Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The question is posed by the Duke, which both does and does not surprise everyone. The kid is a “theater brat” (the Page and Two Nine call him that, sometimes), who has spent plenty of time around adults. But, he is a pretty “innocent” kid (“Naive, uninformed, unlearned-” “He’s sitting right there, man!”), even after what happened. So, it kind of makes sense he wouldn’t know.

The Page snickers and pulls his sleeves higher. His arms look like the aftermath of a blender accident. “Ya know how grownups like to say ‘I’m so bored I could tear my hair out’? It’s like that, but more. I got some on my legs too.”

“You did that yourself?”

“Most of it. If you look real close…” The Page points. “… you can see needle marks, and those weren’t me.” He glances for an almost imperceptible second at Doctor Robot.

“Are those teeth marks?”

“Yup!” There’s a strange kind of pride in his voice. “They thought if they took away my razor, I wouldn’t do it anymore. Preeeeeeetty stupid, huh?”

The Duke stares in silence for a long moment. “Why… why did you do it?”

The Page laughs, a high-pitched cackle that has something like sorrow behind it. “If ya hurt yourself, nobody else can hurt ya!”

“I kind of see the point,” says Herne. “I started running after… things happened, and I noticed the cramps feel really good? It’s like, if you feel really bad inside, you can stop it by making your outside feel bad too.”

“Not the only way,” says the Page, “but I’ll get in trouble for telling about the other ways I do it.”

“What?”

“Either make your outside feel better-” He makes a very suggestive hand gesture. “-or make someone else feel worse!”

Chapter Text

Sire picks at his hair and continues speaking. “It just makes me think of those TV ads for a website thing.”

The Wix finishes setting up the board game. “Oh, it means a witch or wizard, but it doesn’t have to mean a boy or a girl. You can use it for groups because ‘wixes’ is faster to say, but it can be just one person who’s not a boy or a girl too.”

“What do you mean? Like the Duke?”

“No, the Duke’s a boy, right? I mean like me. Um, like the Bride but not all the way, sort of? I wasn’t really happy as a girl but I don’t wanna be a boy either, so I’m sticking in the middle.”

Sire of Termites purses his lips in thought. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Lotta people don’t, it’s pretty rare. But, I mean, why should we stick to only two options? It’s not really anyone’s business what’s in our pants unless we’re making a baby.” They notice how Sire flinches and quickly add, “Or, you know, whatever. But can you keep it quiet outside here? I’m not ready to come out in public yet.”

“Sure.” He pauses. “I dunno who you think I’d tell, but… sure.”

“Thanks.”

“You mind if I ask why?”

“O-oh, it’s just… because I’m kinda… you know…”

“What?”

“… I’m sorta scared.”

His brow furrows. “… Why?”

The Wix shrinks into their hoodie, and nods in the direction of the Gunman. “Not everyone’s cool with people like us. And… sometimes people you think were cool are… not so much.”

“Oh. Oh, geez, sorry, bad memories? Wait, I guess I shouldn’t ask, you haven’t been on stage yet, right?”

“It’s okay. I’m… I’m going to. Today. I just wanna psych myself up for it a bit.”

“Isn’t it only your first time here?”

“Yes. But I’m kind of on a time limit…”

The Wix’s hand brushes their belly, in the same way the Dancer Dolorosa touches hers. Sire of Termites sees the point, and asks no more.

Chapter Text

The Duke looks up from his phone. “Hm? Oh! Oh, that means I’m a boy but I don’t have a thingy. But, like, in a different way from girls? Girls have stuff on the inside that I don’t have either.”

“Then how do they know you’re a boy?”

“Uhh… well, now, ‘cause I want to be a boy. But when I was born they did a blood test.”

“How does that work?”

“Papa said that inside your blood there are millions of teeny tiny little letters, and girls have Xs and boys have Ys. At least, I think that’s what he said.”

The Heiress looks down at the faint lines of veins on her wrists. “I don’t see any.”

“Well, you can’t see them, they’re way too small. They have to run your blood through a special machine.”

Her eyes light up. “Cool!”

“I guess.”

“So you’ve got Y-thingies, then?”

“Yeah. I probably would have been born with all the other boy stuff, but something happened when I was still in my mom’s stomach.”

“What?”

“I dunno… there’s a lot that can cause it. That’s what Papa says. Plus it can happen in a bunch of different ways.”

“What different ways?”

“Well, some people are born with girl parts and boy parts, or some of each… or they’re like me and don’t have any at all.”

“You don’t have anything?” He shakes his head as she gapes. “Can I see?”

“What?! No!”

Chapter Text

The Bride glances up from her book and smiles slightly. “Well, it means you don’t match your body. See, I know I’m a woman, but I ‘ave a man’s body.”

Little Miss Normal frowns thoughtfully. “Are you sick?”

“No, it’s just that me brain and body got a bit confused.”

“But you take medicine, right? And you said you were gonna have an operation, right?”

The Bride nods. “Yes, but that’s not because I’m sick. It’s to make me look more like a woman.”

“Okay… so how does that work?”

“Um… uh… You know what, that’s a good question,” the Bride says nervously, “a good question that can ‘ave a good answer… if I’m just… given time to think about it…”

“Are they going to cut off your boy stuff?”

“… Oh, look at the time! I need to go wash the… um… couch.”

“But you just got here.”

“Oh, right.” The Bride’s eyes flick around the room, focusing on everything but the frowning child in front of her. “Um… I guess you could say… yes and no. Some of it, they’ll definitely… erm… cut off. But some of it, they’ll, uh, they’ll use.”

“Use for what?”

“For, uh, for making the, um… uh… um… you know what? It’s pretty much just plastic surgery. A very complicated plastic surgery.”

Little Miss Normal looks the woman up and down, then nods slightly. “Okay, if you’re going in for plastic surgery, have you thought about getting a liposuction while you’re at it?”

The Bride’s expression changes from uncomfortable to annoyed. “Kid, me patience only goes so far. ‘Ow ‘bout we talk about something else?”

“Okay. How come you don’t have kids except for your fiancé’s son? You have all the boy parts, why didn’t you make a baby with your wife?”

“…‘Ow ‘bout another something else?”

“Fine. You’re an egg farmer, right? How do you know which eggs to hatch and which to eat?”

The Bride perks up at the question. “Alright now, that’s actually rather fascinating. Thing is, you actually can’t tell right away. You ‘ave to wait about a week. But after that, you can do sommat called candling…”

Chapter Text

Pua Mae looks up at the Detective as he struggles for words. “Um… Why do you ask?”

“Everyone says drugs are bad, and you’re really smart so you’d know that. If they were only bad, you would be smart enough not to take them. And sticking needles in yourself must really hurt, so it must be really important for you to take them.”

“Well, I suppose you could say that, but please believe me when I say it isn’t worth starting.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because I wasn’t always this clever.” The Detective sighs. “I suppose I’d better give you a clearer explanation… First off, ‘drugs’ aren’t just one thing. There are lots of different kinds. The word can also refer to proper medicine that you’re supposed to take, hence ‘drugstores’, but tends to mean illegal drugs in conversation. The ones you aren’t supposed to take, because they’re very dangerous. Or for political reasons in the case of marijuana but let’s not get into that, it’s complicated. The kinds I was taking made it easier to stay awake so I could get more work done, but staying awake too long is very bad for you and the drugs themselves made me sick as well.”

Pua Mae squints in thought. “It makes you sick but makes other things feel better?”

“That would be one way to put it, I think, yes. There are lots of different things which do that. Like, some drugs make you sleepier instead, or make you forget things.” He looks at the marks on his arms. “I suppose you’d know better than most your age that some people want to forget some things.”

Chapter Text

“What?” Two Nine blinks. “Of course I do!”

“No you don’t. You keep giving him funny looks. And you don’t really seem to want to talk to the Cook either.” Little Miss Normal maintains steady eye contact through her thick glasses.

“Uh…” Two Nine inhales through his teeth, and says, “Okay. You know where South Africa is? Silly question, it’s on the south end of Africa, you can tell that much. Uh, well, when I was growing up there, there were laws called apartheid, which said that black people and white people were supposed to stay away from each other. So I didn’t have any friends who weren’t white. And then the… thing happened.”

“But that’s not his fault.”

“I know! But he looks like people who scared me and hurt me, and that makes him scary too, even though he isn’t really. Oh boy, I don’t know if I’m explaining right, I hate talking to kids… Short answer, I’m old and it’s hard to change your mind after this long. But I do my best.”

She cocks her head to the side. “So… are you scared of all black people?”

“I’m not sure scared is exactly the right word for it, but… in a way…”

“Even girls?”

He winces. “No. I’m not afraid of the-”

“But you just said-”

“Men, yes. Women… it’s complicated…” Very complicated.

“What about Sire of Termites?”

“I’m not scared of a twelve-year-old kid!” Two Nine realises too late he spoke loudly enough to be overheard, and some other group members give him funny looks. He glares at Little Miss Normal, who gazes back unfazed.

“What makes him not scary? Is it ‘cause you could beat him up?”

“I’m not going to beat him up!” Though he has to admit… she isn’t exactly wrong about that little fact.

“Are you scared of Panthera?”

“… He’s Indian.”

“Hm?”

“He’s… not… black?”

“Oh.” A pause. “So you’re not scared of him?”

Not for the reasons they’re discussing. “No.”

Little Miss Normal thinks. “Do people get mad that you don’t like black people? I know the grownups talk about how We- I mean Pua Mae’s brown and I’m not, and that’s not even why I don’t like her! Why did they think it was? One of my best friends ever looks just like her!”

“It’s… complicated, and I don’t think they thought that was all of it. But there are a lot more white kids than brown kids at your school, right? Well, there are a lot more white people than brown or black people in the whole country, and they tend to have more power. They’re more likely to get good jobs or be in government, or just not get arrested, because there are lots more of them and they help each other out over people who don’t look like them. And because of that, some white people think they’re better than people who aren’t. Even people who don’t think they think it sometimes do, and it affects the way they act. And even if you don’t know that and even if you think it’s wrong, you might have picked up on the way people act and be copying it by mistake.”

“Do you think you’re better than them?”

He thinks for a long time. “I definitely did. I’d like to think I’m a better person than to think that now, but sometimes I still have to work on it.”

“But it’s not true.”

“Sometimes when you grow up thinking something is true, you still act as if it is even after you find out it’s not. Like, did you ever have a bad habit like biting your nails, and then stop, but you still want to do it? It’s like a more complicated version of that.”

“Growing up sounds hard.”

“… Yeah.”

Chapter Text

“It’s the little dot at the end of a sentence, at least in American English. Back in England we call them full stops. Why?”

The Duke frowns. “Then what did it mean when you said you were gonna get your first one?”

“Oh, that kind of period.” The Bard blushes.

“It’s a sex thing, isn’t it?”

“Not… exactly, although related I suppose.” The Bard frowned in thought. “Do you know where babies come from? Physically?”

“My Uncle Jiminy said they came from a woman’s belly.”

“Right. But, um, in order to get pregnant, a woman’s body has to be ready. So, every month, her body gets ready in case she gets pregnant.”

“How?”

“Well, the… place inside, where the baby would grow, has to make a sort of padding for the baby to attach to. And if there turns out not to be a baby, it doesn’t stay fresh for very long so it all has to go… out.”

“Out from where?”

“The… place where the baby would come out.”

“So she has to get cut open?!”

“What? No! That’s not how babies always come out! Um… you know how girls have parts that you don’t have? There’s a… passage to the outside world, involved. And that’s where babies normally come out.”

“So it’s sorta like going to the bathroom from the wrong place?”

“I… suppose you could put it that way, yes.”

Chapter Text

The Comedian blanches slightly, which is pretty typical for anyone the Heiress chooses to talk to. Her eyes focus on him, and the man chuckles nervously. “Um, well, it may not be textbook, but the way I understand it, it’s when a person has more than one romantic partner.”

The child scowls. “No, that’s cheating. I know about that already, I wanna know what poly means!”

“No, no, see, cheating is different. When you cheat on your partner, they don’t know about it, right? But when you’re poly, your partners know about it, and they might be in a relationship with each other, too.” The Heiress continues to frown, and the Comedian rolls his eyes. “Okay. So I knew a guy, and he had a girlfriend. They’re dating. Then they asked me if I wanted to be their boyfriend. So we’re all dating.”

“So it’s like with Mother and Father and Nuka?”

“No! No no no, that is what we call an abomination against God and man. No.”

“You’re not good at explaining stuff, huh?”

“Well, I still don’t completely get it, kid, I just know how it worked for us.”

She folds her arms, still glaring. “Explain it again.”

“Well, everyone involved was a grown-up,” he stresses, “and we all knew about each other. We were all dating. No one was keeping it a secret from anyone else.” She stares blankly back at him. The Comedian heaves a sigh. “Okay, think of it like this… so you know what a couple is, right?”

“A boy an’ girl that like to kiss an’ do sex together.”

“Right. Well… it doesn’t always have to be a boy and a girl. Sometimes it can be two girls, or two boys-”

“Like the Page and his boyfriend?”

“… Right. And sometimes it isn’t just two people. It can be three or more than that. They’re just like a couple, but with a little…” He snaps his fingers. “… extra mixed in.”

“Okay.” The Heiress sucks her fingers thoughtfully. “Doesn’t that get confusing?”

“Not really. You’ve got more than one friend, right?”

She glances over to the other kids, colouring or playing board games or chatting. “Now I do.”

“Ah, yeah. Guess it’s new to you, huh?” The Comedian smiles, and adds, “I’ll be your friend too.”

The Heiress furrows her brow. “If you’ve got more than one anyway, do you have to be boyfriends with everyone?”

“What? No!”

“Then okay!”

Chapter Text

The Dancer freezes in terror. “Where did you hear that, Pua Mae?”

“The Detective said you had one back when he was doing that scan thing on everybody, and he said he knew because you kept touching your belly. Is it like an operation?”

“Something like that.”

“So what is it?”

“Uh…”

“If you don’t wanna tell me it’s fine…”

The Dancer sags. “Really?”

Maybe Pua Mae is a little more mature than she originally thought…

“Yeah! I can just ask the Page. He said that one of his friends-”

“No! No. I’ll tell you!”

“Huh…?”

Please don’t ask the Page.

“Okay, well, you know that babies grow inside ladies, right? Right about here,” she says, putting her hand on her abdomen. “Well, they grow from what’s called an egg cell, which is like an egg but it’s tiny, so small you can’t see it. The egg cell splits into two, and then into two again, until there are millions and millions of cells, which form sort of a blob. Are you with me so far?”

“Kinda. The blob grows into a baby, right?”

“Yyyesss, but… there’s a point at which it’s still just a blob.” The Dancer tries to put words in the right order. “Like… the difference between an actual egg and a chick, or a seed and a plant? And at that stage, a lot of them don’t turn into babies. Something can very easily go wrong so they don’t grow any further, or don’t stick inside so they can’t grow.”

“Okaaaay…” The little girl nods her head, very clearly waiting for the Dancer to get to the point.

“Well, at that stage the blob doesn’t feel anything. Not really. It can’t think or feel or cry… or anything.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Some people don’t want the blob to become a baby. They aren’t ready to be parents or they don’t have the money to have kids or… well, there are a lot of reasons. Some women go to a special doctor that can get the blob out of them…”

“And then they won’t have a baby?”

“And then they won’t have a baby,” she echoes.

“Does it hurt?”

“… Not really.”

Not on the outside anyways.

Chapter Text

“I know the guy tried to make the police think you did something bad, but what was he saying you did?”

The Star winces. “Um… how much do you know about why people are here?”

Odile smiles without a care in the world, happy to be asked something she knows the answer to. “It’s ‘cause people got hurt, right? In…” her voice lowers, “… icky ways.”

“Right. That’s… that’s right.”

“But nobody hurt you.”

