#Barto would be a surprise coming out of the gate

[quinloki]

Okay, but which one of your blorbos does this to prove they'd be good at going down on you?

[whattimeisitintokyo]

Somos Familia Ch 29

Chapter 29: Have Faith

 Coco had taken it upon herself to act as the head of the family while Imelda was in surgery. She practically ordered Matty and Julio to drive back home to change into clean clothes and to bring some back for her and Héctor. She also instructed Matty to telegraph Oscar and Felipe about their sister. As they left to do as instructed Coco winced and suddenly felt bad about the harsh, urgent tones she used. She wasn't used to being so authoritative towards other.

But she was left with no choice. Her father had been rendered completely useless.

Héctor stared blankly at the ground with his elbows resting on his knees. His fingers twitched and rubbed at the dried, sticky blood that still coated them and he hummed in a vain attempt to calm himself. Coco made her way over to him, sat down and took his hand. "Julio is going to bring you some clean clothes so you'll be more comfortable Papá. But why don't you go to the bathroom and wash your hands?"

Héctor faintly shook his head. "No, I need to be here in case they come with news."

"I'll be here, Papá. I'll come get you if they have any word-"

"No! I need to be here! I wasn't there for them before, so I'll be here for them now!" Héctor ran his dirty hands through his hair and yanked hard. "I never should have left them alone! I knew Imelda was feeling poorly, I should have just cancelled the stupid performance and stayed with her and the baby."

Coco shook her head as her heart broke for her father. "You couldn't have known. None of us did. And the end result would have still been the same."

"But she wouldn't have been alone when it happened... She must have been so scared." He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and sniffled. "She was so terrified about this happening the night she told me. And I promised her I wouldn't let anything happen to her or the baby... And now-!" The rest of his words choked off into a sob and his shoulders shook as he tried to suppress them.

"Oh Papá..." Coco pulled Héctor in and let him lean on her shoulder as he cried out his fears.

Unbeknownst to Héctor his other daughter was hugging him as well, resting her cheekbone on his shoulder and sniffling herself. It took a while to make it on foot, but Leti and her grandparents had made it to the hospital and were now waiting for any news to come for the short time they were allowed. Time that was just about to run out.

"Leticia?" Leti looked up to see Mirasol's sad expression. "We have to go now mija. Sunrise is in an hour. We have to make it back to the cemetery to cross the bridge."

Leti sighed. "I know... I just wished we had more time! I wish the doctors weren't taking so long! What if Mamá and the baby die?"

"Then we will greet them in The Land of the Dead with open arms." Gaspar said, holding out his hand for Leti to take. "You did everything you possible could. Don't worry."

Leti nodded solemnly and kissed her father and sister on the cheeks. "Goodbye Papá. Goodbye Coco. See you next year..." Then she took her grandfather's hand and they left the hospital with heavy hearts.

It took a while to make their way back to the bridge, but any relief they might have felt at making it in time was lost to them. This was not the most joyous visit to the Land of the Living they had experienced. Far from it. All three walked hand in hand and in silence, physically and emotionally drained from the turbulent evening.

As they reached the gate Leti let out a gasp. "Oh no!"

Gaspar and Mirasol flinched violently in surprise. "What?! What?!"

"Tio Oscar and Tio Felipe!" Leti said with dismay. "I had completely forgotten about them! I didn't get their offerings for you from their ofrenda!" Given that there was only one surviving photograph of their parents, Oscar and Felipe didn't have one to put up on their own ofrenda. But they still left out offerings for them, and over the years Leti would visit them by herself and retrieve the offerings for her grandparents.

Gaspar clutched at his chest and sighed in relief as the rush of fear fled them. "Por Dios... It's okay mija. Honestly with all the excitement we forgot about them too."

Leti shook her head. "But you haven't seen them in three years! I was supposed to let you know how they were both doing. All I did was waste our time at the hospital. I'm sorry..."

Mirasol bent down to kiss her little forehead and smiled tenderly. "Leticia, you have such a big heart. If we had more time of course we would have stayed longer. Anything to give you some closure. And I promise you that you did not waste it. Don't ever think that."

Leti gave a watery smile before hugging her grandmother, and then her grandfather bent down to join them. They stayed like that for a while until Leti let out a giggle. "Besides Abuelita, even if I didn't get to go see them, I bet my left fibula that both of them are still not married."

------------------------

Dr. Alviso held the tiny baby gingerly as it squirmed around and whined. "Being born premature he is underweight, Héctor. Only two and one quarter kilograms. He's also having trouble keeping a normal body temperature so we need to either keep him wrapped in warm blankets or, better yet, give him skin to skin contact."

"That's why you had me take off my shirt." Héctor said as he sat in the nursery on an old rocking chair. He had just changed out of his ruined charro suit and into clean clothes when Dr. Alviso called him in to discuss his son and then made him take it off again.

" Sí." Dr. Alviso handed Héctor the baby and smiled as he watched him place his son flush against his bare chest. The baby whined a little and curled in closer, savoring the heat. "I want to keep him here long enough for him to put on some weight and develop further. That being said his lungs are fully developed, his reflexes are good, and he was able to suckle some water so he should have no trouble eating. You and Imelda did well, Héctor."

At the mention of his wife’s name Héctor tore his loving gaze away from the baby to Dr. Alviso. “Imelda…  How is she? It’s been so long Tomas and I haven’t heard a word! What happened to her?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Dr. Alviso sighed before pulling up a chair and sitting down next to Héctor. “They’re working on her right now.”

“Why aren’t you?”

Dr. Alviso snorted and held up his knobby hands. “I haven’t operated in two years. Damn arthritis. It won’t be long before I retire completely. But don’t worry, Imelda is in good hands. My grandson is a fine surgeon and will do everything he can to-”

“Wait wait wait wait… Your gr-grandson?! Some kid is operating on my wife?!”

Dr. Alviso held out a hand. “He’s not a kid, Héctor. He’s thirty three now, graduated top of his class in Mexico City and has performed hundreds of surgeries since then. He just recently transferred to Santa Cecilia to take over my practice.”

“A doctor trained in Mexico City?” Héctor sneered. “Forgive me if that doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

“Just have faith, Héctor… I’ll leave you alone with your son for a few moments. Just holler if you both need anything.” And with that he left the despondent father with his new baby to bond.

