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bedlamsbardToday was a good day. :-) A chapter and a half. And gratuitous use of Latin.
Mac stuck his hands in his pockets. “I had no idea Danny knew so much about the Mafia,” he said.
Stella turned her head up towards the brief slice of sky visible between the arching roofs of the townhouses lining the street. “Me neither.” She chewed on her lip for a moment. “Are you sure this is such a good idea? I really don’t like this guy.”
“And I don’t like cutting deals with criminals,” Mac said. “However, Danny seemed pretty clear that Val Constantine knows more about what’s going on than he mentioned before.”
Stella scowled. “Of course he knows more about what’s going on that he mentioned before. He probably orchestrated the whole thing. You really think it’s coincidence both Joey Sforza and Ace Aciello have appeared in relationship to this case? I don’t.”
“I don’t think it is either, but I’m also not entirely convinced that Val Constantine’s our perp.” He shrugged. “Besides, you know what we heard at the Pagliuca house yesterday.”
“What, ‘do you think I’ll puncture the spine?’”
He turned a patient look on her. “You know what I mean, Stella.”
She sighed. “I hope we get a nice simple murder after this.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
They stopped in front of the corner house, and Mac checked the number against the address he’d written down in his notebook. “This is it,” he said.
“And I’m oh so happy about it.” Stella squinted up at the flags hanging over the door; an American flag, an Italian one, a Greek one, an unfamiliar dark grey one with a crest on it, and a plain red one in the center. “Do those mean anything, or is he just trying to make this place look like an embassy?”
“That’s the Constantine family crest,” Mac said. “See the rampant wolf? It’s why the family is sometimes called ‘the black wolves.’ And the antlers it’s standing on? Those are a symbol of the relationship with the Brasi Family – now the Dellacroces – and how the Constantines broke away from them four generations ago.”
“Danny didn’t tell you that,” Stella said warily.
“I know a little about heraldry,” he admitted. “And the mention of the crest was one of the few things in those files I understood.”
“Okay, smart guy, what’s the red flag mean?”
“It’s a symbol of war,” Mac said.
Stella blinked. “With who?”
“Well, we’ve determined with pretty good certainty that the Constantine Family is at war with the Patriso Family, although the casus belli isn’t quite so clear –”
“Don Frederico,” Val Constantine said, as the door beneath the flags swept open, “has, at the very least, lost a few of his marbles. The rest are soon to follow, I’m sure. Detective Taylor, Detective Bonasera,” he nodded to them. “Why don’t you come in, please.” He held the door open, and Mac hesitated only a moment before tracing his way up the steps. Stella followed more reluctantly.
“It’s a nice place you have here,” he said, sounding faintly surprised.
Val shut the door and locked it. “My grandfather’s,” he said. “Al Junior Constantine’s. But I’m guessing you already know about him.”
“What little I read in the files, yes,” Mac said. “It was…impressive, I suppose is the best word.”
“My family can be that,” Val shrugged. “In more ways than one.”
Stella glanced around. “So are you going to frisk us, or what?”
He gave her a slight smile. “No. I can see your guns; I’ll trust you’re not assassins sent by either the FBI or the Mafia Commission.”
“Does the Mafia Commission have reason to send assassins after you?” Mac asked curiously.
“Only if they’re blaming me for something I didn’t do,” Val said. He motioned upstairs. “Let’s go to my study. It’s more private.”
Stella swept another gaze around as they made their way up the narrow stairs, caught sight of a slender young man with curly dark hair lurking in the shadows. He gave her a sheepish grin when he saw her look. Bodyguard, she thought, and blinked again when she saw Ace Aciello coming out of a room straight into Val’s path, voice raised in argument.
“Ace!” Val snapped sharply, and the street boss ducked his head apologetically and murmured something Stella thought might have been Italian. In the same language, louder, from out of the room, Joey Sforza’s voice, and then the mobster stuck his head out to tug Ace back in.
Stella scowled.
Mac said, “You usually live with your associates?” with clinical interest.
Val said, “No, but we’re at a heightened state of security because of recent events.”
“Such as?”
He didn’t answer until he’d closed the heavy wooden door of his study behind him. “Darin Pagliuca’s disappearance. The attempted hit on Astra Pagliuca. A few other things in the past few weeks.” He gestured at the chairs. “Have a seat.”
They did, and Stella put her fingers briefly to the butt of her gun to reassure herself of its existence. Walking willingly into Valentine Constantine’s home was a little too much like walking into enemy territory for her comfort, and even with Mac beside her she still felt naked and exposed. Vulnerable. She hated feeling vulnerable.