“Well…” He looks away. “Uh… someone tried to make it look like I was… watching someone hurt somebody else.”

“That’s against the law?” Odile looks confused. “But the Bard watched her friend’s dad hurt him and she didn’t get in trouble!”

“That’s… Okay, let’s try from the beginning.” The Star sits on the floor, and Odile plops down too. “You know that bein’ hurt in that specific way is like super extra wrong, yeah? More than hittin’ someone or whatever? But some people do it anyway ‘cause it makes them feel good and they don’t care about the other person?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, some people feel good when they watch it happen, and they buy videos or photos of someone else doin’ it. That’s what he was trying to make it look like I did. Seein’ it happen by accident isn’t wrong, but looking for it for fun is.”

“Oh, is that why they took all those photos of me and the other kids?”

The Star’s heart freezes for just a moment.

“… What?”

“Back when Ed- oh…” She stops. “Um… Rothbart and I used to live in this big, dark house with lots an’ lots of other kids. I was always there, but she was from outside, I think, an’ Margo said she was…”

“Margo?”

“Yeah. She used to live with us, but then a bad man took her away and now she’s stuck with him until our new dad can get her back. The people that took care of us used to bring us into weird rooms an’ do stuff with lots of guys. Sometimes girls, but mostly guys. Sometimes they’d dress us up an’ then they’d take lots of pictures.”

Oh Jesus Christ, you poor kid… Aloud, he says, “Yeah, somethin’ like that. And it’s wrong for people to buy pics and vids like that, because to make them, people have to get hurt. And if people buy the pics, then the people who make them get money they can use to make more of ‘em, which means more people get hurt. That’s what the guy did, and what he was tryin’ to make people think I did. Does… does that make sense?” He always thought of himself as good with kids, but he never foresaw this.

“Yeah,” Odile says, nodding. “Hey, were any pictures or movies of us in there?”

“I… don’t know. I only saw one and it was of a boy.”

“What did he look like?”

The Star gazes into the middle distance. “… He had red hair.”

“Hey!” She grins. “Margo’s hair is kinda red! ‘Specially right after they made her wash it. Maybe they can be friends!”

“Yeah, kid, maybe…”

Chapter Text

Herne the Hunted freezes up like a fox in a truck’s headlights. “W-what?”

“What’s a suicide? Tea Rose said you tried it.” The Crybaby says it all with such an earnest look on her face. He winces.

“Um… you know what happens when people die, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you know how… sometimes people kill other people…?”

“Uh-huh.”

Of course she does. “Well… sometimes people kill themselves. On purpose. That’s suicide.”

“What? That’s stupid! Why’d people do that?”

He flinches again. “Well… some people do it because they’ve got stuff wrong with their brains that makes them… unhappy most of the time, or really unhappy a lot of the time.”

“Is something wrong with your brain?”

“Uh… not exactly? Sometimes really bad stuff happening to people can make them unhappy enough to do that kind of thing.”

“But really bad stuff happened to me and I don’t want to die! Was what happened to you worse?”

“I wouldn’t say worse, no,” Herne says slowly, “but… you had one really big bad thing happen, right? And even when it was really bad you still knew your mom and dad were looking for you, right? And you had Girl Next Door with you? I had a couple of bad things happen in a row, and I thought those bad things were never gonna get better. You weren’t here when I told my story, you wanna hear it?”

“Okay.” She sits down, and so does he.

“Well… basically I had this friend. He and I had known each other for a really long time. Do you have a best friend?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I met him when I was about your age and he was mine. When we got older I started to want to be more than friends with him.”

“You mean like dating and stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Why’d that make you wanna suicide yourself?”

“Um… do you know that some people don’t like gay people? Or bi people like me?”

“Bi?”

“I like both boys and girls. For dating and stuff, I mean. Well, maybe also people like the Wix but I haven’t met any I’d wanna date yet. Anyway. I’m bi and some dumb people think it’s bad. Like the guys who got the Gunman. Well, my friend and his two uncles - his mom’s brothers - weren’t as bad as them, they didn’t wanna kill me, but they still thought it was bad.”

“What happened?”

“Well… I drank a lot of stuff I wasn’t really supposed to and I ended up telling my friend how I felt.” Still feel. “He got kinda… mad at me, and he called his uncles and they got mad too. One of them beat me up and while he was doing it… he got hit by a car.”

“Did he die?”

“No. He didn’t die, but he did get hurt. Nothing too bad, just a broken leg, but my friend got really upset about it. He blamed me. He said he didn’t want to be friends anymore.”

“That’s dumb! It wasn’t your fault his uncle was being mean!”

“That’s not exactly why they were so mad. They thought that me liking him was really, really bad, and that me being around him was gonna make him gay or bi too, and that that would make him bad.”

“Would it?”

“No, but they thought it would. Sometimes grownups are kinda dumb. So just think - I told my best friend a big secret and I thought he’d be okay with it, but instead he thought it made me a horrible person, and then someone beat me up, and then my friend blamed me for a really bad accident, and at the time I was already feeling bad from before so I thought he was right to blame me. Can you imagine how bad that would feel?”

“Really bad.”

“Yeah…” he sighs. “And… and after that… I decided to walk home from the place we were at and some guy followed me. He was like those guys that hurt the Gunman. He followed me into these woods. I didn’t even realize he was behind me until he stepped on something… and I tried to run away but I tripped and fell and he caught up with me and… he was a lot bigger.” A shudder. “He’s the reason I’m here.”

“So he did sex stuff to you?”

“Yes.” Herne looks sideways at her. “How did it feel when your thing happened?”

Crybaby hugs her knees and mumbles, “The worst I’ve ever felt.”

“So… yeah. Don’t get me wrong, yours was bad - it sounds even worse than mine - but it was a different kind of bad,” he explains. “And I didn’t have the person I’d thought would always be there for me, no matter how bad things were, and I thought I never would have anyone like that again, ever, and I thought it was all my fault. When things hurt that bad, sometimes it’s easy to think that being dead and not being able to feel anything again is better than being stuck hurting like that forever.”

“But didn’t you have your family and-”

“Yes, but that kind of hurt has a way of blocking that out,” he says. “If something hurts bad enough, it’s all you can think about, and you forget all the good things are there. I’m really glad Tea Rose was there and helped me remember. If I’d died, everyone would be hurt, not just me.”

Crybaby turns to the air beside her, and says, “Is… is that why you’re always with me, Next Door? So I can’t forget a good thing?”

“Sounds like it-”

“Don’t interrupt her, Mr. Herne, that’s rude!”

“Sorry.”

Chapter Text

Soda shoots from the Hunter’s mouth and across the floor. The teenager coughs and gags and finally turns to stare at Von Rothbart. “What?!”

“I said ‘are you a pedophile’,” the girl repeats. “ ‘Cause if you are, you better leave Odile alone. Mr Unicorn’s got a gun and I know karate.”

The Hunter stares at the small blonde with wide eyes. Her face is a mask of rage…

… but her hands are trembling.

He takes a deep, shaky breath, and kneels to meet the child’s eyes. She takes a quick, nervous step back. “No. I am not a pedophile.”

“But you wanna do sex stuff with your cousin,” Rothbart counters. “And you said he’s a kid.”

“I don’t want to do sex stuff with him. I don’t want to hurt him, or any other kid-”

“Sometimes guys did stuff and it didn’t hurt-”

“I don’t want to do anything to any kid, even stuff that doesn’t hurt. I just… worry about doing things.”

The girl continues to glare. “That’s dumb. You wouldn’t think about it if you weren’t a pedophile.”

Another deep breath; nails digging into the palms of his hands. She’s a kid. She’s scared. “Do you ever have nightmares?”

“Yeah. Everybody does.”

“And you can’t control the nightmare, right? Your brain just makes it up and then it’s happening.”

The girl nods slowly. “But you’re awake.”

“Yeah. But… sometimes, if your brain is… weird, it can make up ideas even when you’re awake. Like… you know about daydreaming, right? My brain gives me daynightmares.”

For a moment, concern flickers in Rothbart’s eyes. “That sucks.”

The Hunter laughs slightly. “Yeah, it really kinda does. But the point is, just because I have these bad ideas doesn’t mean I actually want to do the bad stuff. So I’m not a pedophile, and I’m not going to hurt anybody.”

Slowly, the girl begins to nod. “Okay. But if you do, I’m gonna kick your butt.”

He smiles. “That sounds fair.”

Chapter Text

“… I have a… rather personal question. I don’t want to go to my parents about it.”

The Charmer puts down his coffee. “Well, ask away.”

“Um.” The Bard’s face is very pink. “Well, my friend… you heard what I said about my friend, yes? And how I saw what happened? Um, well, Mother and Father gave me a book about, well, sex, but it only covered the kind which… produces children. And my friends told me some things I don’t think are right, so…”

“She wants to know if it’s true gay guys stick their dicks in each other’s butts.”

“Wix!”

“Well, you do!”

The Charmer’s skin is dark, but even so everyone can see the color creeping into it as he fumbles for words. “Er… well, it’s nothing like what you saw, I can assure you of that. But…”

The Bard blinks. “Really?”

“Uh… yeahhhh… look, maybe you should ask your p-”

“Mother and Father probably wouldn’t tell me if I did.”

Given what she’s said about them, and the upright way… Mr. Bard carries himself when he comes to collect the girl, the Charmer is inclined to believe her.

“Okay, well… yes, that is one thing people can do. But it’s not like what happened to your friend, any more than what happened to some of the ladies here is what straight sex is like. Your friend’s dad was trying to hurt him. If people want to do it and are careful, it doesn’t hurt.” The Bard’s wrinkling her nose a little, so he adds, “And generally you clean up really well first.”

“Clean up how…?”

Why him?

“Uhhhhh… I’m not sure if I should tell you that.”

“Why?”

He reaches to rub the back of his neck. “… Too much information? Your parents might not like it.”

“I don’t think my parents would like me to know about any of this, but… well, here we are.”

“True. Well… let’s say flexible shower hoses are a good thing and leave it at that till you hit your teens, okay?”

Chapter Text

Detective Know it All was never great with small kids, and this is a hard question to answer. It’s just his luck that it’s the Heiress who’s asking.

“Well… does your family go to church? Do you know about God?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, an Atheist, like me, is someone who doesn’t believe in God.”

“Oh, okay.” The Heiress nods. “Some of the kids in my class are like that.”

“Yes, well-”

“Do you believe in the Buddhism then? Or Jewish God like the Champion?”

“Erm… neither, actually. I don’t believe in any god or spiritual figure at all.”

“None?”

“Not particularly.”

She cocks her head to one side. “Why not?”

“It’s just that…” He winces. “I don’t find all that… very scientific. There’s no way to really prove these kinds of things and I don’t much like to believe in anything without just cause to.”

“But it’s in the Bible. Aren’t you s’posed to believe the stuff in books?”

Detective Know it All sighs heavily. “Well, some books, yes. But just being in a book doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“Oh, I know that,” she says dismissively. “I know pets can’t talk and stuff, those are just baby stories. But aren’t books for grown-ups about true things?”

This is a tough one to explain in a way a four-year-old will get. “Well, I know that the people who wrote the Bible thought that it was true. But… sometimes grown-ups are wrong.”

“You mean like big kids, right? Sometimes they’re dumb an’ stuff.”

“I mean grown-ups,” he repeats. “Real grown-ups.”

“Like you?”

“Like me, and your parents and teachers and other people that age.”

“They can be wrong?”

She looks positively floored at that.

“Yes. It doesn’t mean they’re stupid, but the world is a very, very big and very, very complicated place. It isn’t possible for even grown-ups who are smarter than I am to know everything in the world, so everyone is going to have ideas that are wrong about something. And long, long ago when religious books like the Bible or the Torah were written, people knew even less about the world than they do now. They didn’t have the science we have, so they couldn’t learn as much as we can. They had to work with the knowledge that was available to them, and that limited understanding meant it was much more difficult to get things right.”

“So… does that mean that everyone who believes in the Bible is dumb?”

The Bride’s visiting husband, who has been quietly listening, is the one who answers. “Not exactly. It just means they think that everything that happened in the Bible did happen, and people like the Detective think it didn’t. It’s like you said earlier. Some people are Christians, some are Jewish, some are Buddhists, and some are Atheists. And you can’t prove that any of those things do or don’t exist, right? That’s why I don’t believe in anything, one way or the other.”

“Are you an Atheist, too?”

Mr. Bride shakes his head. “I’m agnostic. That means I don’t know if there’s a god or not and I don’t really care, either.”

“But if there is a God, won’t that make Him mad?”

A shrug. “I’m not entirely sure.”

“But… but… don’t you know what happens to people that make God mad?”

“I think He’d be a lot madder about people pretending to believe when they didn’t. Isn’t not lying one of the Commandments?”

The Heiress nods hesitantly. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“And besides,” the Detective adds, “if He wants us personally to believe so much, He’d be more than capable of getting that across. I think I’ll continue doing what I’m doing until instructed otherwise.”

“But what about faith?”

“What about it?”

“Well… at church they say that you gotta believe even if nobody tells you to. You gotta trust that God is real ‘cause the Bible says so.”

“Remember what I said about some grown-ups being wrong?”

“Yeah.”

“This is one of those things I think a lot of people are wrong about. I don’t think that believing something just for the sake of believing it is a very… rational thing to do.”

“But if there isn’t a God, then what happens to people when they die? Isn’t there a Hell mean people can go to?”

“I don’t believe in one, no,” the Detective says. “My belief is that when the brain stops working, the person ceases to exist. Like… like going to sleep, forever.”

The Heiress’ face crumples and her eyes start to water. “For everyone? Even really good people?”

Oh no. “Well… yes. But no, please, don’t cry! I don’t think it’s a scary thing! Listen,” he says, crouching beside her. “Going to sleep doesn’t hurt, does it? It isn’t scary? Even if you don’t dream, all that happens is you don’t know or think anything?”

“I… I guess…”

“Well, that’s what I think death is like. Like sleeping forever.”

“But… that’s forever!”

“You won’t know that.”

“It’s like how you don’t know you’re asleep in the night,” Mr. Bride adds. “You fall asleep at nine and you wake up at seven. But you don’t know what happens between nine and seven. So if you don’t know, it doesn’t matter. Besides,” he adds, “you would have also been ‘dead’ from all the time before you were born. And you weren’t bothered then, were you?”

“I don’t know! I don’t remember that!”

“You wouldn’t remember this time either. None of the bad things-”

“None of the good ones either!”

The men look at each other for a moment. Helplessly.

“Well… no, but…” the Detective begins awkwardly. “Erm…”

“Look,” Mr. Bride breaks in. “This is just what we think on the subject - or at least what ‘e does. Maybe we’re wrong. Maybe you’re right. You can believe in Heaven if you want to.”

“But you don’t!”

“No, but that’s just us. This isn’t really the kind of thing where people can be right or wrong… everyone can believe what they want as long as they aren’t using that belief to be mean to other people. Alright?”

“Okay…” she sniffs.

The Detective sighs in audible relief. “Does that make any sense to you?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“I’m glad.”

Chapter Text

Odile has told her story. She’s one of the worst kids to explain this to, Pyrrhus thinks. Might she have it?

“Um, it’s… a kind of illness. Look, when Mr Unicorn got you, he took you to the doctor, right? Did anything come back in the results?”

She blinks. “Oh! Yeah! He made us take some special stuff ‘cause Rothbart an’ Margo an’ me all got colds. Is it like that?”

“Sort of. Look, did you have… anything else?”

She shakes her head. “There was some other stuff I had to take ‘cause it hurt when I had to pee, but I took it and then a while later it went away.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nope!”

It’s possible that she wouldn’t know, but that’s a bit of a relief.

“Okay, well, HIV is one of the diseases you would have been tested for. It’s passed on by the stuff people did to, well, us.” Pyrrhus hopes that’s the end of it.

