And the risk of facing violence for being visibly psychotic increases significantly if you're a schizophrenic person of color. The current stigma against schizophrenia is directly tied to how the diagnosis was used during the black civil rights movement in the US to disqualify and lock up black activists with accusations of paranoia, aggression and "protest psychosis" and to this day black people are still many times more likely to receive a schizophrenia diagnosis than a white person is - and to face violence because of it
I noticed that Clifford is standing so close to the exit (while covered in blood) and gives so little of a damn about the corpse lying in plain sight (HE DIDN'T EVEN HIDE IT).
Question: Does everyone just not give a flying f*ck about the crazy shit these polygons are pulling?
It's like: "He beat a triangle/square to death?! (I'm not sure if this attitude would apply to pentagons, since they're probably elite too.) Oh, it's a hexagon? Then it's all good! :) So what if the victim had kids, a family, a loving husband/wife, parents, dreams and goals..."
No, seriously, in that case Clifford is being way too polite! Why bother? He could just beat someone to death on the street and get a round of applause! I'm shook...
oh yeah, Clifford generally avoids witnesses (they can be inconvenient) but is not especially careful about hiding his victims beyond pulling them into an alley
There is always a chance of him being arrested (he's definitely been arrested and even brought to trial before in other towns), but strangely any witnesses have a tendency to vanish or get "confused", and most judges will find that they suddenly have received a generous gift from Clifford's mother (the more honest or lower ranking judges out there are more likely to receive a reminder that they have family of their own who are ever so vulnerable... so many accidents could happen)
At most, a trial will result in a fine (possibly owed to the employer of his victim rather than the family, for loss of work hours), and a scolding from Mumsy for his indiscretion
The question made him deeply uncomfortable. Why hadn't they asked the easy one? People asked why he was afraid to love other people, that was simple. He had trust issues. But... why was he afraid of being loved? Trust was one thing, but there were so many other factors that went into it.
"Ah... how do I say it...? Being loved... means they trust you with things someone like me shouldn't be trusted with. I'll fuck it up, and they'll suffer more than they ever had in their life. To be seen with a hanyō is bad enough, to love one openly like that... I don't wanna see the stares they'll get. Ain't just about romantic shit, love doesn't need some stupid human definition.
It's just love.
And I haven't done anything in my life to deserve it.
I'd rather not be loved than see someone who loves me suffer like that. I'm not scared. I'm tryin' to think of the other person."
That's what he'd tell himself.
No matter how badly he did want to be loved.
No matter how badly he did want to be accepted for himself, without having to be the strong one all the time.
There was little movement, only the flick of his right ear, seated on all fours. The autumn grass wasn't as comfortable as summer, but it had its own special properties to it. From scent, to texture beneath his hands, and feet. As usual, being in a village by himself isn't exactly the best idea, and with Dream looking more like a mysterious, shady human when he used his clothes to disguise himself, Inuyasha probably wouldn't have looked any better to the residents.
But to see the guy running up, as though he'd been chased away. It sparked irritation. He's trying to keep his voice calm, but that irritation grew and grew as he listened to what happened, ears now outright twitching. He knew what it entailed, just by the fact Dream had been running. Humans wouldn't have inherently attacked a skeleton, not normal humans.
They'd have been afraid first, and hateful second. A skeleton would be seen as an omen of death, not an abomination meant to be killed.
In steady motion, the hanyō rose to his feet. Irritation was brewing into a raging sea. Clawed hands came together, the fabric of his haori hiding even his arms. There wasn't anything he could do. Powerless in these situations, and it brought back storms that were ever raging every time it happened.
It was different for him. It hurt, but that was his life. When it happened to someone else, it was all the worse.
"Keh! If that's the kinda shit they're gonna pull, we don't need any rumors from those bastards anyway! Come on."
Turning sharply, silver hair practically whipped in turn, the firmer grass of the season softly sounding against his feet as he stepped. Ever present intensity in those golden eyes, focused in front of him, a glare not directed at any single person. Out here, it was just the two of them.
That, and maybe he was more irritable today. There were only a few days left, his human blood was strong right now. It heightened his level of emotions, but also heightened his capabilities of feeling physical pain. Physical fatigue. It heightened his need for sleep, and hunger. Feelings that would only heighten further as the night of the new moon approached, and he wouldn't feel his normal until that night was over.
Maybe it was something only the few of his kind that made it to adulthood understood. The war that raged within you at all times, to be of mixed blood. One of the most frustrating parts, was how weak his sense of smell became this close to the new moon. He hadn't detected Dream's scent at all, that was why he'd been so surprised by the sudden vision of the skeleton running up to him.
