Day One Thousand One Hundred And Ninety-Seven

Dear Diary,

Y'know, over the past couple days, I think I've come up with and discarded half a dozen things I wanted to talk with the family about. I mean, mostly with Mom and Dad, because somehow I wind up thinking of them as older and wiser than the rest of the family. Which, to be clear, Loki probably is. Older, at least.

I'm not wiser?

I mean, probably, but there's room for comparison there, maybe.

Between myself and Sigyn? I should hope so, lest our marriage be less equal than it already is.

You think it's not? Also no, between you and my Wives. Partners too, come to think of it.

If Dad sounded a little surprised at me comparing him and Sigyn in terms of wisdom, he certainly sounded like he felt some kinda way about being compared to my partners. I suppose I'd be unwise to declare myself wiser than the Goddess of Marital Devotion and Victory, and two of your partners are at the very least in the same general category of age and power as she.

I snickered. Yeah, but it was the other two I'd suggest might compare with you in terms of wisdom.

Yeah, sometimes I caught Dad catching himself in the middle of old habits that were dying hard, no matter how much he tried to kill them. In this case, he got out the first syllable before catching himself. Mort... I suppose I ought not think of Mortals as inherently foolish.

Yeah, especially since they wind up dealing with a lot more shit than Deities have to on a regular basis, especially one in particular.

Mortality?

Deities.

Ouch.

I decided that I'd taunted Dad enough for the day. Yeah, well. The two I was thinking of are both Archmagi. So, y'know, not in any way fools. So even though you're not one, I still think you compete in terms of wisdom.

Really now?

Yeah, 'cause you're the best.

I know.

At any rate, I know I was kinda wrapped up in my own head thinking about how I try not to think of people as resources, and I think I finally realized why.

Pratchett. Granny Weatherwax, specifically. That bit where she's talking with the missionary, and she says that there's 'no grey, just white what's got grubby'. Which... Holy shit I'm actually disagreeing with Pratchett and not because I'm being a contrary little bitch, but the fact that people who choose evil are always trying to point out worse evil and saying that they're gray do not negate the fact that gray in fact exists. Not only that, but in the real world so does brown, and blue, and the rest of the fuckin' rainbow. Shit, from what I remember green and magenta are the same thing, and one of them isn't real, and I can't remember which, but even then both of them are still real.

Because black and white thinking is a binary solution set, and there are precious few of those in the real world.

But, and this is the thing that had me feeling guilty about thinking about people as 'resources', I fully agree that evil starts with thinking of people as things. Shit, a nonzero amount of what I consider my greatest successes here and now are the exact opposite. Specifically, forcing those in power to think of people they'd thought of as things to think of them as people, or they'd wind up as one of the particular category off things known as 'corpses'.

Yeah, 'recognize people as people or die' is kinda, I dunno. But then, Justified Homicide. Justified explicitly by denial or destruction of Agency. So I'm not gonna be super proud of the method, but I'm not gonna disavow it, and I'm not gonna be ashamed of the results either.

Bag are people. Maenads are people. Thralls are people. Fae are people. Locals are people. Foreigners are people. Kraken are people. Trolls are people.

Fuck. Deities are people too, I guess. I'm vaguely embarrassed that it took me so long to realize that last one. The Troll one, not the Deities one. Also, something that I think suffused everything I've done so much that I forgot it when I made that list just then, Children are people.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure if somebody passes the Harkness Test, I'm gonna label them people. If the only reason they don't is because of the whole 'not of age' part, because they're Children, they're not just people, they're people who need to be protected and nurtured until they're old enough to protect and nurture themselves.

Which, y'know, I still do that to my ladies every chance I get, and they do that to me, so maybe it's more 'until they're old enough to find someone to exchange protection and nurturing with'.