“What does it do?”

Of course it isn’t.

“Uh. Okay, do you know what your immune system is?”

“No.”

“Basically it’s this… stuff in your blood that fights off diseases.”

“I thought medicine did that.”

“It does, and it can, but the immune system helps with that. It can also stop you from getting sick in the first place.”

“Okay…”

“What HIV is… is a disease that hurts the immune system. It makes it a lot easier to get sick and it’s a lot harder to get rid of illnesses once you have them.”

“Oh, that sounds like it would be awful,” she says, frowning in sympathy. “So do you get sick a lot?”

“Not really. I have medicine I can take which protects me from the worst of it.”

“So when are you gonna get better?”

Oh, the worst question she could ask.

“… I’m not.”

“What?!”

Great, I upset the toddler. People are staring. This is just great.

“There are some diseases that… we don’t really have a cure for. We can treat it, but… it isn’t going to go away.”

“Not ever?”

He shakes his head. “Probably not.”

“But… but that’s not fair.”

“I’m afraid life often isn’t.”

If life was fair, they never would have met.

Chapter Text

The Charmer attempts to make a hasty exit; the Sailor grabs his collar and says, “Oh no, I got stuck with this one when the boys were in kindergarten, it’s your turn!” Red, Blue, Green, and Purple try very hard to look like they’re not listening, but the snickering is a dead giveaway.

“How was that my fault? I was in Brazil at the time!”

“Just explain it. It’s your… profession.”

The Charmer turns back to the Crybaby as she stares expectantly up at him.

“Fine.” He sighs. “Well… you know what sex is, right?”

Lord, she shouldn’t, but the child nods.

“Okay, and you know how it’s only supposed to be for grown-ups, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well… sometimes grown-ups will pay other grown-ups to do that kind of thing with them.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Eww! Why?!”

“Well, when you grow up, your body changes so things like that feel good.”

“Why?”

“Because the other changes your body goes through, well… do you know the other reason grown-ups have sex? They might not have told you because it wouldn’t happen to you.” She shakes her head, and he continues. “Well, the other changes make it so you can have a baby, and sex is how babies are made. It wouldn’t have happened to you!” he repeats hastily. “You’re much too young for that to be possible. But it feels good so that people want to do it, because that’s how more people are made.”

“My parents have had sex?!”

It shouldn’t be funny, but she says it with such offense in her voice…

“Most grown-ups have.”

“Is that what prostitutes are for? To help people have babies?”

“No. Most prostitutes are just people that other people pay to make them feel good. But it feels good because grown-ups have reached the age where they can make babies. That's the age where boys’ voices get lower and a lot of other stuff happens to change kids’ bodies into grown-up ones.”

The Crybaby stares at him.

“Am I making sense?”

“Kinda.”

Better than he’d hoped for. “Well, you don’t really have to worry about those things for quite a while. Just… focus on feeling better, okay?”

Chapter Text

Saint Silvertongue does not want to explain this to this particular kid, but if he doesn’t try, things will only get worse. The Backwards Preacher is looking at him like a bug under a microscope, but at least he asked a question. He might be teachable.

“Well, no one really knows. Some people are just set up that way.”

“I don’t buy it.”

Big surprise there.

“What’s there to buy?”

“Well, how the heck does somebody just wake up one day and-”

“I didn’t wake up one day, it’s more like I was always like this an’ it took a while for my brain to catch up. That make any sense to ya?”

“Not a lick.”

“Well, you like girls, right? At least one girl.” Poor Queen. “And everybody you know said you’re s’posed to, so you don’t have to wonder about that. I didn’t, and I didn’t find out boys were an option till later, but I always would have been that way if I’d known. Till I did find out, I just figured I was a late bloomer, but nope.”

“But why would you wanna be with fellers? Girls are-”

“Yeah, to you maybe, but I’ve never really seen it that way. Could you see yourself with a guy?”

The Preacher grimaces. “No!”

“Exactly. Some people like both, but plenty of people pick a fence and stay behind it. Some boys like other boys and some don’t and that’s just the way it is. I’m not really sure why.”

“But why’d you stick with it? My dad’s friends said you’d go to Hell if you did.”

“I’m Jewish. We don’t really have a Hell the way you do.”

“Oh, so you were goin’ there anyway?”

“What? No! That’s not…” The Saint groans. “Isn’t the Queen Jewish?”

“Oh, she won’t be when we get married. That’s how it works, right?”

“No!”

“Well, we’re still too young to get married anyway. When we start goin’ steady, I’ll talk to her about it and she’ll change and then she’ll be perfect.”

The Saint groans again. “No one is going to Hell for being Jewish or for being gay.”

“What about for-”

“For the purposes of this conversation, no one is going to Hell for anything.” Except possibly your parents for teaching you all this, if I had my way. “Some people believe things that are different from you, or want to marry people you wouldn’t want to marry. That’s just part of the rich tapestry of life and you're gonna have to get used to it if you wanna stay in this group. Mother Superior doesn’t like it if people are mean about other people’s beliefs here.” The kid pouts, and the Saint adds, “If God didn’t like us the way we were, it ain’t like He couldn’t have made us different, kiddo. You ever planted sunflower seeds and got mad ‘cause sunflowers grew from ‘em?”

“No, that’d be silly.”

“Well then.”

The Preacher digests the statement, and the Saint dares to hope he’s got through to him.

“So is Mab- uh, the Queen gay?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“ ‘Cause she doesn’t seem to like me.”

“… That is not the reason I would have first thought of, no.”

“But-”

“Kid, lemme put it this way. Do you like every girl you come across?”

“No! The Queen’s special!”

“Well, not every girl likes every guy, for… a lot of reasons actually.”

“Why doesn’t she like me?”

“Well… for starters you’re a lot younger than her.”

“Three years isn’t that much!”

To a kid who had a forty-something molest him, maybe it doesn’t seem like it. “Maybe when you’re twelve you’ll think nine-year-olds are really little, too. And did you ever think maybe she doesn’t want to stop being Jewish? Like, how would you feel if she asked you to stop being Christian?”

A gasp. “She would never!”

“No, she wouldn’t. You know why that is?”

“It… it’s important!”

“Yeah. Your religion’s important to you. Hers means something to her. She probably doesn’t like that you keep trying to change that.”

“I’m trying to save her from goin' to Hell!”

“And that’s important to you, yeah, but, like I said, most Jews don’t really believe in Hell. I don’t think she’s happy that you’re telling her something bad that she doesn’t think is possible will happen if she doesn’t do what you say. Oh boy, example, example…” Saint Silvertongue chews his lip for a moment. “… If your teachers told you that if you didn’t do your homework a big blue lion would fly down out of the sky and eat you, would you be scared? Would you believe them? And no, I know the Hell stuff is in the Bible,” he says when Preacher opens his mouth, “but Jews have our own holy books which we think are right, same as you think the Bible is right. Well, technically the Bible and our books have a lot of the same stuff, but that’s another conversation entirely.”

“So does your book not say gays are goin’ to Hell?”

“For the last time, kid, it says that there isn’t a Hell to go to in the first place.”

“But you still gotta follow all the rules in it? What happens if you don’t?”

“Er… that’s complicated.”

“Why do grown-ups always say stuff’s complicated when they mean they don’t know?”

“It’s comp-… er.”

Chapter Text

“Penitent.” Le Penitent de Plaisir presses his fingers to his mouth as if gripping a cigarette. “It… it means someone who is very sorry for a wrong zing zey did, and is trying to make zings better.”

Little Miss Normal blinks behind her glasses, and checks his name tag for a star. It’s there. “Oh. What did you do?”

“Were you not ‘ere when I told my story?”

“No, I think it was Pua Mae’s day here.”

“Ah. Well.” He coughs. “First, do you know what alcohol is?”

“Yeah. I’m not a dummy.”

“Right, well, do you know what it does?”

“Don’t grown-ups drink it to feel good?

“Yes, but it also makes it ‘arder to move or zink properly. People who are drinking are clumsier and more likely to make bad decisions.”

“So you did something bad while you were drinking?”

“Yes. I was drinking with a… friend, and I misunderstood what she wanted me to do.”

“How?”

Oh, the million dollar question.

“I…” He rubs the back of his head. “Well… you know what… sex is, yes?”

“That’s the stupidest question I’ve ever heard.”

Fair enough.

“Well… grown-ups do it sometimes… because it feels good.”

“What?!”

“It can, if you’re with ze right person and you want it.”

“Was she the wrong person?”

“Not exactly. I very much… wanted to participate in our… liaison. She was ze right person for me, but I… I was wrong for ‘er. Very, very wrong.”

“What did you do?”

“I ‘urt ‘er. In… a very bad way.”

Little Miss Normal’s pushy facade wavers. “Did you have sex with her?”

A heavy sigh. “Yes. I did, and I should not ‘ave. I truly zought she wanted me to, but I was wrong. I was stupid. I can never take zat back.” He wipes his eye. “Zat is what it means. I cannot fix ze way I ‘urt ‘er, but I can come ‘ere to try to ‘elp others. To try to make up for what I did.”

Little Miss Normal fiddles with her badge for a long time, and mumbles, “You weren’t here when I told my story either, were you? I… well, I’ve been on the stage but I kinda haven’t told it yet.” There’s still no star on her badge. “But, you told me yours, so maybe…? And you said you wanna help people feel better, so maybe this’ll make you feel better too?”

Curious, Le Penitent sits up straighter. “I’d be honoured, mademoiselle.”

“Um. Well, I told everyone my aunt is really cool…” She leans forward and whispers hoarsely into his ear. “But she’s not.”

“I’m sorry to ‘ear zat.” He’s sorry, again. Always sorry.

“But that’s not all…”

“What are you-”

“She did real bad stuff to me, and said she’d do it again if I told… and I didn’t, but… I got really mad. For a while I was just mad and… scared."

“Zat is natural, when you ‘ave been ‘urt.”

“… I’m the one that hurt Pua Mae.”

He’s a little surprised, but he maintains eye contact and is not angry. “Oh my. Zat’s… well… I am sorry.”

“What? Why are you sorry? I did it! And it wasn’t an accident!” People are looking as Miss Normal’s whisper becomes a shriek. “I hurt her and I meant to do it!”

“Yes. But… you were ‘urting too, no? If zings ‘ad been just a bit better for you, zen you would never ‘ave zought to do it. Zat is one of the reasons this group is ‘ere. If we ‘elp people feel less bad, zey might not do bad zings. Like ‘Erne would ‘ave ‘urt ‘imself, if someone ‘adn’t shown ‘im kindness.”

“That’s not the same. He woulda only hurt himself.” Her eyes are watering.

“You’re just… Miss Normal, do you know what culpability is?”

“No.”

“It means ‘at fault’, in a grown-up sort of way. It can be used to measure whezer or not someone is truly responsible for a bad zing zey ‘ave done.”

“I don’t get what you mean.”

“Well… if you see a grown-up stealing somezing and a child taking somezing… zey are both wrong, no?”

“Yeah…”

“But it’s worse when a grown-up does it, not because of ze end result, but because zey should know better. Shouldn’t zey?”

“Wait, are you saying I’m dumb?”

“No! Never! But… ‘ow old are you?”

“Six.”

“Ah. And even ze cleverest of six-year-olds simply ‘asn’t ‘ad time to learn everyzing a grown-up would know, ‘ave zey? You can be very clever and not know zings yet. Being clever is about ‘ow you use what you do know. And, when you are six, you certainly shouldn’t know a lot about sex. At least, you have ze right not to, yet. It’s not somezing someone your age should ‘ave to worry about.”

Cautiously, she nods. “So…?”

“So, all you knew was somezing bad ‘ad ‘appened to you and you didn’t zink you could tell anyone. And zat kind of pain, it must go somewhere. So you did somezing about it, and it's true, it was not ze right zing to do, but… do you know what empazy is?”

“Empa… oh, empathy? It’s when you feel bad for other people, right?”

“Not exactly. It’s when you feel for ozer people. When you can put yourself in zeir shoes.”

“Oh…”

“When you are very young, you don’t ‘ave as much of it yet as a grown-up would. It is like being clever, you get more empazy as you grow. Zat is ‘ow it is for almost all children your age.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And zat, well, zat is not your fault, but it does mean zat you can end up doing zings you ozerwise would not. At ze time, what were you zinking about?”

“That I was mad and scared and hurt. And she was really happy and it wasn’t fair.”

No, it wasn’t, really, though that wasn’t the best way to rectify things. “But you weren’t really zinking about ‘ow bad she would feel? Or what she might do?”

“No…”

“See, zat is because you are still growing your empazy. If you were older, you might ‘ave zought more about ‘ow she would be ‘urt. At your age… it is not really your fault.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I am not. You acted out because someone ‘urt you and you didn’t zink zings zrough. You are six years old. You didn’t know any better. You couldn’t be expected to.”

“But how's that different than what you did?”

“I am an adult, mademoiselle. Zat makes all ze difference.” He shrugs. “I was drunk, which affected my judgment enough zat I was somewhat not responsible, which is why I am not in prison for it, but I should ‘ave known not to drink zat much in ze first place. It’s a complicated and unfortunate situation, as is yours, but I promise yours is not your fault.”

“So I… I’m not gonna go to jail for it or anything?”

“No. No, of course not.”

“And you don’t think…”

“I do not hate you or zink you’re bad forever, and I don’t zink anyone else will. Even Pua Mae.”

She bursts into real tears at this point, and flings herself against his chest. He hesitates to close his arms around her, remembering the conditions of his freedom, but Mother Superior catches sight of them and nods. She trusts him.

He returns the embrace and starts sobbing too.

Chapter Text

The Wildcard blinks and wrinkles his nose. The Delusionist stares up at him with one question in his pale blue eyes.

“It’s when you forget something, I guess. Something important… or anything. I’ve heard that’s called amnesia too.”

“What makes yours different?”

“Well, I don’t remember my, uh…”

“What?”

“I don’t know, it’s hard to remember.”

The Delusionist folds his arms and frowns. “Well, that isn’t very helpful. How do you even know you have it if you don’t remember what you forgot?”

“I… sometimes I get flashes. Little bits. If I focus really really hard I can remember parts of it now, because stuff happened that made me remember.”

“Why do you have it?”

“Uh. Well, my doc said that if something really horrible happens, sometimes you don’t wanna believe it happened. You can end up pretending so hard that it didn’t happen that you start to think it really didn’t.”

“That… sounds kinda like me. Not quite, I remembered it, but I couldn’t tell whether it really happened.”

“Well.” He offers a handshake, and the Delusionist takes it. “It’s kinda comforting to meet someone with a similar brand of crazy, ain’t it?”

The Delusionist giggles.

Chapter Text

The Diamond in the Rough blinks at Shesha. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, back when your thing happened, my mom said Hopper was trying to make you feel like you should be ashamed, even though he’s the one who did something wrong. I don’t really get it.”

“Uh.” The Diamond huffs out a breath. “Well, there are sorta a few layers to that. First, he thought it made me gay, and second, he thought that was a bad thing.”

“Can you make people gay?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then why did he…?”

“Your mom told you what… she told you about sex, right?”

“… Yeah?”

“Well, men and women do it a certain way and… gay guys do it another. Kinda like what he did to me, but, well, it’s not supposed to hurt that much.”

“Oh.” Shesha pauses. “Was Hopper gay?”

“I don’t know, but probably not. Like I said, he thought it was a bad thing. And some people who think it’s a bad thing think you can catch it, like it’s an illness. Which you can’t, just for the record. And they think that you can catch it if someone else makes you do gay sex stuff. It’s a silly idea, but a lot of people have weird ideas about how stuff works.”

“Why’d he think it was bad, though?”

