After the council meeting, repercussions.
Walks in late with Starbucks... [The Menace, the GateKeeper returns] Sorry for the delay, the next chapter drops next week. mal: blame BabaTunji YouTube Playlist Spotify Playlist
-:- Erik -:- Accompaniment: Do You? By Troyboi [Day of Council Meeting] He can’t stop touching his arms. It’s better than messing with his face. Every time he sees the whiteness, the lack of pigment—it makes him feel wrong. Something has happened to him and no one says anything. They stare of course, even T’Challa. When they salute him there’s an added reverence that wasn’t there before. But no one seems to think it’s bad. People called them ‘blessed marks.’ Erik is not convinced. There are a couple skin diseases and even a genetic condition that does something similar to melanin in the skin but he can’t focus on finding more information because he has to give a public address after the meeting. No one died or was seriously hurt during the panic from yesterday, but that wasn’t stopping people from overreacting. Online, certain groups were talking all kinds of recklessness. The analytics his group over in the division are sending him are all over the place and leaning heavily into a deep traditional sentiment. Erik makes a statement, of course. His public statement focuses on the important parts and it’s not the curse or the omens that every media personality with a following was replaying over and over. It’s simple and broadcast right before the council's official statement. He made a promise to Bast, she felt impatient, and he would deliver. The council’s statement doesn’t mention anything about ‘impropriety’ and neither does his. But local news feeds are all over it. Speculating the cause of the omens to be everything from his foreign birth to T’Chaka’s actions in the past. Some people are even claiming it meant T’Challa should be king again. Apparently there was a lot of symbolic fodder for people to construe into hits this way or that way. He isn’t about to waste time giving attention to any of it. Then there was that joke of a council meeting. Erik can picture T’Challa telling them in private how Erik raped him; can picture their response just off the pure disdain he’d seen on E’Nena’s and Rajvahi’s faces. They were ready to take his crown that morning, would have done it, if T’Challa hadn’t tried to kill him, if Sampani hadn’t spoken on his behalf. He’s not used to surviving by anyone’s actions but his ow n. After this latest vision and the council meeting he can admit he fucked up. The wedding night was a severe miscalculation and the response from the council and their goddess proves it. Wakanda didn’t like rape. They really didn’t like it when you were married or when it happened to their precious prince. That alone could have lost him his throne before he even got started. If T’Challa had reported him instead of retaliating he would have been dethroned post haste, no questions asked. But T’Challa had retaliated, he had packed weapons for their little honeymoon, there had been poisonous wine stocked specifically to kill him. If that didn’t count as pre-meditated murder Erik didn’t know what would. So, because T’Challa planned to kill him, Erik wouldn’t lose his kingship. He’s never been so glad someone tried to kill him. Unfortunately for him, things have changed since this dramatic reveal. Before this little intervention he had been in talks with Yetunde and E’Nena. He knows E’Nena won't give him the time of day after this, not with the way she had been looking during the meeting. Maybe he should have acted more remorseful? No, he knew the game was up once they started talking about him being “improper.“ Sampani at least seemed to be on his side. Yetunde didn’t seem to hate his guts just yet. About Rajvahi he wasn’t sure, she had seemed pretty fucking unhappy. Since the statement was aired, he’s been fielding questions and even more insistent requests for an audience with him or to invite him to some family’s dinner or anniversary event. On one hand he's glad many of Wakanda's finest aren't summarily snubbing him, unfortunately he now has to take the socialite circus somewhat seriously. He needed more allies, especially with most of the council hating his guts. With the way things were going, he needed to move up his timetable and maybe reach out to the Jabari sooner. By the time he’s any sort of satisfied with the state of his formal correspondence it’s late evening. Despite not sleeping the night before, he’s more wired than tired. He checks the local news on his way back to the king’s suite. T’Challa released his own statement. It’s gotten more views and attention than Erik’s official release, a cute reminder as to who Wakandans trusted, and how much influence T’Challa had. T’Challa barely spoke after the council called him back in; he seems to have found his words for this statement. Erik listens carefully. T'Challa spends a lot of time pandering to