Hey, you might have noticed from my lack of author's notes and late posting times that I'm kinda... stressed... lately. It might not seem that way because of all the oneshots, but... those are kind of symptomatic (I don't have to put as much thought into them as I do with a longer piece with more plot threads). I've only barely been keeping up with my buffer (I've only just started work on chapter 236, and usually I'd like to be working on 240). Add that to the new semester starting in February, the new classes I'll be teaching, the near-total lack of anything even approaching certainty as far as class schedules and whether or not we'll be in-person go, and other work-related stress... Yeah.

Because of the above, I am currently considering putting Mortified on a hiatus in February.

The hiatus might last for all of February, or just for a week or two (probably the week before and after the 15th). It might extend into March. I might randomly post chapters in the middle of the hiatus on a Tuesday and then disappear again. I'll probably continue to work on oneshots and other fics that require less mental involvement. I don't really know right now. Which, I mean. Considering what's causing my stress...

.

.

.

Chapter 231: Convict

.

The tension in the courtroom was thick enough to turn into lemon bars. It almost tasted like lemon bars, too. Sweet, sour, and sharp, with a bittersweet hook on the end. That was probably the ectoplasm. Or maybe someone had brought some actual lemon bars to the reading of the verdict.

After all, weirder things had happened, and if the jury got in a fight on the way to the courtroom, a snack wasn't a terrible thing to have. Heck, Danny probably should have tried to grab something considering that he hadn't eaten in several hours, being too nervous to even contemplate food.

It was ridiculous. He wasn't the one being sentenced.

Except, he kind of was. His parents' fate would determine his own.

They weren't actually being sentenced yet, though. Just convicted.

That might be worse. Drawing out the sentencing for that long.

(Danny wanted to go back to Amity Park where, at least in theory, he could do something.)

The jury filed in and walked to their box.

"Foreperson," said Themis, "has the jury come to a consensus."

"Yes, your honor," said Mrs. Ormolu.

"Please read your results to the court."

"On the first count," said Mrs. Ormolu, "knowingly subjecting their own blood child to a Taboo act, we find the defendants not guilty…"

Danny listened nervously as Mrs. Ormolu read through several more similar charges, each one gradually lessening.

"On the count of subjecting a child to a Taboo act, we find the defendants guilty."

More passed.

"On the count of planning to subject others to Taboo acts, we find the defendants guilty."

And more.

"On the count of creating and designing devices for the sole purpose of inflicting Taboo acts on others, we find the defendants guilty."

Finally, after reading enough guilty verdicts to give Danny acute anxiety, Mrs. Ormolu sat down, and the jury was dismissed.

It felt anticlimactic. Maybe it was anticlimactic, with the sentencing hearing yet to be held.

Danny felt hollow. He caught his parents' eyes, one after the other. They tried to smile at him. He couldn't bear to smile back.

.

.

.

Danny got back to his room and immediately fell upon his paperwork. He needed to think, he needed to do. He needed to think and do things not related to the trial.

He looked at the form letter he had drafted a couple days ago, a request to merchants to visit Amity Park. A sort of announcement that the town was open to trade. He'd already sent copies to everyone he could think of, including the Goblin Market.

Another stack of letters consisted of missives from rulers of various Realms. He… was not in a good place emotionally to deal with those.

Maybe…

"How about this," said Clockwork, sliding a tome under Danny's hands.

"What is it?" asked Danny, running his fingers over the unmarked cover.

"A record of the roles and duties the Ancients have borne in the past," said Clockwork. "It may inspire you. I have a few others that might be of interest to you, as well."

"Okay," said Danny, opening the book and wincing at the difficult script inside. "I don't think I'm going to finish this any time soon, though."

"For cross-referencing purposes," said Clockwork, patting a stack of books with one hand. "Would you like me to let your friends in?"

"I don't know," said Danny. "I don't really want to talk right now."

"You could tell them that," said Clockwork.

Danny blinked. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Yes," said Clockwork, grimacing himself. "I must begin to reassemble my tools. Even ignoring your injury," and Clockwork's tone indicated he would do nothing of the sort, "I will still need them to sort out common paradoxes before they grow too large."

"Okay," said Danny. "Be safe."

Clockwork blinked.