“Okay, well… just to make sure you know, this isn’t true, right? But a lot of people think gay people are bad, like what happened to Herne and the Gunman. Hopper probably didn’t think about it quite the same way, but it’s an idea a lot of people have. And a lot of people think gay men are weak, so I guess he was sorta trying to show he thought I was weak too?”

“You’re not weak!”

“I know, but he thought I was, and I guess he wanted to make everyone else think the same thing. Didn’t work, but the idea’s still there.” The Diamond heaves a long sigh. “And part of it was probably him wanting to make me feel weak too. He was angry at me for showing him up, so he decided to hurt me as much as he possibly could.”

“Did it work?”

“… Well… sort of, yeah.”

Chapter Text

La Coquette is not great with kids. She pauses for a long time, but she can’t stall the Delusionist forever. “Er. Well, do you know what the ‘slut’ part means?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s a mean name for a person, usually a woman, who has a lot of sex, or who people think has a lot of sex. And slut-shaming is telling people they’re bad, or they deserve bad things happening to them, because of it.”

The Delusionist frowns. “Wait, that can’t be right. Grownups are supposed to want to have sex. Why would it be bad to do it?”

“It isn’t as long as everyone wants to, but…” She sighs. “Grown-ups are silly sometimes. A lot of them think it’s alright for boys to have a lot of sex, but it’s another story when it comes to girls, I’m afraid.”

“That’s weird…” The Delusionist counts on his fingers. “If girls can’t have sex but boys are supposed to, and most people aren’t gay, who are they supposed to be having sex with?”

“That’s… kind of the problem with the idea, yes.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I.”

“Aren’t you supposed to, though? You’re a grown-up. Why don’t you know?”

La Coquette shrugs. “Sorry to be the one to tell you this, but… we don’t know everything. Not even about other grown-ups. Sometimes things just don’t add up.”

“Why?”

“Because the world is really, really complicated, and bad ideas have a habit of sticking around better than good ideas.”

Chapter Text

The Reluctant Hunter suffers a violent full-body shudder, is silent for a long moment, then says, “Ask your mom.”

“I can’t,” the Preacher says, in the tone of someone explaining things to an idiot. “She’s in jail, and so’s my dad.”

“Ask someone else then.”

“I don’t wanna. Not when I got you here.”

The Hunter groans. “It’s someone that likes kids in a gross way, happy now?”

“What do you mean, gross?”

“Like sexual. They want to have sex with kids.”

“Like… like the Champion’s granddaddy?”

“Yeah. He was probably like that.”

“What about the guy that… y’know… with me…?”

The Hunter pauses. “I… I dunno if he was.”

“But he had sex with me!”

“Yeah, but it sorta sounded like…” The Hunter sighs and thinks.

“Like what?”

“I think he mostly would have had sex with anyone. Doesn’t seem like it was really about sex, you get me?”

“Not really?”

“What I mean is, he was trying to think up the grossest, worst, most bad-hurting thing he could possibly do ‘cause he liked to hurt people, or he thought other people deserved to be hurt. And that was what he thought of, not something he started out wanting to do. Like, you would be unhappy if he hit you and you wouldn’t get why, but you’d understand what he did, right? You didn’t know what he did so it messed you up even more.”

The Preacher shuffles his feet and looks downcast. “I guess… So what was that you said about how you got stuck thinkin’ you were one?”

“Oh.” The Hunter grimaces and says, “Well, brains are weird sometimes. D’you know what anxiety is? How ‘bout OCD? Either of those?”

“My dad says that ‘mental illnesses’ are just demons invading weak people’s souls.”

“Okay… well, none of that is true.”

“But my dad said-”

“Your dad’s in jail for a reason, y’know.” The Hunter sighs again. “Okay, mental illnesses are what happens when your brain starts working wrong. If it makes too much of this or that chemical or some nerves get wired up wrong. And it can make all kinds of horrible stuff happen. Do you know what OCD does, even if you don’t know what it is?”

“Isn’t it that thing that makes you wanna wash your hands all the time?”

“That’s a stereotype. Some people might be like that, but not everybody. My OCD doesn’t work that way. What it does is… it makes you think that something horrible is going to happen, even if there’s no reason to think that. People with the hand-washing thing do that because they’re scared they’ll get sick if they don’t, or make someone else sick from germs on their hands. Or sometimes they wash their hands ‘cause they’re scared they’re gonna touch something and make it dirty somehow, even though their hands are already clean. Some people end up scrubbing their hands so hard they bleed. Or they can’t leave the house because they have a bunch of rituals they need to do first and it takes up so much time, so nothing gets done. It sounds funny from the outside, but it isn’t, really.”

“And yours makes you think about bein’ a pedophile?”

“It makes me think about doing really bad stuff all the time. It’s not just that I think it’ll happen. I think I might make it happen. That make any sense?”

“I guess.”

“So I think a lot about hurting… someone, and even though I really don’t want to, it used to make me worry that I would. That maybe I really did want to deep down. Why would I even think of that kind of stuff unless I wanted to do it? Well, the answer’s because my brain’s messed up and it’s not my fault. But knowing that doesn’t make it go away.”

“That sounds like it really sucks.”

“It does.”

The Preacher hesitantly says, “So… do you want me to stop talkin’ to ya? If bein’ near kids makes you think you’ll… yeah?”

The Hunter is surprised. The Preacher showing concern for someone else’s wishes? That’s rare. And good, Mother Superior said. “Actually, no, it’s okay. My therapist says I have to try to talk to kids. If I hide away it’ll get worse. I need to be able to talk to the people I’m scared I’m gonna hurt, so that I can see I’m talking to them and not hurting them. But thanks!”

Now the Preacher’s surprised. “Gee, I don’t remember the last time someone thanked me. So, you’re welcome, I guess?”

It’s a solid start.

Chapter Text

The Avatar hasn’t told her story yet. She looks the Privateer in the eye, level with him in her chair. “Oh, there are a bunch of different reasons someone might be in a wheelchair. It’s not all the same thing, and some users can get up sometimes. Some can’t.” She shrugs. “It’s a thing.”

“Why?” he pushes. “If she can get up, why does she need the chair?”

“She can’t stand up for very long on her own,” the Avatar says. “I think she said she’d fall after about three steps?”

“Her legs don’t work? Why doesn’t she have metal legs like the Replacement, then?”

“You know, it’s rude to talk about people behind their backs,” says the Avatar, raising one eyebrow.

“Oh, is this one of those things the Bard tells me not to do?” He frowns. “Sorry.”

“Probably… but I don't know if you should ask the Princess, I don’t think she wants to talk about it. So…” She sighs. “For chair users in general, it’s often not a problem with their actual legs. Sometimes it is, but usually it’s a back problem. You know what your spine does?”

He nods. “Yeah, it holds you up, and messages from your brain go down inside it, and if it gets broken it messes that up.”

“Yeah. That’s what happened to me.” She taps the chair arm. “My spine got wrecked, so none of those messages pass through it below the break, so my legs don’t move at all. The Pri- some people, though, just have it break part of the way through, or the nerves are messed up but not broken off, so some messages can get through but not all of them. Or sometimes people have problems which make their muscles or bones weak but their spines are fine. So they can move their legs a bit, but not much, and they need the chair to move around long distances. You got that?”

“Yeah!” The Privateer nods. “Sorry that happened. Was it a car that did it? I know that can happen.”

“Ah…” The Avatar glances at the stage, and settles on saying, “… No.”

The Privateer gets the hint. “Oh, that’s awful.”

She shrugs. “Eh, it is what it is.”

“I guess.” He contemplates for a while, and then says, “So if nothing works below the break, how do you go to the bathroom?”

“Aaaand we’re done here.”

Chapter Text

“Certainly.”

The Champion shuffles her feet. “I mean, without Ralph or anyone?”

“Ah - of course, Miss Champion,” says Doctor Robot. He catches the Mother’s eye. “Mother Superior, I am just going to talk to this young lady in private. Just so you know where we are.” Mother Superior nods, and the Doctor lets the Champion lead him out into a spacious supply closet, where they can speak in private. He leaves the door cracked; it’s not appropriate, especially here, for an adult to shut himself in a room alone with a non-related child, and if they hear footsteps they can stop speaking. “What is the issue?” he asks.

“Uh, well… you met the Victor, right?” The Champion struggles to get her words out. “And you know she’s my mom?”

“I do. I am very happy you were able to find each other again.”

“That’s… kinda the problem,” she says, twiddling her fingers and blushing. “See, um, I think my mom is really pretty.”

“Your mother is very pretty.”

“No, I mean…” Her voice gets quieter. “… in the way… you’re not supposed to think about your mom.”

It takes the Doctor a moment to parse this. “Oh, I see. Well, you are rather young as these things go, but this has happened before.”

“It has?” She looks very surprised.

“Yes. Long-lost relatives will often experience a great emotional pull towards each other. The sensation has been described as finally having found something long missing. Even I can see your admiration and respect for the Victor. In situations such as yours, where you never had another maternal figure and are not familiar with the emotions in question, it is easy for these feelings to become confused.”

“Oh, thank God!” the Champion says, and sags. “I thought something was, like, really wrong with me. I didn’t wanna say anything, but then I heard about the Hunter’s thing, and I thought it was that.”

“No, it is… I would not say normal, exactly, but it is certainly not unknown and it is not nearly as serious as it seems. It can fade quite quickly, if the feelings are not allowed to grow.”

“Oh, good… is there, like, a name for it?”

“A debated one. Genetic Sexual Attraction is the common term, but whether it actually has anything to do with genetics or is solely a psychological issue has not been determined, to my knowledge. I would have to do further research to comment.” Doctor Robot offers a slight deepening of his usual bland smile. “You are fortunate that you are so young. Crushes at your age often pass quickly anyway. Adults in such a situation, with no obvious factor to stop them, have sometimes acted on these confused feelings, with disastrous results when it does wear off or other family members find out.”

“Acted on - oh, ew!… Well, I guess I can’t judge.”

“Well, it is thanks to those people that it is an observable phenomenon. It is unlikely someone would simply choose to break such an obvious taboo, therefore something deeper is clearly going on, and those who experience but do not act on it would be reluctant to talk about it. But I don’t think you should worry too much. I appreciate that it is embarrassing, but in your case it should pass well before you reach an age at which it would become a major problem.”

“So what do I do?”

“I’m afraid there is little to be done, except wait for these feelings to pass. Try to avoid dwelling on them, and come back to me if they linger. I could also bring you a pamphlet about this from an adoption agency, if that would help?” She nods, and he nods back. “I also recommend that you do not tell your mother about this, but I cannot imagine you intended to anyway.”

He is right; within three months, the Champion catches his eye in the auditorium and points to the Victor. It’s gone! she mouths, shooting him a double thumbs up and grinning. She scurries off to chat to the Victor, with no embarrassment or any hints that anything was ever odd; and to the Doctor’s knowledge, the Victor never finds out.

Chapter Text

Professor Pessoa winces even as the Invader approaches; he won’t deny that his volume could probably take out the eardrums of anyone within a five mile radius. “Hello to you too, Invader,” he says. “Keep it down a bit, I can hear you fine.”

“My apologies. I have a question about the GRAVE INJUSTICE committed against you. WHY would they blame YOU for the Delusionist’s assault? It is clear that the DISGUSTING GRUB behind it was a liar, and you had no PART of it.”

“Ah yes. The… incident.” Professor Pessoa casts a sad look towards the Delusionist, who’s playing checkers with the Crybaby. “That is a question I’ve thought about at times. It doesn’t help that some people… don’t have a very favorable view of the LGBT+ community when it comes to children.”

“I’ve NOTICED, and I ASSURE YOU that THESE PEOPLE ARE ON MY LIST!” A beat. “Oh, and you will be on my list of people to spare.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He thinks. “Well, people tend to, ah, class unfamiliar sexual behaviours all together as the same sort of thing. If someone doesn’t know anything about gay people, then they might make a mistake and put it together in their minds with abusing children, because both of those are things they don’t want to do and think are unpleasant. And they assume that means both are equally bad, and that someone who’ll do one will automatically do the other.”

“I SEE! It seems HETEROSEXUAL HUMANS are remarkably STUPID! Neither my THERAPIST nor my FOSTER FATHERS nor YOU have been anything but PERFECTLY RESPECTFUL to me or the HUMAN LARVAE, and I have made sure to SAY SO at EVERY OPPORTUNITY!”

His opportunities with the other kids at school are few - he’s not in the same school Pessoa teaches at, but he’s heard from the Man in Black that the Invader is now in the Low Incidence classroom. Fewer playground fights are a good thing, but Pessoa still feels a touch of happiness at having an ally, however much he wishes the Invader would go about it differently. “Humans are sometimes rather stupid, yes. There was a line in a movie - ‘a person is smart’-”

“-‘people are dumb panicky dangerous animals and you know it’,” the Invader recites with him, grinning. “The HUMAN WORMBABY has FORCED me to sit through that entire movie!”

“Forced?”

“He BRIBED me with SUGARED AND SALTED MAIZE KERNELS! They STUCK IN MY ARTIFICIAL TEETH but they were DELICIOUSLY ADDICTIVE! I am CERTAIN he intends me to go GROVELLING TO HIM FOR MORE!”

Pessoa laughs. “I’m sure your dads will buy you popcorn without you needing to beg.”

Chapter Text

“Am I what?”

“Cis. Opposite of trans… a guy, in your case. I was wondering if you were or if you might be, well, like me.”

The Wildcard blinks at the Wix. “Why would you ask that?”

“Well, uh… it’s a vibe I get, I guess,” they say, scratching their nape awkwardly. “Some of the stuff you’ve said sounds kinda familiar. And you said you’re autistic, right? Lotta people with that have gender stuff going on, for some reason.”

“Is this about when I made Nine of Shades cry because I thought she was a boy? Look, I told her, it’s hard to tell with kids and I didn’t know what that jerk did at the time!”

“That is one thing I noticed,” the Wix says carefully. “You kinda do that a lot, and I was wondering if standard gender cues just… aren’t a thing for you, so you don’t notice them with other people. I don’t do that but I get it.”

“… Huh.” The Wildcard plays with the chain around his neck. “My mom did have to stop me from wearing my grandma’s pearls and I didn’t get why, but I always thought that was just, y’know, a kid thing.”

“Could be, but it could be something else. Um… okay, how do you feel when I say, ‘wow, you have really pretty eyelashes, they’re so feminine’?”

The Wildcard blinks. “Are they?”

“Well, do you want me to say they are?”

“Well, yeah, kinda! Who’s gonna turn down someone saying nice things about them?”

“Do you know a lot of guys who’d be happy if I said that?”

“I would!” the Star calls.

The Avatar gently shoves him. “You spent half your career in drag, you don’t count!”

The Wix shrugs, and says, “Or, like, try out pronouns? Test out different sentences calling yourself ‘he’ or ‘she’ or ‘they’?”

He cocks his head to one side. “Y’know, never thought of it before…”

“And now?”

“I dunno, don’t really care either way. Wait… is that something most guys care about?”

“Most people. Not just guys,” the Wix says. “Like, ‘they’ actively feels better for me than ‘she’. I mean, I can’t say for sure, you might wanna go research it on your own, but like I said… I got vibes.”

“Huh. Weird. Guess you’re right, Wix, I should go check that out.” The Wildcard twiddles his thumbs and mutters under his breath. The Wix catches part of what he’s saying: “ ‘She is the greatest wizard in the world’… ‘They are the greatest wizard in the world’…”

Chapter Text

Sabetha Belacoros looks up. “Oh, it’s the Arabic word for a special kind of headscarf Muslim women wear.”

“But the Pharaoh’s Muslim and she doesn’t wear a scarf,” Storge’s Sibling says.

“Yeah, it’s one of those things where you don’t strictly have to do it, but it’s traditional and some people think you should, or they like to. Like how the Saint sometimes eats cheeseburgers and asks us not to tell his mommy.”

“So it’s okay not to wear one if you’re Muslim?”

