Dear Diary,

I can't help but laugh at myself right at the moment.

Like, two days ago I was all 'y'know, I need to talk with Saffron about her whole Penance thing, because something about it doesn't quite sit right'. Yesterday I talked about how talking with her really helped, because while I'm still down for doing kinky shit if it helps her maintain her inner peace while doing a job that's only stressful if you're doing it right, I wanted to make sure that she wasn't doing it wrong by accident, or that I wasn't using her as a kind of scapegoat to pay for all the shitty things a head of state has to do. Because that's a big part of why I gave her the job, and probably the worst reason I gave it to her as well.

The good reason still stands, and all by itself it carries the argument as to which of us ought to be Head of State, which is basically what the Imperator job has become. What Saffron has made it. That reason, of course, is that she's just so much fuckin' better at it than I ever could be, which for an important job like this outweighs any considerations of 'fair', not to mention things like 'prestige' or 'do or do not want to'. Just coincidence that her being better coincided with me not wanting the stress of making decisions that could spell apocalypse for our nation, not to mention the hundreds of thousands, almost and maybe millions of people living in it. But washing my hands of the whole thing is both disingenuous and a dick move. Since the only dick moves I'm cool with making are ones where I'm railing someone on the West Tower, because shapeshifting is just plain easier than fiddling with a strap on, I'm not gonna do that. I'm gonna sit with her and let her run any 'all options are shit' situations she runs across. Even if all I do is rubber duck for her, give her a sounding board so she doesn't get too wrapped up in her own head, then help her shoulder the guilt, it's still the right thing to do.

Of course yesterday I wound up having a conversation with Marie about her birthday, and it kind of segued into a conversation about Sparagmos, and with me sort of bringing the whole thing up I wasn't feeling some kind of way about talking about it. Which let me really pay attention to her and the way she talks about it. When I think about it, I'm thinking 'I'm going to kill someone, painfully'. That's not something I want to think about someone I love, let alone someone I love as dearly as my Murder Mittens. What makes it worse, I think, is related to the whole Saffron Penance thing.

When Saffron told me that she needed it to keep from drowning in guilt, it helped me maybe get over any lingering doubts I had about it. When our first session definitely left me with the impression she wanted more, wanted me to hurt her harder, I started thinking about what I eventually wound up doing. But my own reaction to beating her entire back bloody showed me a side of myself that I'm not entirely sanguine with yet. I mean, I'm not certain if it's a side of myself or, y'know, a side of Her Dark Fatassness that I'm having to deal with. Either way, I've got to deal with the fact that even when dealing with my Saffron, hurting someone lubricates the love tunnel.

Which brings me back to Marie. When she asks for Sparagmos, my brain registers that as her asking me to kill her painfully, which makes part of me go 'oh, hell to the no'. Meanwhile my lady bits start salivating at the thought of rending her limb from limb. This does not, in any way, assuage the guilt I feel thinking about actually doing it. But when I brought it up, when I talked about it as a kind of abstract thing, that let me think about it with my brain rather than my vagina and my guilt complex. So I got to actually pay attention to her reactions rather than focusing on my own horror, lust, and guilt. Turns out she's not reacting to being torn limb from limb like dying. It's more like... Well, shit, she's talked about being marked, and being 'mine', and her general demeanor when we talked about it seemed more like somebody getting their significant other's signature tattooed on someplace maybe a little sensitive and also possibly a little visible. Like, yeah, there's a certain nervousness there, but it's nervousness about taking a big step in a relationship, not nervousness about dying. Because she has no doubt that if I did that to her, she'd wake up with the following sunrise. None whatsoever.

That's a lot of faith to live up to. I just hope I can.

But the reason I'm laughing at myself is purely because I have these things I stress over, and even though I know that rule number one of relationships is open, honest communication, I still wind up getting stuck in my own head instead of just fuckin' talking to people. Weird what a lifetime, even a short lifetime, of internalized shame will do to somebody.