the Wakandan public, even speaking the specific regional dialects of the tribes during his statement. It's very well done PR. It doesn't throw Erik under the bus and in fact it lifts Erik up as some sort of *champion* for Bast. He's not expecting that angle at all, especially not coming from T'Challa. Not now that the council and a few others knew the whole truth. Back in the throne room, he had been sure T’Challa would ask for a divorce, at the very least. Erik has no illusions that if T’Challa had insisted, they would be separated right now, and everyone would know just what he’d done. That would have been bad for his image, worse for his politics. It wouldn’t have stopped him, he won’t let anything stop him, but it might have slowed him down and definitely would have made things difficult. The only reason Erik can think of for T’Challa toeing the line is some mystical motivation from the vision they both shared and him not wanting people to know he’d tried to kill Erik. Overall T’Challa’s statement is about reassuring the Wakandan public. It’s the sort of damage control that makes T’Challa look good, especially if the Wakandan public ate it up—which they were. The views and quotes were multiplying by the second. Erik’s not sure whether to be pleased or annoyed. Reassuring the public is good for his continued reign, what wasn’t good is that it didn’t come directly from him. He watches T’Challa’s statement several times before he switches to something else. He's made more appointments and tentative meetings than he can probably attend in the next 3 weeks. He doesn’t remember when he falls asleep. The next time he opens his eyes, it’s 2:16 am and he’s alone. He hadn’t expected T’Challa to come back tonight. All he had wanted was a taste. He wanted; he took. After a lifetime of hardship, scarcity, and restraint, he was finally on top, no one could tell him no. It had felt so fucking good. But he’s paying for it now and would be paying interest for a while. One taste, one night. Enough to threaten his kingship and everything he’s worked for. He’s angry. Not about T’Challa but about Wakanda. It's an old anger. What would it have been like to grow up here? To have people who genuinely gave a fuck about shit like marital rape? A goddess who personally spanked him for treating her prince badly. Their own little slice of heaven. Fuck the world. This is what divine intervention looked like. Not for anything important. Not for all the atrocities happening one country over or anywhere else in the world. But because Erik stuck his dick where he shouldn’t. It’s just so fucking—Wakandan. Well, he got the message loud and clear. He wouldn’t be sticking his dick in non-consenting Wakandan citizens anymore. But if he wanted to start a war, Bast seemed right on board. He doesn’t think the council, with the exception of Sampani, realizes just what their goddess is asking. W’Kabi had called it impossible. But it isn’t. It really isn’t. Not for him. Even if the council made it harder, even if they hated his guts. Their goddess wanted something big and he would deliver. He sends a message to T’Challa impulsively, “Calling in that spar. Meet me in our rooms at 1700. -:- Accompaniment: Leave It by UZ, Rome Fortune [Day after Council Meeting] Erik doesn’t feel better when the next day rolls around, if anything he feels worse. He made some headway with his immediate projects and the first wave of War Dogs would be deployed within the week. Yet he feels like a door has been shut in his face after the festival fiasco and that faux trial. Before it had seemed like a done deal to get the Mining Tribe to sign off on his newest policies or redirect some of the Merchant Tribe’s good will to his humanitarian efforts. Now he had not one, but three separate messages from the members of the Elders Council basically telling him: 1. To fuck himself. 2. No, to anything they’d discussed informally. He’s invested time and energy trying to appeal to Wakandan sensibilities, trying to schmooze and coerce the stubborn council to see things his way and it didn’t seem to matter. They aren’t afraid of him. They didn’t want to listen to him. If not for his convenient new skin condition and T'Challa not lying out his ass about that trippy little vision, they would be fine with T’Challa taking his place. It’s so fucking infuriating. He’s tired of being patient, but after reading the messages, and the way public opinion keeps bending he feels like he has no choice. He needs to play the long game, he can only affect certain things and drag Wakanda’s leaders kicking and screaming so far. At least the first wave outside of Wakanda has already started, if he was left to twiddling his thumbs and waiting for Wakanda’s finest to give a fuck he wouldn’t be so patient. Now what he was waiting for now was the right moment to escalate things. He waits impatiently for T’Challa to get back to the king’s wing. Before when he’d asked for a sparring