“For some people it is, yeah. Like I said, you don’t have to. It’s just some people that think so. What’s it that La Coquette says again? Personal choice?”

“Oh. Cool.” Storge tilts his head. “Why do people think they should wear one?”

“Uh, modesty, I think. It’s this thing about modesty. You know how you have to wear clothes to cover certain places on you all the time, and how girls wear shirts but guys don’t always? Some people think it should be the same way about hair. Mostly in the Middle East. I think it sprang out of everyone wearing head coverings because it’s really hot there and people got used to not seeing anyone’s hair, and it sorta became a symbol for religious groups from there. Some Jewish or Christian women wear one too, just in a different style.”

“Ohh,” he says. “Did you think that when you were a kid? You said you wore one.”

“Not exactly. I didn’t think I had to wear one - I mean, most people in Calisota don’t, so I didn’t think it was necessarily rude not to. But I wanted to, because my mom did, and my grandmas had, and I… well, it’s traditional, and it’s a way to sort of show people you’re Muslim right away. To show that you love God and want to follow Him, like how the Dancer has her crucifix.”

“If you didn’t wear one… do you think those guys mighta left you alone?”

Sabetha shudders, and bites her lip. “I… don’t think so. I mean, we were coming out of a mosque when they got us. Kinda gave it away anyway.”

“Oh yeah… Sorry.”

“It’s cool.”

Chapter Text

“Female cir-… circumscription?”

The Mighty Bee twists a braided pigtail around one finger, tongue poking at the gap in her teeth. The goggle-eyed Sheriff shifts in place, looking uncomfortable with where he is.

“Uh… maybe you oughta ask somebody else-”

“Why?” she asks. “What is it?”

“Um.” He gulps, and his tongue flicks. “Okay, well, do you know what male circumcision is?”

“Uh, that’s when baby boys get a little bit a’ skin cut off their wieners, right? They do that sometimes at the temple.”

“Yeah, well… girls don’t have… wieners, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing there… Um…” He scratches his neck. “There’s sort of a little bump where a… thing… would be if you were a boy. Um, well, most likely if you were a boy, you’ve met Ringtail and Ursa Major, but you know what I mean.”

“Oh, yeah, I… I, um, saw that.” She shifts awkwardly. “Our guy would sometimes, um… get us to… yeah.”

The Sheriff tries not to cringe. “Sorry about that.”

“Thanks.”

“So, um, I guess you know that it feels… funny when it’s touched? Oh God I feel like such a creep even asking…”

“No, I do know, and I asked. It’s cool.”

“Okay, well, in adults, you know… sex… is supposed to feel good? Well, that part’s where most of the nerves are that make it feel good. Probably didn’t to you, ‘cause of, well, how it was happening- although if it did sometimes, that doesn’t mean what he did was okay… But as a rule, it’s supposed to feel good.”

“Okaaay…?”

“And… the Pharaoh had to have hers cut off.”

The Bee squeals in sympathy pain, hands over her mouth, legs squeezing together. “Oh, owie! That sounds awful. That’s not like cuttin’ off a little bit of skin at all!”

“Well, no, not really. A lot of people say they shouldn’t call it circumcision, because of that, but no one likes talking about ‘genital mutilation’ so, well, it’s like how people say ‘passed away’ instead of ‘died’.” He thinks, then adds, “There’s a lotta people think they shouldn’t cut that little bit of skin off either, till the baby grows up and can say they wanna have it done. Remember the stuff the Mother said, about how your body is yours and people shouldn’t touch it or make changes to it without you saying it’s okay? I know there’s a lotta discussion about that. But I think if people had to pick they’d go with cuttin’ off the skin bit rather than… well, yeah.”

“Eww.” The Bee wrinkles her nose, and asks another question. “Why’d they do that?”

The Sheriff thinks about how to put it. “Well, y’know what God’s Will First were like? They thought anything to do with the wrong kind of sex stuff was bad?” The Bee nods. “Well, lotsa people think that in a less… extreme… way. Like, they don’t wanna kill people, but they think it’s bad to do it outside marriage or with the wrong people? You know what I mean?” She nods again. “And some people think that cuttin’ out the bit that makes it feel good would make sure girls don’t wanna do it.”

“Not boys?”

“Ah, no. Heck of a double standard there, I’m afraid.”

“Oh yeah. My mommy says there’re a lotta those people have.” The Bee contemplates this. “But she didn’t tell anyone? I know lotsa people didn’t say nothin’ ‘cause people wouldn’t believe ‘em-” The Sheriff winces, and she carries on. “-but people would know with her.”

“Yeah, it’s… She didn’t want to because… she’s Muslim, and some people who aren’t think that all Muslims do that kind of thing. They don’t, it’s just some, and it’s not always Muslims who do it, but she didn’t want to make more people think they all did.”

“Well, that’s dumb.”

“Lots of people are dumb, I’m sad to say,” the Sheriff says. “Besides, he’s still her dad, and he thought he had to, because where he’s from lots of people do that. He wanted to do a good thing for her, and she knows that even though what he actually did was bad, so she doesn’t want him to be in trouble.”

“Oh. Sorta like when your mom makes you eat vegetables when you’re little and you don’t wanna, except that actually was bad for her?”

“I… guess you could put it that way, yeah.”

Chapter Text

The Sixth Sense and Spectro-Sight are playing with the box of threads. Some members have taken up sewing or knitting; the girls are busy learning cat’s cradle. Spectro doesn’t want to use the needles. A third girl has joined them (not one of their usual group), a chubby Chinese girl calling herself the Red Herring.

Spectro bites her lip and tugs her sleeve down. The Sixth Sense tilts her head and says, “C’mon, we did the hard part already on the stage, right? This can’t be worse. I know you said no one touched you that way, so it’s gotta be less bad than that.”

“Uh… it’s sorta hard to explain,” Spectro says. She casts her eyes wildly about the room, and they land on the Hunter. “Oh! Um, you know like what the Hunter said about that scar on his arm? How sometimes people can think they’re so bad they deserve bad things happening, and no one else has hurt them, so… so they have to do it themselves.”

“What?!” The Sixth Sense drops her threads, and they land in a tangled mass in her lap. The Red Herring looks sympathetic. “Why would you think you need to do that?”

Spectro curls up and hides behind her knees and murmurs, “ ‘Cause I’m such a big jerk about how cool and pretty I am and I’m really really ugly.”

“Sasha!”

The other Senses look up when they hear their friend’s name - her real name - spoken here. Spectro doesn’t seem to notice.

“Don’t… Jeepers,” the Sixth Sense covers her mouth with one hand.

The Red Herring can’t help but giggle, sobering immediately when she catches Spectro-Sight’s eye. “Um… I think maybe you should talk to a grownup about that… a good grownup.”

“They wouldn’t understand…”

“Mine did.”

Spectro frowns. “You’re not ugly.”

“Neither are you!” the Red Herring says. “Mine wasn’t quite like that anyway. I get worried ‘cause I’m fat.”

“You’re not fat!”

“I know I’m not really fat, but I am a lot fatter than any of my sisters and brothers,” the Red Herring says sadly, patting her belly. “We don’t all have the same mom and I think mine was a big lady too. It’s kinda different for Asian kids, we can get sick from being fat when we’re much smaller than other people. I dunno exactly how it works, but yeah. So Daddy worries a little, so I do too. And when everyone else is a lot skinnier than you… yeah.”

“Oh.” Spectro-Sight pulls at her hair nervously. “That does sound kinda like what I do… it’s weird. I mean, the Cook looks sorta like me and she’s really pretty, but on me it feels like it looks wrong and bad.”

“No…” The Sixth Sense hugs her, but Spectro keeps looking at the Red Herring through her friend’s arms.

“I… I mean she doesn’t feel that way or anything, so I thought…”

“My sister Suzie is really pretty too,” the Red Herring says. “It’s not the same thing exactly, but I think maybe that makes it worse? Having someone to compare yourself to?”

“Ugh, yeah.” Spectro glances at her other friends.

“So, yeah. I think you should tell someone.”

“Me too,” the Sixth Sense insists. “Um, Doctor Robot’s training to be a brain doctor too? I think he’ll get it. This can’t be the only time someone’s felt like this, right?”

“And, you know, even if you were ugly,” Red Herring adds, “I don’t think you should be hurt for it. It’s not like it’s hurting anyone else, is it?”

“Yeah! If someone thinks you’re ugly, well, they can… they can just look away!” the Sixth Sense says stubbornly.

Spectro-Sight wipes away a tear, then stands up and walks determinedly towards Doctor Robot, her friends taking her hands.

Chapter Text

“I thought it was just a fancy word for a crazy person, but I heard it means a specific kind of crazy person.”

“Well, first off, it’s not very nice to use the word ‘crazy’ about people with mental illnesses.”

“But isn’t that what it means?” asks Argus, scratching his head.

“Well, yes,” says the Sociopath, “but so does the R-word and that’s still very rude.”

“Oh. Um, sorry, did we hurt your feelings with that?”

“I don’t really get my feelings hurt over things like that. But thank you for the apology.”

Nagini purses her lips. “So if it isn’t just being craz- um… that, what is it?”

“Hmm. Let me think of how to say it.” The Sociopath does think for a while, then says, “Did you ever have an imaginary friend? Or maybe you used to talk to your toys?”

“My sister still does,” says Argus. The Crybaby is deep in conversation with the Girl Next Door, Snap cards laid out face-down in front of an empty space.

“And you know the difference between a real person and a toy or an imaginary person, don’t you? You might have a lot of fun pretending, and you might not really put it into words like this, but you know it is just for pretend?” The kids nod. “Well, a sociopath - or, to use the politer term, a person with Anti-Social Personality Disorder - doesn’t really have that feeling that people are quite real, or at least not in the same way that we ourselves are. Some of us can form bonds with some other people, but it’s much harder and rarer than for most people. That’s why some of us hurt people or animals, or do mean things or selfish things. Because they don’t think it matters. And they’re the ones everyone hears about on the news and things, because ones like me, who don't want to or have promised to make sure they don't do that, don’t do anything interesting, so no one even knows we’re different unless we tell them.”

“Oh…” Argus nods to himself. “I guess that… kinda makes sense, but if that happens… why?”

“Why are there people like us, you mean?” The Sociopath shrugs. “I don’t know, honestly. Nobody really does. And lots of people have different ideas.”

“Like what?”

“Well, some say there might be a genetic component to it. You know what genetic means, right?”

“Sure, it’s like if your parents had brown eyes then you’ll have brown eyes, or blue eyes if they had those. Right?”

“Yes. Not necessarily your parents either, it could be your grandparents or someone else in your family. Maybe someone you’re not even descended from, like an aunt or a cousin. That would just mean there’s something in the family that can give people the disorder some of the time, basically. But that’s just one theory. Another idea is that it comes down to life experience. If someone hurt us when we were young, or if someone made sure we never got hurt and never learned anything from it.”

“Do you know which one made you that way?”

“Probably the genetic one. My childhood was quite normal, and no one I know in my family has a full diagnosis - my father is perfectly fine - but a lot of us have some traits of it. It’s like autism, some people have bits and pieces of it.”

Nagini is clearly thinking. “So if you don’t feel like other people are real… doesn’t that get lonely?”

“Not particularly for many of us, as we have no way to know what not being this way is like. After we have experienced a bond with someone, though?” The Sociopath takes out her phone and looks at the photo on it, of a blond young man. “Desperately.”

Chapter Text

Naidvaryn is too surprised to speak for a moment, and opens and closes her mouth. “Um…”

“ ‘Cause she’s gotta have come from somewhere, and we think the Ark was the same bad guys that had us, and Mr Unicorn told the doc she might be part Asian…” Von Rothbart trails off, clears her throat, and then adds, quieter, “I’ve seen you look at her like you know her.”

“It’s… not impossible,” Naidvaryn settles on. “She does look like my last little girl. But I’d have to talk to Mr Unicorn before I checked, and I’d like to wait a bit.”

“Why?”

Naidvaryn tilts her head in the direction of the Caballerinos and their half-brothers. “It’s difficult enough getting the five kids I have used to each other. It’s been a big shock for everyone, and I’d rather not make things even more complicated right away. And if she is… I’d want her back.”

“Yeah…?” It’s clear Von Rothbart doesn’t quite see her point.

“Well, even if she is mine, I’m pretty sure you’re not. I’d want to take her with me, but at the same time, I wouldn’t want to take her away from you. Or from Mr Unicorn, I know he loves you girls. I have to think about this and talk to him and my brother and uncle, and maybe the Doctor too.”

“Oh, I get it. Like the Victor?”

“Yeah.”

“But she doesn’t live with the Champion.”

“Not yet,” Naidvaryn sighs. “It’s complicated and I think… I think that might change soon. That’s why Ralph and the Victor don’t really get along.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Naidvaryn shifts position and hugs her belly. It’s getting really big now. “Ow, I have got to book in for a hysterectomy once this one’s out… Anyway, yes, I do suspect she is mine and I would like to check and find out eventually, but right now isn’t a good time. Maybe once the Ark is dealt with once and for all.”

“How’s that going?”

“It’s… going. You’ve met some of the kids my uncle and Two Nine and the Rooster’s Dad brought home, and the Snowbird’s guys are collecting all their info. I’ve met the lady from Interpol who’s helping them and I think she’s got the cops in other countries in on it.”

“Interpol?”

“International police,” Naidvaryn says. Von Rothbart nods, and the woman continues. “Once they’re done, we’ll be able to look into the Ark records and find out where everyone they got was sent to, including m-my other kids. I’ll worry about it then.”

Von Rothbart chews a hangnail. “Um, some of the Champion’s siblings are Asian too, and we think their guy got some of ‘em from the place they took us. Do you think you’ll need to check them?”

Naidvaryn thinks. “I might. Boys or girls?”

“Some of each, and they’re ‘bout the right age…” Von Rothbart goes into a description of each of them, and Naidvaryn listens closely.

Chapter Text

Chollima looks up from the coffee pot. The conversation had been going pretty normally until Ace came out with that. “Excuse me?”

“Well, I mean, I know what you did, I’ve met the guy you did it to on the day he comes in, and I’m still fine with you. But my sister… You weren’t here when we talked, were you?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“My sister, Eight.” She points to the little one in pink, off at the other side of the room. “She told our parents I touched her because we had a fight. I spent the night in lockup. Before the corruption issue came out.”

Chollima winces. False accusations are something he knows well.

“I know she’s sorry, and it wasn’t really her fault, exactly. If she’d even known what rape is, she wouldn’t have said it in the first place! But every time I look at her…” Ace clenches her fists and teeth, inhales sharply through her nose. “All I can see is what happened to me.”

“Well…” he says slowly. “Forgiveness is a precious thing, but it is not easy. And I didn’t hurt you, so you may find it easier to look past my actions.”

“I’d like to think I’m less self-centred than that.”

“It’s not really a case of being self-centred. Uh, have you heard of Dunbar’s number? My therapist mentioned it.”

From her raised eyebrow, he can tell Ace hasn’t.

“It means the number of people that each individual is able to conceive of as people, in a way. People are wired to feel strong bonds with a small-ish number of people they know well, and not worry nearly as much about people outside that group. You don’t know… what name does he use here? The man I… you know.”

“Um…” She thinks. “Either Tiger’s Teeth or Tiger’s Tongue, can’t remember. He comes in with his bro and I don’t remember which is which.”

“Well, that proves my point. He’s not one of the people in your Dunbar’s number group. You feel bad for him, but you don’t know him, so it doesn’t hurt half as much as a personal slight. And you know what happened to me, so you probably feel about the same way towards me as you do them. Our pain is abstract to you.”

“Yeah, I guess, but… I know my sister. I know she just fucked up big-time. I don’t like still being mad at her.”

