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antaxzantax · 3 months ago

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Umbrella Pharmaceuticals - Chapter 55

Summary: Alfred Ashford agrees with Peter Lee to perform sadistic rituals in an abandoned factory.

The mansion stood on a gentle promontory.

He rang the doorbell.

A red-haired individual greeted him.

“Welcome to my sweet home.”

The guest entered the estate like a prince marching to his coronation. In the entrance hall, a stylised white marble statue reproducing the nude torso of an Atlantean dominated the room as its centrepiece. Its features, in contrast to the classical hieratism, were a grimace of pleasurable pain reminiscent of works from the Hellenistic period of Ancient Greece.

“I'm a sculptor. You don't have a name. Do you want me to show you the workshop?”

“Show me the film,” Alfred ordered dryly.

Peter hurried down the corridor to a door set into the eastern wall. He unlocked the latch and motioned Alfred through first. Alfred descended a flight of worn stairs that roared in pain with every step from decades of neglect. Behind him, Peter flicked the light switch. A set of lonely, bare bulbs flickered on. The bulbs hung from the ceiling by the effort of a rickety copper wire. The basement was empty except for a chestnut-coloured leather armchair and a television perched atop a bedside table with a VHS mounted on top of the box. Alfred accidentally inhaled a strange, sweetish stench that snaked through the isolated atmosphere of the room.

Without waiting for Peter, Alfred sat down in the armchair. He settled himself by crossing his legs and took the cardboard box out of the inside of his jacket. He lit a cigarette while Peter revived the television and pulled out the VHS to play the tape.

A black background with Japanese lettering. A house similar to the ones he had seen on the postcards his father received from the Japanese subsidiary of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals. A man wearing a suit and a mask that hid his face. The man carried a curved sabre which he drew when he entered the house. He went into a room on the first floor. In the room was another young man pleading for his life. The man raised the sabre and cut the young man to death. The dismemberment of the young man was realistic, crude, raw and honest. The sabre sliced through skin, muscle and bone as if they were made of paper. The victim's high-pitched shrieks reverberated through the speakers in the basement.

The footage lasted fifteen minutes, the equivalent of three five-minute cigars, and faded to black. The player paused. Alfred put the last cigarette butt in the steel packet.

“Where did you get it?” asked Alfred.

“I bought it over the phone from an anonymous guy I met at the video store downtown. I haven't seen him since.”

Alfred got up from the chair. Peter got up from the floor.

“And... that's it?”

Alfred sounded bored, as if watching a banned film was a minor pastime.

It had not surprised him. It had not moved him.

Peter's hands began to move erratically. Alfred raised an eyebrow.

“Are you the devil?” Peter spoke as if he had been shaken by a high-voltage cable.

“What demon?” he replied calmly.

Peter went to the back of the room. He grabbed a handle stuck in the floor and pulled it to unbolt a trapdoor. A foul smell of decay emerged from the hole as if he had uncovered a mass grave. Alfred futilely held his arm over his nose. Peter pulled a doctor's bag from the hole in the floor. He placed the bag on the leather chair and opened it to reveal its contents. Alfred peered into the tiny abyss.

A collection of rusted and uncleaned surgical tools. Bloodstains were embedded in the metal like scabs covering a wound. Alfred coughed, positioned parallel to Peter. The latter pulled a bone saw from the bag. Inexpressive, he swung the saw around to face Alfred.

“I practice with animals. This basement is my secret place.”

Alfred did not retreat. The momentary shot of adrenaline he felt from identifying a potential threat intercepted and overrode the neural reception of the nauseating smell. Defenseless and not knowing how to fight hand-to-hand without harming himself, he dismissed attack as the main course of action.

“I had my secret place too.” Alfred whispered to Peter without looking away. “I spent my teenage years at boarding school in England. I had a group of friends there...” Peter listened carefully. “There was an attic in the dormitory where I lived. We would take the bad kids up there and punish them. I was in charge of the punishments. I called myself the master of ceremonies.” Peter put the saw down. “I wore a rabbit mask that one of the boys bought for a Halloween costume.” Alfred cleared his throat. “The important thing was not to leave a mark. We'd stick them on their backs with leather belts and ivory canes. We'd lock them in cages in the attic and deprive them of food and drink until we got bored.” Alfred gave Peter a nostalgic half-smile.

“Were you found out?” asked Peter, engrossed in Alfred's narrative.

“No. The school owed my family a favour and the law of silence was imposed.”

“Were you punished?” Peter's facial expression had relaxed considerably.

“Yes, but only the teachers. I was only whipped with the cane, not given any of the punishments in the attic.” Alfred glanced at the trapdoor. “I've had some practice with animals myself.”

“Do you listen to them too?” Peter mumbled excitedly.

“The voices?” Alfred answered automatically because of the remarkable number of times he had heard the same question in horror films.

“Are you schizophrenic too? The voices ordered me to kill you so you wouldn't call the police.”

Alfred smiled pleasantly natural.

“No, I'm not schizophrenic, but I also have strange thoughts. Have you ever tried it with a person? Do you know what it feels like?”

The suggestion caught Peter by surprise and off guard. He shook his head.

“It's a very pleasant sensation,” Alfred whispered.

Peter took a couple of steps back. He threw the bone saw onto the couch and dug his knees into the floor.

“You are the devil. You have come to me.”

“Would you like to try it?” offered the demon called Alfred.

“Yes.”

“I will see you next Saturday at the same time and in this house. I will tell you my plan.”

Alfred went upstairs and disappeared through the front door. Peter kept vigil for the rest of the night with his knees to the floor and the cellar hatch wide open.

Alfred returned around noon to the mansion he shared with his sister and father in the wealthy suburb of Raccoon City. Alexia was tending a rose bush in the back garden when Alfred appeared to inform her of his meeting with Peter Lee.

“Is dad in home?” Alfred yawned.

“No.” Alexia cut the stem of a rose.

“I have already seen the film.”

“So?”

“There was something else.”

Alfred moved closer to his sister so that she could hear his murmur.

“There is a trap door in the cellar of his house,” he said in Scottish Gaelic so that no undesirable would understand. “A mass grave with the remains of the animals he practices on. He keeps the instruments in a doctor's bag. The tools are stained with blood. He is schizophrenic and thinks I am the personification of his demon. He wanted to kill me, but I dissuaded him by telling him about the attic in the Jacob II. I think he now reveres me.”

Alexia cut a second rose.

“I've had an idea,” Alfred added hesitantly. Alexia prepared to cut a third rose about to wilt. “Do you think I'm a demon?”

Alexia did not respond, focused as she was on the rose bush. In reality, she knew what Alfred wanted, hence her accusatory silence.

“Don't tell dad, please,” he pleaded out of politeness, because he knew that telling his father was her responsibility, not Alexia's. “I'm going to do it, and I want Ogie[1] involved. He wants to be involved too. We've talked about it.”

“Maybe you should have been a priest,” said Alexia.

“You're right,” Alfred confirmed and turned away from her to go into the house.

Alexia was right.

His introduction to the priesthood was his last chance to achieve a self-awareness that would have enabled him to quell the Craving for good. The Craving was a phenomenon that his great-grandfather Thomas began to experience at the same age as Alfred, at fifteen, and which he tried to quell for the rest of his brief life without success. Thomas described the Craving as a visceral and irrational impulse to commit infamous acts. The subject, possessed by the Craving, did not reason like a human being, but indulged in the most despicable instincts. He was beast, but not man, and this beast had to be tamed to avoid being controlled by it. In the particular case of Thomas Ashford, the Craving manifested itself as an obsessive fixation on consuming human flesh.

In his manuscripts, Thomas recounted his frequent trips to London's East End to satiate the Craving. Dressed incognito, like a factory worker, he would pay whores a generous sum of money to lock himself up with them in the cellar or attic of an abandoned house. Out of Catholic devotion, Thomas never committed the sin of fornicating with his victims, nor of being suggestive with them or kissing them, for he was a married man and faithful to his wife. However, before beginning his ritual, Thomas would get drunk with his victim, as alcohol was his only source of weakness, and then kill her by suffocating her with a rope. Once the victim was dead, Thomas would begin a second ritual, described in his memoirs, which included the skinning of the skin, the Egyptian draining of bodily fluids as if to mummify the body, the dismemberment of arms and legs, and the opening of the cranial cavity with a saw for the subsequent preparation of the brain with spices and bourbon flambé. The meticulous cooking of the human flesh and other organs such as the heart and pancreas usually took no more than three hours.

Once the food was prepared, he would organise the feast in the same place where he had killed the victim. The sour taste of the cooked organs and the soft texture of the human flesh gave him an indescribable, ultraterrestrial, addictive pleasure. A tally sheet taped to the cover of one of the notebooks listed a total of 107 souls; 105 low-life women and two men of the worst kind with whom he had fallen out over a rugby match. On the same sheet of paper, the first name, surname, gender, age, nationality, occupation, city of residence, marital status and religious denomination had been recorded with detective-like meticulousness. All the victims were cut from the same cloth: between 20 and 30 years old, unmarried, lower class, living in London, Protestant and English. Thomas, in keeping with his moral principles, never devoured anyone who was Scottish and Irish, Catholic, old and socially worthy.

Thomas rationalised the Craving as a test from God to demonstrate the strength of his faith and as a punishment for the weakness of his spirit, which was prone to be intoxicated by worldly passions such as alcohol and lasciviousness. Since the Craving was reluctant to abandon his being, he took up a strategy based on a virtuous Catholic life, devoted to prayer and contemplation of the ten commandments, with some borrowings from the Franciscan rule and a ten-month stay in an Italian monastery. It didn't work, but it allowed him to bear the craving with temperance, reducing the number of people he devoured each year, and finally to die in peace with himself and his fellow relatives. He interpreted the cancer that took his life in his late forties as an act of divine commiseration for his torment and atonement for his own flesh.

Alfred read Thomas Ashford's memoirs during the summer before he started university and at a time when he was still unable to put a name to the strange thoughts that gripped him. To summon a demon you had to know its name, and its name was the Craving. The Craving that tormented him possessed a different nature. Cannibalism disgusted him, even if it was one of his favourite subjects as a spectator. His thing was the infliction of pain. Sadism.

It all started in the attic of King's House with the first time he put on the rabbit mask, and from then on he couldn't and didn't know how to stop. First, it came about as an escape from his depressing reality. Second, as a way to impose his power on the boarding school. Third, as an addiction. Fourth, as an artistic expression. And fifth, as a combination of all of the above. There was not a day that went by that he did not wish to ascend to the attic to carry out his sentence on all the boys who dared to break even the most absurd of rules. His group of executioners cheered and praised him, and each cheer revived his Craving. Such was the magnitude of the tyranny that the Jacobite core of King's House imposed on the school that Alfred was referred to the institution's psychiatrist. The psychiatrist ascertained the source of his affliction and recommended to the school authorities that Alfred be assessed by a forensic doctor specialising in serial killers, but the Headmaster declined the request because of its obvious social repercussions for the prince and his family. In the end, the decision was made to seal off the penthouse and disband Alfred's Jacobite clique by moving the boys to the remaining residences. Alfred was left alone in King's House. Henry, an ordinary boy, was the only one who survived him. Without his main source of amusement and without friends, Alfred's character soured.

As Henry was the only one who stayed by his side, Alfred made him the target of his frustrations and outbursts of rage. His abuse of Henry was verbal and emotional, as he lacked the physical substance to attack him. Henry endured his tantrums and hurtful comments with an imperturbability that would have made the Virgin Mary weep. On the last day of school, now sixteen years old and admitted to the University of Saint-Andrew, Henry approached him, shook his hand and then said: you are a monster, an unhappy, petty bastard with an inferiority complex. Your life is meaningless and you are nothing without your lackeys. You are alone and abandoned. You disgust me. Henry's words stuck in his heart like silver stakes.

Back at Ashford Hall, Alfred retreated to his bedroom, where he spent his nights weeping with rage and banging his head against the wooden bars of the canopy. He refused to seek help from his father and sister lest they mock his pathos. So, during the worst summer of his life and to keep from hitting rock bottom, he began reading the Bible at night to comfort himself with the motivational passages and exploring the cottage, sifting through the more than 150 years of stratigraphic layers that had accumulated over the previous five generations like an archaeologist.

On one of the explorations he discovered great-grandfather Thomas's safe. The box had been locked since his death and it took them a triumph to peel the lid off the box after Alexander helped him pick the lock because no one could remember where Thomas had hidden the key. From inside Alexander retrieved the photographs from when Thomas was alive and he was a baby, while Alfred kept a couple of the handwritten notebooks that most caught his eye to read.

From these notebooks, Alfred became familiar with the concept of the Craving and understood what was wrong with him, which increased his hatred for Henry. However, he did not want to end up like his great-grandfather. He did not want to be a slave to the Craving, so he made a decision inspired by Thomas' strategies.

He called in the chaplain of Ashford Hall and confessed to him all the sins he had committed in the Jacob II. The chaplain forgave him his sins in the name of God. Forgiveness improved his state of mind, but that was only the first step. The next step was to frequent the chapel with unusual assiduity. This habit caught the attention of Alexia, who spontaneously began to accompany her brother in his prayers, although Alfred knew that Alexia did not believe in anything resembling a divinity and that she was not praying either, but possibly reflecting in silence. Alexia's contemplative accompaniment cheered him greatly, enough to fracture the shell of decay in which he lived. He was not a wretch, he told himself when he was with Alexia in the chapel.

On August, 1st the Stuarts travelled to the Vatican for the confirmation of Alfred and Alexia and their cousin Auguste by the Pope. Alfred used the event to validate himself as an Ashford and a Stuart, and as the beginning of his test of faith. After confirmation, Alfred stayed at the Vatican to attend a minor seminary for young Christians in which he had enrolled at the time of his decision. The programme was geared towards a priestly ministry, but what interested Alfred was not the profession, but whether he could work in himself a radical change of conscience that would enable him to overcome the Craving and become a better human being than those who despised him, like Henry. Whether or not he would end up as a priest was another matter.

He entered as a boarder in a residence located on the outskirts of St. Peter's Square. Unlike the Jacob II, Alfred did not enjoy any privileges, even as a scion of the Defenders of the Faith[2] . He shared a dingy room with twelve other boys his age. The beds were a rotting jumble of wooden slats whose boards dug into his back through the starving mattress. The pillow still retained the shape of the previous head that had rested on it. The only ventilation available in the room consisted of a window with a broken latch through which a little wind filtered in along with the cacophonous nightlife of Rome. The heat was unbearable and undressing was punishable by a caning, so Alfred removed his pants in the dark and hid them under his pillow to keep his testicles from wrinkling. The food was, to say the least, vomitous. A concoction of two kinds of pasta with meat that looked like rat meat, sometimes fish, and lots of boiled vegetables. The menu at the Jacob II, while not good, tried hard to appear acceptable and not look like expired mashed beans. Alfred ate what he could and stole the rest from the kitchen when it was his turn to do the dishes. The one notable advantage of the seminary was the absence of bullying and mistreatment among fellow students because of the imposition of a pious, scripture-dedicated lifestyle. It was not forbidden, but they never spoke to each other. He did not learn the name of any of his co-religionists and they did not learn his either.

Apart from the obligations he had to observe as part of the pseudo-monastic coexistence, Alfred concentrated on his purpose of finding in Catholicism the inspiration to redeem himself from his Craving. He was initiated into the themes that most appealed to him, such as penance, martyrdom, atonement and the apocalypse. The apocalypse fascinated him with its annihilating descriptions and he copied down by hand the quotations he liked best in order to memorise them. Then he would repeat them mentally like mantras with the first morning prayer. But the apocalypse took him back to the rabbit mask and he saw the boys he tortured as the agonising souls in the nine Dantesque circles. Because of these visions, Alfred was afraid of failing in his enterprise and switched from the apocalypse to more generic Old Testament texts. These passages were not at all revealing to him, so they were easier to digest but duller to memorise, and he used them for the assimilation of new spiritual conceptions.

First he tried chastity. He faced his first contradiction with the biblical model of the family. A man and a woman united in holy matrimony. Alexander was married once and divorced, and never intended to remarry. In addition, his father was bisexual. He had lain with both men and women and at times with both, committing the sin of sodomy. However, Alfred had also sinned. He had had sex with Henry in his room at Jacob II and on two occasions. But that was the norm in British boarding schools. In the absence of women and in the midst of adolescence, there was no other option. Although homosexuality was frowned upon, it was tolerated if you were not caught. But Alfred, unlike his father, wanted to be a straight man like his grandfather Edward. He was decidedly heterosexual, the experience with Henry did not count, and he aspired to marry a woman he was in love with. Since his father was an ungodly man, he would make it his mission to resolve this contradiction. But then the problem of masturbation came up.

Onanism was proscribed by the Bible and in this sense he acknowledged that he had been a recidivist sinner. At the Jacob II he had pleasured himself in the company of his Jacobite friends and alone in the bedroom and study room with porn magazines that one of them was responsible for stealing from the village. Wet dreams were what he dealt with the worst. He would wake up on occasion with a major erection and a stained bed. At home he would privately tell Harman to take care of it, but at the Jacob II he had to lie on his fallen soldiers until the next mandatory change of bedding. At the seminary it was much, much worse. At the Jacob II he discovered a positive correlation between not masturbating and an increase in the frequency of wet dreams. Despite this, and to be consistent with his morality, Alfred vowed not to give in to temptation.

Unfortunately, the flesh triumphed over the mind. A stain was detected on the bottom of his bed and he was interrogated by the monk in charge of discipline. Alfred lied as best he could, but was still punished by being locked in a cell for a day. He prayed until he was hoarse, but to no avail. He continued to be assaulted by wet dreams and spontaneous erections. However, that was not the worst of it. The worst was that he was dreaming about Alexia.

The Bible also regarded incest as a sin and in this respect had another irresolvable contradiction. As the son of a royal house, 90% of his family tree was made up of relatives of varying degrees of consanguinity. The Stuarts, from whom he was directly descended, had preferred marriage between brothers and cousins ever since the first Stuart was crowned king of Scotland. Indeed, he believed that had he been born five hundred years earlier he would have been obliged to marry and procreate with Alexia for lack of a better marriage to a princess from another country to whom he would surely also have been closely related. Veronica Ashford married a cousin Douglas, though Stanley had him through an extramarital affair with a Prussian general. Stanley married a Campbell cousin, as did Thomas. Arthur married a distant cousin from a German royal house who was descended from Charles II of Stuart. Edward was the first to marry a foreign woman related to the Royal House of the Netherlands. But that was also the norm for his kind until relatively recently. The point was that he did not consider Alexia a sex object. Alexia was his twin sister, his partner, his best friend, not a piece of meat for pleasure. For this reason, these wet dreams repulsed him, causing him bodily and spiritual discomfort. But he could take no more, he had to act urgently.

Finally, prompted by the beatings he received when the new evidence came to light, Alfred opted for a desperate measure which, when he returned home, Alexia understood in relation to that specific context. After the night prayer, he slipped away and locked himself in a tourist confessional. He took out a picture of Alexia and masturbated to it. The flesh was weak and he hesitated about his ability to fulfil the purpose.