Héctor looked over his son, grimacing a little at the waxy, almost yellowish skin the baby had instead of the healthy tan his other children did. Fine hair covered all over his face, but Dr. Alviso claimed that was normal with premature babies and that it would fade with time. The baby’s chin started to wobble a little in a shiver and Héctor held him closer and wrapped both arms close around the little body. When the boy let out a small sigh Héctor finally smiled.

“You’re alright…” Héctor cooed and snuggled against the soft dark hair, breathing in his scent. “You’ll be just fine, don’t you worry. I’ll keep you nice and warm until your Mamá can hold you. Just you wait mijo, she’s better than even a hot water bottle.”

“Papá?”

Héctor looked up to see Matty poking his head through the open doorway. With a roll of his head he beckoned the teen to come in. Matty looked at the baby with wide eyes. “How is he?”

Héctor smiled down at the baby. “A little small. A little cold. But other than that he’s a fighter, just like all of my children.”

Matty nodded his head and with a hesitant hand he reached out to trace a finger over his brother’s cheek. The little boy grunted at the touch and turned to try and suckle at the digit, making Matty smile. “What’s his name? You name the boys, right?”

“I do. And I was going to name him Álvaro, but… Looking at him now I’m just not sure. It doesn’t fit him, you know?” Héctor shrugged. “I’ll figure out something…”

Matty nodded. “I got a telegram back from Tio Oscar and Tio Felipe. They’re boarding the next train here. They should be here in a few hours, and they’re going to stay for a while to help out with whatever happens.” Then he sighed and stood up straight. “And I’m going to help too. With everything. I’ll run the store while you are with Mamá and the baby. I’ll also cook, clean and run errands so you don’t have to worry about a thing. I will be here for my family!”

“Well that is very thoughtful, mijo.” Héctor smiled with a quirked brow. “But what about Yale?”

“That doesn’t matter, family is more importaaaaaa… What?” Matty stared at Héctor with a dumbstruck expression as his father beamed back. “What the- how did?- When?! Papá, how do you know I applied to Yale?!”

“I heard you talking to Barto about it from across the courtyard earlier. How many times do I have to tell you kids?” Héctor pointed at his ears. “These things aren’t for show!”

“Ay, Dios mio…” Matty wiped a hand across his face. “Well, like it said it doesn’t matter. I need to be here for my family, not in America.”

“Mateo.” At his father’s stern voice Matty looked down at Héctor. “Your Mamá and I want you to be whatever you want to be. And if that’s the head of Rivera Shoes in America then I am all for it. I would be more than happy to finally use my money and influence to give you a bright future, and I’m lucky to be able to do that! Yes we’ll be far apart, but as long as you love and remember us I’ll always hold you in… my… heart.”

Matty smirked a little. “Was that Remember Me, Papá?”

“Mierda, it might have been. I never thought I would use that song again.” Héctor looked down at his baby and smiled. “I guess Ernesto was right, after all…”

“Señor Rivera?”

Both Héctor and Matty looked up to see a doctor that neither of them recognized. He was very young and baby-faced, but his eyes held a sage wisdom that only years of surgical procedures could bring. He held out his hand and shook Héctor’s. “I’m Dr. Morales. Tomas Alviso is my abuelo, and I have just finished the operation on your wife.”

“Imelda!” Héctor stood up gingerly as to not wake the baby and tried to keep his voice low. “How is she? What happened to her? Will she be alright?”

Dr. Morales frowned deeply. “Señor Rivera, your wife suffered from a hemorrhage in her uterus. I can’t say for sure what caused it, seeing that she was on bedrest, but I guess that this pregnancy just put too much strain on her body. Luckily she was still able to have strong enough contractions to birth the baby, but I’m afraid that the damage was too severe to repair. I was forced to perform an emergency hysterectomy on your wife.”

Héctor turned when he heard Matty gasp behind him, but still shook his head in confusion. “Hysterectomy? What’s that?”

“It’s the removal of the female reproductive system, señor. The womb to be precise. I was able to leave her ovaries though, so she shouldn’t go through premature menopause.”

“You mean?-” Héctor’s throat clenched tightly and he choked. “You cut out her… She can survive without that?!”

Dr. Morales nodded. “Si, señor. The womb is not necessary for living like the heart and lungs are. They can be removed.”

Héctor shook his head and felt sick. This man had cut open and removed a part of his wife, never to be returned or healed. He fought down they desire to grab the man by the collar to shake him and asked in a choked voice. “Are you sure there was no other way? Why didn’t you ask me if it was alright?”

“Señor, there was no time to consider any other course of action. And I am not legally allowed to ask you for your consent. It is the patient themselves who has to give it.”

Héctor’s face paled and his heart fluttered a little when he was able to register what the doctor was telling him. He looked at Dr. Morales with watery eyes and whispered, “She-… She said it was okay? She woke up?”

Dr. Morales nodded again. “We gave her an emergency blood transfusion to replace what she lost and we were able to rouse her enough to coherency. I needed her consent to do the procedure since it is a very personal operation. I explained to her what would happen and how it would affect her and she gave me her permission to do so.” Then he smiled. “Actually she called me an idiota for needing permission to save her life.”

Héctor barked out a short, manic laugh and grabbed the doctor by the shoulder. “She said that?! S-so she’ll be okay right? She’s going to live?! Both my wife and my baby are going to live?!”

The doctor smiled. “She went through the operation beautifully with no complications. She’ll need to stay in the hospital for a few weeks to recover some and watch for any infection, but I think she’ll pull through.”

Héctor smothered the need to scream out to the heavens that his wife would live, his mouth painfully clenched into a gritting smile as he handed his baby over to Matty. Once the equally joyous teen had a good hold on him Héctor flung his arms around the surprised doctor and twirled him around in large circles. “GRACIAS! Ay, Gracias a Dios! Imelda, mi diosa! Ay, gracias gracias gracias! I can’t believe it!” He set the doctor down and shook him firmly by the hand. “Oh, thank you! Thank you Dr. Whatever-Your-Name-Was! N-no, I need to remember your name. The man who saved my wife’s life deserves to be remembered for all time! Chamaco, please tell me your name again!”

The doctor shook his head dizzily before smiling. “Morales. Dr. Miguel Morales.”

Héctor’s smiled faded and his eyes took on a strange, glazed look. He looked over at the baby in Matty’s arms, then at the doctor whose hand he still held. He glanced back and forth between the two for a few more seconds before a twinkle shined in his eyes.