“Something that hurt you that much takes time to deal with. It might take years. But…” Chollima smiles. “I think the fact that you’re even saying that means you’re well on the way. It’ll happen.”

Chapter Text

The man in question looks down and nearly groans. Fuck, it just has to be the Crybaby, doesn’t it? It isn’t that he hates little kids, but they tend to be infuriatingly obnoxious, and with his condition… well. It’s never a good thing. “What is it? Is it about the leg?” That’s usually what the little ones bug him about.

Crybaby shakes her head. “No.”

Tiger’s Teeth blinks. “It’s… not?”

“No. I was wondering about your glasses.” She points at his eyes. “That’s a new pair, right?”

They actually are. He taps on them. “Yes…”

“Well, where’d you get them? Argus needs a new pair.”

“… So… you came up… to ask me about my glasses.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well… since you asked.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I got them directly from my optometrist. He works over at the eye center on Main Street. I don’t know if he does kid’s eyes, but I think there’s a few that do…”

“Oh, Argus doesn’t need a new eye doctor. Just new glasses.”

“Ah. Sorry, I don’t think I can help with that.” He taps on them again. “These are a specialty pair.”

“Oh, that’s okay. Thanks.” She says this as though she’s about to leave, but she doesn’t. Not right away. Instead, her eyes linger on his prosthetic.

He sighs. “You’re curious about my leg too. Aren’t you?”

“… Kinda.” She whistles. “Where’d you get it?”

“It’s specialty too. South Korea. Say what you will about-” Realizing that a five-year-old probably doesn’t have much to say, he cuts himself off and instead says, “The doctors there know what they’re doing.”

“How often do you have to get that thing replaced?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well my friend Emily says her big cousin Bell goes to ballet school with this girl named Clara who knows-”

“Okay, kid, can you please just-”

“-some kid named Eric from the boys’ class who doesn’t have an arm and he has to keep buying new ones.”

“How old is Eric?”

“Eight. Like my brother.”

“Okay, yeah, that makes sense.”

“Why?”

“He’s still growing.” He taps his leg. “I do have to get this replaced sometimes. It doesn’t last forever. But I usually just replace it about… once every three years. Got it replaced last year, actually.”

“Why?”

“Well, I have to use it. And when I use it, it wears out.” He thinks for a moment. “It’s like shoes. You have to buy new shoes more often than your mommy and daddy, but they still get new shoes every once in a while, right? Same thing here.”

The child nods. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Do you have any other questions?” Please say no, please say no, please say-

“Did your leg get sick too?”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

She points over to the Replacement. “That’s what happened to his legs. His legs got really sick and the doctors had to take them off. Was it the same with you?”

Well, at least she has some experience with the concept. “Yeah. Basically, yeah.”

“Was it your daddy, too?”

He has to suppress a groan again. “No. No, it was not my father.”

“ ‘Cause that’s what happened to the Replacement’s. His daddy hurt his legs and didn’t take him to the hospital.”

Was that what happened? Poor kid… “That’s too bad. But no, my appa-”

“Appa?”

“That’s what we call daddies where I’m from.” He waits for a nod. “My appa did not hurt my leg.”

“Then who did?”

“They were strangers, I guess you could say. You know what war is?” Of course she does - even American kids aren’t quite that sheltered. “There was a war. Our countries stayed mad at each other, so people from the bad country-”

“Lord Gorgon and the Dancer say there aren’t any bad-”

“The people from the bad country like to hurt people from the good one. So they hurt me. And they hurt my leg so I wouldn’t be able to fight back very well or run away.”

“But-”

“Ask them about North Korea sometime. Trust me. They’ll change their answer.”

The girl winces, much to his surprise. “Oh, I already know about that place.”

He blinks. “You do?”

“Someone else comes in on the days you don’t, an’ he’s from there. It sounds scary… Those were the people who hurt you?”

He just nods.

“Were you scared?”

“I… Yes, but at first I was angry. And the angrier I got the worse they hurt me, and the worse they hurt me the angrier I got, until… They thought I could give them what they wanted.”

“What did they want?”

“Information I didn’t have. Think of it like punishing someone for taking something, and saying you’re gonna keep punishing them until they tell you where it is, only they didn’t actually steal from you.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Or maybe they were just having fun beating me! I don’t know!”

“… Did they do stuff with your mouth or… your private parts?”

“Did they what?!”

“Well, you’re here. My guy just did stuff with my mouth.” She motions to empty air. “But he hurt her privates. And you have a star, so…”

An irritated sigh. “Yes. They did. With my privates. Because they wanted to hurt me.”

She nods. “You’re really strong.”

He blinks. “Strong?”

“Yeah! If that happened to me, I woulda been too scared to try and get away.” She plays with her fingers. “Someone had to help me, but I bet no one came to help you. So you must have gotten away all by yourself on a sick leg. That means you’re strong.”

“… I’m a lot older than you.”

“Yeah, but… but…”

“I didn’t feel very strong for a while either. Mostly just angry. At them. And my brother.” He nods at Tiger’s Tongue - across the room with Hongryeon. “And… everyone but our mother, basically. I’m a very angry man.”

“You don’t seem angry now.”

Teeth laughs. “Give it a little time. But… yeah. It was years ago.”

She nods. “I still think you’re strong. Even if you don’t.”

“Thanks, kid.”

Someone’s motioning her towards the entrance. She waves him goodbye. “Thanks for answering all those questions for me. You’re really nice!”

“… Nice?”

She’s gone before he can question that any further.

Chapter Text

“No.”

Kuzco knew that this response was not what the little girl wanted to hear, and he knew he could have been gentler about it. But he didn’t care. He didn’t want to so much as touch the half-eaten offering.

Let alone consider its implications.

The Heiress looked between him and the fuzz-covered ring pop, trying to hand it to him a second time.

“No.”

“But… but…” She pointed to Thunder and Lightning. “This is how it’s s’posed to work.”

“… Pacha.”

The Bodyguard walked over, giving his younger companion a quizzical look. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Por favor, explíquele a la niña por qué no me casaré con ella.” With that he walked away.

Pacha looked at the Heiress, then the ring pop, and deciphered his friend’s words. And realized he was in for hell.

“Uh, listen, sweetheart… Aren’t you a little young to get married?”

“No!” she said. “Lotsa my friends are!”

“Friends… your age? Who?”

“Crybaby an’ Next Door got married on the playground. An’ Emily an’ Pelusin. An’ Angelica-”

Oh. Whew.

“Well, that’s a little bit different. They’re all the same age, right?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So, usually, people like to get married to people the same age as them. The Emperor is a lot older than you. He doesn’t want to get married to someone so much littler.”

The Heiress pouted. “But Father’s older than Mother!”

Oh boy.

“Well, yes, but your mother and father are grownups!” And not the sort of people you should be taking advice from regardless. “And being older as grownups is different from being older as kids.”

“Why?”

“Because once you get to a certain age you stop growing… and once you get to another age, your brain stops growing too. Grownup brains and children’s brains, uh, don’t work the same way. Most grownups are only interested in other grownups.”

“That’s not true! You’re a liar! I know lots of grownups who like kids!”

“… In a kissing sort of way…?”

“Uh-huh!“

Of course. Of course. Why exactly did he have to be the one to explain this? “Well, there are lots of grownups in the world. A lot more than you know. Besides, all grownups know that children shouldn’t be, um… kissed like that.”

“But Mother and Nuka kiss. They even have sex.”

Oh no. Shit. How to proceed? “That’s not… um… Most grownups don’t want to do things like that with their children.”

“Why not?”

“Most grownups don’t want to… because of the brain thing… and because, well, it just wouldn’t be okay. Kids like you just aren’t… grown-up enough yet. You don’t know the things grownups know.”

“Like taxes?”

“Like taxes.”

She seemed to consider this. “So… if the Emperor is a grownup and you’re a grownup, do you do sex to him?”

“No. I’m married.”

“So?”

Pacha decided that was his cue to just walk away.

Chapter Text

Pangea’s trying to help them paint the upraised fist decal on the banner for the rally, and she looks near tears. “I mean, I know T- North Pole did mean stuff and I shouldn’t have said it was okay. But my friends are mad at me for other stuff too and I don’t get it.”

Body’s not usually the type to want to educate others in detail, but their heart stings at the little girl’s confusion. Mind is the type, and she’s the one who speaks first.

“Well, uh… Okay, you remember you said it’s bad to notice what colour someone is?” she says, her braids swinging as she leans over to reach a spot. “That’s not really true. Like, you come here, so you know you can touch someone in a nice way or a mean way, right? Well, it’s the same with thinkin’ about people’s colour. You can do that for nice reasons or mean reasons. And the nice reason is there really are things that are different about different groups of people and it’s good to remember them.”

“But my parents say no colour of people are better than anyone else!”

“I said different. Different don’t mean better.”

Pangea tilts her head. “I don’t get it.”

“Well, take language, for example,” Body speaks up. “English and Spanish are pretty different, right? An’ they’re both different from Russian, or Chinese, or any other language. To the point people can’t understand each other. But if you went to China, would you get mad at everyone for speaking Chinese instead of English?”

“No! Well, my grandma got mad and wouldn’t go in a cafe that time we went to Mexico ‘cause it was full of foreigners, but Dad says Grandma’s not well… I kinda get it now, yeah. What kind of things are different? Like religion and stuff? Like how some girls and ladies have to cover their hair and they can’t eat some things?” Mind nods, and Pangea frowns. “I know those now… I think my friends got mad at me ‘cause I didn’t know them before they told me, but how would I know I had to? I thought everyone liked pepperoni.”

“It’s a good idea to ask about stuff like that before it comes up.”

“So… I shoulda asked before I got the pizza?”

Mind nods. “Even if the answer's yes, then you’ll know for sure.”

“It may not even be a religious or cultural thing. Sometimes people have allergies or just don’t like eatin’ certain foods,” Body points out.

“And it’s important to listen. Lotsa people will tell you that sort of thing in advance, so you have to be prepared to hear it.”

“Okay!” Pangea nods, determined. “That sounds easy… What about the Halloween thing? I don’t really get that. Was North America mad because North Pole was saying Native Americans look scary?”

“Um, that one’s a bit harder, but, uh…” Mind thinks, then snaps her fingers. “David and Bathsheba! You said you went to Sunday school, d’you remember David and Bathsheba?”

“Kinda.”

“Oh yah, that one, I know it,” Body says, and flips their pink hair. “So King David has all the cash and all the ladies, and he spots the prettiest girl of all who he can’t have ‘cause she’s married to someone else, right? So he sends hubby off to war,and swoops in on her soon as the guy dies. God’s not a fan, so He kills their firstborn child. Does that a lot till He has one of His own, far as I recall…”

“Body, that’s kinda anti-Semitic,” Mind says. “Old Testament ain’t just the stuff we don’t use anymore, remember?”

“Oh yeah, shit, sorry.”

“Huh?”

“Other conversation, kiddo,” Body says. “But it’s kinda like that. David saw a lady he liked and didn’t care she was already married. He thought he could just drop in outta nowhere and be her husband and it wouldn’t matter what she said or thought or anything. That happens to not-white people, with clothes and culture and stuff. A lotta the time the Man wants us to be just like them, then they play at bein’ us - just pretending without even understanding anything.”

“Yeah. Does your school say the kids can’t wear their hair in afros? That’s around a lot - like, even white bosses who try to hire more people who ain’t white will hire people who talk an’ dress an’ wear their hair like most white people do. Sometimes people try to actually get rid of different cultures. Even if they’re not killin’ anyone, they did - and do - stuff like shove a ton of Native kids from different tribes all in one school together and not let ‘em talk to their families ever again, so they lose anything they remember and just end up knowin’ what the white people want ‘em to know. And then they make a big joke outta what they think they know about the Native people, and after a while that’s all anybody knows ‘cuz all the real stuff got lost.”

Pangea gasps. “That’s awful! So… so it’s like having stuff that’s important taken away from you and the person who took it just playing with it?”

“Yeah!” Mind sounds proud Pangea’s figured it out.

“I… kind of did that,” she says shamefacedly. “I wanted to play dressup and tried to take Asia’s, uh, special religious hat thing. I just thought it was a regular hat.”

“Did you listen when she said it wasn’t?”

“Yeah.”

Mind smiles. “Then we know you can learn.”

Chapter Text

“I…” Kitty scratches his head and blinks at the assorted younger half of the Spectrum Suit. “I really have no idea.”

“Ah do,” the War Maiden says, and grimaces. “It’s an internet thing, some kids got it in their minds that ye canna talk nor write aboot bad things happenin’ ever or it’ll put the idea in other folks’ heids tae do it, an’ they think the only reason anyone would is if they’re a perv too. Ma fandom friends call it GWF wi’ a gay hat - fixed on pure thinkin’ an’ the like, Ah mean.”

The Hunter overhears and interrupts. “I gotta say, it sounds more like my thing. Like, I was scared just being near kids meant I’d hurt them so I tried not to be?”

Six rubs her arm and mumbles, “Well, GWF thought they were helping, too.”

“Aye. This lot don’t usually get violent or nowt, but there’s one in ev’ry group’ll take things tae far an’ this time it was ‘er. Ah think some o’ them ‘ave tried tae report fanfics an’ art on abuse tip lines an’ got mad when they got told to bog off, those’re fer ‘elpin’ real kids.”

“Well, I mean, they kinda have a point,” the Countess says. “If a, like, regular kid who doesn’t know about this stuff sees it, it could really mess them up. Isn’t that what you guys said was the problem for me?”

“Tha’s wot warnin’ tags are fer,” the Maiden says bluntly. “Yer mum… kidnapper… wotever… she jes’ threw that at ya when ye was way too little, yeah, but kids that young shouldn’ be online wi’out their mums watchin’ at all, an’ anyone who’s old enough should be smart enough tae read warnin’s. ‘Course then ye get the twits who don’t put ‘em on, but, like, no one sez the Cook can’t ‘ave knives fer ‘er job just ‘cause the Dancer’s bloke used one on ‘er, right?”

“I guess,” the Hunter says. “I mean, I used to freak out when kids got near me, but that was a me problem. I didn’t say they shouldn’t be outside at all or anything…”

“There are a lot of lousy parents around who don’t watch their kids,” says Kitty, cuddling Boo, who’s stopped crying now.

“I think you going above and beyond for a stranger’s kid was kinda unusual, though. I mean, helping her, yeah, but no one would have expected you to adopt her outright.” The Hunter shrugs. “Dunno if that applies here though… I guess the equivalent’d be that keeping weird stuff to places kids won’t just run across it is reasonable, but expecting the whole world to be kid-safe all the time isn’t?”

“Yeah!” The Maiden nods. “An’ ye notice it’s only sex stuff that worries ‘em? Dirty fanfics get this all the bloody time but someone puts up a murder scene, not a word. They don’t get ‘alf as pissed about… I dunno, the Billy Lyon murder as the Star’s thing an’ he didnae even do it!”

“Wasn’t that murder also sexually motivated? Kind of, anyway?”

“Yeah, I think they raped his mother too…”

“Tha’s even worse!” the Maiden says. “An’ anyway, one or two o’ them ‘ll go out ‘n commit real crimes to prove ‘a point.”

“Is that why she got arrested?” the Hunter asks, eyeing the Noncomposer.

“Er-”

“Prob’ly! Who wants ta bet she’s doxxed someone? No, really - Ah’m dead serious.”

“What’s ‘doxxed’?” asks Seven.

“Got their real life info,” the Hunter explains. “Bullies online sometimes try to get hold of people’s real names and stuff. It can be pretty dangerous - closeted kids have been outed that way, people have lost jobs, the whole thing. If they get somebody’s real address they might send them really gross stuff, or sometimes they convince the police something major is happening so the cops’ll charge in and arrest ‘em. It really suck.”

“That’s not what happened,” the Noncomposer says quietly. “I’m not sure if I should go into detail, but that isn’t… She goes to school with my g- my second girlfriend’s younger sister.”

