#Giovanni's presence is enough for him and as long as he is allowed

[perelka-l]

Archer is a starving doggie he is so starved and desperate his eyes go wide and his mouth starts watering at the mention of his boss' ankles. Also when Giovanni just like waves his hand a little, Archer practically starts shaking cos his brain goes 'PAT??? ME??? A GOOD BOY???' (it's never a pat) please he wants his boss so bad he's doing such a good job please look at him

He is properly taken care of but Archer can't help but be a bit too greedy, even considering he is in Team Rocket. That seems only fitting though, don't you think? :D

He thinks he hides his hunger well when Giovanni crosses his legs and Archer can feel an itch at his teeth when he sees boss' ankles and a tiny bit of calves, or at least he thinks he does (He does, for most of people, and Giovanni isn't one of those hehe)

(Maybe Giovanni will let him have a bite later, as a treat) (Or maybe never)

On that note, Giovanni's line of "I'm expecting great things from you, Archer" from Pokemas is definitely something he uses to push his doggie a bit further uwu "It's never a pat" I feel like you are implying something a bit more sinister and I am enjoying that thought :3

[moriors]

@polarean / jameson : sender hovers over receiver’s shoulder as they complete a task.

from mashed potatoes , flour , and egg , a dough is made. rolled into a long tube-like shape before him , strong enough to stick to itself , keep its form , without sticking to giovanni's hand. as he begins to cut the tube into bite-sized pieces , he feels the presence of another approaching behind , the cold of jameson's skin as he steps close. giovanni is not unused to curious eyes peering over at the kitchen counter. what is foreign , however , is the proximity: feeling jameson's form against his back , his chin rested occasionally atop giovanni's shoulder , hands wandering at the waist. perhaps there are other intentions here ——— but jameson is going to be sorely disappointed if he thinks giovanni will be distracted so from his cooking.

without thinking too far into it , giovanni allows the closeness. it almost feels dangerously domestic , but he's focused ——— and it would be a lie to say he doesn't enjoy being watched while he cooks , makes an old favorite from scratch. this is what good food looks like , really good food.

after a moment , he turns his gaze sideways to meet jameson's. ❛❛ curious , yes ? you are looming. ❜❜ he reaches the end of the dough-tube , sets the pieces aside on the counter. ❛❛ you will like this , i think. i do. not my absolute favorite , but it was ——— ❜❜ a rare occurrence , perhaps yet unseen by jameson: giovanni frowns , stops himself in the middle of a thought and stares for a moment , as though trying to remember himself. a silent instant , before its all blinked away , and he goes back to his preparations. ❛❛ if you would like to help , rather than gawk , the pot of water by the stove can be put on the burner , now. and salted. ❜❜

[m-blackwell-and-associates]

Requiem

It was a happenstance that had him in Annaba when Maestra Lucretia’s courier found him.  The Padrone of Northern Africa had escorted the ghoul to his presence personally, knowing the messenger to be on a mission of urgency, and quickly excused himself when the courier pulled out the black bordered envelope.  

A formal declaration of a death.

At centuries old, there were few family members in this world still walking who’s passing would grant him the somber privilege of such a personal notice, let alone by the hand of the New World Maestra herself.  He knew whose death it pressaged before he even cracked the gold seal.  He had read it silently and with all decorum, before laying it in the fireplace to watch the heavy cream paper curl into black ash.  It would not do for the Maestro of Africa to lose his composure.  Even over the murder of his childe.  The dignity of his office required full control.  

Enrico Giovanni folded his hands before him, sitting alone in the front pew of the candle lit basilica.  His childe had no close mortal family on this side of the world.  She had been New World based and they would be holding their own masses.  They would be held at night, in the Venetian tradition, and all those that still knew her face and name would attend.  Anyone who was connected to those that worked behind the curtain of the family business would come, garbed in black and introduced as family to remember.  Family to be trusted.  They would shake hands and exchange the kiss of greeting and file into the church to stand with cousins they hadn’t seen since the last funeral and make future business deals in the shadows of the church.

Madaline hadn’t any ghouls or childer to pay their respects, either here or in the New World.  Chicago had been too unforgiving to allow Giovanni power to establish itself that deep.  The old wounds still bled.  There was no one left that would be honored with proximity to the deceased apart from himself, save one.  There should have been at least one by his side, but he was missing and could not be found.  Lucretia would not have cared if he had died, but if he had, she would not have hesitated to herald the event.  The carnage that Nicky would wreck upon that city was beyond comprehension.  Enrico was unsure if Lucretia would allow it to happen a second time.  Lucretia might not have the power to stop him.

It pleased Enrico to think that likely.

The choir began to sing, voices full of painful hollow sorrow, causing him to rise along with the rest of the congregation, dead and undead alike.  “Miserére mei, Deus secúndum magnam misericórdiam tuam.”  

Have mercy upon me, O God: after Thy great goodness.

The priest came down the aisle, swathed in black velvet and silver for the Requiem Mass.  Father Gregory nodded slightly as he passed, acknowledging his uncle and Maestro even in the midst of his holy calling.  Behind him was a bier, carried on the shoulders of six of his most trusted Ghiberti cousins.

But it was empty.  Nothing but a token pall and a handful of lilies. 

A flash of rage tore through him and he clenched his hands against it.  His childe.  Murdered.  The body still unrecovered.  Lost.  It was unacceptable.  An insult of the highest order.  For a moment he envied Nicky and his willingness to engage in a vengeance that would benefit no one but himself.

“Et secúndum multitúdinem miseratiónum tuárum, dele iniquitátem meam.”

According to the multitude of Thy mercies, do away mine offenses.

Madaline hadn’t been old enough to crumble to dust when Final Death took her.  There should have been a corpse, withered and old having caught up to the extended years of her existence.  The family should have recovered her from the aftermath of the ambush.  They should have prepared her earthly remains for the mass and to be returned to the Mausoleum in Venice.  There she should have been interred with the rest of the family, both long and newly dead.  Enrico should have been able to bless those bones himself and seal the tomb.

Nothing.

"Amplius lava me ab iniquitáte  mea: et a peccáto meo munda me." 

Wash me thoroughly from my wickedness: and cleanse me from my sin.

His legacy.  She was to have been his legacy.  A padrona of the Central Territory, seated in the very heart of his rival’s power.  The rage that churned inside now swirled around a growing emptiness, a great hollow realization that everything had come to naught.  Centuries of habit had him follow the mass, rising when bidden and answering the calls to the faithful, the Latin rite comforting in its familiarity.  But he didn’t pay any attention to the gospel or the homily that Father Gregory gave.  There was nothing the good father could say that Enrico wished to hear.  

Enrico closed his eyes against the sight of that black draped bier laying before the altar, the priest going through the motions of blessing and sanctifying a body that wasn’t there and praying for a soul that could not be found.  Madaline’s soul had not answered him.  There were few reasons why she would not and none of those reasons gave him comfort.  Rather, it gave him greater cause for an anger that would not subside.

“Quando cœli movendi sunt et terra: Dum veneris judicare sæculum per ignem,” the cantor sang as the empty bier was blessed, a symbolic funeral for the missing dead. When the heavens and the earth shall be moved: When Thou shalt come to judge the world by fire. 

The priest sang back, “Dies illa, dies iræ, calamitatis et miseriæ: dies magna et amara valde.” and Enrico felt the meaning curl in his dead heart.  O that day, that day of wrath, of sore distress and of all wretchedness, that of great and exceeding bitterness.  

“Dum veneris judicare sæculum per ignem.”  Enrico stared at the pall laying on nothing and thought, When Thou shalt come to judge the world by fire.  Nicholas, do not disappoint me. 

[the-darklings]

Heyyy, I honestly love your writing and was wondering can we have more Clara x reader, please??

what if I told you I have an entire E-rated mini-series half done for clara x reader set in an original world???

but yes, always, always yes for her.

pairing: clara (v) x f!reader

wc: 1.3k+

verse: coa; post the hunt, pre-john's wedding

notes: reader is part of the continental staff

“You’re back.”

Words slip past your lips without you meaning to say them; more of a strained exclamation of surprise than a casual greeting.

The woman halts in her tracks (is she limping?) and rotates her neck. Lips pressed in a bloodless line, the Vipress’ wan expression slices into you like a dull knife. Her chestnut hair hangs limp and soggy with water around her face. Her jaw rigid and her body tense.

Dark eyes squint at you, scanning, and you note the way her deft fingers twitch against her thigh, fighting back an impulse to reach for a weapon. You heard about the Hunt. Heard about all the awful things she was put through before eventually settling with Camorra. There were rumours about their protection being extended towards her. Some say she slept her way into it, namely through Santino D’Antonio who you have to admit has an intense interest in her. Others say she agreed to be Giovanni’s spy, others believed it was all a ploy by Viggo Tarasov to unleash a snake inside the Italian ranks.

Truth is you don’t believe any rumours you’ve heard about her. You recall a woman who used to shadow John Wick with a grin sharper than her blades. But she never struck you as conniving or cruel. She’d been… kind. Kinder than most people you’ve dealt with. In such subtle, unexpected ways. Gratitude few extend for those beneath them, inquiring about your day, or idle conversation. You often wondered if she was lonely. As lonely as you. If that’s why she was so kind.

Everyone wears a mask, but the Vipress always allowed you to see more. Or used to.

A permanent cloud of restless misery seems to hang over her since her ill-fated trip to Tokyo—another pool of rumours swirling around that particular event—and you can’t recall seeing a single smile since.

You miss it. Crinkled eyes and scrunched nose. Rare but potent joy. Infectious in its intensity. She…

Swallowing, you venture closer, risking a soft, “Are you injured?”

Her black clothes drip with water but you don’t comment on the steadily growing pool of water beneath her feet. Her expression doesn’t so much as shift. Stony and untrusting.

“Is Winston in?”

Rough words, her voice scratchy with tension. Her eyes scan briefly behind you, anticipating a danger she shouldn’t. You doubt Winston would ever allow anyone to disobey the Continental rules, much less when in relation to her.

“No, he…” you trail off, still staring at her. “He has your room key. I’m afraid you can’t get in until he returns. You need a change of clothes. I have some spares if you like? You’ll catch a cold otherwise. You’re soaked to the bone.”

A mirthless, half-smile crosses her face, twisting her expression into a pained grimace you hate. She doesn’t suit it. When was she bled of her fiery, snarky humour you always admired? Found secretly hilarious?

“Figures,” she mutters under her breath, glancing behind herself. An empty hallway greets her but you note how her shoulders loosen slightly, forcing a soft sigh out of her lungs. “Sure. I appreciate it.”

Giving her a weak smile, you gesture for her to follow after you. You count to five before her light footsteps register behind you. Your skin tingles as you walk, feeling her intent stare at the back of your neck. Your heels make it even harder to keep an even gait but you succeed. Charon taught you better than that.

Spine straight, you walk proudly ahead, one of the deadliest women in this city trailing after you. Questions bubble in your chest, tingling your tongue but you bite your cheek to keep them locked away. Vipress looks no better than a caged animal right now—the last thing you want to do is add to her troubled, exhausted state.

It’s not long before you reach the staff wing, unlocking the spare laundry room connecting with your new office. Your heels click while you move across the space, pulling out a new pair of jeans, a jumper and undergarments. Simple, standard clothes Continental provides free of charge to its patrons in case their previous clothes are destroyed beyond repair.

You can’t hear her while you shuffle around, but you certainly feel her presence. Prey is always aware of predators even if they can’t see them.

“You’re no longer working in housekeeping,” she speaks suddenly, a question there.

You nearly jump out of your skin, tightening your hold on the bundle of garments in your hands. Inhaling deeply, you turn to her with a slight smile, a little frail around the edges but present all the same.

The assassin leans against the wall opposite to you, bright fluorescent illuminating her features, giving her a near gaunt appearance. When did she lose so much weight? Her usually soft freckles stand stark against her too pale skin.

“I got a raise,” you tell her, pride colouring your voice and you move in her direction with a shy smile. “Just last week.”

Her eyebrows quirk, searching over your new attire of tailored dress pants, white shirt and polished heels.

“I told you, didn’t I?” she says after a pause, and you falter under her piercing stare.

Yes. Yes, she did. She told you repeatedly it’s only a matter of time before you get a raise. She thought you were a great worker and oftentimes joked about putting in a good word to Winston about you. You always wrote off her words as nothing more than jokes, meaningless conversations you have with someone when you want to be polite. John Wick certainly never got involved in your banter. His dark eyes unfailingly trailed after her smiles and laughs instead.

You could understand his appreciation, his secret hoarding of those rare instances. He wanted something—someone—he couldn’t afford to have. Couldn’t permit himself to reach for.

Staring at the Vipress you think you understand him better than you would care to admit.

She’s beautiful in a way a wild flame is beautiful. Get too close and you know you will suffer for it. But you want to.

God, you really do. Crave her in secret because… well. What are you? What can you give to a woman like her? When she holds the interest of so many above your stature. The things they say she did during the Hunt. People who are dead because of her.

She’s one of the most horrible people alive.

Yet her smiles are more blinding than the sun, and you selfishly want every single one of them.

“Yes, you did,” you agree weakly, holding out the bundle of clothes to her.

Her hands are cold when they touch yours but a tingle rushes up your spine all the same. Electric current hums under your skin when her guarded eyes do another searching sweep over your expression.

“You know my sizes?”

Your heart quivers in your chest, unsure how to proceed. Does she think you stranger, wrong, to have remembered such a thing?

“I… your laundry,” you splutter, then exhale, calming yourself to give her a steadier, “When you lived here. The dry cleaner. I… sorry, I realise this might be uncomfortable for you.”

Her hazel eyes drag over you again, hard and unyielding. Your breaths slow when she takes a few steps closer—close enough for you to scent the flowers, herbs and soil that forever seem to cling to her smooth skin. You’ve never wanted to nuzzle into someone’s neck more, feel their warmth beneath your lips. Taste and savour the exquisite familiarity of someone’s very being.

“My sizes have changed,” she says and you tell yourself you imagined the slight smile you glimpse for a split second. “But you’re welcome to learn them again.”

She brushes past you—flowers and poison and death—and you force yourself to breath, ignoring the heat crawling up your neck.

an: she. that's it - that's the message. but thank you so much for asking for her!!! I think Clara deserves a soft sapphic romance, as a treat.

[ficforce]

Little Lady

Joker/52 x Reader

SFW

Set during the Rookie Games

Joker being a douche

She had been so happy with herself for getting to the top of the training building first, she had left the other rookies, and in particular, the kid with the fiery feet, behind in her wake. The flames at her back dissipated as soon as she stepped onto solid ground and Y/N suddenly realised that maybe she shouldn’t have gotten in first, she wasn’t supposed to let on that she wasn’t as green as the others - at least that’s what the man who had trained her told her to watch out for. Captain Giovanni had told her to win though…

Having only just joined Company 3, Y/N knew she needed to make a good impression before they ate her up and spat her out; she needed to win this.

Amidst the crackle and pop of the controlled flames in the building, she heard an odd ‘thwump’, almost like someone falling down and she had to wonder if Shinra had beat her in after all. Rounding the corner the young woman froze; the guy who had been their stand-in Infernal was unconscious on the ground and standing over him was a very tall, slim man who was sucking in a breath of the cigarette held between his grinning lips. A single purple eye glinted at her, the smoke from the man’s cigarette formed into three little love hearts that he sent her way. Quickly Y/N had swiped her hand through them before they got too close but then, suddenly, the stranger was there, barely a foot away and reaching for her face.

Y/N let out a surprised yelp and without thinking she thrust the heel of her hand as hard as she could under his chin, snapping his head backwards violently before she turned tail and tried to run away. That was him, that was the one she had been warned about, the tall man who kept showing up around Haijima and the Church, “Fuck!” She hissed under her breath, “Why didn’t the Captain warn me?!” Skidding around a corner of the burning building Y/N realised she’d lost her way already and ended up in a dead-end, “Oh no… no, no, no!” She wasn’t ready for this, she wasn’t prepared, she was just a rookie and this was too much already. Spotting a door that was slightly ajar and running straight to it, she looked down the hall once to make sure he wasn’t there and then shut it behind her.

Feeling her heart pounding in her chest, Y/N tried to take a few deep breaths - only the air was full of smoke. The ventilation in the small supply closet was poor and she realised she wouldn’t be able to breathe in there for long. A new hiding place was needed.

The door wouldn’t budge.

Her eyes widened in alarm and she shoved her shoulder against it. The door was locked and she couldn’t get it to move even a little, “Shit. Shit, shit, shit!” Banging on it with her fist in frustration the young woman let out a scream and then sank down to the floor; how had she messed up so badly? Why was she so useless? The Captain would be so angry, he would… “Shit.”

Grasping the sides of her head she tried to get it together, tried to stop herself from gasping and breathing in more of the tainted air around her before she passed out. She was on her own, no one knew she was in there and she could only imagine what they would think when they found her dead from smoke inhalation later. Even worse was the tiny space, she could touch every wall from her place on the floor and that knowledge made her tremble, she couldn’t stand being closed in…

Why had she run from him?

Why hadn’t she confronted him?

x - -

Panic clawed away at her insides and Y/N heard a sob escape her involuntarily as tears filled her eyes. “Not alone… I don’t want to die alone,” she whimpered into the darkness.

“Then don’t die.” The voice had sounded like it had come from right beside her and in the blink of an eye the door in front of her let out a screech as it was ripped from its hinges. A pair of hands reached in and picked her up by the waist; she screamed as she was lifted up and began to thrash to get loose.

The stranger held her too tightly - her fists did nothing to deter him so instead her eyes lit up and flames roared to like behind her. “Oi, oi, careful, you might burn me,” Joker chuckled but didn’t let go despite the impressive heat she was giving out, “Calm down, Little Lady, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Let me go!” Y/N demanded before another terrified sound came out as he pulled her close enough to force her face into the crook of his shoulder.

“Got yourself stuck in a little box, huh? That’s not any fun.” He pat her back gently, the fire at her back singeing his sleeve, after a second her frozen form was soon replaced by her going limp and he heard her muffle a sob into his shoulder, “You hurt my feelings back there, running away like I was gonna eat you and then you got yourself in a mess. Not very smart, Little Lady.” Joker figured she had been freaked out by being stuck in the closet, probably claustrophobic if her panicked banging was any indication. He had known that seeing him had made her run but this level of panic was something else. Still rubbing her back as she cried he let her feet touch the floor, “How about cooling down?”

Getting her ability under control, Y/N gave him a little shove so that she could take a step back, “Why did you save me?!”

“I heard you screaming, didn’t like the sound of it so… yeah, I might have broken the door a little,” his usually crazed smile was somehow sheepish for a second and then he looked almost apologetic, “I’m running a little late though, I gotta have a word with a less pretty rookie.” Pulling out a card from his breast pocket, Joker took her hand and pressed it into her palm, “You shouldn’t stick around, it’s about to get dangerous.” He took a drag from his cigarette and blew a small cloud of purple smoke into her face, almost immediately her eyes glaze over and she fell forward into his waiting arms, “A hero will rescue you in a moment - See you around, Little Lady~”

Captain Giovanni hadn’t been happy that she had had to be rescued by the rookie from the 8th, he had ordered to see her as soon as she was conscious and she had been shocked to see another person there. It was humiliating to be dressed down with a witness, she couldn’t stand seeing her reflection in those shiny, black, glass eyes - it made her skin crawl. He was so cold, he didn’t lift a single finger to harm her but just his presence made her scared. “Don’t forget, failing doesn’t just affect you, it hurts the collective.”

“Yes, Captain…” Y/N murmured and left the office once she was allowed. Finding her way back to her room she pulled the card the strange man had given her from her pocket, the corner was charred and curled from the explosion he had caused - A joker card.

“Why would you save me… you’re the bad guy, right?” The card didn’t provide her with an answer, the image of the jester just stared back at her laughing.

[rrenounced]

Kanto-Johto are autocracies in which each region’s Champion has ultimate say over what happens in the region.  

Really, this is outdated compared to most regions, which have transferred over to more representational governments and pulled out the political aspects from the title of Champion.  Of course, the Champion still has duties and is expected to be a role model to their people, but is far from the only person able to make decisions in the region.  

Kanto-Johto is, honestly, outdated in a lot of ways, mainly because of their constant quarrelling with one another and extreme xenophobia.

(Speaking from the meta, this is a means to justify the vast difference in technological levels given the lack of time progression in most Pokemon media.)

In addition, Kanto-Johto hasn’t joined the international association that allows Interpol to operate within its borders and binds them to an global set of laws. 

Oddly enough, despite being so drastically xenophobic, both regions have open borders that allow any individual to visit or immigrate.  Not that many want to, as the regions have their share of issues.

Strictly speaking, life under Lance wasn’t awful for the average civilian.  In fact, very few even really noticed a difference switching from Oak to Lance; but perhaps this is because Oak was never the best guy either.  Thus, the hatred of Lance and Johto tends to be generational; with the older generations much more likely to hold this grudge than the newer generations.  

(This is, in fact, exactly why Giovanni left Magenta in charge rather than one of the others.)

In fact, it’s such a drastic change that it’s almost hard to believe that the war has only been over for ten years.  

The average person has moved on from the hatred of Johto, viewing those that wish to return to the old, war-ridden days (such as Team Rocket) as outdated and extremist.  

The realization that most people have long forgotten about Oak and his “treachery” and that he may in fact be caught up in the past, fighting for something that no longer matters was yet another point that struck Giovanni, leaving him trying to figure out what his real goal is.  

That being said, being the leader of an underground organization, Giovanni was more aware of international advancements than the average person in Kanto, even if he had limited opportunities to actually put those advancements to use.  Really, leaving Kanto behind in search for something better was probably for the best; the next step of evolution both for him...and Team Rocket, which he will inevitably end up leading once more.  

On the topic of Team Rocket, they were, of course, most active in Kanto and Johto, but they do have a limited presence in other regions:

Hoenn: Underground operations, generally outside of public view.

Sinnoh:  Small base--offshoot of the original Team Rocket that occasionally reports to Giovanni.

Unova:  Small base--mostly research operations.

Kalos:  Little activity.

Alola:  Little activity.

Galar:  Increasing activity, but mostly stragglers.  

Amberia:  Small base--mostly for storage.

[wildroseofarran]

Into the Umbra || Pete, MJ, Guildias, Abel, & Rosmond || March, 2020

MJ/Guildias: Midas would be good from this night forth, with designated things to knock down to make his point. Abel in his rat terrier form, sitting menacingly on MJ's shoulder while they conversed, paying no mind to him whatsoever, like a looming promise, seemed to do the trick. Staying the night at Peter's felt surreal, and in a sense, wrong. Their relationship wasn't as clean of a slate as he would have liked, but he couldn't deny himself a glance through rose-tinted lenses at what had been.

He would have insisted on a room of his own with Abel, distancing himself enough not to feel completely guilty come the next night, when Guildias knocked on Peter's door. Together, they excused themselves for a quick trip to Gertrude Draegan, establishing his presence and, against Peter's judgement, explained his intended rescue operation. The two returned an hour later, pulling up in front of Peter's house in a black Lincoln Navigator. James Rosmond, dressed in a black felt jacket, remained behind the wheel.

Pete: Even had MJ not insisted, Pete still would've set him up in the guest room. They were starting fresh and that meant a romantic relationship between the two of them didn't currently exist. As such, the guest room was the only option.

He'd looked on in amusement as MJ gave Midas a talking to with Abel's silent but very present assistance, pleased that it seemed to have worked.

The next day when Midas wanted attention, he only knocked over what he was allowed to and was rewarded handsomely with treats and affection.

Pete was in the middle of doling out said affection when the SUV pulled up.

"Looks like a goddamn mafia lieutenant," he muttered to himself, turning away from the window so his glare wouldn't be seen.

MJ/Guildias/Rosmond: MJ and Guildias came to the door as one. No Callum in sight. The SUV remained warm and rumbling. Rosmond's first field operation since the Embrace. Waylon Dahlberg and Leslie Issott a few taps on his antiquated cellphone, should the expertise of a witch be required.

There he would wait, as Peter and the familiar named Abel were gathered for their expedition.

"Gertrude insisted," MJ explained. "Said it would be good for him. Probably t'keep an eye on us."

Guildias leaned against the doorway. "We represent Edenton, whether we like it or lump it. If something catastrophic were to happen, Raleigh mustn't be privy to the embarrassment."

Pete/Abel: Pete opened the door with a frown that was matched by Abel's as he appeared behind him.

"Dude, come on," said Abel, his tone heartily disapproving. "I thought we agreed you were gonna go in, observe the niceties, and get out. Why'd you go and tell her? She's not the boss of the Umbra!"