There was only one final solution left. Mortification of the flesh. He undisciplined himself so that the monk could flog him. But the blows rekindled the craving. Pain into pleasure and torment into ecstasy. He committed twice as many faults and received twice as many punishments. And, after a bad blow, he ended up in the infirmary with the skin on his back torn. At that precise moment, Alfred had an epiphany. He was deluding himself. Thomas fought an untamed force because that force was himself. The Craving was not a demon possessing him, but the manifestation of his desire. And because it was his desire, the Craving was himself. Thomas despaired of justifying his actions. Alfred would not justify himself. The Craving was the manifestation of his will. His God.

At the end of August he graduated from the seminary and flew back to England. He had accomplished the task of clarifying his conscience.

Peter called him a demon.

Alexia understood his feelings.

The Craving was back.

William Birkin was readmitted as chief researcher at the underground laboratory. They were laughing at him. They were definitely playing a sick joke on him.

He laughed out loud after reading the letter. A stunned Annette grabbed his hand to reassure him. What if they left Umbrella? Annette listed a number of companies that would accept him without hesitation. They could move to Chicago, near Annette's family. William denied the well-meaning proposal for one reason: the explanation. He had to know why, and he wouldn't stop until those responsible for such detestable behaviour towards him sang like a church choir. He hadn't worked at the company for more than a decade for nothing. He deserved an answer.

The platform descended down the hole to the lab's reception desk. William handed in his old card at the reception desk and received the new credentials. Chief researcher.

“They are waiting for you in the main laboratory,” said the receptionist.

“Who is waiting for me?” he asked, but the receptionist refused to answer.

He walked down the same corridor as the first time and leaned against the same wall for the second time. The electronic double doors opened. The lab was different in layout, instruments and machines; as if the previous lab had been a reverie. There was no table in the centre to hide what was at the back, nor did he recognise any machine like the one the blonde woman had used to destroy the only existing sample of the G-virus.

A delirium?

William advanced towards the centre of the open space.

It had been a nightmare.

A door creaked behind him.

William turned away.

A young woman and an older bearded man.

William clenched his fists.

The two approached him with a certain parsimony. The young woman held out her hand to shake his.

“Dr. William Birkin. I am Dr. Alexia Ashford, who will be chief researcher in this laboratory along with you. This is my father, Dr. Alexander Ashford, president and CEO of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals. It's a pleasure to meet you,” said Alexia.

William reflexively shook his hand. The shake was light and quick.

“It is a pleasure to meet you at last. Mr. Spencer has spoken very highly of you. I hope your results continue to be as brilliant as they were in the Arklay laboratory,” Alexander continued.

William shook his hand next. The shake shook him painfully from the exaggerated pressure with which Alexander had gripped his hand, and lasted for a couple of seconds that passed like centuries.

It was a nightmare.

A voice inside William climbed into his throat to scream, but his lips were sealed with the force of a million atmospheres. They were in front of him: smiling, feigning sympathy and congratulating him on achievements that had been memorised for the occasion.

It was a nightmare.

I had to wake up from the nightmare.

Silently, he approached one of the tables. He lit a lighter. The flame glowed with the intensity of the sun.

I had to wake up from the nightmare.

He burnt his hand.

He screamed until his jaw unhinged. He punched the lighter as he groaned in pain.

Alexander ran towards him. He was going to kill him. This man would kill him and he would wake up from the nightmare. With enormous strength, he grabbed him by the shoulders. However, he remained rigid.

“Are you all right, Dr. Birkin?” he said in a honeyed tone, and with a murderous look in his eye.

William mumbled an insult that Alexander did not understand.

“You can join us a week later. You haven't finished your stress treatment yet, have you?” said Alexia.

William looked at Alexia. Alexander stepped in front of him to obstruct his vision and increased the strength of his grip.

“You should go to the infirmary,” Alexander continued. “Talk to Dr Garcia. She will advise you.”

Alexander withdrew his hands. Then, guided by a supernatural impulse, William left the laboratory and made his way to the infirmary, as Alexander had instructed him.

I had to wake up from the nightmare. It was not real. Nothing was real. But his hand burned. He examined his palm. He felt the burning. He felt the mortality of his body.

It was real.

The nightmare was real.

Peter was tinkering with a statue when the doorbell rang.

Alfred.

“My name is Auguste.”

A burly, red-haired man accompanied Alfred. Peter invited them in. Alfred showed Auguste the statue presiding over the reception. Auguste commented that it was not bad.

Peter did not understand anything. He had arranged a meeting alone with the demon, and the demon had come with him. Auguste made him nervous. A gigantic guy with a rougher way of speaking than Alfred, although he identified that they both shared the same accent. When they got bored of staring at the statue, Alfred asked Peter to show Auguste his secret place. Was Auguste another demon? He didn't know, but Alfred trusted him blindly.

They went down to the basement.

Peter played the tape a second time. Auguste sat down in the armchair. Alfred leaned against the wall. The tape ended.

Auguste smiled and gave Alfred a knowing look. Peter had lost track of what was going on.

Auguste pulled a pistol out of his shorts and pointed it at Peter. The latter raised his hands in terror. Auguste stood in front of him with the gun in line to his heart. Alfred stood next to Auguste. He reached inside his jacket to pull out a switchblade. The blade shot out of the handle.

“Last week we agreed that I would tell you my plan,” said Alfred. “And I asked you if you'd ever tried it with a person. Sit down.”

Peter sat down in the armchair under Auguste's gun. Alfred stood behind the television.

“I'll make you a deal. I want you to be our enforcer. We will be your master of ceremonies. We will procure the meat and you will carry out our wishes. The rituals will take place in an abandoned factory we just bought. You will not ask about the identity of the meat, nor will you become attached to them. Your job will only be to be the executing hand. The rest will be our responsibility. In this respect, you will have to comply with a number of conditions. First of all, silence. If you reveal our activity to anyone, we will kill you. Secondly, you belong to us. You will obey us above all things. If you disobey, we kill you. Thirdly, the fault is yours. You are the one who killed those animals. And fourthly, our relationship will be limited to these kinds of encounters. You are not our friend. Do you accept?”

Peter swallowed hard.

“Who would I have to kill?” Peter trembled like a flan shaken by an earthquake.

Alfred positioned himself at Auguste's level.

“You will not ask about the identity of the meat,” Alfred stressed.

“I'm sorry.” Peter apologised, cringing.

“Do you accept?” Alfred repeated.

The devil required his services. The voices had casually led him to the climax of his vocation.

“Y... Yes. I accept.”

Alfred smiled and put the knife away. Auguste holstered the pistol in his trousers. The two began their retreat from the house. Auguste gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder.

“I'll call you next Saturday night. That will be our time for the rituals,” Alfred announced without waiting for Peter's approval.

Alfred and Auguste went upstairs.

Peter had made a pact with the devil.

[1] Nickname of Auguste Campbell.

[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Defender_of_the_Faith

#resident evil #resident evil code veronica #alexia ashford #alfred ashford #alexander ashford #william birkin #annette birkin

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midori-laboratories · 2 years ago

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Flowers and Ash, Chapter 4

Book 1, Calendula Chronicles series.

Story synopsis: When the eldest daughter of Edward Ashford accompanies her father and brother on a last-minute trip in 1968 to secure their legacy, an act of spite turns into a boon for the family. When tragedy and scandal strike, the survivors will have to be clever if they are to live long enough to pick up the pieces of their lives. Pre-slash/Gen.

Chapter synopsis: A patriarch passes, and Marigold performs damage control when Spencer makes a move for control of the nascent Umbrella project.

CW for eventual violence, implied death of family member, isolation, dissociation, and violence

November in England was always a dreary affair. Not quite freezing, but the constant drizzle carried the cold creeping into one’s bones following a long, pleasant summer.

It was a fitting day for a funeral.

The siblings had drawn into themselves, rigid with eyes fixed firmly forward as the whispers swirled about. Marigold has drawn a netted veil down over her face for the funeral itself, gripping Alexander’s arm with white-knuckled resolve, the only visible crack in their little shield wall of cold courtesy. The few who had the lack of common sense to approach were quickly pulled away with apologies.

The reception was worse. Spencer and the late Lord Ashford had built up many relationships among the gentry, academic, and business world alike, and they all wanted to know what would happen with the fledgling Umbrella venture. Spencer was present, of course. The man, solemn, grim, and so very sure, assured them all that the European branch was still in the workings, and were they all not lucky that Doctor Bailey and Earl Beardsley were available to assist that side of their great working?

Surely, they must protect the legacy of the man they had lost too soon.

And then Spencer’s eyes would track to young Alexander, listless and lost in a fog of grief, who had retreated into a shell of stoicism. The listener would catch the message clearly enough. The boy- no longer the celebrated young genius in their eyes, fickle, fickle memory- was clearly unready to lead. It would be dangerous, unfair to put that burden on his shoulders. Really, wresting control away (in an unofficial capacity, of course) was an act of mercy.

Marigold drifted through the crowd, numbly and dutifully accepting condolences. Poor child, having taken sick just last month and now this. People commented that she seemed thinner, when they felt that they were far enough out of earshot, though otherwise had made a remarkable recovery. Spencer tracked her movement through the crowd for a while, eventually dismissing her, satisfied that the incident in Africa had resolved itself cleanly. She’d be brought back into the fold soon enough. Earl Beardsley would need the support to establish himself in Europe within the scientific community, at the very least.

---

Marcus did not want to be here.

Yet somehow, the botanist found himself fidgeting nervously by the buffet, making tepid small talk with academics who all quickly realized that no conversation was to be had. They had all drifted off towards Spencer, and towards Bailey, who was off in his own circle. His former assistant was better with people, was grateful for the kind thoughts, and would but happy to get in touch sometime in the future.

Someone pushed a cup of coffee into his hands and he took it without thinking, noting with mild surprise that it was fixed to his liking. He had drained half the cup when an amused voice broke into the fog: “I could have poured a whole bottle of arsenic into that and you would have just downed it, wouldn’t you?”

Marcus flinched, then turned to face Marigold. “I probably deserved that,” he admitted. A beat. “You seem in remarkable good health.”

“Yes,” she said, pleasantly bland. “I suppose we’re both quite lucky that poor silly me can’t follow basic instructions to follow a basic regimen of medication, yes?”

Marcus tensed, hands tightening on the cup. He was at a loss for words. Marigold rolled her eyes. “Idiot. It’s not poisoned. Not that you wouldn’t have it coming, though, from what I’ve been told.”

Finally finding his tongue again, he spoke. “No one else was able to see the blood panels at the site.” The suspicion in his voice was clear as day, but he seemed resigned. “Not even your father.”

Her face hardened at the invocation, crystallizing the polite smile into something that would cut if wielded correctly. “I couldn’t speak to that,” she said, soft. “And you clearly haven’t. I don’t imagine you will, either. Aren’t we all just the luckiest people in the world?” With a sneer, she melted back into the crowd, who were carefully giving the grieving daughter a wide, respectful berth.

Her head was pounding, and Marigold wasn’t watching where she was going when a hand gently caught her arm. Biting back an urge to round on the perpetrator, she found herself looking into Lord Spencer’s inquiring face. “Dear, are you alright? You look distraught.” His eyes tracked to Marcus, eyes narrowing in warning.

She managed a weak chuckle. “It’s been a trying few weeks, Uncle.”

His face softened marginally at the term. “True enough. Are you getting the help you need?”

“We have people managing the estate- organizing everything has been a welcome distraction,” she admitted. After the funeral, she’d be left to her own devices again, if Alexander couldn’t break out of his fugue and step up. Privately, she wasn’t sure he’d be allowed into the inner circle even if he could, after all of this.

A proud house had been reduced to a pariah and an eligible bachelorette; barely even that, if the stories told on her out of school held water. The wolves would descend in no time.

Then again, she thought, that ship had sailed. On that ago, hadn’t it? Spencer was already moving a silent partner to helm her father’s facility, and Bailey to hold down Kijiju, functionally displacing Alexander and isolating Marcus at once.

Spencer nodded, seeming to understand. “Of course, Marigold,” he said, reaching out and taking her hand in both of his. “This would be a terrible time to have to take on all of this alone though. Would it be alright to send someone to the house in the new year? I wouldn’t dream of adding to your burdens, yet we could sorely use your input while Brandon gets settled.” He glanced over at Alexander. “I rather worry about whether your dear brother will have the capacity for a while. Wouldn't you agree?”

Anyone else taking that particular shot at that time would have had a strip torn up one side and down the other, one way or another. She’d gone out of her way to properly castigate Marcus, albeit in as few words as possible. Yet, this man was family- or, as good as. At that particular moment in time, Marigold Ashford, eldest child of the recently deceased, wanted the support more than she would ever care to admit. For the return of even the illusion of stability.

She agreed, dutiful as ever, to allow for a visitor come the new year. Come the spring she would be shadowing business managers, executives, and lab assistants, charting a path to power by the only means she felt were left to her.

Surely Alexander would understand that she could only salvage what was left now.

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allthingsdarkanddirty · 2 years ago

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✯✯✯ FREEBIE ALERT ✯✯✯

Summer Island Book Club by Ciara Knight

From USA TODAY Bestselling Author Ciara Knight Escape to Summer Island, where new beginnings and happy endings are guaranteed.

Widow, Julie Boone has lived her life and is content, so she thought until her daughter gives her the perfect nightmare of a fiftieth birthday gift-her three childhood besties. The arrival of her wildly successful, buttinski friends, overwhelms Julie when her life goes from peaceful to melodrama, makeovers, and matchmaking. Especially when they make her believe there is still life to be lived with one handsome sailor who’s just moved to town.

Trevor Ashford retreats from big city life to sunny Florida after a failed marriage and damaged reputation.His only wish is to open a small boat charter company in peace, but when Houdini—a mischievous pet ferret—steals an engine part and leads him on a merry chase into the arms of Julie Boone, he has to choose between being a recluse or embracing a new love.

@CiaraTKnight

Hosted by @LadyAmbersReviewsPR

#FreeRead #BargainBooks #SweetRomance #SummerIslandBookClub #AFriendshipBeachNovel #CiaraKnight #Romance #OneClick #LadyAmbersPR #Bookstagram #BookBlogger #Bookish #CleanRomance #ContemporaryRomance

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joyffree · 2 years ago

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✯✯✯ FREEBIE ALERT ✯✯✯

Summer Island Book Club by Ciara Knight

From USA TODAY Bestselling Author Ciara Knight Escape to Summer Island, where new beginnings and happy endings are guaranteed.

@CiaraTKnight

Hosted by @LadyAmbersReviewsPR

#FreeRead #BargainBooks #SweetRomance #SummerIslandBookClub #AFriendshipBeachNovel #CiaraKnight #Romance #OneClick #LadyAmbersPR #Bookstagram #BookBlogger #Bookish #CleanRomance #ContemporaryRomance

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naruwitch · 3 years ago

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Code Geass: Paladins of Voltron Chapter 38: Jupiter's Sanctuary

Red. That was the color that surrounded the Castle of Lions from all sides. No, not the bleeding red of blood, or the orange flames of fire, but bright red clouds of dust and gas as Jupiter's Red Spot swirled in all directions outside.

Upon making it back to the castle, barely so much as touching down in Zen's hanger, Lelouch ordered for Allura to guide the Castle of Lions to their Solar System's largest gas giant, where in its lower hemisphere, they'd spot a hurricane that had been blowing and surging practically since the planet formed.

"Take us into the eye of that storm. It should provide enough interference and temporary shelter until we can regroup. Quickly!"

Despite the nearly mesmerizing display of the storm outside, no one was in the mood for exploring or observing it.

Yes, they got away. Yes, they'd managed to shake the Galra for now. But they all knew it wouldn't last long, and that didn't even take into account the losses suffered. Dozens who managed to make it back to the castle were left heavily wounded. Several hallways had to be boarded off and converted into makeshift extensions of the infirmary to treat all of the wounded. Only those with absolutely life-threatening wounds were allowed into the pods first. The rest had to wait and suffer the pain until one opened.

Lelouch and Nunnally both gazed anxiously into the pod that currently held Sayoko inside, the nearly mortal wound to her abdomen dying her cryosuit a rosy red as the machine worked to knit her skin back together, face still pale and slight shadows under her eyes from the blood loss.

Lelouch swallowed, fighting back bile as images of his maid-turned-surrogate-mother bleeding out on Zenobia's floor flashed back to his mind. Despite Lord Guilford's efforts to stop the bleeding on both Sayoko and his sister, they almost didn't make it.

'How many times have I been down here?' Lelouch wondered bitterly, 'Only watching as someone close to me nearly died in these things?'

Nunnally didn't say anything either, only glancing at her brother apprehensively, trying to read his face to offer words of comfort or encouragement, to tell him that Sayoko, and everyone else who made it would be fine. But so far, she had come up empty.

Lelouch didn't bother to turn around as the faint hiss of the infirmary doors opened behind him and the clear clacking of footsteps echoed through the room.

"...What are our losses?" Lelouch asked bluntly, nearly devoid of emotion as Allura approached the pair.

"...Civilian casualties remain zero for our side," Allura said briskly, "But as for our fighting force…? I'm afraid more than half have fallen."

"...I see…" Lelouch said so quietly Allura nearly doesn't hear.

"Lelouch, it's…" Nunnally started but stopped at the look on her brother's face. At that point, she knew that words wouldn't be enough to convince her brother otherwise right now. That he had done the best he could to save as many lives as possible. That this wasn't his fault.

"Where's everyone else?" Lelouch asked, still not turning around.

"Kallen, Rivalz, Shirley, and Milly are with their families. Helping them get settled," Allura said, "Coran is with the rest of the engineers repairing the damaged Knightmares. I believe Suzaku is with his cousin and Tohdoh's squad, and Rai and Nonette are looking over C.C. right now."

"She hasn't woken up yet?" Lelouch asked.

"No…" Allura shook her head, "She's still unresponsive, but clearly alive."

"...And our 'guest'?" Lelouch asked tersely, nearly spitting out the word like venom.

Allura scowled as well, "Currently contained in a cryopod. He won't be able to do anything for now, but we're not taking chances. We're having guards posted to him at all hours, and they have orders to take him out again if he somehow escapes."

"Good," Lelouch nodded slightly before turning out of the room, "If you'll excuse me, I have something else to attend to."

The two princesses watched him go with looks of concern. Yes, Lelouch looked like he was being strong, but they, Nunnally especially, knew better. Lelouch was barely holding it together, focusing on the tasks at hand just to keep from breaking down himself. While Lelouch had gotten better at showing his vulnerable side when around the Paladins, he still had much to work on. It was even rare for Nunnally to see (or hear at the time) her brother cry about anything, but the sobs she used to hear coming from his room during their earlier days at Ashford didn't fool her. Nunnally had no doubt that only after Lelouch was in the quiet of their bedroom would he finally let it out, and it would be painful for him, but she was determined to still be there for him no matter what.