Inuyasha would let himself silently stew for a while. He'd get over it, he always did.
The only thing that made him stop walking, was the sudden sneezing fit. A common tendency, the rare occasion the reaction was caused by the onset of illness. When it was something bothering his nose, he only sneezed once. This was a series of four sneezes in succession, stifled by raising his sleeve.
the pursuit of knowledge. elegant script. a splash of ink on the cuff of your sleeve. organising your thoughts. solving a riddle. looking to the past for answers about the future. a teetering pile of books. a meeting of the minds. correcting someone’s mistakes. unfurling a piece of paper. renaissance man. a phrase that does not translate. the intimacy of being understood.
statistics.
full name: etienne st juste
nickname(s): the antiquarian, tienne (to few)
name meaning: garland
age: thirty-four
date of birth: february 11th
star sign: aquarius
place of birth: unknown
current location: tortuga, st dominigue
gender: cis-male
pronouns: he/him
sexual orientation: demisexual
occupation: archivist aboard the harbinger
family: honoré st juste (father figure, deceased), unknown biological parents
education level: highly educated
living arrangements: lives on the harbinger
financial status: surprisingly well off, as he rarely spends his share of any prizes the harbinger takes
inspiration.
henry winter (the secret history), cole (dragon age), the archivist (the magnus archives), bruno madrigal (encanto), viktor (arcane), leonardo da vinci (historical figure)
biography. (slavery tw, death tw, discrimination tw, murder tw)
Like witty Odysseus before him, Etienne St Juste was Nobody once. His earliest memories are of the dark hold of a ship, of the tight press of frantic bodies, of the smell of death and decay that lingered on the stale air and threatened to choke the life from any that remained. He doesn’t remember his mother. Perhaps it was her that had died.
A ship brought him to France from ports unknown, a skinny boy of six short years who had already forgotten the blinding sun and white sands of his homeland. He didn’t cry like the others he arrived with, just stared and stared with his huge dark eyes, unnerving and quiet and undesirable to any potential buyers.
Well, all except one. Honoré St Juste was a scholar from Paris, who had come to Bordeaux in pursuit of a candidate for his pet project. He took one look at the strange, scrawny boy, who had yet to speak a word, and saw his potential. There was raw intelligence shining in those dark eyes, and he intended to mould it into something greater.
Honoré wasn’t really in the market for a slave, only for a pupil that would prove his theory: that a person from any circumstances could be educated, if given the opportunity to try. He expressed his intent to emancipate his young charge on their return to the capital, and seeing as the boy seemingly had no name, he gave him one befitting a citizen of France - Etienne.
Their lessons began at once, and under Honoré’s tutelage, Etienne flourished. It was just as the old man had suspected - the boy had a keen mind, incredible skills of retention, and an intellectual curiosity that rivalled his own. He found his tongue after a week, his broken French becoming whole with dedication and practice, and everything else suddenly fell into place.
Together, they studied everything under the sun: languages and poetry, philosophy and mathematics, science and astronomy. Etienne loved it all, but more than that, he loved Honoré’s approval. They were birds of a feather, and he was comfortable in the elderly scholar’s company even if he was rarely comfortable anywhere else - he was Etienne’s benefactor and tutor, yes, but he came to view him as a father too.
Outside of the St Juste household, there was no one Etienne could comfortably call 'friend'. He had no occasion (or any real desire) to meet people his own age, and any novelty he held for Honoré's peers in the salons of Paris quickly wore thin as he aged from boy to man. They resented him for speaking his mind, for daring to correct them when he knew them to be wrong, for such arrogance from a man of his background.
But Etienne was an academic in his own right, and as deserving as the rest of them. He didn't care for their disdain, not when he had Honoré to assure him of his place in the world, and he continued to devote himself wholly to his studies.
Things continued in this fashion until, one night, Etienne returned home to find Honoré on the floor of his private study, his life’s blood soaking into the rug. The obvious culprit? Etienne himself, who held the only other key.
It is here that memory and actuality diverge - Etienne remembers staring impassively at the body of the man he had called 'father', accepting his death and the fact that he had been framed, and making the decision to flee. The truth? He cradled the old man's body in his arms and wept for longer than was sensible, his clothes stained scarlet and his thoughts black with grief.
Ultimately, he recovered himself enough to pack up the most important aspects of Honoré's life's work, and vanished into the night before the arrival of the gendarmarie. He made his way to port in silence, and paid a handsome sum to be transported elsewhere - away from the only life he'd known, and the rapidly cooling body of his only friend in the world.