“Disappearance?” Mac said innocently, as though this was news to him.
Val pulled out the leather office chair behind his desk and slid into it. “Yes,” he said. “Disappearance. You haven’t been able to find him, have you?”
“How do you know the corpse we found wasn’t his?”
He smiled slightly. “Because it’s Billyclub Pastelli’s.”
Stella blinked. “Who?”
“A hitman for the Patriso Family,” Val said. “You wouldn’t have been able to identify him – he’s never been arrested. The Pastelli Family is one of the families that swears to Patriso, just as d’Alessandro swears to Dellacroce and Vita swears to Rocchegiani.”
“And who swears to you?”
“Sforza. Giovinazzo. Ruggiero. Not many families, and not large ones. Constantine’s the smallest of the New York families.”
“If this Billyclub guy isn’t in the system, then how do you know it’s his corpse we that was called in?” Stella asked.
Val leaned back. “I have my sources,” he said.
Mac raised his eyebrows. “And how do we know we can trust them?”
“If you don’t think you can, then why are you here?”
“I’m starting to wonder that myself,” Stella said. “What sources?”
He considered this for a moment. “Informants,” he said finally. “Spies, if you will, all over the boroughs, and in other cities as well, set up by my street boss.”
“Ace Aciello.”
“He’s good at making connections,” Val said, smiling. “And networking. Current gossip in the Patriso ranks is that Fat Freddy Patriso set up the Darin Pagliuca hit, but that Blue Eyes thwarted it.”
“Blue Eyes,” Stella said.
“Marco Patriso. Fat Freddy’s son. I think you’ve maybe met a few of his grandsons.”
Stella gave it some thought, shook her head.
“Vincent Patriso,” Val clarified. “Phil DiCarlo. Possibly Sonny and Curly Sassone. They say that Fat Freddy is the only don in the American Mafia that can field an army out of his trousers, if you’ll pardon the expression. God alone knows exactly how many Patriso soldiers and associates are of his blood on the wrong side of the sheets.”
“Huh,” Stella said. “What does this have to do with anything?”
“You were wondering what the casus belli was,” Val said. “Fat Freddy’s old. He’s nearly eighty, and he’s not entirely sane anymore. In his youth, he had a great mind and built the family up to where it was in its prime, but his mind is wandering, and he often fixates on inconsequential things. At least,” he corrected himself, “things that are inconsequential in the larger fabric of the Mafia.”
“Such as?” Mac asked.
“Six months ago,” Val said, “Vincent Patriso was murdered in his home. Danny worked the case. It turned out Curly Sassone had killed him, but that doesn’t matter to Freddy. Because of Sonny Sassone’s conviction,” he gave Mac a meaningful look, “as well as earlier events involving my nephew, Freddy has come to the conclusion that Danny is at the root of Vincent Patriso’s and Curly Sassone’s deaths.”
“What’s this have to do with Constantine?”
“Danny’s my nephew,” Val said. “At one point in time, he was slated to be made, and once that had occurred, he would have been groomed to take over the Constantine Family at my death.”
Mac jerked in surprise. “What?”
Val ignored him. “Unlike some of the other families, which try but don’t always succeed in keeping the position of boss in the family – for example, the Lancione and the Rocchegiani, leadership in the Constantine Family follows from father to son, or to nearest male relative. I have no children,” he said, and for a moment looked thoughtful. “I have no children,” he repeated, “and my sister’s other three sons have always followed Ned Messer’s path without blinking. Danny was the only one to turn aside, and he has always seemed more like a Constantine than a Messer. He lived with me for four years, and in that time he made connections that still last, some good, some bad, and he made enemies as well, especially in the last days of his time with Tanglewood.”
“Uh-huh,” Stella said disbelievingly.
He turned a cool look on her. “Even today, the other families still view Danny as ultimus heres of the Constantine Family. Anything he does reflects on us, and if he offends one of the Five Families, even accidently, so do we.”
“He’s a New York City police officer,” Mac said. “He’s a detective in the Crime Scene Unit. You can’t seriously tell me that the Mafia views him as one of their own and not one of ours.”
“I can and I am,” Val said. “I’m not saying that most of La Cosa Nostra understands that his first loyalty – maybe his only loyalty – is to the NYPD, but Fat Freddy’s never been one for shades of grey. Danny is Constantine, thus, Curly Sassone’s death at his heands is Constantine’s fault as well. Fat Freddy put out an open hit on Danny. Do you know what that means?”
