We had graduation today. I don't teach the seniors, but I had a few of them in elective classes in previous years, and it was nice to see them graduate. Using 'see' very loosely, because I was in a room playing the music with no view of the actual graduation. XD
LadySquirrelLore: Yep! We're getting closer to the end. I believe the last arc will be this diplomacy arc.
DarkFoxKit: Everyone has pretty negative feelings about the GIW right now.
Cyan Quartz: I hope the solution will be interesting to you when it comes up in a future chapter.
17: It's great to still see you here! You're one of the ones who've been following this story for the longest.
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Chapter 241: The Advisors
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Themis leaned back in her chair, unimpressed. The heartbeats of the two humans rang loud in her ears, the faint echo of their breathing bouncing off the stone walls. She had accustomed herself to the sound over the course of the trial, but it was still so odd.
Not so odd as Phantom but then, few things could be.
Beyond the biological sound, the ever-present rasp of clothing, and the rather rarer noise of flesh pressing against stone told her quite a bit of how the Fentons were making obeisance towards her. Their advocates must have impressed upon them the seriousness of the word 'beg.'
Even so…
While they tasted of trepidation and no small amount of fear, they carried the tang of defiance with them as well. Pride, too, and since that was, ultimately, the sin they were being punished for, alongside wrath… Well, it really wouldn't do.
Not to mention, were she to be completely honest, their posture was lacking. If a ghost came in to 'beg' like that, she would most certainly turn them away.
But she knew humans were less flexible than ghosts. How much less flexible was less certain to her.
"An amusing dress rehearsal," she said, finally. This was, after all, supposed to be part of their punishment. "Now, when do you intend to do the real thing?"
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"Alright," said Angela, "thank you for making… time in your schedule to talk to us." She seemed like she couldn't quite believe what she was saying.
"No problem, Mom," said Tucker, giving her a thumbs up.
Angela smiled. "Your father and I have been holding off on an existential crisis," she said. "Are you both really monarchs?"
"Yes," said Tucker. "Speaking of which, now that the trial and stuff is over, I really need to visit my kingdom."
Angela buried her face in her hands.
"I'm told it's bad to be entirely absentee," agreed Danny, "and he's been gone for a few thousand years altogether."
"Or I've never been there. Depends on how you look at it. Speaking of, Danny, have you come up with a name for your lair yet?"
"Yes, actually, it's—"
"Wait, no," said Maurice. "We're going to need a little more than that."
"I have told you more, though, Dad."
"Not enough."
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"They want me to what?" asked Skulker.
"I was pretty shocked, too," said the messenger ghost, a woman dressed in a purple cardigan.
"Is this an elaborate plot to destroy me?"
"As far as I know, it is not, but it's not like they're going to tell me anything. So, are you going or not?"
"It would be rather out of character for Phantom. Unless he's incredibly angry."
"He didn't seem especially angry, but, again, I've only met him a handful of times." She tugged on her braid. "I've got to get back to my door, soon. I'm not cut out for this messenger thing."
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"Now this one, this one is from the 'Regency Council,'" said the president, gesturing at the copy of the latest ghost letter (the original had been deemed too 'weird and glowy' for the president to handle directly). "Did they have some kind of – of, I don't know, power struggle? Was the prince negotiating under the table before? What is going on here?" He slammed his hand on the copy, then leaned back in his chair. "What about our 'experts?' Anyone legit?"
"We're still assessing—"
"I am entirely willing to talk to charlatans as long as they give us a slightly better chance than shooting in the dark. There has to be someone. Maybe someone who moved out of Amity Park?"
"For whatever reason, very few people moved out of Amity Park after the ghosts showed up."
"Of course," said the president. "Of course. Because why should any of this be easy?"
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Alicia looked at the other people in the room. None of them looked like they belonged in the White House. Not that Alicia had any room to talk.
Two skater… people. Girls? Boys? She didn't know. What she did know was they peppered their speech with words like 'dude,' 'radical,' and other outdated slang.
Then there were two hippies. Because why not? The one was jittering like he'd had a million cups of coffee and also was covered in little white hairs.
Finally, there was a couple that looked like they belonged to a circus.
Alicia was the only one by herself, not counting the security people. She was also the only one wearing handcuffs and was attracting some stares because of that fact.