A sentiment Pete echoed. "The only catastrophe will be if we fail to get that kid, I couldn't care less about Gertrude's potential embarrassment. Like Raleigh gives one single shit about a human child, they probably didn't even notice."

MJ: "Since when did the two of ya start parroting each other? This be a sewin' circle while we were out?"

Abel: "He fed me chicken and rice casserole," said Abel. "We bonded. But still! Now some goon is gonna watch us the whole time and learn shit about us. It's like taking a cop on a heist."

Guildias: "More akin to taking a bodyguard and former assassin," said Guildias. "Trust me, Mr. Harrington, the man has no personality to speak of."

Abel: Abel peeked around Guildias at the SUV and turned to Pete. “You’re right, it does look like a mafia lieutenant car.” The windows were so dark he couldn’t even see the goon.

“All right, so. Is Mr. No Personality coming in or what?”

MJ/Guildias: MJ just snickered. "If it weren't for ya breakin' physics we'd have a Scooby-doo van. Ya know, for work."

"We have hours of drive ahead of us and little night. Rosmond encourages you to bring water," Guildias smirked at Peter.

Pete/Abel: “If we did have a Scooby-doo van, it would have to break physics, too, so we wouldn't have to drive around for hours. Does the mafia lieutenant really want to drive?”

Pete just sighed and went to the kitchen to fill up a water bottle.

MJ/Guildias: "Expect the unexpected." And a lack of trust for a familiar's magic from both Setite and Giovanni. Being backed by a Ravnos did little for confidence; less post-merge.

"Stopped by the RV for some shit. Should have everything," said MJ. "Let's go, Abe. Come meet the mafia."

Abel: "You said yourself we only have a little bit of night to do this and he wants to spend a chunk of it driving." Abel shook his head and grabbed his jacket. "This is why you don't bring a cop." He heaved a great sigh. "All right, let's go meet the mafia."

MJ/Guildias: "We got gear. Got shit if the kid needs moved. Can't just show up at a place ya ain't even seen. Can ya even move five people n'gear t'some place ya ain't even been, dude?" Asked while tugging him by the shirt. No standing and talking. Movement.

Guildias waited quietly for Peter.

Pete/Abel: "I can move four people and gear thanks to the booster spell and talismans I got from X and Ramsay. You know, like we planned. The news reported on it, pictures of the house and the kid are everywhere and the address wasn't hard to find. How do you think I grabbed your ass from that scary place with the giant glass tank? Magic, my guy."

Pete returned a few moments later wearing a jacket and carrying a small pack. "What are my chances of not having to ride with the prince's goon and just following behind in my own car?"

MJ/Guildias: "Magic - ya read my mind! Kinda different from pictures on a screen." Or in Rosmond's case, a printed map to a craftsman foursquare a few miles outside of Raleigh. The route was simple enough and already memorized.

MJ pulled from his inner jacket pocket a long enticing stick of LaffyTaffy. A peace offering handed over without word.

"Let's not over-complicate matters," said Guildias. "Has he outwardly wronged you?"

Pete/Abel: Abel opened his mouth, fully prepared to say more, but the appearance of the candy had it closing again. He accepted it with a smile. "Okay, I love you again. Let's meet Mr. Wet Blanket. Does he actually have no personality or was Guildias exaggerating?"

"Matters are already complicated," said Pete. "We're dipping into the Veil. I'd just rather not have Gertrude's ears and eyes adding to the tension. But I guess it doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done and we have shit to do."

MJ/Guildias: "Ya tell me," MJ smirked, opening one of the doors for Abel. Black interior and spacious, which was the point. Easy to label safety measures as cliche, but there they were.

"That still doesn't answer my question. Seems to be the one area you and Callum disagree."

Pete/Abel: Abel poked his head into the car and looked around. 'Woowwwww,' he thought to MJ. 'It's very la cosa nostra in here.' Out loud, he greeted the driver. "Hey, man."

"You of all people should know why I don't think fondly of the prince. Isn't that reason enough to not want him to be part of this?" He was almost certain telling Gertrude had been Guildias' idea, or maybe even his doing. "Let's just go."

Pete locked the door behind him and walked to the car, hearing his mentor's voice in his head telling him to take things in stride.

MJ/Guildias/Rosmond: Abel was gently shoved forward. He wasn't going to bother reminding him to mind his manners.

A youngish-looking man, blond, eyes like dying grass, observed from the rear-view mirror. Chiseled from some other era. Stoic as a garden statue.

"Mr. Harrington," he greeted. Something in those two words was not quite North Carolina. Something more melodic and silky than one might expect from that face.

"For the man he once was," said Guildias, waiting to fall into step with the Fera. The door was opened for Peter, and it was Guildias climbing into the backseat. A choice made so MJ didn't have to. Rosmond watched expectedly as MJ took his place in the front passenger seat.

"I'll be y'all's DJ for the next hour(sss). We start our adventure with some Reba."

Pete/Abel: Having spent so long in the company of an alias-loving demon, it was more than a little unsettling to be called by his actual name, especially by someone that looked so...stony. Abel wasn't entirely sure he liked it. "Yep, that's me. You don't have to call me mister. And your name...?"

"Rosmond," said Pete, settling in between Abel and Guildias. "His name is Rosmond."

MJ/Guildias: The drive would have been quiet if not for MJ's music. Their driver offered nothing by means of conversation. Neither did Guildias, content with tilting back in his seat and adjusting large gold and brown hexagonal Ray-Bans.

MJ took initiative to sing. Juggling lemons which disappeared randomly, forced back with a bit of concentration. Minutes before arrival, Abel was finally given attention by the Setite.

"Is he always like this?"

Pete/Abel: While Pete didn't normally go for country, MJ's singing provided both distraction and entertainment. The ride was giving him way too much time to think.

Abel shook his head. "Nope. Sometimes he juggles oranges."

MJ/Guildias: "An improvement, then. It's time you upgrade to grapefruit."

"Ha. Easy." But what materialized in his hands looked too yellow. One looked more like Jupiter with various rings of decay. Not quite. He stared for some time, trying to find the appropriate color of a citrus he'd forgotten.

Abel: Abel leaned forward in his seat for a better view.

"Too yellow. Go for a slightly bigger orange that's a yellowy orange color."

MJ/Rosmond: Bigger than this? Roughly the size of both fists, then, and now a rotten lemon in shade.

"Too brown," said Rosmond.

Abel: "Slightly smaller. Think softball or....yeah no, just think softball."

MJ/Guildias: Guildias pulled his phone from pocket. Many years out of date. Complete with keyboard. He leaned forward and presented a stock photo.

"Huh," MJ sighed, trying one more time with Abel's advice and Guildias' image.

The texture wasn't quite there, but an improvement.

Abel: "Ah, you got it! Well done, well done. We're gonna have you juggling citrus of all persuasions before you know it."

To Guildias he said, "I thought your people hated tech?"

Guildias: "We're not part of the ivory tower; but it comes with its own set of rules."

Abel: The hell was the ivory tower? Something to ask MJ later on.

"Gotta live the burner phone life, man."

Guildias/Rosmond: "What makes you think I'm not?"

Rosmond had nothing to add. With the same silence, he drove the SUV quietly onto a dirt road and into a snug patch of forest. The engine was killed, keys stuffed in his pocket.

"Mr. Harrington, I would appreciate your assistance." A brief look back to Guildias. Both men climbed out of the vehicle.

Abel: "That phone you have has internet access. I'm talking the circa-2004-Nokia-phone-that-only-has-Snake-on-it burner phone life."

He peered out the windows at their destination, metaphorical antenna up for anything out of the ordinary.

"I'm all ears, but really, please call me Abel."

MJ/Guildias/Rosmond: The driver's side door was shutting. Guildias gestured for Abel to follow him. Meanwhile, MJ climbed into the back with Peter.

"Stake out shit," he sighed. Normally his forte in the duo, and normally Xavier's forte in the trio. For now, grapefruit had been replaced by pink and blue golf balls, rolled in a single hand.

"You won't be getting a first name from our acquaintance, my friend," Guildias whispered. "That is not a hill to die on."

"Cameras and other security systems need to first be addressed. By any means." Rosmond looked expectedly to the snake, already stepping deeper into the woods where Rosmond pointed. To the house hidden behind a near quarter mile of bracken and sagging branches.

Pete/Abel: Pete nodded, peering out the window as Abel had. "Kinda wanna roll the window down and see if I can smell anything else that might be out there. It occurred to me about fifty miles ago that we might not be the only ones with an interest in this."

Abel looked from Guildias to the man called Rosmond. Did the guy ever crack a smile? Or a joke? Or blink? "I'm annoyingly persistent," he whispered back. "But I'll take your word for it."

He was itching to turn into his animal form but that wasn't wise for two reasons: one, he felt uncomfortable doing so without MJ around. Two, he wouldn't be able to communicate with them.

"There's a few spells for that. Glamours that could hide us while we do what we need to do without being seen."

MJ/Guildias/Rosmond: "What, like fae? Ain't that their thing, stealin' children n'shit?" MJ reached over Peter's lap for the door, opening it a crack. He wanted to take his rebirth behind the masquerade seriously.

Rosmond followed behind by a few feet. "Observation," he reminded. "Mr. Calloway and Graham will utilize your information."

"Still the bodyguard?" Guildias looked over his shoulder, smirk in his eyes.

"Supervision." With Gertrude's insistence. Field work with new capacity. A test of responsibility he would not take lightly.

The same craftsman foursquare from the printed page. New paint job. Manicured lawn. A plastic colorful play set in the backyard. A silver truck and red sedan in the front yard. Porch light on. Lights off save for the second floor in two rooms.

Pete/Abel: "Some of them, yeah. Could be anyone though, including some weirdo human." It was never a good idea to underestimate the weirdos.

Pete scooted close enough to the door to where he could stick his nose out and scented the air.

Well, Abel thought, these two seemed fairly uninterested in magic. Which begged the question of why Rosmond had asked for his assistance.

He looked at the house with a frown. It looked so normal. Nothing about it gave away what had happened inside.

"Poor souls," he sighed to himself.

MJ/Guildias: "You were called 'pup' last night. We'll need that right now, if you're willing to oblige," said Guildias, softly for the semblance of privacy.

Meanwhile, MJ watched Peter with fascination. "What can ya smell?"

Pete/Abel: Abel turned to Guildias, ignoring the knot in his gut. Although whether it was more to do with the impending journey into the Umbra or the thought of transforming without MJ, he couldn't say for sure. "I am--" sort of, "--but I won't be able to communicate with you. Unless you practice telepathy?"

Pete inhaled deeply. "You. Soil. Some sort of body of water nearby. Vampire."

MJ/Guildias: "We'll be right here. You see what you see and come back to us. Door cams, police surveillance. Do not put yourself in unnecessary danger. I'll be right behind you."

MJ smiled privately. "That all? Lions, tigers, bears, oh my?"

Pete/Abel: "I'm not putting myself in any danger at all," Abel said with a grin, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a little silver pendant. It was small, about the size of a nickel, and inscribed with what appeared to be several runic symbols.

Abel clipped it on the necklace he was already wearing so it rested beside his 'A' pendant.

"Okay, so this is gonna hide me from view and muffle any sounds I make, but you should still be able to hear my footsteps if you listen close."

Pete chuckled. "None of them around, only us. Good sign I guess."

MJ/Guildias/Rosmond: "A little more elaborate than a stray dog wandering about," said Guildias. "If the task is completed, then by all means."

Rosmond remained nearby a tree, hands to his sides, observing like the statue Abel imagined him as.

Guildias took a step forward, disappearing behind a tree and then altogether.

"The more borin' the better," MJ nodded. "Ain't supposed t'be a heist."

Pete/Abel: "People tend to approach small dogs, to either pet them or to try and help them. Sometimes I'll get a treat out of the deal but we've gotta be stealthier today." Abel took one more second to make sure the necklace was secure before chanting a small incantation.

He hadn't quite finished when he slowly started to fade from view, his voice growing fainter and fainter as if he were moving far away. A moment later he was gone completely, and only once he was hidden did he feel safe enough to transform.

'I'm in dog form,' he thought to MJ, chain and pendants jingling as he shook himself off. 'Also invisible. Just wanted to give you the head's up.'

Pete nodded as well. "Yeah. Sure feels like one though. Still can't quite believe we're gonna do what we're about to do. It's like my brain can't process it."

MJ/Guildias: Guildias remained on the outskirts, watchful of sinking grass under invisible feet that would be Abel. Watchful for a police car, something. After a bout of silence, he pulled from his coat various colored loupes, bringing each to his eye as he searched for an outward sign of entry. Some indication of where to begin.

MJ sat up straight, looking off to nowhere as though suddenly lost in thought. And then like that, it was over.

"This is sorta been my thing for a while now. Not rescuin' kids, but I mean, the weird shit it comes with."

Pete/Abel: The movement in the sinking grass would indicate a methodical survey around the house. Abel slowly circled it, alternating between sniffing around and watching and listening for any movement or sign that something was amiss. Aside from the obvious, of course.

Since he couldn't speak to Guildias, he thought his observations at MJ. 'Everything's pretty quiet. I smell new paint but I can still smell two kids. One scent is stronger than the other. There's another scent too, can't identify it just yet.' A few beats of silence. 'It's so frustratingly normal.'

"You're sounding more like Robin Hood by the second. Does your demon friend help too?" Pete looked over at MJ. "You okay?"

MJ/Guildias: Every image given to MJ was filed away. This would be vital later. One thing to look out for. That new trend.

'Check the door for one of them cams. I don't think they'll have anything else.'

After a wide circle of the entire property, Guildias returned to Rosmond's side. Reappeared as easily as a blink, and waited for the familiar.

"Yeah," MJ smiled. "N'yeah, m'good. We can start headin' over."

Pete/Abel: 'Copy that.'

Abel looped around again to check out the back door. That's where people tended to have cameras and other security measures, since it couldn't be seen from the street. Of course, humans didn't realize the real threats didn't need cover to attack.

'I see it. Small camera pointed at the back door. Simple, the kind an alarm company would offer to their customers. Fixed position, probably connects to their Wi-Fi network.'

Pete took a deep breath. "All right, let's do this, Robin Hood."

MJ: 'To zap the power lines or do my cloak shit.' To fuck the power lines would bring someone out and shorten their window further. 'Keep sendin' me a view. Check the front door, too. We're headin' that way.'

MJ looked back for Peter, a look on his face as though surprised to see him. Telepathy was disorienting.

"What's your plan?"

Pete/Abel: 'Cutting power attracts attention and utility people. I think cloaking is the way to go.'

Back again to the front of the house. A few of the windows had stickers with a company logo on them; probably the same company that had supplied the camera.

Moving as silently as he could, Abel climbed the front steps and inspected the porch. 'They have a doorbell camera too. Movement usually triggers the censor on those.'

Pete sighed as he zipped up his jacket and adjusted his bag on his shoulder. "Honestly? I don't fuckin' know, man. Abel's got this spell to turn me into a beacon or a lighthouse so this kid can find me but what if it doesn't work?"

MJ: "He's got a what now?" MJ laughed. "I'll bet ya real money that light freaks out the snake."

Which reminded him, speaking with Abel, to find a path with the least amount of trees.

'We'll focus on the backyard. I need the cam's perspective real quick and I got it.'

Pete/Abel: "I only understood about half his explanation but basically it's going to make it easier for us to find the kid in the Umbra so we're not there longer than we absolutely have to be. Time's already fucky over there."

'Good call. Tread lightly,' Abel added before rejoining the two vampires. A quick incantation to reverse the spell and he slowly blinked back into existence, once again in human form.

MJ/Guildias/Rosmond: "I wouldn't know." They came upon two figures. Guildias handing over the various colored loupes to Rosmond. Green glass was brought to his eye.

"Ya get the cam's perspective?" whispered to Abel, not the least bit surprised by his sudden appearance.

Rosmond looked back for Peter. He offered the glass by its brass handle. Pointed towards the furthest wall of the back of the house. A small opening like smears on the glass broken by some nonexistent void light. The glass of course was spotless.

"That is where you will breach."

Pete/Abel: ‘It’s pointed at the back door,’ Abel thought to him. ‘At most it’s getting a tiny bit of the backyard and the back porch. It’s not super sophisticated.’

Pete accepted the glass and held it to his eye.

So that was what a portal into the Veil looked like. It was nothing like he would’ve expected. Didn’t even look sinister.

MJ/Guildias/Rosmond: The telepathy put another smile on his face. "Ros ain't so fast t'kill us all." Two different expressions turned their attention upon the pair. One of bored neutrality, the other a smirk.

"Which of you can lure the occupants inoffensively?" asked Rosmond.

"I got that," said MJ. "Goin' in." Rosmond waited several steps before following behind. Watched as the trickster honed in on the small white device near the ceiling of the small back porch. His hands came together. Middle fingers wrapped over index fingers and touched. A halved orb, no bigger than a snow globe, attached itself to the camera.

'Actually, I ain't got that. Busy here. Can ya bark?'

Pete/Abel: "Hey!" Abel gave MJ a smack on the arm. "Be an agent of chaos after we finish our mission," he whisper yelled, though there was amusement in his eyes.

Pete studied the portal a moment longer and handed the glass back. He felt like starting at it too long would make him lose his nerve or fry his brain or something. Everything about this felt completely out of his depth.

Abel, who had made his way over to stand by Pete, suddenly seemed to lose himself in thought.

'Do you just want me to bark or should I make myself known and distract them?'

MJ: 'Nothin' human. We need sweet lost animal.'

Abel: 'Invisible innocent barking, gotcha.'

"Be back in a sec," Abel announced out loud before activating his spell again and transforming back into a dog.

He wanted to stay close enough to the house to be heard while also not drawing attention toward any of them, so he moved a few feet away in the opposite direction of everything before letting out the most pitiful little bark anyone ever did hear.

MJ/Rosmond: A sound which worked almost instantly to stir the house. Another bark and the porch light switched on. MJ knelt in place, focused on the camera as Rosmond waited around the corner. A woman with deep warm skin and tired eyes first looked out the window before opening the back door. She clicked her tongue.

Abel: Gotcha, Abel thought to himself.

He changed locations to give the illusion that he was wandering around lost and barked again, even adding a whine for good measure and shaking himself so his pendants would jingle.

He sort of felt like the pied piper but not sinister.

MJ/Rosmond: It was enough for her to descend the steps. She turned her head this way and that in search of what sounded like a little dog, to be greeted instead by a blond figure twice her size, hand clasped firmly over her mouth.

"You didn't see my face. You're exhausted. You deserve to sleep. Dream of your son."

Her expression softened, and Rosmond removed his hand. Her arms fell to her sides, and she turned, walking slowly back inside with the vampire at her heels.

MJ, caught up in what he'd just witnessed, damn near dropped his glamour.

Abel: It caught Abel by surprise as well. He very nearly barked for real and ran toward the woman and whatever the hell Rosmond was doing to her until she calmly walked back inside.

'What the fuck was that!?' he thought to MJ. 'Did you know he was going to do that?'

MJ/Guildias: 'Knew he was gonna do somethin'. Didn't know it was fuckin' that.' How the fuck did he do that? It felt familiar. Something he knew, or seen, or experienced. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

One by one, the upstairs bedrooms darkened.

Guildias took to the porch, patting MJ's shoulder along the way.

"It's your time to shine, Peter."

Pete/Abel: 'Well shit, that's an important detail to keep to himself. Is he always this bad at communicating?' Abel returned to where Pete was, making himself human and visible again.

"Oh no it's not," he said, reaching back into his pockets and pulling out even more pendants. Some were round, some polygonal, but all were made of perfectly clear crystal. The ones that were on short strings were placed on Pete's wrist and the one on the longer string was put around his neck. "Can't go walking in there without activating you first."

MJ/Guildias: 'He's the boss right now. Ain't gotta tell us shit.' It was still jarring, watching a mere ghoul rank before his very eyes. Someone he'd been forced to steal from Guildias' basement years ago under Victoria Harrak's orders, now working in tandem. Felt less real than what they were about to do.

"Activating him?" asked Guildias.

Pete/Abel: 'Says who? We're all bringing something to the table. He's being withholding, plain and simple.' It was just the sort of behavior he expected from someone with the demeanor of a statue.

Abel focused back on the task at hand, nodding at Guildias' question. "Yep. Sending him into the Umbra blind is a suicide mission, so I found something to help." The origin of which he would keep to himself. Wouldn't do to go revealing privileged information willy-nilly.

"These crystals are gonna turn our Petey boy into a lighthouse so he can find the little boy, or so the little boy can find him. Petey, did you bring your flashlight like I told you?"

Pete nodded.

"And a weapon?"

"I have a pocketknife?"

"That'll do. Extra sweater?"

Another nod.

"Snack?"

Yet another nod.

"Good man."

Guildias: Guildias took Peter's wrist in three fingers, gently, to examine the crystals. Sunglasses resting on his head, hair now in a bun.

"If the Umbra will have me, I intend to go with him," he said. "Whatever you face will not be alone."

Pete: The crystals, though beautiful, looked completely innocuous. Indeed, it was hard to tell how something so unremarkable could serve as anything but an adornment.

But then that was the beauty of magic.

That caught Pete by surprise. "You want to come with me?"

Guildias: "Did you think you were walking into the unknown alone? That I or anyone here would allow that?"

Pete/Abel: Rosmond would certainly allow it, Pete thought.

"I mean, I assumed Abel might join me."

"Which I will," said Abel.

Guildias: "That will leave what remains to guard in our absence. Shall we?" Guildias opened his hand towards the still open door.

Abel: "Not so fast there. If the Umbra does let you in, you'll need this."

Abel reached into another pocket for yet another pendant, or rather three. These were again shaped like coins and each was on a silver chain. He put one on and offered the other two to Pete and Guildias respectively.

"From what I understand, it's very easy to get lost in there. These will help us find each other if we get separated. They feel warm when we're together and colder the farther away we get from each other. Magical buddy system."

MJ/Guildias/Rosmond: "And you just happened to have three." Guildias smiled.

Rosmond filled the doorway, looked between the three and their shared necklaces. That answered his intended question.

"This way." To the laundry room just behind the kitchen.

"Don't y'all come back armless n'shit," called MJ in whisper, watching Peter for as long as he was able.

The small room was unassuming, plain white, and saturated in the scent of fabric softener. Two cat dishes sat atop of the dryer, already opened by Rosmond.

"It's the wall itself," he explained. "Spills outside." The green loupe was offered to Peter. "Keep it with you to find your way back."

Pete/Abel: "I have five actually!" Abel produced another two from his pocket. "One for MJ if he wanted to come and one for the kid so we don't lose him once we manage to get him."

Pete made to follow Rosmond, but not before shooting MJ a smile. "I'll do my best," he whispered back, finally following Rosmond to the laundry room.

God, it looked so normal. Unsettlingly so. Why of all places had a portal opened here?

He accepted the glass. "Thanks. Guess there's nothing left but to do it."

Guildias/Rosmond: "Manage your breathing. Keep calm. Do not separate." Words of advice Gertrude had given to pass along, and while sound, still seemed hollow coming from inexperienced lips. This would not always be the case, but Rosmond's experience would not begin tonight.

There was no sense in asking which would be the first to enter. The choice was only one to Guildias' knowledge. Quietly, he took a knee near the wall, looking up expectantly to Peter.

Pete/Abel: "Just focus on the necklace, Petey," said Abel. "Warm is good, warm is safe."

Pete nodded and tucked the buddy system pendant into his shirt. "Warm is safe. Okay."

Manage his breathing and stay calm. Pretty much what his mentor had told him over and over when he was struggling. He tried to hear Gaetan's voice now, tried to feel as centered as he had in Gaetan's presence.

Like stepping into the river, he told himself, taking a few deep breaths. This was just stepping into cool rushing water.

He entered the portal.

Guildias: A stench like primordial soup thick enough to taste. A heavy, cold, gel-like substance clung to Peter's entire being. Underneath his clothes and against his scalp. In his teeth, wet on his tongue, and seeped between fingers, toes, and thighs. The sensation threatened his nostrils and stung at his eyes.

Behind, someone grabbed his foot. Their only line into the Penumbra. That place where walking serpents were not welcome, and those covered in the dust of demonic ash were shunned.

Guildias held useless breath. Pupils slit in the limited light, finding their scenery drastically changed. They were outside. Outside somewhere else, but not. The same number of trees. The same three trees in a near perfect triangle. These trees were larger, older. Almost touched. The plastic playground, once colorful and clean, now covered in moss and mounds of dirt. Aged many years. Half swallowed by the earth.

