1964-10-01 - A Demon walks into an Angel's Bar...
Summary: Hellboy drops in on one of the soldiers that moulded his younger life, Bucky Barnes.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
lucian hellboy harper bucky 

He's behind the bar, this time, rather than manning the door. Not yet busy enough to warrant more than one bouncer. Bucky's listening to a pretty interminable story from some red-faced banker about his triumphs on Wall Street. He's got just enough of a pokerface to pass for mild interest as he dries glasses. He's in a good suit, black leather glove that goes up the wrist a good ways to cover the metal hand. His hair's pulled back into a ponytail that makes it down to his shoulderblades, almost.

Harper has become more than a regular since her run-in with the angel, though she doesn't look it to the casual eye, thanks to a rotation of illusions to mask her appearance. Bucky will know, though, that she usually sits at the same seat at the end of the bar, out of the way where she can watch things without being too easy to approach. Today she's gone with an illusion of auburn curls and hazel eyes, features softened and rounded out.

There's a very short list of places that SHIELD approved places that Hellboy is allowed to visit. The pancake house was now out because of demon infestation, but Mutant Town is still on the list. So is the Lux. There are very few things that could give a bouncer pause in New York. A seven foot tall demon from hell? That might be a different story. "No buddy, it ain't paint." comes the loud grousing from the front of the bar before the large red form makes his way in.

Bellying up to the bar, the dame gets a look over first, before Hellboy's attention turns to Bucky. "Shit, they told me you were slumming down here, Bucky." says the large demon. "Gimmie a beer. The worse, the better." There's a small grunt as he takes out a cigar to chew on. Probably Cuban. Got to keep the demon kin happy, after all.

That pokerface falls right off, shattering like a china plate on a stone floor. Bucky's face is utterly incredulous for a long moment, genuinely shocked….but not in horror at the scarlet monstrosity. No, it's recognition, and then he grins, a wide, delighted smile. "Red," he says, pleased. "Man, you grew into a big one. I go by Jack here, by the way." As if the entire bar hadn't just heard him called Bucky. Cover, blown, right out of the water. "And we don't serve beer, sorry. Lemme getcha a scotch, on me. Sound good?" His own Brooklyn accent is more evident than ever, though he's a far cry from the guy in the blue coat traipsing after Captain America.

Harper half turns as the demon walks into the bar, brows rising slightly. Huh. Interesting. Then again, this place is a haven for all sorts, and with mutants all over the city, there's no sense in making assumptions. The more interesting part is that he knows the bartender is Bucky. That's always a quick way to get Harper's attention. She sits up a little straighter, half-turning toward the pair with a faint smile. "Going to introduce your friend, Jack?"

"Jack. Damn. Right." Peggy probably told Hellboy that, but with the briefings and such and they just drag on and on and really, the demonspawn has the attentionspan of a gnat sometimes. "Scotch is good. Or some of that namesake rotgut that calls itself whiskey." the large creature gives a snort around his cigar before glancing over to Harper, and then turns slowly to Jack with that look of 'Your girl?' all over his face as he takes a draw off of his cigar. "The old lady said I might find you down here…" there's a chuckle as he stretches up to his full height, cloven hooves and all. "Yeah, filled out quite nicely, didn't I?" Even his massive stone right forearm and hand seems to have grown with him as he turns his attention back to the young woman.

There's a prompting look from Bucky to Harper. He doesn't know what name she's going by today. "'s all right," he says, easily, as he pours out a very good whiskey in a very large glass. The nattering banker has left a hasty payment, including a minuscule tip. Buck snorts at it, but gets it in to the drawer. A fractional shake of his head at that. Not his best girl. Assuming he has one. He adds, more softly, "James Barnes is kinna persona non grata, these days. Steve cleared that name of the World's Fair bombing, but….he did try to murder Captain AMerica in public. Here's safe for me, but….don't spread that name around." His grin's admiring. "Sure did. We'd no idea how big you'd get. Glad to see you healthy."

Harper really does need to make a decision about names, true or false, and what faces they go with. She's not used to frequenting the same place often enough for it to matter, but since Lux has become one of very few safe places… "Liz," she introduces herself to Red with a small smile, offering over a hand. "You're an old friend of Jack's sounds like?"