partner he’d thought of it as an opportunity to get the lowdown on T’Challa’s fighting style in preparation for any future conflict between them. That and to test his new abilities in relative privacy. Now, he’s looking less for a spar and more for a beat-down. He hears T’Challa before he sees him and it takes special patience not to rush them both out. T’Challa barely spares Erik a glance before he disappears into the bathroom. When he emerges a good thirty minutes later, he’s wearing something like what the War Dogs he’s watched train wear. Erik can’t even appreciate the way the fabric accents T’Challa’s ass. That’s how irritated he is. “Took your sweet time there, let’s go.” He’s on his feet and headed out before the words are fully out his mouth. He knows where T’Challa’s been. Today and the other nights. He is allowing that little tryst for now. As long as River Tribe’s Champion came when he called, he didn’t care how many times T’Challa sought her out. She wouldn’t be in the country much longer anyway following this first deployment. Her superiors and his digging has reassured him where her priorities lie but if a little accident happened when no one was looking, who’s to say? T’Challa trails him out and Erik starts to feel slightly better. He called the shots here, not anyone else. Once they’re out of the king’s wing, some Dora Milaje fall in beside them and Erik allows it. There's been a lot of grumbling from the General and the Dora directly below her about his switching up the roster, he doesn't care. For now he'll let them pretend to be loyal little guard dogs. But he doesn't trust them and he's not going to pretend otherwise. Erik leads them to a training ground he visited once before with W’Kabi. It's not close to the Dora Barracks or the 'normal' place for the Black Panther to spar. He likes it for that reason, and the oval shape of the huge room came with some unusual training capabilities. Currently his favorite is the anti gravity setting, it's very good for training his new reflexes. The Dora form a loose circle on the edges of the room watching the both of them creepily as they always do. Erik stretches out of habit, and watches T’Challa do the same, the older man works down from his arms to his legs. T’Challa is very flexible. It's something he noticed when he watched some grainy footage of him beating the shit out of Barnes and during… the wedding night. Compared to the most popular martial styles right now in Wakanda, T’Challa had used a more dynamic moveset when he was trying to kill Barnes. His lunges were more reckless, his attacks less fluid. Probably due to the herb’s enhancements. In contrast during their fight at the waterfall, and without the herb, he’d gone for a more conservative style, guarding his body more and taking less risks. Their spar begins without preamble. He waits for T’Challa to engage first. When he doesn’t he closes the space between them. T’Challa evades his first hit but not his second, redirecting Erik’s momentum in a sharp maneuver that would have disoriented him before. Now, he’s able to flow into a low sweep. T’Challa hadn’t stayed still long enough to follow his first attack so Erik's sweep misses, Erik isn't using his full speed. For now It's just a game. Erik lunges again, T’Challa darts right. He follows the motion and tags the man in the arm. T’Challa’s knee swipes his side, before darting away. It goes on like that for a while, back and forth. Often T’Challa chooses to pull away instead of landing a sure hit. Erik in turn doesn’t go all out, focused on dodging and tagging T’Challa when he can. The game turns when T’Challa isn’t able to pull away fast enough allowing Erik to get a very firm grip on him. They go to ground, Erik moving to subdue, T’Challa moving to escape. Erik is still playing around, more groping than actual wrestling. That earns him a painful hit in his right eye before T’Challa is able to wriggle away completely. The pain is temporary, Erik’s playful manner dissolves with it. T’Challa is breathing hard, they’ve been going at it for more than twenty minutes. Erik doesn’t feel tired at all. He tests his speed first. T’Challa is expecting it, but he can’t dodge in time. Breaking past T’Challa’s loosened guard is like watching something in slow motion. He has to concentrate a bit to maintain it but once he does it's like flipping a switch. Before he was moving and reacting at similar speed, now he’s just—faster. He can feel the rising panic from T'Challa when they go to ground a second time. Erik isn’t playing around anymore, and he repays the hit to his eye by slamming T’Challa in the ribs. T’Challa is coughing when they roll apart. He tagged Erik in the chest, but Erik barely felt it. There’s no break before he rushes T’Challa again. Erik takes another hit and returns the favor twice over. He’s been avoiding sensitive points this whole time, and he has to remind himself it’s just a spar when instinct has