"I mean, you probably have to do some wild stuff to get all your materials, right?" asked Danny, blushing. "Magic mirrors that see through time can't just be made out of silver you find at the local jeweler's. Can they?"

"Well, I don't know how 'wild' you would consider it, but some of the things I will need to acquire are rather esoteric. I'll try to be safe."

"Thanks," said Danny. He slumped down in his chair. "You can let them in." He slumped down further and propped the book up on his lap. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Daniel."

.

.

.

"Hey, hey," said Johnny, poking Skulker with a pipe. A pipe that would definitely be used to deal some damage and, more importantly, be referenced in the future for their local neighborhood game night whenever they decided to play Clue. Incidentally, Johnny also had some rope, a candlestick, a knife, a wrench, and the ever-reliable revolver.

Not that Johnny had ever had to rely on it, haha.

Except that one time he'd managed to actually beat their game-Obsessed neighbor. Johnny's Shadow was the only one to send anybody to the shadow-realm that night.

Why, yes. Their Clue games had more in common with LARPing. Yes, the Clue part of the game was immediately preceded by everyone trying to 'murder' one another. They were ghosts. What did it matter if someone got beaned in the back of the head a time or twenty? It isn't like they kept brains in there. It was all in good, lighthearted fun.

Unlike this, which was about to be very violent and revenge focused. But still fun, if Johnny had anything to say about it.

"What?" growled Skulker, who had been slowly realizing that leading an army was more trouble than it was worth, and that he should definitely leave such pursuits to Phantom in the future.

(The ghost boy was King, after all.)

"There's, like, a mob of angry hillbillies going the same way we are."

"What?"

"Yeah, over there. A few miles, maybe. I wasn't really checking my speedo. Thing hasn't worked right since I died, anyway."

Under other circumstances, Skulker might have been touched that Johnny trusted him enough to casually mention his death around him. Something like that was a big deal for the Dead.

"Where did they even come from?" asked Skulker. In a situation more complicated than ghosts vs. humans, would his army even be able to distinguish friend from foe? If these humans weren't somehow involved with the GIW to begin with.

"I asked around, and apparently there's a little town a ways back."

"You asked around."

"Yeah."

"Asked who?"

"The hillbillies."

"You… asked the humans where they came from."

"Yeah. I mean, they're the ones who would know, right? And I figure, I might as well put my sick disguise skills to work, yeah?"

"So, you just… rolled up to them. In the middle of nowhere. On your bicycle."

"Why are you saying it like that?"

"You do realize we came all this way to fight humans, right?"

"Yeah, some slick government creeps, though. Not a bunch of dudes who wear plaid and overalls and carry shotguns."

"Did you think that maybe they could be in disguise, too?"

"Not really," said Johnny. "They seemed to be super mad at the government, too. I think that's mostly just a hillbilly thing, but they are going in more or less the same way we are, so…"

Skulker ground his back teeth, producing a metallic screech that made Johnny wince.

"Thank you for telling me," said Skulker.

.

.

.

"Hey, uh, Alicia," said old man Jones, tipping back his hat. "Was that one of them ghosts?"

"Eyup," said Alicia.

"Aren't you gonna, you know?" He mimed shooting. "Seeing as it's your family's thing and all."

"We ain't here for the ghosts, Jones."

.

.

.

"Will I get to attend the sentencing hearing?" asked Danny.

"Only if you want to give up being a character witness."

Danny had already known this. "Had to ask," he said, closing his eyes.

.

.

.

The GIW compound was, unsurprisingly, largely white. Blindingly white. Reflective white.

"How in the world did they hope to hide here?" asked Skulker, squinting at the facility through a pair of binoculars.

"Who cares? Can we attack yet?" asked Kitty.

The representative from the Far Frozen, one of Skulker's more capable lieutenants in this endeavor, sighed loudly and shifted his grip on his spear. "We aren't all in position, yet. Patience."

"The longer we wait, the more time they have to know we're here," argued Kitty.

"The point is to make it so it doesn't matter if they know we're here," said the yeti.

"Uh huh," said Kitty. "And the humans?"

"If they want to make themselves bait," said Skulker, shifting his view to the denizens of Spitoon, "that's their problem."

"Feel like Phantom might have an issue with that," said Kitty.