So, almost had a complete breakdown of domestic tranquility today. After spending the day teaching Math in Calverton along with all my other daily duties... No, duties is better than chores, but only like bad pizza is better than no pizza. I got done all my other stuff, stepped everybody who needed a ride home to the Homestead, and called Mom and Dad to come to our place for dinner, because I made soup and stew and bisque, none of which travels super well. Okay, Marie has managed to transport all of the above, but while I have my own Kitchen Witchery now, I am not Marie, I cannot make liquids behave.

I will not comment on whether she's made me feel liquid then forced me to behave. In any kind of detail. But I do have sure and certain knowledge that she can make liquids behave.

At any rate, As everybody settled in to eat Furtim arrived. Didn't even sit down, just clacked her jaw and stood there as our little Trolls... Okay, the two who'd been palling around with Anise and Felicia stood up, one taking a moment to hug Felicia before scampering toward Furtim. The one who'd been singing with Garde and the trio pulled the four of them in for a hug, crooning to them as she did, and the one who'd been napping with Isadora snagged Isadora's bowl and started chugging. Isadora looked more amused than annoyed, even playing along by picking up the Troll's smaller bowl and pretending like that had been her serving all along.

Then there was the one who'd been hanging with Davey. She stood up, one hand behind her back holding Davey's, and made a couple clacking noises back. I realized right then that what they were doing wasn't even proper 'language', just the Troll equivalent of, I dunno, grunts and hand gestures. But the meaning was clear; Furtim had shown and said 'time to go home, kids', at which point four of our girls did the 'okay, ma, one last thing before I go', while one of them straight up hit her with the one two combo of 'why' and 'I don't wanna'.

Before anything could explode, I said, "have you had dinner yet?"

She paused mid-snap to focus her attention on me. "No?"

I realized right then that while Furtim might be the Prefect of the Legion, she'd also been what amounted to a junior officer two years ago, and had been for who the fuck knows how long before that. Because when the Queen of the Murderfuck Cult said, "Sit. Eat." Furtim sat and reached for a bowl. Which resulted in all five of our little Troll girls planting their asses back in their seats, spooning down stew as fast as they could.

I brought over a pair of cauldrons. My Sneaky Tail is not a small lady, and something told me Troll BMRs are kinda high when they're active. Once she was eating, I said, "kids, huh?"

She frowned, but kept eating, and I let her think about it. As quietly as I had, she replied, "replacing me?"

"What? No!" I kinda whisper barked. "What made you think that?"

Her frown stayed put, even as her lips tried to curl up at the taste of my bisque. "Encouraging their disobedience."

I sighed. "Furtim?" She nodded. "Trolls are people, right?"

She frowned and said, "yes?" stretching the word out to two syllables.

"Which means Troll kids are people too." Her jaw dropped open a little, then closed again when she took another ladle of bisque. Priorities in order, and soldiers don't waste food. "Agency, Furtim. Agency and Children. You know that."

Funny, Trolls get kinda dun colored when they blush. "I do."

"Hey, no harm done yet. And I'd be lying if I never told my kids to do shit and expected it to get done. But I think you're maybe being a little blind if you think any kid of mine is gonna be perfectly 'obedient', or any kid of yours is gonna be less than 'strong willed'."

She clapped her mouth, and this time I realized it was the Troll equivalent of a snort. "True."

"Legion back in Troll Home?" She nodded. "Want to get our girls back there with the Legion?" Another nod. I could have thought she was being close mouthed about it, but she kept spooning bisque in, which was the best kind of compliment for a Kitchen Witch. "Y'know how I get my kids to do things?"

I waited, letting her finish the whole tureen until she said, "tell me?"

I smiled. "I let them know why. In every case where there's time, I tell them not just what I want them to do, or want them to avoid, but why I want them doing it or avoiding it." I paused for a bit, thinking about the time the girls insisted on visiting Muscogee to get the refugee kids out and playing instead of sitting around in half-finished houses in shock at their village burning down. "Yeah, they get up to stuff I don't expect some times, but very little of it is stuff I don't approve of. Because I've told them what I do and don't approve of, and why." The memories of every time they'd surprised me in a good way brought a smile to my face. "That's the goal, y'know."