"Red." It's what Hellboy seems to go by most of the time these days, as he takes Harper's hand in his own and gives it a firm shake. "Jack's known me since he was able to carry me around in his boot." comes the response, before his attention returns to Jack. "Between the SSR breakup to SHIELD, I got lost in the shuffle. The powers that be decided to let me out to actually do my own thing."

After a moment though, there's a brief look of concern. "Heard you've had a hard time of it." He lifts his glass to take a drink from his glass. "…figured if you needed a favor, I'd let you know I was about the town in case you need the assist. Owe you that much for that whole - keeping me from Nazi superweapon status thing."

He smiles that lopsided smile. "Thanks, Red," he says, simply. "I'm doing a lot better. It was rough, rough going for a long time." Buck spreads his hands. "Relatively quiet. I gotta job, I gotta safe places to crash. Good friends. They've been working on my head, so I'm sane and safe." Most of the time. Winter's still in there, that glinting presence, even if he's chained and subdued. "Time will be I take you up on it, though. I bet."

"Nice to meet you, Red," Harper nods, trading his hand for her glass as she looks between the pair. Always something new when it comes to Bucky. Although when Nazi super weapons get mentioned, she quirks a brow in Bucky's direction. "Seems like everyone's always in search of the next big superweapon."

"Ain't many weapons bigger than me, sweetheart." Hellboy offers rather confidently as he takes a chew on his cigar. "Though seeing all these people that can fly and fire lasers out their eyes and shit, who knows, maybe I'm old 'fore my time." There's a chuckle at that. "Safe and sane. Working at the bar, talking to a seven foot tall demon from hell. Yep. Just yer typical Sunday in New York. Anyway, wanted to give you a heads up. The old broom-mother's been making some sniffs in the area. Doubt the old Russian hag will come bothering - but you know where one is.."

About that. There's a funny, crooked smile at that comment. "I dunno. The more guys I meet from Hell, the more I think I might like the place when I get there." Bucky nods at Hellboy. "Tell me about it, man. It's like every other person you run into on the subway has a superpower." Says the man who can rip a car door off its hinges like a kid tearing foil off a pack of gum. That warning makes him stiffen, though. He knows her, knows that name. There are things in the taiga that even the Soldiers fear, in an era where myths and gods walk the earth. "Here?" he says, voice momentarily an incredulous squeak, before he swallows. There was a run-in, once. Even Soviet slugs don't much bother that old witch. Harper gets an apologetic look. Even with his cover blown, there are some things that don't bear much discussion in public.

Which just means that Harper is even more curious about it, of course. She's wearing an illusion of softly curled auburn hair, hazel eyes, and softer, more rounded features today, toying with her glass as she unabashedly eavesdrops on Bucky and Red's conversation. Especially if there's something that makes Bucky squeak like that.

"Yeah. One of her croonies ruined my pancakes the other day." And you don't go ruining Hellboy's pancakes. Bucky always made the best pancakes, though. Peggy's? Could probably kill a man with one. "She's looking for souls. Don't know what brought her here. Fertile ground? Hippies? Some idiot summoner thinking he could control her? Didn't mean to be a downer." he shrugs and finishes off the whiskey. "So, this your thing now? I'm supposed to be working for the powers that be, not really sure where I fit in anymore."

Lux's honeycomb of chambers and corridors eventually gives up its proprietor. Easy to find him when Lucian finally emerges. Black vest, white shirt crisp as autumn frost, he looks formal without stuffy. A dusky-skinned woman in leather pants and a similar vest, but sans shirt, escorts him at the elbow. The way she walks is outright predatory beside his leonine amble, and Mazikeen's irritated expression is a mask of disapproval. Whatever's up, she customarily does not support. They split at the bottom of the mezzanine staircase, her to haunt the patrons thinking terrible thoughts and Lucian to relieve whomever keeps bar at the moment. He'll go about the rigors of greetings and welcome after slipping behind the marble and granite. He gives a nod to Bucky and Harper.