“Huh…”

-----------------------------------

A month had passed and it was time again for Los Posadas. The Riveras , the Magallanes family and Ernesto were all gathered under one roof, preparing the feast for the night as the first hosts for the holidays. Héctor held up a slab of cooked meat in front of the men and watched as they all drooled over it.

“Mira. Look at this beautiful bistec, mi familia. Perfectly marbled with enough fat to make it tender, flavorful and juicy.  Slowly roasted for hours and seasoned with quality herbs and spices from our dear Rosita’s garden. Nice and charred on the outside, pink and supple on the inside. Gentlemen, you will not find a finer cut of meat in this whole town.” He placed the steaming chunk onto a plate. “And this delicious carne shall be bestowed upon… Dante!”

The men groaned out loud as Héctor placed the steak onto the floor in front of the ravenous dog. The pup happily started ripping into the meat as Héctor laughed and rubbed his back. “Dig in boy!”

“Cuñado, that’s not fair!” Oscar pouted.

“You always give Dante the best cuts of meat!” Felipe whined.

“At least for the last month!”

“When are you going to stop?!”

“Stop?!” Héctor looked offended on Dante’s behalf and hugged the dog closely as he continued to chow down on the meat. “This is a hero dog, hermanitos! I will give him nothing but the best for the rest of his doggy days! All of us should, as a matter of fact!”

Matty folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t want you to fatten up my dog while I’m away at school, Papá.”

“Oh?” Héctor stood up and ruffled his son’s hair, grinning widely as the boy growled and swiped his hand away. “Think you can order me around just because you’re going off to Yalé, college boy?”

Matty glared as he fixed his hair. “Yale, not Yalé! I hate when people call it that!” Then he sighed wearily as all the men started to chant out the mispronunciation. “Whatever…”

“What is going on out here?”

Héctor whipped around and smiled warmly as Imelda was wheeled out to the courtyard by Coco in her wheelchair, with her baby snuggled in a warm blanket and in her arms. Today was her first day out of the hospital and finally back home with her family, and everyone couldn’t have been happier that she had made it in time for Los Posadas. She glared at all the men for their foolish behavior. “Are you all making fun of my son?”

“Sí, Mamá Imelda…” all the men said sheepishly.

“Well I won’t have it! You should all be proud of Matty! He’s smarter than all of you put together.” Imelda’s mouth twitched up into a smile. “Besides, it’s not every day that you get to attend Yalé.”

“Mamá!” Matty whined as everyone laughed, but even he couldn’t help but smile at his mother’s joke.

The baby in Imelda’s arms whined and squirmed. “Here Héctor. He wants his Papá.”

“Aww, come here Miguelito!” Héctor picked up the baby and held him close to his face. His eyes brightened when he saw his father and his lips curled into a little smile, accentuating the dimple in his left cheek. “You want your Papá, or do you want a song?” At Miguel’s chirp Héctor grinned. “Do I know you or what? A song it is!”

“Better let me sing it, hermanito!” Ernesto grinned. “After all I had to cut my Navidad Spectacular for you and for little Miguel here. My vocal chords are screaming to be used!”

“No, we want to eat first!”

“No, the piñata!”

“The children aren’t even here yet, payaso!”

“W-we could go back to the hospital?”

At Coco’s quiet voice everyone turned towards her as she grinned nervously. Héctor scratched his goatee and frowned. “Why mija? Did we forget something?”

“N-no… It’s just that, um…” She stepped to the side and gestured down. There everyone saw a patch of soiled dirt next to her feet. “My water just broke.”

--------------------------------

As the children of Santa Cecilia gathered around the green double doors of the Rivera complex with their parents nearby, they all trembled with excitement. The Riveras always threw the best parties, made the most delicious food, and were the kindest hosts in town. This was going to be the best night of Los Posadas this year, just like it had been every year when they hosted. It wasn’t really fair to the other hosts during the holiday. With their candles held in their hands the children lined up and started to sing.

En el nombre del cielo

os pido posada

pues no puede andar

mi esposa amada-

The doors were suddenly kicked open and Héctor Rivera burst through them, scaring the children out of their wits and their parents as well. “OUT OF THE WAY, CHAMACOS!”

“Make space, amigos!” Oscar shouted.

“Pregnant lady, coming through!” Felipe cried.

“It’s alright, mi amor!” Julio said as he hurried Coco towards the car. “Everything is going to be all right! There’s no need to panic. Don’t panic! Stop panicking!”

“I’m not panicking- wah!” Coco was none to gently shoved into the back of the BMW and the door slammed shut on her confused face.

“I’m fine Rosita! I can walk!” Imelda said as she held a crying Miguel close.

“No can do, Mamá Imelda! I will be your legs! ” Rosita roared as she heaved Imelda into Facundo’s truck. “Papá, let’s follow them to the hospital!”

“Si, mija!”

“Héctor, what’s going on?! Where are you all going?!” One of the neighbors asked as he pulled Héctor to the side.

Héctor stared at him with a wild expression and glanced back and forth between the house and the BMW. “Uh… Sorry amigos! Change of plans! We have important family affairs to deal with, so we need to get going now! Mary and Joseph, we have room! Come on in! Feel free to break open the food and eat the piñata, but we’ve gotta go! Bye!”

“But what about the performance from Ernesto de la Cruz?!”

Ernesto’s eyes bugged and gave a short, nervous laugh. “Ah right! Of course! Remember me, though I have to say goodbye. Okay, goodbye!” Then he and Héctor hopped into the back of Oscar and Felipe’s truck and slapped at the side. “Vámanos!”

And with that the two trucks and the BMW sped down the dusty roads towards the hospital, leaving the townspeople in the dirt and bewildered at what they just witnessed.

[starwood-stranded-archived]

After Achzina receives his official invitation to join Clan Lukra from Ammanas, Frip helps him settle in, introducing him to the other Oracles: Bartos, Nesita, Acrux, and Machine. // read on ao3

“I’ve brought you a letter,” Ammanas said. The ornate scroll he handed Achzina was thicker than Achzina’s own forearm, since he was in his two-legged shift. That made it unwieldy, hard for Achzina to pull open, and the tundra added, “I can tell you what it says, if you don’t mind: it’s an official invitation to join Clan Lukra.”

“Oh, thank you.” Achzina put the scroll down and smiled at Ammanas. So he’d been accepted after all. It wasn’t a surprise; in fact, he’d started to wonder what the holdup was. Barholme had certainly seemed certain that he would be -- certain enough to kill him for. “What should I do now? Head for the Inner Sanctum?”