Mac’s expression was shaken. “Anyone –”
“Anyone could kill him and have a reward waiting for them, yes,” Val said. “You were injured a few months ago, Detective Bonasera.”
“I was hit by a car,” Stella said. “Are you trying to tell me –”
“The driver of that car was a Patriso associate named Christmas DaCosta. He’s dead now.”
“You –”
“Nobody tries to murder my nephew and get away with it,” Val said, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. He continued after a moment. “Not long afterward a pair of hitmen kidnapped Danny to take him to Fat Freddy. Two of my guys stopped them. You remember that, I assume.”
Mac nodded shortly. “Reginald Dukes and John Marcatti.”
“The Lark and Johnnie Boy, yes. Most attempts have died down by now. Danny doesn’t know about this. At least,” he added, “not until Carmine told him two days ago. You obviously know some Latin, Detective Taylor. Do you know what ultima ratio regum means?”
“The last argument of kings,” Mac said quietly.
“Among the Mafia, there are certain symbolic things that are done. The bloody flag.” He waved at the window. “Red roses.” He touched the vase on the edge of his desk. “A formal declaration must be made in front of the Mafia Commission. At any other time, they have to sanctify a hit before a made guy is whacked, but after a declaration of war anyone in those two families is fair game.”
“Frederico Patriso declared war?” Stella asked.
Val shook his head. “No,” he said. “I did.”
Mac cocked his head curiously to one side. “You,” he said flatly. “You did this?”
“Would you rather I’d given Danny over to the Patriso?” Val said, just as flatly. “Because that was the alternative. If I had, he’d be dead right now. Tortured to death. Patriso wanted justice, but it wasn’t mine to give. So I gave him the only answer I could, and through that, gave Danny some degree of protection. He tried to kill my nephew, nearly succeeded in killing my underboss and my consigliere. War is the least I’m entitled to.” He was silent for a moment. “He knew I’d do it, too. Confronting me in private was the only way he’d get the declaration made, and he knew it. The Commission never would have stood for it, not on the reasons he gave.”
“You didn’t have to go in front of the Commission?” Mac asked.
“Constantine doesn’t answer to the Commission,” Val said. “Never has, never will.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it. There are reasons the Five Families don’t trust us, and the fact we answer to no one is one of the major ones. We don’t ask before we whack a made guy, we don’t ask before we declare war, we don’t give a percentage of our earnings to the Commission. There’s a saying the Five Families hold to when they deal with us: time Danaos et dona ferentes.”
“I fear the Greeks even when bearing gifts,” Stella translated. She gave him a thin smile. “Virgil. One of my favorites. Good for them. I don’t trust you either.”
Val returned her smile, something cold and quiet curling around the edges of it. “That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day, Detective Bonasera.”
*ahem* I really like Latin, okay?
ETA: Okay, so it's sad when I spell the cut-tag wrong. As usual, most of the Mafia customs in here are made up by me and do not actually occur in the Mafia that I am aware of.
Mac stuck his hands in his pockets. “I had no idea Danny knew so much about the Mafia,” he said.
Stella turned her head up towards the brief slice of sky visible between the arching roofs of the townhouses lining the street. “Me neither.” She chewed on her lip for a moment. “Are you sure this is such a good idea? I really don’t like this guy.”
“And I don’t like cutting deals with criminals,” Mac said. “However, Danny seemed pretty clear that Val Constantine knows more about what’s going on than he mentioned before.”
Stella scowled. “Of course he knows more about what’s going on that he mentioned before. He probably orchestrated the whole thing. You really think it’s coincidence both Joey Sforza and Ace Aciello have appeared in relationship to this case? I don’t.”
“I don’t think it is either, but I’m also not entirely convinced that Val Constantine’s our perp.” He shrugged. “Besides, you know what we heard at the Pagliuca house yesterday.”
“What, ‘do you think I’ll puncture the spine?’”
He turned a patient look on her. “You know what I mean, Stella.”
She sighed. “I hope we get a nice simple murder after this.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
They stopped in front of the corner house, and Mac checked the number against the address he’d written down in his notebook. “This is it,” he said.
“And I’m oh so happy about it.” Stella squinted up at the flags hanging over the door; an American flag, an Italian one, a Greek one, an unfamiliar dark grey one with a crest on it, and a plain red one in the center. “Do those mean anything, or is he just trying to make this place look like an embassy?”
