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inaris-mage-of-storms · 11 months

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}{ The Canary in the Gold Mine }{ AO3 }{ next part }{

}{ Empires AU }{ elf Scott, canary Jimmy, and goblin Fwhip }{ content warning: imprisonment, suicidal thoughts }{

The problem with living life free as a bird was that sometimes a bird winds up caged.

Scott had found himself in lots of metaphorical cages over the years. Lost in ruins and temples with a few more turns than he expected, tied up in relationships that didn't last, caught between an alley wall and the anger of a misjudged mark, even a jail cell or two. Sticky situations were plentiful for a man with sticky fingers.

The problem with this particular cage was that it wasn't metaphorical.

The very real and very solid metal cage Scott found himself in now dangled over an open cavern at the edge of a goblin city deep underground. Scott didn't mind being underground for long periods of time – his crystalline magic meant he was just as comfortable in the depths of a cave as he was in an open field – but he very much minded not having a choice in the matter. It had been five days now since the elf had tried and failed to escape some old goblin ruins with a gold statuette in hand. He'd almost gotten away, but the blizzard that blew in while he was underground blocked off his exit and allowed his pursuers to catch up with him before he could find an alternate route.

Scott leaned against the bars and scowled in the direction of the buildings that lined the edge of the cavern. One of them contained his guard, a rude man who had taken great pleasure in throwing Scott into the cage and greater pleasure in rummaging through his confiscated belongings. He'd been stripped of everything he had on him except his pants and shirt. His bag, his jewelry, even his colorful coat and hat were gone. Scott's iridescent dagger now hung from the goblin's belt, and the contents of his coinpurse had no doubt been added to the guard's own.

"It took me weeks to get that just the way I wanted it," Scott muttered to himself, more upset about losing the dagger than the coins. Still, it wouldn't be that difficult to replace, having been made from crystals he produced himself. He'd hoped to make another one to pick the lock with, but he needed something solid, preferably a rock or mineral, to act as a core for his magic to crystallize around. For a cage hanging from the ceiling of a rocky cave, his prison was disappointingly clean of debris without even the most minuscule of pebbles to be found.

Scott put a hand over his growling stomach, hoping the guard would extend the mechanical bridge over to him soon to bring food and water. He'd been fed once on day three of his imprisonment, and hoped that didn't mean he had to wait until day six for his next meal. By now he was even kind of looking forward to the meager, questionable serving of pork he'd been reluctant to eat the last time.

After a few more hours of staring at the ceiling and contemplating all the ways he could escape the cavern if he could only get the door open, the creaking and groaning of pulleys and pistons caught Scott's attention. The bridge was in motion, and when it came to a stop just outside the bars of the cage, the guard crossed over to him and unlocked a smaller door near the bottom of the bars. He slid in a fresh bucket of water and a wooden plate with a single pork chop and a piece of bread, while another guard stood across the way and aimed a crossbow in case Scott tried to make a run for it. Scott tried not to show his eagerness in reaching for the food, only the slightest twitch of an ear betraying his interest.

"How long exactly do you plan on keeping me here?" he asked, managing to sound disdainful instead of desperate. The fact he was being given food and water at all meant, he hoped, that he wouldn't just be left in the cage to rot.

The guard shrugged. "Until the king has time to deal with you. And who knows when that'll be. He's a busy man." He gave Scott a nasty grin. "I wouldn't be so eager for your audience with King Fwhip if I were you. The punishment for theft is usually death."

"Seems a bit excessive for a single little statue," said Scott. The guard only smirked and returned to the guardhouse with his companion, retracting the bridge behind them.

Scott ate slowly, hoping to make his meager meal last. He set aside the bread for later, leaned his head back on the bars, and closed his eyes. He listened to the sounds of life coming from the city and the mines, full of goblins going about their business. Picks and hammers rang out, minecarts rattled, snorts and grunts filled the pig pens, and voices called back and forth in the marketplace. Occasional distant explosions sounded from somewhere deeper in the gold mines. Soft clicks and chirrups rose from the cave floor below his cage, evidence of the sculk that lined it. Once a shrieker called out, followed by distant nervous laughter after a beat of silence.

A brief flutter of wings cut through the soundscape, and Scott opened his eyes to see yellow. The brilliant feathers stood out against the darker, dimmer colors of the cave, and for a moment Scott thought he might have fallen asleep and dreamed the canary that perched on the door to the cage. The bird tilted its head, watching him quizzically, and didn't disappear when Scott blinked and rubbed the fatigue from his eyes.

"Hello there," he said softly. "What's a pretty thing like you doing in a depressing place like this, huh?" The canary chirped, and he smiled to hear birdsong again. Scott looked at his bread, contemplating, then broke off a piece and tossed it toward the edge. The canary eyed the distance between Scott and the bread, then hopped down to the cage floor and pecked at it.

Scott fed the canary a few more crumbs, keeping his movements slow and some distance between them so as not to scare off the little bird. It didn't take long for the canary to hop closer, peering up at Scott. He smiled and offered another small chunk of bread, setting it next to him, and after eating the morsel the canary hopped onto Scott's knee and chirped up at him.