Ammanas nodded. “Actually, Frip volunteered to show you around. She should be -- ”

“Here?” A figure stepped around the corner: a two-legged shift like Achzina’s, clad in hooded white robes. Her feet tapped against the wooden floor as if she wore heavy boots, though they were hidden under the robes. Achzina wondered, briefly, if she’d been standing just around the corner, listening, waiting for the most dramatic moment to appear.

Ammanas frowned. “Well, I thought you were going to meet us at the gate, but this is good, actually … No offense, Achzina, but as much as I enjoy your company, I do have a lot of other guests to see to.”

“None taken,” Achzina said, automatically. He looked at Frip. Under the hood he could see light glinting off the deep purple crystal of her face; the sight stirred something in his memory. “I thought Elain was the only shape-shifter among your clan?”

“Your clan now, Ach,” Frip said, her tone more informal than Achzina would have expected from a near-complete stranger. And she hadn’t answered the question. “Do you prefer Ach or Achzie? We’re still trying to settle on a nickname for you.”

“I leave you in Frip’s most capable claws,” Ammanas said, leaving with a bow. Achzina would’ve found the words more comforting if Ammanas hadn’t sounded so doubtful on the words “most capable.”

“I’m going to introduce you to the other Oracles, give you a short tour of the lair, and then show you to your quarters,” Frip explained as she walked down the corridor, beckoning Achzina to follow. He did. There was something familiar about her. Now, where had he seen white cloth and crystal scales recently … ?

He didn’t have to think about it very hard. The image had occupied his mind every night since, an unanswered question that weighed particularly hard on him as he contemplated the mantle of Oracle. “You were there, weren’t you?”

“I’ve been many places,” Frip said, deftly navigating a ramshackle ladder in a space that had been built for creatures with wings. Achzina followed more slowly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“That night, when Barholme attacked us,” Achzina clarified, though he suspected that Frip knew exactly what he was talking about. “I saw you at the window when the rift opened.”

“Barholme opened a tear in the very fabric of reality. I wouldn’t be surprised if you saw strange things.”

As a seer, Achzina was used to working out abstruse meanings: his visions rarely gave clear answers, either. “Are you a strange thing, then?”

Frip grinned. “The strangest.”

For a long moment neither of them spoke. On Achzina’s part, he was too busy making his way through Pilgrim’s Rest, which had not really been designed for creatures with only two legs. There was a route, for beastclans and shape-shifters, but it wasn’t the quickest or easiest way around.

“I think I owe you thanks,” Achzina said at last. “I think you saved my life.”

“Now that doesn’t sound like me,” Frip said.

“Nobody knew why the rift closed, but I bet I can guess,” Achzina persisted. “You stopped it, didn’t you?”

“I seem to recall you telling Aridatha you had no idea what closed the rift,” Frip said, glancing sidelong at Achzina. It was true, but how had she known? He had seen no sign of Frip in the audience at Barholme’s trial. Of course, he could have missed her, or she could have received an account later, but it seemed too minor a detail to come secondhand.

“I said I didn’t know what happened,” Achzina replied. It was the same logic he’d used to justify keeping quiet to himself. “I still don’t know, not for sure. I just suspect.”

They’d reached the gates. Frip opened a small door set into them without bothering with a key and ushered Achzina through. Wondering why a clan that didn’t shapeshift would have a door fitted to two-legged forms, and why it’d been unlocked, Achzina stepped through -- but once the door shut behind Frip, it vanished altogether into the smooth surface of the wood, as if it had never been.

Achzina looked to Frip for an explanation, but she only smiled, as if daring him to ask about the mysterious door. He resisted the urge. Yes, yes, we’ve all seen magic before.

“Not like this you haven’t,” Frip said. Achzina blinked, but she had already moved on, heading towards the pool in the center of the Sanctum. “Come on, Achzie. The other Oracles will be waiting.”

I guess she can read minds, too. Achzina followed Frip to the pavilion, which was already occupied. He recognized Machine from his interview, and Bartos the archmage from Barholme’s trial. The pink-winged imperial and purple tundra had been at Barholme’s trial too, but Achzina hadn’t caught their names. They were all in dragon form, of course; it still felt strange for Achzina to see such a gathering of different breeds, the oversized imperial curled around the other dragons.

“You know Machine and Bartos already,” Frip said, a statement that appeared to slightly surprise Bartos. “These are Acrux and Nesita. Nesita’s a gifted healer, and Acrux is clairvoyant.”

“I also read minds sometimes,” said Acrux, the imperial, with a friendly smile. His tone made it clear that he’d heard Achzina thinking about Frip.

“I’m not really an Oracle, but I’ve been able to help some individuals who seek solutions to what ails them,” Nesita said.

“It’s astonishing how many of the answers people seek can be found in established texts, if you only know where to look,” said Bartos, pushing his spectacles up his nose.

Machine said nothing, only looked blankly at Achzina.

“I’m glad to meet you all,” Achzina said. “I understand we’ll be working together. I hope you find my visions helpful.”

“I’m sure we will,” Nesita said.

“Did you get your schedule yet? No?” Acrux apparently didn’t feel the need to wait for Achzina’s answer. “Aridatha will get it to you shortly, I imagine. She usually has us work in shifts.”

“I’ll also be joining you sometimes,” Frip added.

“What are your powers?” Achzina asked, hoping she wouldn’t find the direct question rude. She didn’t exactly seem the type to be easily offended, but there were the others to consider, as well. “And, er, Machine’s?”

“Barely in the building and you’re already asking what we all contribute?” Frip smirked, and kept talking as Achzina tried to protest that that wasn’t what he’d meant at all. “Machine can answer any yes or no question. And I mean any. He can’t communicate otherwise, but he’s still quite useful. As for me … I watch birds and I know things.”

“You’re an augur?” Achzina had met a dragon before who claimed she could tell the future from the patterns of birds flying through the sky.

“No, that’s unrelated to the knowing things bit -- we just like birds. But now that you say that, we really ought to add an augur to the team, oughtn’t we? Better write that down,” Frip said, making no move to do so.

Acrux cleared his throat. “Frip baffles many of us, but she can provide many answers that the rest of us cannot. When she deigns to do so.”