“That’s the Constantine family crest,” Mac said. “See the rampant wolf? It’s why the family is sometimes called ‘the black wolves.’ And the antlers it’s standing on? Those are a symbol of the relationship with the Brasi Family – now the Dellacroces – and how the Constantines broke away from them four generations ago.”
“Danny didn’t tell you that,” Stella said warily.
“I know a little about heraldry,” he admitted. “And the mention of the crest was one of the few things in those files I understood.”
“Okay, smart guy, what’s the red flag mean?”
“It’s a symbol of war,” Mac said.
Stella blinked. “With who?”
“Well, we’ve determined with pretty good certainty that the Constantine Family is at war with the Patriso Family, although the casus belli isn’t quite so clear –”
“Don Frederico,” Val Constantine said, as the door beneath the flags swept open, “has, at the very least, lost a few of his marbles. The rest are soon to follow, I’m sure. Detective Taylor, Detective Bonasera,” he nodded to them. “Why don’t you come in, please.” He held the door open, and Mac hesitated only a moment before tracing his way up the steps. Stella followed more reluctantly.
“It’s a nice place you have here,” he said, sounding faintly surprised.
Val shut the door and locked it. “My grandfather’s,” he said. “Al Junior Constantine’s. But I’m guessing you already know about him.”
“What little I read in the files, yes,” Mac said. “It was…impressive, I suppose is the best word.”
“My family can be that,” Val shrugged. “In more ways than one.”
Stella glanced around. “So are you going to frisk us, or what?”
He gave her a slight smile. “No. I can see your guns; I’ll trust you’re not assassins sent by either the FBI or the Mafia Commission.”
“Does the Mafia Commission have reason to send assassins after you?” Mac asked curiously.
“Only if they’re blaming me for something I didn’t do,” Val said. He motioned upstairs. “Let’s go to my study. It’s more private.”
Stella swept another gaze around as they made their way up the narrow stairs, caught sight of a slender young man with curly dark hair lurking in the shadows. He gave her a sheepish grin when he saw her look. Bodyguard, she thought, and blinked again when she saw Ace Aciello coming out of a room straight into Val’s path, voice raised in argument.
“Ace!” Val snapped sharply, and the street boss ducked his head apologetically and murmured something Stella thought might have been Italian. In the same language, louder, from out of the room, Joey Sforza’s voice, and then the mobster stuck his head out to tug Ace back in.
Stella scowled.
Mac said, “You usually live with your associates?” with clinical interest.
Val said, “No, but we’re at a heightened state of security because of recent events.”
“Such as?”
He didn’t answer until he’d closed the heavy wooden door of his study behind him. “Darin Pagliuca’s disappearance. The attempted hit on Astra Pagliuca. A few other things in the past few weeks.” He gestured at the chairs. “Have a seat.”
They did, and Stella put her fingers briefly to the butt of her gun to reassure herself of its existence. Walking willingly into Valentine Constantine’s home was a little too much like walking into enemy territory for her comfort, and even with Mac beside her she still felt naked and exposed. Vulnerable. She hated feeling vulnerable.
“Disappearance?” Mac said innocently, as though this was news to him.
Val pulled out the leather office chair behind his desk and slid into it. “Yes,” he said. “Disappearance. You haven’t been able to find him, have you?”
“How do you know the corpse we found wasn’t his?”
He smiled slightly. “Because it’s Billyclub Pastelli’s.”
Stella blinked. “Who?”
“A hitman for the Patriso Family,” Val said. “You wouldn’t have been able to identify him – he’s never been arrested. The Pastelli Family is one of the families that swears to Patriso, just as d’Alessandro swears to Dellacroce and Vita swears to Rocchegiani.”
“And who swears to you?”
“Sforza. Giovinazzo. Ruggiero. Not many families, and not large ones. Constantine’s the smallest of the New York families.”
“If this Billyclub guy isn’t in the system, then how do you know it’s his corpse we that was called in?” Stella asked.
Val leaned back. “I have my sources,” he said.
Mac raised his eyebrows. “And how do we know we can trust them?”
“If you don’t think you can, then why are you here?”
“I’m starting to wonder that myself,” Stella said. “What sources?”
He considered this for a moment. “Informants,” he said finally. “Spies, if you will, all over the boroughs, and in other cities as well, set up by my street boss.”
“Ace Aciello.”
“He’s good at making connections,” Val said, smiling. “And networking. Current gossip in the Patriso ranks is that Fat Freddy Patriso set up the Darin Pagliuca hit, but that Blue Eyes thwarted it.”