He kept his hands still, unwilling to risk losing the stray sunbeam that graced his cage just yet. "Pretty bird," he cooed softly at it. "What a beautiful little bird you are." The canary rustled his feathers and tweeted at him again, and Scott laughed. "I'm glad you decided to come say hi. I hope you aren't trapped down here like I am."

The canary sat with him and sang, and for a little while the bars of the cage felt far less confining. Eventually the bird jumped down from his knee and fluttered away. Scott watched it leave, both grateful for the temporary distraction and a little bitter that it was probably the last birdsong he would be hearing for a while.

Two days later the canary returned, and Scott's heart leaped when he rolled over under his single thin blanket to see the flash of yellow. He curbed his excitement in time to sit up slowly instead of suddenly, still not wanting to frighten the canary.

"Aw, my sunbeam came back," he said happily, and the canary chirped. "That or I've started hallucinating after a week here. I think it's been a week, anyway." Scott had been trying to use the ebb and flow of the noises from the city to keep track of the days, but with no sun and nothing to do but sleep, he was beginning to struggle with the count.

He scraped a softer piece from the inside of what was left of his now very stale bread and presented the offering. The canary accepted it, then fluttered up to Scott's shoulder and nudged its head against his cheek before settled into the crook of his neck.

"Oh!" Scott kept his exclamation soft. "Decided you like me, huh?" Carefully, slowly, he reached up a finger and stroked the canary's breast feathers. The bird chirped happily, rustling its wings and leaning into the touch. Scott knew the warmth he felt on the feathers was probably from proximity to some lava stream or factory vent, especially given the time of year, but he pet his little canary and pretended the feathers were sun-warmed instead.

He sat and talked to the bird, regaling it with stories of his adventures and misadventures. The canary made an excellent audience, occasionally tilting its head or chirping at key points of the tale. Scott knew it was probably only responding to changes in his tone, but he smiled and pretended the canary knew exactly what he was saying and was enjoying the story.

The canary was still there when the guard brought Scott's food and water, and the guard scowled when he saw it. "Shoo, little pest," he said roughly. The canary stayed where it was and tweeted indignantly. Scott bit back a smile, not wanting to anger his only source of sustenance, but was grateful the goblin made no move to drive away his bird.

As soon as the guard was gone Scott pulled a bite off the fresh bread and offered it to the canary. "You probably don't mind the old stuff, but this is much better I'm sure." The canary accepted the first bite from his fingers, but when Scott offered a second one it pushed its head against his wrist instead.

"You don't want it?" asked Scott. The bird peeped once and pushed against Scott again. "You want me to eat it?" There was a twitter that Scott took to mean yes, and he obediently ate some of the bread before switching to the pork. The canary seemed satisfied, hopping down to perch on Scott's leg while he ate.

Scott lost track of the days entirely somewhere around the three week mark. As the weeks stretched into months without even a hint to when there might be a change in his situation, the elf could feel the isolation wearing him down. He couldn't remember the last time he'd stayed in one place for any length of time unless there was something sufficiently interesting to keep his attention. The inside of a cage in a dark corner of a cavern was anything but interesting. Scott paced every step of the small cage hundreds of times over. He slept, shouted, begged, sulked, and repeated the process all over again.

He asked the guard over and over how much longer he would be imprisoned, but if the goblin answered him at all it was only to say "King Fwhip will get to you when he gets to you, thief," or some variation thereof. Eventually Scott stopped asking, his hope waning and his dislike for the unseen goblin king growing. It was only his canary's frequent visits that kept him from contemplating drowning himself in his water bucket or looping the blanket around his neck. Sometimes the bird showed up several days in a row and sometimes it was gone for what must have been five, six, seven days, but it always returned, and every time it rekindled the smallest spark of his dying hope.

It was one of the times the canary was gone for longer that Scott found himself alternating between staring at how thin his wrists had gotten and how much wider the gap between the bars seemed. He knew he didn't have the strength left to pull off the acrobatics required to even have a chance at making it across the chasm he dangled over, but the longer he was imprisoned the less he cared about falling onto dripstone or triggering a shrieker. Assuming he survived the drop in the first place, the roar of a warden seemed like a mercy compared to what he was certain by now was eternal imprisonment.

He was laying on the floor and trying to decide if his head would fit between the bars when the canary returned, landing in front of his face and chirping in greeting. Scott managed a smile but didn't lift his head. "Hi Sunbeam," he greeted in a hoarse voice. "Missed you."

The canary tilted its head and chirped again, and Scott imagined he could hear concern in the lovely notes. "Your bread's over there, if you want it. Sorry, I don't quite feel like sitting up today." He closed his eyes, and the canary sang out more concern before nestling under Scott's chin.

"Pretty bird," he mumbled. "You smell like fresh air again today. Like flowers. Is it spring? Or maybe even summer." He sighed, and the canary chirped quietly. "I miss flowers."