"He'll be alright, Nunnally," Allura said softly, as if reading her mind, "He may be leading this fight, but he's not doing it alone."

"Yes…" Nunnally nodded solemnly before looking more directly at the Altean, "By the way, I never got to thank you for earlier… Thank you for saving me and Euphie. And thanks for looking out for Lelouch and the other Paladins."

Allura smiled sadly, "Ever since I learned of Altea's destruction, I've grown to consider the new Paladins as my family. And that does include you as well." Allura placed a hand on Nunnally's shoulder, "I told Lelouch long ago that I'd be there for him, no matter what. And I want to make that promise to you too, Nunnally, if you'll let me."

Nunnally smiled and wrapped her arms around Allura's waist, feeling the Altean do the same to her.

They'd be there for Lelouch. Both of them.

Kallen fidgetted, her mind flashing back to the day in the hospital when she last saw her mom face to face. She was still clad in her Paladin armor, her helmet resting next to her on her bed. If finding out aliens were real was overwhelming enough, finding out your own child was a pilot of one of the greatest weapons in the universe, and one of the only people that could stop said alien race was likely even more shocking. Kallen knew her mom deserved to know where she'd been these last months, and she was grateful to be given the chance to do so.

"Mom, you still with me?" she asked after a short silence.

"Um, yes…" Mrs. Kozuki nodded, "It's just a lot to take in… I know how much you hate Britannia, so it doesn't surprise me as much as it should that you'd fight against them, but you're even fighting an entire alien race as well…?" She glanced up at her daughter with an anxious expression, "I know I can't stop you Kallen… but this is how I lost your brother as well. I know our life was far from perfect, but I never wanted…"

"I know mom, and… I'm sorry for dragging you into this, but I couldn't just sit back and do nothing anymore, especially after Naoto…" Kallen felt her throat squeeze as tears pricked her eyes, "...At first, it was about revenge, I won't deny that. But ever since this, finding the Lions, fighting with the other Paladins. Even before this with the Black Knights… It's more than that now. We're fighting to actually help people now, to actually save lives. And I don't regret it, not for a second."

Kallen felt a soft hand on top of her own and she looked up at her mom again.

"I think I understand," Mrs. Kozuki said softly, "I know how much you care about your friends and what you believe in. Your brother was the same way, but… but I want you to know… I'm proud of you, Kallen. Just promise me that you'll stay safe. I don't want to lose you too."

Kallen didn't waste another second as she engulfed her mom in a hug.

"I promise, mom. I swear on my life…"

Shirley bit her lip, trying to gauge her parents' reactions. Just like Kallen, and after helping them get settled in, Shirley told her mom and dad everything that had been happening, including the things that she had come to realize about Britannia. About the disturbing parallels she saw between the Galra and the Britannian government's policies. She honestly wasn't sure what her parents would say. Her father was a scientist in the Britannian army, a position she knew he held with great pride. And even after they moved to Japan, Shirley couldn't recall if her mother ever really interacted with the Japanese (their manor being fairly deep into the settlement), honorary citizens or otherwise. Or at least, she never saw such interactions during the few times she was home during the school year. She didn't want to think her parents were bad people, but finding out your child was one of your nation's greatest enemies was likely not a pleasant surprise.

"...Look," Shirley said, the silence finally getting to her, "Whether you agree with me or not, you're still my mom and dad, so we're not going to kick you out or anything, but… you can't change my mind either. I'm too deep into this, I can't just turn my-"

Aurora Fenette suddenly stood up and shakily walked to the door.

"I...I need a moment," she muttered when the doors slid open for her and she retreated down the hallway.

Shirley's eyes shimmered as she watched her go before reluctantly turning back to her father, his expression still unreadable.

"Dad… I… I'm sorry, I just-"

"Shirley," Joseph said calmly, meeting his daughter's eye, "I want you to be honest with me. Does all of this…" he gestured around the room, "...Does this really mean that much to you?"

Shirley was silent, her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn't sure why her father was asking her that question. And the way he was… it sounded almost like coming to a crossroads, though she wasn't sure for whom. But no matter what he meant, Shirley shut her eyes and vigorously nodded her head.

Joseph didn't say anything for a moment, then he sighed and stood up.

"...Where are you going?" she asked nervously as the doors slid open again.

"There's something I need to do," he said vaguely, "and I'll talk to your mother too, Shirley. Just give her some time."

With those last words, the doors hissed shut, leaving Shirley still staring at the door, unsure what to feel at that moment.

"...And that's pretty much all that's happened until now," Rivalz finished after settling down to talk to his mother and siblings about the adventures they had gone on so far. Amelia, Isla, Ava, and his baby brother Joshua remained mostly silent throughout the story and still were as if most were still trying to digest what they had heard. (Though with Joshua being only three, he seemed more interested in 'inspecting' one of the pill bug aliens that joined them in the lounge. It had a surprising amount of patience for having its hair and fur pulled on by the toddler).

Amelia opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but seemed to think better of it and just ducked her head back down to her lap.

The twins, Isla and Ava, both looked at each other, though didn't say anything either.

Rivalz cringed, "I know it's a lot to process so if you need some time I totally get it…"

"Girls," Topaz Cardemonde said finally, "will you take Joshua outside for a moment? I want to talk to Rivalz alone."

The girls didn't question her as Amelia swiftly scooped the boy up, ignoring the whine that followed as he was pulled away from his new 'pet plushy' and quickly hurried out.

An awkward silence followed as mother and son faced each other on the couch. It put Rivalz on edge.

Normally his mother was a very outspoken woman. She supported any passion her children wished to pursue, from Amelia's paintings and art to the twins' love of sports and cooking. He remembered in his earlier years how his mom used to be much more reserved when their dad still lived with them. Lord Corbin Yates from the moment he married Topaz had life all planned out for her and their children. They'd have a son who they'd raise to lead the family one day, then the rest of their children would be daughters they could wed off to well-off or even noble families so they could 'spend the rest of their lives in comfort.'

That changed when Joshua was born. Lord Yates hadn't wanted another son. 'Too much hassle trying to divide up the inheritance' had been his excuse. Topaz knew that if Corbin found out it was a boy, he'd likely demand it be aborted. But if there was one thing that his mother and her family had been solely against even by Britannian standards, it was abortion. They told their daughter that if she ever so much as thought about killing an innocent baby even before its birth, they'd disown her.

So, Topaz went through with the pregnancy, keeping the gender secret from Corbin as she did. Though Rivalz was only fourteen at the time, he remembered the look of sheer disgust on his father's face when Joshua turned out to be a boy. Despite this, Topaz loved and raised Josh just as much as Rivalz and his sisters.

Then one night, one of the family's head maids came to his room, her face pale and with a packed bag, telling him to quietly meet his mother by the horse stables. All three of his sisters were there, and his mother was carrying Joshua in a baby sling. They had escaped back to his mother's family that same night.

Rivalz didn't find out until several months later, when her mom finally filed for divorce, the real reason for their flight.

Apparently one of the maids, the same maid that helped them escape, had overheard a plot that Corbin was discussing through his slightly open office door. He was apparently planning to get rid of Joshua ("Sell him on the market, ship him to the EU, make it work!") and have it disguised as a kidnapping. There would be a bribed investigation where the cops 'gave up' after a few months of 'searching' and Joshua was long gone. Where? Not even Corbin would know… or even care.

Upon hearing this, the maid immediately alerted Topaz. It took several attempts to finally convince her of her husband's treachery, but after noticing some unusual activity in their bank account, she made arrangements with her father and mother to come live with them until this was sorted out.

It didn't take much convincing after that for Rivalz to turn against his dad and take his mother's surname, Cardemonde, instead. He hadn't seen that man since.

"Mom…" Rivalz started, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I dragged you and everyone into this. But please-"

"Rivalz…" Topaz raised a hand to silence him, "When I left your father, taking all of you with me, that was likely the hardest decision I ever made. To this day I still ask myself if I did the right thing."

Rivalz blinked, confused. Where was his mom going with this?

"I did my best to raise you into a good man, and I like to think that I've done so, even if the ultimate result is… not what I expected."

"Mom…" Rivalz murmured, unsure what to say.

"Son, in that message, you said you believed you were doing the right thing. And sometimes the right thing isn't always the most popular thing, especially in our society… I'll admit, I'm not sure how I feel about this arrangement, but… above all else, Rivalz, know that I'll always love you."

Rivalz felt his shoulders sag slightly. It may not have been the answer he wanted, but hearing that last part gave him hope that he could have his family see things from his view. For now, though, he could settle for this.

"Just…" his mother spoke again, "Just don't get yourself killed, please?"

Despite himself, Rivalz laughed softly, "Got it, Mum."

"...Milly, when I joked to my colleagues that one of your ideas or schemes would one day bring about the end of the world, I meant it as just that. A joke…"

Milly laughed nervously from next to her grandfather as they strolled down one of the Castleship's halls, giving him a tour before officially settling him in.

"Um, well in my defense, the Galra were technically already on their way here, so it wouldn't have really mattered if we had found the Blue Lion at the time or not, so…" Milly argued back a little uneasily.

Ruben huffed out a laugh and shook his head tiredly.

"For what it's worth, Milly," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "I'm proud of what you've accomplished so far. It may have taken being abducted by aliens to do so, but you've grown into a fine young woman that I'm honored to be the grandfather of."

Milly smiled and leaned into her grandfather's side, "Thanks, Papa. Though… in all honesty, I doubt Mum and Dad will agree."

Ruben grimaced, "Leave your mother and father to me. There's a reason I asked you to move with me to Japan after the war, and I haven't regretted that decision, especially not now. I don't want you to make the same mistakes they did."

"I won't, Grandpa," Milly exclaimed, "I'm old enough to think for myself on the important things in my life."

"I hope so, and I believe you are…" Ruben said gently, "Just don't ever lose sight of that, Milly. At least promise me that."

Milly smiled, "You have my word, Papa…"

"Well… that was a shitstorm…" Nonette muttered from her position against the wall. Her left arm was in a sling and had several small, attachable Altean cold packs that Rai couldn't bother to remember the name of on her face and attached to the areas of her chest and back from the Gawain's hadron cannons. It was a miracle that she survived with mostly second-degree burns, much less that her Knightmare hadn't blown up with the Siegfried machine they'd faced. Though, the fact that she wasn't in the direct line of fire may have helped a little.

"Yeah…" Rai grimaced in agreement, "But… it could have been worse… So much worse."

The Paladins, upon arriving back, had been horror-struck when they learned about V.V.'s attempted assassination. While Allura had managed to hold him off briefly, the results likely would have been worse had Chigusa (or Viletta Nu as they learned she'd finally regained her memories) not intervened as well.

What truly baffled them though was the state that C.C. was in even now. The immortal still hadn't regained full consciousness, and their medical scans couldn't find the cause for her comatose state.

"Is it true what I've heard about her?" Nonette asked, "That she's immortal?"

"Yeah, it is true. We're still not sure how, but she is…" Rai nodded before chuckling humorlessly, "With Suzaku, that means that all of us have a Geass now, yet I'm the only one that didn't get it from her."

Rai's thoughts grew dark as he thought back to the one who did. He felt his stomach churn when he recalled how that witch had cut him open and sewed him back up again, more often than not wide awake as she did so. Plus, if she was the one behind Mao's robeast…

He looked at C.C. again, eyes narrowing, "Haggar likely did something. It looked a lot like her power from what Nunnally described."

"Is there anything we can do to help her?" Nonette asked.

"I don't know…" Rai admitted. He looked down at his hand in thought. Magic, now that it was confirmed to be real, was clearly a tricky area. One thing Rai did know though was that the Geass held some sort of mystic element, but C.C. had said that Geasses don't work on her… but his Geass wasn't from a human... "I guess… There's something I can try but I'm not sure if it will work."

Nonette didn't say anything but watched warily as Rai approached the sleeping immortal. Hesitating for a moment longer, he placed a hand on C.C.'s forehead, activating his Geass as he did so.

He gasped as images flashed through his mind. "What…?" Rai felt himself flung into a colorful void before landing in the middle of a battlefield. Barricades were dug around him and explosions were going off everywhere. A squad of tanks came rolling over a hill and…

"C.C.?!" Rai gasped as he spotted the immortal sprinting across no-man's land before she ducked down into the barricade.

"Hold it right there!" a man barked before a bullet fired. Rai watched in horror as the shot penetrated C.C.'s skull.

C.C. screamed as the landscape changed again. This time it was even older times, stones being thrown at a cathedral and...

"Oh god…" Rai gasped as he stared at the blazing stake, C.C. tied to the center of it, screaming in agony.

Rai was shaken from his stupor as another scream hit his ears. But this one was not one of pain, but of pure, blood-thirsty rage.

He barely caught a glimpse of a white-haired being streaking through the crowd of people, sword cutting down any in his path when he was yanked away.

"Rai!" Nonette shouted, pulling him away. The Green Paladin blinked and shook his head, barely catching the layer of dark… something faded from his arm.

"What…?" he whispered, looking up at C.C., only to see the same dark aura disappear from her entire body.

"Rai, are you alright?" Nonette asked in concern, "You're crying."

"I am?" Rai asked, hand reaching up to his cheek and feeling the dampness there. He glanced back at C.C. If that was what he thought it was then… no wonder she acted the way she did. So numb. So… unfeeling.

"...Cera…"

Rai blinked up in alarm. That was C.C.'s voice. Was she waking up?

"You finally called me... by my real name..."

"...Okay, you creeped out at all, Ohgi?" Tamaki asked, eying their prisoner in the stasis pod, "I know he looks like a kid but…"

"Well, according to Lelouch he's not," Ohgi said, looking just as uneasy, "He's actually the Emperor's brother. His and Nunnally's uncle."

Tamaki scowled and glanced at V.V. again, "Looks more like his grandkid to me."

"Maybe. But…"

"Yeah, yeah," Tamaki waved Ohgi off, "Magic and all that spiel, I get it."

The hiss of the pod chamber doors caught their attention and Tamaki tensed when Viletta entered.

"Oh, Chi… Sorry, Viletta, right?" Ohgi asked, surprised to see her.

The woman didn't answer right away, as if debating something in her head, then said, "I would like to speak Ohgi. Alone."

Tamaki narrowed his eyes. Most of the crew had been told that Viletta finally regained her memories, and if that was true, he didn't want to leave Ohgi even three feet away from her. "If you think I'm going to just-"

"Shinichiro," Ohgi interrupted, causing his friend to stop, "It's fine. I'll be fine."

"What?! You can't be serious! She's no ordinary Britannian you know, she's one of those Pureblood psychos!"

"Yes, she was," Ohgi confirmed firmly even as Viletta flinched slightly, "but she has nothing to gain by trying anything right now. Just leave us be for a minute, okay?"

Tamaki still stubbornly glanced between the two before sighing harshly and leaving, but not before shooting Viletta an 'I'm watching you' gesture.

With Tamaki gone, Ohgi suddenly felt awkward. While he may have been confident talking to his friend, he couldn't help but feel his guard raise slightly when facing Viletta. It hurt him to do it too. The two of them had gotten close over the past couple of weeks, and the thought of facing her as an enemy now felt surreal.

"I…" he finally started when Viletta stayed silent, "I'll be honest, I'm surprised you're choosing to stay with Voltron, with us, instead of going back to Britannia. I know others would have… and already have…"

...Considering you're a Pureblood went unsaid, but the message was clear.

Viletta frowned slightly, "I'll admit, the thought did cross my mind too. But I'm also not really a fan of having my entire race being sold off by the person we're supposed to be serving. Not only has he kept secrets, but is endangering everyone, including his people."

"I'm guessing by 'secrets' you mean V.V. here," Ohgi asked, gesturing to the immortal in question.

Viletta grimaced again, "That… and what I heard happened to Lord Jeremiah. Though, we're still unsure if Britannia had a hand in that or not yet."

"Jeremiah…" Ohgi muttered, furrowing his brows for a second. Then they raised in recognition, "He was the one that set up Suzaku, right? For killing Prince Clovis. If I recall, you were also a part of that at the time."

Viletta sighed but didn't deny it. "Not one of my finer moments, I'll admit… When I ran into Miss Fenette on the Avalon, one of the things she told me was that Britannia was evil and at that time, I couldn't understand why she would think that. I thought Zero had brainwashed her or something of that nature. But now that I look at things from her perspective, and with everything that has happened, I understand a little more."

Ohgi remained silent and continued to listen.

"Not only that, but she still saved me, an enemy soldier, pointing a gun at her. She could have just as easily left me for dead. I know it was likely to interrogate me and even without memories they still could have tried something. But they did the opposite. I was treated kindly, as another member of the group, even by you… If our roles were reversed, I can tell you right now that they wouldn't have gotten the same treatment. We would have used them to our advantage. As a pawn or a decoy."

Ohgi grimaced but didn't argue as he agreed. He had no doubt that that would have been the case.

"But… I'll admit, I'm still curious to know more. You all have lost so much, but you keep getting back up and pushing back. How do you do it?"

Ohgi shrugged, "I honestly don't know. I guess… if you really care about something, those things are just worth fighting for. And that makes them all the more precious to you."

Viletta blinked and looked down, "I never thought about it like that…"

Ohgi smiled, "If you want help understanding, I'm more than willing to be there for it."

At those words, for the first time in their conversation, Viletta smiled.

"I'd appreciate that."

"...Well, thank goodness they're all salvageable," Lloyd said as he lowered down from the damaged Lancelot, "the crystal isn't damaged, but the big problem will be getting a hold of replacement parts considering… Well, we can't exactly waltz back to our planet right now. What with it being occupied by aliens and whatnot."

"Lelouch explained to us briefly about the various governments of your planet. We may need to cautiously retrieve our resources from the other sovereign nations," Coran said with a grim frown, "but who knows how quickly the Galra will expand to the rest of the planet, especially with Zarkon himself there. I also have no doubt that they'll try and use some of your world's technology, regardless of how primitive, to their advantage."

"If you ask me, we should start searching for allies off-planet as well. Preferably ones with more advanced technology as well," Rakshata suggested.

"Oh, I agree," Coran nodded, "the princess and I have discussed several possibilities as of late. The more systems that we free from Galra rule, the better."

While the three continued to discuss such options, Cecile observed the footage from Lancelot and Gawain. Particularly, of Zarkon himself. Even just seeing him on recorded footage sent shivers down her spine.

'It doesn't seem possible…' she thought, 'How can one creature single-handedly stand up to a whole squad of Knightmares. None of the pilots made so much as a scratch on him. If they were normal Knightmare frames I could understand, but these were all upgraded from the castle, and even with that…'

Swallowing, she rewound the footage again, this time zeroing in on the weapon Zarkon was using. While she had never seen the Paladins fight in melee combat, she had heard from some of the Black Knights how these weapons, Bayards they were called, worked. How they could morph and shape into any tool that the Paladin needed or was suited for, from guns to swords.

So… did the Galra come up with a similar weapon, because from the description, whatever Zarkon was using acted a lot like the Bayards...

