rubbed you back and hummed, and you would do the same for him.
One night, you had entered T'pol’s room without her permission, using the emergency system.
She had not been happy. She had ordered you to get out.
You had not left, and soon your days with Phlox were much like your days with T'pol. Sitting in silence and crying.
Hoshi and Travis were a couple. Something that you disapproved of silently. They shouldn’t have gotten together because they were the only people who could comfort eachother during this time of grief.
They should have gotten together when things were happy.
But it was too late.
You were just happy they had one another now.
After what remained of the human race was moved to a new planet, Phlox had proposed going to Denobula. He insisted that he must leave and try to find a cure for Archer back on his home planet.
You didn’t want to leave anyone, but he was all you had left.
You talked to T'pol.
She insisted you go.
Should the new planet be found, you would be safe.
You called yourself a coward.
She called you logical.
You went with Phlox to Denobula.
It was fine, but not good. Things were different.
When you asked Phlox about his day, it was nothing but failure.
When he asked about your day, you ignored him.
He didn’t blame you.
As time went on, things got better.
Phlox hadn’t pushed you at first, knowing things were raw, but had convinced you to go to counseling.
Phlox had gone to counseling too. He had gotten it for himself, telling you that you were not alone.
You had met many of his family members. Wives, children, husband’s of wives. They all seemed happy that Phlox had a partner, all completely fine that you were different.
Some had asked about what happened. Phlox reprimanded his children on the invasive question, and awkwardly answered the adults.
Well, the adult-adults.
Time relaxing with him had become easier.
When asking about his day, it was a bit more happy.
You actually answered now.
You had stayed in contact with Enterprise to the best of your abilities, but it was hard considering their current state.
You would both sit down by eachother every night. You wouldn’t talk like you used to, not most of the time.
Occasionally you would bring stuff up, or he would.
You were both more open about your experiences on the matter.
You let it slip about lying to Archer one day.
He told you everyone had done it once, before pulling you into a hug and rubbing your back.
You both knew that Archer was what was keeping that ship together. But he was gone. Not fully, but still gone.
He had come up with a cure.
You hadn’t seen him that excited in years.
His ear-to-ear smile and bright eyes. Chipper voice as he pulled you into a nearly bone crushing hug.
You would both be heading back to earth soon, or what was left of it, at least.
The trip there was fine.
Getting to see T'pol and Archer was wonderful. Getting to see the crew? Awful.
They were older. You and Phlox were too, you knew, hid hair longer and just starting to grey.
But you missed them, and started to question going with Phlox again.
You didn’t talk much with them. You didn’t want to.
Phlox could tell.
He took you with him.
When you found out that killing the parasites was changing the past too, you were elated.
But Trip wasn’t. And Malcolm was violent.
You decided to defy them. Captain Tucker didn’t sound good anyways.
Archer came up with a plan to kill the rest of the parasites. You went with it.
You saw your boyfriend, a healer, with a phase pistol in his hand.
And you saw him get shot.
And you saw him hit the ground.
And you went to help him.
You thought it was so cheesy, in the movies, when they screamed.
But now you knew it was real.
You screamed as you slid to his side.
He was the last thing you had left.
Then you saw white as pain flashed through your body.
Your vision blury, you saw T'pol fall.
Then Archer got hit.
Put he didn’t fall.
And then he did.
And then you saw black.
—
You had woken your with the bed empty, but you weren’t worried. That happened a lot.
You got up, joints awfully stiff, and something nagging at the back of you brain.
You supposed it was a forgotten dream.
You took a shower, got dressed, and headed to the med bay, where you always went before your first shift.
You went through the doors, met with Phlox’s smile and a quick kiss to the head. You grabbed his wrist and gave it a quick, loving squeeze.
“Good morning, by beloved!”
“Mornin’.”
“Tired?”
“Yeah.”
The chuckles, informing you that the Captain is up, a'okay, and on the bridge.