He didn't open his eyes when he heard the bridge extending over from the guardhouse, or when he heard the gate rattle with the latest delivery. What did get him to raise his heavy eyelids was angry chattering from his canary, and he sat up when the bird fluttered away from Scott and toward the guard as he tried to leave. It flapped around his face, seeming to scold him. The guard scowled, making a swipe at it, but the canary danced out of his reach and landed in Scott's hands with more scolding chirps.

"One of these days I'm going to catch you and have a nice canary stew," spat the guard as he walked away. Scott imagined whatever the canary trilled out next wasn't anything suited for polite company should it be translated, and he smiled and pulled the bird close to his chest.

"He's a nasty one, isn't he?" he murmured to the canary. "I'm glad he's not my only company down here." The canary settled further into his hands, peeping happily, and Scott pressed a gentle kiss to its feathered head.

The canary sat with him a little longer before wriggling out of his hold, and Scott felt a pang of disappointment at how soon the bird was leaving him. "Already?" He tried not to pout. It wasn't fair to make the canary stay in a cage any longer than it wanted to just to alleviate his own loneliness.

"Don't stay away so long this time, yeah?" He swallowed against the lump in his throat. "I don't know how much more of this I can…" He laughed bitterly. "Look at me, staking my sanity on a bird."

The canary gave a few chirps Scott imagined sounded sorrowful before it took off. He watched it fly up and out of sight, then sighed and lay down again to dream of warm sunlight and wildflowers waving in the breeze. He was dreaming of birdsong when he began to wake up again, and realized the melody was continuing even as he opened his eyes and felt cold iron under him instead of soft grass.

"Sunbeam?" He sat up, not feeling as if he had slept very long, and was delighted but confused at the canary returning twice in one day.

He spotted a glimpse of red against the bright yellow, and his breath caught. "Is that a poppy?" he breathed. The canary chirped around its beakful of flower stem and hopped down to him, dropping the poppy on his knee. Scott picked it up and gazed at it reverently, tracing a finger over the thin petals.

"Thank you," he whispered, and imagined the canary looked very pleased with itself. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Except for you, of course," he added, and the canary's chirping laughter filled the cage until there was no room left for loneliness.

Some of Scott's water ration went toward keeping the poppy fresh as long as he could, and as far as he was concerned it was water well-spent. As the days passed, though, even that couldn't keep the petals from crumbling. The day after he accepted the blossom was a lost cause, the canary brought him another one, and he smiled. When that faded the bird brought another one, and another, replacing each poppy regularly. Scott treasured each poppy almost as much as he treasured the canary's visits. With a poppy in his hair and the canary against his cheek as he spun more stories, he could almost pretend he was exactly where he wanted to be. Most days the canary's feathers were warm from the sun, making the name Scott bestowed up on it even more fitting.

The entire time he had been imprisoned Scott's meals had never been regular, but the bucket of water was enough to last for about three days and it was never longer than that until his next delivery. It had been a while since Scott had thrown a fit and screamed obscenities toward the guardhouse, so when the fourth day without a meal came and went, he couldn't think of a reason why. When his canary came to see him on the sixth day, it landed on the edge of the empty bucket and chirped questioningly.

"Dunno," mumbled Scott in response from where he lay curled up on his blanket. "Drank the last of it three days or so ago. Maybe that's how they've decided to finally get rid of me." He paused to lick his dry lips, but it gave him no real relief. "Guess I should be glad my magic is from thermal crystals instead of water. It'll kill me slower." He made a face at the thought. "Maybe 'glad' is the wrong word."

The sounds that erupted from the canary were angry and agitated, and Scott could have sworn he saw one of the small clawed feet stomp in frustration. He heard the mechanical bridge start moving, and as the guard approached he managed to scramble to his knees so he could reach for the fresh water bucket as soon as it was set down. Scott was so focused on restraining himself from chugging it all at once that it took a moment to register the canary was still chirping angrily as it fluttered around the guard's head.

"That's quite enough out of you – ouch!" The guard was trying to walk away, but the canary had tangled its talons in a tuft of hair and yanked as it pecked at his head. "Rotten thing!" The guard swiped at the canary and made contact, backhanding the little bird hard against a bar of the cage. The canary landed on the cage floor, and the guard walked away and retracted the bridge behind him.

"Sunbeam!" Scott crawled over to the canary and gathered it in his hands. To his relief the canary's chest still rose and fell, and after a moment that must have been brief but seemed to Scott to drag on, its eyes opened and it peeped at him a few times. "Oh, thank goodness," breathed Scott, cradling his canary close to his chest. "Are you hurt?" The canary chirped reassuringly, hopping to its feet and bumping its head against Scott's chin.

It sat with Scott a while longer, nestling happily in his hands and singing just as strongly as ever, and only moved to leave when Scott began yawning. "Come back soon," whispered Scott, kissing the canary's head before opening his hands. When the bird returned two days later, Scott's next meal had been delivered by a different guard, and the canary inspected the pork and bread closely before settling on Scott's shoulder with a satisfied chirp.