“And… you called the cops?”

“I texted my girlfriends. Listen, I should probably go.”

“Doxxin’,” the Maiden mutters under her breath as he leaves. “Definitely.”

Chapter Text

The only thing that seems odd to Firebert is that Exploradora is asking in a much more somber tone than they’re used to hearing from her.

“It’s basically the ability to understand and relate to other people’s feelings. There are a few different types.”

“Like what?”

Firebert takes a sip of their Suudsu and continues. “There’s emotional, which is feeling the same way other people do - feeling bad because they feel bad or good because they feel good - which kind of happens automatically. Then there’s cognitive, which is when you think about how they feel and why, sort of imagining what it would be like to be them. And affective, which is basically a combination of the previous two. But there’s other things beyond that, like sympathy and compassion.”

“And what do those mean?” Exploradora looks rather invested.

“Sympathy means you can tell what someone is feeling even if you don’t feel it, and compassion is basically, well, giving a shit if something bad or good happens to someone and wanting to help them, even if you don’t understand.”

“Wow, where did you learn about this?”

“I basically browse some hospital pamphlets while my youngest foster bro is at therapy. Some days he doesn’t feel like driving and I’m like the only other one living there that has a driver’s license. Best way to get info about human mental junk to help with my… side business.” Firebert quickly takes a drink from their Suudsu to give the hint that they don’t want to discuss that business any further.

“Do you not have empathy? Is that why you need to read pamphlets?”

Firebert simply laughs at that, pouring some more Suudsu from a flask into a paper cup. “Nah, kid. I’m kind of here partly because of it - I felt hurt because my brother got hurt.” And they’ve witnessed a fair share of horrors directly too, but best not get into that with the small child, even if she has a story. They hand her the fresh cup. “You can always learn more though. Say, kid, why’d ya ask?”

Exploradora looks down at the Suudsu. There’s a guilty look in her eyes. “Do I not have empathy?”

Well, in hindsight they could have figured the poor kid might be beating herself up due to some poor word choices, after people (especially Guitarrista and Teacher’s Pest) explained why what her great-uncle did was fucked up.

“Okay, first of all, you’re like four, so even if you didn’t, it’d take years to tell. Empathy takes time to grow.”

“But people said Darla-”

“Darla is a spoiled piece of shit, I won’t deny. But it’s hard to say whether she’s gonna turn out to never have empathy, in the clinical sense anyway. People just like to throw words around without even bothering to find the meaning of things just to look better, even if they have no idea what the fucking word even means. Second, you’re not the only one who ever mistook who was the true villain and victim in a situation. Everyone believed Darla.” They sound bitter, but Exploradora doesn’t notice and that tone’s gone when they continue. “Thirdly, having a lack of empathy doesn’t instantly make you a terrible person, no more than the Wraith is bad for needing meds to be happy or Least is bad because she can’t see. It’s just something you can’t do the way other people can. Sure, it makes it harder to be good, but it’s doable. People can be terrible even if they have it. People just assume otherwise because the bad people without empathy are all they hear about. People just do nothing to fix the line of thinking and continue a vicious cycle because they have this odd desire to be in the right, even if the facts prove otherwise, because heaven forbid that they can be helped for shit beyond their control. I mean, how are they supposed to learn if you don’t fucking teach them?” They breathe heavily at the end of their rant. Exploradora is silent. Firebert isn’t sure she understood completely, but it looks like she’s listening. At least that’s enough. “And finally, well, if you didn’t have any empathy, you probably wouldn’t feel as bad as you did when people explained the truth. If I'm being honest, what probably happened back then was you being affected by what I call ‘the asshole effect’.”

“Asshole effect?”

“Not really a doctor mental thing, just something I happen to notice. When someone does something bad, really bad, especially to you or the people you care about, people don’t really care about what happens to the person who did the bad thing. Especially if they didn’t regret it. The more of those terrible actions or worse the action committed, the more people do stuff like wish death or other things they wouldn’t wish on anyone else. You didn’t know about even normal sex yet, so to you, robbery was something that’s equal to, well… Like, do your parents ever spank you?”

“No!”

“Good. But you know some kids’ parents do, right? Did you think it was just like that? He was upset and hurt, but kids are upset and hurt by being hit too and parents sometimes still do that and say it’s to make them be good.”

“Yeah, kind of… How common is that feeling?”

“Pretty fucking common, kid. Fuck, I’m not even immune to that line of thinking myself. I think that’s partly why Sheriff Ginger Fetish and his crew went and did the awful shit they did, why some people decided to turn a blind eye towards…” Firebert trails off and restarts speaking more quietly, looking away. “Nobody should have to go through sexual abuse, especially rape.”

“Even Papi’s uncle?”

“Even your papi’s uncle. Hell, not even Ratshit deserves that, but that’s all I could give that fucker. Anything else terrible, he deserves that and more.”

Exploradora sips on her drink. This… is definitely a lot to take in for a girl her age.

“You’re not a bad kid. You just didn’t understand. And it’s not like everyone else here is completely without sin, even the more ‘innocent’ people.”

Exploradora giggles, and Firebert can’t help but smile at that. Sweet kid, despite everything.

“Now remember, best not to repeat any words you hear me say and don’t recognise until you’re much older. You’ll avoid a long lecture from your parents that way.”

Chapter Text

The little kids are colouring together. The question is aimed at Nine of Shades. She looks up from her clumsy but accurate diagram of the human digestive system, and blinks.

“Well, the grownups don’t wanna tell us,” says Odile.

“Hm. He said his deceased brother was brought into his cell, that Chollima and his comrades ‘made’ him do something, and then he became too distressed to continue,” Nine says, pushing up her glasses. “I presume they directed him to place his external reproductive organs into the oral or excretory cavity of the cadaver, or perhaps vice versa if that was possible, and enforced this by intimidating him with physical violence.”

The kids stare.

“They said they’d kill him if he didn’t put his penis in the body.”

“EWWW!”

The grownups don’t even look up. Nine of Shades tells the kids disgusting science facts all the time.

“That’s so gross! Why?”

“That is why, I think. They wanted to do something gross.”

“But… but…” Crybaby’s wracking her head for the words.

“But couldn’t he have gotten sick from that?” Heiress now. “Don’t dead people have germs and stuff?”

“That is a misconception.” Nine looks up. “A body that has no life lacks the very things that are good for many germs that can make you sick. Warmth, circulation, oxygen… While a particularly putrefied corpse could well contain maggots or fungi that may be dangerous, the body at that point was newly deceased, so the cadaver of Teeth’s brother may well have been safer to be around than a living human.”

El Menor and Semipluma grimace and shift away from each other, hugging tighter to their stuffed animals.

Next day, Nine’s father gets calls from several parents, relayed through Mother Superior.

“Hi, this is Drew Pickles. My daughter won’t come out of the tub and she’s poured three bottles of soap in-”

“Thelonius Gru speaking. Please ask Nine why my daughters are trying to wrap their entire bodies in Saran Wrap-”

“Alma Madrigal here - what in the world did that child say to my grandson?!”

Chapter Text

Filopluma looks up with curious eyes and plays with her hair. “You said that after we told our story. What does that mean?”

This is a question most people would find extremely strange and concerning. However, Firebert hasn’t had the most normal childhood, and, well… this is a place where questions are sometimes (most often) like this. It’d be rather impressive if they managed to corrupt whatever innocence this poor child has left with answering. Firebert shrugs and starts their answer.

“Okay, so do you know what abortion means?”

“My parents told me it’s baby murder.”

They shouldn’t be surprised, and yet. “Well, a miscarriage is sort of similar to that, but it happens by natural causes, up to a certain time in the pregnancy. It’s one of the reasons why there’s so many regulations for what pregnant ladies are allowed to do, like not going on rollercoasters. Well, that and to prevent birth defects.”

“Is that the only way a baby can die while in a mommy’s belly?”

“There’s also stillbirth, but that’s getting into semantics. That just means it died after that timeframe or during the… birth.”

There’s silence for a while before Filopuma speaks again. “Is C- Plumón going to be okay?”

“… I hope so.” Firebert leaves out the ‘Unlikely’ part, for now. The whole shitstorm the poor kid and her siblings got into does put a lot in perspective of the irony of the pro-life movement, to Firebert’s way of thinking; they seem more invested in hypothetical life than helping the ones that are actually here.

Chapter Text

Rec shakes his head and moves his snakes and ladders piece. “It’s Magdalena, and we’re not mean.”

Sunday’s Child pouts and strokes her Cynthia doll’s tattered hair. “Yuh-huh. They are.”

“People kind of are,” says Chollima. “She’s sick, not dangerous.”

“Sick? Is she contaminated?”

“Contagious, and no. Not that kind of sick.”

Sunday’s Child stares at them. Rec shrugs. “Her brain is messed up.”

“How?”

“She, uh, well, most people have the feeling that you should be nice to other people.”

Sunday scoffs.

“You’ll probably grow into yours. But Magdalena didn’t, so she had to be told to be nice.”

“But she does seem nice.”

“That’s because Rec here is confused.” Chollima scowled at him.

“Hey!”

“Well, you are. What Magdelena’s actually missing is something called empathy. That’s something that makes you feel sad because other people are sad… and it has nothing to do with being nice.”

“Well, why does everyone want her to be sad then?”

“It’s not… nobody wants her to be sad.”

“But you just said-”

“She’s also gotta be the center of attention all the time,” Rec mutters.

“Like me.”

“Wha- no, not like you!”

“No, that is like her,” Chollima said, suppressing a smirk. “Sunday does seem to like the spotlight. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yep!” Sunday perks, then seems to realize something. “Heeeey, does that mean you want me to be sad, too?”

“No! No, I don’t want anyone to be sad!”

“But you said Magdalena’s mean because she likes attention. I like attention, too.”

“Magdalena likes attention and doesn’t feel bad for anyone else. It’s the combination that’s the problem. There are lots of people like her in the world - they’re usually the ones who hurt people.”

Chollima snorts. “I’d love to see the proof.”

Rec chews his lip.

Chapter Text

“Uh…” Ealaa Alma’ blinks owlishly at Pangaea, halfway through her second slice of pizza. “With my mouth?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Not a Hawaiian fan, huh?”

“No! Well, yes, but that’s not what I mean…” Pangaea shifts to the balls of her feet. “That has ham on it.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Aren’t you Muslim? My friends said… Well, they’re Muslim and they…”

“Ah, sounds like they keep a halal diet.”

“Oh, what’s that?”

“Um, okay, halal literally means ‘allowed’, and halal food is stuff that’s traditionally allowed for Muslim people to eat. Like kosher is for Jewish people. But not everyone sticks to those rules, or not all the time. It’s in our religious books, but the reasons they weren’t allowed don’t really apply anymore, so…” She shrugs.

“What reasons?”

“Well, the biggie is pork, and that was banned for Jewish and Muslim people because they both started out in countries which are mostly really hot. Pork doesn’t preserve well there if you don’t have a fridge, and before we had the medicines and stuff we do now, pigs carried a lot of gross bugs in their insides which could make people sick too. Other animals didn’t have ones which were so bad for people, and no one knew why eating pork made people sick, so it was easier to ban it.”

“Oh!” Pangaea lights up with recognition. “Is it the same with shellfish? I know Mommy said you can get really sick off those if they aren’t perfectly fresh, and North America doesn’t eat those.”

“Yeah! Alcohol too, but your friends wouldn’t be drinking anyway. I hope.” She adds, “I remember there was a thing about that in China a while back - this big Hui Muslim wedding where the bride drugged the wine and ran off, or something? So they could obviously drink.”

“But… but why do it if you don’t have to anymore?”

“It’s important to some people. Another part of it, of the meat anyway - kosher and halal - is the way we do it. The animal has to be killed a certain way.”

“Like… blessed by a rabbi?”

“No, not quite. It’s more like a set of rules and if all are met then the food is halal and if not then it’s haram. That means forbidden. Most Muslims stick with a halal diet. My family does… did… And some of my friends.” Ealaa Alma’ gazes into the distance, in the way Pangaea’s seen a lot of the adults do. She coughs politely, and Alma’ comes back to herself. “So, uh, yeah. It’s a tradition, and not everyone does it, but if they do then people gotta respect it.”

Pangaea nods and says, “Sounds fair.”

Chapter Text

Araboth tilts her head. “Um… yeah?”

“Sorry, I thought you were Muslim. Your scarf looks like a hijab.” The Champion points to the garment in question.

“Oh! No, it’s a kelaghayi,” Araboth says, tugging on the pink scarf around her head and shoulders. “It’s not a Jewish thing, really - it’s national dress in Azerbaijan, that’s where my family’s from.”

“Oh, cool. I was thinking, Jewish girls don’t wear scarves till they’re married, right? That’s what Mom and Vilon said.”

“You’re thinking of a tichel. Those usually don’t cover your neck and shoulders, just your hair - and yeah, usually it’s married Orthodox women who wear them. I have heard some unmarried women do, just to sort of show that they’re Jewish and proud of it? That’s not very common, though.”

“Oh,” the Champion says and seems to turn this over. “So if it’s not a Muslim thing, when do you start wearing it?”

“Well, we don’t have to wear it. I don’t all the time, even when I’m around men. And even when I do wear it, it still sort of shows my hair.” She twists a curl around one finger. “I mean, it probably diiid come from Islam at some point, but it’s more of a cultural thing now.”

“Can Jewish girls wear hijabs? I’m not thinking of doing it,” she adds, “just wondering.”

“Yeah, but it’s not that common over here. In some places - like Azerbaijan - people do it because of blending. In some places it’s illegal for a woman not to wear a scarf. No matter what she is.”

The Champion frowns. “That seems kinda restrictive.”

“When it’s enforced, yeah, but it isn’t always,” Araboth says. “Sometimes it’s just different cultures. There have been a lot of places and times around the world where they’d think it was weird that women here have to wear a top and men don’t.”

“Ah, yeah. I think I get it now? I don’t know if I’d wear one, but I get why people do. And it does look cool. It suits you. Maybe I could try wearing a scarf some time.”

“Well, since I can take it off in public if I want-” Araboth says, and unwraps the pink and purple scarf, “-do you want to try one on now?”

The Champion’s eyes light up.

Chapter Text

Samson doesn’t raise an eyebrow. It gets this question all the time. “Why would it be?”

“Well, ‘it’ isn’t a word for people, is it?” Eight of Shades says.

“No reason why not. It’s just a word. I know the Wix is a they, but that didn’t feel right for me. Enby and x-gender people get to pick our own words.”

“Yeah, but…” El Menor puts a hand on Samson’s knee and offers his plushie. “I know you said you don’t like yourself very much. Is that why?”

“Huh?”

“The bad guys call people ‘it’.” Odile rubs her arms. “People like me an’ Rothbart. So they don’t think of us like people or care when we get hurt, the Mother said.”

“Well, yeah, but those people don’t want to be called ‘it’. I do. And yeah,” Samson says, sounding sad, “I don’t like myself much, but this is one of the only things about me that feels right to me. Having words which feel right is the thing I think is best about me!” For once, it starts smiling. “Look at it like this: things are ‘it’, but there are a lot of things which people could stand to be more like. A mountain is an it, and it’s strong! A storm is an it, and it’s powerful!” Its eyes glimmer and it clenches a triumphant fist. “The ocean is an it, and it’s beautiful! An ‘it’ can be anything! Well, so can a he or a she, but with those, people expect you to be one way and are surprised if you aren’t. People don’t expect ‘it’ to be anything, so it makes me feel…” It smiles wider. “… free.”

“Wooow…” The kids are starstruck.

“Um…” Eight adds, playing with her fingers, “I gotta tell Joker about this so he can tell Seven. She still doesn’t wanna talk to me, but… she might like this.”

Samson’s smile drops into pity. “Still? That’s rough.”