The moment Lucian appears, Bucky's gaze darts there. It's not the restrained panic of 'oh, shit, it's the boss, look busy'. Something more thoughtful. Buck himself is manning the bar - there's a scotch before Hellboy. "Boss," he says, quietly, giving way. "No, no," he tells Hellboy. "You just gave me a turn. I ran into her a couple times back East." Like the wastes of Siberia are just southern Maine. "Fertile ground? Yeah. Maybe Little Odessa. People still use her name there." Bucky shudders in disgust - there's the memory of that fence of bones, with the glowing-eyed skulls for lamp-posts. If you were a hunter in the taiga, wouldn't you know better than to follow what looks like the tracks of a giant chicken? "Yeah," he says. "I am, too. But….I dunno know how far they actually trust me. I don't work regular enough there to help with the rent, so….here I am."

Harper dips her chin to Lucian, though Bucky and Red still have most of her attention as she tries to piece together what they're talking about. Something Russian, something magical. Russian she has a clue about, but the magic parts are all still new to her. And SHIELD. But her mind is turning all the same.

There's some things you don't put together in a room at times. Chlorine bleach and ammonia, fire and alcohol vapors. Angels, even fallen ones, and demons fall into that category as Hellboy can just feel the holy aura from Lucian and gives a grunt of uncomfortable annoyance. "Shit." he grumbles, sliding over the glass. "Top it off, going to need it to deal with this." says the demon who's own bet is covered with holy and lucky charms used to combat his own kind. "At least you can get your own place. I don't even think I can grab a rack in M-Town."

Lucian scrapes his fingers through his pale hair and surveys the wall of liquors and potions made from the oddest of ingredients. Nothing neat is served here without adulteration. A sign sings to that, though the chalked in '46 hours since someone last ordered something DULL' needs to be corrected. He rests his hand on the bar, reaching for a shaker from a row of them. "Evening, Jack." The auburn-haired woman in turn receives a touch of a smile. Then there's the great red scion of Hell. Lucian may be cast forth from the Silver City but he's still fully seraphic in every sense. He reads angel unlike his fellow rebel brethren or the neutral ones, like the Lilim.

"Welcome to Lux," he sends in Hellboy's direction. "Let us know about anything you might need."

"He's an old friend of mine," Bucky explains hastily to Lucian. "Back in the war. We found him when he was a little kid." As if Hellboy were just another displaced war orphan. He pours out more scotch - using up his allowance of comped drinks. But then, he so rarely touches it. "Actually, I know a place," he says, after a beat. "Lemme ask the owner, but I bet he'd be willing to let you crash there." Because what the elf needs is a giant red exile from Hell crashing on his couch. But then, he had Public Enemy #1 there for months…

The extra interesting part is that Harper's illusions seem to have the same sort of source as that power around Lucian, if greatly diminished. "You might be surprised what you can get in M-Town," she muses, lifting her glass to take a drink. "You just have to know where to look and how to ask. Some parts of town, the residents try desperately to be as normal as possible, other blocks they've decided to get loud about who they are."

Lifting the whiskey to take a drink, Hellboy gives an affirmative nod to Jack's statement. "What he said. Though he's gotten all scruffy on me since I saw him last." He's say it looks like he's been through hell, but come on, that's too obvious for even a demon. Bucky's offer gets a lift of a brow. "Naw, nothing to sweat, I finally got my bunk like I wanted. But the food is shit, so I wanted out to find my own way." he says with a grin, his lips a thin line as he takes the glass. "To meeting old friends, finding out their as well as it's gonna get, and not getting followed around by Baba."

"M-Town is a place of few questions as long as the cash is good." The blond publican has a few bottles selected, none taller than a greenback. He selectively pours out their contents at random into the shaker, adding chipped ice. Harper's suggestion is nodded to. "Best to walk around and inquire. I'd say SoHo is promising. Plenty of those old warehouses are vacant. Rent's cheap." Capping the shaker, he raises it for a good rattle of the contents. Interest keeps him focused on the others. "I'm late to the conversation. Tell me to mind my own, but your grandmother is troubling you?"

He knows better than to mention her, when it comes to the matter of real names. "The lady who lives in the hut that walks around on chicken feet," Bucky says, quietly. "I met her a few times. She didn't eat me because I smelled wrong, or so she said. I didn't stop to ask her how an American smells different than a Russian." Might've been the arm. He's got a glass of soda water with lime and mint, a fake mojito. IT's that he clinks against Hellboy's glass. "Hear, hear," he says, quietly. "And you'll have to visit me. I'm the housekeeper in lieu of rent, I've gotten real damn good at cooking." Then he grins again. "Scruffy, huh? It's not the years, but the mileage, buddy."