Guildias got to his feet, reached for Peter and felt for Abel.

The ground was soft. Grass rich and healthy. The world saturated in color, though still blanketed in the same darkness of night.

"Come here," Guildias whispered to Peter, removing his scarf from around his neck.

Pete/Abel: What had he been expecting the Veil to be? Pete couldn't even begin to imagine.

But he did know that whatever slimy reek was covering him head to toe was most certainly not water and boy, did he want to fucking panic.

Would panicking help? No. Did it ever? No. So what was he to do?

Suck it up and pretend it was water. This first and hopefully only foray into the in-between was not about comfort.

Abel felt similarly. This place stunk like nothing had ever stunk before and every single cell that made up his being was absolutely screaming with protest at being here. God, he really hoped the Umbra didn't bounce them out. Could it even do that? Probably.

It was certainly unsettling being here, with everything looking the same but not. Felt like an episode of the Twilight Zone.

"Buddy system," he said, whispering as well. He grasped Guildias' searching hand and reached out for Pete's.

Meanwhile, Pete was moving closer to Guildias.

Guildias: Abel's hand was stuffed in the vampire's jacket. He then proceeded to wrap his black scarf around Peter's neck, careful around his mouth and nose to aid his breathing. Not a concern of his, and Peter was better use to them conscious.

Pete/Abel: Pete gave Guildias a grateful nod and focused on his breathing. He didn't want to speak just yet and tempt fate on the panic attack front, so he just tried to get his bearings and re-center himself.

Abel wasn't faring too much better, but he had the advantage of more magical experience.

"Wonder if I can make a barrier around us," he wondered aloud. "X does it all the time for privacy. Maybe it can work for Umbra lube."

Guildias: "I think the word we're looking for is Gauntlet." That uncomfortable veil which deterred most, but Peter was stronger than that. At least, so far.

"Slowly," he whispered. "Slow and shallow." A thick brown curl was pushed from between his eyes. "When you're ready, you lead."

Pete/Abel: "Gauntlet? Nah. That may be the technical term but this shit has the consistency of lube with none of the fun implications. So, Umbra lube. How we doing over there, Petey?"

Pete gestured with his hand to indicate 'so-so'. The scarf was helping the breathing situation, though. He was massively uncomfortable but no longer in danger of passing out from lack of oxygen.

"Hang in there, champ," said Abel. "We need to wipe his face so he can see."

Guildias: "Keep your eyes closed." The end of the scarf, the side which had been hidden during transition, was used to wipe at his eyelids and around his sockets. The substance was thin, and wiped away relatively easy.

"I assume for your kind this becomes easier."

Finally, Guildias looked back. "How are your eyes?" he asked Abel.

Pete/Abel: Pete didn't have to be told twice; he could barely open his eyes as it was.

"Thank you," he managed, sounding slightly breathless, like he was recovering from a workout.

Abel took a second to assess. "They're good, not great. Tried to duck my head as much as possible when we passed through, so only a little lube got in them."

Pete snorted. "Lube?"

"What else would you call this?"

Guildias: "Indulge the pup. Now, let's assume the child underwent the same treatment. Frightened, cold, in a broken mirror image of a familiar world. Where do you assume a child would go? I have but one theory."

Pete/Abel: Pete slowly blinked while he let his eyes adjust. They didn't sting or anything, but they very badly wanted to water.

"Uh...well. If I was a kid and I was lost, I'd try to find my house. Or at least something that looked familiar and safe."

Guildias: Guildias turned from whence they came. To a house without paint. Sagging with the weight of a tree growing on its roof. Its roots pierced through the ceiling and out through various windows. Spilled out from all sides of the roof and into the ground below. Only one window had stood the test of weight. Opened just wide enough for a little body to wriggle through.

"My assumption went through there."

Pete/Abel: Abel looked uneasily upon the tree. "There's no telling what the inside of that place looks like if this is what the outside looks like. Got your beacons out, Pete?"

Pete looked down at the crystals around his neck. Despite being covered in the same substance as the rest of him, he could swear they were glowing. "Apparently."

"Okay. Time to squeeze through the window. Hold on tight to Gil. I'll hold on tight to him too. Absolutely do not let go of each other."

Guildias: "Do you intend to each claim a foot as some golden prize?" His smile was brief but genuine. The window - kitchen window, from the looks of things - was pushed up until resistant. A tight squeeze, but manageable. They would only need to do this once. Assuming their way home was also in the sham of a laundry room here.

The vampire turned himself into a sitting position halfway through, body shifting in a manner almost unnaturally smooth. The house was blanketed in a dust thick enough to scrape away. Floating in the air in a kind of stasis. The handprint of a child on the fractured marble counter-top. Not a footprint in sight.

Pete/Abel: "In this world it might as well be," said Abel. Contact was the absolute name of the game right now; if they had that, they had a maybe decent chance of getting out of this okay.

Pete grunted as he squeezed through the window, the complete opposite of Guildias' inhuman grace. How'd he get here? How was squeezing through a window in the Veil something he was actually doing?

"Already sick of this place," he muttered in a whisper as he looked around. The handprint was a good indication that they were on the right track; the lack of footprint was not. "What, did this kid fly through here? Does anything look remotely disturbed to either of ya'll?"

Guildias: Guildias took a false breath. The air was stale, and thick with musk. The scent of rust and toiled earth blended almost seamlessly. His olfactory wasn't nearly as keen as he knew the Ravnos' to be. Might have come in handy, but he was otherwise occupied.

"That," he said. His tone suddenly quiet, as the only disturbance was that of roots. Roots which seemed to be breathing.

Pete/Abel: Abel looked uneasily to the tree. Other than the handprint and the open window, there were zero signs of life in here. Except, of course, for the tree. "Normally I'd say no way, buuuuut...."

Pete turned the tree as well. "What, you think the tree grabbed him? Wouldn't there be signs of that?"

"Not necessarily," said Abel. "Should we start hacking away at it? That seems like a bad move. It might attack us."

Guildias: "I think the best course of action would be to explore it. From bottom to top. We know he came in here, so I doubt he'd be on the roof. We can make that our last stop if we haven't found him."

Pete/Abel: Abel nodded. It seemed like a solid enough plan even though they weren't exactly spoiled for choice on how to proceed.

"Okay. So. Who's gonna be the first to touch the tree?"

"I'll do it," said Pete. "Any advice?"

"Uh...don't hurt it. Maybe--would it be weird to ask it for permission? I feel like it can definitely hear us."

Guildias: "No option is off the table. We'll see how it reacts to your nearness."

Guildias considered a moment before stepping down from his counter perch.

"I'll stand behind you. Follow Abel's idea. Hover your hand and ask."

Pete: Pete nodded and took a deep breath. "All right, here goes nothing."

He stepped closer to the tree, moving as cautiously and non-threateningly as he possibly could. If Abel was right and the tree was...sentient? somehow, then it couldn't hurt to be careful and respectful.

"Hello," he said softly, stopping just a couple steps away from the roots. "I'm looking for someone. Could you help me?"

Guildias: Guildias remained just behind, hand hovering over Peter's shoulder the same as Peter to the root. Ready to snatch at the first violent response.

The breathing root recessed from his presence. The tip of the root coiling defensively. A sound like a long hot exhale from within. A sickly-sweet stench blended with the scent of toiled earth.

Pete: So the tree was sentient. Good to have confirmation of that; gave him some idea of how to proceed.

"We're not here to hurt you," he said gently. "We won't hurt you. We just want to take this child home. He doesn't belong in this world. He belongs in our world."

Guildias: Guildias wanted to look back to Abel, but refused to remove his gaze. He would much rather have been wrong. Defense meant the capability of offense. Having any sense of emotion included anger and fear and worse.

A smaller root, hanging uselessly from the middle of the dining room ceiling began to lengthen, coiling away and tightening.

"Get away from it."

Pete/Abel: Pete didn't have to be told twice.

He took a few giant steps back from the tree, instinctively reaching for Abel and Guildias' hands.

Abel, meanwhile, had all his senses on high alert, trying to detect any hint of the little boy beneath the scent of dirt and decay.

Maybe the tree just smelled like that, or maybe they were already too late.

"Is he alive?" he asked the tree.

Guildias: Peter's elbow was gripped firmly, pushed just behind Guildias' arm. The tree his only attention.

The roots breathed again. As the one defensive coil relaxed by an inch, more roots curled. The thickest, larger than their combined mass, seemed to suck in a giant reluctant breath. Its exhale exuded more rotted stench. A low octave sound with humming vibrato. Words, but unintelligible.

Pete/Abel: A few beats of silence followed the...response? After which Pete said, "Either of you happen to speak tree?"

Abel shook his head. His face was set in serious lines, a rare display. "No. But that smell? It's either the tree itself or decomp," he said softly. It didn't necessarily mean it was the kid, but it was definitely something. That smell was unmistakable.

"Gil, any ideas on communication with sentient trees?"

Guildias: Guildias watched the root expand with every alien syllable, becoming impossibly large, beyond any tree of their world to his knowledge. It appeared wet. He suspected its surface sticky. The stench had remained consistent, but there was no conspicuous sign of a struggle, torn clothes, nor smears blood.

"Another time. Up the stairs."

Pete/Abel: Abel nodded. "All right. Come on, Petey, you heard the man."

He grabbed onto each of them and started backing out of the room, not taking his eyes off the tree until they were well clear of it. That wasn't to say one of those freakish roots couldn't stretch out and grab them but Abel felt better being away from it and the smell of death.

"Should we look in the kid's room?" Pete asked, compelled to whisper. "Might be worth a shot. There's no footprints leading this way but maybe...?"

Guildias: "Exactly why we're going upstairs." Through the kitchen, to the stairs separating the living room and kitchen. Stairs partially destroyed by roots and patched by the same. Caked dust on each step but that between the roots. Without disturbance to any of the floor, no area of the house could be overruled.

"Do you wish to sweep what remains of the first floor?" he asked Abel. "I'm more concerned with Peter's respiratory."

Pete/Abel: "Sweeping this much dust is gonna kick it up," said Abel. "I'd need to vacuum and I doubt the Umbra has power, but I'll have a looksee."

Pete shook his head. "I'm fine. Dust is the least of my worries right now. Let's just go to the kid's room. Together." This place was giving him the creeps. He spent a lot of time in the woods, surrounded by trees, but seeing all the branches holding everything together was just...unsettling.

Guildias: "Sweep - surveillance, searching, pup." He supposed his military background had caught the familiar, or this was just a familiar being idiosyncratic as usual. His tone remained patient just the same.

Pete/Abel: "Oh! You soldier types and your jargon." He gave a light smack to Guildias' arm. "In my defense, you mentioned breath--never mind. I'll give the place a once over."

"Abel, maybe you shouldn't--"

"Relax, buddy." Abel smiled. "Ain't going anywhere." He had magic; he didn't need to walk around to sweep the first floor.

He just had to listen, scent the air, put his feelers out for auras and energy signatures and other minds besides theirs. He wasn't looking to go poking around inside anyone's thoughts, he just wanted to get a feel.

For other people and for magic, and hopefully, for the little boy.

Guildias: What he sought would not be found on the first floor, but there was something. A sensation like static from the tree, damp with sentience, and if Abel were to consider above his head, where the static worsened...

Abel: Abel's brow furrowed. He turned his head to the left, waited. To the right, waited again. It wasn't coming from either direction. Then he looked up.

"We're not alone," he whispered after a moment. "I can feel something else here with us besides the tree. Up there somewhere." He pointed up the stairs. "We need to get into that room, it might be the kid. I can't quite make it out."

But first he needed to put out one more feeler so they wouldn't get a nasty surprise.

'Is anybody up there?' he thought in the direction of the second floor.

Guildias: A sleeping mind. That of a dream state. Alive, buzzing as youth often did. Peter's hand was directed to Guildias' jacket, heading up the stairs slowly, lingering on each step for a beat before attempting the next, pausing at the smallest groan of wood. The roots were no hurdle, only a humped bridge of breathing bark.

Abel: There was no response but that could be for any number of reasons. "I'm trying to talk to whoever it is," he told his companions, grabbing Pete's other hand. "They aren't saying anything back. I'll keep trying."

'We're coming up the stairs. It's okay, we aren't here to cause any harm. You're safe.' He reached out with his mind, letting the person or being's energy guide him to where they needed to go.

"This way."

Guildias: "I doubt they'd find much comfort in an invasive thought," Guildias muttered, looking back to inspect Peter's aversion of the root.

Pete/Abel: "Not barging in, Gil. Just ringing the doorbell."

Pete was trying very hard not to step on any bit that looked like it was made of tree root and being only partially successful. For all he knew the tree could feel all of them stepping on it and was waiting for the right time to strike. Maybe it was making Abel believe there was something upstairs when it was really just a trap designed to keep them all here, or worse, devour them whole.

"Are you ringing the doorbell on a person or another tree thing?"

"Jury's still out."

Guildias: "I think hearing a voice not your own in your mind is quite more than a doorbell." Had been his opinion since his most important murder.

The bedroom to the right, above the living room and kitchen, had long ago caved under the immense pressure. The bathroom visible by just a few feet. Its tile shattered and resigned from the walls. To the left, a small bedroom. The blue paint of the door crackled and chipped away. The breathing of the mother root, its stench, louder and more prominent.

Pete/Abel: "Not directly in it, just gently brushing against it. A whisper, like hearing something from far away."

Guildias probably didn't need a thorough explanation but Abel's babbling was more for his benefit than anyone else's. Anything to distract from the ruined house and smell of rotting flesh and the possibility that they were about to come upon a small little decomposing body.

"Guessing that's the one?" Pete asked, making an effort to breathe through his mouth. "Should we knock or just walk in?"

Guildias: "I'll go." Of those present, to his knowledge and current experience, Peter was most welcome in this umbral reality, but he'd risked enough.

His steps remained careful and deliberate, checking noisy floorboards as though hunting, mindful that the wrong step would dissolve their efforts.

The child's bedroom was as dust laden as the rest of the house. The roof collapsed by an enormous mother root.

Guildias reached behind for Peter. If ever there was a moment in which to keep a close grasp on the man, it was in seeing a boy, barely out of his toddling years, curled against the breathing black root, cradled between giant arm-like appendages. Eyes closed, breathing, suckling on a smaller thumb-like finger from one of the wrapped arms. This was not an appropriate moment for reflex action; perhaps his grasp of Peter was for himself.

Pete/Abel: Pete nodded. "Carefully, okay?" With the floors and everything else in the state they were in, he didn't like their odds of coming out of another altercation with those branches unscathed. Hell, he didn't like their odds of successfully walking across this floor without falling through.

He could see sky through the ceiling of the little boy's room. It had the same stench, the same lack of any sort of life apart from those damn--

"Oh..." he said softly. There he was. The little boy. Seemingly unharmed and sleeping peacefully as anything among the sentient roots.

Pete squeezed Guildias' hand just as Abel squeezed his. Much as he'd hoped this is what they would find, it was still a shock to see the kid safe. And alive.

He took a deep breath. "Thank God. We should..."

Abel nodded. "It should be you that goes and gets him."

Guildias: Abel was right, of course. Peter was the key to this going smoothly, whether he realized his capability or not. He would keep his mouth shut, being so near the entity. He hadn't realized how deep into the room he had stepped until needing Peter to take front and center.

Pete: "Guildias?" Pete barely whispered, squeezing the vampire's hand again. "How are we gonna do this?" Because he seriously doubted the tree was just going to let them take the little boy. For all that it was creepy and sentient and smelled like a rotting corpse, it seemed to be protecting him.

Guildias: "As you would... relieve an exhausted mother." The hold of the child was not hostile. There was no way to determine what was being fed to the boy, if anything. Something had rendered the child unconscious, evident by the gentle rise and fall of his stomach.

Pete: "I usually relieve an exhausted mother by taking her kids and watching them for a few hours so she can shower and sleep. But she doesn't have roots that'll kill us all for attempting to take him."

Guildias: "She's fallen asleep with her baby in her arms. I'm right behind you."

Pete/Abel: Pete took a deep breath. "Abel, any ideas?"

"Approach as non-threateningly as you can," Abel whispered. "Gil's right, the tree is protecting him. Look. It's cradling him, like a parent does. I don't think we're the only beings down here who care about that kid. Maybe that's why the tree tried to attack us downstairs. Here, let me--"

Abel took off his jacket and gave it to Pete to hold so he could take off his shirt. It was cleaner than the jacket and it would do to keep the little boy warm until they could get out of here.

Guildias: Guildias remained between them, kept his eyes on the root, studied its breathing, location of every hung and piled root, its grip on the child. He considered every possible angle, every reaction. They were in the heart of this house. Magic was unpredictable here. All of this on the suggestion of a Ravnos. He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity.

Pete/Abel: Abel handed his shirt to Pete and put his jacket back on. "Remember, Petey, non-threatening. Come from a gentle, caring place, not a 'rescuing a tiny prince from a dragon' kind of place. The tree's kept that little kid safe down here and for that, I think it deserves our respect."

Pete nodded. Abel was right; whatever the circumstances, the tree was caring for that child. He turned to Guildias. "You have any advice?"

Guildias: Guildias forced half of his attention back to the pair, gestured with his free hand to keep their voices low. One of the reasons he was of few words.

"No. Fall back if something happens."

Pete: Another nod. "Okay," he whispered, taking a silent deep breath. Despite his apprehension, it didn't take much effort to approach the tree from a caring, gentle place. All he could see when he looked at that little boy was Graham. He couldn't begin to imagine how he'd feel if it were his nephew down here, lost and scared and away from everyone who loved him.

He had to bring this kid back to his parents.

Pete approached as slowly as he could, intending to crouch down when he was close enough and bundle up the kid.

Guildias: Still and silent he watched, ready to snatch for whatever bit of clothing he could fist. The surface objective was this child, but for the sake of others it was the well-being of the man in front of him. A promise not only to Callum, but the avoidance of Ravnos ire.

The tree exhaled a familiar musky odor. Contempt in its shiver for Peter's nearness. The child was lifted to a standing height, roughly shy of Peter's shoulders, and bundled with thin wispy black roots. The frequency of its rattling hiss turned Guildias' head in mild discomfort. Reminded him of a rattle snake. It was almost language, but the intent was clear.

Pete: Pete didn't let himself get agitated or make any sudden movements; he imagined he was in the serenity garden in the woods and forced himself to stay calm.

"I know you care about him," he said softly. "I know you've kept him safe and warm while he's been down here with you. If his mother knew that, she'd be grateful for it. She'd be grateful you kept her baby safe. She and his father miss him, they love him. He belongs up there with them, on the other side. I'm not here to hurt you, or him. I just want to take him back to his family."

Guildias: Peter's phrasing left him wondering. Was this, in fact, down or parallel to their reality? The association of down with Hell gave him pause. This was extrinsic, but nothing he could associate with the nightmares of Hell itself. Those of this reality must find their own as alien.

The sentient tree exhaled vibrations akin to words. Watching thin dark roots slowly covering the child's face and neck, a curious realization began to dawn on him.

Peter was slowly released; Abel pulled to replace him. He began to circle the enormous girth.

Pete/Abel: Both Pete and Abel looked to Guildias with identical looks of confusion.

"Gil, what are you doing?" Abel whispered, trying to move his lips as little as possible. It didn't seem like a good idea to draw attention to themselves when Pete was trying to reason with the tree. "We're at a delicate point in the process."

Guildias: "Hush." He placed his hand on the wall as a guide. The air between them thick enough to lose sight of all but their outline. He looked behind the tree, then turned towards the door, intent on inspecting the next set of sagging sleeping roots.

Pete: All right, okay, Guildias was doing this. Whatever the hell this was. Abel very much wanted to ask him what he was doing again but decided against it. He could always think it at him, but they probably wouldn’t be well received.

He’d just go with what was happening and keep one eye on Pete and the other on Guildias and keep his supernatural senses on the tree and the kid.

Guildias: There was a connection between what was happening to the child and the unpleasant lingering odor. He would not yet voice suspicions without evidence. He'd keep his hand to the wall, ribbed along a curtain of inky roots shivering from his dead touch. They recoiled, dissatisfied with what little they could learn from him. He watched, touched again, and then breathed life into his body. The shivers and low frequency hisses calmed with his growing warmth.

Guildias continued down the hallway, brushed his fingers along where a window should be, long since broken, dust covered, mostly replaced by the same living root.

The bathroom near the stairs. The same stench. He peered inside and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, irises becoming pale.

He almost missed it. A thin gray hoof peeking from a massive swallowing root. All that remained of an ungulate mammal.

Keeping his movements calm, Guildias turned, replaced his right hand to the wall and began the short journey back.

Pete/Abel: While Guildias did his thing, Pete debated his own next move. He'd said his piece to the tree and the tree hadn't seemed particularly receptive. It didn't seem particularly receptive to Guildias either, so saying more would only risk pissing it off and making it attack one of them or worse, hurt that little boy.

So...all he could do was wait.

He was doing a much better job of that than Abel, who was starting to feel antsy. Should he mentally ask Guildias what was happening? Probably not. He hadn't seemed thrilled with the idea of mental communication earlier.

Guildias: For a moment, Guildias wondered if the rooms had changed. The hallway felt longer than his initial roam. By at least twenty feet. The floor was layered by a thick blanket of roots. They breathed, reaching like long skeletal fingers for his boots, gripping with anemic strength to his clothes.

He reached down to brush away a particularly curious root. A gambler's knife, wrapped tightly in black tape, was pulled from his boot.

"Get away from it," he called, keeping his voice above a whisper.

Abel: Abel didn't need telling twice. He barely needed telling once, already on edge and itching to do something when he heard Guildias' voice. A voice that was absolutely not whispering like it had been before which meant something bad had happened.

He grabbed Pete's arm and yanked him a few giant steps back. "What?! What is it!?"

Guildias: "Follow my voice." He reached out into the mist, his knife-hand to the wall to continue guiding him back to the little bedroom.

Pete/Abel: "Follow--okay." Abel wouldn't question or hesitate, he just grabbed Pete's arm and held it tight. "Okay, okay. Come on, Petey."

Any hesitation was on Pete's part. It didn't feel right leaving the little boy behind, even if it was only for a short while. At least he hoped so. He also hoped to God that Guildias had an actual plan because what they had tried thus far just wasn't going to cut it. The Umbra might have accepted them, the tree might be standing down, but no way in hell was it going to let them leave with the kid just like that. They weren't that lucky.

Still, he'd do as he was asked; holding onto Abel with one hand and reaching out for Guildias with the other. "Keep talking so we can find you."

Guildias: What he grabbed was warmer than root, and fleshy. He assumed Abel for no reason. He pulled. Keeping close to the wall, he pulled his foot, breaking several clingy bits of brittle bark.

"Have you two remained in each other's sights?"

Pete/Abel: It was Pete’s hand, and it squeezed Guildias’ and held tight.

“Yes,” said Pete.

Abel nodded whether Guildias could see him for not. “The whole time, scout’s honor. What have you been doing? Are you okay?”

“What was that noise?” Pete looked around at the walls, the ceiling, the floor.

Guildias: He would answer all questions with a single-minded explanation. "I've regarded it as Mother of this house. If so, it's the kind of mother that eats her children. Loves them to death. What was it doing to the child last you saw?"

Pete/Abel: “Fucking fantastic,” Abel muttered under his breath.

Pete felt his heart leap into his throat. “It was covering him in more roots. Little ones, like it was trying to hide him. I thought it was trying t—we have to go back in there. We have to go, right now!”

Guildias: "I'm thinking we will be its next children if we don't act soon."

Pete: “Great, what do we do? Got a hatchet so we can cut the kid free?”

Guildias: "Can you conjure a hatchet?" Another root was pulled from his shoe. He lowered to give similar treatment to the pair.

Pete/Abel: “Magic works differently here but I can try,” said Abel. “Pete, you got anything hatchet-like?”

“I’ve got a pocketknife.”

Abel turned to Guildias. “Do you need the hatchet for the roots or for something else?” He needed to know how strong the blade needed to be. Altering was easier than conjuring; there was a slightly better chance of being able to magically alter Pete’s knife than conjuring up something else entirely.

Guildias: "It's for you... and what you're going to do to me." Guildias sat up again. "Don't remain stagnant." He began to remove his jacket, handed to Peter to wear or hold.

"If you're going to make attempt, do so now."

Pete/Abel: “Don’t remain—?” Right, the creepy fucking roots trying to mother them to death. Couldn’t stay still and let them.

“What exactly are we going to do?” Pete asked, accepting the jacket while Abel rooted around in his bag for the knife.