Scott laughed. "What, did you have something to do with this?" he teased. "Run this place, do you?" The canary twittered, and Scott smiled before sighing. "Be nice if you did. Maybe you could put a word in with this goblin king I've heard so much about." He rolled his eyes. "He's a bastard is what he is," he muttered into his bread. "'He'll get to you when he gets to you' they keep telling me. Worst imprisonment ever. Zero out of ten for accommodations and service both, would not recommend."

The canary's chirps sounded apologetic, and Scott stroked its breast with a finger. "Aw, it's not your fault, pretty bird. I know you don't really run the place. You can fly anywhere you want and yet you keep coming down here just to see me. I'm grateful for that."

The weeks continued to pass, and other than the new guard, nothing changed. His canary visited frequently, still bringing him a fresh poppy whenever the old one faded. Then a day came when the canary brought him an orange oak leaf instead of a poppy, and chirped at Scott apologetically when he accepted the offering. "It's still beautiful," said Scott, rolling the stem between his fingers and watching the leaf spin as he did so. He was grateful for the marker of time; it must be autumn on the surface now. "Did I tell you yet about the time I - "

An explosion from the mines interrupted him; it sounded like the usual controlled blasts he was used to hearing, but this time much closer, and the cage swayed a little. Scott looked up, wondering just how close to the dripstone cavern the miners planned to get. Another blast sounded, rattling the cage and shaking dust and debris loose from the ceiling. The canary chirped and chattered angrily, then took flight and darted away from the cage.

More dust settled over the cage at the next explosion, and as Scott put a hand on the cage floor to steady himself as it swayed, his fingers brushed against a pebble. It was the only one he could see; the top of the cage had angled most of the falling debris away, but one was enough. With his heart pounding with hope for the first time in months, Scott picked up the little rock and cupped it between his hands.

"Come on, take," he muttered, feeling the heat between his palms as he tried to gather enough magic to crystallize. When he peeked at the pebble and saw the iridescent sheen of a thin crystal coating around it, he almost cried with joy. He kept going, coaxing the budding crystals into a thin, elongated shape. He wouldn't be able to manage anything as substantial as a weapon, but all he needed was something he could use as a lockpick. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the heat of the crystal and the effort of forcing it to grow so quickly with so little strength, but with the possibility of freedom within his grasp, he kept pushing.

The canary returned just as Scott deemed the small crystal to be sufficient for what he needed it to do, landing on the cage bars as Scott reached through to feel for the lock. "Look, Sunbeam, I found a pebble to crystallize," said Scott eagerly in response to the canary's questioning chirp. He slid the pick into the lock and rotated it, feeling for the pins. "I don't know yet how I'll make it across, but I – ouch!"

He almost dropped the pick, staring at the canary in shock. The canary pecked at his hand again, harder this time, and trilled at him sharply. "Stop that," hissed Scott. He tried again to pick the lock, but the canary hopped onto his hand and dug its talons in, pecking repeatedly and fluttering its wings. Scott gave up and tried to pull his hand back inside the cage to try again later, but the canary grabbed the pick in its talons and yanked it away from him. It dropped it over the edge into the chasm, then landed back inside the cage and sang Scott a series of agitated chirps.

"That was my only chance to get out," said Scott in despair, staring in the direction the lockpick had fallen. "I don't have any way to make another one. I don't...I don't have the strength left to make another one, even if I had another core." He'd had a glimpse of a way out of the hell he'd found himself in, and now it was gone. He sat back against the bars and drew up his knees, vision blurring, and buried his head in his arms.

The canary chirped, its scolds turning to sorrow, and fluttered over to Scott's knee. "Go away," said Scott in a muffled voice. The canary nestled against his hair and chirped again. "I said go away!" Scott lifted his head and glared at the canary through his tears. "I don't want to see you right now!" The canary seemed to flinch away from his sharp tone. It warbled sadly and flew away, leaving Scott to cry out his frustration.

Several meals passed without the canary's return; the third was barely eaten, and the fourth went untouched. The bridge rattled with what must be the delivery of the fifth, but Scott remained where he lay with his eyes closed and ignored the sound of the gate opening in favor of going back to sleep. Or he tried to; it must have been the door, not the gate, because hands grabbed his arm and jerked him roughly to his feet.

"Up you get, thief," said his guard, and a second goblin snapped manacles around his wrist while he blinked sleep out of his eyes. "Time for your audience with the king, now that he's back."

"Back?" echoed Scott groggily. "He hasn't...even been here?" If he'd had a little more strength he might have found it in him to be angry about having never been given that particular bit of information, but as it was he just stumbled along when the two guards marched him out of the cage and across the bridge. There was a flash of yellow somewhere near the ceiling, and Scott almost cried to see it. He cupped his hands and held them out as best he could, and the canary dove down to nestle into his hold with a series of chirps and tweets.