The anomaly had only caused a minor concussion. Just what you had thought when you were called into the room.
You bid your boyfriend adieu, and headed to the bridge.
If you see Archer on the way there, and hear him mention how good of a nurse T'pol would be, as well as asking you about Phlox with a wink.
a decade ago, 20 children and 6 staff members were shot and killed in the tragic sandy hook elementary school shooting. today, a decade later, 14 children and 1 teacher had their lives taken at robb elementary school in texas. it’s been a decade, and there has been nothing done to prevent this from ever happening again. may they all rest in peace.
the south texas blood and tissue center are in critical need of blood donations following this horrific mass shooting. you can visit their website to find a donation location.
Pairing: Leo x ? (It’s pretty obvious, because hi.)
A/N: This is my submission for @moodmusicmonday Luck of the Draw. I want to thank whoever chose this song, because my head almost exploded from all the angsty possibilities when I listened to it for the first time.
Thank you a million @alyssalauren for moral support and pre-reading and being the very best.
TW: Little squeeze of , sensuality, language, character death, violence. Angsty AF.
Song: Alone by I Prevail
Word count: 3952
Thank you to everyone who likes, comments, and/or reblogs this. I appreciate it so much. ❤️
Ooooooo! I love waking up to another submission to LOTR, and the punches of angst in this one are legit! @queenrileyrose thank you so much for sharing your talent with us!
It was presented like the birth of Aphrodite—a thing to covet, to desire, to guard with life and limb. A material god, constructed to coax out the avarice of even the holiest of saints. The spotlight shone on the black leather of the suitcase, but what caught the eye were the contents that caused the light to dance about the stage. Coins, antiques, priceless rarities that were all tied to the the suitcase in name and memory. There were rumors about where it came from, but the more one listened, the more one noticed a consistent pattern. Though it was stolen from one place, reappearing in another, it was always tied to Russia. But the Capulets had no contacts there, and the Montagues would’ve made their involvement known, so then who could this mysterious donor be? Names were whispered in the dark, murmured into the ears of men and women whose pockets were as deep as the oceans that covered the world. But they all hesitated before placing their bid, the question rolling through the crowd like an uneasy wave. Who was the donor? Who? Who?
Such priceless things were not meant to be tied to anonymity. Did the Devil steal a soul and not leave his calling card? Was this donor more conniving than Lucifer?
Oh,miei bambini, if only you knew.
The golden suitcase was presented second to last, the guards around it shifting about restlessly—like a dog might do before the tremors of an earthquake. They shook their arms out, turned their heads this way and that, every crow of laughter a reason for them to cringe or flinch. But for all their wariness, they would never be able to reconcile how they let their guard slip enough for the devil to move within their ranks, working his dastardly deeds. Then again, would it really beVerona if everything went as expected? The series of events happened like clockwork—like dominoes, their movements as seamless and practiced as if Father Time himself had bowed his head to them to allow their work to take place.
It began with a man whose smile did not quite meet his eyes; if only one were to look long enough and see the duplicity that lingered there. He cavorted with a wild-haired Capulet, her smile a bit sadder than it had once been but there all the same. At her side was Cosimo himself, who looked at the proceedings with the boredom of a king whose kingdom was no longer at war—oh, the price of peace.
There if you looked to the right of stage, there was the woman, the harbinger, the scorn. She called herself the hand of justice—but should such a hand really be so bloody? Hand-in-hand she walked with the lamb, taking it to the slaughter with a joyous smile on her face, eyes alight with an ecstasy that was often reserved for when a worshiper partakes in something holy.
Look to the left and watch the angel of death wield its quiet weapon, sniper rifle as their glaive, eyes barren save for the reminiscent sadness that hid in dark hues. The guards dropped atop the stage, as if they fainted—one, after the other, after the other, too quick any one of them to notice before they themselves fall and too quiet to be called brutal. But fainting is not followed by blood pooling upon the ground, painting the stage in a rather morbid picture of fallen soldiers who were picked off by a sweet-singing Valkyrie. The crowd takes notice slowly then all at once, a sheet of silence falling over them as if choreographed.