“Well, I haven’t tried. She got mad last time I did.”

“Maybe it’s time to try again. Can you try talking to her with your brother there? At least that way you can hear what she says back and he doesn’t have to repeat everything.”

Eight smiles. “I’ll try.”

“Good. Good luck.”

Chapter Text

“How does that work?”

Tennousei chuckles and adjusts his shirt cuffs. “Well, not exactly, Seven-chan. I’m bigender - I’m a boy and a girl at the same time. I wanted an obvious boy thing about myself. And in Japanese there are different versions of ‘I’, and some are used more by boys than girls or the other way around, and I use the version boys and really tomboyish girls usually use. So I do the same in English too.”

Seven of Shades furrows her brow and nods. “Oh, what are they?”

“There are a lot. Usually girls use watashi and boys use boku. You might say ‘konnichiwa, boku wa Nana-chan’ - that means ‘hello, I'm Seven’. If you want a more neutral ‘I’ there’s jibun. But Japanese is structured so a lot of the time you don’t have to use any pronoun at all if you don’t want to. ”

“Do I have to be Japanese to do that?”

“Well, ‘I’ covers everyone in English, but there might be other languages where-”

“No, I mean, like…” Seven cuts him off and shuffles her feet. “Vexillum Iris say you’re not allowed to use words which don’t come from your culture and stuff.”

“Oh! Well, sometimes they’re right, but not with every culture, and this isn’t specific to Japan anyway. Years ago gay people in America weren’t really allowed to be open about it, so lesbians sometimes used ‘he’ pronouns for each other so it sounded to strangers like they were talking about boyfriends. That’s another reason I do it, I’m honouring our history.”

“Do I gotta be gay to do it then? I think I do like boys and I don’t know if I like girls too or not.”

“I don’t see any reason why, if it feels right.”

“Okay… How d’you know you’re not just a boy, though? I mean, I believe you, I just wanna know how it works.”

Tennousei purses his lips. “Mm, that’s kind of something you have to work on for yourself. Think about how you’d feel if everyone saw you as a boy instead, or if you looked like a boy. And think about how you’d feel if you were still a girl, but all the bad parts of that were gone. Like, do you only not want to be a girl because being a girl is really hard a lot of the time? Nothing’s wrong with thinking that, I think a lot of girls would opt out if they could.”

“Why don’t they, then? Five says if there were a lot more trans people it’d be easier for them… you? Do you count?”

“Yeah, bigender counts as trans. And because, to them, feeling like a boy feels even worse. Same with Five - I’m sure she would have been happier if what those guys did to her hadn’t happened, but she didn’t say anything because she wanted to be a girl more than she wanted to not get hurt, right? What you really want isn’t always about what’s easiest.”

Seven screws up her own face in thought. “I get that. Just thinking about this is hard and all the options seem really hard to live with.”

Tennousei smiles. “Don’t worry about it too much. You have plenty of time to think it over.”

Chapter Text

The Heiress asks this to the visitor standing next to the Halfling Kit. The man himself doesn’t acknowledge her, but the Halfling does, looking at her curiously. “Are you talking to my brother?”

“Yeah.”

“He doesn’t speak English.”

“Oh. Then I’ll ask you. Where’s his boat? He has a boat, doesn’t he?”

The Halfling blinks. “A… boat. Why do you think he has a boat?”

“Well, he’s a pirate, isn’t he?”

At that, the Halfling actually laughs. His brother turns, visibly confused. “What’s so funny?” he asks in Korean.

“The little one thinks you’re a pirate.”

“A…pirate.” His brother blinks. “You told her I wasn’t one, right?”

“Not yet.” The Halfling clears his throat. “My brother doesn’t have a boat, because he’s not a pirate.”

The Heiress tilts her head. “But he looks like a pirate. He should have a boat.”

“What’d she say?”

“She says you look like a pirate.”

The Halfling’s brother looks like he takes offense. “I-I do not!”

“Hm…” The Halfling waves a hand over his brother. “I don’t know. You’re wearing an eyepatch, you have on a striped shirt, and you’ve got the beard…she’s got a point.”

“Seriously? You’re taking her side?”

Tiger’s Teeth walks up at that point, noticing only that his metamour looks a bit offended. “Sorry, what’s going on?”

“Heiress seems to think that A-hu here looks like a pirate. She wants to know where he keeps his boat.”

“A pirate? Where would she…?” Teeth trails off, taking a closer look at his friend. “… Oh. Wow. Shit. Yeah, no, no, she’s got a point.”

“You too?!” The Halfling’s brother throws his arms in the air.

“I mean, that shirt with the eyepatch… you could have thought that one through a little better.”

The Halfling’s brother lets out a groan. “Well, I’m not a pirate.”

“I’ll tell her.” Tiger’s Teeth turns. “He’s not a pirate.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, he’s a…” Tiger’s Teeth halts. “What is it you do for a living again?”

“I run ABC Videos. The streaming service.”

“Okay. Got it.” Teeth turns to the Heiress. “I stand corrected, he is a pirate. But my friend here doesn’t have a boat because he’s not that kind of pirate.”

“He’s not?”

“No. He’s the online kind.”

“Ohhhhhh. Like for movies and stuff?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay!” The Heiress ran off, leaving the Halfling and Tiger’s Teeth to laugh their asses off.

“What’d you tell her?”

Halfling paused. “I’ll tell you back at my apartment.”

His brother shook his head. “Visit your brother, Mother said. Visit your cousin and uncles while you’re at it, Mother said. See what it’s like in America, Mother said. Less than a day here and I’m accused of thievery…”

“Could be worse. The Heiress bites,” Tiger’s Teeth tells him.

“… Bites.”

“Yep.”

“Gyeong, the next time you offer to take me to this group thing of yours, the answer is no.”

Chapter Text

“Eh? Sorry, didn’t catch that.” Asia had been listening to her MP3 player through one earbud, which she takes out now.

“Adoption!” Qaydum repeats. “My moms say it’s haram, that’s why they had me with a test tube.”

“Oh, yeah. My parents say usually it is, at least the way it’s done in the US.”

“What, really?” says the Red Herring. “I didn’t know that. What happens to kids who lose their parents? That sounds awful.”

“Oh, no, we don’t just leave them! Fostering is totally great, we’re encouraged to do that!” says Qaydum. “Well, I say ‘we’, I mean Muslim adults. Obviously.”

“Obviously!” says Asia. “The thing we’re not supposed to do is, I guess, overwrite where the kid originally came from? Parents can take in kids with no homes, but it’s good to let the kid keep their name and try to keep in contact with where they were from. That’s why my folks have always been really open with me about the adoption.”

“Cool! So how come you’re full-on adopted?”

“It’s…” Asia shuffles her feet. “That only works when they know where the kid is from. I was a foundling.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s fine. Better than fine! I love my parents. And they love me. But I was fostered for a while.”

“Was it hard?”

“Nah. I mean… Not really. Anyway. My parents said they’ll help me find my birth family. If I ever want to.”

“Do you?”

“Not now, anyway. Maybe when I’m older.”

Qaydum smiles. “I bet if you do they’ll think you’re as cool as the parents you have now do!”

Chapter Text

“Well,” says the Wraith, “the electricity you get if you poke your fingers in a plug socket isn’t safe, your mom’s right. But Faraday’s my doctor and he puts me to sleep and runs a low electric current through a special machine, so it doesn’t hurt me.”

“But what for?” Cotton Tail asks again.

The Wraith thinks. “Well, do you know what depression is?”

The boy shuffles his feet. “Um, yeah. That’s what my auntie’s got.”

“And you know it’s a sickness in your brain, yeah?” He nods. “Well, your brain runs on lots of very very tiny electric currents,” she says, holding up her thumb and forefinger the barest distance apart. “Between the cells of your brain - the little sort of building blocks that make up your body. So, if a doctor who knows how to do it properly runs a current through the right parts of your brain, it can change how those currents go.”

“Is that what they were trying to do to Pinky and the Brain?” asks Floppy Ears.

“Er, sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Well… Being gay isn’t really a ‘thought’ in the same way. It’s sort of inherent, you are or not. And you can’t make someone not be.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, but I think the bigger question is why should we? I’m gay too, and there’s nothing wrong with it.”

Twitchy Nose frowns. “That’s somethin’ I’ve kinda wondered about. The grown-ups I know don’t really talk about it and my aunt’s foster kid talked like it was bad, but when I told them what he did and said, they said he was wrong and it’s okay? But why’d they act like it was a secret if it’s okay?”

“Well, some grown-ups and bigger kids think it’s bad, but they’re wrong. It sounds like this boy picked up some bad ideas. I don’t think your parents meant to treat it like a secret, but they might have assumed you heard it from somewhere else and already knew it was okay? Or maybe they didn’t want you to pick up on scary things from bad grown-ups - were you here when I was on the stage?”

“Yeah… You didn’t wanna tell your sister ‘cause it’d scare her?”

“Yes. And I was wrong. I should have told her, because that way she’d know what was happening and could make her own decisions. But lots of people try to protect kids and teenagers that way, so I didn’t know I shouldn’t, and your parents might have done the same thing. They might have thought that if you heard about gay people you’d hear that other people didn’t like them and get frightened in case you turned out to be gay, and they didn’t want you to worry about that yet. I don’t know for sure, but I know lots of parents do that.”

“But what if I was? How old do you have to be to know?”

“It varies. That’s a problem with that method - some very young kids do know, and if no one talks about it, they think they can’t talk about it either.”

Floppy Ears hugs herself. “Yeah… Talking about stuff is scary, but it feels a lot better afterwards. People gotta talk more about everything.”

The Wraith smiles. “Yeah.”

Chapter Text

The Heritage glances up from her book, but Pangea will not meet her eyes. The little girl looks deeply uncomfortable.

“Of course.”

“But… only after the White people showed up and made them fight… right?”

The Heritage sighs and shuts her book. “No,” she says gently. “Native Americans were fighting with each other long before the Europeans arrived.”

Now Pangea looks shocked. “Why?”

“The same reasons people have always fought. Somebody had something that someone else wanted, someone did something someone else didn’t like, someone wanted revenge for something… Any number of reasons that someone thought were important enough to kill over.”

“I thought… I thought they all got along.”

The Heritage almost laughs. “The Crow Creek Massacre involved almost five hundred people - men, women, and children - being killed and mutilated. I think it’s pretty safe to say they weren’t getting along with somebody. And even once Europeans did show up, old grudges were a big factor in fights. The Tlaxcala and the Cempoala helped Cortéz fight and defeat the Aztec people because they wanted independence. The Beaver Wars happened because the Iroquois wanted to dominate the fur trade, and you can argue that White people drove them to that, but you can also argue the Iroquois were greedy and used the weapons they were given to commit genocide.”

Pangea fidgets nervously. “I thought it was just… you know, White people doing bad stuff.”

“Hardly. Some Native Americans owned slaves, did you know that? Sometimes they captured people from other tribes, and sometimes they bought African people. Some tribes in Africa actually sold other Africans into slavery. Aboriginal people in Australia had frequent, small-scale battles over women and territory. In China, Shi Min encouraged genocide again the Jie people-”

“That’s horrible!”

“I know. Look at it this way - White people aren’t better than anyone else, but you’re not worse either. People are just people.” The Heritage pauses, studying Pangea’s face. “You okay?”

The little girl’s eyes are shiny with tears. “Why can’t people be nice to each other?”

The Heritage shrugs. “A lot of people are selfish. White, Black, Brown, Native - it doesn’t matter. That sucks, but it’s true. White people happened to do it over a wider area than most, but if any other group had had the chance first, they’d most likely have done the same. Some people from every group want things their way, and they don’t care who they hurt. It’s like that today, and it was like that a thousand years ago. The best we can do is try to learn from history and from our mistakes and be better now.”

“I’m trying to be better,” Pangea mumbles. “I really, really am.”

“That’s all anyone should ask of you. And I think you’re doing pretty well!”

Chapter Text

Mind has the snarling beast’s head on a pin on her bag strap. The Werewolf has it on his jacket. The Warrior’s painted it in Wite-Out on her black-painted thumbnail. The Dancer and Lord Gorgon are at the drawing table, sketching it into tattoo designs, Pimelodidae looking invested. Yandere has it on her cell phone cover. Japheth sketching the logo on her notebook. Beard, Frock, and Cake Topper are working it into a cake design. Cyan is showing Cerise a photo of her father marching with the group, waving a banner. Scissor Sis’ boyfriend is working it on a design for a T-shirt, Marsh and Orange Shirt giving pointers. Sympathy is knitting it into a scarf, watching a BlueTube video as he works. The little group of kids, mostly White kids, aren’t talking to them; Nagini is whispering to Panthera Noir.

“No! Not… not really. It’s complicated, but I can try to explain if you want?”

After a brief trip to the drawing table for paper and pen, the kids settle around him and he starts drawing diagrams. “First off, the White Fang isn’t just one thing. It was originally one big group, but it branched out somewhat. The original founders were Mr and Mrs Belladonna - Ghira and Kali. Very strict Hindus and very, very pacifist.”

“What’s a pacifist?” asks Argus.

“It means they didn’t believe in fighting for any reason.”

“Even if someone’s hurting you? Like, would they think the Diamond’s bad?”

“As in person-to-person violence? Well, no, I think then you’re allowed to try to get away. When it gets to more abstract harm… Well, that’s a different discussion. Long story short, they don’t want their followers to start any violence. And the Khan twins, Shere and Sienna, and Adam Taurus…” He draws in some more figures. “They thought the Belladonnas were out of touch. The Belladonnas have money and they’re both light-skinned, so they avoid a lot of the harm they were fighting against, and the Khans said it’s easy to be pacifist when you’ve never had to fight. Some pretty terrible things did happen to Taurus at least, I know, so they have a point.”

“Didn’t they bomb a train, though?” asks Asia. “And one of them hurt the Automaton?”

“One of them hurt her and some of them have committed bombings, yes. It’s not fair to blame a movement for the actions of one person or a few people, any more than it is to blame a race.”

“Then why do they?”

“A lot of people get very uncomfortable with the idea of people like us fighting back in any capacity. They called MLK a radical too. They don’t like the idea of us making any progress at all, so they take issue with whichever way we do it. We’ll never be good enough. That’s the point.”

Almost-an-Adult’s brow wrinkles in a frown. “That’s messed up.”

“Yeah, it is. So I joined up. I do think violence should never be the first option or be aimed at innocents, and I did try to minimise the other members’ hurting each other at that… incident. When fists start flying, sometimes they hit people you weren’t aiming at.” Panthera winces. The kids don’t have to ask why. “But I don’t think I could say violence has no place in activism. I suppose I, and most of us here, are on a middle level between the Belladonnas and the Khans. And that’s a good thing - we all approach the problem differently, so we create more different solutions.” Panthera tilts his head and doodles in some more lines. “I think the Fang inspired a group in England too, but they call themselves something else. The Rogue Crew, I think? Something like that. They follow a lot of the same principles, except they’re based on Christian philosophy instead of Hindu.”

“I heard Knight joined up with the White Fang too,” Firebert says. Fiddling with a crochet keychain of said beast.

“They accept White people?” asks the Delusionist.

“Not as leaders. But, as allies, yeah.”

“Well… What about Cobalt?”

“Mm.” Panthera purses his lips. “He’s… committed to his own beliefs. Of course that’s fine, and I can see why. Though I’m a little disappointed he won’t hear us out, but…”

“Bad experience with his friend, I guess,” says Firebert. “Still, the Fang’s not the only way in the world to promote rights. He can do his own thing.”

The Soft Rock mumbles and plays with his hairclip, then points to Firebert’s keychain and makes interested noises.

“You want one of these?”

“Uh uh, murr…”

“Oh, you want to hear more about the Fang? Well, I can find some pamphlets…”

Rock beams. “Ar!”