him moving for T’Challa’s lower back and the nerves in the spine. He redirects those fatal hits to the man’s thigh right above the knee instead and moves away before T’Challa can retaliate. He forces himself to stand. Step back. T’Challa is still on the ground. He should end this now. Any further and T’Challa would definitely break something, or rather Erik would be the one doing the breaking. T’Challa gets up. Erik can hear the Dora Milaje’s hearts beating fast, from the edge of his awareness. Did they think Erik would kill T’Challa? In his dreams perhaps. Erik tests his strength second. This time when he engages, he doesn’t take them to the ground. He circles T’Challa, targeting padded regions. Going for painful hits in lieu of permanent damage. T’Challa dodges a few but most hits connect. He knows it hurts, he wants it to hurt. After the force of one of his hits sends T’Challa to his knees, he stops again. Waits for T’Challa to call it. T’Challa gets up, Erik circles him again. After he’s done, there will be all sorts of bruises decorating T’Challa’s arms, his thighs, not his face though Erik is careful. It doesn’t feel like enough. He’s been focused on work all day. Salvaging what he can and making plans for the rest. T’Challa is the reason for his current setback, the reason he almost lost his throne. Technicalities and cowardly shit. So what if Erik raped him? T'Challa didn't fucking matter and Erik wishes he'd tossed the man over the waterfall, he wishes he put his blades in T’Challa’s ribcage, wished he choked him to death when he had the chance. It’s not enough to make him hurt. Every time T’Challa stands up, every time he takes a hit he doesn’t have to, it feels like a taunt. What was he trying to prove? The more Erik thinks about it the angrier he gets. He’s past words, he wants to do more than hit. He catches himself before he can slam an elbow into T’Challa’s shoulder. The force of the blow would do more than dislocate something. Stepping back now, feeling as angry as he is, it’s hard. He watches T’Challa struggle to move. Erik says, “Did you know, your daddy kept tabs on me?” T’Challa is still half on the floor, slower to react from the pain. “What are you talking about?” His voice is a breathy rasp. Erik’s angry expression melts into something like a smile. “Your daddy kept tabs on me, he assigned War Dogs to watch me for years. There’s a whole hidden file in the Intel archives. You might have read it if you were King longer than—” “You’re lying.” T’Challa interrupts Erik’s taunt, he sounds so sure of himself. Of his daddy’s inability to do worse than kill his own brother and leave his nephew for dead. “You don’t have to believe me, go check for yourself.” T’Challa had told him and the council weeks ago, he didn’t even know Erik existed. So why was the man shocked now that his dear father kept even more stuff from him? Yeah it isn’t public knowledge but one thing Erik’s noticed about the way Wakanda did things, is that there was always a trail. T’Chaka could have kept these assignments off the books, hid records of Erik’s existence a little more but he hadn’t. Since the only person who would be able to access those records or have knowledge of what went down were him, the War Dogs he’d assigned themselves and the next king, which should have been and remained T’Challa. “It makes me wonder, y’know? Did he keep tabs on me because he felt bad for killing my dad and abandoning me? Or was it just so he knew where to look when he finally had the balls to get rid of me, too.” He picks his words to hurt and he’s not disappointed, the look on T’Challa’s face is worth it. He calls this ‘spar’ good, and heads off in the direction he came. Most of the Dora in the room follow. -:- Okoye -:- Accompaniment: I Am By Jorja Smith Okoye wakes up alone, a growing occurrence these last few weeks. More training, more funding and more say in all matters concerning national security meant W'Kabi spends nights away more frequently than he might have in the past. She doesn't mind the change as much as she might were certain other things different. A W'Kabi tired from work is much better company than one who was perpetually bored. Today she has only administrative tasks to do so she enjoys an extra hour in bed before she gets up for her morning meditation. News headlines for the day float over her head as she goes through the fridge stalling between fruit or something more filling for this first meal of the day. As expected, there's a huge focus on the events of the last day of the festival. It’s been nonstop for the last three days. Speculation runs rampant, and videos from all manner of attendees and angles have been released of what unfolded that evening. She's watched them many times, official and non-official videos of it, but it still shocks her each time. The Goddess be praised, what a day. She decides on a meal with fruit and looks through her messages and other correspondence once the dining table pulls out from its panel in the kitchen wall. Most of it is related to work but some are more personal. 