Guildias: "You're going to be quick taking the child. It should be occupied by mine and Abel's efforts. When he takes the child, Abel," he paused to make sure he was heard, "you need to be the leader back to the exit. Understood?"

Abel: Abel gave Guildias his full attention right up until he nodded that he understood. He didn't know what the vampire planned to do but he had to trust him; there was no room for hesitation or uncertainty on this side of the Veil.

"Pete, give me your wrist. I put three beacon crystals on you, there are three of us, and I'm not leaving anything to chance." He took the crystal from one of Pete's wrist and put it on Guildias'. The crystal on the chain was taken for himself. "Remember we have our other pendants that are warm when we're together. Tuck those into your shirts so you can feel them." He held up the knife. "Gil, I need you to tell me exactly what this is going to cut so I can make it strong enough."

Guildias: Guildias felt for Abel's gifts and nodded. He told himself this was an irrational leap, but the alternative was failure and it would haunt Peter for too long. If they tried to snatch the child, it could be as mothered as the unfortunate in the bathroom. Their efforts already brought the child closer to his death.

This was arduous no matter the plan. Efficiency was key.

Guildias began rolling the sleeve of his left arm. Two thin scars peeked from his shoulder.

"You're going to remove all of this. It'll be easier as you go along."

Pete/Abel: Pete's eyes widened. "Your arm? You want Abel to cut off your whole arm?!"

Abel blew out a long breath and tried to concentrate on the magic and not on the fact that he was pretty sure Pete was right and Guildias meant for him to lop off his arm. What he planned to do with the arm, Abel had no earthly or godly idea but dammit, this knife was going to do the job. No hesitation, no uncertainty.

He'd just hurl later.

Guildias: "Compose yourself. It'll grow back. We don't have time to be repulsed."

Pete: There was so much wrong with that statement Pete didn't know where to even begin. But Guildias was right, they were up against the clock at the moment.

"Fine, fine. What exactly are we going to do with you down an arm?"

Guildias: "You won't do anything. Your focus is the child, and ignoring everything else. Look away if you need to."

Pete: "Dude, we've gotta stop doing things that scar me for life when we hang out."

Guildias: "I'll always disturb you. We're on opposite sides of the page."

His gaze returned to Abel. "Are you ready?"

Pete/Abel: "You're a lot less disturbing when you've got all your parts attached."

Abel was deep in concentration and thus didn't answer. A hatchet sure as hell would've made the task easier and if he wanted to avoid carving that arm off like a butcher with a turkey, he knew he had to do his best to get this knife as close to one as possible.

He closed his eyes and held the blade in both hands, silently moving his lips as he recited a spell. The blade would lengthen, grow stronger, and fall heavier. Not a hatchet, but as close as he trusted himself to get. He was just grateful it seemed to work in this unpredictable environment.

"At the shoulder or the elbow?" he asked at long last.

Guildias: Guildias had intended shoulder, but he looked one last time to reconsider.

"Shoulder," he affirmed. He needed something he knew would be a worthy distraction. A little smaller than the child, but formidable.

"Ignore what I do next." He had to concentrate on his own spell. One he had to pull from memories from another body. A spell deliverable in every language, more potent in its original form, but tonight, spoken in the tongue of a former devoted student.

He reached for Peter, ignored his hand and squeezed his jacket. When the edge of the blade dug into dead flesh, he began to whisper in hissed, stuttered Hindi.

Pete/Abel: "Copy that," Abel sighed, steeling his nerve. He had to put some distance between himself and what he was about to do or he'd never be able to do it. "Petey, close your eyes and cover your ears, okay?"

This was venison. He was carving into venison, not the flesh of a friend. He'd done it a hundred times with his grandma and with his old mistress. He was just preparing dinner and definitely not separating this man's arm from his body with a magically enhanced blade.

Thankfully, the lack of blood helped that particular delusion.

Pete was way ahead of him. He was being flooded by deja vu, thinking back to the Draegan house and the last time he'd had to shield himself against something awful. The last time Guildias had tried to shield him from something awful.

Guildias: The Setite refused to scream. Forced his prayer to continue, stumbling from Hindi to Coptic and back with a slam of his fist to the living wall. The roots shivered and lashed defensively, retreated by an inch to avoid another bashing.

The drooped frozen fingers began to move, twisting backward and forward in sharp unnatural convulses.

"raakshason kee maata. raakshason kee maata."

His head bowed, loose strands hiding his face as he dry-heaved. Words hissed and spat as dead flesh mangled itself and reshaped, thickening as it gurgled like a monstrous coo of a child.

"Get the child." Blindly, he offered his knife to Peter. "Move."

Pete/Abel: "You're okay, Gil. You're okay, promise."

God, the noises. It was like when he'd gone hunting with Callum's family only a million times worse knowing it was Callum's husband and not an animal.

Pete only dared open his eyes when he was certain the cutting noises had stopped but he still didn't look. There were other noises happening and he really didn't want to know what was making them. He just kept his head turned and his feet moving and told himself there was nothing out of the ordinary.

He was off like a shot when Guildias gave him the word, just barely managing to take the knife from him in his haste to get back into the room and back to the kid. Pete had no fucking idea what was happening but what he did know was that he was going to cut that child free of those creepy fucking branches and take him back to family come hell or high water.

You can't have him. I won't let you. I'm taking him back.

Guildias: Peter was not alone. Guildias stumbled behind, keeping Abel within sight, but it was not the vampire trailing at the Gurahl's heels. The screech of what followed rang through the desolate house and down the Setite's throat. His intent woven into its resolute action. A hideous taupe creature a quarter Peter's height slithered on its thick lepidote tail and two bony hand-like appendages. Fangs curved and so large it could not close its mouth. Its tiny claws dug and splintered the hardwood floor to propel itself. Torso violently undulating with every snatch of the floor. Its breathing came rapid, chittering with sanguineous excitement.

It waited impatiently for Peter to attempt for the child before throwing itself upon the sagging mother root with a scream so shrill Guildias would swear hurt his eyes. It tore at the smaller surrounding roots. Sunk its fangs into fleshy bark and clawed like a rabid animal. The tree reacted quickly. Exhaling a stench so foul the air became thick and acrid. Desperate roots from above and below whipped at the creature, tried to grab its unruly tail. Its new insolent child was enough to occupy its conscious.

Pete/Abel: Ungodly. That was the only way Pete could describe the noises and the screeching and the sensations creeping over his skin as surely as if whatever was behind him were crawling all over him. It didn't matter what horrible magic Guildias had done to help him and he sure as hell wasn't about to look and find out.

Not when it gave that blood-curdling shriek that threatened to scramble his brain or tore at the roots and made the tree release a stench that could be nothing but the smell of rotting, burning Hell itself. Pete just kept his eyes on that little boy, wrapping him in Abel's shirt and tucking him close to protect him from the stench and the screaming and the few remaining roots that clung desperately to any part of him that they could before Abel stepped in to slice them away.

"We're going now! NOW!"

Guildias: Guildias swallowed down the false effort of breathing. He wanted no part of that stench. The guardianship of his monster was relinquished to the tree. Whatever it intended to do was or no consequence, so long as they reached the way out.

Don't stop. Not for the clingy roots or the noises upstairs. Keep moving.

Abel: That's exactly what Abel planned to do. He wanted out of this upside down, creepy ass Alice in Wonderland nightmarish hellscape and the smell of decomposing flesh and god only knew what else.

"GIL, HOLD ON TO PETE WITH YOUR ONLY HAND, PETE HOLD ON TO ME WITH YOUR FREE ONE LET'S GO!"

Down the crumbly stairs and over all the holes and rotting wood and dust to the gate. If a tiny part of him wondered if that fucking tree had the power to close the entrance it was quickly and viciously tramped down. He had even less time to dwell on that than he'd had to dwell on Guildias' missing arm.

Guildias: When this was finished, Guildias intended to have a laugh at Abel's choice of words. Seemed quite appropriate for a familiar. Just a little too obnoxious.

He held to the back of Peter's clothing, glanced back to observe the shriveling roots, reflecting the upstairs turmoil.

Abel: This couldn't be over soon enough. It almost seemed like the house had grown somehow while they'd been upstairs, no doubt having intended to trap them all here until it could absorb them into its maw. Made perfect sense now why this place smelled like decomp.

It wasn't like decomp, it was decomp, from what were probably untold masses of beings from their realm and countless others who'd had the misfortune of getting trapped here with that tree since time immemorial.

But not them.

They had arrived at the exit. Abel climbed through as quickly as he could, shouting for whoever was near to help him pull out Pete and Guildias and the little boy.

MJ/Rosmond: MJ looked back towards the sound, hesitant to move due to the camera. Rosmond was Abel's first responder, grabbing hold of what he could see and pulling with calculated strength. Now was not the time to begin questioning the strange sticky substance covering their bodies from head-to-toe.

Pete/Abel: Having known what to expect the second time around, Pete did his best to shield his face and the kid’s from the Umbra lube, as Abel had proclaimed it. If he couldn’t shield himself completely, then at least he could for the kid, who was safely bundled in Abel’s shirt and half tucked into Pete’s jacket.

The first thing Pete did as soon as they were free—after wiping his face as best he could—was check to make sure the kid was breathing and okay.

Guildias/Rosmond: Guildias' eyes remained closed as he emerged. His missing limb went unnoticed as Rosmond inspected the child, only taking pause when he caught the Setite holding an empty space at his shoulder.

He would ask later.

"We were not here. Leave the child in the grass. Don't touch anything on the way out."

Pete: Pete was only half paying attention to Rosmond.

He needed to see that tiny little chest moving up and down with each breath, needed to feel the reassuring thump of a pulse in that tiny little wrist.

“You’re okay, buddy,” he whispered, using the shirt to clean off any goop that had managed to cover the boy. He wasn’t sure if this was why Abel had asked him to bring an extra sweater, but this was as good a reason as any to finally take it out of his bag.

Spring was right around the corner but it was still chilly at night and in the mornings. Too chilly for a little boy to just be out here in his pajamas. He’d survived the Umbra and a sentient tree; Pete wasn’t about to let the elements get him.

Guildias/Rosmond: Guildias turned to check the wall for residue. Rosmond was right of course; there could be no suspicion. They'd covered most of their tracks; the last mile was the most arduous.

Rosmond studied the child and Peter's worried brow, assessed their quiet acquaintance and turned back.

"A message to Charon and an anonymous phone call will be made. None of us are doctors. You must trust the plan."

A gentler, less chilly approach was required. This much Guildias understood, placing his hand on Peter's shoulder.

"Calloway or I can stay and watch from the woods, but the child is not under Rosmond's influence."

Pete: “I’m not leaving him,” Pete said softly, bundling the little boy into the sweater as gently as if he were a newborn. “I’m not going anywhere until this child is back in his mother’s arms. I’ll watch from the woods.”

Guildias: "They will search these woods. I'm at no strength to conceal you."

Abel: "I am," Abel finally piped up. "I can hide us with magic, we don't even have to rely on the cover of the trees."

MJ/Rosmond: "That FBI SUV's gotta go," said MJ.

"I can trust you to keep them safe, Mr. Harrington?" Rosmond stared forwardly.

Abel: "You can bet your life on it, Rosmond. I have all kinds of tricks up my sleeve." And demonic backup just a thought away as well as in his pockets.

MJ/Guildias/Rosmond: Rosmond studied those eyes, finding nothing of fault, he nodded. Turned his expression on Guildias.

"You're coming with me. Mr. Calloway-"

"I got em. I'll text ya."

Another nod. The two began to retrace their steps back to the SUV. Only a glance back from the Setite.

Abel: Abel gave Guildias a smile and a wave. “See you soon, Gil. Sorry about the whole...” He gestured at where the vampire’s arm was supposed to be. “I’ll make it up to you after I get very drunk and repress that memory.”

MJ: "Told y'all not t'come back armless. What the fuck happ - after. After. We gotta put him down somewhere noticeable."

Pete/Abel: "You had to go and put it out there," Abel muttered, digging in his pockets. After would have to wait for both the boy to be found, Abel to get drunk, and several days to pass. He needed time to process what the hell kind of night he was having.

Pete was already carrying the little boy to the front porch. He couldn't bring himself to leave him on the lawn; made more sense that he'd fall asleep on the porch after wandering out of the woods. That's the story he assumed Rosmond and Prince were going to go with, and as far as mysteries went, it was the simplest.

MJ/Rosmond: The point, Rosmond believed, was not to implement the family and have the child taken away on suspicions. Whatever the intention, in truth he did not care. The call would be made by Charon saying a child had been spotted. From there it was out of their hands. This mission had been about the people within, not the child in Peter's arms. His assessment found him impressed with Guildias' willingness of both life and limb. Everyone in some capacity played their role well.

MJ gently tugged on Peter's sleeve, encouraging him from the slumbering little boy. The sweater had to go. Fuck if he could tell if any hair had transferred from Peter. A last minute thought.

"You're probably leavin' trace." He looked to Abel. "Is there anything ya can do?"

Pete/Abel: Pete didn't move. He couldn't. He was frozen to the spot, imagining all the ways this could've gone so much worse than it did, seemingly unable to keep from picturing Mary and Graham in the clutches of that tree.

Abel nodded at MJ. "I'll cut the labels from the sweater so it can't be ID'ed. Feel like slipping in and seeing if they have tape or a lint roller? I'll keep Petey company."

MJ: "Easier t'just take the damn thing. I dunno how long them people are gonna stay asleep."

Abel: Abel subtly nodded toward Pete and gave MJ a look that said that wasn’t going to happen.

“Be fast. Most people keep lint rollers in the laundry room.”

MJ: "I can't magic away a hair of yours in his own. They'll comb it, Peter. Don't hover over him."

Abel: “Wait, I can—ugh, this night.” For a moment he’d forgotten he could teleport. “I’ll go, you stay.”

And he was gone.

MJ: "Well no shit!" The fuck happened, he thought. All three of them with flies and haze in their head. Faraway looks in their eyes. Lack of critical thinking.

"Y'all were only in there five minutes. What was it?"

Pete: Pete finally looked up, brow furrowed slightly, as though deep in thought.

“It was five minutes for you?”

MJ: "Yeah... So how long was it?"

Pete: “I don’t know. Longer.”

MJ: "Kay. Where was it?"

Pete: “Here, but different. Wrong.”

MJ: "God y'all are rubbin' off on me. Where was he?"

Pete/Abel: “In his room with the tree.”

Abel reappeared in almost the exact same spot he’d disappeared from with lint roller in hand.

“Back! Okay okay okay.” He began gently—and quickly—going over the sweater, paying close attention to the areas most likely to have any stray Pete hairs. Chances were that any hairs would come up very bear-like when examined but even so, it paid to be on the safe side.

MJ: "In a room with the tree. Okay. We gotta move him to the front of the house. I'll finish with the cam here. Wait for me 'round the corner. Don't go t'the front yet."

Abel: Abel nodded. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Just let me...” He carefully cut the label off the neck of the sweater. “Okay, done. Come on, Petey, let’s go wait for MJ.”

MJ: The backyard was untouched. No one had been there. The final bit of illusion belonged to the front yard, moving carefully to the next camera for the same treatment. The child was given a once over. Something of his likeness needed to walk from the eastern woods to the porch and lay in the most natural position Peter could place him. Had to be natural, he reminded. Not swaddled.

Pete/Abel: Pulling the sweater over the little boy's head--after Abel had smeared some dirt on it to make it seem like it had been found in the woods--was as natural as Pete could make it. On his side, with the too-long sleeves providing some cushion for his head.

"How's that?"

MJ: It would have to do. "Kay. Let's go." With little consideration, he took hold of Peter's hand and tugged. Free hand still directed towards the last camera, praying to no one that he'd maintained concentration enough.

Pete/Abel: Pete was still reluctant to go but he knew it would do no good to linger. What that kid needed more than anything else in the world was to be back with his family and if all went well, he would be before long.

"Come on, Petey," said Abel. "He'll be okay. Let's head for those bushes there so I can hide us until he's found."

MJ: MJ was last to follow, walking backwards carefully until reaching the woods. Certain that Abel could shield him when the moment was right. Finally dropping his hand, he took an unneeded breath and made the text to Rosmond.

Abel: Of course Abel could shield them; he was Xavier Atlas' familiar. Half his time was spent breaking into some house or private collection or another with his master. Pulling one over on human cops? Just another day.

When they were all settled, he took a talisman from his pocket and began murmuring a chant. He'd done it without the talisman before but it was a good safety net just in case. If anyone were to look in their direction once he was finished, all they would see would be shadows.

"And now we wait."

MJ: Not his first time observing Abel's magic. He made it look so effortless. So real. Far better than his version of concealment, having to memorize surroundings in order to mimic. Superior magic. For now.

Still waiting. And would wait for some time. After Rosmond had made certain to place distance between his vehicle and the house.

"Ya good, Peter?"

Pete: Pete shrugged, only half paying attention to what Abel was doing or how much time had passed. His eyes and his brain were glued to the porch.

“Been worse.”

MJ: "The call's been made. Just a little longer."

Abel: Abel wrapped an arm around Pete’s shoulder and squeezed. “Hear that? Won’t be long now. Then we can get a huge bottle of tequila and process our PTSD.”

MJ: "Y'all make it sound like y'all came outta Hell."

Abel: “We didn’t not not go to Hell, at least that’s what it felt like. I cut off a man’s arm. It’s been a stressful night.”

MJ: "You cut Guildias up?"

Abel: Abel gave a single nod. "He asked me to."

MJ: "Fuckin' why?"

Abel: "To save the kid from a horrifying sentient tree."

MJ: "Just threw his fuckin' arm at it?"

Abel: He shook his head. “Not exactly. It—he did...something and his arm wasn’t...an arm anymore. It was something else and that—something distracted the tree so we could grab the kid and get the hell out of that creepy Alice in Wonderland hellscape.”

MJ: "Huh." Maybe that was why Rosmond spoke the way he did, and why he'd been suggested for the mission. Another reason, he thought.

Abel: “Then there was the Umbra lube and the dust that didn’t behave like dust should behave and the smell of the decomposing flesh of the other unfortunate beings who’d found themselves in the clutches of the tree and been mothered to death by it.”

MJ: "Sounds like a Tool video." He tried to laugh. Came more as a cough.

Abel: “God I wish. That would’ve been easier to deal with. And less scarring.”

MJ: "Since when'd ya ever watch -" Hands clasped down on Peter and Abel's shoulders. Tires. Old, terrible oil. Had to be the oldest damn squad car he'd ever seen. He braced himself between the two men, half-standing and ready to react.

Abel: "In that dive bar in Colorado with that dude with the skunk stripes in his hair."

Abel turned toward the sound of the car and sighed. Finally. "Don't worry, they won't be able to hear us. We'll sound like wind to them."

MJ: "Baby boy's been found. So we should..." MJ considered a moment, dropped his hand from Peter's shoulder. "Mafia gave ya lookin' glass. The loupe. Check it."

Pete/Abel: Pete seemed to stir from a trance that broke the moment MJ moved his hand. His attention was still focused on the boy and the house, and he wasn't ready to move until he saw the parents come out and hug their child.

"Looking glass? Oh, right." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the loupe.

"Want to check the portal?" Abel asked.

MJ: "Yeah. Or this'll just start again."

Pete: Pete held up the loupe and turned in the direction from which they'd come, holding there for a moment before scanning the rest of the house.

"I don't see anything. Does that mean it closed?"

MJ: "Guess so. Rosmond would know more. S'why I went t'them. We make our money differently."

Pete: Some of the tension drained from Pete's shoulders. He still wasn't thrilled about how much information the prince had, but knowing that damn portal had closed made him feel a lot better about this whole situation.

"You made the right call. On Rosmond and on going in to save the kid. Thank you."

MJ: "Ya hate him, right? Rosmond. Gertrude. Ya hate em on my behalf or some shit." He watched the cop as he continued to bang on the front door. Lights upstairs switching on. Sirens in the distance.

Pete: Pete shook his head. “I don’t hate them. I dislike what they represent and I resent it, but I don’t hate them. Hating takes energy I’d rather spend on something else.”

Some more tension eased as the house started waking up. Soon, very soon.

MJ: "I know a little thing 'bout artful wordin'." His eyes fell to the bracken. "Part of the job. I don't hate any of em, either."

Abel was given a pat. "Let's start backin' out."

Pete/Abel: “I know it sounds like bull,” Pete sighed. “But it’s the truth. I have no beef with the mafia lieutenant or with the don.”

Abel shook his head. “Not yet. We haven’t gotten our emotional resolution yet.”

MJ: "Then read a book! Probably gonna put em on an ambulance, first."

Abel: "They better," said Abel. "No telling what he went through before we got there." He caught MJ's eye and gave him a look. 'Petey needs this,' he thought to him. 'All this struck close to home.'

MJ: 'Why though?' He didn't mean to seem callous, but their priorities were going in separate directions. His job had been the outside of the house, their mission finished in five minutes from his perspective. His urgency was in leaving, and the safety of the crouching men.

Abel: 'He's got a nephew and a little baby niece. Their photos are all over his house, they've got their own room for when they stay over. I saw his face in there. He was looking at the little boy but he was seeing his family.'

MJ: 'Too long.' A thought for himself, projected accidentally. Peter's reaction solidified his reason for being so adamant about renewing their relationship. A few years and circumstances had changed them into different men. The fumbling angry boys at a carnival were ghosts.

MJ took a step back, slowly retreating in their initial direction.

Abel: 'What's too long? Hey, don't move! This spell's got a range and it's not that big!'

MJ: MJ took to crouching a ways away, where Abel began his mental shout. Still watchful, ready to protect, but from here he felt more perceptive.

Pete: Pete was completely unaware of the silent conversation happening around him. He was too busy watching the house and the lights from the police cars, listening for the approach of an ambulance.

Despite the presence of help, he still didn't feel completely at ease. That wouldn't happen until that little boy's mother finally came out of the house. Pete watched the confusion and delight and relief play over her face as she was briefed by the officers and finally, finally got to hold her baby again. He heard her grateful prayers and thanks through her sobs and finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"We can go now," he said.

MJ: Peter was ready, at last. His willingness to engage loosened a knot in MJ's shoulder. He wanted to reach for him again. Take his hand and pull him under his arm and back them way they came. They would do all of that, but not hand-in-hand. He wanted to, but the gesture in the moment felt empty.

"Come on, then."

Abel: "And that has made this all worth it," Abel said cheerfully, getting to his feet and helping Pete do the same. "Okay, everyone grab a hand. We going back to Pete's?"

MJ: "Sure." What he really wanted was a large rock in the middle of a lake to lay on. Smoke a cigarette and listen to stories of the world he'd been denied. He wanted to watch Guildias grow his arm back. Listen to Peter's voice and fall asleep with Abel's head in his lap.

Pete/Abel: “Actually...” Pete looked between them. “Can we go to the river? I want a swim.”

Abel nodded. “Sure. You and MJ can swim and I’ll get us some supplies and we can get really drunk.”

MJ: "Y'all get really drunk." He shouldn't have been surprised by Peter's request, but its lost familiarity took him from his guard. "Let's do it. Behind Callum's place is safe."

Abel: “We’ll get drunk for us and for Gil and for you.” Abel took their hands and gave them each a squeeze.

“Brace yourselves.”

He gave them a moment and in an instant, the burgeoning crime scene was replaced by Callum’s dock and the tranquility of the river.

MJ: Not a moment after his feet landed upon soft grass did he begin to strip of his heavy jacket and boots. Hopping on one foot to remove socks and waddle towards the dock while arguing with his old belt. A trail of evidence left behind without once looking back towards the house.

Pete/Abel: Pete followed soon after, but not without taking a moment for the world (and his stomach) to settle. Impossible to get used to that feeling.

“You okay, Petey?”

Pete nodded. “Yep, I’m good. I’m gonna...” He gestured toward the river.

“Yes, swim. I’ll be back.”

And Abel disappeared again.

MJ: MJ remained crouched at the very edge of the dock. Arms against his knees as he watched the water. Waited for Peter to join him, looking over his shoulder to smile.

Pete: Finally being able to take off clothes covered in Umbra slime was the best Pete had felt all night. There was no way in hell a wash was going to save these. They needed burning.

He sighed in relief as he went to join MJ. “What?” he chuckled.

MJ: "Ya ever seen that film, uh, Poltergeist?"

Pete: “Yep, and I’ve hated clowns ever since.”

MJ: "That's you right now, with the shit all over ya."

Pete: “Goddamn Umbra lube. Felt like I was being waterboarded when we first went in. Ready to get it off.”

Without ceremony, he leapt into the water.