"Wait, are you talking about-" Harper pauses, quirking a brow as she looks between Bucky and Red. "The Russian fairy tale witch?" New Orleans is steeped in enough magic for her to pick up on some important precepts - like there's a reason they're not using full names. "What would a Russian fairy tale witch be looking for here in New York?" She doesn't really wait for an answer, head tilting thoughtfully. "I guess people do go missing here pretty regularly. Rich hunting ground?"

There's a snap and point to Harper. "Give that gal a drink." Hellboy announces as he pulls out his wallet. Why not buy a gal a drink, in New York. "And yeah, I know there's plenty of hidey holes and stuff, but I get a roof over my head and a warm cot. And if there's something they need my help with, I ain't too far away. Pretty spiff deal, you ask me." There's a shrug of his shoulders as he glances at the two angelic beings. "So I've seen some things in my time, but never expected one of your type to be running this place."

The tumbler pulled out he pours the draught into. It smells a touch of black currant and a great deal less immediately recognisable. "Any preferences, miss?" Polite as ever, Lucian speaks crisply to everyone regardless of being red, black, demonic or bog-standard human. He otherwise finishes the garnish with a crushed blackberry leaf, muddled in the mix. "The wrath of winter. Is she still about in that damnable hovel of hers? A fair sight more polite when properly fed and broody." Baba Yaga's house getting broody does not justify any sort of mental image lasting more than a few seconds. He rubs down a water mark on the bar and nods at Hellboy. "A man needs a job."

"Got it in one," Bucky says, a little bleakly. From Russia, with nightmares. Happy Halloween, Winter Soldier. "Yeah, at least she had it a few years back." Very few things faze Winter himself. She's one. Memories limned in blood-freezing terror are the ones hardest to lose. "Sounds good," he says to Hellboy. Offering no further explanations as to why he's working for the Prince of the Powers of the Air. The Morningstar doesn't do background checks in the usual way.

"Whatever you're making," Harper smiles faintly to Lucian. "Something new." Which is, for her, the usual order. Rarely does she have the same thing more than once, whether it's a fear of revealing something about herself or a love of the new and interesting that drives her. "Where do you keep a house on chicken legs in New York City?" she muses, only half to herself. "Brooklyn?"

"Wherever she wants." comes Hellboy's response. "Ain't saying she's here. Just saying that some of her agents been sniffing around. May be paving the way. And can see the reason why." There's a thoughtful pause. "She sets up shop in M-Town, turns that whole populace into her undead minions." He drains the glass and just lets that settle in for the others to ponder.

"A lady of discerning taste." Lucifer pushes over the tumbler on a square black coaster marked by 'Lux' in gold. He eases back into the role of bartender. Implements of the trade need to be washed in the sink, and the strained brew's remainder poured out into another glass for a server to carry off. "Most inconvenient. Mutant Town gives cover of a ghetto and the usual secrecy applies. No one talks to outsiders. Reluctant to call out anything odd. They'll try to keep it an inside matter until it's too late. Typical pattern but at least with patterns, you can prune their branches."

There is a deity, some aspect of Fate, maybe, charged with making absolutely sure that Bucky Barnes Can't Have Nice Things. There's that look on his face. This is personal, this is home. He puts the bartowel he's been gripping in his leather-covered hand down with a kind of exaggerated gentleness, as if it were something breakable. "We'll have to go take a look," he says to Hellboy, a little flatly. "I know some guys who might be able to help." Loki, for one, might object to having yet another vicious trickster in town. He nods at Lucian. Harper's question makes him laugh. "Little Odessa, maybe. I wonder if the thing climbs. She could have it on top of a building."

Harper points at Bucky, then taps her nose. "Be a good place, too. Lock the roof access, put it on top of a big enough building, you wouldn't even need a glamour of any sort to hide it. Then you just unlock the roof access when the building kids start getting curious, no one thinks anything of it. I've got some contacts in M-Town," she adds, looking to the others. "I could ask around a bit, see if anyone's noticed anything strange there."

Setting a few dollars down on the counter, and a fiver for Bucky's tip, Hellboy pushes back from the counters. "Jack knows how to get a hold of me if you get any leads. Me, I'm gonna get some fresh air. All this purity and light's giving me a damned headache. No offense." is offered to the two holy powered beings before he gives an upnod to Bucky. "Like I said. Owe you my life in a way. And I'm one to repay the debts. You ever need me, just call."

