Hi, everyone, sorry for posting so late. I have some unfortunate news. Ectober+getting sick+NaNoWriMo+low inspiration+real life have conspired to completely destroy my buffer, and I'm going to put Mortified on hiatus for a little bit. Usually I give more lead time, but, alas. Rest assured that it won't be long. I will be back in December at the latest.

Additional note: I've set my boundaries. Queerphobic review= public mocking. Honestly, it's your own fault for posting your bigotry in such a way that the only way I can respond to it is publicly. If you don't want to get mocked, just don't post it. It's that simple.

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Chapter 304: Councils of Leadership

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"I did not entirely give up my interest in ghosts after that lab accident in college," said Vlad, pacing. The Oval Office made him obscurely uncomfortable. "And after I moved to Amity, well. Ghosts were unavoidable."

"You never mentioned anything about it," said the president, leaning back.

"Of course not! At first I was terrified out of my mind. The GIW did not spring up overnight, and them leaning over me in my sick bed was not an experience I wanted to repeat. Then, I had my businesses, and, well. You can see what the current circumstances have done to them."

"The stock market as a whole is unstable," said the president.

"Now, yes, but then and now are two different countries." Vlad kept his focus on the president, tasting the emotions in the air. In the Ghost Zone, or in large crowds, the ability wasn't terribly useful. Too much conflicting energy. It was like trying to pick out one person's perfume. In a perfume shop. While they were changing perfumes every few minutes.

But in one-on-one (or nearly one-on-one, considering the secret service agents), it could be a useful gauge. The president might be wearing a mask of neutral interest, but it did nothing to hide his desperation… or his faint annoyance, but dwelling on that emotion wasn't something Vlad was interested in. He'd just have to figure out how to smooth it away.

"However, to return to the topic at hand, my focus changed. My interest in the practical physics of ectology never truly recovered, and, to be fair, I was never Maddie's equal in that part of the discipline. I moved on to legends and, from there, to history, behavior, culture, and, although I never publicized this, in Amity I had dealings with a number of ghosts in my role as mayor. Which brings me to your question."

He sat down across from the president and leaned forward, working hard to appear earnest.

"You must remember that ghosts are not human. Some of them have never been human and they never will be, either. If you forget that, maintaining diplomatic relations will be near impossible."

Worry creased the president's brow. "What do you mean?"

"Ghosts," said Vlad, "do not necessarily have the same motivations as humans. They do not think about pursuing those motivations in the same way. They do not weigh them the same."

A flash of near pain flashed across the president's face. "So. They can't be trusted."

"Oh, heavens, that's not what I meant at all," said Vlad. "As a matter of fact, one of the most morally upright people I have ever met is a ghost, and many ghosts adhere to bargains formal and informal better than humans do. But you have to be careful, because even when things are written in clear black and white, what a ghost considers the spirit or intention of a deal and what a human does may diverge wildly. Family, for example, is defined radically differently. Ignoring differences between ghosts and humans, or even treating them as mere cultural differences will result in misery for both sides. The ghosts do have some advantage, however, because some of them were, formerly, human."

"Alright," said the president, briefly flavoring the air with resigned acceptance. "I suppose you're aware of those differences?"

"A good number of them," admitted Vlad. "But it isn't as if a human is going to be aware of all the nuances." Vlad missed things himself, sometimes. On both sides. "Just as a ghost might miss some human nuances."

"Right," said the president. "Of course."

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"Before we finish today," said Danny, surveying the assembled Regency Council, "I wanted to make a proposal."

"Of course, Great One!" said Frostbite.

Danny nodded and then stood up. This would be difficult, but, he felt, it had to be done. "I believe limits should be imposed on the ability of the courts to prescribe mental alterations as part of their verdicts."

Themis cleared her throat, a strange look on her face. "Mental modifications are an important, even vital, tool for preventing recidivism and avoiding harm to past and future potential victims. Our society does not support a widespread prison system or fines, as the human world does, nor do we compel labor in the same way."