MJ: MJ watched a moment, as though waiting for something to happen. Some unforeseen reaction. Only when Peter emerged did he drop with dead weight into the water.

Pete: Pete’s entire body seemed to sigh in relief. The river felt just as good as any shower, maybe even better. Cold be damned.

“Fucking—it’s in my chest hair!”

MJ: "It sure is." He reached for his chest and flinched back - tried to play his retreat back by combing his own hair.

Pete: “Ugh...” He scrubbed at his skin, trying to get it off and trying not to notice that MJ had wanted to touch him.

“My skin and the water around me aren’t reacting, right?”

MJ: "Can't tell, honestly. Ain't got that sweet ass night vision like ya."

Pete: He scrubbed some more. “Well, no itching, burning, or glowing so far. I’ll take that as a good sign.”

MJ: "Guildias'll probably keep some, or Rosmond'll make him keep some. For science n'shit."

Pete: Pete squeezed some slime out of his facial hair and examined it closely. "I wonder what actual science would come up with if this stuff was tested. I'm guessing the kind of science they would do is actually magic."

MJ: "The kinda shit Giovanni do is like Frankenstein's madhouse. Science n'magic sorta become the same shit."

Pete: "I've been to Frankenstein's madhouse, it sucks."

MJ: "Talkin' 'bout Umbra?"

Pete: He nodded. "Yeah. Worse place I've ever been and I was in a microscopic part of it."

MJ: "I can't say from experience it's better or worse. It reflects. That's all I got."

Pete: "Sure does, like a funhouse mirror from hell." Some more scrubbing at his skin and hair and back below the surface he went.

MJ: "Ya know-" He'd wait for his return. "If ya feel that gross just go take a shower. His place is right there."

Pete: Pete shook the water from his head. “I’ll get around to it. I wanted a swim first. You know my thing with the river, always helps clear my head.”

MJ: "Yeah. Got a love-hate relationship with em."

Pete: “You currently on the love side or the hate side?”

MJ: "Got love for it right now."

Pete: “Glad to hear it.” Pete shifted to float on his back and heaved a long, content sigh.

“....So this whole time Guildias has been able grow limbs back like a lizard?”

MJ: Peter was watched for a moment before joining, staring at the sky. "We call can."

Pete: “Wait, seriously?! Is it magic or?”

MJ: "I mean, it's the blood. Takes a bunch, but he'll be his old cobra-self in no time."

Pete: “It’s crazy isn’t it? All blood does for the living is get oxygen everywhere so tissue and organs stay alive. Give some to a vampire and limbs grow back.”

MJ: "The moon's a rock in outer space n'ya become a fuckin' bear."

Pete/Abel: He snorted. "Touche. Never thought life would be so goddamn weird."

The rustle of plastic bags and clinking of bottles signaled Abel's return. "I'm back! I've got tequila and snacks and a snack for MJ!"

MJ: MJ looked towards the sound and smiled again.

"Your wrist? Fuckin' delicious."

Abel: "Nope, not mine, although good to know I have the appeal to you that a cheeseburger does to me. How would you feel about a taste of our own lovely Isabel, who was all moony-eyed over you going into the netherworld on a rescue mission? Don't worry, I didn't tell her you didn't actually go in."

MJ: "Mm, moon-y blood. Probably tastes better. I mean way better. It's Isabel."

A wink to Peter. Harmless teasing, he swears.

"Hey, I kept y'all from gettin' caught. The mafia and I are essential workers!"

Pete/Abel: Pete gave a good-natured chuckle. “I’m gonna go ahead and guess that Isabel is cute?”

Abel nodded. “Oh yeah, super cute with an adorable accent. She’s from Mexico.” He grinned over at MJ as he started unpacking the bags. “Damn right, Aquaman. You earned this moony blood and Petey earned his tequila. Come and get it.”

MJ: MJ climbed back onto the docks, allowing his feet to dangle.

"Ya know the whole 'if ya don't use it ya lose it'? She keeps me honest with my Spanish." He didn't have his mother and sister to speak to anymore. Not like that. The quick texts he could manage in good conscience with Kenna were in English. No phone call in years now.

"So what ya do with all the uh... goo?" he pointed over Abel's body.

Pete/Abel: After allowing himself one more dunk, Pete followed suit. It wasn't a shower and it was cold as fuck but the water felt great.

"We all need someone like that," he said as he hoisted himself up. "My mentor and his family still help me with my French." He accepted the bottle of tequila from Abel with a grateful nod.

Abel looked down at his chest. Most of the slime was gone but some still remained. "Isabel sprayed me off with the hose in the garden after Xavier took a sample."

MJ: "Of course he did." MJ smiled privately to Peter. "Sprayed ya down with a fuckin' hose. I love our life."

MJ glanced back to the house one last time, expecting a light; expecting to see Rosmond's SUV round the corner. Too soon. Abel had taken advantage of fewer numbers and now they'd have some explaining to do to Callum should he spot them first.

He kept those thoughts to himself and enjoyed a bit of Isabel.

Pete/Abel: Pete chuckled to himself. 'Took a sample' sounded like Rosmond and Gertrude weren't going to be the only ones doing some magic-science.

"Hey, it did the job. Petey, I got us some goldfish and hot fries and nachos. And stuff to turn the tequila into margaritas!"

A laugh this time. "You brought margarita supplies?"

"Hells yeah! Want one?"

"Hit me."

MJ: "Fuck, how much did ya fuckin' buy?" It all smelled... interesting. Food but not food. Familiar but unwholesome. A scent of memories and nothing more.

Abel: "A good bit. We've earned it." The only thing he hadn't bought was ice but that was no problem for someone with magic; as long as he had the essentials, they were golden. "Some lime juice, some salt, some tequila, and a dash of magic combined in the finest cocktail shaker the liquor store could offer. We shake it up." He shook it. "And we've got some much-earned catharsis. Hand me a solo cup."

MJ: MJ handed the cup over, watching the river as he supped. He could smell everything described and then some. Still smell the moisture of Umbra over Abel's skin and hair; could smell Xavier's cologne. Something about it was peaceful.

"Xavier ask 101 questions?"

Abel: Abel poured Pete’s margarita and handed it over. “Only a few,” he said, pouring his own. “Told him we would answer the rest tomorrow after I got really drunk. He’s probably coming up with more now that he has the lube.”

MJ: "We didn't not tell him what we were doin'," he felt the need to remind.

Abel: “We gave him a general idea. He’s a detail kinda guy, an exhaustive detail kinda guy. We basically went to Disneyland and didn’t take him, he’s curious.”

MJ: "Wonder where the fuck that comes from." A quick look back to his clothes before remembering he was fresh out of cigarettes. He missed pot. Alcohol was also acceptable, but he had no intention to bite either of them if offered. Teasing was one thing.

"He'd probably want a piece of your hair, too."

Pete/Abel: “This is the same man who breaks into places for fun. He likes to get into locked places and learn their secrets.”

Pete downed half his margarita and hummed thoughtfully. “So he’s a cat.”

MJ: "Ya know, if he were any animal... I imagine, like... a German shepherd, or Doberman. Somethin' overly groomed n'got that stance at dog shows."

Pete/Abel: “A show dog with the curiosity of a cat.”

“I’d say Doberman for sure,” Abel said, nodding sagely. “They always look intimidating.”

MJ: "He doesn't scare me." Maybe he should have. The night of merge, it was not MJ's body curled in a corner, shivering and mumbling, awaiting for capture. It was a handful of salt and a determination to flee no matter the cost. A chapter in his life more surreal than memory could recount.

Abel: “Well of course he doesn’t. He loves you. Scary people don’t look scary to their families and friends.”

MJ: "Isn't that what God's supposed t'be?"

Abel: “Which one?” Abel asked around a handful of goldfish.

MJ: "Respect is fear or some shit."

Pete: Pete shook his head. “They’re not. Fearing someone and respecting them are two different things but there are always people who think they’re one and the same.”

MJ: "Depends on the person. Not the one lookin', but the one they're lookin' at." He thoughtfully stared at the half-empty blood bag.

Abel: Abel shook his head. “This is too deep a conversation after the night we’ve had. We need more booze.”

MJ: "Right. So how 'bout them Knicks?"

Pete/Abel: “Which sport do they play?”

Pete chuckled. “Basketball.”

“Ah, the tall sport!”

MJ: "Yeah. The that," he laughed.

Pete/Abel: “Either of you ever play?”

“Nope.” Pete shook his head. “I play soccer.”

MJ: "Baseball."

Abel: “Look at you two, so athletic.” Abel mixed another round of margaritas, refilled their cups. “That must be why Xavier gets you that primo Olympian blood.”

MJ: "Never gonna be an athlete." It was a nice gesture, though. "Just get t'keep the body of it."

Abel: “And you don’t have to be sweaty and sore! That’s gotta be a nice bonus. Speaking of, are you still hungry? I’ve got more Isabel.”

MJ: "She a fuckin' mummy now? How much did ya take?"

Abel: “Nah, she’s fine. Did you see that the bag is smaller than normal? She gave a couple small ones, not two normal size ones.”

MJ: "All this for the kid?"

Abel: “All the nice girls like an Indiana Jones type.”

MJ: "Just wait 'til she hears 'bout Peter."

Pete/Abel: “I’m an Indiana Jones type now?”

Abel clapped him on the back. “Of course you are! Sure you can’t ever tell anyone and have them buy you drinks because of it but it still counts.”

MJ: "I'll buy ya a drink," he grinned.

Pete: Pete grinned right back. “Imma hold you to that. Getting covered in Umbra slime’s gotta be worth something.”

MJ: "Your real prize is a job well done," he laughed.

Pete/Abel: "You're absolutely right. Slime's a small price to pay for getting that kid back safely. With any luck he's not horribly scarred for life."

Abel shook his head. "Don't worry, Petey. Chances are if he does remember and does tell someone, they won't believe him. They'll chalk it up to a nightmare or to trauma, like humans always do, and if he hears it enough he'll start to believe it."

MJ: "That's how it goes," sighed MJ. "For their own good." For the most part, he believed that. More than he had initially. He didn't care to dwell on the why.

Pete: "In this case, I'd say that's the best case scenario," Pete sighed. "What we managed to see was horrible. Imagine what he saw before we got there."

MJ: "Well I can't. Y'all won't tell me."

Pete: "Did you miss the part where Abel told you about the sentient tree and having to cut off Guildias' arm?"

MJ: "I want the juicy details, goddammit."

Abel: "They're such gross details," said Abel, making a face. "I used to hunt with my dad, I can prep an elk or a bird but a person? That was fucked up."

MJ: "It's Guildias though. Bet he didn't even whimper."

Abel: "I don't fucking know how he managed to stay quiet. I know he wanted to scream. Man's got an iron will."

MJ: "Could the tree, ya know, hear y'all?"

Pete: Pete nodded. "Yeah. It could talk too, in some weird tree language that barely sounded like a language."

MJ: "Did y'all fight a fuckin' Ent?"

Abel: Abel shook his head. “It didn’t move around or have a face. It was rooted to one spot like a normal tree and the creepy roots extended everywhere.”

MJ: "Mmkay. Scratch one off of Ent." Another sip of sweet-metallic vitae, staring out across the river.

"I think we've earned a four-day weekend."

Pete/Abel: Pete polished off his second margarita. “I also wouldn’t call it much of a fight. Guildias distracted it and I just moved fast.”

“We have,” said Abel. “We’re starting on it right now.”

MJ: "Could it have gone without Guildias loppin' an arm off?"

Pete: They both shook their heads but it was Pete who said, “I don’t see how. We didn’t have any bargaining chips.”

MJ: "That bad, huh? Shit..."

Abel: Abel shrugged. “Maybe we would’ve had a chance under different circumstances but the tree was getting ready to kill the kid. We didn’t have time to think up an alternative, and we weren’t armed for a sentient tree.”

MJ: "I'll keep that in mind for the next Umbral mission." He watched the two of them a moment, suddenly taken by gratitude to find them in one piece.

Abel: "I am not getting covered in lube again unless it's for a damn good reason," said Abel, mixing yet another round of margaritas. "We need to find a rescue mission in like...Hawaii."

MJ: "I ain't ever been," MJ said. "Ain't crossed my mind."

Abel: "We should go! Petey and I will drink rum out a coconut and you can drink blood out of a coconut and we'll all sit on the beach for days on end doing nothing."

MJ: "Y'all do days, I'll do nights. But coconuts yes. N'Peter can get lost in the mountains on the full moon."

Pete: Pete snorted. "Or we could go when it's not a full moon. All that fur in that heat? I'd spend the full moon hiding in the ocean."

MJ: MJ looked to Abel. "Know any were-peeps Peter can hang out with on the full moon?"

Abel: "In Hawaii? No. But I can hang out with Pete on the full moon."

MJ: "You're hardly a were-anything."

Abel: “Neither is Callum and he hangs out with Pete on the full moon. It’s about companionship.”

MJ: "How d'ya know so much?"

Pete: “I told him,” Pete chimed in, devouring a handful of Goldfish. “We had time to talk before ya’ll came to pick us up.”

MJ: "A shit ton." Apparently.

Abel: “We talk fast,” Abel said cheerfully. “We needed to bond. Plus ya’ll took forever.”

MJ: "I like that." He wasn't surprised; this was Abel, after all. The man befriended a snake just because he could.

"I don't think I've ever heard ya talk fast," he smiled at Peter.

Pete/Abel: Pete chuckled. “I usually don’t. Didn’t think I could. I blame Abel, I was just trying to keep up.”

“Very few can.” Abel poured them another round and toasted Pete with his. “Here’s to you, Petey. L’chaim.”

MJ: "Ya've joined the club. Welcome. We don't have tee shirts or hats; we got loyalty and free arguments."

Pete/Abel: “I’ll take both.” He clicked solo cups with Abel and downed the contents. The world was beginning to take on a very pleasant haze. His head had started to feel lighter, more floaty. The perfect place to be after the night they’d had.

“What if we got T-shirts? Everyone lives a T-shirt.”

Abel nodded. “They do.”

MJ: "Shirts just for us, or the whole crew?" He couldn't imagine Rosmond wearing one, nor Guildias for that matter.

Pete: “For everyone!” Pete said cheerfully. “I’d pay good money to see Guildias in a T-shirt.”

MJ: "Ya'd know more than me at this point. I ain't seen it."

Pete: “I bet Cal’s seen him in a T-shirt since they’re married.”

MJ: "I don't think 'bout that shit." Not for some years now. Didn't seem fair to even consider.

Pete/Abel: Pete giggled to himself imagining Guildias in something as casual as a T-shirt. It seemed way too normal a thing for Mr. GQ.

“Oooh! I know what we should put on the shirts!” Abel announced. “How about, ‘I went to the Umbra and all I got was lube and this lousy T-shirt’?”

MJ: "Ha. Hell yeah. Xavier'll have t'wait for the next mission, then. He ain't gettin' shit this time."

Abel: Abel snorted. “There’s a man who would never wear a T-shirt. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in any shirt without buttons and a collar.”

MJ: "I think s'time we steal his clothes."

Pete/Abel: He gave a dramatic gasp. “That’s so sneaky! He’d be so pissed,” Abel laughed. “We should steal everything and only leave him the T-shirt, some jeans, and tennis shoes so he has no choice but to wear it.”

Pete snorted. “Or he’ll just be naked until ya’ll give them back.”

MJ: "Wouldn't put it past him t'just walk 'round naked. He'd make some artistic excuse for it. Pretend the clothes aren't missin'."

Abel: “Or, or!” Abel laughed again. “He’d make us go suit shopping with him as punishment and stick you in another tie.”

MJ: "He'd still have t'walk 'round in a tee shirt. Worth the punishment."

Pete/Abel: “Say the word and we’ll raid his closet.”

Pete turned his attention toward the hot fries. “What if ya’ll just ask him to wear it? Pretty please with extra sugar on top?”

Abel waved the notion away. “That’s not nearly as chaotic and potentially hilarious.”

MJ: "Nah. Fuck that," MJ laughed, overlapping Abel's retort. "Gotta make your own fun, man!"

Abel: “Exactly! And trust me, this is going to be a lot of fun. Oh, we can’t forget his robes,” Abel added to MJ. “He’s got a bunch and if he doesn’t have his clothes he’ll try to just wear those. Should we also steal his underwear and make him wear American flag boxers?”

MJ: "Oh fuck, you're right. I'll get the boxers. Walmart's on the city limits."

Peter was given a grin. "Want a way-too expensive robe?"

Pete/Abel: Pete snorted and just decided to roll with it. He'd blame the tequila, which he was just drinking in shots now. "Why the hell not. Take his socks, too. Walmart's got novelty socks."

Abel's face lit up. "Yes!"

MJ: "Ain't there a shop here that got em? Ones that say, 'fuck this shit'?"

Pete: Pete nodded. “Yep, that gift shop on the way out of town.”

MJ: "Let's go tomorrow. Oh! Ya know, Guildias'll be next."

Pete: “You’re gonna steal poor armless Guildias’ clothes?” Pete chuckled.

MJ: "Maybe talk Callum into it - when he's, ya know, whole."

Pete: “We might be able to get him to get Guildias to wear a T-shirt. Stealing his clothes not so much.”

MJ: "Maybe m'just in a stealin' mood."

Abel: Abel shoved a handful of chips in his mouth. “You can help Devlin steal cookies from the kitchen when Christine isn’t looking. Or break into a fancy museum with Xavier.”

MJ: "Both. I'll do both. Maybe the underwear at Walmart, too."

Pete: Pete squinted. "I feel like I should be discouraging this, but Walmart's a giant corporation, so..." He shrugged and downed more tequila.

MJ: "Now you're gettin' it," MJ chuckled into his bag of blood.

Pete: "I'll scold you tomorrow if I remember. Gotta keep up them good and righteous publican appearances."

MJ: "Good n'righteous I guess is your MO now. Maybe it always was, but ya ain't punchin' people anymore."

Pete: "Got lectured by the law. Then the law's boss. I still punch people though. Aren't enough lectures in all the world to keep assholes from being assholes."

MJ: "Was wonderin' when ya were gonna get canned."

Pete: “Last time I got close was when I got the lecture. Around here it’s considered a miracle that I don’t have a lengthy rap sheet and a couple lawsuits under my belt.”

MJ: "S'part of your charm! I fell for it," he winked.

Pete: Pete laughed. "Next time there's an asshole in the pub, I'll call you before I punch their lights out."

MJ: "Hell yeah. So sexy." A glance was given to Abel, his smile fading a bit at the link between Abel and a certain witch in California. His mind wasn't made up one way or another, but little reminders tickled an annoying sense of guilt behind his neck.

"Y'all ready t'go home?"

Pete/Abel: Abel was just gonna keep eating his chips and let them flirt. Any opinions he had in any particular direction about any particular situation would be kept to himself.

Pete nodded after taking another drink. "Yeah, we probably should. Still gotta shower, and work tomorrow. Or...later today. Is it today?"

Abel nodded. "Yep, it's today."

MJ: "Let's get ya home, then. Ya damn near drank a whole bottle. I mean ya earned it, but s'way past your bedtime, old man."

Pete: Pete’s dramatically offended gasp lost some of its effectiveness when he just barely avoided falling into the river as he staggered to his feet.

“I am a great and mighty bear! Bedtimes are the stuff of mere mortals!”

MJ: "Mighty bear gonna go down river if he keeps stumblin'." MJ got to his feet and began gathering Peter's things. Offered his hand to keep the bear upright.

Pete/Abel: Pete laughed again, taking MJ’s hand. “Thanks very much. Been a loooong time since I had that much tequila. Come on, Abel!”

“Yep, I’m here, I’m up.” He took the hand that Pete offered and smiled at all of them. “Look at us, a drunken daisy chain and a sober vampire. Onward to Petey’s! Petey, be a champ and try not to hurl, okay?”

“Copy that.”

MJ: MJ watched. Didn't think to look back if they'd gathered every bit of trash. Callum could yell at them later. Probably would, given Guildias' condition. Right now, Peter was the only priority.

"Want us t'stay?"

Pete/Abel: “Yeah, stay! I have blackout shades and stuff to make French toast for breakfast.”

“Sold!” Abel said cheerfully. “Okay, everyone gird your loins.”

He did some girding of his own, making sure he was steady before transporting them to Pete’s.

[kissthegogo-goat-witch]

Misery of the Vampire: Chapter two.

I'm posting chapters of my novel on tumblr, an autobiography of a vampire. You can find chapter one here: https://kissthegogo-goat-witch.tumblr.com/post/655648021868134400/misery-of-the-vampire-chapter-one

Now it is not entirely a myth that vampires sleep in coffins, for they did up until the end of the Victorian era. Now it is seen as obsolete. Being described as sleeping in coffins is also quite offensive to a few. My first time in a coffin was horrid. I felt claustrophobic as my body was trapped. I could feel its rough wooden surface create splinters as I struggled. If that wasn't bad enough, the two cysts were my sire had bit, finally burst. The horrid stench of puss filled the confined space. I released a cry of agony which was met with his fist pounding against the lid. I suddenly realized that my life would be dictated by this lunatic. How did I know? It was a feeling deep within my own body that I could not explain.

 My fate than was determined as I heard a piano play softly. Every single key he had stroked pounded inside my head. When you are reborn as a vampire, your own hearing becomes painfully sensitive. The faintest of sounds could cause you to cringe in pain. Even after weeks, months of being turned, you will not stand even a pin dropping.  He knew this. He knew my condition, the pain I was in, and how I was forced to feast on corpses. My sire had placed me in so much peril, and the reason why you may ask? Well, like I said before. I myself have no answer, but I believe that he was lonely. Soon the music had stopped and I could feel my body grow weak. 

My whole being screamed at me to shut down, hibernate for the sun was rising. But I was too frightened. As I laid inside my prison, it begins to shake. His body, I could hear, sprawled across the coffin. Heavy breaths caused me to grimace. Never have I felt so humiliated in my long, wretched life. Finally, I surrendered and succumbed to the darkness swallowing me up. my sire's obsession with myself was evident. Never could I have been alone with his constant presence. This was a burden for when I was deprived of my own dignity.  I admit that he had dressed me such as the wealthy, and our living was a far cry from those in the streets such as I was. But I was a prisoner. 

Leaving was out of the question, for I had none of the skills that a vampire needed. Cliche it sounds, for it had been overused for centuries, but the bloodlust created a danger to mortal men. My very own morals won over my freedom. I suppose he wouldn't have allowed me to leave. One night we were both on his balcony, overlooking the ocean as waves crashed below us. The moon was full as she had shone down upon the both of us. Our bodies were entangled with one another, bare skin against the cold stone. It was a sin in this time and age, but why would we care? Haven't we already fallen from the Lord's grace? 

"How many times must I tell you, why must I repeat?"

 He asked softly. His fingers entwined into my hair, yanking softly so that my neck would be exposed. I knew what was to come next, and deep inside I shuddered. The feedings were forceful, painful, and degrading. I had no rights in our relationship, slave and master so to speak. Or at least that is what I thought. Suddenly, I had felt the same pain, the pain that was expected but yet I was still of no use to. To this day I still shudder when my neck is touched. He was rough, vile with how he fed. And there was nothing I could do about it. 

Feeding on another vampire without their consent is the equivalent of sexual assault. With each day I was violated. His act was finished, and the pain was over. He carried me back to our shared coffin. I could not look into his face as he did so. For this man was not only insane, but a true monster. We laid there that night with dried blood between us, stained against our skin and stained on my soul. 

I shall spare you from the worst of details, for some things that went on between us should never be spoken about. It is the least of dignity I have left. For many years I was trapped with Giovanni, learning and growing stronger, but not strong enough to be independent of him. Our relationship had grown to be more intimate, even if society did not allow it. 

The night I escaped from Giovanni, was a night I shall never forget. The feeling of being finally free, like a bird released from its cage for the first time in all its life. I felt the ecstasy, the rush, and fear of being on my own. It started as a spark of rage from my sire. Having been lit as he accused me of wandering out into the night without him. For when he opened my coffin, I was not inside. Of course, I wanted a taste of freedom, for the many years were miserable enough. I have thought of myself grown enough as a vampire to be able to see our own world. But it was met by his own form punishment which turned into a fight for my own life.

Upon my return I found him on the balcony, still and silent as his figure loomed over. His face was stoic, no expression, empty of emotion. Like a ticking time bomb, he did not go off until the very last second. Upon reaching for him, he snapped. His fangs baring with a low hiss escaping. A gloved hand grabbed my wrist and snapped the bone as he jerked it over. I cried out in pain but was only silenced. I had not realized his intentions until there was a murderous gleam in Giovanni's eyes.