“Blue Eyes,” Stella said.
“Marco Patriso. Fat Freddy’s son. I think you’ve maybe met a few of his grandsons.”
Stella gave it some thought, shook her head.
“Vincent Patriso,” Val clarified. “Phil DiCarlo. Possibly Sonny and Curly Sassone. They say that Fat Freddy is the only don in the American Mafia that can field an army out of his trousers, if you’ll pardon the expression. God alone knows exactly how many Patriso soldiers and associates are of his blood on the wrong side of the sheets.”
“Huh,” Stella said. “What does this have to do with anything?”
“You were wondering what the casus belli was,” Val said. “Fat Freddy’s old. He’s nearly eighty, and he’s not entirely sane anymore. In his youth, he had a great mind and built the family up to where it was in its prime, but his mind is wandering, and he often fixates on inconsequential things. At least,” he corrected himself, “things that are inconsequential in the larger fabric of the Mafia.”
“Such as?” Mac asked.
“Six months ago,” Val said, “Vincent Patriso was murdered in his home. Danny worked the case. It turned out Curly Sassone had killed him, but that doesn’t matter to Freddy. Because of Sonny Sassone’s conviction,” he gave Mac a meaningful look, “as well as earlier events involving my nephew, Freddy has come to the conclusion that Danny is at the root of Vincent Patriso’s and Curly Sassone’s deaths.”
“What’s this have to do with Constantine?”
“Danny’s my nephew,” Val said. “At one point in time, he was slated to be made, and once that had occurred, he would have been groomed to take over the Constantine Family at my death.”
Mac jerked in surprise. “What?”
Val ignored him. “Unlike some of the other families, which try but don’t always succeed in keeping the position of boss in the family – for example, the Lancione and the Rocchegiani, leadership in the Constantine Family follows from father to son, or to nearest male relative. I have no children,” he said, and for a moment looked thoughtful. “I have no children,” he repeated, “and my sister’s other three sons have always followed Ned Messer’s path without blinking. Danny was the only one to turn aside, and he has always seemed more like a Constantine than a Messer. He lived with me for four years, and in that time he made connections that still last, some good, some bad, and he made enemies as well, especially in the last days of his time with Tanglewood.”
“Uh-huh,” Stella said disbelievingly.
He turned a cool look on her. “Even today, the other families still view Danny as ultimus heres of the Constantine Family. Anything he does reflects on us, and if he offends one of the Five Families, even accidently, so do we.”
“He’s a New York City police officer,” Mac said. “He’s a detective in the Crime Scene Unit. You can’t seriously tell me that the Mafia views him as one of their own and not one of ours.”
“I can and I am,” Val said. “I’m not saying that most of La Cosa Nostra understands that his first loyalty – maybe his only loyalty – is to the NYPD, but Fat Freddy’s never been one for shades of grey. Danny is Constantine, thus, Curly Sassone’s death at his heands is Constantine’s fault as well. Fat Freddy put out an open hit on Danny. Do you know what that means?”
Mac’s expression was shaken. “Anyone –”
“Anyone could kill him and have a reward waiting for them, yes,” Val said. “You were injured a few months ago, Detective Bonasera.”
“I was hit by a car,” Stella said. “Are you trying to tell me –”
“The driver of that car was a Patriso associate named Christmas DaCosta. He’s dead now.”
“You –”
“Nobody tries to murder my nephew and get away with it,” Val said, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. He continued after a moment. “Not long afterward a pair of hitmen kidnapped Danny to take him to Fat Freddy. Two of my guys stopped them. You remember that, I assume.”
Mac nodded shortly. “Reginald Dukes and John Marcatti.”
“The Lark and Johnnie Boy, yes. Most attempts have died down by now. Danny doesn’t know about this. At least,” he added, “not until Carmine told him two days ago. You obviously know some Latin, Detective Taylor. Do you know what ultima ratio regum means?”
“The last argument of kings,” Mac said quietly.
“Among the Mafia, there are certain symbolic things that are done. The bloody flag.” He waved at the window. “Red roses.” He touched the vase on the edge of his desk. “A formal declaration must be made in front of the Mafia Commission. At any other time, they have to sanctify a hit before a made guy is whacked, but after a declaration of war anyone in those two families is fair game.”
“Frederico Patriso declared war?” Stella asked.
Val shook his head. “No,” he said. “I did.”
Mac cocked his head curiously to one side. “You,” he said flatly. “You did this?”
