(no subject)

[amicably_absent]

Glitch wanted to stay in the cabin forever, but Ambrose insisted on heading back, getting home the day before the trial was set to happen. He didn't elaborate on why, though it was fairly apparent that he wanted to attend, especially when he spent an hour the night before it setting out clothes, putting them in orders with numbers to clearly mark how they went on. It was a lot of work and planning.

Ambrose, also unlike Glitch, had no problems using the privilege of an attendant to help get ready. He gets dressed carefully in what is just shy of a dress uniform but speaks with position to anyone entitled to know it. The attendant helps him with his hair, getting the ringlets settled neatly, if not combed down in his usual manner. He thinks Glitch would protest it and, as he has been told, he needs to stop being ashamed of the line of steel in his scalp. A few touches of make up highlight his pale, striking appearance and he asks Wyatt to escort him down to the court house.

Wyatt has to be there anyway, as the first officer on scene with the small delegation of Viewers who will also present evidence through a mirror set up in court just for that, one with a moratanium frame that Ambrose thinks he might've designed.

The case isn't short, but the conclusion is foregone. He himself is unable to sit to testify, no headcase testimony can be taken by the court, but since he can't remember anything anyway, there would be no point in unnecessarily working him up into glitching.

He does that enough as it is. Each bit of testimony sets off glitches and skips, fragments of thought and getting caught in cycles. It's a hard, long few hours as they plow though it all. They plead guilty, but it's before sentencing that the judge asks if anyone has anything to say.

That's when he raises his hand. "I do, Your Honour."

The judge gives him a long look. "While you cannot testify, the court will recognise any additional statements you have to offer, Adviser Ambrose."

He stands up, smoothing down his military style coat with the tiny badges across the breast marking the medals he won't wear in public. "My learned judge, I would ask you to consider clemency in your sentencing of these men."

He takes a breath to give the noise a moment to subside. "I cannot and will not condone the acts of violence that have been committed, against myself and potentially against other individuals who have suffered violation at the hands of the Witch's surgeons. Justice and retribution is the domain of the court and the police, and it is unacceptable to have the public taking vengeance for actions that may - or indeed may not - have been committed. The court has already taken action against violent offenders, their headcasing is - believe me - punishment enough for their actions, leaving them incapable of directed malice of any consistent amount.

"But.

"The commonality of headcasing as political terrorism to silence dissidence and rebellion is not yet commonly seen, understood or recognised. Ignorance, in truth, is the enemy here. These men were wrong, but they acted in fear and ignorance. I personally feel no need to vengeance against these men, I pity them for being so scared during these dark times past that they cannot reach towards the better future we are all striving for. I pity their ignorance in attacking those who present a visible sign of their ongoing imprisonment, for the thoughts they had, the allegiances they held and not for any crime committed. Headcasing for crime is almost unknown now, but for political motivations? That has been far more prevalent in recent times. Punishment should be a learning aid, to educated individuals and society and this case and serve to educate these men, theoir families and society as a whole. Not just of the heinous acts taken against political prisoners such as myself, but a learning experience that the barbaric and harsh times of the Witch are over and we will once again strive towards a benevolent society of correction, not vengeance."

He bows his head. "Thank you." And he sits down, reaching for Wyatt's hand.

Comments

[less-hugging.livejournal.com]

And Wyatt takes their tray, bringing it over to the rack and sliding it into an empty slot. Then, on a whim or something like it, walks back to the counter with a smile reserved for Selia.

"One slice of beesting cake to go, please. Will it keep for later today?"

"I'll make sure it does, love. Just a moment."

He turns his head to give Ambrose a look that speaks of fondness, then shrugs. He just had to, you know?

[amicably-absent.livejournal.com]

Ambrose is leaning against the window frame, still eating slowly and carefully. He smiles slightly at Wyatt, biting his lower lip without dragging off the slightly dark stain of make up on them.

[less-hugging.livejournal.com]

"Thanks, Selia. I owe you one." He hands her the money he owes for the cake, including a good, solid tip, takes the small paper box and tips his hat for her on the way.

He holds the door open for Ambrose, of course. "Something for later." He lifts the box just a touch.

[amicably-absent.livejournal.com]

Ambrose steps out in front of him, reaching to slide his arm through Wyatt's and then into his pocket. He keeps eating. "You like spoiling us, don't you?"

[less-hugging.livejournal.com]

"Sometimes, yeah," he admits quietly, noting with brimming amusement that Ambrose slips his hand down his pocket almost exactly like Glitch does.

"It's more like finding excuses to spend time with you. Whether it's by finding a book or something to eat, or a place to go."

It's about sharing. That's it, really.

[amicably-absent.livejournal.com]

"I like it, whyever it is and whatever it is. I'm with you. I like that." he leans in just like Glitch too. Unlike glitch, he isn't putting the food in his pocket for later.

[less-hugging.livejournal.com]

"I'm glad we agree."

They walk down the same, just shy of straightforward path they came, making their way back to the courthouse, and Wyatt refuses to let the severity of why they're there get to him. It's a beautiful day, he's with the man he loves, and that's all he needs to keep his spirits soaring. Or so he tells himself, as they draw nearer.

[amicably-absent.livejournal.com]

Ambrose finishes his sandwich as they get there, dusting off his hands and brushing away crumbs from his face.

They can do this.

---

Come seven, Ambrose is still working. He's constructed half of a miniature West Tower, based off the original design and trying to avoid reminding people of the witch's tower.