 They turned black upon his attack. It was too late to avoid his wrath, for half of my face was torn off by his claws. I still remember the searing pain of my own skin being ripped off. The flesh underneath exposed. In a blind side of rage, I lashed out back at him with my free hand digging into his eyes. They were torn out of his skull with the stolen blood of mortals pouring out of its socket. 

This was my liberation, my freedom which had been granted. But I took it with reaching into the fireplace, pulling out a burning piece of kindling like a torch and setting my blinded sire on fire. But alas, he survived. I would not have known this until the trial. Giovanni was sure to have been destroyed as the flames consumed our once, plush, home. I took my leave upon running with madness into the night. Smeared in blood with only half of a face, twas glorious. For people now feared me, instead of I fearing them and living as a house pet. I have caused a group of men on the streets to scream in terror. Their high pitched shrills gave me a thrill that I couldn't have imagined was ever possible. I feasted upon their fresh blood until I could no more. That very night I took on a metamorphosis and transformed into a true monster. 

[1358456]

Legacy Spoilers - Red

I think this will be the last individual spoiler post. After Red, the entirety of the plot would’ve been given away. Individual experiences would vary of course, so the remaining Dex Holders would just be grouped up so that the few Dex Holders who don’t do jack sh*t and/or die early don’t take a whole post.

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- Red lives happily with Blue, enjoying her company and doing his best to keep her happy at all times.

- Several weeks later, Blue is targeted by the unknown enemy and is infected with a strange disease during a girls-only trip. Red hears of the news from Platinum and rushes to the hospital.

- The doctors at the hospital are unable to assist and Blue’s condition deteriorates rapidly. Silver suggests in trying Team Rocket’s experimental treatment and Red agrees, willing to do anything and everything to save Blue.

- Blue is moved to a Team Rocket facility but despite everything, her condition worsens and eventually succumbs during a visit from Red and the others.

- Blue thanks Red for all the happy memories and for loving her. She apologizes for not being able to be with him anymore, and for affecting him with her bad luck. Red is absolutely crushed with her death and something within him breaks.

- Red returns home after the funeral, and finds his home unbearably lonely, now that Blue is not living there with him. He doesn’t want to stay there anymore and leaves for somewhere far away.

- Red goes to Alola, somewhere he had intended to take Blue at some point. He stumbles upon a Hakamo-o and captures it, finding its aggressiveness somehow appealing.

- Red eventually returns to Kanto, but doesn’t return to Pallet Town and instead wanders around, becoming increasingly more aggressive as his anger and depression get stronger and stronger. His reputation as a merciless fighter grows as a result of him venting out his anger on whoever was unlucky enough to battle him.

- Gold and Platinum use those rumors to track him to a bar in Viridian City, where they find him trying to drink away his sorrows. They take him back to his home in Pallet Town so he can sleep off the alcohol.

- Red wakes up in the house he now hates so much and finds Platinum asleep on a chair next to the bed. He begins to feel an intense hate towards her as he thinks it’s her fault for setting him up with Blue and thus responsible for his depression now. And she even dragged him back to the house and the memories which hurt him so much now. But a part of him knows that none of this is Platinum’s fault. As a result of the turmoil, he doesn’t know how to deal with Platinum and chooses to largely ignore her presence.

- Platinum notices his attitude towards her and tries her best to keep her distance from now on. But her crestfallen expression only serves to frustrate and anger Red further, as he feels that everything in his life is falling apart, including his bond with the other Dex Holders.

- Gold informs Red about Silver’s discovery, that Team Rocket is responsible for purposely infecting and killing Blue. Red immediately joins the fight against Team Rocket. He helps destroy the Celadon Game Corner, thus significantly damaging the organization’s income.

- Red contacts the Gym Leaders for assistance. Most of the Kanto Gym Leaders assist the Dex Holders against Team Rocket.

- Team Rocket retaliates and kills Erika, thus forcing the Gym Leaders into disarray, but causing Sabrina to defect from Team Rocket and dragging Lt. Surge with her. Red immediately regrets his decision to ask for assistance, seeing as how it resulted in him losing yet another friend.

- During the long series of fights, Y is critically injured and falls into a coma, and White and Moon are killed. Red sees how much Platinum is suffering from the loss, and lets her return to Sinnoh for Moon’s funeral. While the Sinnoh Dex Holders are at Sinnoh for the funeral and to investigate Team Rocket activity, Red leads the others towards the Team Rocket HQ.

- Red confronts Giovanni and engages in a long fight. During the fight, the Dex Holders find out that Giovanni and Team Rocket are NOT responsible for what happened to Blue. Team Rocket had abandoned the K3 project a long time ago, and never sanctioned the continuation of the project. Giovanni had intended to help cure Blue, as though he is technically her enemy, he still owes her for her caring for Silver. And while during the war, Giovanni had ordered to disrupt the Kanto Gym Leaders, his orders were to capture or incapacitate Erika, not kill her.

- Red finds out that a splinter group from within Team Rocket had gone rogue, and that this group was responsible for continuing the K3 project and therefore killing Blue. And by killing Erika, the fight between the main organization and the Gym Leaders had escalated, thus allowing the splinter group to continue with their project undisturbed for the most part.

- The Dex Holders and Team Rocket cease fighting. Giovanni identifies and isolates the rogue splinter faction, and moves in to destroy it. The Sinnoh Dex Holders return to Kanto, and Red orders them to join in the final assault against the splinter faction.

- During the assault, Red pairs himself up with Platinum as he feels the need to reconcile with her. But with Platinum clearly avoiding him, he can’t find the right words or the right moment to start.

- Red and Platinum find a storage room filled with what looks to be deformed copies of Blue. Red has to fight off the feral deformed Blue clones to protect Platinum. The stress of seeing his beloved Blue so deformed, and having to fight the clones angers him uncontrollably, and he vows to kill and destroy absolutely everything related to the K3 project.

- Red and Platinum fight through the facility and captures some high ranking researchers. They interrogate the researchers and find out that there is a perfected clone of Blue, and that she is the K3 project.

- Red realizes that he had just now vowed to kill Blue, and doesn’t know what to do. On one hand, the Blue clone is just a copy of the real girl that he loved so much, and so he should kill her. But on the other, the copy is a perfected clone, complete with all of her memories and personality. Could he bring himself to really attack and kill her?

- Platinum notices his turmoil and tries to convince him to spare the Blue clone.

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The Good Ending

- Red is surprised that Platinum had managed to actually talk to him. Her desperate sincerity reaches him and he allows himself to be convinced. His love for Blue overcomes his anger and he decides to let the complete clone to live.

- Red leaves to find the Blue copy, and runs into her deeper in the facility. Seeing the perfect Blue triggers something from deep within and he immediately runs up to embrace her. He accepts her as Blue and welcomes her back.

- Red helps Blue finish preparing for her escape, and destroys the facility once everyone had escaped.

- Red helps Blue accept her new course in life, and he steadily overcomes his pent up anger and depression.

- The remaining Dex Holders head to Unova to finish off the splinter Team Rocket faction once and for all. Eventually they are able to deal with the fused Kyurem and destroy the faction’s remnants.

- Afterwards, Platinum assists in installing Blue’s mainframe in Red’s house. Red takes the opportunity to thank her for all of her help, especially in convincing him to spare Blue, and apologizes for how he had been neglecting her. They reconcile and return to being how they were before.

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The Bad Ending

- Red loses control of his anger. He has to honor his memories of Blue, and will not let the twisted experiment of the splinter Team Rocket faction to exist. The failed abominations of Blue’s clones defiled her honor, and Red can never let the fruit of this project to pretend to be Blue. He ignores Platinum’s desperate pleas and steels his will.

- Platinum attempts to stop him by force, if necessary. Red fights her with everything he’s got, and eventually defeats her, deeply wounding her in the process.

- Platinum still tries to stop him, blocking the doorway. Red snaps as his anger erupts and he loses control of himself. He attacks her directly for standing in his way and for causing all of this to happen in the first place. He beats her mercilessly as he vents out his rage and frustrations.

- Red returns to his senses a while later and is horrified by what he had done. He can’t stand to see Platinum so badly beaten and broken, by his hands no less which are covered in her blood, and quickly moves on, telling himself that what happened happened and can’t be undone now. All he has left in his life now is his desire to keep Blue’s honor and his memories of her intact. And to do that, he has to destroy the K3 project.

- Red runs into K3. He had vowed to kill her, but seeing the identical copy of Blue stops him from directly attacking and killing her. Instead, he forces himself to state his objective and his wish, to destroy everything related to K3. He announces that the copy standing in front of him is not Blue, and instead, something that has to be destroyed in order to defend Blue’s honor.

- Red proceeds to destroy the facility by overloading and detonating the power reactor deeper underground, which would cause the whole facility to collapse and bury alive everyone and everything inside under tons and tons of rubble.

- Red calls the other Dex Holders to evacuate immediately. Diamond and Pearl ask what happened to Platinum. Red can’t tell them the truth and lies that Platinum got lost somewhere during the fights against the splinter faction, and that he can’t reach her. Y argues that they can’t abandon Platinum, but Red orders everyone to leave her and evacuate.

- Red escapes from the facility just in time to watch it collapse, burying everything related to the K3 project, including K3 herself, and even Platinum.

- Red leads the other Dex Holders to Unova to finish the fight against the splinter faction. But Diamond, Pearl, and Y are outraged by him abandoning Platinum to die and refuse to follow him. They abandon him and stay behind, leaving the rest of the remaining Dex Holders to deal with the mess. X stays behind with Y, so not a lot of Dex Holders end up going to Unova.

- On the way to Unova, Red has plenty of time to settle down and gather his thoughts. As he thinks, he deeply regrets leaving K3 to die, as she was Blue, after all. He regrets what he did to Platinum even more, and can’t believe that he did what he did, since he had loved her and cared for her so much like a sister over the years. He falls into deep depression as he is absolutely disgusted with himself, and now has nothing left in his life.

- During the final moments of the fight against the fused Kyurem, Red apologizes to Blue for not being able to do anything to save her, and for abandoning the K3 clone to die. He apologizes to Platinum for blaming her for something that wasn’t her fault, for neglecting her the whole time, and for greatly hurting and abandoning her to die. He sincerely hopes that they can find it in them to forgive him, and leads the final suicidal attack against the fused Kyurem. He succeeds in disrupting the fusion to split them apart, but is caught in the final explosion in the process.

[of-tarnished-metal]

The Revival

A short RP segment to get Silver reconsidering his original plans besides his constant lazing about at the Rocket HQ, given after the events of my plot for him. This was collabed with @of-the-land, who as far as Gio’s goes, has the best rapport with this grump given their development. A lot of this can be found in his ABOUT page on his blog, but this boy obviously has a lot of internal struggles to come to terms with. 

If you’re aware of the Route 22 event in HGSS you’ll be pretty well aquainted with the relationship strain and context.

I’m keeping it at the original format from Discord, for documenting!

Silver: Coming down the stairs in the living quarters from his bedroom to the kitchen, in usual teen fashion he's rummaging through the fridge for a snack, and has wireless headphones on that is used for gaming.

Giovanni: It was one of those days that Giovanni was in the private quarters of the HQ. Most of it was spent in his home office section, working, knowing that he was less likely to be interrupted here than at his usual office. Lucido the Persian was sitting in the doorway to the office, noticed the noises from the kitchen, and got up to investigate. This got Giovanni's attention. He figured it was about time for a break anyways and got up as well, carrying his empty coffee cup with him.

"Hm, hello Silver." No surprise it was his son he found in the kitchen. "What are you up to today?"

Silver: The teen gives a bit of a shrug. "Just the usual."  These days he's had more of better standing with his old man, though sometimes for him it could feel a bit strange and awkward for them both. Though as time has gone on, the redhead could even say that he reacts less standoffish to the man than he used to upon approach. Something inside of him feels more... neutral, which in an of itself can be strange.

Giovanni: "'The usual.'" Gio echoed as he rinsed out his coffee cup. What was the usual now that they had started to make amends? Teenager things, he supposed. The boy mostly kept to his room, venturing out for food or even to spend time with his parents when they were relaxing together, or spent time with his friend (friends?) that he had made with those who worked at HQ. Gio was grateful for that, that he had begun to repair the family he had broken apart. Still... something was off that didn't quite sit well with him.

Giovanni set about making himself a mug of tea instead of reaching for more coffee. The time spent waiting for the water to boil in the kettle allowed him to linger in the kitchen to talk to Silver. That was another thing that was starting to get easier, though again there were subjects he hadn't breeched. However, the thoughts were on his mind and while it was likely going to upset Silver, Giovanni felt the need to bring it up anyways.

"Are you happy with, 'the usual?'"

Silver: "I don't think much about it." The redhead glances over a bit when he notices that the man is perhaps standing there for a bit longer than he usually would in his peripheral, tea makes sense...enough. However he mentally narrows ever so slightly, there's a-- tone about it that causes him to feel a bit of a shift. Gio's size and stature perhaps makes it appear more imposing...his dad has always been a man with presence under his belt. Even he cannot deny that it causes a bit of uneasiness like it would to any underling beneath him at times. 

"That sounds a little existential..." a bit of sass cannot help but escape him, but there's a humored smirk despite the tone all the same.

Giovanni: He responded with a smirk of his own and a quiet "heh" of a laugh at being called out. Giovanni was a man who tended to be cryptic when he spoke. The air of mystery and intimidation worked wonders on his underlings. But now that his son had called it out for what it was Gio could drop the pretense and be more open about what he was getting at.

"That's because it is." He said to give Silver a small warning. There was a pause as Giovanni gathered his thoughts of how to broach the subject. "You know. When I came back and found you here, I was expecting you to be more... 'with all guns blazing.'" 

For a while after his return it seemed to Gio that Silver was fiery and cross with him. Then after their heart-to-heart on Silver's birthday that fire wasn't there anymore. On the one hand it was a relief, but on the other it became a point of concern to Gio. What happened to that promise to become stronger than him?

"...Considering the terms we parted on previously."

Silver: Something in his shoulders starts to get a bit tense as he stands over the open door of the fridge, his back is facing him, and after a few moments he closes the door to it not even bothering to grab anything to eat.  Slowly he looks over his shoulder to him. Perhaps in an ironic twist, being called out for fizzling out in ire causes the redhead to smolder just a bit. 

"Guess it just died somewhere or something." the tone was rather blunt, cold, and almost unafflicted by his own words. He pulls the headphones off his ears and wraps them around his neck as he turns to face his father to look at him with a more deadpanned expression.

Giovanni: Ah yes, that was a reaction he was expecting. This was not something Silver wanted to talk about, but Giovanni wasn't going to relent. This was important. To Gio this was more about the boy's future than that he said in the past. 

"It feels to me that a part of you that shouldn't have died went along with it." Again a pause as Giovanni needed to pick his words carefully. He turned his back to Silver so as not to stare the boy down and busied himself with prepping his mug for tea. 

"You made a vow to me that you would become stronger. While you don't need to prove yourself to me... I wonder where that drive went? What is your goal now?"

Silver: The boy's shoulders only started raising themselves higher once Giovanni turned his back on him, his fingers were close to clenching tightly into fists, but for now instead they just flexed as he tried to keep his cool. 

"Yeah well...maybe sometimes you can go into something thinking it's gonna work out...and then it just doesn't." Silver snorted. Then for himself, there was a moment of silence before he muttered in a more grim fashion. "It's not like everyone can cut it as a Pokemon Master..."

Giovanni: He was glad he turned his back to Silver so that his son could not see the grim look on Giovanni's face when he heard that news. Perhaps Silver would still catch it from the slump of his shoulders. It was one thing to assume that's what happened, but another to hear it straight from him. Giovanni was... disappointed? Saddened? Both. That Silver failed to accomplish what he set out to do. 

The kettle whistled and Giovanni pulled it off the stove after he turned off the flame. He poured the steamy water into his mug and waited for the tea to steep.

Had not Giovanni faced the same? He too had failed. With his ambitious set too high and his drive too aggressive eventually he was met with failure. He was forced to fold, and so too now his son.

"You're right. It is a long and arduous journey that takes many years to cultivate. Not everyone can make it as a Pokemon Master. Still..." Giovanni turned back around, his posture corrected itself, and he looked back at Silver. "When faced with failure, that doesn't have to be the end of everything. You have a choice to make. Get up and try again. Turn your sights onto a new goal. Or wallow in your self pity forever."

Silver: The redhead only grew more flustered and peeved as he stared at his father dead in the eyes when the man himself had calmly stared down at him with those words.  Silently he was seething, but after a few moments he quickly lost the will to fight with glaring alone and his gaze lowered itself more to the floor. "......."

"......." At first his grumblings come in rather low before they come in a little louder. "I just don't know if I'd be very good at it. Some people either have it or they don't. I just don't know if I'm one of the people who does." 

Silver shrugs his shoulders a little, but it's a half-hearted attempt at his usual attempts of being cool and dismissive.

Giovanni: This would not do to let his son fizzle out in self doubt. The boy had too much untapped potential and Giovanni was not going to let him waste it. No son of his was going to simply do nothing because he didn't know what he wanted.

"Staying cooped up in a hidden base doesn't sound like a good way to find out if that's the case." 

Giovanni smirked, a glint in his eyes as he was about to say something he was sure Silver would balk at. 

"Unless you wish to find that out in Team Rocket, and take your place beside me as its heir."

Silver: The protests were real as he scowled and crosses his arms rather tightly up against his chest, he's starting to visibly pout and look red in the face over a remark by that. Though perhaps...in some ways he doesn't quite react as strongly as one would think he would. 

Realistically speaking he knows he's been groomed with this lifestyle from the start, in many ways the HQ is all he knows. Intelligence, wealth, lies, deceit...morally questionable motives, but not all of it is quite as black and white as he wished it to be. He's a misfit like the rest of them, he doesn't know what it means to function normally in a lawful world. Maybe it wouldn't surprise him if one day he stepped up and took the place of his Father...though if he had the means he'd do things much different. 

"Yeah well...the Interpol probably have a profile set on me anyway." Silver smirks a bit at in his own dark amusement and he shrugs more casually. "I always loop may way back around here at some point...so who knows." But he pauses, maybe the words start to sink a little, he can't expect to learn more here than what he already knows....could he? Confliction starts to show on his face more, this was a lot to think about.

Giovanni: "I wouldn't be surprised. Considering how much they're looking to find me. I'm sure you can frustrate their efforts by living your own life and giving them nothing to work with. Silver..."

Again it was best to get to the point. 

"You may loop back here eventually, but that doesn't mean staying here all the time. You should consider heading back out again."

Silver: The boy's lips purse in a bit of an uncertain fashion,  he was afraid of that answer, Gio was very well at being direct and to the point, as well as cryptic...and his more flustered nature started to creep in, which in turn was quickly overshadowed by a growing sense of frustration. "I don't know how..." 

The anger starts to build, mix which his heightened degrees of guilt and fear. The criticism of one of the great Dragon master's was too much, Ethan and Lyra...they understood something that he still can't get about Pokemon Training. His dad is a Master...Red is one too...what do they have that he doesn't get? What is it that he's not getting!?

Giovanni: "'Don't know how?'" He repeated as he raised a brow. "It's not as if you haven't before. You're in a better position to do so now."

Before, Silver left on his journey alone after he ran away from Giovanni. Now, both of his parents could provide Silver with support as needed. Gio didn't know what trials Silver faced during that time that caused him to turn out this way, but at the very least he had the opportunity now to help his son.

"Your mother and I will only be a call away to give you advice or assistance. It'll be more..." There was a pause as Giovanni realized the words that were about to come out of his mouth. A sad realization at what could have been. "It'll be more as it should have been. A second chance."

Silver: The boy only blushes and starts to grumble. He's forgotten where to start....what to do, who even is Silver anymore? He squints at the door of the fridge as his body faces his father, as he's considering his options, weighing the truths. The reality starts to sink in...

Though as much as he won't admit it, there's a wash of relief that perhaps he could be offered more support this time around...?-- Pathetic. An inner voice scoffs at him, the old and familiar voice. When did you start getting so soft? What's wrong with you? Weak!

"........I'll have to think about it." Silver mutters as he realizes he's no longer hungry and goes upstairs back to his room. One can just hear the angry stomping of a grump going up the stairs, yet he doesn't slam his door like you would come to know.

Giovanni: That went as well as it could have. No yelling this time. That was certainly a positive thing to note. Giovanni turned back to his mug of tea and finished fixing it up before he took a contemplative sip. He could tell from his son's reaction that there was more that was left unsaid. Unfortunately he couldn't do anything about it unless Silver opened up to him. An unlikely thing even if they were on better terms these days. 

Giovanni let out a sigh he was holding in. Hopefully Silver would speak to someone else, Ariana or one of his friends, and work past whatever it was that was holding his son back.

[alexthegamingboy]

Toonami Weekly Recap 11/09/2019 (The Forge Edition, Week 1)

My Hero Academia Shie Hassaikai Arc Season 4 EP#64 (01) - The Scoop on U.A. Class 1-A: Freelance journalist Taneo gets an exclusive with Class 1-A in hopes of uncovering the new Symbol of Peace after the retirement of All Might.

JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure: Golden Wind EP#03 - Meet the Gangster Behind the Wall: Bucciarati agrees to introduce Giorno into the Passione organization, but he has to be evaluated by Polpo, a morbidly obese capo. Giorno visits him in prison and realizes that he is a Stand user. Polpo tasks him with keeping the flame on a cigarette lighter burning for 24 hours as a test of his trust. Giorno arrives back at his dorm with the lighter, but he is forced to evade Koichi, who has come looking for his passport. The lighter is accidentally doused by a janitor; the janitor reignites the lighter, causing Polpo's Stand Black Sabbath to appear. Black Sabbath kills the janitor by grabbing his soul and piercing an arrow through it, then turns to attack Giorno.

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba EP#05 - My Own Steel: The demon's body disintegrates and the souls of Urokodaki's students he killed depart to the afterlife. As the demon dies, he remembers when he was turned into a demon as a young boy and even after his transformation, had always been longing for a warm hand to hold, specifically that of his older brother's. Tanjiro smells sadness from its body and holds its hand, causing the demon to cry. For the next week, Tanjiro continues to survive, asking every demon for a method to turn a demon into a human again, though none answer. At the end of Final Selection, Tanjiro and three others are the only survivors, all of whom are assigned the lowest of 10 ranks, Mizunoto, as well as a Kasugai crow to help in communication. They are also give uniforms and allowed to chose the ore of their personal Nichirin Blades. Tanjiro returns to the cabin bruised and exhausted, as Nezuko arrives to greet him, having awoken from her year-and-a-half long slumber. Urokodaki deduces that Nezuko is making up for not eating humans by sleeping to gain strength. 15 days later, Tanjiro's sword is delivered by Haganezuka, the swordsmith. As Nichirin Blades change colour depending on the wielder, his turns black, a rare colour that superstitions make out to be unlucky. Now having a sword, Tanjiro's Kasugai crow delivers his first mission: to head to a town in the northwest where young girls have been vanishing nightly, and kill the demon responsible.

One-Punch Man 2 EP#05 (17) - The Martial Arts Tournament: Metal Knight tries to defeat Elder Centipede, but fails to even scratch the behemoth monster. After a lengthy battle Garou defeats Metal Bat, but grudgingly admits that Metal Bat would have won if he managed to hit him even once. Metal Bat gets up and nearly kills Garou when Garou's back is turned, but stops when his younger sister, Zenko, finds him. Garou counterattacks, but Zenko gets between them and orders them to stop fighting. Garou relents (having a soft spot for kids) and walks away to find Watchdog Man. Metal Bat tries again to go after Elder Centipede, but collapses due to too much damage from his battles with Elder Centipede and Garou after Zenko slaps him back down to get him to stop. The two C Class heroes (Pineapple and Mohican) who have Narinki and Waganma are confronted by Rhino Wrestler and are swiftly defeated, which causes the monsters to capture Waganma. Two Monsters named Phoenix Man and Sludge Jellyfish try to persuade Garou to join the Monster Association, but Garou refuses. Phoenix Man promises Garou that they will meet again if Garou will continue to hunt for heroes, and tells Elder Centipede and the rest of the monsters to retreat, with Metal Knight following them. Bang and Bomb continue to try to find Garou, and Bang lets out his frustration on a Demon-level monster named Boxing Demon, killing him violently with a ruthless barrage of blows. Many monsters of different disaster levels (Martial Gorilla, Do-S, Hundred Eyes Octopus, Pure-Blood, and Make Plasma) start attacking heroes, which worries the Hero Association. Before Do-S can kill Dynamite Man (her power being that if she whips someone, they will be under her control) with her mind controlled heroes, Fubuki stops her attack. Meanwhile, in the Fight Tournament Saitama is introduced to Bakuzan, Suiryu, Lightning Max, Ring Ring, Hamukichi, Choze, Zakkos and Snek, with Genos watching in the crowd. Suiryu notices Bakuzan's bloodlust toward him, and is only after the prize money, although Suiryu wishes he could have fought against WolfMan (Garou in disguise). After Lightning Max defeats Ring Ring, Zakkos reveals that the fighters are often paired up based on their looks. Saitama deduces that Zakkos is weak since he's paired up with Saitama (Saitama being sorted due to him appearing "weak.") which angers Zakkos. In the post credit scene, Saitama slaps Zakkos, defeating him in one hit, much to Saitama's annoyance. Suiryu notices Saitama's strength and is excited to face him in the finals.