"Yeah, so?"

.

.

.

As it turned out, the GIW knew that both the ghosts and the small human mob were approaching them.

They had known for hours. Long enough for certain of their top members who were present to evacuate. They had other things to do, after all. For example, cracking the nut that was Amity Park.

.

.

.

"Repeat to me," said the president. "How much funding do we give them?"

The hapless and miserable accounted recited the number. It was far too large, but it was also—

"That doesn't account for everything they've done," said the president, leaning back on the couch. "That barely accounts for everything they have." Their main facility alone… Sure, the president hadn't looked at real estate prices in years, but places like that took money to run. "Where are they getting their funding? States, somehow?"

"Private money, sir," said the accountant. "The members of their board of directors are all independently wealthy. A lot of them are in energy."

"Energy."

"Yes. We think they may be profiting, somehow, but the link isn't entirely clear at present."

"Great. You get anything on the extrajudicial imprisonment of US citizens in all those numbers?"

"Er, do you mean Amity Park, or… is there another incident?"

The president sighed. "You can head out, now," he said.

When the accountant was gone, he turned to the general who had come in with her. "How's the plan going for clearing the GIW from the woods around Amity?"

The general inhaled, as if about to answer, when the door was slammed open. "Sir!" said the general's assistant. "Surveillance on the GIW headquarters just called in! You need to see this!"

.

.

.

"Oh, god," said the president, watching live video of a slow march of a few dozen civilians towards the front gates of the GIW complex. "This is going to be a PR disaster. They're going to get slaughtered." He dragged his hands down his face. "Do we have anyone who could intercept?"

"Yes," said the general, "but not without blowing cover and giving the enemy a chance to engage."

"Frick," said the president, who had enough self-control left not to cuss in front of witnesses. Barely. "Maybe a drone?"

"I… don't think a drone would do anything, sir."

"They're more likely to think a drone is from the GIW than anything, sir," said the assistant. "Even if they didn't, I know people like this. They're not going to like us better than the GIW. They'd probably shoot it down."

"They're civilians," the president decided, finally, "we should—"

He broke off as what looked like a cross between a laser show and an aurora lit up the grainy screen and exploded the front gate of the GIW complex. The camera swiveled wildly, landing on a mostly-green swarm of… things.

"Holy Hannah," said the assistant. "I didn't—I didn't quite believe it. Those are…"

"Ghosts," finished the president.

He watched the undead army advance on the GIW's defenses, and with some horror realized he was almost certainly going to have to open up diplomatic channels with the afterlife. After all, even if he was planning on sending soldiers in to do something similar to the GIW himself, they were still on American soil, and things like this simply couldn't be borne by a sovereign nation.

.

.

.

"Hey, Sojourn?"

"Yes, your majesty?" asked Sojourn.

"You really don't need to call me that."

"But the face you make is so funny," said Nephthys. "Your majesty."

"Oh my gosh," said Danny. "Don't do that. You're, like, my aunt or something. That's so weird. Anyway, Sojourn. You used to be, like, an ambassador, right?"

"Hmm. More like an emissary, I think. Generally, I opened communications, and someone else stepped in afterward to maintain them. I never stay in any one place for too long, and all Ancients have represented the Ghost King to various rulers and national assemblies in the past. Our newest member excepted, of course."

"I was the best at the 'do this or we'll kill you' part," said Nephthys.

Sojourn made a face like he wanted to disagree but didn't feel like having an argument.

"Are you looking for an ambassador, Danny?" asked Jazz.

Other than the two Ancients and Damien (who was sleeping) she was the only one in the room. Sam and Tucker were giving Danny space, at his request, and sleeping elsewhere. Dani had been invited on an art tour. Dan was… Well. As Nephthys said, it was good to show that they trusted him somewhat.

He probably wouldn't kill anyone.

"Kind of," said Danny. "I think we need to open diplomatic relations with, uh…" He trailed off, trying to come up with a neat way of putting this. "Basically, planet Earth. Yes, I know Earth has more than one country, Jazz. I kind of lived there my entire life. I'm just not going to list them all."

"I wasn't going to say that," protested Jazz.

"Then what were you going to say?" asked Danny.

Jazz looked Danny dead in the eye.

"Something different," she said.

"Sure," said Danny.