"I know," said Danny, "and… I'm not trying to change what's already happened. But, at least with me… I know that there are things I'm not seeing. Conversations I'm missing, in whole or in part. I might not be truly acting as the head of state at the moment, but I will be eventually, and I will be expected to make decisions. Decisions that will be dangerous to make while operating on fragmentary information. I cannot, in good conscience, allow there to be a scenario where I lose even more awareness of what is going on around me. And, as we approach face-to-face meetings with human authorities, I can't help but feel as though widely used judicial mind control might be a dealbreaker for them, and that given who is involved it will come out sooner rather than later."

Both Themis and Ma'at looked more disturbed than he would have thought. He reviewed what he'd said. Nothing seemed to be that shocking. He hadn't been happy about the arrangement for his parents' punishment before he'd been unable to talk about it, either.

"Is it really that surprising that I'm saying this?"

"Yes," said Themis. "Because you honestly should not be able to express something so near to… the topic so clearly."

"Really?" Danny scratched the back of his head. "Well, I did get dosed with aglaophotis. That might have done something. But it doesn't really matter how I'm talking about it, does it? I mean, regardless, you've told me that I can't be trusted to look after my own wellbeing right before being given responsibility for a whole dimension."

"He's right, you know," said Mr. Lancer. "I know that the culture around it is different here, but…"

Danny found himself clearing out his ears, having missed a good portion of Mr. Lancer's addition to the conversation. He'd known this would happen, but it was still annoying.

"… already done, but it shouldn't be something that can be done again."

"Are you suggesting that the king should be above the Law?" asked Themis, dangerously.

"No," said Mr. Lancer, "but perhaps people who haven't committed a Taboo should not—"

At this point, one of the Ravens said something about so only the criminals should get mental health care, which, of course, started an argument. One that quickly turned passionate.

Danny sat back down. It looked like this time wasn't going to include anything being thrown or powers, since Mr. Lancer and the Foleys were heavily involved, and everyone knew they couldn't 'debate' like ghosts could.

Well. He'd said his piece. He couldn't really make the change by himself, and although he was pretty sure the Ravens were being contrary on purpose, they and the others were making good points in opposition.

Lots of things could fall under the banner of 'mental modification.' It was more than just the perception filter. Psychiatric care could, conceivably, be classed as mental modification. So could drugs. Ancients knew he'd been out of it when his core was being treated. Not to mention simply arguing to change someone's mind. It was too broad a classification. Too prone to misinterpretation.

What had been done to him had been intended to help him. And, on some level it was, it had. Distancing his memories was a blessing, really. He didn't want to think about how much they'd hurt if they were still sharp. He might have chosen to distance them even if it wasn't part of the ruling.

However, the perception restrictions he was under just weren't functional, as shown by his increasingly complicated body-double plan with David. He'd promised not to try to circumvent the ruling, and he wasn't. He just needed to make sure he wasn't going to be saddled with any more.

He loved everyone on the Regency Council – okay, maybe not Skulker, or the Tiger, or Moneta, he didn't know her super well, or the Ravens, honestly, but they were alright, he didn't hate them or anything and they were his people – but if they weren't going to let him be a figurehead for a democracy or a republic, then he wasn't going to let them make him be a figurehead for an oligarchy.

Although, to be fair, he could never completely be a figurehead. His connection to the Zone sort of precluded that. Fading into unimportance wasn't something he could do with a link to… well… everything about the Infinite Realms.

He watched the argument. There was too much going on to really understand what everyone was saying, but he could still see the emotions involved, see who was angry, who was calm, who seemed to disagree, who agreed, get a general understanding of battlelines and what sides were forming.

Clockwork was doing the same, watching the argument quietly and with sharp eyes.

"What do you think?" asked Danny, suddenly needing to know.

Clockwork laced his fingers together. Something that looked odd when he briefly flickered between infant and old man before resettling on the middle-aged form he'd been using most often recently.

"I think," he said, "that people generally do not wish to admit when they have made an error… and those who have been doing something for a long time wish to admit it least of all."

