Heads up: I will most likely be taking a hiatus in November to focus on Nanowrimo.
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Chapter 260: To Go
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Danny would rather have been interrogating Lydia. That's how annoyed he was by this interruption.
"I thought that wasn't how this worked," said Danny, massaging his temples. "That you couldn't challenge someone and become the Ghost King like that."
"You're completely correct," said Clockwork. "It doesn't work like that."
"Grandfather…"
"However, it is possible, if rare, to lose the right to rule after losing a challenge to single combat. But you don't need to worry about that."
"Why, because it's so certain I'll win?"
"Well, that too," said Clockwork, "but more because I doubt your right to rule will be revoked simply because you lose a single battle. The Lady Ereshkigal likes you too much for that."
"Okay," said Danny. "So why are we even humoring Aragon? Can't we tell him to just take a hike?"
"Because you accepted the challenge."
"That shouldn't count," argued Danny. "Stuff that happens in the Digressed Tower shouldn't count. Won't this give people the wrong idea, too? Like, what if other people think this means that they can 'challenge me for the crown,' and a whole bunch of weirdos come pouring out of the woodwork."
"Oh, that's already been happening," said Clockwork. "We've been turning them away. Since you didn't accept their challenges."
"Are you serious?"
"Extremely."
"Great," said Danny.
"Are you really so worried?"
Danny shrugged. "Not about Aragon, exactly," he said. "Just…" He sighed. "Things." He flexed the toes of his feet, uncomfortably aware that he had no idea if his leg was still turning to glass under Desiree's illusion. Clockwork had looked at it several times – now with tools, although Clockwork had complained that they were rudimentary – and had made attempts to fix it, but…
Well. The pains he had felt while Clockwork continued to work on the GIW-caused vortex hadn't been nothing.
And then there was the diplomatic situation, and a bunch of ghosts, including ones he knew, like Kitty, had been petitioning him to go free the ghosts that had been captured. Which was something he desperately wanted to do, but he knew that getting them back through negotiation would save grief later on.
But that knowledge didn't change the fact that his core pulsed, Obsession aflame, at the mere thought of his people imprisoned, and his main outlet for his Obsession was combat.
… Which might have something to do with why Clockwork was being so unhelpful when it came to Danny's desire to weasel out of this fight he hadn't wanted in the first place.
"Misplaced aggression?" he mumbled.
Clockwork smiled beatifically. "No, I think it is, in fact, very well placed."
Danny sighed. At least Jazz would be there. He had something to give her, and maybe Dmitri, too…
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"Little brother~!" sing-songed Ellie as Sojourn stepped through the portal, bringing Dmitri and Jazz with him.
Dmitri peeked over Sojourn's collar, caught sight of Danny and… hesitated.
Danny gave him a sort of rueful smile.
"We've missed you!" said Damien.
"I've missed you, too," said Jazz, walking over to give her younger siblings one-armed hugs. Damien waved at Dmitri over her shoulder.
It looked… nice.
Dmitri knew, logically, that he shouldn't be so afraid of Danny. Danny had put so much effort and time into bringing him and his brothers back. It wouldn't make sense to just hurt them again. Dmitri knew Danny wasn't that type of person. He had some of Danny's memories for goodness' sake.
He also knew that Danny was giving him space. Would continue to give him space. All the space he needed.
(Not that he couldn't just ask for space, as much as he wanted. Sojourn was the Master of it, after all.)
He looked at them and he wanted and he longed.
But if he wanted it, he was the one who had to bridge the gap. Which didn't especially strike him as fair. He was one of the ones that melted after all. But—
He lifted him out of Sojourn's collar, hovered for a moment, drinking in the encouragement Sojourn was sending him, and flew forward.
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"Mom, Irving, Wes, and I are going out," called Sam, taking the stairs down to the main room of the embassy two at a time, one hand on the railing, the other on her camera.
"You are? What for?" asked Pamela, who had been taking a moment to relax in the sitting room.
"We need a break," said Wes. "We've just been shuttling between here and meetings and press things for days."
"Are you taking Mar with you?" Sam and Wes were responsible young people, but if they were caught by a crowd, things could go poorly. Irving, meanwhile, was a ghost and could, in theory, walk through any issues that came up, but he, was, well, he was a very nice young man, one who likely had a future in culinary arts (or the incendiary ones), but he had a tendency to do some rather foolish things.
Also, Pamela twitched at the thought of her daughter out and about with two adult men. It was a rather atavistic reflex. She knew at this point that Wes and Irving were both good boys, if a bit odd. Still.
(This had no bearing on her prior disputes with Sam regarding two other boys. Her opinion on that still stood, as far as she was concerned. Danny and Tucker had been trouble. Although Sam herself certainly hadn't been blameless in that regard.)
"We would, but she's doing a TV thing."
"She's what?"
"Yeah, apparently she got asked during the party," said Sam, shrugging. Irving floated down the stairs behind her.