Cornelia blinked her eyes open, her vision slowly clearing as she looked around in confusion. The last thing she had remembered was passing out on the Black Lion's floor. She vaguely recalled Lelouch barking an order and Guilford leaning over her with some goopy orange substance on his hands. Otherwise, her memory was blank.

"Cornelia…?"

Whatever thoughts of returning to sleep Cornelia had gone flying out the window and bolted upright in the bed. Which was a bad idea as she felt a jolt of agony shoot up her right shoulder.

"Cornelia!" Euphemia yelped as she shot up in fright, Arthur yowling in annoyance as he was launched off her lap. "Wait, don't do that! It's not done yet!"

"Wha…" Cornelia gasped, blinking spots out of her eyes as they trailed down to her arm… or what was left of it.

'Oh that's right...' she remembered. Her arm was gone now, and whatever strange device that was attached to her shoulder, humming softly must have been repairing the damage.

"Sister, please, lie back down. It won't heal properly otherwise," Euphemia pleaded again before helping her sister back down on the cushion.

Any pain that Cornelia had felt previously, though, was wiped away as tears formed in her eyes. Her throat closed up in sheer relief at seeing her little sister alive and well.

"Euphie…" she breathed, sniffling as a tear trailed down her cheek, "You're okay…"

"Cornelia, don't worry about me," Euphemia responded, "you need to rest still!"

"I'll be fine, Euphie," Cornelia reassured as Arthur reclaimed his position on Euphemia's lap, "...I'm just glad that I didn't lose you down there."

Euphemia gasped softly before looking down ashamed. "I'm sorry, sister. This is my fault. I thought… I really thought with the SAZ that I could make a difference. Instead, I just made everything worse, like I always do!"

Cornelia frowned as her sister began to cry softly. "Euphemia, you were not the one who gave that order to shoot. You did not hold a gun in your hand and fire. Lelouch wanted to find a way to unite Earth for when the Galra came. We were offering the olive branch to our father, and he threw it away without even looking at it. He was the one stupid enough to form an alliance and sell out the planet to aliens, to monster even worse than he is..."

Cornelia couldn't hold back the shudder when she thought back to Zarkon. She had fought him face-to-face and he had bested her. Badly. And looking up at him from the ruined earth beneath her, she saw nothing in those glowing violet eyes of his.

"...Schneizel always used to tell us that a person's eyes are like windows to the soul," Cornelia said and Euphemia looked up at the mention of their older brother, "But when I saw Zarkon's eyes, there was none. There was nothing there. Just an abyss. A void that could never be filled or sated…"

Euphemia felt the color drain from her face. While it was true that she hadn't seen Zarkon herself, the stories she heard from Lelouch and the other Paladins were enough to scare her, but with her own sister adding onto it with such dread in her tone only made this nightmare more realistic than ever before.

What was even more heartbreaking, was that Lelouch had had to face a monster like that on his own.

Guilford looked up as he heard footsteps approaching the door he was guarding. He relaxed when he saw who it was, though.

"Guilford," Lelouch acknowledged as he came up to his room of the castle. Considering the infirmary was still flooded with patients, Lelouch inclined to let Cornelia recover in his room. Besides, there were a few things he needed to discuss with her and Euphemia in private, and it would be too much of a hassle to either move her or move everyone else in the area away.

Once his own head wound was addressed, Guilford insisted on standing guard. While he knew it would be foolish for someone to try and attack the princesses during this time, he didn't want to take chances, especially since Cornelia was still once the Viceroy, and many Japanese citizens were still less than pleased to even be in the same proximity as her.

"Lelouch," the knight acknowledged as he stepped aside.

Without another word, the Black Paladin entered his quarters.

"Lelouch!" Euphemia exclaimed happily when the doors opened.

Lelouch immediately smiled and embraced Euphie in a hug, "I'm glad you're alright, Euphie. I apologize for not seeing you sooner."

"It's alright," Euphemia shook her head, "I know you were… busy."

Lelouch smiled bitterly. 'Busy' was one way of putting it he supposed. But a neutral expression soon replaced it.

"I'm sorry to ask this, Euphemia, but there are some things I need to discuss with Cornelia in private. I'll come find you again later, okay?"

Euphemia nodded, though a little reluctant, but she ultimately stood up, Arthur in her arms, and exited the room, leaving her two older siblings behind.

With a hiss of the door closing behind them, Lelouch suddenly found himself silenced, unsure of what to say first. Though it seemed Cornelia was in a similar boat.

"I…" Lelouch rasped, his tongue feeling like lead. Licking his lips, he started again, "I'm sorry for the loss of your men."

Cornelia nodded, "I appreciate it. They fought bravely to the very end…"

Lelouch nodded jerkily, trying desperately to hold back a sudden wave of hot, bitter tears.

"How…?" Lelouch whispered, "How are you so calm about this?! You men died! Sayoko almost died! And you…! You lost your arm! Trying to protect me!"

Cornelia felt her heart squeeze as she watched Lelouch struggle to keep himself together. While on the surface it may not seem like it, Cornelia valued every soldier and knight that served under her. Losing even one of them was difficult enough and she suspected that with how small of a group they started out as, he brother and the other Paladins simply weren't used to watching other people die for them. In their eyes, the roles should be reversed. They were supposed to be the defenders, not the defended.

"This isn't your fault Lelouch, no matter if you believe me or not. All of my men, myself included, made the choice to protect you. And I don't regret it. Yes, it cost me an arm, but I'd gladly lose both if it means you stay alive… I just barely got you and Nunnally back, and I'll be damned before I lose you again."

Lelouch grit his teeth, "But I don't want to lose you either!"

This exclamation startled Cornelia as he sat down on the other side of the bed.

"I… I know I've been avoiding you since you came here, and I'm sorry for that. I guess… despite my Geass telling me otherwise, I couldn't see you as the sister I knew back at Aries Villa, or didn't want to… But when I saw you, with Zarkon on top of you, I…" Lelouch furiously wiped his tears away, "...I'm so sorry…"

Cornelia could only stare in surprise as her brother tried to pull himself together. She wanted nothing more than to hug him but honestly wasn't sure if that was something Lelouch wanted right now.

"Can we…" he took a breath, "Can we just talk? Just you and me? Please?"

"...Of course," Cornelia said softly after a moment.

"Thank you…" he exhaled in relief. Now the next conflict. Where did he even start?

Well… the beginning is usually a safe place, wasn't it?

"...When you heard that Nunnally and I had been killed, how did you handle it?"

Cornelia frowned and looked down, her own eyes misting with tears.

"When I wasn't comforting Euphie, I would cry myself to sleep every night. I kept telling myself that it wasn't true, that there had to have been a mistake. I don't think it was until about a month later where it finally sunk in for me that you were gone… or so we were told."

Lelouch couldn't help but scowl at that last part. "And yet no one seemed to remember that it was Britannia that initiated that attack in the first place. They blamed the Japanese for our deaths, but Britannia started the war. After they won, they just found that blaming the conquered nation was easier than taking responsibility themselves. A world, an empire, like that is one I never want to live in."

"Yes…" Cornelia nodded in agreement, "After the grief finally passed, I wanted to confront the emperor myself. Demand to know why he didn't keep you and Nunnally safe during the fighting. But I feared what he would do to Euphie if I did so. I was a coward…"

"No…" Lelouch shook his head, "Had I thought it through before confronting him, I likely would have done the same for Nunnally. Though I truly didn't expect him to banish her along with me."

Cornelia nodded, "I know this isn't an excuse, but being unable to blame the one who truly did it, I turned my anger onto the next best thing in my eyes. The Japanese. If the empire was blaming them, I might as well play along. I suppose I just kept telling myself that again and again until I actually believed my own lie… Or maybe I should have confronted him anyway, whether with you there or after the war. Hell… when we were watching you go I could have stepped forward and gone with you two. And Euphie as well. I… I should have tried harder to protect you like I promised I would. Like… like I promised to protect Lady Marianne before…"

Now Cornelia was crying and Lelouch sat silently, looking at her, patiently waiting for her to go on.

"...I completely understand if you hate me for everything, Lelouch. I couldn't protect your mother, and I failed as a sister as well. Terribly."

"...I did feel that way for a while. When no one came for us during the war, it was the final nail in the coffin for me so to speak. That us being sent to Japan was the final part of a plot to destroy our family. I closed myself off after that. I was afraid to form attachments with anyone, whether afraid they'd betray me or I'd get hurt if I lost them. And I know feeling hurt when losing someone is proof of caring for them, I just didn't want to feel that again." Lelouch paused before smiling a little, "However, joining Voltron, becoming a Paladin, not only did I forge attachments again, I felt something I never had before. Through everything, the Paladins and the Alteans aren't just my teammates or even friends anymore. I think of them as part of my family. When I told them who I really was, both as Zero and a prince, they were shocked, yes, but they also didn't judge me. I was fully prepared to step down as leader from the mistrust, but the opposite happened instead. They were willing to help me, to support me."

Cornelia smiled again, "I'm happy to hear that you have the support you need, Lelouch. After everything, you deserve to be happy, with a family you can trust."

"Thank you… if you would be willing, I'd love for you to be a part of that too."

This statement surprised Cornelia again. While it was clear that Lelouch no longer saw her as his enemy, the fact that he wanted her in his life like that was not what she expected.

As if reading her mind, Lelouch continued, "True, you may have been my enemy, but once you understood the entire situation and knew the truth, you didn't hesitate to help. I'm grateful to Nunnally for doing that. It showed me that even you were capable of changing. So… if you're willing, I'd very much like to have my older sister back. I'm sure Nunnally and Euphemia would like it that way as well."

Cornelia didn't notice the tears running down her face until they fell in droplets on her remaining hand. Now she was the one crying in front of her brother. "Do you mean that?"

"Yes… well actually, I do have one condition. Please don't sacrifice yourself again. Not like that." Lelouch amended, gesturing to Cornelia's arm, "I… I already thought lost you once. I don't want to feel that way again. I don't… I don't want to watch anyone else I love die."

Cornelia found herself nodding, wiping at her eyes, "Deal."

Lelouch then smiled and in a move that even surprised himself, he pulled his arms around Cornelia's shoulders, burying his face in her shoulder. She hesitated for a moment before doing the same with her remaining arm.

"I love you, Cornelia…" Lelouch whispered.

"I love you too, Lelouch…"

Contrary to everyone's fears, Tohdoh's eye itself wasn't as damaged as they originally thought. It was still functional and the only damage he'd have would be a grisly looking battle-scar on his face over it. Coran had offered to use one of the medical devices to heal it faster, but Tohdoh insisted that it be used on the other soldiers first before him. If worse came to worse, losing an eye wasn't really as big of a loss as some make it out to be. For now it was bandaged, gauze and a medical pad wrapped around his head.

"No word from Kyoto, Kaguya?" Suzaku hesitantly asked his cousin from their position on one of the star decks, the reed hurricane illuminating the room in a rusty red.

Kaguya shook her head sadly. "No. They all stayed behind. I doubt any of them survived, and if they did, they won't for very long considering their age…"

Suzaku grimaced, gritting his teeth. While he hadn't been as close with the rest of Kyoto since Japan's fall, that didn't change the fact that they were still kin of his. Kin who had been lost or slaughtered in the battle varga prior.

"This is a nightmare…" Chiba muttered a hand pressed to her forehead, "I knew they would come eventually, but to see them, and just be told…"

"It kind of makes you wonder how long it would have taken for them to get here if Voltron hadn't shown up," Asahina added.

Senba and Tohdoh shot the bespectacled member a hard glare. "Now hold on, it's not fair to blame this on Voltron…"

"I'm not!" Asahina insisted, raising his hands in surrender, "I agree with you. At least we were warned and able to prepare but…"

"...I guess it doesn't change the fact that we still led them here, is that it?" Suzaku asked, head looking down in shame, "Maybe if we had stayed away, it could have bought Earth more time. Maybe some people could have lived a little longer..."

"...I disagree," Tohdoh said gravely, drawing everyone's attention, "I still think Voltron coming now rather than later was the best call. Had they chosen to stay away from the planet, the war Britannia was waging would have continued. And without Zero, without Lelouch's, leadership, the rebellion he was organizing would have fallen apart quite quickly. That's not taking into account how many more innocent lives would have been lost because of it. Ironically, it was the threat of the Galra coming, and the knowledge we received beforehand of it that was able to bring most of the Earth together when it was so divided. Yes, it was a gamble, one that Lelouch himself admitted to, but a gamble that had to be taken and was well worth it in my eyes."

"...Yes," Chiba nodded finally, "You're right."

"Apologies, Colonel," Asahina bowed his head, "I didn't think about that…"

"We may have lost the battle for now, but the war is far from over," Senba added, "Urabe's death, and everyone else's, will not be in vain."

Suzaku thought back to the very thing Lelouch has said back on Arus. About the possible scenarios that could happen when they returned and thinking about what his sensei just said as well, he even back then, Lelouch was taking all strategies into consideration, accounting for all possible outcomes on a military and civilian level. And unfortunately, especially in war, there were times when there wasn't a 'good' option at all, but a choice between two evils instead and trying to judge which one was worse, and which one would ultimately bring victory with the best outcome. And he also found himself agreeing with his sensei.

Considering all of the factors, all the ways this could have gone terribly wrong much earlier, it really could have been much worse. They could still fix this, right? They had to fix this. For Urabe. For all of the people who died trying to defend their home, their world from monsters.

'And if they have the will to not give up… perhaps I can find that will too…

It wasn't long after that Suzaku started the trek back to his room. He had no doubt that Lelouch and Allura would be calling them all for a team meeting soon to discuss their next move and he hoped to take a few minutes to meditate and clear his mind before that.

"Oh…!" a small gasp caught his attention as he rounded the corner and came face-to-face with a pair of familiar lavender eyes.

"Euphie!" he exclaimed in relief, just barely lifting his hands in time to catch her when she ran into his arms.

"Suzaku! I'm so glad you're okay!" she cried, leaning into Suzaku's chest as they both lowered to the ground.

"You're glad I'm okay?!" the Purple Paladin almost laughed in disbelief, "I'm glad you're alright!"

Euphie let out a wet chuckle, feeling tears trickle down her face, "I'm sorry… I'm sorry for everything..."

Suzaku paused and pulled back to look at the princess, "What are you talking about?"

Euphemia looked down, not willing to meet Suzaku's eye, "Sister told me already, but… and I'm not trying to blame myself for what happened… but it feels like anything I'm actually good for, it's worthless when everyone else is fighting."

Suzaku frowned in concern when the message became clear. Euphemia may say that she wasn't blaming herself, but Suzaku didn't believe her from the tone of her voice.

"Euphemia, your idea for the zone… there was nothing wrong with that! I personally loved the idea. And it would have worked! It would have worked if…" Suzaku didn't finish his sentence. Not that he needed to.

Euphemia didn't say anything, only sighing and placing her head against Suzaku's chest. It clear that she still didn't believe that.

Suzaku bit his lip. He hated seeing Euphemia like this, but if there was one thing he noticed that many of the Britannian royalty seemed to have in common, it was that they tended to blame themselves for things they either didn't have control over or weren't even involved with in the first place. Such mental gymnastics always shocked him.

"...Euphie, I never told you the truth about why I became a soldier, did I?" Suzaku asked suddenly.

Euphemia blinked and looked, confused about the sudden change in topic.

"Euphie… I killed my own father. And I joined the Britannian military because I thought that was the best way to atone for what I'd done." Euphie was now looking at Suzaku in shock, "I used to believe that if I went by the system, I could find a way to change things for the better, even if I died in the process. But… that was just an excuse I kept telling myself. I understand that now. I was trying to avert the blame, to lessen the guilt I've been carrying for so long… but then I realized, my friends helped me realize, that dying wouldn't let me atone for anything. I was just running away from my problems. If I'm serious about wanting redemption, the best thing I can do for that is live. To live for a cause I believe in.

"So that's why, no matter what," Suzaku said softly, smiling gently at Euphemia, "I'll be there to help you every step of the way as well. You have my word on that."

Euphemia didn't know when the tears began to fall again, but she did know when she once more threw her arms around Suzaku, feeling warm, happy, and relieved as Suzaku embraced her back, holding her as she cried with tears of joy.

"Suzaku?" Rai's abrupt voice rudely interrupted the moment and Suzaku couldn't stop the slightly irritated sigh that escaped.

"What's going on, Rai?" he responded as he pulled away slightly to answer.

"The Paladins need to meet in my room. C.C.'s awake."

All of the Paladins made it to Rai's room almost as one and nearly ripped the doors apart to get inside. They were all relieved to see the immortal awake again. Nonette politely left the room to give them space.

"Well, it's not like whatever was done to me would have killed me…" C.C. attempted to say nonchalantly.

"So?" Shirley gasped, "That doesn't change the fact that it still happened! What if you do die some time and actually stay dead?!"

"You're a part of this ragtag crew as much as the rest of us, C.C.," Kallen smiled, "You ain't going to get rid of us that easily."

C.C. actually looked startled before huffing out a laugh, "You've all become so clingy…"

"But you love us for that, don't you?" Milly winked with a smirk.

The door to the room opened again and this time Allura entered. She also looked relieved to see C.C. awake as well.

"I'm glad to see that you are alright, C.C." Allura said in relief, "And I must apologize for not getting there to assist you sooner. If I had, I could have prevented whatever knocked you out."

C.C. shook her head, "I doubt that would have mattered… Whatever attack that was that V.V. used, it wasn't one he originally had."

"What did happen anyway?" Rivalz said, voicing the question everyone wanted answered at the moment.

"I am not sure how he got on the ship," Allura confessed, "Whatever means he used, it bypassed most of the castle's security. We're just lucky that the internal security caught him before he could cause any damage."

"Yes. He was targetting Nunnally and Euphemia," C.C. confirmed. Lelouch stiffened, body rigid with sudden rage. Suzaku's face also contorted but managed to keep his expression somewhat calm. "I tried to stop him, but… he threw something at me. It looked like a small black marble. But when it hit me…" C.C. shivered, suddenly looking ill.

Lelouch scowled, looking down in thought, all of this new information swirling in his head. V.V. snuck onto the castle, undetected, and then displays a power that not even C.C. was aware of? And the fact that C.C. seemed scared of it?

"...It was Haggar," Lelouch finally stated gravely, "It had to have been. It's the only thing that makes sense."

"So… Charles really did form an alliance with the Galra. Or with Haggar at least," Suzaku said.

"Meaning… they did all of this of their own free will," Kallen frowned angrily, seething. While she may not have liked Britannia from the beginning, but this was a new low and she felt even more betrayed. From the looks on the rest of them Paladins' faces, they were feeling similarly. Even C.C. looked disturbed.

"...Cera," Rai murmured.

C.C. blinked and gasped in surprise. Everyone else also looked at the Green Paladin in confusion.

"That's your real name, right? Cera?" Rai asked.

C.C. suddenly frowned, "It seems you have a habit of eavesdropping… and sharing secrets."

"Cera? I like that name," Shirley said, honestly.

"Same," Rivalz agreed, "It's way better than calling you C.C. all the time at least."

"It's at least a lot more human calling you that," Kallen said.