Turn to center stage and watch the director of it all step into the light, his ever-present assistant at his side. She watches the bodies fall with an unwavering gaze, as if she has seen worse and still has yet to see even more terrible deeds wrought. While he, the rival king, Verona’s newest puppeteer, takes his place in the spotlight, closing the suitcase carefully so that all might gaze upon him. Why stare at the cause of greed, when greed himself, personified in the flesh, was there for all to see?
“Patrons,” Faron Vasiliev says, hands behind his back as he looks around at the silenced revellers. “May I welcome you all to my Dark Lady—The Dark Lady.”
All teeth, all grin, and all the ravenousness that screams devour me—I dare you. Akin to a wolf as it corners its prey, he smiles.
“Now, I believe it’s time for proper introductions. My name is Faron Vasiliev – “ a scream of horror, quickly followed by the familiar sound of someone choking on their own blood “ – and THESE ARE THE SPADES.”
In the few moments of Faron’s introduction RAFAELLA CAPULET had fallen to the ground dead. Her drink had been poisoned and no one had known but MAEVE PETRE. The Capulet soldier had been about to cry out a warning, but before she could TRINITY CRUYSSEN had slit her throat. The police chief had not wanted her boss’ introduction to Verona to be warned by a squawking little duck.
COSIMO CAPULET held Rafaella’s corpse and had tried to drag her away. To leave one of their own would be disrespectful as well as embarrassing to the Capulet name. He ordered PRIAM TARAVELLA and TIBERIUS CAPULET to drag her body away. Once they are relieved of her body by some shocked soldiers they return to the fray.
While this is occurring JULIANA CAPULET goes to try and get Maeve’s body to be taken away as well. However, standing over it is BORIS KOVROV. He’s cleaning up Trinity’s dirty work, but doesn’t mind scaring the little Capulet child either. When TIBERIUS comes back, he sees Boris bullying his cousin and the two exchange blows.
ROMAN MONTAGUE notes that this is not his quarrel and grabs MARCELO ROSSO so they can grab as many Montagues as they can and organize a retreat. However, MIKAEL FALCO notes that the two are about to flee and doesn’t see why only the Capulets should suffer. He tries to stop them from leaving with the aid of EVERETT CRAVEN.
HECTOR SAWIRIS, seeing ROMAN and MARCELO fighting against the CAPULETS, drags ROMAN away at MARCELO’S request, then sends his boss away. The Montagues do not need their only king to fall.
LUCRECIA FALCO goes to retrieve Maeve’s body, but is stopped by GRACE DALY who is wearing a vindictive smile. Grace calls for her sister, REGINA DALY, to come to her side and the two gang up on Lucrecia.
Blood is now being spilled by BORIS and TIBERIUS, so ALVA GWON and DELILAH VOGEL try to tear them apart. The two end up being hurt in the process, but are successful in stopping the fight from ending in a fatality.
However, MATTHIAS WARREN misreads the situation and thinks that ALVA is the one who hurt DELILAH. Matthias begins to exact his vengeance and is stopped by BRIELLE KING. She sends both MATTHIAS and DELILAH off, then begins to help ALVA.
ALEXANDER RALLIS has been searching for Roman and Marcelo, but to no avail. Instead, he finds himself face-to-face with PAVEL LAM and thinks him a foe, since the hired gun has been happily watching everything unfold. ALEXANDER attacks PAVEL and the two go at it, the assassin more than eager for some chaos of his own.
This whole time VIVIANNE SLOANE has been searching for her son, CYRUS SLOANE, in the crowd. However, she is stopped by CLARK GODREJ, who takes the opportunity to stab her in the midst of the chaos.