“Right now I think I’m going to deign to show Achzina around the lair,” Frip said, beckoning to Achzina. “Unless someone brought sandwiches to the workplace orientation. I could murder a BLT.”

Achzina raised an eyebrow. The other dragons looked startled and perhaps a bit crestfallen, to have been called out here for such a brief introduction -- except for Machine, who just looked blank. Achzina said, “I’d be honored to continue the tour, Frip.”

“Good, because you don’t have a choice. Now, the hoard is this way … ”

[petite-neko]

Guardian - 11

Fanfiction: Guardian Story Summary: Somebody had to protect their protector after all. Characters: Zoro, Luffy, Law Pairing: Eventual LawLu Rating: T Warnings: swearing, alcohol use, canon-typical violence A/N: Holy-- Again I’M SORRY. Holiday season plus working like crazy. I’m working on chapter 12 right now too but it might be until next week because I work in three hours before life gets crazy.

.xxx. - Scene jumps

Chapter 1 || Read on Ao3

Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12

If anybody asked him what his expectations or suspicions of what Zou would be like, Zoro would definitely not have guessed this.

An elephant? Really?

He was relieved to see the Sunny though. They all probably were. (Perhaps not Law, at least in the same respects at them.) Even the Barto Club were in awe of it.

(He almost pitied them, as they have yet to meet the remainder of the crew. Almost.)

He wasn’t surprised to see it empty (they simply didn’t have enough people to split up a third time) but it did miff him a little – their home was unguarded. Ah, he could let it slide. Besides, it was hard enough to board it as it were.

Nothing was damaged or stolen or missing. Zou was difficult to even get to. (And even he would be more than a little unnerved at how close he was to a moving… appendage.)

(That was a leg, right?)

It made him wonder though – Law hadn’t been here before? How long had be been parted from his crew for his revenge? At least Zou would have to be a safe place if he left his crew wait for him here.

And just what was that thing the samurai drew? He pitied those drawings, he really did. At least give it thicker arms if it was going to climb…

.xxx.

It was different, well perhaps more unexpected than anything else. They were on the back of an elephant and yet there were trees. Oh, well, after Skypeia it was hard to surprise him anymore.

However, one look at the state of the city had him worried. Why had it looked as if a great war had ravaged this place?

(Wasn’t this place supposed to be safe? That no log pose could lead one here? They only managed themselves due to the vivre-card honed to Law’s navigator.)

Law looked as perturbed as he. His crew was here too, weren’t they?

(Stupid question, the vivre-card led here)

At the very least, two of them had level heads here.

(While everybody else mourned the drawing. It was a fucking drawing.)

Zoro was not comfortable at all with this ominous atmosphere. And gradually, the others (aside from him and Law) began to notice it as well.

The gates. The smell of gun powder in the air. The status of the terrain. (The rubble, the way the moss was unusually disturbed, the broken trees…)

Just what had happened and where were their crew members?

--What was that?

.xxx.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. If anything, this only made things worse and more confusing.

Minks. Electricity. Corpse?

What the hell was going on?

At the very least, the others had the cook with them…

Meanwhile Usopp and Robin were jumping to hypothetical conclusion. And he had to calm that idiot down. They needed to stop and think and come up with a plan.

And finally Robin had something useful to say.

(Instead of hypothesising that the Minks were cannibals.)

Ah, yes. The vivre-card! It meant that at least Law’s navigator was alive and they knew the location of one ally here who could better explain the situation at hand.

(And by extension, too, if the Heart Pirates were alive they may have allied themselves up with Sanji’s group. Well, if they kept up with the news that is.)

--But what the hell did Law mean by that?

I never expected I’d actually see them again.

Whatever, he’d mull on it later. They had nakama to find.

.xxx.

It became more and more evident that some sort of war tore this country apart – although whether it was due to an outside force or an internal conflict remained to be seen.

Either option was disconcerting.

Thankfully, they at least managed to locate Luffy.

(Although he could do without Usopp’s hysterics.)

.xxx.

While the situation wasn’t what they initially thought it was, it wasn’t much better.

Jack. Kaido. Sanji. Big Mom…

Things were getting more and more complex as they journeyed through this sea, weren’t they? As always it was just one thing after another. Danger here, danger there. But it was one thing back when they left Fishman Island knowing that they eventually come in contact with Big Mom. It seemed like a conflict that would wait. But now? After they declared war on Kaido (as Law put it back on Dressrosa) that eventuality only became reality.

(Taking on two of the Yonko at once? That was sheer suicide.)

Hopefully the issue between Big Mom and Sanji could be solved without bringing up the issue with the candy shop and Fishman Island. They were completely separate things after all.

And Zoro, knowing that things may escalate, would have attempted to convince Luffy otherwise (he had tried while they journeyed to Nekomamushi) but once Luffy decided on something…

Good luck convincing him otherwise.

At least it was Luffy and not say Usopp going. (Not to mention Nami would keep him in line)

.xxx.

Law wasn’t pleased with this news either, and Zoro didn’t blame him. Logically speaking, it was a stupid move, and despite his changes, Law was still very much a logical man.

(Even if he used that logic to realise they were putting others in danger – something he hadn’t done before…)

But, Law, too, knew just how unmovable Luffy was.

(He still found Law’s words to his crew ironically amusing: nothing more than allies? No need to get along with them? Who did this fucker think he was? Mr. I-use-Luffy-as-my-personal-pillow.)

.xxx.

Finally during the party with the night minks were they allowed to really relax. (The greeting with the day timers wasn’t quite relaxing) The stories were told, information given, and some plans put into place. Of course, there still was the issue with the samurai but—

Shit, the samurai!

It didn’t take him long to figure out that he was the only one who realised and that Franky, Brook, and Robin had gone off somewhere. They most certainly were dealing with that problem.

So Zoro relaxed, had some booze, and watched the party. For once, Luffy wasn’t attached to Law’s side. (But that probably was because Law’s crew had dragged him away.)

So Luffy allowed himself to go and investigate all these other new and shiny ‘toys.’

(…Never mind Luffy, they were awfully clingy.)

And Zoro continued to watch the Heart Pirates and honestly it was… unnerving. Well, more uncomfortable. Was Law normally like this with his crew? (It was night and day, really) It only made him wonder.

Didn’t Law push people away so he would exact his revenge? And only after did he…

(Distraction. Distraction. Law couldn’t be distracted… and if one of his crew…)

But what did that even mean? And the way Bepo was sobbing and rubbing his cheek against Law’s…

I never expected I’d actually see them again.