So after spending yesterday bumming around with Marie and maybe shocking a few Cadets by showing up in a Maid uniform doing Maid things, I went home, chatted with the kids about their daily kid things, which mostly had to do with exploring our little side valley, playing hide and seek throughout the entirety of the Homestead, making sure they all agreed on the safety rules for places like the Bore and the West Tower, and amusingly Ria and Maze taking turns playing referee.

Took an extra long soak in the tub, since today I had to teach Physical Training, and if anything I did more 'show' than 'tell' than Marshall duBois.

Still started the class out with a quick sorta lecture, just to set expectations for the day if nothing else.

"Good Morning, Cadets!" After I got a sufficiently enthusiastic response from the class, I continued. "This afternoon, like we did last week, we'll be playing basketball. So you understand, that game will help you work on your teamwork and your Endurance. Just remember, while you're playing for a purpose, you should be playing to win. Sometimes that means four equally matched Cadets working in unison to overcome an opposing team with one or more individually superior players via superior coordination. Sometimes that will mean recognizing that a team has or or two superior players and basing the team's plays around them in some way. You're all... well, if you're not technically grown ass adults, you should be before you leave the Academy, so I'm gonna leave the details of your teamwork up to you to start with. If I see a team fucking up bad enough, I might regroup you guys, or I might lend them a hand. If I see one team dominating so much they aren't getting anything from the games other than big egos, I might intervene there as well. Just remember, you're supposed to be using your brains there as well." I paused to look them over and make sure they were all paying attention. After four weeks at the Academy, they all definitely were. "Any questions?"

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Citron's hand shot up fastest. "Cadet Citron?"

"What will we be doing this morning, Ma'am?"

Almost all the other Cadets who'd raised their hands put them back down, with the exception being Hildegarde, who just stood there with her hand up. "Good question, Cadet Citron. As always, we'll be doing a warmup run, then stretching. After that, we'll be doing Dynamic Isometric Exercises. Now, that's a heck of a fancy name, and because I'm a little slow, it took me a while to figure out why Marshall duBois taught me that shit. To help you guys understand, it's all about learning to move so you can dodge shit you otherwise couldn't."

I saw every eye in the Yard twitch toward my very obvious facial scar. Scars, really, but there's one big one and one little one, and they all looked at the big one. "Cadet Hildegarde?"

"I was gonna ask if we were allowed to ask for advice on basketball, but... really, Ma'am?"

I made the world's shittiest fake mad face, then laughed to let her know the question really didn't upset me. I thought for half a second, remembered something from back at Eastside, tried to think of how to translate it so the Cadets would understand, then shrugged and said, "fuck it." I leaned on my Blend, stretching it around the entire formation of Cadets. Most of them just stared at me, but a few blinked and looked like they'd noticed something happening. Good to know that it's possible for somebody with enough sensitivity to maybe notice something happening, but I leaned harder, until my class was a memory of a daydream.

"Okay, Cadets. Here's where shit gets a little realer for you. You need to understand, but the only way I know to make you understand, really, is to tell you a secret about myself. I'm not from around here."

Vickerson snorted, and when I looked at her, she muttered, "no shit, really?"

I laughed at that. "Yeah, really. But further than you think. I was born in an entirely different world from this one."

Somebody, somebody with a suspiciously New Amsterdam accent, whispered, "the realm of the Gods..."

"Nope. I was born in a world without Gods. Just people. Just Humans, in fact. And while it was far from paradise, we did have some cool shit. Most notably, planes. Airplanes. Flying machines, like big metal birds." While I spoke, I Blended one of my tentacles and lifted myself up by the waist, holding my Parade Rest posture as I rose so all of the Cadets could see all of me. I dunno if it was my theatrics or my story, but they all stayed fixated on me. "We used airplanes in warfare. You know what happens when you drop something on someone from a couple thousand feet in the air?"

Vickerson raised her hand at that, and when I nodded, she said, "splat?"

I laughed. "Yeah. Splat. And if the thing you dropped was a bomb, an explosive device, do you know what they could do about it?"