"Hi Sunbeam," Scott choked out. "I'm sorry I yelled at you." He lifted his hands, the chains between his manacles jangling with the movement, and the canary pressed itself against his cheek. "Will you stay with me?" he whispered. "It will be nice to not be alone when I learn how I'm going to die. Not that you have to stay for that part," he added when the canary trilled sadly. "I wouldn't ask that of you."

The sounds he'd spent so many months listening to were so much louder as he was led into the city proper, and his ears twitched as he tried to hear everything at once. Curious goblins stared as they went by, but Scott couldn't bring himself to care for more than a passing second about how disheveled and dirty he must be. His guards led him into an ornate building and stopped in front of a grand throne, forcing Scott to his knees as they knelt themselves, and after bowing his head for a brief moment Scott looked up at the man who held his fate.

Despite the grandiosity of the room, the handsome king sprawled across the throne was modestly dressed in what Scott recognized as a typical goblin miner's garb. Only a slightly finer weave of the red and gold tunic belted over the outfit and a simple gold circlet gave any indication of his status. The jewelry that adorned his fingers and ears were no more than any other goblin seemed to wear, and the only unique accessory was a large yellow feather on a leather tie around his neck. The color was familiar, and if it weren't for the size Scott might have thought the feather came from the wings of the canary nestled quietly in his hands.

"We come to present the prisoner to your highness King Fwhip," said his guard. "The charge is theft. He was captured this past winter in the western ruins, in possession of a statue of one of the Old Ones, found to have been taken from an altar in that place."

"Do you deny these charges, elf?" asked the king, staring at him with an unreadable look. Before Scott could answer, the king spotted the canary and sat up straight, raising an eyebrow. "Now that's an interesting friend you have there."

Remembering the previous guard's rough treatment of his little bird, Scott clutched the canary closer to his chest as fear flooded through him. "Don't hurt him," he pleaded. "Please don't hurt him. I'll accept whatever punishment you see fit, just please - "

King Fwhip laughed, and laughed hard. Scott was too exhausted and fearful to be able to tell if the sound held any malice or cruelty in it, and could only hope the canary would be able to fly away if the king ordered for it to be killed as retribution for a prisoner keeping a pet. The canary peeked out of Scott's hands and chirped in a tone reminiscent of its past scoldings but softer.

The king's chuckles died down, and he wiped a tear from his eye before holding out a hand. Scott stared as his canary slipped out of his hands and perched on the king's finger. "Hello there, my little gold nugget," crooned the king as the canary pressed against his cheek. "So this is why you didn't come say hi when I got back." He pressed a gentle kiss to the bird's head. "'Don't hurt him,' he says! As if I could even dream of hurting my greatest treasure."

"What?" said Scott in disbelief as the canary chirped happily at the king. Then in a blink, the canary changed forms. What Scott had taken for a very pretty bird, it turned out, was actually a very pretty man with golden hair, golden wings, and kind brown eyes. He sat perched in Fwhip's lap with an arm around the king's neck and gave Scott an apologetic glance. "...What."

The king settled back in his seat with an arm around the canary's waist and appraised Scott with an amused smirk. "Back to business. Do you deny the charge of theft that's been presented against you?"

Scott stared, taken aback by the revelation that his canary was neither a typical canary nor his, and couldn't find the wit or charm that had saved his skin on more than one occasion in the past. "No," he said simply. "I don't deny the charge."

"Then, as you don't deny that you stole the statue you were found in possession of - "

"A statue that we didn't even know existed and was recovered when he was captured," interrupted the canary, and grinned sheepishly when Fwhip gave him a sharp look.

" - as you don't deny the charges," continued the king, "you are hereby found guilty of theft of a sacred artifact from goblin lands. Now, your punishment." He pretended to ignore the pleading look the canary was giving him. "Is it true the statue was recovered?"

"Yes, your highness," said one of the guards. "It was taken from the elf upon his capture and has been stored safely in the royal vault."

"Good, good," said Fwhip. "Did he make any attempt to escape while he was imprisoned?"

"None, your highness," said the guard. Scott breathed in sharply and glanced at the canary, who was trying very hard to look as innocent as possible.

Fwhip's tail curled thoughtfully. "Well then! We take theft very, very seriously here. But the object was recovered, it's only your first offense in Gobland, you readily admitted to your crime, and you behaved yourself while imprisoned – and more importantly, going by the hole that's currently being stared into the side of my head, my Jimmy has taken a liking to you." He put a hand against the canary's face and pushed him back lightly, getting a grumble in return.

"I sentence you to five years imprisonment," continued Fwhip. "Minus the time already spent in the cage, you'll spend the rest of it as a worker in the gold mines. You'll be given three - " Jimmy whined at him, and he rolled his eyes. " - four days to rest and recover in your new quarters before you begin work."

Scott's head swam as he tried to process the goblin king's verdict. He had entered the throne room expecting death, or worse, to be thrown back into the damned cage. Five years was no small length of time, but he would take five years of hard work over even five weeks of endless confinement and boredom.