And something clicked – something that Zoro wished that didn’t.

Yes, Law had changed. Yes, Law wasn’t the same person he was a few weeks ago. Yes, Law was somebody he trusted and even liked now. But right now, Zoro was furious with Law.

Oh, it was but an assumption at this moment; however that could be quickly rectified.

Law had separated himself from his crew now, and what perfect timing…

He tried to hide his anger (he knew not how well he hid it) and slid in next to Law.

He needed to know.

Law nodded at him and greeting and Zoro returned it neutrally.

(Did Law truly suspect nothing?)

After a few moments of peaceful silence, Zoro finally broke it.

“Were you planning on leaving Dressrosa alive?”

He saw the flinch.

It all made sense now… Law pushing people away, his shit excuse for a disguise which was more like a beacon. His actions when Luffy rescued him. His crew being here and their ‘safe-point’ from Kaido…

Law had been prepared to sacrifice everything for his revenge. And Zoro never realised it – for the same reason he never realised Doflamingo was Law’s intended target.

(And an allied crew wouldn’t do everything in their power to prevent his death. No they would just keep on going and moving forward to ensure their own survival.)

But Law had allied himself with the most unpredictable crew out there and –

Luffy.

(That. That was why Zoro was so angry. Because Law planning to die… Luffy so torn and hurt…)

“No, I wasn’t.”

Zoro didn’t hesitate. He punched Law. In the face.

Sure, he didn’t punch Law for almost dying, but he most certainly did for Law planning to die.

He told Law not to hurt Luffy after all.

[starwood-stranded-archived]

The clan holds a council to get to the bottom of Barholme’s attack on Elain and Achzina, and decide what’s to be done about it. Aridatha presides, with Lioska, Nesita, Bartos, Acrux, Talise, and others in attendance. // read on ao3 / read on deviantart

The pearlcatcher guard and a mirror with black scales and silver wings escorted Achzina, his attacker, and the skydancer who’d apparently come to warn him out of Pilgrim’s Rest, into the Inner Sanctum. It struck Achzina as odd that Clan Lukra would bring a would-be murderer into their fortified home, but he had more important mysteries on his mind. Once they entered the Sanctum, there came a brief period of frenzied activity around the three dragons involved in the altercation, while they remained under guard; then they were brought before Aridatha.

The clan leader and several other dragons had gathered in the same open-air chamber where she’d interviewed Achzina, built at the base and into the lower branches of one of the starwood trees. Achzina recognized Lioska from his interview. Also present were two tundras with sky-blue wings, one black-furred and one purple; a pink-winged imperial; a brown and green skydancer; a dark mirror with red markings mazing over her wings; and a purple coatl wearing bows. As Achzina, his attacker, and their companion entered, most of the dragons chatted amongst themselves; Achzina could hear the skydancer asking the imperial for news and see the mirror and coatl with their heads bowed together. A hush fell as the guards took up positions on either side of Achzina and the other … prisoners. Were they prisoners? Achzina wasn’t sure.

“Talise,” Aridatha said, into the silence. “You were the first on the scene, yes? What did you find?”

“I was --” began the tawny skydancer, the shapeshifter who’d burst into Achzina’s room.

“You --” said the silver fae, their attacker.

“Quiet,” Aridatha said, calmly but firmly. “Everyone will get a chance to tell their side of the story, but in turn. First, I want to hear from Talise.”

The pearlcatcher guard stepped forward. “It was late at night, the gates were shut, and I was patrolling Pilgrim’s Rest when I heard a commotion. Shouting, mostly, from upstairs, but as I headed towards it I started feeling something magical, too. Can’t tell you what it was; I’m no archmage.”

“Excuse me?” said the dark tundra, stepping forward. “If I may, Aridatha; since I am an archmage, and I took the liberty of briefly examining the scene of the incident?”

“Go on, Bartos.”

“From the traces left behind, it appears that someone used a spell designed to drain all the magic out of the room -- including out of any living creatures in the room, a process that would certainly be fatal.” A moment’s silence fell after that word, as all the dragons in the room took in the seriousness of the event. And it only got worse as the tundra continued: “The spell was not contained; Ammanas informed me that dragons in neighboring rooms complained of its effects, and particularly sensitive dragons could feel it from across the inn. If left unchecked, it could have harmed dragons across the inn -- perhaps more than ‘harmed,’ and perhaps further than the inn.”

Achzina felt cold, and he snuck a peek at the silver fae. He found it hard to believe that someone would go to such excessive lengths to kill him -- and he’d never even met this fae! What could he have done to engender such hate?

Barholme has a problem with shape-shifters, Ammanas had told him, but Achzina had never imagined such a “problem” would manifest itself like this.

“I don’t know anything about that,” the pearlcatcher, Talise, said as the tundra stepped back into the audience. “What I do know is that by the time I got up to the room, Barholme was just there looking -- well, I don’t know what; faes, you know? But he was there in the doorway, trying to cast, and the other two were writhing on the floor, clearly unwell, so I restrained Barholme and took all three of them into custody. That’s all I have to say.”

Talise retreated. Aridatha glanced around the room for a second, and then her gaze focused on the tawny skydancer. “Elain. What were you doing there?”

“When I went to bed last night, I found a note in my nest,” Elain said. “It said that Barholme would try to attack the new Oracle tonight, because he was a shape-shifter. I don’t know who sent it, but, well, they were right, weren’t they? I went out to the inn to warn him. And then Barholme tried to kill us both! I mean, I always knew he was going to, but I figured he’d go for me first.”

The skydancer’s matter-of-fact tone struck Achzina: he wondered how long she’d lived with the knowledge that one of her own clan-mates wished her dead, like a sword hanging over her throat. And still she’d come to warn him -- risking her life in the process. Almost unconsciously, Achzina moved closed to Elain, literally standing by the other skydancer.

“What happened when you got to the inn?” Aridatha prompted.

“I didn’t have time to tell Achzina why I was there, but I did wake him up, so at least Barholme couldn’t murder him in his sleep.”

“I would have woken him,” interrupted Barholme. “Sinners must know that they are punished.”

Elain gave Aridatha a significant look, as if to say, See? Achzina muttered, “Sinners?” with a growing weight in his chest.

“Elain.” Aridatha placed heavy emphasis on the name, glaring at Barholme.