'The newest initiates are a lost cause. Come drink with me this Sunday. I know you need it,' an invitation from Ayo reads. After some thought and with a half-smile she responds. 'You say that every batch. Same place?' She refrains from stating it's not that long ago when Ayo was one of those 'lost causes.' 'Of course. Don't bring your lesser half with you, please.' Ayo is joking but Okoye wonders on a week like this. 'Likewise.' She and Aneka didn't get on too well. She's not sure if it's because of the history between her and Ayo or Aneka's more... interesting views on Wakandan policy. Whatever it was, it made their acquaintanceship strained despite their mutual deep connections with Ayo. She eats her breakfast quickly to soothe her complaining stomach and then readies for the day. By the time she arrives at the Dora Milaje barracks it's well past 10. Okoye goes to watch the uninitiated recruits run through their drills. Together, they walk the perimeter of the training grounds, Ayo on her left and Aneka on her right. Thanks to the newest rotations the two with her have more time to observe and coach in lieu of active duty. Aneka takes to it better than Ayo. Occasionally a recruit will catch Okoye’s eye and she will make a note of them. The current batch is a mix of tribes and houses, as usually mostly Border and River Tribe. If things continue as they are, next year they will be mainly Border Tribe. “Did you see that message the Division posted in the new recruit bulletin board?” Ayo asks as they walk. The bulletin board was for recruits, newly initiated Dora and their trainers. Okoye didn’t normally check those forums unless prompted. “No… an official message from them? When was this? They’ve been very stingy with their actual reports lately.” She’s not yet making it an issue, but if this continues past the month, she will be paying the Division Head a visit. “It was a recruitment advertisement for the Division.” Aneka’s voice is cool but weighty, poised as it always was to argue. “It’s aimed for the new recruits. They’re not being subtle at all.” Ayo, this time after a warning, looked to her partner, Aneka. “Ah…” Okoye is neither shocked nor outraged. “They think just because—” “Aneka…” Ayo interrupts smoothly and Okoye shakes her head, stepping forward to greet the reason for Ayo’s caution. Abibatu, a retired Dora and esteemed trainer has obviously been looking for her. Ayo and Aneka pull back to allow the two to talk. "All these new recruits know how to do is complain. First the issue was with the lack of trainers and then it was favoritism. Now they have the nerve to complain about future placements—as if any of them have even been confirmed yet!" Abibatu's voice is filled with irritation. Okoye raises a brow, "Placements won't be decided for months, why the sudden concern?" She has her suspicions but allows Abibatu to present the story to her anyway. The older woman scoffs, contempt clear in her eyes. "With all the new changes to the usual postings by our fearless kumkani... It seems some of these young upstarts are having cold feet. I hear some even plan to refuse their assignments!" Okoye’s response is rote and dry, "The Dora Milaje have a responsibility to the Black Panther, if these new recruits cannot follow directives—" Abibatu just grows more indignant. "Who would want to guard empty courtyards and wings? The Dora are meant to guard the king, not twiddle their thumbs in outer palace locations!" Then, seeming to gather herself, the older woman draws closer speaking more quietly, "The longer this continues the more talk there will be. The Kingsguard are already wagging their tongues at us, telling tales and conspiracies where none exist. Okoye sighs but doesn't disagree. People had eyes and they could see the king did not honor the Dora or hold much regard for them. Many would certainly wonder why; some might even cast blame on the Dora and imply some sort of impropriety or wrong doing in their ranks to make the king so distant. While some might see the king's actions as one more indictment on his fitness to lead, more would simply take the opportunity to throw stones down a well. "It's not good for us to appear at odds with the king, whatever grievances we may have." Okoye is seeking a middle path. N'Jadaka's treatment and distance aside, the Dora Milaje were still a force to be reckoned with, an elite guard of some of Wakanda's most prominent daughters. If he strayed too far from tradition, he wouldn't escape unscathed. Tongues wagging and some reticence from newer recruits is only the beginning. "We are not at odds with him. He is at odds with us. He released half the seasoned trainers last month! He claimed the recruits were too few to maintain such large staff. He has no regard for the rigors of the Dora Milaje or the traditions that have established