Dr. Stone Kingdom of Science Arc EP#12 - Buddies Back to Back: The silver spear made by Senku is revealed to be a sensor to detect poisonous gases coming from a pool of sulfuric acid, which they need for the antibiotic. Knowing the risks involved, Senku offers to teach Chrome everything he knows about science on the off-chance that he dies, but Chrome refuses, instead proposing a tag-team style approach. While gathering the acid using special gas masks, Chrome nearly falls into the pool but is saved by Ginro, who overcomes his fear and helps the duo obtain a bottle of the acid.

Fire Force EP#15 - The Blacksmith's Dream: Knights of the Ashen Flame, Yona and Arrow, report Shinra's Adolla burst to their commander, Sho Kusakabe, Shira's brother. Meanwhile, forensic scientist, Viktor Licht, is assigned to Company 8 and Shinra is selected to take Arthur and Iris to recruit the crackerjack engineer, Vulcan. He has an intense dislike for Haijima and the Fire Force, but at his junkyard workshop they meet Vulcan's apprentice, Yu, who agrees to take them inside. Vulcan explains his a dream of recreating animal life on the planet. While there, Captain Dr. Giovanni from Company 3 arrives to ask Vulcan to join him, but he refuses even though Giovanni has stopped supplies getting through to Vulcan's workshop. Vulcan's assistants, Lisa and Yu, explain that Giovanni was one of Vulcan's grandfather's two apprentices, who joined Haijima after the other two died suspiciously. Meanwhile nearby, Giovanni prepares to kill Vulcan, however Shira detects his presence.

Food Wars!: Shokugeki no Soma EP#18 - The Karaage of Youth: Noting that the shopping district focuses more on walk-and-eat food, as opposed to Mozuya's packaged approach, Soma shifts his focus towards creating a karaage that can be enjoyed straight out of the fryer. Opting to go with chicken thigh meat with a chilli-based marinade, Soma gets inspiration from a bento shop owner and decides to serve his karaage in rice flour wraps with salad, providing enhanced flavor, portability, and appeal all at once. This brings a large amount of business, which in turns helps the rest of the shopping district come back to life, and Nakamozu has no choice but to admit defeat. Afterwards, Soma puts Mayu in charge of helping with the karaage's sales, having noticed her good qualities. Returning to the academy, Soma is brought before Mozuya's puppetmaster, Etsuya Eizan, the ninth seat of the Elite Ten, who informs him that he has been chosen for the Autumn Elections.

Lupin the 3rd Part 5 Enzo Bron Arc EP#21 - An Outdated Master Thief: Enzo Bron, the president of the global IT company Shake Handz, officially presents his company's new app called PeopleLog, a service linking facial recognition with global databases to create publicly accessible personal profiles. Lupin and company soon find that PeopleLog has become widely used to check people's identities, making it impossible for them to appear in public and easy for the police and Lupin's enemies to track his movements. Also, the apparent reliability of PeopleLog easily sways public opinion, and the world's governments become concerned that the app may cause political control to slip from their hands. As Lupin and Jigen head to rejoin Goemon, who has retreated into the mountains, they encounter Zenigata, who tells them that Fujiko has been captured by Enzo.

Black Clover: Elf Tribe Reincarnation Arc EP#94 - New Future: Yami attacks but is too late to stop Licht retrieving the stones and disappearing through a portal. Rhya activates his self-destruct spell to kill Mereoleona. Asta, having seen the same spell used by Vetto and Fana, nullifies it. Asta demands to know why the Midnight Sun hates humans when they themselves appear human. He also insists on trying to understand the Midnight Suns motives and making peace with them, echoing the Wizard Kings wishes. Rhya realises Asta sounds exactly like Licht used to. Julius realises that Licht had enough power by himself to kill everyone in the kingdom; therefore the stones must have another purpose. Julius entrusts his dream of a better world to Yami and all the other magic knights before finally dying. Yuno approaches the mage, who has the ears of an elf. He also notices another black sword nearby. Licht betrays Rades, Sally and Valtos, revealing his total contempt for their human greed and selfishness and also that the stones will not grant them greater magic power but will in fact use them as sacrifices to fuel the resurrection. As he places the stones in the tablet light covers the entire kingdom. Rhya reveals the resurrection has begun as he transforms into an elf. The elf in the sphere of light suddenly awakens while Yuno also begins to transform into an elf.

[turtle-steverogers]

Blackened Hearts

part three to the Blackened series which i’ll put under my masterlist here in a sec if you haven’t read yet

ship(s): platonic ralbert, sprace

warnings: race is a ball of nerves

editing: no it sucks i’m sorry

Albert and Race sat in the lobby of the police station, waiting for the officers from the night before to call them back for questioning. Albert hadn’t slept at all since the incident, too busy calming Race down from anxiety and exhaustion induced fever dreams. The cycle had repeated itself several times. Race would wear himself out from panicking, fall asleep, have a nightmare, then wake up again, eyes frantic and breaths too heavy. By the time he was finally able to sleep soundly, it was 7:30 and the police were bound to be there any minute, but Albert had allowed him to sleep for a little while, waking him up last second to go with the officers.

“How are you holding up?” Albert asked Race, who was leaning heavily on the arm of the chair, head propped on a fist.

Race shrugged, shaking his head lightly and casting his gaze to the side. He looked incredibly worn out, eyes puffy from crying intensely for a prolonged period of time. He didn’t answer and Albert sighed to himself- he honestly couldn’t see how Race was going to make it through questioning. It was going to tear him up.

They lapsed back into silence, the sounds of the station creating unsettling white noise around them. Albert leaned on his respective armrest and closed his eyes, dozing uncomfortably for a few minutes until the officers came to retrieve them.

“You guys aren’t in any kind of trouble and this shouldn’t take very long,” The taller of the two said as they were lead into one of the interrogation rooms. They sat at a rectangular table, opposite of the two officers. Race had his hands in his pockets, his shoulder drawn up to his ears. His discomfort was obvious and Albert caught his eyes, raising his eyebrows in a silent question of worry. Race held eye contact for a moment, his expression swimming with a sea of emotions, none of which Albert could read entirely.

“I’m Officer Denton,” The tall one said, shaking Race and Albert out of their silent conversation, “And this is my partner, Officer Darcy. We’re just gonna ask you a few questions about what exactly happened last night so we can write up an incident report, then you guys’ll be free to go home.”

Denton pulled out a recording device, placing it in the middle of the table while Darcy took a pen and notepad out of his back pocket. Albert felt Race slide his foot into the side of his own and he applied pressure back, reassuring his friend of his presence.

“Okie dokie,” Denton said, pressing the recording button, “State your full names, please.”

“Albert Schuyler DaSilva,” Albert said, clearing his throat. Darcy began to scribble in his notebook.

Race had brought his hands onto the table and was wringing them together nervously.

“And you?” Denton prompted, turning his attention to Race.

Race didn’t answer, barely acknowledging that he’d heard the question. Albert nudged his foot slightly and he jumped.

“I-I’m sorry,” He stammered, “What was the question?”

“Just your name, sir,” Denton supplied patiently.

Race swallowed and Albert could practically feel his heart rate pick up.

“Uh, Antonio,” Race muttered, not meeting Denton’s careful gaze.

“Antonio...what?” Denton pushed.

“A-Antonio Nicolas…” He shifted nervously, “Uh, Higgins,” he finished, finally looking up at Denton, who’s face hardened.

“Ah,” He said, nodding hesitantly. Darcy looked up, surprise etched into his features. Race bent forward so that he was leaning on the table and tugged at the hair on the back of his head- something he did when he was stressed, or trying to ground himself. He was rapidly cracking the fingers on his other hand and Albert could imagine that he was craving a cigarette. He always got more fidgety when an urge hit.

It was quiet for another moment, then Denton seemed to recover from his initial shock, “So, talk me through what happened last night.”

Race was back to staring intently at the table, so Albert took over, “Uh, so I was asleep, I don’t know if Race, er, Antonio was-”

“-I was,” Race mumbled.

Albert flicked his eyes over to him quickly before continuing, “Yeah, so we were asleep and then this like, knocking sound woke me up and at first I thought Antonio was tryna get into my room. But then after I woke up more I realized it was coming from the actual apartment door so I peeked my head out to investigate and Tony was also looking. And so then the knocking kept getting faster until it stopped, then uh, he- Giovanni- uh he started to use a knife to break in and he eventually got in while I was on the phone with 911 and he started saying really creepy shit to Tony, then tried to attack him so I tackled him and got the knife away from him and locked me and Tony in Tony’s bedroom,” Albert finished, leaning back in his seat while Darcy scribbled down his words. Albert could see that Race was shaking and he frowned. He was getting worked up again, Albert could tell.

Denton seemed to notice too, because he reached over the side of the table to grab a water bottle from the ground.

He slid it to Race, who held it between his hands, but made no move to open it.

“Thank you, Mr. DaSilva,” Denton said, “Mr. Higgins-”

Race flinched and Denton shook his head, backtracking, “Sorry, uh, Antonio, I just need to ask you a few questions about this.”

Race drummed his fingers on the side of the water bottle, “Okay,” he murmured.

“Okay,” Denton said. He looked like he would rather do anything than question Race, and Albert couldn’t blame him. The boy was a mess, “Who is Giovanni Higgins in relation to you?”

“He’s uh,” Race twitched his nose, “He’s my dad. I dipped when he...yeah.”

“You were present when he murdered his wife and daughter?”

Race winced and nodded and Denton sighed, “Alright, wow,” he shuffled through his file, pulling out a small piece of cardstock near the bottom, “Ah, yes, it does say he has a son. Alright,” he stowed the paper back into the file and crossed him fingers under his chin, studying Race and Albert thoughtfully.

“Do you have any idea why he’d seek you out?”

Race’s eyes flashed and he sat up straighter, “Why d’ya think? To kill me, dumbass.”

“Race..” Albert warned.

“No, it’s okay, I understand his stress,” Denton waved Albert off, “Did he say that? Or are you assuming?”

Race huffed, “He said he wanted to finish the job.”

“Alright, thank you,” Denton said, pushing his chair back and standing up, shutting off the tape recorder as he did so, “I think we have a clear enough report. You guys are free to go.”

Darcy stood too, gesturing for Albert and Race to follow them out of the room. Once they got back to the lobby, Denton addressed Race, “There’s a possibility we may need you to come back in for further questioning on Higgins’ case, so we’ll letcha know if that’s necessary.” Race’s face fell, but he didn’t say anything.

“Take care, gentlemen,” Denton and Darcy shook Race and Albert hands before disappearing into a backroom. As soon as they were gone, Race collapsed back into one of the waiting room chairs, rubbing his eyes with his fists. He was pressing hard, almost angrily and Albert reached down to gently pry them away.

“You okay?” he asked, quietly so no one else could hear.

Race shook his head, taking another moment to compose himself before standing up, “Let’s leave. He’s in here somewhere and I don’t wanna be near him anymore.”

Albert nodded, “Okay, yeah let’s go home.”

They caught a taxi home after realizing that they hadn’t actually driven themselves there. Race was quiet and withdrawn, as he’d been all week. Albert let him pick up a pack of cigarettes at a kiosk, so long as he promised to not actually smoke one. Race obliged, opting to simply hold it between his teeth. It seemed to relax him to some extent.

“Did you ever talk to Spot?” Albert asked, pulling out an earbud to look at Race.

Race didn’t move his head from where he was leaning it against the window as he answered, “No, but I should.”

“You don’t needa if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah, but I should,” A pause, “Can you, uh, can you come with me when I do it?”

Albert softened, “If you would like me too, of course.”

Race hummed, “Yeah, I would. Thank you.”

It was quiet for another moment, then, “I wanna do it tonight.”

Albert raised his eyebrows at the sudden turn around, “Yeah? Alrighty, that’s cool. We’ll have him around for dinner?”

Race nodded, “Okay.”

Albert sighed. It was going to be another long night.

—

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

part 4? lemme know

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[moriors]

thinking today about how weak giovanni is to his own loneliness. he'll say he's unfeeling and solitary until he's blue in the face but the only reason that ever rings true is because he isolates himself, he doesn't Let anyone be near him long enough to stick, to break through. the moment someone insists upon it, the moment someone stays, tries to hold him, make him dinner, keep him warm, bandage his wounds-----he's already starting to break. he will claim endlessly that he isn't lonely but the second he remembers the presence of another he's lost to it, just 'allowing' them to stick around to be 'polite' and 'appease them.' staying with someone because they have something apparently 'useful' to him when in reality he's staying because he can't tear himself away, because something there feels Good and relieving, like being alive, and he doesn't even notice.

and when he notices it, when he realizes his closeness with another, especially if they're mortal, he lashes out. he'll be mean, cruel, try to drive them away, and at a surface level it looks like he's lashing out at them-----but at the end of the day, he's not. he's lashing out at himself, a punishment, reminding himself that this isn't allowed for him and he shouldn't let himself slip up. hurting himself by pushing someone away before their death can hurt him worse-----when in the end, he's losing them anyways, he's hurt and set back a century of trying mindlessly to separate himself from humanity, making himself more and more lonely. and because of that loneliness, the cycle continues.

[the-darklings]

Kat im begging u 🅱️lease feed us that good vap! Hector food 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 i will give u anything ( sorry if this sent like 10 times the ask button wasnt working)

𝙑𝘼𝙈𝙋𝙄𝙍𝙀!𝘼𝙐:【01】| 【02】| 【2.5】|【03】|

.

The girl giggles. 

Stupid, reckless female. 

She’ll be dead within an hour.

She no doubt believes that a night of passionate sex and pleasure is worth the price of her blood. It might be. If the one with his arm around her wasn’t the one they call the Devil. 

You’ve heard stories about him only—the brutality, the debauchery, the recalcitrant loyalty towards Camorra, towards the vampire king. 

The man known to you only as Hector is a legend in his own right but for all the wrong reasons. 

Running into him, here in this city, had been an accident. You’ve been tracking another target. A violent necromancer who was getting a bit too pompous for his own good and reckless when practising the Unholy Arts. The order from the High Priest had been clear: removal. 

You were on track before the heat in your blood had flares at the shabby bar where humans mixed with the supernatural—often with deadly, bloody results. Still, humans who wandered into these gatherings knew full well what they were doing, and you felt little pity for those idiotic enough to accept food and drinks from fae and goblins. For those who thought that bargains could be struck to their advantage. Who sold their blood to vampires for a pretty jewel or pleasure. Some humans had gotten lucky, of course. 

There’s been plenty of stories about higher vampyr taking brides and grooms, bestowing immortality upon them. Sharing with them the sin of bloodshed.

The golden vampire prince and his silky voice offering you the world tickles the shell of your ear and your glower, shaking the silky, seductive memory away. 

The Devil of Camorra with his large frame sticks out even in the shadows. He has the presence of a hulking monster but it’s not fat his bones carry. There is deadly sort of grace about his muscular build and those broad shoulders.

The girl laughs again at whatever the vampire says and you wonder what Camorra’s most loyal vampire—the vampire they say answers to Giovanni only—is really doing here in this shithole of an alleyway. Aside from seducing young virgins desperate for affection and a promise of immortality. 

Hector pushes the female against the wall and she laughs again, her fingers snaking up his chest and the vampire whispered something in her ear that makes her stifle a moan. Your fingertips brush against the serrated edge of your holy blade as you stalk through the shadows, silent. 

“You can come out, you know,” a rough, cold voice slices through the dark alleyway but you linger in the shadows. “While I don’t mind an audience usually, in this case, the more the merrier.”

There is a smugness attached to that harsh voice as Hector’s head slants and his mercury eyes glow in the dark as they look towards you. The colour is so piercing that for a moment they remind you of the silver your blades have been forged from. 

You step into the dim light and his nostrils flare, his body swinging towards you. Such destructive, terrifying intensity in his gaze. He’s handsome in a brutal way. In an awful way that you imagine scares away most. He’s acid to D’Antonio’s honey—

“Well, well,” he voices with a taunting twist of his full lips. The female moves but Hector’s arm snaps out, his long inked fingers wrapping around her throat and the girl yelps in fear. Your grip on the blades constricts before loosening. Hector’s lips twitch again, knowing, curious. “With that overbearing fucking scent, you must be the one they call the Vipress. The Holy Hunter. Aren’t I lucky boy? Princeling’s newest obsession in the flesh, huh?”

You’re not sure what to make of the fact that he knows you because—

Because what? D’Antonio told him about you? 

The Devil’s eyes drag over your figure purposely and his lips quirk. “I think I can see the appeal.”

“Let the girl go.” 

He chuckles; a rumbling, deep sound. The type that chills one’s blood. He’s the type of creature you would pray to the gods above you won’t meet without a crucifix or holy water on hand.

“Or I tear her pretty throat out and we bathe in her blood,” he suggests lightly and his grip on the girl tightens. She’s not giggling anymore. You can barely see her against the shadows of the wall but the wet, spluttering sounds of her fear fills the humid night air. “Virgin blood. Impeccable. You, however,” he pauses, his nostrils flaring again and he hums, his eyes narrowing. “Smell fucking divine.”

“You do that and I kill you,” you inform him calmly, raising one of your blades and rotating the glinting, familiar metal between your fingers in a warning. “Maybe I’ll send your head back to Giovanni D’Antonio as a calling card.”

He exposes his teeth and you watch those fangs intently. The motion is purely predatory but your expression remains impassive. “Do you really think—”

Your blade slices through the air with blinding speed, silencing him.

The Devil of Camorra catches it before it manages to sink into his chest but the runes scorch through his skin and he drops it with a hiss, his grip on the girl faltering as he snarls in your direction. 

He manages to catch your other arm, his grip bruising and surprise reflects in those quicksilver eyes. No doubt at the speed with which you cut the distance between you. You jerk backwards on your heels, another blade slipping free and feel something cold and unmoving wrap around your throat as your arm snaps out.

Your dark shadow, your Jardani, is stronger.

But you are faster. 

The girl scrambles away with a sob as you stand at a standstill with the vampire before you. His fingers tight around your throat and your holy blade burning against the ink of his powerful neck. He reeks of potent sort of strength and although no pure blood runs through his veins, his power is unquestionable. The Holy Text on your back seems to blister anew. These damn fucking vampires. First the handsome prince and now this asshole. 

The tall vampire in front of you seems amused at your predicament—at the stalemate. “I’m going to eat you up,” he tells you, almost cordial, and you push the blade deeper against his skin. The skin sizzles but the vampire only grins wider, his fangs gleaming. His thumb scrapes against your pulse, his cold Camorra rings caressing your skin.

The audacity of him. 

“You haven’t lived long enough to stomach me,” you hiss under your breath, and swiftly bend your fingers till the blade in your other hand touches his skin. “Lux sancta.”

The Holy Text carved into your back flares with pain as does the light through your blades, burning away everything in your path as it explodes outwards. 

The vampire growls loudly, tearing himself away from you. The flash of light is brief but the Camorra’s Devil doesn’t manage to mask his pain completely as he stares at his charred hand. It will heal due to his power but it will be slow. Holy Light does not leave injuries lightly. 

The look on his face is as murderous as it is ravenous. “If it weren’t for my orders—”

He swallows and flexes his burned fingers, working his jaw at the agony he no doubt must be feeling. His eyes are no longer that pale, icy blue. They burn with that familiar rusted red and he grins; cold and harsh. 

“I’ll see you very soon, sweetheart.”

A damning, pitiless promise. 

Shadows engulf him. You stagger ahead and promptly collapse face-first onto the ground, your knees caving in.

Sweat drips down your brow, your back in agony and you recall the High Priest’s warning that you are not ready. That you need another Remaking before you are ever allowed to consider evoking the Holy Text. 

Too weak. 

But not in that dream, you recall through your feverish delirium. Not with the green-eyed prince.

Darkness swallows you whole, and then there is nothing.  

[xnadercrownboiofnorhb]

Of Knights and Dragons: Chapter 6, Alliances part 1

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Oh boy, here comes one of the most self-indulgent chapters of this entire fic. In Fire Emblem: Fates, there (surprisingly) isn’t much exploration into royal politics. To sum this chapter up: this is Fire Emblem meets Downton Abbey and all of the bullshit you would imagine to come along with that. I just felt the need to write needles romantic fluff. Sit back and enjoy the flower crowns, royal balls, and romantic drama I have written for you!

     What a change of pace it was to be seated within the delicate velvet of a royal Norhian carriage. Corrin dreamily watched the trees pass her by as she sat across from her sisters who had fallen asleep some time ago. They looked so peaceful there. Camilla with her head tilted and mouth agape, little Elise leaning into her older sister’s shoulder, snoring softly. Every now and again Corrin would review the intricate letter in her hands if only to reassure herself she wasn’t dreaming. A lovely little thing, an invitation written in charming calligraphy.  After carving out a name for herself on the battlefield, it didn’t take long for tales of Corrin’s valiant exploits to travel to the ears of other kingdoms. Particularly after word of the Rainbow Sage bestowing upon her, the legendary Alpha Yato spread. The Princess, who was previously hidden away in her tower by Garon’s order, was emerging into the free world, a champion of the Rainbow Sage - and it didn’t take long for various nobles to begin requesting audiences. 

    Prince Xander was quick to cast aside most of the formal invitations as they flooded in, the war left little time for petty formalities. However, this particular invitation was not to be overlooked. The correspondence came from an esteemed prince of a kingdom to the south, just beyond the borders of Nohr, and with it, promises of valuable resources the Nohrian army simply could not pass up. It simply requested attendance to a small feast in Lady Corrin’s honor. It was simple enough, if… ambiguous. The crown Prince and his younger brother Leo stayed behind to maintain a presence in Nohr, entrusting Camilla and her retainers the responsibility of Corrin’s safety. Of course, Elise invited herself along and there was absolutely no talking her down.

     They made for quite the caravan, the three princesses within the ornamental carriage, Gunter and Flora seated upright at the reins, and the quartet of retainers following behind on horseback. After two day’s travel, the royal band approached the northern gate of Mithia. Quite the contrast to Nohr, Mithia was a small, bright kingdom surrounded by the natural defense of steel, snow capped mountains. Tall, proud banners of mythril and silver bearing the royal Mithial insignia; a grand labrys encompassed by ornate antlers. 

      “Lady Corrin,” Flora cooed as she gently rapped at the carraige wall, “Please prepare to be received, we will be arriving shortly.”

   Corrin gently woke her sisters as the carriage passed within the tall threshold of the kingdom walls.

     “Wow!” Elise watched with wide, glistening eyes as they passed through the sleet cobblestone roads of Mithia. Commonfolk looked onto the carriage with warm, welcoming smiles. Stoic royal guards lined the path to the castle, each adorned in the deep indigo armor the kingdom was so well known for. Camilla herself was taken back by how… happy they all seemed. Was there once a time Nohr felt this warm? Higher, the caravan drew up towards the castle that stood high at the epicenter of the kingdom. They came to a halt just before the towering gate of the royal courtyard, Gunter seamlessly stepped down from his seat behind the horses to assist the princesses descend from the carriage. Elise was the first to come bounding out excitedly, spinning on her heels in wonder at the castle around her. Camilla was next, luxuriously stretching the slumber from her body, she walked on to join her little sister. Last, Gunter helped Corrin down, his hand tenderly lingering upon hers for just a moment longer than necessary. His small, quiet sign of affection earned a sweet smile from the princess. She adored these little moments, sharing knowing glances and subtle touches beneath the notice of others.    

     “Thank you, Sir Gunter.” She graced him with a slight curtsy.    

     “Of course, your majesty.” His low, sultry voice was honey to her ears. A young man came out to greet the princesses, fair tousled hair swept back over his pleasant face. He wore a pristine navy uniform, a crest cast from the kingdom’s trademark Mythril pinned to the breast of his fine coat.   