"Well, yeah," said Danny. "So?"

"I don't want to see you hurt," said Clockwork. "Taking measures to prevent that is… not a mistake. However… You are correct that you have responsibilities and preventing one harm may cause others." He put his gloved hands flat on the table. "As with anything that causes such a serious argument between well-meaning and rational people, such controversy, there are more nuances than there immediately appear to be."

"Maybe," allowed Danny. "Does that go just for ghost things, or human things, too?"

"Oh, it most certainly applies to human things," said Clockwork. "Much of human political debate is each side insisting that the matter at hand is simple, even when it isn't."

"Sometimes it is simple, though," said Danny. "Human rights."

"Perhaps," said Clockwork. "But what is a human? When does a human start being a person? When does a human stop being a person? What about persons who are not human? Can a human commit an act so vile that it justifies the stripping of those rights? Does giving such a person those rights deny others the same? What are human rights? Freedom? Security? Food? Shelter? Entertainment? Privacy? A clean environment? The skills, services, and labors of others? How ought these things to be provided? Doubtless, the existence of ghosts has added various questions to that list."

"If you say it like that, ghost rights are much easier." Ghosts, after all, did not need to breathe or eat like humans did, and almost all ghosts had a lair somewhere.

"They are," agreed Clockwork. "And yet…" He spread his hands, indicating the ongoing debate. Even Frostbite was getting into it, now. He seemed intent on putting some dents into Skulker's armor with his chairman's hammer. "Yet, even so, they are not easy."

Danny sighed. "I guess not."

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The argument dragged on long enough that Danny was forced to head to bed. He had work to do tomorrow, and he was trying to be more responsible with his sleep schedule.

He was just about to get into bed when there was a knock on his door.

Seeing Clockwork at his door wasn't a surprise. Seeing Themis was.

"Um," he said. "I take it you've come to a decision?"

"We have," said Themis, gravely and perhaps a little reluctantly as Clockwork nodded.

"Okay, and what was it?"

"That revising our policies on corrective mental modification as a whole is not a task to be undertaken in a single meeting. But also, that your points regarding your own situation have merit. It is unwise to obscure information from you in such a way. However, it will be a challenge to arrange the laws so that you can't use them to wriggle out of psychological counseling." Here, Themis tilted her head down, giving the impression of a glare despite her blindfold being firmly in place.

Danny wouldn't have done that.

Alright, maybe he would have. But not maliciously.

"But we do have an interim solution," said Clockwork, quiet pride in his voice. "One that your reign has furnished us with." He presented a small bottle to Danny. "A philtre of aglaophotis. With a few added ingredients."

"Oh," said Danny, taking it from him carefully. "This will make it so…" He trailed off, unable to say what he wanted to know.

"It will not change what you have agreed to," said Themis. "But it will remove the effect on your perception."

"Most likely," added Clockwork, serenely. "It is possible it won't be enough to remove it completely."

"Better than nothing," said Danny. "Side effects?"

"There are a variety," confirmed Clockwork. "For example, those of your memories that were set at a remove may feel close again – both in time and to your heart."

"Even if none of them affect you," said Themis, "I would still advise against this course of action."

"But you just said that leaving things the way they are is unwise."

"They are," said Themis. "Yet, you are young, my prince. There are burdens and griefs you should not have to bear. This is one."

Danny sighed. "'Should' hasn't ever worked out for me." He popped the top off the bottle and drank it. It was extremely bitter. "Ugh. So, when does it kick in?"

"It will be slow," said Clockwork. "Try to assess it when you wake up in the morning."

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The president looked down at the draft treaty, then up at his cabinet. They looked grim. They knew what was in it, how it deviated from the desires expressed by the ghosts and the representatives of Amity Park, how it differed from what various congresspeople and lobbyists wanted, and what the president's plan was.

The risks were understood. Not liked, no, but understood. And considering how things had been going so far, they thought they were manageable.

The president took a deep breath and adjusted himself in his seat. "We're in agreement, then?"