The passage he had bought saw Etienne to the distant Caribbean sea, to the island of Tortuga and the pirates that called it 'home'. He learned the reputation of the ship called Harbinger, and that of her crew and captain, and readily proposed his candidacy for the position of archivist, without a doubt in his mind that Vidar the Voiceless would find him fit for purpose.
Now called the Antiquarian, Etienne has single-mindedly dedicated the last seven years of his life to the web of knowledge housed within the Harbinger's walls - to its maintenance, to its study, to its expansion. He is not so arrogant as to think he will ever know everything about the world, but perhaps, by the time his name is called, he will know more than anyone else.
other things.
A complete pack rat, Etienne’s quarters aboard the Harbinger are full to bursting with various curiosities he’s gathered throughout his time at sea. It looks like chaos to the uninitiated, but he knows exactly where everything is, and keeps it all meticulously.
Etienne has developed his own form of shorthand over the years, which is completely indecipherable to anyone but him.
When it comes to vices, Etienne is sorely lacking. He doesn’t drink or smoke, and is uninterested in both games of chance and the Sirens of the Nest - except from an anthropological standpoint, of course.
Pirate he may be, but Etienne has never yet taken a life, and prefers to keep out of any fighting, if he can.
Etienne is a polyglot, and can boast fluency in a number of modern languages, as well as Latin, Ancient Greek and Arabic. Although he can and often does for simplicity’s sake, he hates speaking in English, and refers to it as the common tongue.
Etienne doesn't actually have a last name, but he took to calling himself 'St Juste' after Honoré's death. If you asked him why, he wouldn't be able to tell you.
White autistic girls and women ALSO facing discrimination when seeking an autism diagnosis does not make a post illustrating the racism in psychiatry "incorrect"!
"Do you know how many men have come in here, see it's run by a woman and the main trainer is a woman and have some snide comment? Bastards." Mizu pushed her amber tinted glasses up her nose slightly to cover her blue eyes. She didn't know why she did it, but she just felt like she should be hiding her eyes. "Can I stab them in the face with my katana?"
Joel is an almighty god! Well more a local god to a village hidden away in a lovely forest but that’s besides the point. He has watched over this village since it’s founding and each and every person in the village either worships him out of fear or borderline cult behavior but they aren’t hurting anyone or anything so Joel leaves them alone for the most part…Until three people show up on his radar that don’t even care about him. All three born and raised in the village but odd for a number of reasons. First there’s Cleo a Gorgon hybrid who’s known to kick anyone’s ass if they make her angry, then there’s Etho who’s always trying to make strange machines that nine times out of ten blow up and then Lizzie who’s always wandering around the woods without a care in the world.
Now it’s not the three aren’t aware of the village’s local deity they just don’t care to worship him their the outcasts hell they aren’t even allowed near his shrine most days. So when he suddenly showed up in front of the three of them questioning why they aren’t worshipping him they did the only thing they could. They ignored him and continued to go to their usual hangout spot. Leaving the poor god flabbergasted until he snapped back into it and followed them demanding he be shown respect and worshiped…with little to no success.
This went on for weeks before Joel just lined them up and asked them. “Why the hell aren’t you three worshiping me while the rest of the village does?!” From there Cleo took over and said “Meh not our style.” And granted Joel is a patient god he is really but they aren’t worshipping him because of it’s just not their aesthetic?! Why he demanded they worship him right then and there!…Turns out he should have been a lot more careful with his wording because by the time he woke up he was butt naked in a cuddle pile with the other three also completely naked after just giving him the best lay of his life…Welp this surely won’t cause any issues with the village.
Rando anon
The thing is, they've never cared for gods. Cleo has been considered a monster since she was a baby. People in the village considered her a bad omen, demon child. She's pretty sure there was at least one attempt on her life before she could even remember it.
Lizzie has just never cared. Nature has far more power, in her opinion. That's what provides the food they eat, the clothes they make, the houses they build. Not some god. She'd rather spend her time around that!
Whilst Etho... Redstone isn't particularly popular in their village. Why should they improve upon what their god designed? But Etho never understood why they shouldn't. If he can make life easier or discover new things, why shouldn't he?
Joel, having lived the life of a god, hardly sees all of that. He just sees three people who aren't worshipping him.
Or. Weren't worshipping him. They certainly worshipped him that night. And now he wants more of it, much to the Gorgon hybrid's amusement. Let's see if they can work out a deal...