“Would you rather I’d given Danny over to the Patriso?” Val said, just as flatly. “Because that was the alternative. If I had, he’d be dead right now. Tortured to death. Patriso wanted justice, but it wasn’t mine to give. So I gave him the only answer I could, and through that, gave Danny some degree of protection. He tried to kill my nephew, nearly succeeded in killing my underboss and my consigliere. War is the least I’m entitled to.” He was silent for a moment. “He knew I’d do it, too. Confronting me in private was the only way he’d get the declaration made, and he knew it. The Commission never would have stood for it, not on the reasons he gave.”
“You didn’t have to go in front of the Commission?” Mac asked.
“Constantine doesn’t answer to the Commission,” Val said. “Never has, never will.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it. There are reasons the Five Families don’t trust us, and the fact we answer to no one is one of the major ones. We don’t ask before we whack a made guy, we don’t ask before we declare war, we don’t give a percentage of our earnings to the Commission. There’s a saying the Five Families hold to when they deal with us: time Danaos et dona ferentes.”
“I fear the Greeks even when bearing gifts,” Stella translated. She gave him a thin smile. “Virgil. One of my favorites. Good for them. I don’t trust you either.”
Val returned her smile, something cold and quiet curling around the edges of it. “That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day, Detective Bonasera.”
*ahem* I really like Latin, okay?
ETA: Okay, so it's sad when I spell the cut-tag wrong. As usual, most of the Mafia customs in here are made up by me and do not actually occur in the Mafia that I am aware of.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-22 02:16 am (UTC)Nothing at all wrong with that! :)
So my book claims. *halo*
And, uh, I realize it must seem that since I'm not commenting that I'm not reading your fic, but I am, I'm just... having a little trouble pulling parts together, keeping track of things. Not your fault, just my brain not working. I *like* it, though, and I will have to kick my ass into gear and put it all together and give it a read-through and actually comment. Like a normal person.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-23 12:07 am (UTC)*blinkblinkblink* Is boxer in/on toga ... something alone something...okay, so my Latin sucks.
And, uh, I realize it must seem that since I'm not commenting that I'm not reading your fic, but I am, I'm just... having a little trouble pulling parts together, keeping track of things. Not your fault, just my brain not working. I *like* it, though, and I will have to kick my ass into gear and put it all together and give it a read-through and actually comment. Like a normal person.
Aw, that's okay, I haven't exactly been Miss Chatty myself lately. Partially because of marching, partially because my brain's in like twenty universes at the same time.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-23 12:15 am (UTC)According to the book, it's the way to inquire, "Is that a dagger in your toga, or are you just happy to see me?"
(to which the proposed response is: "Minime, est pugio."/"No, it's a dagger.")
I love my book. It's got the *coolest* bits of Latin in it.
Aw, that's okay, I haven't exactly been Miss Chatty myself lately. Partially because of marching, partially because my brain's in like twenty universes at the same time.
My brain's been like, gibbering and drooling, and at least one tiny shred has focused on killing everything that irritates it. At least marching is a productive use of time, right?
(and school is approaching at an alarming rate, while my parents' capacity for competency seems to disintegrate proportionally.)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-23 11:09 pm (UTC)(to which the proposed response is: "Minime, est pugio."/"No, it's a dagger.")
Ah. My books are "The Idiot's Guide to Learning Latin" and a book of Latin phrases, so...not really the best for translation.
The bandie version: "Is that a piccolo in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" "No, it's a (drum)stick." Or a sax neck, or a flute head, or a mallet, or a tuba mouthpiece, or...I'll stop now.
At least marching is a productive use of time, right?
*snort* Tell that to my shoulders. *to self* Pain builds character, pain builds character, pain builds character...
(and school is approaching at an alarming rate, while my parents' capacity for competency seems to disintegrate proportionally.)
*panic* Oh, God, not school. Homework bad. Having to get good grades bad. Physics, bad. Dealing with German teacher, veryveryvery bad.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-23 11:20 pm (UTC)I have a matched set of "How to Insult, Insinuate, and Abuse in Classical Latin" and "Latin Stuff and Nonsense". It's *great*.
Oh, and speaking of printed matter-- I saw this week's Boston Phoenix (newspaper), and it's headline is "THE WORST HOMICIDE SQUAD IN AMERICA" and thought of you. Would it be too forward of me to want to snail it to you? 'Cause I think you'd probably find it interesting. (I haven't read it, myself. But I just thought of SCU. And stuff.)