CLARK then joins GIYA GODREJ. HALCYON SANTOS had been watching the whole time, but was unable to help her dearest friend. She takes a gun and aims it at CLARK, but is shoved at the last minute and hits GIYA instead.
CYRUS SLOANE hears the gunshot and turns to see his mother has been stabbed. He shoves through the crowd, but is stopped by LAWRENCE VERNON, who is more than willing to see the other underboss die. CYRUS and LAWRENCE begin to fight. However, BUNNY DU PONT sees her friend being attacked and, in desperation, grabs a knife and stabs Lawrence in the side before running away with CYRUS.
The chaos begins to reach a high-point and ODESSA VERNON still has not found her brother. She begins to grow frantic in her search and runs into HUGO KIM who helps her. The two stumble into ORPHEUS AHULANI, who, surprisingly, steps aside to allow them to go on their way.
However, ORION MASSETTI spots ORPHEUS’ moment of weakness and goes to let the other know of the leverage he now has. PANDORA RHEE steps in with her gun in hand, her heart set on eliminating the threats before they become one. She raises her gun to shoot ORION, when ORPHEUS grabs her and the two begin to fight.
ORION slips away only to run into HIRAN GODREJ. ORION and HIRAN begin to fight – and just when ORION is about to be beaten, he lets it slip that he saw GIYA’S corpse. HECTOR SAWIRIS finds HIRAN and ORION at this moment, then helps HIRAN knock ORION out.
CATHERINE DALY finds her sisters fighting against LUCRECIA and tries to help the outnumbered woman, while trying to calm her sisters. But to no avail. CATHERINE and LUCRECIA incapacitate GRACE and REGINA, then drag Maeve’s body away from the fight.
VALENTINA GALLO was perhaps the most unfortunate of them all. She stumbled into LILLIAN WEN and, in a rush of adrenaline, began to fight the woman. The two begin to go at it, but LILLIAN was much less willing to fight than the other.
Upon seeing this CALINA SOKOLOVA steps in, stopping the fight before LILLIAN suffered too many bruises. She holds a knife to VALENTINA’S back and drags her to FARON VASILIEV. He grabs a gun and shoots it off once before pointing it back to Valentina’s head. SANTINO runs to join them, stopping before getting too close and begs on his hands and knees for his sister’s life to be spared. HUGO joins the soldier and entreats Faron to stop the bloodshed before it drowns the city.
The chaos stills, for the King of Chaos himself is now speaking. His eyes scan the room, pausing each time he encounters a still body in the river of blood. They’re easy to pick out—scattered and tossed about the room, trampled on and desecrated, save for the bodies that were held by their loved ones.
Faron turns to his advisor, brow raising. “How many do we have dead? One? Two?” She does not answer his question, knowing that he has the answer to it in his mind already. “I believe that I counted three. Rafaella Capulet, Giya Godrej, and Maeve Petre. All prominent names within their own respected groups, am I correct?”
Slowly, he cocked the trigger back. “Shall we make it an even number? Unless Vivianne Sloane can be added to the count already.” At this, Trinity gave a quiet chuckle, her hands somehow immaculate despite how much blood she had spilled. Next to her stood Boris, who smiled quietly in response. Alva and Brielle stood beside him, the former looking blank and hollow, the latter appearing almost rueful if it were not for the steel in her spine.
Calina spoke up, her quiet voice carrying throughout the room. “We should let her go, Faron. As a sign of our good will.”
Whatever good will there was left to salvage from the carnage of the red-painted room.
Valentina darted away as she as she felt the gun’s pressure leave her temple. She was quickly grabbed by a beaten Marcelo, who placed themself between her and Faron’s line of sight. The king of the Spades, however, seemed to have lost interest with the woman as soon as she was gone. No, did they not see by now that he had his sights set upon bigger and better things than a lowly soldier? He walked about the stage, like an actor, commanding the attention of the audience.