Dora as the king’s protectors.” As Abibatu complained, Okoye simply listens, occasionally nodding in greeting to people that passed by the office space. Truth be told she didn't mind there being less trainers but she knew the old guard would see it as a direct attack (which it was) and take it badly. "I will spend more time observing the classes and of course speak to our esteemed trainers.” Okoye promises when Abibatu finally pauses longer than a few moments for breath but the older woman is not satisfied. "Even if you reassure them it doesn't change the reality of this king. Did you see the statement he gave? Useless, this man was cursed by Bast in front of everyone and has the guts to show his face. Does he think Wakandans are fools?” Okoye knew who had coached N’Jadaka prior to his statement, small wonder people were dissatisfied. N’Jadaka’s bottom line was not the same as the kings before him, his priorities in all this were clear and it wasn’t overly focused on reassuring the Wakandan public. When Okoye offers no words of rebuke or support Abibatu continues, eyes and tone softening, "Oh but T'Challa…" Abibatu shakes her head. "T'Chaka raised a good son, a good king. Okoye, my heart lifted when I heard his statement." Okoye agrees silently. T’Challa’s statement did not disappoint. There was a continent of difference between T'Challa's heartfelt, experienced statement, acknowledging the various common concerns with nuance and grace, and N'Jadaka's brief to the point of disrespectful one. At a time where many Wakandans were wondering if Bast's blessings still held and what the omens from the festival meant, T'Challa's statement reassured citizens, affirming their faith and their Wakandan pride, while uplifting first responders and the celebrants who were in the temple when the omens occurred. “He has the Wakandan people in his heart.” Okoye finally says. Abibatu's eyes are shining, several emotions on her wizened features. "He has never made us doubt his care. T’Challa said what needed to be said." Later, Okoye is in the general changing rooms connected to the active duty barracks. She didn’t often come by but today she’d wanted to touch base with as many of the official and unofficial leaders within the Dora Milaje. A pulse check of sorts to see what she should address or be wary of. She’s intentionally being as nondescript as she can so as to better listen for the casual talk of her Dora. The talk spans all manner of things but it quickly rejoins the topic of discussion for all of Wakanda. Okoye picks out at least four distinct voices talking the most but can only put names to three of them from her sheltered position . “Of course, he won’t be dethroned, not after this, he has blessed marks.” “Everyone watched him be cursed, even the council confirmed it.” “Maybe he will stop acting so foolishly now. We Dora were the ones to respond first, not those useless guards.” “What attachment were you when it happened? I was in Llanga courts, bored out of my mind I can’t believe—” “Iman was one of the first responders, ask her. You know her team is the only one who even sees the king regularly now.” Some snickers follow after this is said and Okoye grimaces, suspecting where the conversation might turn. Previous kings always had favorites, N’Jadaka wasn’t an exception. “Besides the general you mean?” A voice she recognizes from amongst the new lieutenants speaks up. “Oh please, which of these small girls weren’t hoping to ‘climb up.’ You all are just jealous.” “What’s there to be jealous of?!” “Settle down… before we all get reprimanded.” “Yes, listen to Noori, ‘settle down before we all get reprimanded.’” Another voice parrots in a mocking manner. The topic changes and before long Okoye stops listening and heads back to her office. Ayo is waiting at the door when she arrives. She greets the woman before allowing them both into her office. “Has Aneka already left?” Okoye inquires. Ayo nods with a sigh, “She has an evening shift. How has your day been?” She walks towards the single tall window in the room, shuttered now to show an interactive scenery because of the hour. Okoye considers the question, fingers moving over a translucent keyboard, turning on the office’s main display before sitting. “My day has been… eventful.” There was much more chatter than usual floating through their ranks, anxieties she knew she couldn’t pacify. “That bad?” Ayo winces in sympathy and Okoye just shakes her head. Finding the right words to summarize her own feelings let alone her sisters in arms is beyond her at the moment. “What do you think about… all of it? This vision, the curse?” Ayo speaks a few minutes into the silence. “I don’t know. You weren’t there to see the council Ayo. They weren’t…” She stumbles over the word ‘focused.’ The contempt for the situation is expected, N’Jadaka deserved all of their contempt but the way the situation had been handled left much to be desired. “They barely questioned him, not after T’Challa confirmed the vision.” She doesn’t need to say who ‘him’ is. “We’ve never experienced something like this, small wonder they’re treading carefully.” Ayo is surprisingly charitable to the elders. Okoye is not so charitable. “They put the entire onus on T’Challa. You know he hasn’t been right since that night.” Granted she was no psychologist or expert but not separating someone from their rapist didn’t sound good in any world. Even if T’Challa himself seemed to be clinging to the position he had, it couldn’t be healthy. Okoye sealed the Dora’s report from T’Challa’s wedding night months ago and she regrets it sometimes. Like now. N’Jadaka deserved to face the fullest judgment of the law for what he did. Now if only that wouldn’t end in judgement for T’Challa as well. “Have you spent time with him?” Ayo asks and Okoye nods. “Some. We spent time together during the month leading up to the festival. Have you?” Ayo shakes her head. “You know how he is. When I’m on duty he doesn’t like to talk too much. When I ask for him after he’s ‘busy.’” Okoye defends T’Challa, “He was incredibly busy this last month, you know that.” “He’s avoiding me Okoye. Don’t cover for him.” Ayo doesn’t sound offended or hurt for which Okoye is grateful for. T’Challa needed understanding right now, not harsh words. “He will be less busy now, I’m sure he will come find you.” Okoye reassures Ayo to which she nods. T’Challa never forgot his friends. Okoye taps through her end of the day reports and final tasks, and in the corner of the display a revolving list of headlines for the week flicker past. One of the headlines has a picture of N’Jadaka, centered on his new blessed marks. That is what Ayo is looking at when she says, “I don’t believe he’s Bast chosen.” Ayo’s tone is filled with emotion. “The Goddess wouldn’t choose someone so vile.” Okoye wishes she shared that conviction. The Dora Milaje did not select their kings or queens. They did their duty, no matter the cost. “I prayed for Her to make him a better king.” Her admission elicits a long hard stare from Ayo. “A better king should replace him.” Ayo speaks vehemently. “If She didn’t place him there, he would be dead. You saw what She did.” Okoye isn’t twisting the truth. They all saw. N’Jadaka could have died but he didn’t. Bast spared him and sent him and T’Challa both a vision. That was Her response and She expected their obedience. “Whatever She wants from him, I hope it’s worth all of this.” Ayo kisses her teeth and Okoye changes the subject. -:- Zuri -:- Accompaniment: Easy by Son Lux -:- T'Challa doesn't look like he's slept. Zuri notes that first along with the faint marks of something that might be bruises on the sides of his neck. "My boy, it is good to see you," he says as goes to embrace T'Challa. T'Challa doesn't return the embrace, standing mostly still for the duration of the contact. "Zuri..." After a moment’s hesitation, T'Challa says: "The last time we spoke about my father—I made several assumptions that I realize now may have been premature." His expression is devoid of warmth. Zuri is taken aback, "What do you mean?" "You told me, no one ever contacted N'Jadaka once you abandoned him. You told me that my father buried N'Jobu's death and everything surrounding it—" T'Challa inhales. "So why is N'Jadaka telling me, my father kept tabs on him this entire time, Zuri?!" This question shakes Zuri, "T'Chaka… kept him under observation?" "There are records, Zuri. Sealed records, reports even!" Zuri tries to think this through, trying to piece this new revelation together with the picture he had of his friend all these years. "After that mission, I left the Division and entered the priesthood. I didn't know, and your father never told me." At T’Challa’s continued scepticism, Zuri continues less steadily, "T'Challa, your father must have been concerned for what other security breaches N'Jobu had facilitated, and the boy was the only remaining point to focus on." "How could he do this?" T'Challa continues as if he hadn't heard. "First he abandoned him and then this? Did he ever plan to tell the truth?" Zuri shook his head, "We will never know what his plans were. He had thought he would have many more years to help you become the king you would be." T'Challa shakes his head, gaze lowering to his hands. "He didn't need any more reason to hate me or my father. After this I can't—" T'Challa doesn’t complete his sentence. Meeting Zuri's gaze he asks, "Did you think about him? Did my father ever talk about him?" Zuri looked down. He had to choose his words carefully, his friend's secrets were not his to tell, and he wouldn't break T'Chaka's confidence. "I know what happened weighed on your father, and he was anguished about what had happened. And my own part has been a burden on me ever since. I do think about N'Jobu, often." “My father is dead and yet there are still secrets. What else was he hiding? What else did he