The bandie version: "Is that a piccolo in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" "No, it's a (drum)stick." Or a sax neck, or a flute head, or a mallet, or a tuba mouthpiece, or...I'll stop now.
*snicker* But a tuba mouthpiece is *little*. At least the mallet and the flute head and the drumstick have some, like, length to them. And the sax has a curve...
*snort* Tell that to my shoulders. *to self* Pain builds character, pain builds character, pain builds character...
See? You're producing
back problemsmuscle! :)*panic* Oh, God, not school. Homework bad. Having to get good grades bad. Physics, bad. Dealing with German teacher, veryveryvery bad.
Damn. *wince* Forgot about those things. (actually, I don't expect I'll catch too bad on the academic end, and a lot of my excitement regarding school is: Oh thank god, I'm moving a good hour away from this evil, batshit crazy homestead.)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-23 11:50 pm (UTC)*sporfle* I think I've seen that on the Internet somewhere. Is it bad of me to want to write a scene where Val and Mac do nothing but spend an hour firing Latin quotes at each other, while Stella sits and goes, "Fucking lunatics" over and over again?
Oh, and speaking of printed matter-- I saw this week's Boston Phoenix (newspaper), and it's headline is "THE WORST HOMICIDE SQUAD IN AMERICA" and thought of you. Would it be too forward of me to want to snail it to you? 'Cause I think you'd probably find it interesting. (I haven't read it, myself. But I just thought of SCU. And stuff.)
Oh, not at all. Worst homicide in America, huh? That's pretty bad...
But a tuba mouthpiece is *little*. At least the mallet and the flute head and the drumstick have some, like, length to them. And the sax has a curve...
Not that little. I think they're about five, six inches long, maybe. And the mallet and flute head and drumstick are about the same length as a picc, give or take a couple inches.
See? You're producing back problems muscle!
It's too bad they design most harnesses for guys - especially the ones with padding. The one I have is a ladies' edition and has no padding, just straps. It could be worse. I could be marching on a neck strap. Now that's a scary thought.
Damn. *wince* Forgot about those things. (actually, I don't expect I'll catch too bad on the academic end, and a lot of my excitement regarding school is: Oh thank god, I'm moving a good hour away from this evil, batshit crazy homestead.)
Lucky college student. *sigh* Three more years of 4.0s before I can leave. Although the general West Coaster view of the East Coast: "They're crazy over there! They're rude! They don't even speak English!"
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-24 12:01 am (UTC)It's a good bad. But, see, the key? Is when they get to biblical quotes-- oh, god help them-- that Stella can start cranking out verses from Revelation in Greek. ;-)
Oh, not at all. Worst homicide in America, huh? That's pretty bad...
So it proclaims, and mumbles something in a subtitle about not solving 70% of their cases. :( (if email me your snailmail -- mentalhygiene@hotmail.com-- I'll post it off to you.)
Not that little. I think they're about five, six inches long, maybe. And the mallet and flute head and drumstick are about the same length as a picc, give or take a couple inches.
*looks at his brother's* Compared to the flute head et al, it's pretty small and squat. Most of it's mass seems to be in the actual cup-shaped bit. But maybe that's just this one.
Lucky college student. *sigh* Three more years of 4.0s before I can leave.
More or less lucky-- well, okay, I lie, on the whole. I go live up in a not-too-bad suburb, with rail access to Boston, studying to be a social worker, and don't *ever* have to contact my parents except in case of severe and dire emergency. And hey, you never know-- there's colleges that do early-entrance, so it might only be 2 years. (as for GPA, I'm pretty sure the only thing that saves me is that my SAT scores were so high.)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-24 12:16 am (UTC)And Val can reply in the same language and shock her to death. *grin* Only problem is, I don't know biblical quotes. Non-practicing polytheist here, with a Buddhist mother (and Buddhist priests for a grandfather and uncle). I do the whole multicultural thing.
*looks at his brother's* Compared to the flute head et al, it's pretty small and squat. Most of it's mass seems to be in the actual cup-shaped bit. But maybe that's just this one.
Hmm, I don't know. I don't really see a lot of 'em. But compared to a trumpet or trombone mouthpiece...
More or less lucky-- well, okay, I lie, on the whole. I go live up in a not-too-bad suburb, with rail access to Boston, studying to be a social worker, and don't *ever* have to contact my parents except in case of severe and dire emergency.
Man, that sounds fun. I mean, my parents and I have a pretty good relationship, but...away from home!
And hey, you never know-- there's colleges that do early-entrance, so it might only be 2 years.