Without prompting, her eyes going a little wide with the idea, she replied, "jack shit?"

"Yep. Unless they had their own flying machines to come up and shoot yours down. Which they did. Thing is, like any war of artificers, each side kept trying to make their flying machines better. Big ones, to carry more bombs, that could take more punishment before they fell out of the sky. Well armed ones to take down the big bombers. Little fast ones to take out the bomber killers. Shit. Got. Real." I paused, glancing through all of them to make sure I had them. That's when I realized these were all Cadets. All the kind of people who would throw themselves right into that kind of fight. I smiled. "At one point, they decided to get real methodical about the improvements. They looked at all those big bomber planes to see where they'd gotten shot. They found places where every plane that came back had all kinds of holes. So you know what they did?"

A kid in the back, his nametag reading Brown in Newark Colors, raised his hand. I nodded, and he called out, "armored those spots, Ma'am?"

I nodded. "Almost. Like, they almost did. They were gonna. They had plans in place, were getting the forges ready. Then somebody raised one simple point." I paused, smiling when they all leaned toward me. "Those were the planes that made it back."

That same kid, without prompting, shouted, "so they armored everywhere else?"

I smiled. "Yeah, kinda. As you might imagine, flying machines need to be light, and they're finicky beasts, but they looked at all the spots that didn't have holes poked in them, and worked to make those spots better able to resist damage. The whole thing prompted an idea called 'Survivorship Bias'. Means you gotta look real close and engage your brain when looking at the survivors of a fight, of a disaster, of a tragedy, because the story your brain tells you when you look shallow and don't think is not gonna be the real story."

I swapped out my uniform for The Dress. After a few moments of the Cadets staring in silence, I sent her boots away to let them see the cuts that had penetrated even their tough, Smith made leather. I debated sending The Dress away as well, but decided this was enough. "So. Think about what I just told you. I know you saw that scar on my face and thought, 'oh, she's teaching us how to duck with that scar' or some equally dismissive shit. Now. Look at me. Look hard. Look with your brain on. What. Do. You. See."

Took a minute. Eventually Hildegarde raised her hand. Tentatively, which she'd never really been before. I nodded to her, and it took her three tries to start speaking. When she did, though, it was with her customary certainty. "You're still here."

I smiled. "Damn good start."

Vickerson raised her hand next. "A Hero who's taken a ton of superficial wounds, but never serious ones?"

I tilted my head side to side. "Yeah, I'd be lying if I said I never took a serious wound. But yeah, all these are the stupid minor bullshit that happens in a life or death fight, the shit you have to be able to ignore. Lemme be clear, each and every one of these was someone trying to hurt me bad enough to stop me. Trying. Which means?"

Cadet Citron raised his hand. "Those are all from attacks that you dodged enough that they couldn't stop you?"

"Ding. Ding. Ding. We have a winner. All of you, good questions. But that's my point to you, the point important enough to let all you girl kissers add my visual to your personal spank banks if you're inclined. You study what I'm gonna teach you this morning? You practice it until you don't have to think, it just happens? You're gonna wind up with a lot of scars. An old, experienced, Hero, with a shit ton of scars." I laughed. "Shit, you might wind up as old as Hero MacCrae."

Somebody, I'm not sure who, muttered out, "old enough to retire."

"Yeah. Before anybody brings up any bullshit about dying in a blaze of Glory, dying, by itself, isn't Glorious. Finishing your mission? Now that's got some Glory. Winning a battle? Oh, yeah. Saving lives, making them better? Shit, I've earned enough Glory from that I asked Loki to give D some, and he was more irked that D might waste it than that I asked."

At that point Citron head tilted and, almost without thinking, asked, "did he, though? Give someone Glory?"

I did. The words echoed quietly through the Yard.

Thanks, Dad. You're the best.

I know.

Funny. Never thought I'd get Citron and Vickerson working together. Or Vickerson and Hildegarde. No actual cooperation between Hildegarde and Citron yet, but I guess I couldn't ask for miracles.

Okay, I could, but it was probably a better idea to start working on my own.