"Do remember your manners if you go." Lucian takes the cash and stores it in a petty box locked in ways that no one wants to know. Pity anyone trying to break the house rules or rob from the Firstborn of the Creator. Let alone those other powers. They'd make Robbie's stare seem like a little tickle. "I hear anything of those agents in East Village, you shall be sure to know. They won't likely last long."

"I hear ya, buddy," Bucky says, nodding. "And for this, I'm probably gonna. See you at the office, if not before." His grin's only a little, curling thing….but his eyes are genuinely glad. It's rare to have someone from his past whose reappearance is not a curse. A nod to Harper. "Sure. I can't go there, either." So many people gunning for J.B. Barnes, including a whole knot of mutant terrorists. A glance at Lucian - glad to know the boss's taken an interest.

Harper tilts her head curiously when Red includes her in the cause of the headache, quirking a brow in Lucian's direction. "Where were you a month ago?" she smirks after Red, shaking her head before she looks to the others. "Let me know if you want help in Little Odessa," she tips her chin to Bucky. "I also speak Russian."

Really, Harper is only caught in the edge of his gaze. Lucien gets the full yellow eyed look. "Yeah. Manners. I think Jack tried to teach me one of those first - golden rule, punch them before they punch you." There's a snort at that as Hellboy fires up his cigar with a flick of his thumb on the way out the door and a glance towards the bouncer before he slips out.

No real comment there from the Morningstar. He's not exactly chomping at the bit to deal with Baba Yaga, not quite. A salute for Hellboy takes the form of a nod. Knowing, that much. He waits for Maz to breeze back into the shadows before arranging any sort of response. "As either of you might feel compelled to deal with the Russian, do make sure to tell me before you set out. I can lend you something relatively useful. Other than a good rub for chicken."

"Will do, boss," Bucky agrees, smoothly. He takes the glasses dirtied away to be cleaned, and then returns to agree with Harper, though his tone is dubious, "If you like. My Russian's really good." Understatement of the year goes to Sergeant Barnes.

"I've no doubt," Harper smirks back at Bucky, reaching for her glass. "I'm just saying you don't have to go alone. Or call your lady friend," she adds with a knowing look. Apparently she's been paying attention to things here at the bar, with nothing else to occupy her attention.

"Intriguing." Never a good thing when a man as old as the proprietor is says something in that specific tone of voice, mildly detached and exceptionally pointed in its turn.

That earns Harper a blank look. "Lady friend?" he asks her, turning that guileless blue stare in her direction. How can someone that guilty look so very, very innocent? Whomever can she mean?

"Mmmhmm," Harper drawls, lifting her glass for a drink with a pointed look. "The one that makes you go all google-eyed every time she talks to you. Is it the Russian?" she asks, half-teasing. "The French? There's something more to it. You get a little bit of the look that's you, and a little bit of the look that means business."

"Five foot six or more, red-haired, cultivated." Lucian may be retired but he absolutely knows how to read certain people. After enough experience, one truly has to be gifted in identifying archetypes. "Points for wearing black. Does someone go google-eyed in here? Maz will need to have a conversation about security. We can't have that."

Speaking of the look that means business. There it is, in spades. Something seems to seal over behind his eyes, like ice on a winter pond. He makes one of those rueful little moues. "Flirting aside, she's all business," he says, on a faint sigh. Nevermind that he's just sent poor Widow back on a mission that will either have her coming for his head for real….or turning of her own will. He turns a bemused look on Lucian. "She is really a redhead. How'd you know?" 'Jeanne' has only been in here as a blonde. But if Lucian's managed to rummage his memories…..well, perhaps Natasha explains his predilection for redheads.

"Mmmm. That one," Harper points over the rim of her glass, taking another drink. "That exact look. Bucky likes to have his ego stroked with some flirting, likes it easy, is always ready to move on to the next girl if this one doesn't work out. That one likes the chase, isn't interested in much past the catch."

"Gentlemen, as they say, prefer blondes and brunettes are an underappreciated lot. Nothing is quite so volatile as a ginger." Lucian smirks and that cold light of knowing far, far too much somewhat bleeds through. He takes a glass of water for himself and the remainder of the orders can show up when they want to. It's not as though the other servers fail to know how to tap the expansive cellars or come running out screaming that a naga or elder demon took up residence for a summer home.