"What is?"

"For them to be better than us. Not just little imitations of us, but... Better. Kindler. Gentler." She frowned a little. "Stronger. Smarter. Because as T told me once, you've got to be pretty fucking strong if you want to be gentle, if you want to safely appear weak."

She sat there stewing as she ate her stew. Eventually, as she was nearing the bottom of the cauldron, she quietly said, "how?"

I shrugged. "You gotta talk to them. Which, if you remember, is kind of the core of what we do as a family on Sundays at Mom and Dad's place." When she head tilted. "Family therapy is usually about talking things out, but with somebody there to arbitrate. Either somebody in the family without a dog in the particular fight of the moment, or one of the Docs, whose only real goal is to help all of us deal with shit in a healthy fashion."

"You want us to come."

I rubbed at the back of my head. "I do, but I think it's more important that the girls, our kids, all of them, want your girls there."

She sighed. Then pushed the bowl back. With the tone of somebody asking for a bribe, she said, "Bath?"

I smiled at her. "Shower first. You don't half reek of dead fish."

She clapped her jaws. "Do not!"

"Meh. I said you don't half reek. Maybe a quarter. But you went swimming at least once over the past week, didn't you?"

She stood, reaching for me as she did. A moment later the two of us stood in the Bath, right next to one of the showers. "Shower first?"

Gotta say, while she doesn't have the same pinpoint precision of my Murder Mittens, Furtim's got the muscle mass to turn 'scrubbing' into 'deep tissue massage'. Never realized how much I needed that, or how it took somebody with Furtim's size and Strength to actually pull it off. Down side of being as Strong and Enduring as I am, I guess.

Played pillow for Furtim overnight. Dreamt of my ladies floating around my Maw on Furtim floaties, which they laid on not unlike my Troll baby mama laid on me in the Bath.

Except I didn't get dunked when I complained about it. Mostly because I didn't complain about it.

Sorta heartwarming moment during family therapy today, one that totally made me forget almost entirely about the whole 'can't remember what I wanted to talk about' thing. Not long after lunch, Furtim kinda commandeered Doc Z, pulled the five Trollettes over into a semicircle, and said, "I need to talk with you girls." Which, since each of them had brought an emotional support sister along, was kinda cute, really. Even cuter when Furtim, clearly uncertain and clearly uncomfortable being uncertain, looked at Doc Z and said, "will you arbitrate?"

He smiled, both at her and at the girls, and said, "I'm not sure if what Steve and I do qualifies as arbitration, but if you'll accept me mediating, I'll do my best."

"Acceptable."

He smiled. "Of course, that means if I say you need to listen, you'll need to listen."

She nodded. "Of course." Old school Trolls might be a little addicted to their hierarchy, but at least they respected it when they knew what it was, when everybody had a defined position. Then she looked at the kids. Opened and closed her mouth a few times, not clacking, just trying to say what she needed to, but in a way the kids would not only understand, but maybe accept. Finally, after heaving a sigh, she simply said, "you are our people's future." After a pause while the Troll girls just nodded, she added, "I... I need you to be that future. To be ready for that future."

I mean, that was pretty solid, and I could tell that she was not just being honest, not just doing her best to do as I'd suggested, but also painfully worried that her girls weren't taking the role she'd laid out for them seriously. Or that they'd somehow screw it up on purpose just to spite her, like kids will do sometimes.

Poorly socialized kids do that kind of thing. I know, I was one.

But I think Furtim and I were both equally floored when the Troll girl who'd been hanging with Davey nodded, but half stood up. Not in any kind of defiant way, but more because I think Trolls, especially smaller ones, maybe need to stand up to enunciate. Because while she sounded a lot like Isnomi used to before Menace's nightmare dentition gave her a perma-lisp, especially in how serious and formal she sounded when she said, "I know. We know. But the future is not the past."