“Barholme started in on his whole ‘sinners’ rhetoric, just like he just did.” Elain’s snout crinkled in contempt. “Which was whatever, but then he started firing bolts at us. Cut straight through the wall! I tried to stop him, but he shielded himself, held me off -- and then he created that rift thing. It had us both on the ground; hurt like Shade itself. And then it just … stopped. Not sure why. I figured Talise did something.”

Talise shook his head. “Unless ‘doing something’ means ‘just showing up,’ nope.”

The two tundras in the audience muttered to each other. Achzina remembered a flash of white cloth and a claw held to crystal lips, but he said nothing. For one, it wasn’t his turn to speak; and he also didn’t feel secure enough in his place here to speak up, or to disregard the request for silence in that held-up claw.

But now Aridatha turned to him. “Achzina. What happened, from your perspective?”

Achzina took a deep breath. Tell the truth, or keep quiet? What had Clan Lukra done to deserve the truth from him, when they couldn’t even control the homicidal maniac in their midst? He felt more inclined to trust the dragon at the window, who had probably saved his life.

“I don’t have much to add to Elain’s account,” he said. “I attempted to shield us, but it wasn’t going to hold -- but I suppose Barholme grew impatient, and that’s when he released the rift. It wasn’t really necessary.”

“You don’t know what halted the rift?” Aridatha asked.

Achzina hesitated. He hadn’t expected a direct question. But then, he wasn’t lying -- he didn’t know that the mysterious dragon had anything to do with the rift closing. He only suspected as much. “No. My talents lie in divination; I’m no great expert in other forms of magic.”

Aridatha seemed satisfied, anyway, though Lioska’s green eyes bored into Achzina as if she suspected something. Or perhaps only his guilt made him see accusations everywhere. Achzina reminded himself that he had done nothing wrong, that he was the victim of Barholme’s attack.

Reluctantly, Aridatha turned to the last dragon in custody. “Barholme. Defend yourself, if you can.”

The fae raised his head. “What else was I to do? For too long, you’ve stalled me, quibbled and refused to deal with the blasphemer among us. Then I hear that you consider inviting a second beast-lover to join us, and as an Oracle, favored of the gods. Obviously I could not allow this. I spoke to you on the subject, remember? I told you not to accept this creature, and you dismissed me.”

Aridatha frowned as eyes turned to her. “I recall. I told you I’d take your concerns into account.”

“You dismissed me.” Barholme’s fins flared. As little as Achzina wanted to give the fae any credit, he had a point: Aridatha barely sounded sincere making that promise now, after the fact. Then Achzina remembered how backwards Barholme’s “concerns” were, and any sympathy he’d had for the priest vanished. “I could not let this stand. And even if you refused him, by some chance -- such a sinner could not be permitted to claim the mantle of Oracle, here or anywhere else. So I went to take care of him, to show him the error of his ways with holy fire.”

“The Arcanist is not a god of holy fire,” interrupted the purple tundra. “He would wish us to study strange forms of magic, not destroy them on sight.”

Barholme’s neck swelled, fins extended to their full length and surface area as he hissed in rage. But others nodded in agreement: Lioska, the dark tundra, the imperial.

“Thank you for not attempting to deny your guilt, Barholme,” Aridatha said, a note of anger in her voice. “It makes this simpler.”

“Guilt?” hissed Barholme. “Guilt? What have I done? He is not of our clan, not yet; he is nothing to us. I have broken no law.”

He actually seemed to get some support on that one: the guard Talise tilted his head, considering the argument, and the mirror in the audience nodded.

“Pale excuses,” Aridatha snapped. “We will not allow murder on our grounds, whomever the victim may be.”

“Not to mention your total disregard for collateral damage,” Lioska said. “We must ensure the safety of the pilgrims who come to us for answers. What are we to tell them, if one of our number can set off dangerous magic among them with no consequences?”

“And your attack also targeted Elain, who is a clan member,” the imperial added. Elain herself looked rather surprised at that.

“You’ve admitted your guilt,” Aridatha repeated. “Now all that remains is to decide what’s to be done with you.”

Barholme’s head tilted as he looked up at Aridatha. “Kill me, then. I can think of no fate more glorious than to be a martyr for my lord.”

“We’re not going to kill you,” Aridatha said firmly.

Beside Achzina, Elain snorted, as if she disliked this decision, but Achzina himself felt rather relieved. For all Barholme’s willingness to do so to him -- not to mention the fae’s unpleasant demeanor -- Achzina didn’t want to feel responsible for another dragon’s death.

Aridatha glanced around the chamber. “I intend to exile Barholme from our clan and lands, so that he no longer possesses the privileges of a member of Clan Lukra, and nor may he approach our lair. If our patrols meet him, they are to turn him back with as much force as he makes necessary.”

“What, so he can go murder some other shape-shifters somewhere else?” Elain demanded. “So he can vent his spleen on the beastclans?”

Achzina felt much the same, and said so. “Exile does nothing to curb Barholme’s murderous tendencies, or to prevent him from enacting them somewhere else. He must be stopped, not simply made someone else’s problem.”

“If I may make a suggestion,” said the imperial, stepping forward. “I know you asked Nesita and Bartos to seal these three’s magic, to prevent any conflict from breaking out here in council.”

From beside Achzina, Elain let out a soft “oh,” and Achzina himself realized at that moment that his shape-shifting lay beyond him. That they had done so to all three dragons, not just the obviously guilty Barholme, and that they hadn’t bothered to mention it, irked him.

“I believe the first step in punishing Barholme would be to seal his magic in a more long-term manner,” the imperial continued. “That is possible, is it not, Bartos?”

“I’ve never tried it,” said the dark tundra. “But the theory certainly supports it, and I’ve heard of such things from other clans. I don’t doubt that I could work out how to do it. Permanently, if you wish.”

“You cannot take my lord’s blessing from me,” said Barholme, but he spoke quietly, as if not quite sure himself that the words were true.

“You sometimes speak as if you are the only Arcane dragon in this clan,” Bartos said, an almost contemplative note in his voice, though his pink eyes were sharp. “I think we’ll be able to demonstrate quite effectively that that’s not true.”

Aridatha turned to Elain and Achzina. “Without his magic, Barholme will post little threat to anyone. As the injured parties: does his sealing and exile satisfy you?”

Achzina looked at Elain. Elain appeared to consider the matter for a moment. Then turned to Barholme, curled her claws together, and punched him in the gut.