His – no, Jimmy – didn't seem quite as pleased with Scott's punishment as Scott was. "Aw, Fwhip," he pleaded, tilting his head and giving the king a wide-eyed look and a soft pout, "he's been down here since before the solstice! Can't he work the fields with me instead?"

"Absolutely not," said Fwhip. "If he's on the surface he'll just make a run for it the first chance he gets. And you'll let him, you big softy." He tapped Jimmy's nose, and his words were stern but the look in his eyes was fond. "There's a reason you're in charge of my farmers and not my guards."

"Rude," grumbled Jimmy, but he was almost smiling. "I would make an excellent lawman, thank you very much."

"Sure you would," said Fwhip sarcastically. Scott could have gagged at the soft look the two of them gave one another, and might have done if he hadn't been busy appreciating how well love enhanced both Fwhip's and Jimmy's already good-looking features. Fwhip gestured for Scott to be taken away, and as the guards obeyed, Jimmy pressed a kiss to Fwhip's cheek before following as Scott was taken to wherever he would be staying.

The guards led him into a room inside a barracks and unlocked his manacles, with firm instructions to remain there until someone came to collect him in a few days to begin his work. Jimmy remained in the room with him even as a key turned in the lock as the guards left, and if Scott hadn't already seen the window he might have been more concerned about that. It was small and barred, but there was enough room for a small bird to fly through easily.

"I hope you aren't angry that I didn't say anything," said Jimmy, and Scott turned from his examination of the room – not much larger than the cage, really, but there was a bed and a dresser and a chair – to see the canary wringing his hands anxiously. "It's just that, well, the last time I showed myself to a prisoner they just got angry that I wouldn't steal the keys and let them out or anything like that."

"You were pretty adamant about not letting me pick the lock," said Scott. "Was it because you knew it would make my sentence worse?" He sat on the edge of the bed; he knew he had surely been on more comfortable surfaces than the thin straw-stuffed mattress, but after almost a year on an iron floor, it was the softest thing he had ever felt.

"I mean, sort of." Jimmy sat on the wooden chair, running fingers through his hair. "That and I could see how weak you were. I didn't want you to fall to your death or anything. But also…" His wings rustled and he tilted his head. "I mean, I like you, I really do. But you're still a prisoner, and even though I'm not a goblin, as long as I live in Gobland then Fwhip is still my king, you know?" He shrugged. "And more importantly, he's my...my partner."

The ends of Jimmy's ears were red, and Scott wondered if the relationship was new or if the canary simply had a modest nature. "How long have you two been together?" he asked.

"Oh, gosh." Jimmy scratched the back of his head. "I can't even remember. Must be six, seven harvests at least." Modest, then. Scott bit back a smirk and the urge to tease him; he never was able to resist a man who blushed easily.

Jimmy stood and stepped toward the window before turning back to Scott. "I'll let you get some rest. They should be bringing you some food soon, and starting tomorrow it'll be twice a day. If not, let me know and I'll take care of it." He grinned, and Scott smiled back. "We're pretty busy on the surface this time of year so I don't know how often I can come see you for a while, but I'll check on you when I can."

Scott nodded. "Thank you," he said, and his throat felt thick. "For...for everything. You didn't have any reason to, but you saved my life."

Jimmy smiled. "I got curious, and you turned out to be a good person," he said. "And you tell good stories. Besides, I doubt Fwhip would have actually had you killed over a single statue. He's too good of a man for that."

Scott shook his head. "I don't mean just the sentencing," he said softly. "Being locked up like that, with little idea how long it had been and no idea how much longer it would be?" He shuddered. "Even with your visits I almost did something stupid more than once. Without them…"

A sorrowful chirp from Jimmy's throat startled him, and he smiled at the embarrassed look on the canary's face. "Can I...is it okay if I hug you?" asked Jimmy.

Scott blinked. "I – sure?" He gave Jimmy a sly look. "If it won't get me killed, anyway. Pretty sure fooling around with a king's lover is a faster ticket to the gallows than any theft," he teased.

As he'd predicted, Jimmy turned red, and Scott laughed. "It's just a hug!" exclaimed Jimmy. "You...oh, you're going to be an absolute menace, aren't you?"

"I certainly try," said Scott cheerily.

Jimmy wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace, and if he'd been a little less exhausted from everything Scott might have been embarrassed at how easily the simple touch brought tears to his eyes. He returned the hug and relaxed into Jimmy's hold when Jimmy folded his wings around them both. He didn't even realize he'd closed his eyes until Jimmy shifted and startled him out of the light doze he'd fallen into.

"Get some sleep," said Jimmy gently. He stepped away from Scott, changed back into a bird, and flew out of the small window. Scott stretched out on the straw mattress and fell asleep. When a knock on the door and the smell of stew roused him, a pressed poppy lay on the windowsill, and he smiled. Five years was a long time to spend working a gold mine, but he had a feeling the time was going to fly by.