He's sitting on the floor, slowly assembling the tiny, miniature pieces to see if it will turn out how he envisions it.

[less-hugging.livejournal.com]

Come seven thirty, Wyatt's made a brief stop by his one and a half rooms in town to change into something less official and more suitable for lounging about with someone special, and has even managed another detour before knocking on the door to Ambrose's office.

"Open up, Sweetheart, my hands are busy."

Busy holding a tray full of the makings of tea, that is. Tea, and an extra set of plates for their cake. He brought a surprise, too, which should become apparent the moment the door's opened.

[amicably-absent.livejournal.com]

He starts at the sound, but then gets to his feet, cracking the door open and peeking out owlishly, briefly confused as his mind tries to shift from work mode to what's going on. "Wyatt... Wyatt! Oh goodness, what time is it?" He has grease and glue on his cheek and fingers.

"Come in, come in. Just, let me pack the tower up, I need to present it in three days. I've mostly finished."

[less-hugging.livejournal.com]

"It's time for dinner if you haven't had something to eat since lunch," he quips, but relents with a grin. "Seven thirty. We didn't agree on a specific time, so I figured it'd be all right if I ran a bit later than usual."

He glances at the floor and the tiny pieces that make up an almost fully assembled whole, and looks back at Ambrose's smeared face. "It looks good. Less...imposing and ominous."

The smell of warm food should be hitting Ambrose by now. Might even trigger a memory from earlier in the day. Of noodles and broth and options galore.

[amicably-absent.livejournal.com]

"It's only the bare bones, I want to lighten it by opening it up with skylights, windows and etchings." He sniffs and looks down to the tray. "That smells wonderful... what is it?"

He steps back and waves his hands for Wyatt to set down the tray.

[less-hugging.livejournal.com]

"It's food from the farthest reaches of the O.Z. Spicy, savory, sweet, you name it, this is it. Veggie stir fry, shrimp crisps and dumplings... I got a bit of everything," he explains, setting the tray down on the floor and lining up the small white boxes of heat retaining whateveritis.

"I wasn't sure you know how to use sticks, so I brought some silverware too."

[amicably-absent.livejournal.com]

"Oooh." He packs everything away in a big box and comes to sit down with Wyatt, looking over the boxes. "I don't know if I know how to use sticks. I know I know how to use silverware."

[less-hugging.livejournal.com]

"I know you do, which is why I played it safe." Pushing the tray to the side, he sits down and starts opening the boxes for Ambrose to take a gander. Once that's done, he hands him a pair of wooden sticks to try them out. See, he has a great plan. They'll each pick a box to start out with, and then pass them along, one after the other until they've had a munch of every dish.

"I'd try the pork, if I were you. It's sweet and sour, goes great with sticky rice and veggies."

[amicably-absent.livejournal.com]

Ambrose takes the sticks, doesn't look, just tries to get his hands to settle naturally on them.

His fingers almost shift and settle, almost grip rightly. They pop straight out of his fingers with a clatter. "Nope. Guess I don't." He picks up a fork and looks for the pork. "Which one is that?"

[less-hugging.livejournal.com]

Wyatt ducks the wayward sticks with a chuckle. "It's that one. With the glossy strips of pork, right by the prawn crisps."

He reaches for the box full of beef and mushrooms, cracks his sticks apart and digs in. "Couldn't get this out of my nose all day. I've become one of those...knowers of food."

[amicably-absent.livejournal.com]

Ambrose takes the box and sniffs a few times. "Connoisseur?" He takes a hesitant bite, nodding slowly. "Mm, that's nice. I've never been a huge fan of pork, I think. But this isn't bad."

[less-hugging.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, that's it." He winks. "It's good for you, you know. Contains something like eight out of ten essential amino acids."

Wyatt Cain, font of seemingly useless knowledge.

[amicably-absent.livejournal.com]

"Pigs have the same intelligence level as the average three year old child," Ambrose suddenly states, looking up to Wyatt. "They have rudimentary problem solving capacity."

He sets the box down, looking through the others and picking out something that looks like chicken to him.

[less-hugging.livejournal.com]

"Uhuh." He scoots closer, leaning shoulder to shoulder with his lover man. "And they're cleanlier than people say."

He decides to do the same, reaching next for the box Ambrose set down. There's nothing quite like sweet and sour, moist pork that just melts in your mouth.

[amicably-absent.livejournal.com]

He pokes the meat a couple of times before popping it in his mouth, chewing it slowly. Chicken, he's sure of it. Slightly sweet, a bit spicy. He scoops up some rice as well, munching away slowly. "This is nice. I men, just us, eating up here."

[less-hugging.livejournal.com]

"Yeah. Why not?" He heaves a great big sigh of contentment, then clears his throat and mouth of food. "We can have cake and tea in my room, if you want. It's been a while since it was properly lived in."

[amicably-absent.livejournal.com]

"Your room?" He thinks about it. "Have I ever been in your room?" He can't remember it at all. Not that that means anything. "Would you like to have tea and cake in your room? Try this, it's lovely."

He hands over the chicken.

[less-hugging.livejournal.com]

"Not that I remember. Not at the palace, at least. We just...tend to always gravitate towards your and Glitch's room."

He picks out a piece, plops it in his mouth, nodding with approval. "Is that cilantro or something?" He can't place it, but it's good. Reaches for the prawn crisps next.

"I used to make myself sick from these," he notes in wry recollection. "Academy days..."