“That’s for all the mind control,” Elain said, while Barholme coughed on the ground.

“Mind control?” Achzina mouthed, but everyone ignored him.

Elain looked at Aridatha. “All right. You can exile him now. I’m going to bed.”

[starwood-stranded-archived]

An ethereal image, a fleeting impression, featuring Elain and Frip; or, the answer to the question, “If Barholme does succeed in his quest to have Elain executed for the sin of shape-shifting, will Frip save her?”

Elain lay crumpled on the floor of the cage built just to hold her. Somehow, she was the clan’s first criminal, their first prisoner. Aridatha, never fond of the sentence, had given her a little comfort at least: her limbs were unbound, and the cage floor was soft, clean grass, shaded by the trees above through the long day she’d already lingered here. But glowing runes and sigils on the bars and the ground around it trapped her in dragon form – Barholme’s devising, though Bartos had helped, out of intellectual curiosity. That restriction chafed at Elain far more than any simple ropes ever could.

The imperial Cobalt slept curled around the cage, the runes’ light sparkling off his brilliant azure scales: her assigned guard. The concern was not so much that Elain would escape the cage as that a sympathetic clan-member might break her out, help her vanish into the endless woods. Other sentinels – Barholme, Zarya, Wanderer, Moros, all volunteers – watched the suspect dragons, those who had protested this decision too vocally. Geras, Luna, Nesita, Cypress – none of these friends could save Elain from her fate.

But someone could. There was one dragon in the clan whom not even Barholme, with all his eldritch magic, could restrain, and Elain still held out hope that she might receive aid from that quarter.

And that hope leapt in her breast when, deep into the night, she turned her head to find Frip sitting inside the cage with her, watching her, rendered ghostly by her white robes.

“Frip!” Elain said, her voice almost breaking with relief. Then she remembered Cobalt’s presence, and lowered her voice to a whisper – though surely not even the clan’s largest member had a prayer of stopping Frip. “You came to rescue me, right?”

“’Fraid not,” Frip said, and continued as Elain stared at her in shock. “I’m just here to talk. Don’t worry about waking Coby, by the way – neither he nor his little friend will bother us tonight.”

“What … what do you mean?” Elain finally managed, after a long silence in which she struggled to meet Frip’s eyes or read the nocturne’s expression – all hidden by the shadows of her hood and the night. “You could get me out of here easily. Don’t you always say that you can do anything?”

“Oh, I can. But I’m not going to do anything.” Frip shrugged, the motion rippling through her silvery wings and sending kaleidoscopic lights reflecting off them. “I never had any intention of interfering in this.”

“But … why not? I know you don’t agree with Barholme. I … I thought you liked me. Cared about me, even.” The dancing. The embraces. The smiles. The, perhaps, flirting. Despite all the stories from others and her own personal observations of Frip’s capricious nature, Elain had dared to believe that it all meant something.

“Yes, I can see how you might have gotten that impression.” But not to Frip, apparently. In fact, the nocturne smiled now, a thin and knowing smile that spread over only half her face. “This is all hypothetical, anyway.”

“My impending death is ‘hypothetical’?” Elain found herself feeling very cold. Suddenly a gate slammed shut over every part of her that might have been hurt by Frip’s callous indifference, her near-betrayal – she certainly hadn’t promised Elain anything, but gods, had she implied. Now Elain felt nothing at it, not surprise, not fear, not anger. It was a rather new sensation for such a typically tumultuous dragon; Elain was used to taking refuge in rage when the world turned against her. But now there was nothing, and then after dawn tomorrow there would be truly nothing, not even cold.

“Yes.” Frip leaned closer to Elain, close enough that the skydancer saw her eyes gleaming under her hood, empty as ever. A brief temptation to bite or claw at Frip crossed Elain’s mind, but why bother? It wouldn’t get her out of here; knowing Frip, it wouldn’t even land, one way or another. “None of this is real, Elain, and this is even less real than the rest – a further remove from actuality, a yet deeper fantasy.”

“It feels real.” Elain’s voice came out sounding much smaller and more pathetic than she intended. Where was her newfound chill, her armor against fear and pain? She didn’t care what was going to happen – she couldn’t, couldn’t give Barholme and his backers the satisfaction. She clung as she always had to two pieces of meager comfort: that she was right, morally, and the unspooling thread of time would eventually show her so; and that there was nothing she could do about the situation and thus no point fretting about it.

“You don’t know what ‘real’ is,” Frip said, but her tone wasn’t critical: she sounded rather sympathetic instead, almost kind. The nocturne laid her talons over one of Elain’s paws, forestalling Elain’s incredulous, slightly outraged response. “That’s not an insult. It’s a fact of your existence, or lack thereof.”

“So it’s fine for me to burn at the stake?” A slight exaggeration, that: while popular pressure had forced Aridatha to grant Elain’s execution, she had turned down the more barbaric methods Barholme suggested – and Zarya had not-so-mysteriously opposed anything that might damage her body. That thought nearly broke through Elain’s unemotional armor, a squick of disgust turning her stomach as she thought about Zarya carrying off her lifeless form, employing claws and knives and chemicals in her gruesomely delicate work …

“Best not to think about that,” Frip said, but Elain continued down that path anyway, because that wasn’t the worst – Zarya had made other offers, a method of execution that even Barholme might flinch at …

Frip squeezed Elain’s claws, bringing her back to the present. “Leave it, Elain. This moment is a future that probably won’t come to pass, and that’s even less likely.”

“It’s coming to pass now,” Elain said, dry-mouthed. “Unless you’re going to do something.”

“I am no actor on this stage.” Frip released Elain’s paw and turned away, gazing at the patterns of blue lights in Cobalt’s scales, a miniature galaxy. “I suppose I am only here to emphasize my lack of involvement. An unnecessary display, but someone will enjoy it.”

“Are we being watched?”

“We only exist when we are watched.” Frip’s head swiveled back to Elain, a satisfied smile crossing her face. “See you soon, dove.”

Too suddenly for Elain to recoil, Frip bobbed forward and kissed the tip of her snout. And then she was gone.

Frip sat in her quarters, curled up on a pillow, watching Elain hop between the cliff-hanging harpy huts in the golden light of afternoon. She turned her head.

“Well, I’m not sure what the point of that was. A bit voyeuristic, don’t you think?”

The nocturne sighed, resting her head in her claws, and closed her eyes.

“That’s all, folks. And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.”