C.C. scoffed, "That's a joke! As if I want to be 'more human.' After all, I…"

Everyone stared as C.C. started to tear up, clutching the sheets of Rai's bedding like a security blanket.

"I've forgotten how… How to be human. I can't age. I can't connect with anyone without them passing by me. They move on, while I remain the same. I can't find love, or have a family, or watch them grow old and mature," C.C. was practically sobbing now, "And I can't die peacefully with them. I… I can't die period…"

Unable to stand it any longer, Shirley sat on the bed next to her and pulled C.C. into a hug. She didn't resist only crying harder as the Orange Paladin rubbed her back gently.

"It's okay… shh, shh, it's okay," Shirley soothed to the best of her abilities.

"C.C… We're here for you now," Milly reminded her, "You don't have to deal with all of this alone."

"We know that we still don't know much about you, but…" Suzaku hesitated, "but you're still our friend and ally."

"Yeah, and you've helped us so much since this whole adventure began," Rivalz added.

"You've been playing a part in this just as much as the rest of us," Kallen said, "We likely wouldn't be here now without you."

"Plus, didn't we say that we'd find a way to make you mortal again?" Rai asked, remembering the conversation they had after facing Mao, "You haven't forgotten that, right?"

"Rai's correct. We haven't forgotten that promise," Allura agreed, "Every being deserves to live life fully, and if this immortality, this curse, is standing between you and that, then we will help you break it."

"And once it's done… You can have a family of your own," Lelouch said in finality, "You can do all of those things you wish for. So please, C.C., or whatever you'd like us to call you, let us help you do that."

C.C. gasped out a wail before reaching out blindly, grabbing Milly's arm, being the closest, and pulling her roughly. With a yelp Milly collapsed onto the bed, dragging Rivalz with her. It wasn't long after that the rest of the Paladins and Allura joined C.C. in a group hug. She still continued to sob, but instead of sorrow, it was tears of joy that she shed.

"Thank you all for coming…" Allura addressed everyone present. After a couple more hours of resting, Lelouch and Allura requested for a number of people to meet them and the other Paladins on the bridge. These people consisted of Nunnally, Ohgi, Tohdoh, Cornelia (being transported in a hoverchair with Guilford behind her), Nonette, Villetta, Euphemia, Lloyd, Rakshata, Cecile, and Kaguya. C.C. and Coran were also there, standing with the other Paladins.

"Firstly, I wish to apologize for the defeat we've suffered. Your planet may be held hostage for the time being, but the war is far from over. There is still hope to counteract this."

"We're planning a counterattack already?" Ohgi asked in surprise, "But… we don't have the resources or people for that yet!"

"This meeting isn't to plan the counteract for Earth," Lelouch informed everyone solemnly, "Several more preparations and precautions must be taken before we can even think about trying to take Earth back. No, we called each of you here to inform you of something. Something about Voltron."

"Or, more specifically, why Voltron broke apart when Zarkon showed up," Coran added, face grim.

"Voltron… fell apart?!" Nunnally gasped, eyes wide.

"I wondered about that myself when I saw that…" Tohdoh muttered, his good eye narrowing.

"So I wasn't imagining that…" Nonette muttered.

"Did it happen right as Zarkon came?" Villetta asked.

"No, it was right before. I remember seeing Voltron freeze up right before that mothership appeared in the sky. Then it broke apart," Cornelia reiterated. Guilford nodded in confirmation.

"Considering, from what we understand, it requires the Lion pilots to think and act as one to form Voltron," Rakshata said, "I highly doubt that it was due to mechanical failure."

"Highly unlikely," Lloyd agreed, "None of the Lions suffered too much damage after they returned to the castle."

"Then… Why did it happen?" Kaguya asked.

The Paladins all glanced at one another with uncertainty, as if asking the others if this was really a good idea… whatever it was they were about to reveal.

Finally, Suzaku let out a sigh, "As most of you have probably guessed, the seven of us aren't the first Paladins to use Voltron."

"Well, you did mention that Voltron was an ancient weapon. Nearly as old as this castle," Cecile reminded, "So that does make sense."

"Right…" Kallen nodded, "Anyway, we're apparently only the second set of Paladins to use the Lions, and that was only after we found them after 10,000 years of hiding."

"Yes," Allura confirmed, "My mother and father were two of the original Paladins in fact. The Paladins of the Purple and Red Lions respectively."

"Oh… cool," Ohgi couldn't help but say.

"Anyway, for someone to be a Paladin. Their energy kind of has to match that of the Lion," Rivalz went on, "Kind of like putting the red balls in the red box and blue balls in the blue box so to speak."

"Basically, the seven of us have a quintessence that mirrors that of the Lion we pilot. We did mention when we first got back that the Lion chooses the pilot, not the other way around, right?" Rai asked.

"So theoretically, not just anyone can fly a Voltron Lion," Guilford stated, "You have to be bred for them."

The Paladins winced at the wording. "I guess that's one way of putting it…?" Shirley cringed.

"Anyway, just like us, the Paladins before us shared the same quintessence with their Lions as well," Milly went on, "And a bond between a Lion and its Paladin is strong. Like, really, really, really, really, really-"

"I believe they get it, Milly," C.C. interrupted.

"...Really incredibly strong."

"But… What does this have to do with Voltron breaking apart?" Euphemia asked hesitantly, voicing what everyone was thinking.

"...Because the Black Lion still shares a connection to its previous Paladin. A Paladin that is still very much alive," Allura spoke gravely.

"...'Still shares'...?" Ohgi asked, face suddenly growing pale as realization slowly dawned on him. Similar expressions were mirrored on most of the other occupants.

"The original Black Paladin…" Lelouch spoke up, the air now heavy with trepidation, "...My predecessor was... or rather, is... Zarkon."

#fanfiction #code geass #voltron

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kinkandkreep · 4 years ago

Text

Enemies of Everywhere: Chapter 7

A/N: Hey Hey y’all! Welcome to chapter 7 of Enemies of Everywhere!😁 I at least a few of y’all are really gonna enjoy this one. 👀 In this chapter, we continue where we left on the last, and there’s quite a twist up ahead, if I do say so myself. I hope it makes sense and doesn’t come off as too loud.😅 Anyway, and again I say, enjoy!😊

The Holter family had just finished tidying up after dinner, the women all having retreated to the living room to do womanly things and the patriarch of the family having left to enjoy their local college’s basketball game on tv in their renovated basement when a knock sounded at the door.

Arin, having been on his way up the stairs to his room, seemed to be the only person who’d heard the soft yet firm knocking, and thus went to answer.

‘Who could it be at this late hour,’ he wondered to himself, hand poised on the doorknob.

Just before he could open it however, another knock sounded, this time a little more forceful than the last one.

Arin frowned, but his expression turned swiftly into shock as one Alaric Ashford stood expectantly at the door, dressed in a tight fitting black turtleneck and impossibly tight black jeans, which somehow looked very flattering and not at all constricting on him. He cleared his throat obviously, snapping Arin out of his reverie and sending his eyes shooting up to meet Alaric’s own.

“A-Alaric! What brings you here this late?”

“You.”

The boy answered simply, arms folded across his chest and brow quirked, a small smirk curling his lips.

Arin gulped quietly, grip on the door tightening.

“Me? Really? May I ask why?”

Chuckling, Alaric stepped forward, causing Arin to step back in alarm.

“I want to talk to you about Kendra. She’s been behaving strangely as of late, and I was wondering if you or your sisters had noticed anything as well, since you seem to be so chummy and all.”

If Arin didn’t know any better, he could swear he saw a flash of bitter anger sear across Alaric’s face. He declined to comment on it, but decided instead to file it away for later.

“U-uh, sure. Yeah, come in. Anna and Angel are busy but we can talk for the time being. I’ll say now though that I haven’t observed anything just glaringly out of the ordinary going on with Ken but she did bump into me earlier. She seemed a little frazzled then.”

Alaric kept the knowledge that he’d seen their exchange to himself.

He followed Arin up to his room, inching forward to stand in the center of the room as the door shut behind him.

“Hey, it’s Alix. Presently, I am unable to answer your call but shoot me a message and I’ll get back to ya’ just as soon as I can. Thanks!”

The phone beeped, leaving Kendra to respond with a drawn-out sigh.

She’d been trying to contact Alaric for around 15 minutes now, and the boy hadn’t answered once. She’d wanted him to meet her at their secret spot near the playground hidden in the woods behind her house so they could talk things over, but now she was worried that he was still angry and was avoiding her.

As Kendra reclined on her bed, she reminisced about the past week or so & all the strange occurrences that had happened during it. She slowly began to realize that lately, much of her life had revolved around Alaric & the crazy situations he somehow always got them both tangled up in.

With a sarcastic grimace, she also realized that in his attempt to help ease her nerves, he only inadvertently made them worse.

At least, she hoped it was inadvertent.

Rolling over onto her stomach, she breathed deeply through her nostrils and proceeded to scroll absentmindedly through her social media.

As she did, a message from Alix popped up in her notifs, letting her know he'd meet her at their spot in 20 minutes.

Although a little peeved he took so long to respond, Kendra quickly scampered to get ready, making sure to dress lightly but warmly considering it was uncharacteristically cold this night.

10 minutes later, she was about 5 minutes out from her destination when she spotted Alaric heading the same direction, though he was further ahead. He was walking kind of oddly, almost limping.

She thought to call out to him, but before she could, he'd reached one of the benches at the entrance of the playground, and upon taking a seat, turned to wave Kendra over.

The girI hurried to join him, sliding into the space beside him & taking the small, proffered bag of purple sour gummy bears, the best friend's shared favorite candy snack.

"Sorry I didn't get your message til late. I was a little.. caught up."

Kendra shook her head. "No, it's fine. I recognize I can't expect you to be there at my every beck & call."

'Except that you can.' The voice within whispered, Alaric's desire to please Kendra influencing its words.

Not knowing how to respond, Alaric swallowed his gummy bear & raised one of his own to Kendra's mouth, who playfully nipped his fingers as she took the bite, tongue licking out around his digits impulsively.

'Shit,' Alaric thought nervously. He could feel his pants tightening, & the urge to lick the small bit of her saliva left on his fingers off was strong.

"I saw you walking kinda strangely earlier. Are you ok?"

If circumstances had been different, Alaric might have felt a little shame, or maybe his cheeks may have flushed. But instead, a mischievous, knowing grin stretched his lips.

"Yeah, just might be sore the next couple days. You know, for as quiet as Arin is, he's got a lot of pent up anger inside him."

He watched Kendra for the next few seconds as she processed his words to gauge her reaction.

It took a moment, but slowly and surely Kendra’s expression went from neutral, to pensive, to shocked, to even a little disgusted.

“DID YOU FUCK ARIN?!”

Alaric shrugged, shoveling some gummy bears into his mouth.

“Yea, you haven’t?”

Unable to fully process how this information made her feel, Kendra chucked her nearly empty baggy of gummies at Alaric’s chest, snatching his own mostly full bag for herself and stomping away, munching angrily.

“Kimmy, come on-...”

Sighing, Alaric wandered after her, quickly catching up. He turned her to face him, causing them both to stop mid step.

“Why are you so upset? Why does it matter?”

“Because that’s fucking weird! And totally random. Why would you do that? The other day at the concert you stared him down like you wanted to bite his throat out and now you go and fuck him? You barely know him! I’ve hardly ever seen you hold a conversation with Arin, especially not one long enough to to warrant this. Why were you even at his house? What’s the deal Alaric?”

To an outsider, it may have seemed that Kendra was overreacting, but her nevertheless valid questions gave Alaric serious pause.

Why had he gone and slept with Arin? He wasn’t even sure now that it was truly consensual on both sides, seeing as he was quite forceful in his efforts to persuade the boy into bed with him.

As he thought about it, he realized that this whole situation was caused by his misguided desire to "establish dominance" & drive Arin & Kendra apart. That wasn't fair to her, or Arin, to be honest.

Apparently, the depressing nature of his racing thoughts reflected in his expression, as one of Kendra's smooth, warm palms came up to cup his face in a comforting gesture.

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself. I can tell you're overthinking. I'm sorry I got so upset at you. And... it's... fine if you & Arin are a thing I -..."

"No!"

Alaric didn't mean to yell, but even though he wasn't fully prepped to tell her, he didn't want Kendra thinking anyone else could take her rightful place in his heart & mind.

Huh, yet another reason him sleeping with Arin was hella outta pocket. Kimmy was right, he didn't know him, & he meant nothing compared to her.

"I mean, no, it's not like that. It was just a stupid, spur of the moment decision. It didn't really mean anything, as bad as that may sound."

He covered her hand with his own.

"Promise."

Kendra smiled at him, & Alaric felt his worry instantly melt away. It was incredible the things a simple smile could make him feel.

"Welp, if you say so. It's gonna be hella awkward talking to him now though." Kendra shook her head as she thought.

Alix grimaced.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

Kim waved dismissively.

"Don't worry about it. Let's just hope he doesn't avoid me."

'Actually, let's hope he does,' the voice within Alaric whispered. He shushed it quickly.

"Hey, I think the old swing set on the playground still has some swing left in it. Wanna give it a go, for old times sake?" Kendra's pink lips curled amusedly at Alix.

He returned her grin, already racing towards the children's area. "Bet I can swing higher than you!"

Kendra laughed, chasing after him. "We'll see about that!"

About thirty minutes later, the pair of friends had finished their impromptu competition, and while Alaric had inevitably swung higher, Kendra’d swung faster, so they called it a draw.

As they sat coming down from their adrenaline highs, Kendra realized they still hadn’t addressed the thing she’d wanted them to meet here to talk about in the first place.

Swallowing, she turned to address Alaric, only to startle upon finding that he was already staring intensely at her.

“Um, Alix, you ok?”

He nodded slowly, eyes never leaving hers. “Yeah, I’m more than ok.”

Kendra, who wasn’t exactly sure how to take his words, nodded as well, turning to face front.

“I uh, I wanted to talk about what happened yesterday. Our kiss? It was more loaded than I think either of us really considered.”

Alaric let her talk, not mentioning the fact that the kiss had occupied most of his mind since it had happened.

“I also want to apologize. I feel like I…I should’ve used more restraint. It wasn’t fair to you for me to have given in so easily and maybe give you the wrong impression. To not even take any feelings you could have had into account.”

Her words unknowingly made Alaric’s heart sink.

‘So she doesn’t feel the same. And now especially since I slept with Arin. How much more of a fuck up can you be Alaric?’ His expression fell, though Kendra didn’t notice. The voice within was unusually silent.

“I’m sorry Alix. Can you...are we still good?”

The bitterness that was steadily rising in Alaric wanted to yell at her, to scream about how blind she was being, how unintentionally inconsiderate she was by saying such insensitive things.

But he knew she didn’t deserve that. She didn’t know about his feelings, and he was too chicken to tell her still.

So he smiled, and nodded.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

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yeniayofnymeria · 5 years ago

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SanSan “The Beauty and The Beast”

Hello!

Yes, I’m a Jonarya shipper but i could not resist to share this theory. :)

Personally, at first I looked cold but warmed up over time; Sansa and Sandor relationship. I've done a few researches on the subject, and frankly, I haven't found a satisfactory level of theory. But I used the excerpts from the video of asoiaf-theories and bridgte4 (youtube).

For those who do not know, Sansan is a Sandor and Sansa love theory.

GRRM is someone who leaves a lot of hints on his books. Like the detective, we can trace these traces and see what can happen. While I was reading Sansa's POVs - I didn't even pay particular attention - I saw a lot of signs about these two.

PROBABILITIES

Firstly, Sandor and Arya decided to go to the Valley, but for various reasons they could not. If he comes back, he may have to go to the Valley for his own reasons and may find her there. Since there is apparently no reason to go back to the south, it may be the direction of the Valley, where he has tried to go before. Although the North seems to be a possibility in the future, we understand from the conversation with Arya that he has nothing to do with the cold north. As a matter of fact, Sansa is currently in the Valley and may not turn north until the 7th book.

When we think that Sandor is in love with Sansa, it's normal for him to want to protect her. Especially when he see that Sansa was trapped by LF... Of course he knows that LF is the one responsible for Ned's death, this would be a second reason to push him to make that decision.

Throughout the scenes in KL, Sandor occasionally protected Sansa in some respects (as much as he could); Supporting the lie made to prevent Dantos from being killed; He blocked it when Sansa decided to push Joff to kill him (otherwise she would die), and saved her from rape in the city. If you pay attention, he often walks around Sansa.

If we look at the last point Sansa has come to, we can conclude that Sansa is no longer afraid of Sandor. Thus, when they spend time together, she can make the bad-tempered warrior, who has a bad mouth, harsh and threatening, see something good in him. As a matter of fact, when he heard the story that his face burned, she felt sorry for him. When they spoke badly about him, she defended Sandor from within and said that he was only afraid of fire.

While Sansa is a young girl who dreams of a handsome and heroic knight, Sandor is an anti-hero who is exactly the opposite of the knights in these dreams, hating knights. If we consider the irony logic of GRRM, there may be a story Beauty and the Beast we will read with pleasure. (GRRM already has a TV show with this name for 3 seasons. So he likes this story.)

The fact that the first three letters of Sansa and Sandor are in harmony is a nice detail, but of course probably this is just coincidence.

Sandor is a 30-year-old young man, so he's not that old. As a matter of fact, we cannot say that there is a very incompatible age among them.

SANSAN FORESHADOWINGS

Septa Mordane sniffed in disapproval. "A noble lady does not feed dogs at her table," she said, breaking off another piece of comb and letting the honey drip down onto her bread.

"She's not a dog, she's a direwolf," Sansa pointed out as Lady licked her fingers with a rough tongue

...

The king was in no mood for more argument. "Enough, Ned, I will hear no more. A direwolf is a savage beast. Sooner or later it would have turned on your girl the same way the other did on my son. Get her a dog, she'll be happier for it."

After the Lady's death warrant, the king said, "get her a dog." says. Some readers think it's a FS for Sandor.(.Remember, Sandor is Joff's dog, later he can be Sansa's dog)

The rasping voice trailed off. He squatted silently before her, a hulking black shape shrouded in the night, hidden from her eyes. Sansa could hear his ragged breathing. She was sad for him, she realized. Somehow, the fear had gone away.

The silence went on and on, so long that she began to grow afraid once more, but she was afraid for him now, not for herself. She found his massive shoulder with her hand. "He was no true knight," she whispered to him.

I mentioned above; She's seeing the wound inside Sandor and she approach to it with a sense of sympathy / empathy. I can tell you that women have a weakness for wounded men. As a matter of fact, when Cersei first saw Rhaegar, she looked deeply into his sad eyes and wanted to heal his wounds.

"I like dogs better than knights... A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face."