}{ next part }{

#i spent a few nights with no electricity and no running water during this month's debacle #to distract myself from the misery of a humid Oklahoma night with no air con I told myself a bedtime story #enjoy :D #empiresshipping #flower husbands #fwhimmy #imprisonment cw #suicidal thoughts cw #file: storm writes things #canary in the gold mine au

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dontmeantobepoliticalbut · 1 year

Text

State Sen. Nathan Dahm (R-OK) has penned several bills loosening gun restrictions, including the nation's first anti-red flag law. He thinks these bills protect the Second Amendment and that they make us safer. We think it's probably one or the other.

Transcript Below:

State Sen. Nathan Dahm: "I'm a strong proponent of the Second Amendment."

Jon Stewart: "Uh-huh."

ND: "I believe that the right to bear arms shall not be infringed. That's the one right that's listed in the Constitution that uses that very specific affirmative language. You know, 'Shall not be infringed.'"

JS: "Oh, it's also the one, right, that also uses the phrase, 'well-regulated.'"

ND: "Correct. When it's talking about the militia and the state."

JS: "By the way, just for clarity's sake —"

ND: "Yeah."

JS: "— I'm not against the Second Amendment. I'm not against — I don't want to ban guns. But you're saying more guns make us more safe."

ND: "Yes."

JS: "So, when? We got 400 million guns in the country. We had an increase and gun deaths went up. So when exactly does this curve hit that takes it down? Would a billion guns do it?"

ND: "Let's just run those numbers. You know 400 million, 50,000..."

JS: "Uh-huh."

ND: "You're talking about a — less than a fraction of not even a percent, of 100th of a percent."

JS: "But it goes up, not down. So, your argument is backwards."

ND: "But if you want— ok, so — so let's — let's come up with a solution, ok? So, one of the issues, a contributing factor, again, I — I believe that it's the individual that is the problem."

JS: "So, your solution to that is to 'give them more guns?'"

ND: "So, I'm saying, because people are the problem, we need to look at the problems that those few people are facing and how do we address it versus —"

JS: "But, you've removed the ability for the state to do that."

ND: "No, because you — because you're —"

JS: "If you don't have background checks —"

ND: "Mmm-hmm."

JS: "— and you don't have registration and permitting, how do you know who has a problem in terms of the people who you're giving a gun to?"

ND: "Do you want to talk about the background checks first or do you want to talk about solutions first?"

JS: "I want to talk about, what you're doing is you're bringing chaos to order."

ND: "That's your subjective opinion, that it's bringing chaos to order."

JS: "It's not my subjective opinion."

ND: "It is."

JS: "We have 50,000 gun deaths. That's not a subjective opinion. That's dead people. Let me — let me back up for a second. In every other place in your life, you want to bring order. But guns are the outlier for you. So, let's start with immigration. You want registration, maybe a wall, maybe not a wall. Why do you want that?"

ND: "Well, one of the reasons is because of the fentanyl crisis."

JS: "Right, you —"

ND: "I mean, ok, but —"

JS: "— and you don't know when it's coming across. So what do you do —"

ND: "But the fentanyl crisis is twice what the gun death crisis is."

JS: "Ok, so until the gun crisis gets to the fentanyl level —"

ND: "Not until it —"

JS: "— you don't want to bring order?"

ND: "No, not until it. But —"

JS: "But do you see my point?"

ND: "— if we're going to talk about protecting lives—"

JS: "Uh huh, yes..."

ND: "— that's a larger issue in America than guns is. If we're talking about individual lives —"

JS: "Yes..."

ND: "— of ways they can be protected, loss of life in America, there's loss of life through fentanyl, there's loss of life through obesity. The obesity crisis in America —"

JS: "Mmm-hmm."

ND: "— costs six times the number of lives as guns and so —"

JS: "Right, and you're the guy saying, 'You know what would help this? Ice cream.'"

ND: *chuckles* "No. So, you know what would help the problem that we're facing with firearms?"

JS: "What?"

ND: "The fatherlessness crisis that we have in America. If you look at the statistics —"

JS: "Right. Yeah, they're dying from gun deaths."

ND: "80% of school shooters —"

JS: "Yeah, uh-huh..."

ND: "— either came from a broken or fatherless home."

JS: "So you would say no guns for fatherless homes?"

ND: "No, that's not what I would say."

JS: "Oh..."

ND: "I would say that fathers need to be more engaged."

JS: "Great. So let's — let's put more —"

ND: "— crime with a firearm if they don't have a father in the home."

JS: "— let's put more resources into areas that are poverty stricken. All for it."

ND: "And into fatherlessness, and that's something we're doing —"

JS: "But why with guns are you against bringing order?"

ND: "I'm not against bringing order."

JS: "You are! You're also making it less safe for cops and for people. When the police go to a domestic call, it's the most dangerous call they can go on."

ND: "Mmm-hmm."

JS: "In your world, if they knew that there were firearms in the house, that's a safer call. Is that what you're saying?"

ND: "No, because police —"

JS: "Because why?"

ND: "— because police treat every situation as a potential risk."