The grin he favors Harper with is 'that one's' as she put it. He lifts the fauxjito to her in salute. "The chase is the best part. When they give up and stop running, it's not fun anymore." Romantic advice from the Winter Soldier - thanks, you iron-hearted, steel-handed creepy bastard. A sidelong look at the boss, and he says, only a little arch, "Yeah. That's me. Underappreciated."

Harper snorts at Bucky's under appreciated comment. "You're the least under appreciated man in this city," she drawls. "I don't think I've ever seen someone get followed around by as many prospective paramours as you do." She lets the illusion around her features fade, pushing a hand through her now-dark hair with a sigh and a crinkle of her brows that suggests a headache. "Mmph," she hums, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "I'm with him, though," she notes, absent. "Easy's no fun."

"You're a brunet, not a brunette." Emphasis on perfect French accentation. Lucian halts to take one of Ana's requests, the strawberry-blonde well-acquainted with an order rattled off machine-gun fast. "Sorry" is an appropriate ending for that unhappy balance, but he starts gathering the necessary components to begin his mad science. "No one appreciates simplicity any longer. Though a passive quarry is hardly much entertainment." Easy isn't usually fun, no.

"Oui, m'sieur," Bucky agrees. His face is bland again, docile, save for that glitter in his eyes. Never more than flawlessly obliging in public when it comes to Lucian. Then he gives Harper a look, all big pathetic blue eyes. "Nah. It's all talk and glitter, no substance. They all think they can cadge a free drink from the bartender, that's all. I'm a lonely soul." And a terrible liar. "What's the line - what we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly?"

"Yes. Lonely, in your flat, with your roommates. Or with your old friend, Captain America. Or at SHIELD, with people who know the ugly parts and yet are willing to keep you around. Or here, with the regulars," Harper smirks. "Sell your sob story to someone else, 'Jack,'" she teases, taking another drink.

The nattering of children is far too much for him to endure in all his wisdom. "Your work. I've a concoction or two to blend and not with anything contained up here. Do be well, miss." Harper earns a smirk for herself, Bucky nothing quite so formal. "Keep an eye on the genever and ambrette gin. They're getting low, given the run on Winters of Discontent. Not the least idea of why their popularity spiked."

Bucky concedes the fight with a gesture of someone dropping something, a fencer yielding a point. "Fair enough," he tells her. And then "Will do, boss," as he turns to do so.

"Take care," Harper calls after Lucian, though she has her own sharpness in her eyes when she watches the owner leave. She still has questions about him. So many questions. She's smart enough to know what she can and can't ask, though. After a moment, she lets out a breath, looking back to Bucky. "Sorry," she murmurs. "You're kind of the closest thing I've got to a friend. I worry about you."

She's given him clear pause, at that. He looks back at her, and while it's not pity in his face, it's not far from. "I'm doing better than I was. Better than I have been in a very long time. But what about ou?"

Harper lifts one shoulder in a shrug, staring down into her drink. "Getting a little stir-crazy, spending so much time here," she admits. "Don't want to face off with that thing again, but I can't hide out here forever either. Got a little charm from a fellow I met here that's supposed to help, but, well. Trying to be judicious about things. Not thinking too hard about this whole…nephilim thing. It's weird."

He tends to a few customers, checks what he was directed to….but he drifts back to her. "I'll bet you are," he agrees, quiet. "What is it, exactly? I…can you tell me?"

"What, the nephilim thing?" Harper quirks a brow, shifting on her stool to cross her arms on the edge of the bar. "Means someone in my family got busy with an angel, basically. I don't know how far back, don't know who. I was left at an orphanage as an infant, never knew anything about either of my parents, so it's hard to tell. But. Needless to say, angels aren't really meant to partake of the pleasures of the flesh. Stories say nephilim were giants, creatures of great power, capable of huge damage. I'm not exactly a giant, but…translations, time. Things shift."

He pokerfaces at that. No scorn or disbelief, he's seen Lucian in full glow, as it were. But….veiling his face to stifle reaction. "I see," he says, gently. "That stinks, to get in trouble just for being part of a given family."

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