In this scene, Sandor protected Sansa from the King Guard. And the knights never protected Sansa, but the dog did. There may be a sign that Sandor will always be honest with Sansa and die to protect her. Actually, I think there might be a moment when he has to protect her against the Mountain, but I don't know how these three will come together. (Remember Bran's coma dream "shadows of Mountain, Jaime and Hound" around her and yes, Arya)

In first book, Loras gave Sansa a red rose and she took a sweet smell (Remember, sweet word and dead symbolism: https://www.reddit.com/r/pureasoiaf/comments/cr8snv/a_death_mark_in_asoiaf_sweet_spoiler_main/ ). Red one is symbolism for love and "sweet" is dead or almost die (Like Bran and Tyrion).

Also there is this https://www.reddit.com/r/asoiaf/comments/am3xzt/spoilers_extended_the_serpentine_steps_of_doom/

When i read it, i noticed this scene...

She was racing headlong down the serpentine steps when a man lurched out of a hidden doorway. Sansa caromed into him and lost her balance. Iron fingers caught her by the wrist before she could fall, and a deep voice rasped at her. "It's a long roll down the serpentine, little bird. Want to kill us both?" His laughter was rough as a saw on stone. "Maybe you do."

Of course it could be nothing but caught my attention.

"Enough," she heard the Hound rasp.

"No it isn't," the king replied. "Boros, make her naked."

...

"Someone give the girl something to cover herself with," the Imp said. Sandor Clegane unfastened his cloak and tossed it at her. Sansa clutched it against her chest, fists bunched hard in the white wool. The coarse weave was scratchy against her skin, but no velvet had ever felt so fine.

It is remarkable that Sansa clings to Sandor's cloak and feels safe. A similar cloak issue will repeat one or two more times in the future. It's all about Sandor's cloak. The cloak represents “protection..

She even sang for Tyrion the Imp and for the Hound. He is no true knight but he saved me all the same, she told the Mother. Save him if you can, and gentle the rage inside him.

Here we see that she slowly began to care for the Hound, and of course she was grateful for saving her, which she will remember again in the future and will say to LF(inside her); "hound saved me, not you."

If the theories are true, the anger within Sandor may be a bit diminished.

"I could keep you safe," he rasped. "They're all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I'd kill them." He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened. "Still can't bear to look, can you?" she heard him say. He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. "I'll have that song. Florian and Jonquil, you said." His dagger was out, poised at her throat. "Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life."

...

Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. "Little bird," he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the softer sound of retreating footsteps.

When she crawled out of bed, long moments later, she was alone. She found his cloak on the floor, twisted up tight, the white wool stained by blood and fire. The sky outside was darker by then, with only a few pale green ghosts dancing against the stars. A chill wind was blowing, banging the shutters. Sansa was cold. She shook out the torn cloak and huddled beneath it on the floor, shivering.

One of my favorite quotes shows how much Sandor really is in love. Then Sandor throws his cape and she takes it, and Sansa clings to Sandor's cape again, to get out of the cold. We know that she keeps hiding his cape and he doesn't even know why she's doing it. It is also a remarkable detail that the desire to touch his face with a moment of strange emotion occurs.

Ashford Tournament and King's Hand Tournament

Jonsa fans use the Ashford incident for Jonsa, but this is a Sansan theory.

"Is the Hound the champion now?" Sansa asked Ned.

"No," he told her. "There will be one final joust, between the Hound and the Knight of Flowers."

But Sansa had the right of it after all. A few moments later Ser Loras Tyrell walked back onto the field in a simple linen doublet and said to Sandor Clegane, "I owe you my life. The day is yours, ser."

In both the King's Hand and the Ashford, the Lady's champions were another, and the champion was completely unexpected. The unexpected champion in Sansa's tournament was Sandor.

Dunk stood up against to a tyrant. Sandor did the same thing (against his big brother). And Dunk was probably not even a knight. Sandor is not a knight either.

Imaginary Kiss

The most emphasized issue in SanSan theory is Sandor's kiss. Sandor never did that, but Sansa remembered twice that Sandor kissed him.

Readers comment that Sansa had romantic feelings for Sandor. This why she remember this way.

Megga couldn't sing, but she was mad to be kissed. She and Alla played a kissing game sometimes, she confessed, but it wasn't the same as kissing a man, much less a king. Sansa wondered what Megga would think about kissing the Hound, as she had. He'd come to her the night of the battle stinking of wine and blood. He kissed me and threatened to kill me, and made me sing him a song.

...

Sweetrobin threw his skinny arms around her and kissed her. It was a little boy's kiss, and clumsy. Everything Robert Arryn did was clumsy. If I close my eyes I can pretend he is the Knight of Flowers. Ser Loras had given Sansa Stark a red rose once, but he had never kissed her . . . and no Tyrell would ever kiss Alayne Stone. Pretty as she was, she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket.

As the boy's lips touched her own she found herself thinking of another kiss. She could still remember how it felt, when his cruel mouth pressed down on her own. He had come to Sansa in the darkness as green fire filled the sky. He took a song and a kiss, and left me nothing but a bloody cloak.

She thought of dreaming of the Knight of Flowers when Robin kissed her, but suddenly she found herself thinking of the hound. And she says this. "He left me with nothing but a bloody cloak."

Another detail that attracts my attention. It feels like a lover talking about her lover, what did she expect? What he should left behind him for her?

GRRM interviews about imaginary kisses.

You will see, in A Storm of Swords and later volumes, that Sansa remembers the Hound kissing her the night he came to her bedroom… but if you look at the scene, he never does. That will eventually mean something, but just now it’s a subtle touch, something most of the readers may not even pick up on,

And there is this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cLynybVOi2I

Thank you for read.

#asoiaf #sansan #sandor the hound clegane #sansa stark

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tfcrp · 5 years ago

Photo

CHAMPIONSHIPS 05: PALMETTO STATE FOXES vs. UCLA BRUINS

PRE-GAME

The Foxes arrive at their home court an hour before first serve, donning their white-on-orange uniforms, ready to play in front of a home crowd for only the second time in the Championships.

This time, it’s the Bruins’ turn to be far from home and with few supporters in the stands. On the court, it’s a sold out crowd: the stands packed with more orange than the Foxes have ever seen before, enthusiastic for the Vixens as they run through their pre-game routines. And, prominently in the front row are the professional scouts that the Foxes saw at their open practice earlier in the week, ready to see what their draft-eligible fifth years can do.

Half an hour before first serve, the Foxes are allowed onto the court for a brief warm-up. They line up in order of position: Strikers, then Dealers, then Backliners, then Goalkeepers. Though walking with the help of a crutch, Grant still leads the Foxes onto the court as their Captain, with Claudia, as Vice-Captain, behind him.

Once warm-ups are done, it’s Claudia that comes to center court alongside the Bruins’ captain for the coin toss that will determine who gets first serve. The Foxes win, and the starting players enter the court for the start of the game.

Red Cards: Leo Duarte

Scratched: N/A

Injuries: Grant Rollins (knee)

FIRST HALF

STARTING LINEUP:

Goalkeeper: Emmett Ashford (Sub: Alis Tan)

Dealers: Claudia Jewell (Subs: Raph Peruggia, Olivia Finch)

Strikers: Brayden Sykes, Arlo Booth (Subs: Indigo Hayes, Sasha Hart-Ashby)

Backliners: Grayson Sharpe, Glory Hoskins (Sub: Bastion LeFrey)

The players take their starting positions, and Claudia serves to start play.

With all of the Foxes focused on offense, the goalkeepers have less support from their backline: they’re going to be more exposed, and they need to be sharp.

The Bruins are able to take possession early, and Emmett faces a flurry of shots, scrambling to turn them away until Glory is able to grab the ball and pass it up to Claudia.

She doesn’t get far. A stick-check steals the ball away from Claudia, and the Bruins score the first goal of the game on a long-distance shot that Emmett can’t track through the screen of players.

The Bruins serve, but Grayson chases the receiving striker down, checking them into the wall and knocking the ball free. Glory darts in to grab it and heave it up the court, and Brayden sprints for it.

A no-look pass puts the ball squarely in Arlo’s racquet, and he makes a fast shot past the goalkeeper for the Foxes’ first point.

At the pause in play, Wymack sends in his subs: Alis for Emmett; Raph for Claudia; Bastion for Glory; and Indigo and Sasha—playing again as a striker to keep the Foxes’ offense fresh—for Brayden and Arlo.

The Bruins steal possession off of Raph’s serve, and he grapples with two players to try and get it back. He’s taken down, but he still tries for the ball from the ground⁠—until his hand is crushed underneath a backliner’s foot.

Raph tries to struggle to his feet, but he can’t get a grip on his racquet. Indigo sees and tries to flag down the referees, but play doesn't stop until Alis gets the ball and holds it.

Raph comes off the court, where Abby is waiting, and Olivia is sent on. No penalties are awarded, but the Foxes are given the serve.

Olivia serves and the strikers make a push. With everything tilted towards offense, Bastion is there at half court when the strikers need some relief.

Sasha cycles the ball back to him, keeping it moving as the Foxes look for openings: it’s Indigo who breaks through, feinting around a backliner to put it in the goal.

Olivia serves, and play resumes. A Bruins striker crushes Bastion’s arm against the wall, forcing him to drop his racquet, and he loses precious seconds trying to shake off the hit and retrieve it.

Meanwhile, the Bruins get a wide-open shot at the goal, one that Alis can’t dive far or fast enough to block.

The Bruins serve, and as play gets tangled up at center court, Sasha earns a yellow card for a late and high hit.

The Bruins are given possession, serving from inside the Foxes’ defensive zone. A quick play puts them in scoring position, the ball glancing off of Alis’ racquet and into the goal.

The buzzer sounds, and after a late surge by the Bruins, the Foxes are trailing, 3-2.

HALFTIME

The Foxes retreat to their locker room behind by one: but it’s a position they’ve been in before, in the Championships, and been able to claw their way back from. Back on the court, the Vixens run through their half-time routines to the home crowd, which hasn’t lost its energy yet. After fifteen minutes, both teams are called back to the court.

SECOND HALF

STARTING LINEUP:

Goalkeeper: Caleb Fournier (Sub: Anderson Ford)

Dealers: Louis Granger (Sub: River Tate)

Strikers: Carter Maddox, Henry Isaacs (Sub: Akira Sato)

Backliners: Sterling Walsh, Sydney McCray (Sub: Beck Morgan)

The Foxes take their positions, but there’s a delay on the Bruins side: with Louis on the court, they send on backliner Joe Carmichael, sporting stitches behind the grating of his helmet.

The Bruins serve, and Sterling dives to get his racquet on an early shot, but it’s just out of his reach—and Caleb’s as well, and the Bruins pull further ahead.

The Bruins serve, and Louis is hounded by his former classmate. The referees don’t blow their whistles on the first trip, but when Louis is sent to the ground again, Carmichael is given a yellow card.

The Foxes are given possession, and Louis serves to Carter, who takes a shot of the goal that goes just wide. Henry is able to pick up the rebound, and put it into the goal.

Louis serves, but the Bruins take over after the goalkeeper slams a shot from Carter all the way into the Foxes’ zone.

A Bruins striker receives it, and gets a pass off before Sydney crushes them into the wall, and the receiving striker puts it behind Caleb on a sharp-angled shot.

It looks like a fight might break out: Joe Carmichael is in Louis’ face, but Louis doesn’t rise to the bait. When he backs away, Sydney puts herself in the middle, keeping them apart.

With play paused, and the Foxes behind, Wymack sends in his subs: Anderson for Caleb; River for Louis; Akira for Henry; and Beck for Sydney.

The Bruins serve, but Beck intercepts it. She passes to Carter, who makes a break for the Bruins goal with no one covering him.

As the Bruins dealer tries to catch a charging Carter, they take him down with a trip, earning themselves a yellow card.

Before play can restart, Carter retaliates with a shove, and he is given his own yellow card, and the Bruins are given the serve.

Anderson blocks a shot and, when the ball is loose in front of him, darts out of the goal to check a Bruin to the ground and take possession and heave it up the court.

Akira fakes a shot and the goalkeeper falls for it, making a sprawling dive that they can’t recover from when Akira does take the shot, putting the Foxes within one.

River serves, but the Bruins beat the Foxes to it. Anderson blocks one shot—but, just as quickly, it deflects off of the body of one of the players around the goal and trickles in.

The Bruins serve, now with a two goal cushion. Anderson dives to block another Bruins attempt, and the swing of his racquet sends it hard into the body of a Bruins player, who goes down immediately.

Play halts while the Bruin is down on the court, but they get to their feet and stay on the court—for what little time remains.

The clock runs out, and a high-scoring game has nonetheless ended in a loss for the Foxes: 6-4.

POST-GAME

The Foxes lost, but they still have four points to put to their third round total, something for them to build on in their second—and final—third round game. That doesn’t make the loss sit any better with the Foxes, and it doesn’t make much of a difference to their dejected orange-clad fans, who have yet to see the Foxes win a game at home during the Championships.

This time, the referees are close by as the Foxes and the Bruins shake hands, as is the Bruins’ coach, a stocky and intimidating former player, who glowers at Louis in particular as the Foxes make their way through the line. This time, however, it passes mostly without incident—except for River, who hastily leaves the court without completing the line. Seeing something on their face, though, Wymack lets them go.

It’s quieter back in the locker room than it’s been for the past few games, the Foxes showering and changing out with little to celebrate, as Wymack sends Indigo and Bastion to face the press.

The overwhelming elation of their death match victory against the Rebels feels far away, now. With a loss, there’s little reason for the Foxes to linger, nothing for them to do at the end of the night besides go their separate ways, try to get the loss out of their minds.

——

ADMIN NOTE: And there you have it! As a reminder, you’re welcome to set threads during any of the periods listed above—(pre-game, expanding on the events of the game itself, halftime, post-game)—and I can’t wait to see what you come up with!

I’ll see you back here for the Foxes’ next (and final) third round game, which will be an away game against the DePaul Blue Demons, on the in-game date of March 29.

And, as always, please let me know if you have any questions or feedback!

#tfcgames

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orphanedshadow · 6 years ago

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@tornhumanity (x)

At the verge of a break down – that’s where she was now. Who would’ve thought that sleep would become dangerous for Alice by this point? No one. Not a single person knows of the torment she suffers through, because she does it quietly in front of them. She would hold a stony demeanor, all while on the inside - she’s writhing in agony. She doesn’t scream out for help, because when she opens her mouth, nothing comes out.

No longer than thirty minutes ago, she had fallen sleep out of pure exhaustion. It didn’t take long for her past to collide with her subconscious in full force, just to haunt her.

And taunt her.

The stronger strain of the virus Wesker had forcibly injected her with, back in Washington DC… it had begun to fight for control. The faces of those she’d lost in the past came back, in vivid flashes of light behind eyes squeezed shut tight. Her team. Rain. Carlos.

And Angela.

An anguished scream tore it’s way out of her, before her boot-clad foot came up to kick the underside of a table nearby in a fit of blinding rage and it was sent flying across the room. It wouldn’t stop, the excruciating pain that accompanied the memory of the switch being flipped inside Alice. Which turned her into the living weapon they had designed for her to become. The devouring helplessness when she unwillingly pulled the trigger.

Then the shock, and agony when Jill manages to pull her back out - before she laid her eyes on the body of Angela Ashford.

It. Wouldn’t. Stop.

The images begun to overlap, and voices of her worst enemy – the virus, seemed to chant in the back of her head. Compelling her to surrender.

“GO AWAY!!” The words come out in a shriek, before she drove a hand balled into a fist tightly - right into the wall, and left a gaping hole in the drywall. The pain that shot through her entire hand and arm was… delicious. It felt so good. So good, that it shocked the bigger part of her. The dying humanity. Just enough to make herself sick to her stomach.

But it seemed to lessen the pressure. So she pulled her battered hand out of the wall, then delivered another destructive blow to the wall. And then again, and again.

Eventually, the flashes of haunting images stopped attacking her mind’s eye. Panting heavily, she slowly pulled her fist out of the wall with a slight wince. Cuts, and blood adorned her knuckles, dripping down her fingers and onto the floor. All she could do was stare down at her hand. She knows… she knows, it wouldn’t be long before the cuts are gone. All healed up, no thanks to the curse within her veins. Give it a few hours, and her hands would be brand new again. Suddenly, she realizes she’s no longer alone. She could sense a pair of eyes on her.

No, oh.. no, no, no. The whispers were back again. Alice ignored them, as she grit her teeth and slowly turned her darkened gaze onto the source of the prying eyes.

“…Get out.” And get away from me, as far you can.

--------- Most of what Kara had been before the apocalypse had vanished, washed away by the blood that she had shed. It was not as if the act of killing was unusual to her, nor that she was in any way unused to it, it was the volume, and the long stretches without any of the things she usually used to ground herself.

Now her clothing was always strangely clear of gore, blood retreating from her garments and flowing onto her skin before it vanished below the surface like it was never there. It was that which sustained her, as months went on and human food was further and further from her mind.

Were it not for that unnatural occurrence she would have looked like one of the beings she hunted, virus-laden blood dripping from between far too sharp teeth and fragments of organ meat hanging from clawed fingertips.

Altered strains of the virus called to her, the power locked away inside those engineered genes something her system was eager to consume and use to grow its own power.

It had been those sorts of strains that called her here, fingers twitching slightly in anticipation of a substantial meal. Perhaps her prey would be something that was actually challenging to deal with, a target that would give her something to look forward to.

That was when she heard the obviously human voice, not one twisted by mutative viruses but instead filled with very human emotion. Being close as she had been tracking the scream had been easy, as had dispatching a few of the stray infected that had been lured in by the screech.

The long-abandoned building had been secured against the undead, but not against her, and the second floor window had not been any real challenge to get in through, even with the absence of a fire escape.

Moving through the empty rooms Kara made her way closer to the source of the sound, anticipation building as she moved in deeper. Yet as she looked into the room from which the sound originated in the girl could not help the feeling of disappointment that bubbled up in her chest. Feral and unashamed she rarely had any need for human interaction, and though there was very little of her original self intact there was enough that she would not kill without reason.

Dark brown eyes followed the dripping blood with interest, watching the strange woman as she lashed out against the wall as if it was a source of sanity. It brought back memories of having done the same thing many a time before this had all gone down, before she had learned of her own immunity to the viruses that had brought humanity to its knees, and before the hunger had taken hold.

“Why?” Harsh from disuse and smoke damage but still perfectly understandable Kara’s voice was not the sort that inspired any sort of calm, but then again she was not trying to stop the woman from whatever she was doing. The stranger’s troubles were not her concern, and in most situation she would have left, but now that she had been ordered to her stubborn streak would not allow it, not until she understood at least a little of the reason behind the woman’s actions.

#hungry abomination is hungry...and the worst at following directions #tornhumanity #in the storm's path: thread #all that remains: post apocalypse #tag pending alice

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shadowbxxer · 6 years ago

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A Shot in the Dark

The manor was always quiet at night. When she was younger, Adelaide used to think it was too quiet, but she’d learned to be okay the silence and the time away from press and trainers and everything else. It gave her time to work on her own, or as was usually the case, to pick one of the many books in the study and stretch out on the sofa for hours. It was her favorite spot in a house far too large for one person, and since she let the staff go home at night, only Harlan and his wife, who lived on the property, were a constant in the empty halls. The old butler would come to check on her occasionally, but she tried not to bother him otherwise; he did enough for her as it was, and oftentimes she thought he spent more time with her than with his own family. Still, she hated being alone more than she hated having to keep up an act.