“It looks to me, Cosimo,” Faron began, “that you are in need of an advisor—and perhaps, even, an underboss.” At that point, a low growl came from the back of the room where Vivianne found herself revived to consciousness by Halcyon. “Or perhaps not an underboss,” Faron conceded. “But an advisor is of the utmost importance, is it not? They encourage you to make daring decisions, guide you onto a path that’s meant to profit us all.”
The Capulet boss remains quiet, his face unreadable, save for the flush that besets his features. Not even the king can hide his shock at the uncalled-for carnage that lay beneath his seat on the throne.
“So, here is my proposal. I work as your advisor, while you, my friend, profit from the debauchery that my business entails. Capisce?”
Long live the king…long live the kings…
Cosimo stands, smooths the blood-speckled jacket of his suit and nods. “Capisce.”
OVERVIEW: Ah, my dear Veronans, now we truly begin our Act II. As noted, the dead are GIYA GODREJ, MAEVE PETRE, and RAFAELLA CAPULET. While VIVIANNE SLOANE is being treated for her critical wounds in the hospital. In summary, Faron Vasiliev is now the “advisor” to the Capulets—his Spades remaining a subgroup within their ranks. Of course, they’re to be ostracized and more or less remain separate from the Capulets. They mainly act as Faron’s own, personal team and their first loyalty is to him. Cosimo knows this, but keep your friends close and your enemies closer, yes? He is keeping them housed with the Capulets in the hopes that the Capulets will be able to glean information from the Spades. To the public, it merely seems as though the Capulets have gone into the drug business with the Spades. Everyone is speculating that the Montagues will be run out of business with Ace and Fairy’s Blood taking over the streets, not to mention the Capulets and Spades now outnumbering the Montagues in heads and territory.
OOC: As always, you are encouraged to play out these interactions on the dash or in a chatzy. If you hold these interactions in a chatzy, please post it on the dash so we may all be a part of the excitement. Play out your character’s injuries and recuperation. All interactions may occur between the dates of MARCH 4TH to MARCH 25TH. We hope you have enjoyed ACT II thus far and cannot wait to reign down more agony on you all. As always, feel free to ask us questions.
I saw this and got confused cuz there’s also an active shooter right now at a school in LA
LA, Tulsa and Pennsylvania
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Tweet by Sami, user name @SamiiJustine:
An active shooter just came into our hospital in Tulsa & started shooting people. This is fucking insane !! If only you hick ass Americans cared about our citizens as much as your stupid guns we could fix this world! BAN SEMIAUTOMATIC WEAPONS. NO ONE NEEDS THEM.
2. Tweet by The Associated Press, user name @AP:
BREAKING: Multiple people were shot at a Tulsa medical building on a hospital campus Wednesday and “some unfortunately were killed,” a police captain said.
Tulsa police said in a Facebook post just before 6 p.m. that the shooter was dead.
3. Tweey by Charlotte Clymer, user name @CMClymer:
Gun laws in Oklahoma: — no permit required to purchase — no firearm registration — no owner license required — no background check for private sales — no red flag law — no permit required for open carry — no permit required for concealed carry
And the state preempts local laws.
4. Tweet by Marisa Kabas, user name @MarisaKabas:
active shooters in three states at the same time is a policy choice.
It feels kind of shitty that so many politicians are speaking around the pulse shooting in this discussion of gun violence. It’s pride month and it was one of the worst mass shootings in history but it goes unmentioned in speeches. Biden referred to it obliquely as “Orlando” in a list of shootings, if indeed that was what he meant, since it is never referred to as anything other than the Pulse shooting. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that when the victims are mostly LGBT and/or people of color the tragedy gets pushed aside.
a decade ago, 20 children and 6 staff members were shot and killed in the tragic sandy hook elementary school shooting. today, a decade later, 14 children and 1 teacher had their lives taken at robb elementary school in texas. it’s been a decade, and there has been nothing done to prevent this from ever happening again. may they all rest in peace.