They were all, apparently, ghost experts. If this is what the government resorted to when Maddie disappeared and the GIW went rogue… Paranormal science just wasn't what it used to be. She snorted to herself. What happened to all those freaks on television? Did they back out once things got real?
Wimps.
And that's when the president walked in.
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"You're the president," said Alicia. "What are you doing here?"
"This is my house," said the president. "Now, ahem. I understand that you all have some expertise with ghosts."
"Yessss," said Alicia, even as the others all gave their own versions of assent. "But I only know about ghosts because of Maddie."
"Ah, yes, we need some clarification on what's going on there, too. What's happening in Amity Park. You have all also been to Amity Park."
"Indeed, we have," said the albino man, standing up. "And I must say, it is a singular pleasure to meet you, Mr. President. If you will allow me to introduce myself, and my lovely assistant Lydia, I—"
"Hold up!" said Alicia. "I know who you are! Maddie complained about you. You're that, that Freakshow guy. The one who was robbing banks and corrupting the youth!"
"I assure you, my… dear," said Freakshow, bowing in Alicia's direction and raising a skeptical eyebrow. "All I did for those callow youths was provide innocent entertainment. Speaking of innocence, I was framed by ghosts." He waved a careless hand. "Now, I don't believe ghosts are unthinking evil, as the GIW might proclaim, but they are entirely amoral, driven by baser instincts and their own idea of amusement. It is better for everyone if they are controlled. Mr. President, I can teach you and your people how to do that." He smiled, revealing teeth yellower than Alicia's down-the-road neighbor, Stan. And Stan had a chewing tobacco habit. "At least, I can teach the basics."
"Thank you for your enthusiasm, Mr. Showenhower," said the president. "But I'm here to ask you all to advise me on a more political matter."
"Political?" said one of the biker kids. "We're still talking about ghosts, right, dude?"
"Unfortunately," said the president. "Yes, I am still talking about ghosts."
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The Unstoppable Mailman reigned in his horse and closed his eyes, listening. Feeling. Sensing. The boy, Poindexter, was close. The letters addressed to him, writing in many hands, including the Mailman's own, felt like they were burning through his sack, through the fabric of his cloak and jacket, into his skin.
He was feeling guilty, after all.
Obsessions were what ghosts existed for. But sometimes they could be a pain.
(Hopefully, the boy would understand.)
He opened his eyes and turned his horse. He was getting close.
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Sydney jumped as he heard echoing hoofbeats. He'd been floating along this stretch of road for who knew how long, diving into the ditch whenever he heard a car coming. He didn't know how he'd gotten here. He didn't know where he was going, except hopefully towards civilization.
Or at least a school. He could work with schools. He was… not comfortable with schools, exactly, not after all he'd experienced in schools, but he could work in them and with them. He had power, there, and therefore a degree of security.
A familiar ghost came into view. "Mailman!" exclaimed Sydney, restraining himself from jumping and throwing himself at the other ghost.
"I have mail for you," said the Mailman, brusquely. He swung himself off his horse even as Sydney hovered ecstatically. "And I'm… sorry for leaving you with that man." He began to take letters out of his pouch.
"What man?" asked Sydney, dropping a little. "Speaking of, do you know how I got out here? Last thing I remember, I was fighting the GIW with you!" He made fists and punched the air. And then he'd been in the middle of nowhere, confused and drained. Sore. Weird. He'd been kind of hoping that the Mailman could shed some light on the situation.
"You were ensorcelled and kidnapped by that bald, albino circus man. Freakshow, I believe Phantom called him."
But not like that.
"Freakshow?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Boy. Freakshow." No one liked Freakshow. Freakshow was the worst.
"Indeed. Your mail?"
"Thanks. Do you mind if I, um, ride back with you?"
"Not at all. By the way, your lady friend was very worried about you."
"Dora?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, wow, did she send a letter?"
"Yes, ah, there you go," said the Mailman as Sydney located a heavy, perfumed, rag paper envelope sealed with lavender wax imprinted with the Mattingly coat of arms.
"Oh," said Sydney. "Wow. I'm… What."
"She's into you, short stuff," said the Mailman, patting his head.
"Oh, wow. Do you think… do you think she'd say yes if I asked to go steady?"
"If she isn't asking you out in that letter, I'll eat my hat."
Sydney squinted at the Mailman. They were… friends, right? That meant that friendly teasing was in order, right?
"You call that a hat?"
"Ouch."