She had a feeling tonight, though, that she wasn’t quite alone. Of course Harlan was nearby, but the vaguely unsettling feeling wasn’t from him. It wasn’t from Wood either; he had a tendency to sneak up on her, but he didn’t intimidate her anymore. The timing seemed uncanny as she lifted her eyes from her book and the window they landed on burst inward, spraying glass over the carpet and furniture. She let go of the book as she stood, it tumbled to the floor, landing open on a random page. “Lennox.” The name weighed on her tongue, the feel of it both strange and familiar, like so many pieces of her life before. She knew them instantly: the thin, toothy smile and unkempt hair, the third arm attached below the shoulder blade that clearly didn’t belong. It wasn’t the best surgical alteration she’d ever seen, it had always looked a bit stuck on, a bit haphazard, but it made them distinctive. “What do you want?”

“You always were straight to business. Come on, Adelaide, we haven’t seen each other in ages! Let’s catch up.” They were remarkably relaxed, as usual, perched on the armrest of a chair with an easy smile. “Looks like you’re doing well for yourself, I’ve read all about you, Miss Ashford,” they crooned, giving her an invisible tip of their hat. Adelaide did her best not to let the obvious mocking get to her, that’s exactly what they wanted. “But enough about you. How is your brother? He doesn’t get many letters these days, I hear. Except from you.”

“Is that so strange, he is my br--”

“How’s the jailbreak going?” The words dried up in her throat, choking the colour from her face. Lennox laughed, pushing off the chair and taking steps toward her. Fists tightened at her sides, blackness beginning to bloom at her fingertips, but she stood her ground. “You think I don’t know about that? You’re little code might fool the prison guards but I doesn’t fool me. Don’t worry, I’m going to save you so much on postage.” Their smile was gone.

It was her turn to advance, leaving wisps of shadow in the air behind her. “If you so much as look in Callum’s direction it will be the last thing you do. I will enjoy peeling you apart with my bare hands.” They leveled a gaze at her, unimpressed and unshaken by the threat.

“I know what you’re up to, you and the brat; there’s only one reason you’d want him out of that prison and I don’t think I’m ready to resume our partnership. Talk all you want, Adelaide, I know all your tricks. You showed them to me, remember?” She closed the gap between them suddenly, stopping short in front of Lennox with a hand closed around their throat. She laughed at the look of surprise on their face and the hint of pain mixing in as she squeezed.

“Let me show you something new, then.” She was acutely aware that she was losing control, but she had no interest in fighting for it now, not with Lennox. Not with Callum on the line. They tried fruitlessly to pry her off, fingers digging into her shoulders painfully. It was nothing compared to the pain that followed. It was sudden and hot, tearing through her before the flash of the muzzle could register in her brain. Their other arm, that stupid tacked on appendage pressed the gun against her stomach, teasing a finger against the trigger. It was Lennox’s turn to laugh, but Adelaide gritted her teeth and squeezed harder. “What do you want?” The second shot seemed to come in response to her question, giving Lennox an opening to shove her away as Adelaide recoiled, collapsing on the floor. There was a muffled shout from somewhere in the house and the approach of frantic footsteps. Even in the haze of shock Adelaide recognized the voice, silently urging Harlan to stay away.

Taking a moment to recover, Lennox bent over her, nudging her chin with the barrel of the gun. “I don’t want to kill you, Adelaide, but you need to learn to leave well enough alone. I’ll tell Cal you said hi.” The fast approaching footsteps expediting their retreat to the window, dropping into the darkness without so much as a look backward.

Harlan’s came from miles away, but a sudden, firm grip on her shoulder and hand told her he was right there.

“Adelaide! Good god... what happened?” She rolled her head to look at him, barely able to keep her eyes open. Her movements were slow, clumsily reaching for her abdomen; her hand came back covered in dark, warm blood that turned her stomach. Losing control was one thing, but this... this was true helplessness. “I need a full medical team to the first floor study NOW!

“Stay awake, Adelaide... Adelaide?”

#long post #drabble #= .= I don't really like how this came out #but i also don't want to do it over again rn #but i've had this in my head for a while #adelaide's shady past has gotta catch up eventually #cue LLC tabloids having a field day

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the-ashford-arms · 6 months ago

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#boutique bedrooms #cosy hotel #Peak District stay #Peak District hotels #intimate hotel experience #business trips Midlands #boutique hotel #The Ashford Arms #countryside retreat #staycations #quick stopovers #Midlands

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blood-darkened-moon · 2 years ago

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February 3, 1983

Albert Wesker reviewed the notification that a lab researcher had given him. The bold words were pristine in their communication. Wesker moved away from the door where he had positioned himself to wait for the scientist with the missive. He retreated to the back of the lab. The fluorescent lights had been turned off, so he had to navigate through the sea of shelves and gadgets guided by his intuition. Incessant typing superimposed on the white noise being emitted by monitors and other devices.

When he reached William Birkin, Wesker gave him a summary.

- “The Antarctic base has been destroyed by an unknown force.”

Birkin stopped typing. He did not move. Wesker continued:

- “At 01:26 a.m. Atlantic time, an unknown force penetrated the Antarctic base, laying siege to it and neutralizing the facility's security force. While the scuffle was going on, Alexander and Alexia Ashford were able to escape; but the Antarctic base could not be prevented from being destroyed, along with all the research contained therein.”

Birkin moved his hands away from the desk and rested them on the armrest of his seat. He turned his head to look at Wesker. Wesker, somewhat perplexed by Birkin's reaction, wanted to comment further, but William suddenly stood up and started shouting in excitement.

- “Wait, wait. Is it true? What you said is true, isn't it?” -He said hastily.

- “That's right. Nothing else is known.”

- “It can't be..." Birkin fixed his eyes on the ground, at the same time he moved his arms spasmodically. - "It can't be. It can't be..." he mumbled.

- “It is.”

- “Everything absolutely everything? Destroyed?”

-“Yes," Wesker replied, irritated by Birkin's irrational behavior.

- “Come on!” - Birkin reacted by putting Wesker on alert. With superhuman speed, Birkin turned on the lab lights and pulled a set of folders from a cabinet. - "Come on! Let's go! Let's go!” -he shouted, scattering the sheets of files everywhere.

Wesker sighed. The old Birkin was back.

(Translated with DeepL)

3 de febrero de 1983

Albert Wesker revisó la notificación que un investigador del laboratorio le había entregado. Las palabras en negrita eran prístinas en su comunicación. Wesker se alejó de la puerta donde se había situado para esperar al científico con la misiva. Retrocedió hasta el fondo del laboratorio. Los fluorescentes habían sido apagados, por lo que debió navegar por el mar de estanterías y artilugios guiado por su intuición. Un incesante teclear se superponía al ruido blanco que era emitido por monitores y otros aparatos.

Cuando llegó a la altura de William Birkin, Wesker le hizo un resumen.

—La base antártica ha sido destruida por una fuerza desconocida.

Birkin paró de teclear. No se movió. Wesker continuó:

—A las 01:26 a.m., hora atlántica, una fuerza desconocida penetró en la base antártica, sitiándola y neutralizando el cuerpo de seguridad de las instalaciones. Mientras ocurría la refriega, Alexander y Alexia Ashford pudieron escapar; pero no se pudo evitar que la base antártica fuera destruida, junto con toda la investigación allí contenida.

Birkin alejó sus manos del escritorio y las posó sobre el apoyabrazos de su asiento. Giró la cabeza para mirar a Wesker. Este, un tanto perplejo por la reacción de Birkin, quiso comentar algo más, pero William, de sopetón, se irguió y comenzó a gritar de emoción.

—Espera espera. ¿Es cierto? ¿Lo que has dicho es cierto, verdad? —dijo aceleradamente.

—Así es. No se sabe nada más.

—No puede ser… —Birkin fijó sus ojos en el suelo, a la vez que movía sus brazos espasmódicamente. —No puede ser. No puede ser…—musitaba entre dientes.

—Lo es.

—¿Todo absolutamente todo? ¿Destruido?

—Sí —replicó Wesker irritado por el comportamiento irracional de Birkin.

—¡Vamos! —Birkin reaccionó poniendo en alerta a Wesker. Con una velocidad sobrehumana, Birkin encendió las luces del laboratorio y extrajo de un armario un conjunto de carpetas. —¡Vamos! ¡Vamos! ¡Vamos! —gritó desparramando por cualquier lugar las hojas de los archivos.

Wesker suspiró. El viejo Birkin había vuelto.

#resident evil #op's fic

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midori-laboratories · 2 years ago

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Frozen Ashes: Chapter 11 - Blood in the Water V

Book 3 of The Calendula Chronicles.

Story synopsis: Albert Wesker molded his captive into the perfect, pliable bait for taking out Rockfort Island's paramilitary facility, and cracking open the Ashford family’s secrets. But who’s really in control, once chaos breaks out?

The stakes have never been higher for Marigold, but she may not be fast enough to save everyone.

Book 3 of the Calendula Chronicles series. Written as the other side of The Antarctica Incident.

Chapter summary: Albert Wesker frees himself, and learns what's become of his operation.

Takes place alongside: Chapter 8 (Antarctica Incident)

The oppressive weight which had locked Wesker’s limbs in searing agony slowly began to abate. He arced in pain, trying to loosen the bars locking him in place to the ground.

The majority of the flock (murder) had taken off some time ago, having found the regeneration of his flesh too much work to continue to deal with after their bellies were full. A few stragglers had retreated, likely waiting for the involuntary twitches of his body to subside so that they could feast upon a silent, still carcass.

He turned his head to look at the damage, though the effort left him light-headed from blood loss. The birds had torn at the flesh around the rebar that Marigold had punched through his bicep, and into the ground below. In the process, he had mostly torn free of the piece of steel. His arm had regenerated from the damage, leaving only the tattered sleeve and blood-stained skin as evidence.

Which meant that his right arm was now freed.

The steel in his shoulder actually helped in its own way, to keep his body still as he grasped the first of the spikes protruding from his abdomen and began to slowly extract it from the ground beneath his body, then through himself. After several long, excruciating moments, the piece of steel clattered to the ground behind him with a hollow ring. A warm spurt of blood followed it, then grew warm as the wound began to knit itself closed. He let his trembling arm fall to the side for a moment.

He’d have to get the other one out of his gut this way before he could free his upper body, lest the internal bleeding continue to weaken him.

Several long moments passed this way. The birds were not all gone. He could still see their little forms in the dark, watching, eyes gleaming, waiting for him to go still so they could resume their meal. When he got out of this, he’d have to secure some of them for study; a mild infection where the subjects maintained a sense of restraint against their hunger was deeply unusual.

For now, his hatred of them kept him from passing out, denying them their easy meal…again.

The second piece of rebar clattered to the ground, and Wesker gave a grunt of satisfaction. The others would be harder to get, but his regenerative factor could tend to the worst of his deeper injuries, while he took his time with the rest.

Marigold had been too frenzied to aim for critical points with the first two hits, but the iron bars had been left driven through him, and the crows hadn’t helped. The trap - she had somehow been cognizant enough to lay one - had held him there, in agony, for nearly an hour. She’d remained connected insofar as to keep him down - finally, he’d felt her riding the pain, using it to drive herself forward, and draw something else in. It had felt like a subtle working, though he had a sinking feeling that the results had been anything but.

The damage was not on the massive scale as he had experienced at the Arklay lab, but she had essentially pinned him like an insect in a collection, to experience the aftermath while fully present. Fully aware.

She’d known, then. Marigold had known this place was the target.

She’d planned for this.

Spencer had been sure she had fallen out with the family, and the family had drawn inwards, slowly dying out soon after she had been taken in. How much of the picture had she - had they -managed to keep secret? The way she had signed to the cameras - something he had remembered the twins doing when they had visited the botanical lab at Arklay in 1983 - told him that she had been much more involved than popular wisdom insinuated. She’d covered her tracks, and the family had followed suit, for years.

One of the two bars in his shoulder came free, and he yanked out the second before the regeneration could close it in any tighter.

How in the hell had he managed to forget that he was dealing with another Ashford? But of course, he knew. The way she had yielded to him after the Raccoon City mission had drawn a warm fog over his mind. He’d stopped asking questions.

Why had he stopped asking questions?

They…bite, don’t they. To infect. Marigold’s horrified face as she touched her mouth, back in the van outside the warehouse. Her horror hadn’t been only shock - it had been recognition.

Marigold’s teeth sinking into his shoulder after the mission, and again so many nights after. And here he’d thought it to be simple reciprocity. Wanted it to be. Reverberating pleasure and pain between the two of them, his focus held away from how that might be turned against him.

Looking at the monstrosity of metal above him, it was suddenly all to easy to imagine how her agility was built on a foundation of pain. How she might have trained herself to endure and hold it. In order to keep him from breaking away, she’d had to immerse herself in it, and had hardly flinched.

How deep did that corruption run? The pain-fogged thought began to sharpen as he worked the final piece of rebar from the ground beneath his shoulder. That he had not succumbed immediately seemed to have unnerved her, back in the remote lab.

How much has she corrupted his mind?

And how much control had he ceded in the process?

Over by the gate, a soldier had begun to haul himself over the gate - and froze. “Holy fuck,” Wesker heard the man breath, then shout, “Sir? Are you…oh my god. You’re alive,” the man - Segers, from the sound of his voice, turned his head back to someone on the other side. “The commander’s been ambushed! Get your asses back to your posts and send a fucking medic up here now.” Segers dropped down inside the gate and moved to unlock it from the inside.

“Not…yet,” Wesker said, gritting his teeth as he worked the final bar out of his body. The sense of relief was indescribable. His glasses had fallen off his face during his struggle to free himself, but they were in one piece, if scratched. He reached for them before Segers could get a good look at his eyes. The healing was one thing. The somewhat demonic cast of his eyes might be asking too much for one to accept.

He heard Segers’ footsteps approach, then stop and veer off towards the track - towards his radio. It had been going for some time, but the pain and effort of getting free had stolen his focus away, save for the increasingly panicked tones coming through. “Sir…can you move? The medic is on their way.” Segers hesitated, then, “That’s a lot of blood, sir. How are you..” Segers trailed off as Wesker climbed to his feet. His shirt was torn badly, and he likely looked like he had been dipped in blood. The regeneration and blood loss had sapped his energy terribly. There was pain when he moved, slowly fading to a dull throb.

Wesker would need a few hours and a decent meal before he was anywhere near fighting shape again, but he could function. “The mission?” He rasped.

Segers hesitated, then. “A lot happened, sir. We didn’t get orders to move in on Ashford - startin’ to see why, mind - so we held steady on position and held guard on escape points. Ashford didn’t seem to be throwing anything at us for a bit. Then that woman came through- from the control tower. She had someone with her, inna big poncho, hood up.” Wesker watched Segers fight to maintain composure. “She said this had been a weapons test, sir. When she put a knife in one of my men - two of them, but I got the other out, we were convinced it was a liquidation. Some ex-USS personnel had seen Ashford do that with prisoners, and when things started to go crazy…Davies stayed back to hold her off.”

Wesker sighed. Davies had been a hothead, but he had had enough years out in the field to be the sort that actively lived for blood and glory. HCF had offered him money and monsters to fight, and he’d brought several equally talented, though less bloodthirsty comrades along for the ride. But against a woman who could take out a pack of hunters with an improvised shield and light weaponry? “So Davies is lost.”

Segers hesitated. “No, sir. Davies is loose. I don’t know what the hell that woman told him, but he’s been cutting a swatch through our defenses. We’ve been tracking him - he’s starting to flag - but he’s gone fucking wild. And Ashford’s jet is…gone.” Segers voice twinged on the last word, but he maintained steady eye contact.

Fuck. Fuck. Wesker closed his eyes a moment. “Has anyone checked the palace? You said there was only one other person with her.”

“Yeah, but also there’s no need. We gotta lead come in. You’re probably going to wanna talk to this guy.” Segers dug a card out of his vest. “Says he’s a Monitor going from way back, in the Antarctica lab. It’s their real territory.” He handed Wesker the message, who took it from him, then looked at him sharply. “The source is real. Seems to be getting real antsy about all the T-virus coming into the facility from here, and is looking to cash out. Whoever it is has done work on the comms frequencies here on the island - had a backdoor to get straight through to us.” Segers swallowed as the blood-soaked man continued to read silently. “We assumed you were dead, sir. Quite a few others believed the rumours.”

Wesker had started to smile as Segers had nervously unspooled the previous hour’s happenings. In his hand, one Donald McNally, head of maintenance, had gained access to the deeper parts of the facility, as well as the mansion itself. In doing so, he had discovered Dr. Alexia Ashford, slumbering peacefully in a stasis chamber beneath the facility. T-Veronica was real, all right, and Doctor Ashford had taken precautions to ensure it bound properly to her cells.

“You said people evacuated there, from the fighting here?” Wesker asked.

Segers nodded. “Ashford’s jet shows a trajectory going in that direction. It looks like everyone’s flight paths were locked to those coordinates, actually.”

“So the one the men saw in the palace..”

“Not her. Ashford - the one we’ve been fightin’ - seemed to have cracked a lot more than we assumed. It was him the whole time.” Segers began to fidget. “Sir, whatever your deal is, that’s way above my pay grade. But, can I unlock the gate now? The others need to see that you’re alive so we can regroup and focus on locking Davies down….the blood will probably convince people that…” Segers trailed off.

“That this is not a liquidation,” Wesker finished. The fight itself would weed out all but the best for future missions, but there was no need to rub salt in the wound. Segers had proved himself to be a competent field captain. ”They’re cornered down there, if there’s an outbreak in progress. Umbrella will remote detonate the facility if it is not managed…and if the neglect here is obvious, I can’t image what a defunct lab would be able to do against that tide.” Wesker took a steadying breath. He needed to rest, but time would be of the essence. “We’ll need to get back the comms center. I want Davies alive - no one else has been exposed. I need to deal with this, and confirm it with head office.” The sound of other soldiers, including the medic, began to rise from outside the gate. “We have fresh units arriving in a few hours. Anyone not ready to evacuate will have to be picked up on return.” Wesker began to stride forward. Paused, then glanced back. “And find me the person in charge of sample containment. I want some - maybe a dozen - of these fucking birds secured alive for the main lab for observation, and the rest burned.”

I told you to leave my family out of this, Marigold had said to him, almost calm against the feral fury of her actions.

Marigold had known, about Alexia. Guessed. Getting here, playing him, was part of her endgame. And if she were saving Alfred, then fleeing to a virally-enhanced Alexia behind their castle walls….

I told you to leave my family out of this. He scanned the ground, spotting the empty injector. It was a thin lead, but something to chase down. Alexia - or at least, the father - would have developed this, which Marigold had used to break the haze induced by the hormone and pEspilon cocktail.