do?!" Zuri shakes his head, wishing there was more he could do to comfort the man before him. "I don't know, I don't know." Wakanda’s king held many burdens and T’Chaka shouldered more than most, being Azarria’s successor. T'Challa stares at Zuri then let's out a huff. Walking slowly to a nearby chair. He doesn't wait to be told to sit, he can't seem to look the elder priest in the eye either. “What happened?" Zuri asks after a protracted silence. T’Challa came here for a reason. "I gave my statement then I was mobbed by Bast's faithful. I argued with my mother, sparred with N'Jadaka... and now I am asking you to tell me the truth. But it does not seem like you know what that is." T’Challa’s tone is on the edge of bitter, particularly by the end of his statement. “I know your father loved you, and wanted to do the best for him, for you- his legacy, and for Wakanda." Zuri’s response is greeted by silence. If T’Challa agrees he can’t tell from the pensive expression on his face. "What do you think this vision means?" T'Challa changes the topic. "I don't want to hear what you told the council, tell me your interpretation." Zuri rallied. T'Challa was giving him a chance to support him, to demonstrate his fidelity and affection. He would tell T’Challa all of it, any of it, all he knew or guessed. It was the least he could do. "She wants N'Jadaka to do something for her. She is dismayed that he has acted untoward toward you, and her disapproval is the reason for cursing him. Perhaps the curse will have to do with physically punishing him, but not in a way that will hinder him from completing her demands." T’Challa tilts his head, “What sort of punishment would fit this?” Zuri thinks back, “There are many documented cases in history but few within the last few dynasties. The nature of this curse is also highly unusual.” Wakandan monarchs should not have to force their spouses after all. Not with a bevy of willing and highly motivated candidates to choose from. After some contemplation he attempts to advise T’Challa like he would in the past. "T'Challa, you should be very wary. N'Jadaka's cruelty was the instigation for Her acts, but not Her reason: Her words reveal She was upset that his cruelty would result in being dethroned, or other interference from your mother, sister, other allies. The goddess blames N'Jadaka and not them for their interference, but her goal even in this is for him to complete the tasks she has set for him." Zuri hates to say so explicitly that T’Challa is less important to their Patroness than whatever it was that was Her goal here, that Her punishment was to further Her aims instead of delivering vengeance on behalf of T’Challa. It’s bitter to say, and he can see from T’Challa’s face that it is bitter to hear. In his statement to the council, he had let them assume the obvious, that the curse was in retribution for N’Jadaka’s *impropriety* toward T’Challa. But T’Challa had asked for his real opinion, and giving it to him was the least he could do. He suspects some members of the council have already reached this conclusion—and that that was why they insisted that the instigating acts be kept secret. Before Zuri lapses into silence, T’Challa has gotten up and begun pacing the room. In time he comes to rest his hands on the back of the chair, face turned away from Zuri. Zuri allows him all the time he needs. Eventually, T’Challa sits again, swallows, and turns back to Zuri, face no less hard. "Do you think these tasks could be completed by someone else?" He shakes his head, "I do not know. Her focus on him seems to indicate She believes he is most suited to give Her whatever it is She desires." "Her specific words were, he made Her a promise. There was nothing explicit to denote it had to be him fulfilling that promise. What if... someone who knew the contents of the promise achieved it first?" T'Challa is speculating. Zuri spread his hands, shrugging helplessly, "Who could know this promise, if She didn't already wish them to?" "He deflected when I asked him about it but She gave a proclamation during the vision. Maybe that was his promise?" T'Challa sounds hopeful. Zuri doesn’t want to give him false hope. “Her proclamation focused on Her ends, the initial promise may or may not be connected.” “So, the only one who knows is N’Jadaka.” Zuri nods and T’Challa leans back in his seat. “Tell me about N’Jobu,” T’Challa asks. For a moment Zuri takes him in, then nods soberly and says, “What would you like to know?” Notes:
Sup, It's been awhile. Had an interesting 2021, a better 2022. Looking forward to having a private platform to host my fics because I have mostly negative feelings for Ao3. Ao3 is simply not a good platform for black content creators or people looking for fan works that center non-white characters. I talk about it more here I wish there was a larger platform for just BIPOC focused fan works. Trudging through the white hellscape of fandom got old in 2018.