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To make this a very special Famoux Friday for you, I'm planning on posting TWICE this weekend! So although this chapter is not nearly as long as the 3000 word monster from last week, I'll be posting either later today, tomorrow, or Sunday. Maybe even three times, since it's labor day weekend.
EXPECT MORE POSTS THIS WEEKEND, BB. I'D NEVER LEAVE U WITH JUST A SHORT CHAPTER FOR A WHOLE WEEK.
Let's get right into it...
PREVIOUSLY ON THE CLASSIX: It's still Emeray's birthday! I love how many readers keep going, "I want more chapters from her birthday. Let's NEVER END HER BIRTHDAY." I appreciate you. Anyway, we learned that Cartney isn't proposing to Emeray. He gave her a necklace. And then they found out that Carstan and Norax have chosen the new members already and have BROUGHT THEM TO THE BIRTHDAY PARTY. What ever will happen now???
Well, we'll have to wait. First: Some situational irony.
DEFED
Day by day, I watch them as they go. Tired yet tireless, relenting yet relentless, indefatigably reaching for something they have no idea doesn't really, truly exist. I'm sure you see it too––everyone in Delicatum. It's evident in their actions, in the roles they take, in the songs they sing, in the people they choose to associate with. Every little piece of it is calculated. It's deliberate. Whatever gains them the most power and prestige, yes, that is the thing they will do. Nothing less than whatever makes people like them.
Whatever keeps them alive.
What alluded them then, and alludes them now, is the reality of their struggles. None of them were in danger of dying back then. No one was going to kill anyone. That's the sad truth about it. And as much as I didn't want to do what I did, I did it.
Well, we did it.
We did what we had to do.
We had to show them, you see. And if it showed them anything, maybe it finally brought to light just how powerless they really are––how pointless their efforts were to gain control over a life they don't even own.
Their old lives, they had. Miserable as they were, those lives were theirs. But they gave those up so quick and willingly. Oh, it astounds me how fast they let everything they knew go, like spare change into a stranger's hand. They traded in their faces and names like clothes they somehow borrowed, washed and folded neatly at the feet of a woman they met not an hour earlier. Did it never occur to them the choices they were making? Did it ever occur to them how futile those choices were?
We'd initially hoped that, after we stepped in, they realized. Or started to, at least. It was all we could hope for––that some goodness could come out of that mess we had to make of things. But as the months have slid by, so the Famoux members have slid back into old habits as casually as biting nails. It's written all over the newspapers. We were livid.