Boats and planes have also been evacuating in that direction, toward Antarctica, carrying the T-Virus. Their fortress would become a tomb before long, courtesy of Oswell Spencer. The old man had been shutting down facilities left and right. Umbrella’s coffers were running awfully low these days, and he’d likely need half a reason to pull the trigger on an Ashford-managed facility.

In the plane, he would find the vials of counter-serum that he’d made to manage Marigold’s inevitable realization and retaliation. He had held it for later in the mission, as she had slipped her lead much quicker than anticipated.

Segers jogged ahead and unlocked the gate. Wesker kept his face grim when the others outside caught sight of him, and let that carry the message. Segers began to relay the orders he’d just been given, having won the trust of this particular group. Davies was to be secured, and they would be securing their forces before getting ready to move out in a few hours time.

In the distance, an alarm sounded, and soldiers began yelling to clear the military facility. Alfred had triggered the self-destruct mechanism for the labs beneath it; who knew how much of the overlying structures would cave around them.

They’d have just enough time to clear the grounds before the explosion. Then, they would have to triage the situation. Segers was already yelling orders into his comm, and people were moving out.

The next phase of this fight would be harder, and stranger. But, if Wesker played this right, he would still be able to walk away with everything.

----------

Deep within a hidden chamber of the Antarctic facility, Alexia Ashford drifted between dozing softly and lying awake in the soft aftermath of a triumphant awakening. She felt…warm. Sated. Weak, for now (fifteen years of growth without muscle tone would have that effect) but pleased.

Grayson had been there to pull her out when she was ready, just as she intended. The shock on his face when he’d seen her speaking was…concerning. But he’d met her energy when she’d pulled him down into her arms. It seemed that the virus had certain drives that bore feeding, and she would, gladly. The rest could wait for later, all of it.

It had worked. T-Veronica had settled and entwined with her over all of those years. She suspected that the process of awakening might have been more traumatic, but the effects of the p-Epsilon liquid cast a soft blanket over her perceptions.

Alexia was awake. She was one with her virus. And the boy she had grown up alongside with her twin, had grown to love, had been waiting, ready to take care of her. He had tucked her in under the blanket after their exertions, insisting that she take the time to rest and recover.

The mutamycete root in the adjoining sealed chamber was beginning to stir. It waited, a part of her gone quiet in her drowsy state. T-Veronica, a blending of T-Virus, the primordial ant virus, and the mutamycete, all flexed its power while camouflaging its host.

Was this some of what Aunt Marigold had felt with the virus, before she had died? Alexander’s work on a chelator had given Alexia access to to a scant portion of Marigold’s “field notes”, as she’d liked to call them. (The cool anger and latent terror in Alexander’s eyes during that one horrid week in late 1981 had suggested strongly that her aunt’s end had been imposed from without, rather than as a result of her condition. He’d refused to speak of it.) She found herself wishing she could ask. Alexander was in no position to answer that sort of question, if he ever had been.

Later, she could explore. Later, she could plan. For now, she turned in her sleep under the wool blanket which smelled like Grayson, content that all was well in the world.

#calendula chronicles #marigold ashford #frozen ashes #albert wesker x oc

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openbook-izel · 7 years ago

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Wasting The Friendship || Reza and Izel

set Friday

More than once now, Reza had felt reassured that he’d reached his lowest point post-vampirism. The time he’d followed someone all the way to their house by the sound of their pulse, the smell of their blood, only to retreat in utter shame when the person was greeted by two kids in the door – that had been his last ‘lowest point’.

It had only taken him two weeks to reach the newest low point.

Being at Mystery Loves Company had always felt like a safe haven, both figuratively and literally, keeping out all sorts of danger. For the last couple of years, Izel had been pretty much the only thing keeping him alive and for the most part, sane. The fact that he’d been actively avoiding her since returning to Ashkent Creek a few months ago was shameful, but it’d been too long now. Revealing to her now that he’d become the thing she’d been protecting him from… Reza was just too much of a coward to come clean.

Hence him sneaking around outside his once safe haven, trying to figure out the best way to break in.

He’d tried to go on without the stuff he’d left behind but it was long overdue for retrieval. Any sane grown-up would have just rang Izel up and asked to swing around but Reza considered himself to be neither, so breaking and entering was obviously his only option. His plans post-vampirism seemed to be getting worse by the day.

In the hopes of skipping the ‘breaking’ part of his plan, Reza had brought his bulky keychain along, hopeful that one of them still worked to the lock of the store. A few keys in, his hope was quickly fainting, the hairs on his back standing up in fear of someone – mostly Izel– spotting him.

Click.

Almost crying out in relief, Reza pocketed the keys and quietly let himself inside. His ears were halfpart tuned into his environment but he was still learning to control his senses; focusing solely on what was happening inside and around him instead of cars honking outside was far from easy.

Nostalgia filled his chest as he passed the counter, gently shutting the door behind him, ears twitching with tension. Reza longed to throw himself in the familiar lounge chair and just read and not have to strain his mind for just an hour or two. To feel normal again for an hour or–

Pain pierced through his brain and if vampires could bleed, Reza would have had no doubt that his ears had been dripping crimson from how bad they hurt right now. Hands desperately attempted to cover them as the noise continued to wail and only when he’d blocked the sound, if only a little bit, did Reza realize that the noise was an alarm. Izel had installed a security alarm and Reza had definitely woken her up now, along with the rest of the block.

Panicked, mouth drying up as the noise continued to slam against his sensitive eardrums, Reza stumbled towards the stairs. The pain and uproar were making him disoriented but if he could just get to his room and then escape out the window…

The door to the apartment was closed and Reza reluctantly removed one hand from his ears, instantly grimacing. Fuck, did it hurt.

Hand reached for the handle, Reza paused because… because what? Why? His panic rising, Reza tried again but… didn’t. He couldn’t open the door, couldn’t get into the apartment. His old apartment, because he wasn’t him anymore. He was a vampire and if he wanted his stuff back, he’d need a holy invite from Izel to enter. What a shitty, shitty plan indeed.

It wasn’t clear what woke her up, the beeping of an alarm on her bedside table, or Zaskia hissing and scratching at the door and generally making a fuss. Izel groaned and reached over to turn off her alarm, but it wasn’t 7.30 am. It was a breaking in type alarm. Her first instinct went to Nora, but that didn’t sound right. grabbing her dressing gown and phone and the ridiculous sword she’d won in that one raffle, she let Zaskia out and hurried downstairs. Just as Izel reached the bottom floor, she heard the main, full building alarm starting to blare and winced, her knee almost giving as she held the sword in front of her. There were laboured footsteps in the store. “Hey, who’s there!” She yelled, heart pounding, knowing that if the alarm rang another minute or the security company would be called. The security company her dad had once worked for.

Whoever is was stopped at the door way but didn’t come any further. Through the frosted glass all she could see was a silhouette. No aura. Possibly no invite. She leant in carefully to the eye piece and squinted at the distorted figure on the other side.

“Look, back away from the door. I have a ridiculously sharp sword that I pretty much know how to use and if you don’t leave soon I will call a Slayer who has experience with zombies. So my bases are covered and you really really need to-

“Reza?” It was. The planes of his face were sharper and no longer sagging. His skin paler and almost dusty. There were no rings under his bright, shining eyes. They were scrunched up in response to the siren, and she could hardly blame him, but she hesitated in turning it off. Reza was in Pakistan, or dead, given how he never answered his emails anymore. Reza could have just come in, this was his home. Or it had been. Might have been more of a motel for all of a goodbye he gave it and her. Convenient, useful for -

Oh.

Like a pricked balloon, she deflated all at once, the recognition vanishing and morphing into something worse. Her heart started hammering and the tip of the sword dropped to the floor, slicing an inch into the tiles before stopping. “You’re from Ashford,” she stated softly, failing to hide all the weight that came with it. There was only ever one. Her dad or the man who occasionally hovered in the doorway, staring, judging, before leaving again. Her mother or the lady who lived in Peru and didn’t even speak English. Reza, or a burglaring vampire. She glanced at her feet, safely on the inside of the threshold. “What are you doing here?” The alarm continued to blare. Zaskia continued to hiss at her ankles. Gently, she pushed the cat away from the door with her foot.

Izel’s voice reaching Reza’s ears cut him deeper then the blaring alarm ever would and he could have sworn that his immobile heart startled. All the energy drained from him, he simply stood motionless as footsteps neared the door, the shrill alarm still filling the space. This wasn’t how he’d imagined announcing this to Izel and as much as he wanted to escape, to sprint away and hide from his problems a little longer, he couldn’t. Izel’s silhouette was already visible on the other side of the stained glass and Reza’s mouth went dry.

For a moment, it seemed, she didn’t have a clue who he was. Her threat to call a slayer did confirm that yes, Reza no longer had an aura. Something he’d known would happen but still managed to surprise him. It had been something of a comfort, knowing that Izel could literally see the person he was; could reassure him that things weren’t as bad as he usually assumed. Now, her guess was as good as anyone’s.

“Reza?” Izel’s tone changed completely, tearing Reza’s heart in two. He really did have a lot of explaining to do. With everything he could have said, Reza only stayed silent, tongue turned to lead in his mouth. In hindsight, he should have started explaining before Izel continued, since her assumptions were far worse than Reza could have imagined. In her head, the only plausible situation where Reza was a vampire, had happened in another universe. Question was, could he just let her believe that?

The door creaked open, just barely, but enough for Reza’s ears to pick up on the hissing inside. Zaskia was… hissing at him?

“I’m…” Reza started, still at a loss for words. This wasn’t at all what he’d planned on this evening; he wasn’t prepared for this. Dark eyes moved to the cat by her feet, looking at Reza with distrust, an expression shared by Izel herself. “Can you turn off the alarm? Please, this is… I’ll explain everything, I just can’t… think!” He shouted, head pounding from the physical and emotional pain trying to run over his mind like a tank. All he wanted at that moment was to hold his cat once again, or to sit with Izel on the couch, watching an easy fantasy. What he didn’t want was to admit to Izel what he’d become, uncertain of whether or not she’d understand. He wasn’t sure his heart could take her judgement, if it was negative.

Izel stared at the crack in the door for a long second, her gaze an off brand attempt at being cold, before sighing and looking at Zaskia. "Ven aqui cariñito," she murmured as she scooped the hissing cat up, extra careful not to get scratch. "Shhhh, buena chica, buena chica, tranquilo, shhhh. I'll be back in a moment, but you are not welcome in." Her heart sank as she stepped away from the door and carefully carried Zaskia to the kitchen. "Stay here cariñito, shhh" Izel instructed, lowering the cat to the floor. Zaskia raced away and jumped onto the nest area of her scratching post, hackles still raised and facing where Reza was, hidden by walls. "Yo tambien." Izel pressed her fists into the table, knuckles white as she struggled to catch the semblances of herself and put them together. This happened all the time. Ashford stole people. She might have caught Reed but that didn't make a difference. Hot tears stung her cheeks as she slammed her fist into the desk hard enough to startleZaskia. Her body ached and was slow as she pushed herself upright, resisting her as she walked back to where the other Reza, the non Reza was, closing doors behind her to keep Zaskia safely out of harm's way. She turned off the alarm and winced as she raised her arm to lift a small decorative crucific off the wall, and slowly made it back to Reza, opening the door enough so that he could see her but stood so it was clear he wasn't welcome in. "Explain, before I call someone who will stake you no questions asked."

The ringing in Reza's ears came as a blessing, replacing the shrieking alarm. It was quiet, almost, but if Reza's hearing hadn't been compromised, he would have been able to hear the pounding heartbeat nearing the door. It creaked open and he straightened his back, the pain now a distant memory -- the physical pain, at least. His heart felt completely useless, shattered even, because Izel was staring at him like a cockroach. Cowering away from the crucific, Reza realized he had no idea where to start. "Izel... I'm not..." Should he lie and tell her he was from Ashford? It would make things easier, maybe, than explaining all of his decisions up to this point. No. He'd been enough of a coward, avoiding her for this long, he wasn't going to insult her with another pathetic lie. "I'm not from Ashford River, it's... me. The one who went to Pakistan without... without a goddamn word of warning to you. I'm the Reza that was too much of a fucking coward to come find you when I moved back here because I'm.... I'm not me. I'm not what you'd have wanted to return from Pakistand and now everything's... fucked." Hands rubbing his face, brushing away tears forming in the crook of his eyes because he had no right to play some sort of victim here. He'd done everything wrong up to this point.

Izel 's knuckles grew white around the crucifix, as she listened with an icy breath caught in her chest. Her eyes were glue to his mouth, uncomprehending of the words coming out of them. Perhaps she was waiting to see a flash of white fangs, or see the lie as it slithered its way out. She'd been caught by his lies too often before, but when she searched for them, he couldn't hide them. At least, not her Reza, but this Reza could be a snake in sheep's clothing and how would she know? "Cut the self-pitying," she said, her voice wavering too much for it to be vicious and too quiet to be hard. Her eyes bored into him long after he'd stopped speaking, staring without seeing. The hallway clock ticked away the seconds, unfeeling and harsh to her ears as he wiped away tears. It was only then that Izel looked away, eyes dropping to his wringing hands as her mouth became a thinner and thinner line. "How long." Her eyes flicked up with new fire blazing in them. "How long have you been back in Ashkent?"

The harsh statement from Izel's lips hurt worse than the stake that had once been embedded into Reza's hand, despite its low volume. It didn't quite reach the voice she'd used while talking or referring to Heath but the similarities were striking. Despite all he'd done, Izel had never treated him like this. The silence was deafening, more so than the fucking alarm, and Reza wanted to run with every cell of his being. And then the question he'd been dreading more than any other. He could have lied, except for the fact that he'd never been able to lie to Izel. Being a vampire wouldn't change that and she really did deserve better. "A couple of... months." Shrinking together in shame, he wondered if he'd crossed the line for good now; maybe there was no coming back from this. "I get it, if you don't want any explanation. If you don't want me back at all. I get it." Of course he'd understand. Even though the thought of never seeing Izel again made him feel ill.

A lump in Izel's throat formed so sharply she choked around it, twisting away to cough in the crook of her elbow, until she tasted the faintest hint of copper. Izel closed her mouth and swallowed until it had completely vanished before she turned back to him. No point in have him gnashing at the doorway. "Stop it," she said again, looking right at him. There was a loud clack of wood smacking wood as her hand jerked the crucifix into the door. "So I guess you're returning for your things? They're -hgggggh- right where you left them, in the guys' room. But I guess it was better to let me think I'd been burgled than you seeing me." She tapped her foot agains the floor, looking at him right in the eye. "So when did you die?"

Reza cringed away from Izel violently jerking the crucifix around. Nothing in her eyes seemed to be softening, her stance still guarded, a contrast to Reza's vulnerable and pathetic body language. "Late May. In Pakistan. On purpose." Talking about this for the first time was... rough. Especially considering the circumstances. "And you're telling me you wouldn't have wanted to avoid this situation?" Maybe not the right thing to say but he'd known how she'd react, how hurt and disappointed she'd be so her thinking he was dead -- actually dead-- really had seemed like the better alternative.

Izel nodded, looking down her darkened hallway as it was more comforting than looking at him. It was easier than calming the tempest inside her. "I'm glad you got to choose." She'd only just calmed the tempest to a storm when he felt the need to open his mouth again. "Yes, I would have preferred to not have you break into my home to avoid me. Maybe a phone call, or an email. But I guess if you didn't think I could handle a goodbye, then what should I expect? Never mind the fact that we were relying on you with the shop or anything. So yes, I would have preferred anything to meeting you like this, but you didn't give me any choice!"

His eyes closed as Izel threw one accusation after the other, each one truer than the last. Reza hadn't been doing this for her, had he? He was selfish and scared and, apparently, willing to hurt anyone -- including Izel-- if it meant that he could hide from the real world a little bit longer. That's all he was doing at this point; hiding and pretending everything was fine while the people he'd called his friends before suffered. "I didn't," he finally replied, voice cracking before he cleared his throat. "I didn't give you any choice because I was scared and... and... self-centered and selfish. I didn't wanna deal with stuff because the stuff was hard so I just... didn't and you deserved better than that. I guess maybe you thought I was maturing but turns out I'm not. At all. I was... fuck, I was more responsible with my life when Heath was alive than I am now." Reza laughed, a cold, harsh sound, as he shook his head. "And I'm sorry. For dragging you into this and then treating you like... I don't even fucking know, I took you for granted and I'm sorry." Rubbing his face, head reeling, Reza finally looked up at Izel. "I don't deserve everything you've done for me, I really don't, because you're just... you're family, but I sure as fuck didn't act like you were."

It would have been easy to forgive him. To calm down and let him in and tell him evrerything would be forgiven. Izel desperately wanted to reach out and hold him and his begging was slowly breaking her heart. It was easier to treat herself as a doormat, if it weren't for the anger burning through her. "I do deserve better than this." She injected, crossing her arms tightly. His puppy dog eyes had lost their softness a long time ago, and while she could hear the grief in his voice, it sounded... hollow. "I deserve to know that you're not dead, I deserve more than a note in the night, and I definitely deserve better than you throwing yourself a pity party at ungodly o'clock because you got caught." She was bristling now. "Has it occurred to you that right now, this isn't about you and how bad you feel? Are you really asking me to listen to your feelings right now, to carry them and comfort you? Because that's what it sounds like right now. I am not some receptacle for your guilt about how you treat me."

For a brief second, it seemed like Izel's anger was fading, or at the very least being pushed aside for something else. That second didn't drag on for very long and Reza physically recoiled away from Izel's waves of anger. This isn't about you and how bad you feel. His mouth formed a tight line; no attempts at interrupting her. She was right, about everything and what he was doing, what he was attempting to do here without even realizing it, it was... it was basically emotional blackmail. He really was no better than the person -- the thing he despised the most. "I... I'm going to fix this." Eyes on the ground, fists clenched, he came to a resolution. "You won't forgive me and you shouldn't, but maybe I can do... something to make things okay." Before Izel had a real chance to respond, Reza was back at the store's entrance, hand on the doorknob. "Thanks for keeping Zaskia for me."

Izel pressed her lips tighter, running her tongue along the swollen parts of the inside of her cheek. "Good." Was all she could get out, her throat so tight that nothing else could squeeze out, trying not to feel angrier as he told her that she wouldn't forgive him, like he would know. Like he had any idea what she was feeling. Izel wasn't sure she did, and flinched hard as he vanished from view... or just to the door. All she could do was nod tightly as he vanished from the door, leaving a cool breeze in the room behind him. Izel stared for a few seconds at the space he'd occupied before slowly crumbling into the floor. Her entire body shook as she wrapped her hands around herself, suddenly aware of how afraid she still was. Afraid of the burglary... or afraid of the vampire who had broken in, she wasn't sure, but seconds spilled into minutes and her trembling only grew worse. Her cheeks felt hot and slick when she covered her face with her hands. There was no getting back to sleep tonight. The betrayal grew heavier, but something else felt even sharper - she missed him harder than she had in months, and every hour he was gone it felt worse. He'd chosen for her to feel this, and that only doubled it. There was no reclaiming her time for this.

#chatzy #touchofchatzy #reza #aka fuck my heart

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