*shrugs* Yeah, but I'm trying to get into the Ivy League. And I know I bitch and moan, but my high school's actually really nice. Besides, I <3 my band. :-) For that matter, I could go the running start route and take almost all my classes at the college, but this way I get to lord it over all the freshmen.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-24 12:29 am (UTC)Heh. I have a mild immersion in Unitarian, but otherwise non-practicing. Most of the biblical stuff I know was because we studied it as literature in English. But there's psalms, as always, and the Lord's Prayer, and... *thinks*. Revelation *does* have some good, involved, creepy stuff. Like Revelation 6:8 -- "And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him."
Man, that sounds fun. I mean, my parents and I have a pretty good relationship, but...away from home!
My parents and I seem to have nagasaki for a relationship. It's a bad thing. But, yeah-- away from home. Can do stuff like grocery shop, and go to class, and exist autonomously. :)
Yeah, but I'm trying to get into the Ivy League. And I know I bitch and moan, but my high school's actually really nice. Besides, I <3 my band. :-)
Ah, true, both of the schools I got into were state schools, and disinclined to really review me all that rigorously. And at least your HS's nice. Mine was, too, but it's hard to tell how people are going to react when they find out that Arlington's not exactly a happy little collegiate training ground.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-24 11:11 pm (UTC)*blinkblinkblink* Okay, that is kinda creepy. I suppose I could find some of this stuff on the Internet, at least.
Can do stuff like grocery shop, and go to class, and exist autonomously.
Mmm, autonomous existence. Sounds fun. :)
Ah, true, both of the schools I got into were state schools, and disinclined to really review me all that rigorously.
My parents would like me to go to a state school, since they did one of those "pay some money now and when your kid goes to a state college she won't have to pay as much" things, but that would mean actually having to stay in-state. Which, uh, I don't want to do.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-24 11:38 pm (UTC)The Bible Online (http://www.bible.com). And it's got different translations, too. :) (the line I quoted is the version from the King James).
My parents would like me to go to a state school, since they did one of those "pay some money now and when your kid goes to a state college she won't have to pay as much" things, but that would mean actually having to stay in-state. Which, uh, I don't want to do.
My parents... the general assumption for all 3 kids was "they'll go to a state school and pay tuition themselves". Because my parents-- well, my dad-- had done so. Unfortunately, prices have increased. x_x So I was severely limited in my choices of where to go. And it does sound, for you, like you should be set loose in the uh... more metropolitan world (no offense). At least just for the experience, yannow? (okay, that's really not coming out right-- *facepalm* ignore it). And the east coast really is nice. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-24 11:58 pm (UTC)Even though everyone over here thinks you guys are insane, and from another planet. *grin* Seriously, conversation I had a week or so ago.
No, I know what you mean. Cities used to freak me out; writing in one has given me a better idea of what they are. I've just never lived in one. Although the idea of going to a college bigger than my town sort of freaks me out (population is about 9000 without students, maybe 15,000 with. Central - Central Washington Universty - is fairly small).
I plan on getting scholarships. Lots and lots of scholarships. :D
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-24 10:33 pm (UTC)And, um, so not coherent, but I'm still loving this, and can just give a thumbs-up to your ability to write this kind of intricate casefile/Mafia story, and depict all the various complexities of the relationships. It's really nice to see, step by step, the threads coming together and being drawn tighter and tighter, and creating a sense of there being no way out but through the middle.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-24 11:30 pm (UTC)He wouldn't, wouldn't he? I'm guessing it's something he picked up from his mother's side of the family; I mean, the Maclarens are old. And Southern, although that doesn't have to anything. I'm just reminded of something I read recently; that family still lives in an atmosphere where they'd stand up for "Dixie" and sit down for "The Star-Spangled Banner."
And, um, so not coherent, but I'm still loving this, and can just give a thumbs-up to your ability to write this kind of intricate casefile/Mafia story, and depict all the various complexities of the relationships. It's really nice to see, step by step, the threads coming together and being drawn tighter and tighter, and creating a sense of there being no way out but through the middle.
Oh, God, they're coming together? Because I know what's going on, and Val knows what's going on, it's just the whole explaining thing that's throwing me off. *twitches* I mean...wait, it's working?
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-25 12:42 am (UTC)*nod* It's totally working. I mean, it's a lot of potentially confusing stuff here, with the familial relationships and who's mad at whom and so forth, but you're able to lay it out clearly so that we-the-readers aren't left at sea in a wave of Italian names.