      “It is truly a pleasure to be the first the welcome you to our humble kingdom.” He bowed, “I am Tobias. I am privileged to serve as the royal stewart of Prince Giovanni.” He gestured politely towards the cobblestone path leading towards the open entryway of the castle. The path was lined with pleasant royal attendants who welcomed the Nohrian royalty.

       “The Prince is waiting just inside, he is so anxious to meet you all. If you would please follow me.” Tobias turned to lead the way. The castle courtyards consisted mostly of tall stone arches coiled with lovely Mithial poppies and fountains that sparkled with mountain spring water. Inside, two young attendants awaited the Nohrian royalty with small welcome gifts. Elise squealed with delight as she was presented a lovely flower crown made up of the blue poppies that decorated the castle’s exterior.   

       “Mithial poppies are truly a treasure,” a deep unfamiliar voice echoed, a dashing figure emerging from behind the tall ebony doors that led to the extravagant main hall. “There are few flowers that thrive in our high altitudes. They are strong and enduring, but also delicate and beautiful.” Adorned in glistening mythril armor with fine silver embellishments, the crest of Mithia planted at the heart of his breastplate, the man approached Corrin with a polite bow. He claimed her hand and softly planted a kiss upon it, “Very much like you. Lady Corrin, I presume?”    

      A red blush flushed over the faces of Camilla and Elise who swooned over the charm of the exotic prince. Corrin was absolutely flattered, but she felt a little strange; having never interacted with other nobles before she awkwardly coughed into the fist of her free hand.  

       Behind them, in the line of attendants Flora subtly jabbed her elbow firmly into Gunter’s side, drawing his focus away from the young prince he was unintentionally glaring daggers at. The unexpected jealousy that blossomed in his chest caught him off guard. Remembering himself, Gunter gave Flora a composed, if embarrassed nod. Flora chuckled softly to herself, oh how amusing it was to see the Great Knight squirm over their Nohrian Liege. 

      “It is truly a pleasure to meet you, Prince Giovanni.” Corrin offered a respectful nod. The Mithial Prince gifted her with a stunning smile. He was truly a handsome young man, thick waves of dark hair fell around his broad shoulders. Shining whiskey colored eyes upon sharp cheeks below thick arched eyebrows. Unlike the fair skinned citizens of Nohr, Prince Giovanni’s skin was a rich, warm olive with dark golden undertones. Mithia was, after all, a proud kingdom built off the backs of generations immigrants that braved the harsh mountainous terrain to claim the precious mythril hidden within. The result was a beautifully diverse populace, Prince Giovanni was a spitting image of that harmonious evolution.  

        “I assure you, the pleasure is all mine,” He stood tall and clasped his hands together as he nodded to both Elise and Camilla,  “You must be very tired from your travels. Please, allow my attendants to show you to your quarters. I hate to depart from you so soon, but I fear I have quite a bit of busy work to complete before the evening's festivities.”  

      “We look forward to it,” Camilla cooed, eyeing the man up and down. The Prince gave a final bow before departing from their presence, as he did, Gunter felt his shoulders relax. 

       “Please do follow us, your majesty!” Several attendants beckoned the princesses down an indigo corridor decorated with expensive fabrics and paintings. The Nohrian ladies followed, their retainers trailing behind. The Mithial attendants took it upon themselves to carry the luggage that Camilla, Elise, and each of the retainers brought with them.  

     “Allow me,” Tobias beamed, politely reaching for Princess Corrin’s belongings.   

     “It’s quite alright.” Gunter intervened with a grunt, claiming the delicate trunk in his arms. The nervous Tobias was uncertain how to react, a bead of sweat forming at his brow. Flora placed a reassuring hand upon his shoulder as they lingered behind the rest of the group. 

      “Please don’t mind him. Sir Gunter is quite protective of Lady Corrin.” She explained, “You must understand, this is her first audience at another kingdom after all. Nothing to take personally.”  

      “Oh thank the gods,” Selena, the crimson haired retainer of Camilla, could be heard complaining ahead. “I am so ready for a nap.”  

     “This evening can’t get here soon enough,” chirped Effie, the fair haired knight who watched over little Elise, “My stomach is aching for this feast.” 

      As they approached the end of the corridor, the group prepared to divide in seperate directions. Camilla took a moment to retrieve a small box from her luggage, a dainty box lovingly wrapped with lovely bow.   

      “This is a gift I had made especially for you darling.” She doted over her younger sister, pinching her cheek much to Corrin’s dismay. She drew close to whisper in her ear, “I think it will assist you with your rendezvous with Prince Giovanni tonight.” Without further explanation, Camilla wandered off towards her quarters. Before she could process Camilla’s cryptic message, her attention was taken elsewhere.  

      “This way, Lady Corrin!” Tobias beamed turning a corner and heading up a small spiral staircase that lead to a beautiful ornate bedroom that overlooked the Mithial mountain range.  

    “Tobias, would you mind showing me to the servants quarters?” Flora inquired drawing the young butler away.  

     “Yes, of course! We have actually prepared seperate rooms for each of you as well, if you would just follow me this way.” Tobias and Flora could be heard making pleasant conversation, fading away down the stairs and into the corridor beyond. Gunter gently placed Corrin’s trunk at the foot of the large, ornate bed as Corrin walked out onto the balcony to admire the horizon. 

    “Thank you for tending to my luggage, Gunter.” Corrin smiled as the Knight joined her in the crisp mountain air.  

    “You do not have to thank me each time I do what is expected of me, your majesty.”   

     “Regardless of your station, I like to remind you that you are truly appreciated.” the Princess turned to smile, but grimaced at Gunter’s sour expression. “What is bothering you?”  

  “Did Lord Xander elaborate at all on what Prince Giovanni was expecting out of this audience with you?”  

   “What do you mean?” Corrin looked at him quizzically. 

    “The way the Prince interacted with you... I hate to even entertain the idea, that perhaps for a few resources, you are being put on display for marriage candidacy.”   

     “Marriage candidacy? Gunter, don’t be foolish you know Xander wouldn’t stand for such a thing.”  

     “No, of course Xander wouldn’t. However, King Garon is an entirely different story.”   

“No. Absolutely not. I am simply here to make a public appearance to display our alliance. Nothing more.” The Princess frowned, shaking her head. She stubbornly folded her arms over her chest, denying the fear that began to take hold of her. Gunter had many years of experience in royal affairs and political strategy; the Princess did not. Never did it cross Corrin’s mind that she might one day be sold off to the highest bidder. Her heart sank into her stomach at the thought of being shipped off to some far away kingdom, was she truly destined to escape one tower just to become a prisoner of another?   

     The two stood in silence, looking out over the pastel expanse of the mountain range. Corrin turned to voice her worry only to have her words stolen by a firm, possessive kiss as the Knight pinned her to the balcony door. At once, she melted, her thoughts fluttering away as butterflies filled the anxious cavity of her chest. His lips burned reassurance into hers as his strong body firmly held her in place. She whimpered into his mouth, suddenly weak at the knees. She felt safe here in the security of his arms; surrounded by the fortress that was him. 

   “I swear to you Corrin,” Gunter’s hot breath rolled across her lips, “I will not allow your freedom to be taken from you. Never again.” 

   Corrin tightly wrapped her arms around the Knight, burying her face at the base of his neck. She had no words, but the passion of her embrace spoke volumes of her gratitude. 

    “Corrin, I…” Gunter slowly drew away from her having difficult forming the words he wished to say to her. “I…” He sighed, defeated. “I… must return to Flora before suspicions are raised.” Sharing a handsome, reassuring smile, he turned to leave.  

    “I do not deserve you, you know that?” Corrin called to him, admiring the Knight as he walked away.  

   “I believe you have that sentiment backwards, dear Lady Corrin.” He spoke sweetly without turning back to look at her. Princess Corrin stood breathlessly, now alone in her temporary quarters. A mess of emotions. She sauntered over to the gift box that sat neatly beside the ornate trunk that held her belongings. Carefully, her fingers worked to loosen the dainty ribbon, lifting the lid of the box to reveal what lay beneath.

Oh Gods, Camilla!

[pamphletstoinspire]

A Padre Pio Inspirational Story

Padre Pio – A Friend Forever – Part II

In the life of holiness, there are moments of profound obscurity when one must be buried like the seed that falls to the ground to die. . . When many years ago, a poor sick friar, Padre Pio, came to the monastery of Our Lady of Grace in San Giovanni Rotondo, he came only to make contact with God and to live in His presence. It is written in the Gospel, “You do not light a lantern to put it under a bushel.” And Jesus did not light a little lantern in Padre Pio, he kindled a bright sun, which was to give so much light, so much warmth to the whole world. — Father Peter Tartaglia ________

Carlo Campanini, the famous comedian and actor, met Padre Pio for the first time in 1939. Carlo had learned a little about Padre Pio from his friend, Mario. They were both working for a theater company at the time.

When Carlo and Mario knocked on the monastery door at Our Lady of Grace in San Giovanni Rotondo, they were greeted by Brother Gerardo. When they told the Brother that they were interested in speaking to Padre Pio, he told them that since it was Holy Week, it would be impossible. He explained that Padre Pio always suffered from the wounds of the stigmata, but his sufferings intensified during Holy Week. No one was allowed to visit him at that time. Carlo tried to convince Brother Gerardo to make an exception to the rule. He said that he and Mario had been looking forward to meeting Padre Pio with great anticipation. They had used their time off from work to make the trip from Bari. However, Brother Gerardo would not change his mind.

Instead of leaving, Carlo and Mario decided to stay at the monastery for a while. They walked around the grounds and made a visit to the little church that was connected to the monastery. They hoped that if they waited long enough, they might run into Padre Pio.

In order to pass the time, Carlo and Mario were cracking jokes and laughing as was their habit. It did not occur to them that it was disrespectful for them to be talking so loudly in a sacred place. Suddenly, one of the Capuchins came out of the church and complained about the noise they were making. The Capuchin happened to be Padre Pio. At once, Carlo noticed the strong odor of carbolic acid in the air. It was so strong that it caused his throat to constrict.

Many people noticed the fragrance of flowers or perfume around Padre Pio but when a strong odor of carbolic acid or sulfur or disinfectant was present when Padre Pio greeted someone, it usually indicated that the person in question needed to change his life. That happened to be true in Carlo’s case. At the time of his first visit to San Giovanni Rotondo, he was living a life that was very far from God.

Padre Pio asked Carlo and his companion to state their business. “We are two poor stage actors,” Carlo said. “We are all poor,” Padre Pio replied. “But why have you come to the monastery?” “We have come here to make our confession,” Carlo answered. Padre Pio told them both to prepare themselves and he would hear their confession after Mass the following day. As Carlo looked at Padre Pio, a certain fear gripped his heart and he began to tremble. He felt that his whole life was laid bare to Padre Pio.

The next morning, Carlo and Mario were present at Padre Pio’s Mass. It was the longest Mass that Carlo had ever attended in his life. He was out of practice, for one thing. Kneeling on the hard stone floor of the church caused him to feel severe pain in his knees. It was almost more than he could bear. He felt a great sense of relief when the Mass was finally over.

At the time of Carlo’s visit to Padre Pio, his greatest anxiety was that his work caused him to be separated from his children. He and his wife were always on the road, traveling from one city to another. Their children were living with one of their relatives. Carlo wanted to ask Padre Pio to pray that he could find work that would enable his family to be reunited. If it meant that he had to leave his acting career, he was prepared to do so. However, when he made his confession to Padre Pio, he could not bring himself to ask Padre Pio for anything. At the end of the confession, Padre Pio gave Carlo absolution, but before he did so, he made him promise to change his life. Carlo gave his word that he would make the necessary changes.

After visiting Padre Pio, Carlo returned to Bari and then moved to Rome. He found steady work in Rome that made it possible for his family to be reunited. It was a dream come true. He knew that Padre Pio had answered the secret prayer of his heart, the prayer that he had not been able to verbalize. Working as an actor exposed Carlo to innumerable temptations, temptations that he could not always resist. He felt guilty about his immoral lifestyle but did not have the will to make the necessary changes. Padre Pio had asked Carlo to amend his life, but he had not done so. For that reason, he did not want to return to San Giovanni Rotondo to see Padre Pio.

When Carlo won a leading role in a very successful film, his acting career began to soar. His photograph could be seen on the cover of numerous magazines and his name frequently appeared in the newspapers. People recognized him when he went out in public. He was offered starring roles in one movie after another and was making more money than he had ever dreamed of. But fame and fortune did not bring him the happiness he longed for. Spiritually, Carlo was in a dark place. He was depressed most of the time and was haunted by a feeling of emptiness. His life had lost its meaning and its joy. He longed for peace of mind and peace of soul and prayed to God for assistance.

One day, Carlo’s wife told him that the parish priest had spoken to her and suggested that their home be consecrated to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. They had even set the date. The priest wanted them all to receive Holy Communion on the day that their home was consecrated. That posed a big problem for Carlo. He would have to go to confession before he could receive Holy Communion. He dreaded the thought of it because he had many serious sins on his conscience. The embarrassment regarding what he would have to reveal in the confessional was very hard to think about. He did not know if he had the courage to go through with it. Carlo had not been to Mass or confession in a long time.

Carlo knew that it was important to his wife to have their home consecrated. He also knew that if he made a sincere confession, he would be obliged to change his life. He did not feel that he was ready to do that. He kept postponing the confession. Several times he went to church and stood in the confessional line but then lost his courage and left just before his turn came. He began to make one excuse after another to his wife. He finally told her that he was sorry but he would not be able to be there on the day the priest was coming to consecrate their home.

One day, Carlo made a visit to the parish of St. Anthony. He looked at the confessional line and knew that he would never have the time to wait in such a long line. “Please come to the front and take my place in line,” a stranger said to him. Carlo was surprised but he took the man’s place in line. Finally, he made a sincere and heartfelt confession and felt blessed to receive the grace of absolution. Carlo and his family were all together when their home was consecrated to the Sacred Heart of Jesus on January 8, 1950. With great joy in his heart, Carlo was able to receive Holy Communion on that day with all the members of his family. He wanted to tell Padre Pio about the wonderful changes in his life and decided to make a trip to San Giovanni Rotondo to see him. He had nothing to fear now. He had already confessed the sins of his past and he would never have to do so again.

In San Giovanni Rotondo, Carlo waited in line to make his confession to Padre Pio. In the confessional, Padre Pio told Carlo to kneel down and to begin his confession from the year 1936 forward. Carlo’s heart sank. He explained to Padre Pio that he had been to confession just two days before and had already confessed the serious sins of past years. But for some reason, it did not seem to matter to Padre Pio. He told Carlo for a second time, “Begin your confession from 1936. I know that you feel ashamed for the things that you have done in the past. You would rather that I did not know about them. But whether I know of them or not is of no importance. What matters most is that you have offended God by your sins. For some reason, that thought does not bother you.”

Carlo began his confession as instructed, but he kept his head lowered. Padre Pio called him a coward and said, “I want you to look at me as you confess your sins.” Carlo did so. After Carlo finished his confession, Padre Pio told him that he wanted him to once again make a promise to change his life. Carlo gave him his word that he would do so. This time he truly meant it. Finally, Padre Pio pronounced the words of absolution. He gave Carlo a Rosary and told him to pray it as often as he could. He promised Carlo that he would always be near to assist him in any difficulty. Before Carlo left the confessional, Padre Pio embraced him.

From that moment forward, Carlo’s life underwent a complete transformation. There was a great peace in his heart as well as a desire to lead a good Christian life. The next morning, Carlo was able to attend Padre Pio’s Mass. When he received Holy Communion from Padre Pio, it felt like a hot ember had been placed on his tongue. He felt the burning sensation in his mouth for several hours.

Before Carlo left San Giovanni Rotondo, he asked Padre Pio for his continued prayers. Carlo was aware that in some sense, his spiritual life would always be an uphill climb. He told Padre Pio that he was afraid of the temptations that he knew he would encounter once he returned home. Padre Pio said that it was good to be afraid of temptations, and that one should always have a certain fear of them. He advised Carlo to stay away from all the dark forces and satanic influences of the world. Padre Pio assured him of his spiritual support.

It was very evident that Padre Pio’s spiritual support was with Carlo through the ensuing years. Carlo attended Mass and received Holy Communion every day upon Padre Pio’s recommendation. With his work schedule, it was very difficult to do, but he always found a way to do it. He also turned down many starring roles in films. He was acting upon Padre Pio’s advice to never take a part in a movie that had immoral content. Padre Pio had explained to Carlo that the people who made such movies would have to answer to God for their actions. That included everyone from the producers to the actors to the carpenters who built the sets to the people who sold the tickets.

Padre Pio also warned Carlo never to tell off-color jokes or use bad language. If a movie script had even one vulgar word in it, Carlo would not consider being a part of the project. Movie directors and producers could not understand why Carlo was passing up such lucrative job opportunities. When they asked him for an explanation, he simply told them that he was a spiritual son of Padre Pio and that Padre Pio set a very high standard.

Whatever gains I had, these I have come to consider a loss because of Christ. More than that, I even consider everything as a loss because of the supreme good of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have forfeited all things and I consider them so much rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having any righteousness of my own based on the law but that which comes through faith in Christ. — Philippians 3:7-9 ________

In the summer of 1963, Antonio Ardillo became incapacitated by a stroke which paralyzed the right side of his body. When Antonio’s good friend Anna Rossi heard the news, she rushed to the hospital to visit him. Antonio showed her his arm and his leg, paralyzed and motionless. Anna felt very sorry for Antonio. She wondered what the future would hold since he supported his wife and children by working as a hairdresser and the family depended on him.

Anna told Antonio that as soon as he regained his strength, she and her husband would take him to the monastery church of Our Lady of Grace to seek Padre Pio’s intercession for his complete healing. Antonio was very happy to agree to the plan. Somewhere along the way his faith had grown cold and he had stopped attending Mass. He had not been inside the doors of a church for a long, long time. Nevertheless, he looked forward to the day when he could make the trip to see Padre Pio. After two weeks in the hospital, Antonio’s condition improved so much that he was released. The only sign left of his illness was a slight limp when he walked.

Anna and her husband along with Antonio and his son were soon able to make the trip to San Giovanni Rotondo. They attended Padre Pio’s Mass and were fortunate to be able to find seats in the front row. From time to time during the Mass, they became aware of a beautiful perfume, like a gentle breeze, that seemed to fill every corner of the church. Several times during the Mass, Padre Pio stared at Anna and Antonio. Anna had been praying, not only for a physical healing for Antonio, but also for a spiritual healing, so that his faith would be restored.

After the Mass, Antonio went to the booking office and signed up for confession. He had time to examine his conscience and to prepare himself for the encounter with Padre Pio. Finally, his turn came. He had only been able to say a few words in the confessional before Padre Pio stopped him. “You do not go to church on Sunday,” Padre Pio said. “But my profession obliges me to work on Sundays,” Antonio replied. “I also have to work on the Holy Days and Solemn Feast Days of the Church.” “But that is not acceptable,” Padre Pio replied. “Sunday is the Lord’s day and it must be kept holy. I will not be able to absolve you.” Antonio’s confession was over before it had hardly begun.

Antonio returned to his home full of sadness and disappointment. He had wanted Padre Pio’s absolution but had not received it. He decided to follow the advice of the holy priest. When he stopped working on Sundays, he felt the financial loss. Nevertheless, he was still able to provide for all of his family’s needs. He returned to the practice of his faith and felt a great peace in his heart. He never again missed Sunday Mass. The next time Antonio visited San Giovanni Rotondo, Padre Pio greeted him affectionately and appeared to be genuinely happy to see him. He comforted Antonio and spoke to him lovingly and at the end of the confession, gave him the absolution he had longed for. Antonio’s heart was filled with great and indescribable joy.

Antonio was a changed man. His wife, his children, and all who knew him could see the difference. He told Anna that he was happy that he still had the slight limp when he walked, the only sign of the stroke. It was a reminder to him of how Padre Pio had come into his life when he needed him the most, and set him on the right path. ________

In the beginning of the year 2000, I had a very strong desire to travel to Padre Pio’s shrine in San Giovanni Rotondo. The desire to make the trip was in my thoughts constantly so I finally made plans to go at the end of October of that year. I still did not understand why I was feeling such a strong pull to go there. In early September of the same year, my grandson was diagnosed with Neuroblastoma stage four cancer. It was a very aggressive form of cancer with no known cure. He was three and a half years old at the time. We were totally devastated with this news. My grandson was living in England. I live in Dublin, Ireland. I flew to England to help look after his older sister and to be with the family. I contacted Cathy Kelly, who runs the Padre Pio Information Centre, in Victoria, London, and she very kindly allowed me to take the mitten of Padre Pio to my grandson in the hospital. I gave Cathy my passport as good faith with the understanding that she would return it to me when I returned the mitten. We had the mitten resting on my grandson’s head all night, and I was begging Padre Pio to save this child.

My grandson had surgery at the Royal Marsden Cancer Hospital in London. A cancerous tumor which was the size of a golf ball was removed from his brain and he was given only four months to live. He was also given chemotherapy and radiation to his brain and spine. The doctor said that if he was to survive, he would have stunted growth as a side effect of this therapy. But the doctor did not believe that he could survive.

The following day, when I returned the mitten to Cathy Kelly’s office, I was totally overcome with a very strong fragrance of beautiful roses, which seemed to last for ages. I was emotional and crying and wondering what was it was all about. Cathy said that it was a sign that Padre Pio had heard my prayer. I understood then that Padre Pio would look after this child.

Now I had a reason to get to San Giovanni Rotondo, and while there I was up at the chapel door at 5 am when it opened and stayed at the tomb of Padre Pio until 8 am, talking to him and praying and begging him to heal our grandchild. I told Padre Pio that if our grandson recovered, I would do something for him. I really did not know at that time how I would help Padre Pio but I would find a way.

When I returned from San Giovanni Rotondo, I started the Padre Pio Devotions in Malahide, Dublin, as I had promised Padre Pio that I would do something for him. At first we held the devotions in the Carmelite Monastery in Seapark, Malahide but after six years we had to move to a bigger church because of the large crowds who attended. We are now at the Sacred Heart Church, Seabury, Malahide, Dublin. We meet on the first Friday of every month.

We have an organist and choir, and we start with Eucharistic Adoration, followed by Mass celebrated by Fr. Angelus, a Capuchin Priest, who blesses the people after Mass with a mitten of Padre Pio. We always have a packed Church, with 300 to 400 people in attendance, and Fr. Angelus tells us lovely stories of Padre Pio during his homily. Last September, the members of our Prayer Group bought a beautiful statue of Padre Pio in San Giovanni Rotondo. It was shipped to Dublin for our Padre Pio Devotions which have been going now for fourteen years.

Every year in September, I organize a pilgrimage to Italy. I have been doing this yearly for the past fourteen years. During our trips, we have visited Rome, Assisi, Cascia, the Holy House of Loreto, Lanciano, to see the first Eucharistic Miracle, Mount St. Angelo, where St. Michael the Archangel appeared, San Giovanni Rotondo, and more. We usually have a group of around 50 people each year. In San Giovanni Rotondo, we visit all places associated with Padre Pio, his cell, his old tomb, the beautiful new tomb where his body can be seen, the friary, the hospital, and the English office, where we see a video of Padre Pio and get a blessing with some of his relics. We also visit Manopello, the shrine of the Holy Face.

Our grandson is nineteen years old now and is 5ft. 11 inches tall and is in very good health. We are forever grateful to Padre Pio for this favor and for so many other favors given to our Prayer Group members over the years. It is amazing how Padre Pio gets hold of you in so many ways and gets you working for him. He got hold of me at first when I had the strong desire to visit San Giovanni Rotondo, even before I knew that my grandson was ill. I never dreamed I would organize the Padre Pio Devotions in Dublin or the pilgrimages to Italy but I really love to do this. Padre Pio makes you work hard for him. He is our great friend!— Noreen Handley ________

We must relearn our devotion to the Cross. It seems too passive to us, too pessimistic, too sentimental - but if we have not been devoted to the Cross of Jesus in our lifetime, how will we endure our own Cross when the time comes for it to be laid upon us? A friend of mine, who depended for years on kidney dialysis and who realized that his life was slipping away from him moment by moment, once told me that as a child, and later as an adult, he had a special devotion to the Way of the Cross and had often prayed it. When he heard the frightening diagnosis of his illness, he was at first stunned; then suddenly the thought came to him: What you have prayed so often has now become a reality in your life; now you can really accompany Jesus; you have been joined to him by his Way of the Cross. In this way, my friend recovered his serenity, which thereafter illuminated his countenance to the end of his days. — Pope Benedict XVI