JS: "But more guns make us safer? So why don't — when the police go to a house filled with guns — why don't they breathe a sigh of relief knowing that this Second Amendment, that shall not be infringed, is being exercised so fruitfully in this home?"

ND: "Are you familiar with a 39-year-old woman in New Jersey?"

JS: "I'm familiar with a ton of anecdotes."

ND: "That — that —yeah..."

JS: "I'm asking you a simple question."

ND: "This is not an anecdote Jon."

JS: "When the police go to a house —"

ND: "This actually happened. She had a restraining order on her ex-boyfriend."

JS: "I can run through —"

ND: "I know."

JS: "— hundreds and hundreds of examples of women killed by their domestic partners by guns that were not taken away through the lessening of red-flag laws. You're pivoting to anecdotes."

ND: "But the knives — no, this is not anecdotes."

JS: "What the police say is, 'If we had fun registration, if we are able to track purchases, if we are — they have a technology — that every bullet will be stamped with an individual, like a fingerprint, if we had an ATF that wasn't defunded, we would be able to enforce gun laws more effectively, and we would be able to solve gun crimes more effectively.' You're against all of that?"

ND: "Because the person is the threat, not the firearm, not the knife."

JS: "I get it. Great —"

ND: "The — the person, the individual is the one who is the concern here."

JS: "Great. But you don't want anything that could help law enforcement or society determine whether or not a person is a good guy with a gun or a bad guy with a gun."

ND: "Most, even law enforcement —"

JS: "That registry would allow you to have much more effective background checks."

ND: "Mmm-hmm."

JS: "So, I don't understand why you won't just admit that you are making it harder for police to manage the streets by allowing all of theses guns to go out without permits, without checks, and without background stuff. Why is that hard — why can't you just stand by that?"

ND: "Because that's not what I'm doing. I'm defending the individuals right to keep and bear arms."

JS: "That's a different argument."

ND: "Ok, but —"

JS: "You may do — here — here's — here's what I'm saying..."

ND: "Mmm-hmm."

JS: "You want to say, 'I'm a Second Amendment purist, and I'm making it safer.' You're not. You're making it more chaotic, and that's not a matter of opinion, that's the truth."

ND: "That is a matter of opinion, Jon."

JS: "But why take away their tools?"

ND: "Because certain of their tools that they're using would be infringements upon the people's right to keep and bear arms upon their constitutional rights, upon their due process and upon other things."

JS: "So, you're saying that registering is an infringement?"

ND: "Yes."

JS: "Ok, is voting a right?"

ND: "It's a right for citizens, yes."

JS: "Do you have to do anything to do it?"

ND: "Yes."

JS: "What do you have to do?"

ND: "It depends on the state."

JS: "What do you have to do?"

ND: "Sometimes you have to — you have to be at least 18-years-old."

JS: "What do you have to do?"

ND: "And in some places, you have to have a government issued ID."

JS: "What do you have to — you have to —?"

ND: "You have to be on the voter rolls?"

JS: "Register. You have to register."

ND: "Mmm-hmm."

JS: "So, you have to register to have a right. Is that an infringement?"

ND: "Does the right to voting [amendment] say, 'shall not be infringed?'"

JS: "Oh, so this is just a semantic argument now?"

ND: "No, it's not."

JS: "You believe voting rights can be infringed because it doesn't say specifically, 'shall not be infringed?'"

ND: "Is it an infringement upon a 17-year-old's right to vote since they don't have that right to vote?"

JS: "No."

ND: "Oh, it's not an infringement on them?"

JS: "No. Absolutely not."

ND: "Why not?"

JS: "You're the — because, you're the one making the argument not me. I'm saying even rights have responsibilities and that within those responsibilities—"

ND: "Responsibilities, yes—"

JS: "— are responsibilities and order. Otherwise, it's chaotic. I'll go you one further. You want to ban drag show readings to children. Why?"

ND: "To minors, yes."

JS: "Why? What are you protecting?"

ND: "Why can we prohibit children from voting, those under 18 from voting? But also that —"

JS: "Why are you banning — is — is that free speech? Are you infringing on that performer's free speech?"

ND: "They can continue to exercise their free speech, just not in front of a child."

JS: "Why?"

ND: "Because the government does have a responsibility to protect —"

JS: *puts hand to ear* "I'm sorry?"

ND: "The government does have a responsibility in certain instances to protect children."

JS: "What's the leading cause of death amongst children in this country? And I'm going to give you a hint, it's not drag show readings to children."

ND: "Correct, yes."

JS: "So, what is it?"

ND: "I'm presuming you're going to say it's firearms."

JS: "No, I'm not 'Going to say it,' like it's an opinion. That's what it is. It's firearms. More than cancer, more than car accidents, and what you're telling me is, you don't mind infringing free speech to protect children from this amorphous thing that you think of. But when it comes to children that have died, you don't give a flying fuck to stop that, because that 'shall not be infringed.' That is hypocrisy at it's highest order."

Watch the Episode in full HERE.

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