"The Chef, perhaps?"
"Busy," said Irving, sadly.
"Inky?" Pamela asked, wondering when she'd gotten to the point where she'd consider a cat to be an acceptable chaperone.
"Inky is a cat," said Wes, giving her a concerned look.
"Well," said Pamela. "Be careful."
"We will," said Sam. "I think the plan is just to go to the National Mall, and then maybe go to an actual mall and do some shopping."
It was rather remarkable to Pamela that Sam was volunteering information about where she was going. They had come so far.
"You have your cell phones?"
"Yeah," said Sam, momentarily taking hers out to show Pamela.
"Alright, then," said Pamela, feeling oddly displaced. "Have fun."
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A pair of plainclothes agents trailed after the trio the moment they left the embassy.
Several pairs of plainclothes agents trailed after the trio.
Several pairs of plainclothes agents and two police officers trailed after the trio.
Several pairs of plainclothes agents, two police officers trailed, and three reporters trailed after the trio.
Several pairs of plainclothes agents, two police officers trailed, three reporters, and a number of international spies trailed after the trio.
(Perhaps Pamela wouldn't have been so worried about chaperones if she knew.)
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Sam paused in front of a restaurant in the mall.
"Are you hungry?" asked Wes.
"Do you think they'd let me take a look at their kitchen?" asked Irving. "What?" he protested when Sam and Wes gave him looks. "If you're going to eat there, I might as well make sure the kitchen is clean and stuff."
"No," said Sam. "I was just looking at the TV. Mar's on it."
Wes squinted through the glass. "Huh. She is. Looks like she's having a good time."
"Excuse me," said someone behind them. "Sam Manson?"
Sam turned, and saw… "Ashley?"
The girl smiled. "No, my name is Brianna, but… I think Ashley might be my twin? I'm sorry to just come up to you in public, I swear I'm not stalking you, I'm with my friends," she pointed at another group of teens behind her, some of whom were filming the encounter on their charm-bedecked phones, "but I want to get in contact with her, and I was wondering if you could help."
Sam exchanged a glance with Wes.
"Amity Park is still closed off," she said.
"Right," said Brianna, "but you have to get mail somehow, right?"
"Yeah," said Irving, "but that's only, like, official diplomatic stuff, since we route through the Zone."
"Could I just give you my address and number, then? For when things do open back up."
As Brianna spoke, Sam spotted a bit of movement her brain instantly labeled as furtive.
She looked up and scanned a wider area. Lots of people were looking at them, but… She elbowed Irving. "Can you sense any hostility?"
"I'm not really great at distinguishing emotional flavors yet," said Irving.
"Is something wrong?" asked Brianna.
"Maybe," said Sam.
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"Pamela Manson speaking," said Pamela, crisply.
"Mrs. Manson, I'm President Klein's personal assistant. We were wondering if you had time today for another meeting today."
"Well, as I'm sure you know, my counterparts are otherwise occupied."
"We're aware of that. We were hoping to just speak to your delegation. The Amity Park delegation. Or, more specifically, you and Mr. Montez."
"You know that Amity Park and the Infinite Realms are on the same page. I'm not sure what you're trying to get from this," said Pamela, a little prohibitively. She also couldn't help but notice that the sewer monster hadn't been mentioned in the invitation either. Were they trying to exclude the ghosts as well? Foster a split?
It wasn't as if that wasn't a time-honored tactic.
"Yes, well, President Klein believes that he might be able to get a better picture of what everyone wants and how to accomplish those things if you're able to meet in smaller, more intimate groups. And," her voice dropped an octave and took on a confiding tone, "it might be easier to compromise with adults."
Pamela rolled her eyes.
"Alright," said Pamela. "I have time, and I believe Ernesto will be excited. What time?"
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Lunch with his siblings was an oddly peaceful way to spend the time before beating the hell out of Aragon, but Danny didn't think there were any better ways. Dmitri was still awfully wary of him, and Damien and Ellie had entered the 'bickering younger sibling' phase, but… it felt good. It felt nice.
He was happy to be with them.
"But you can't do that," said Ellie.
"But why not?"
"You just can't. You'd understand if you'd been there—"
"It doesn't matter if I've been there or not. There shouldn't be anything physically stopping me from doing it."
"Manners are a thing."
"Manners don't matter if you're trying to scare people."
Fright Knight cleared his throat. "That is not entirely true," he said.
This information was greeted with all the respect Ellie and Damien were currently capable of. That is to say, none at all.
Dmitri was trying Jazz's hair into increasingly complicated braids as she reviewed diplomatic correspondence. Clockwork was placing tiny gears into a miniature silver pocket watch with a pair of tweezers. Nocturne was napping, although he'd woken up briefly to eat. Pandora was involved in an intense discussion with Frostbite about trade routes. His two still-formless siblings were humming slightly, at a pitch too low to be heard by humans.
But all good things must come to an end.
It was time to go.
