#I also am very into the box office at the moment and am eager awaiting barbenhiemer results to start coming in

[adara-writer]

A Comparison of Kudos Over Time on AO3 on Two Fics

I'm a big numbers nerd, and one thing I like to do is to track how many kudos each of my fics get per day, via the daily emails ao3 sends. For my two fics in the Six of Crows Fandom, I've been fully tracking them since posting. Today, I went through and updated the spreadsheet where I collect and graph all of this data (although the emails aren't perfect, they are very helpful for being able to deal with the data later).

First, here are the graphs for both the kudos over time and the kudos gathered each day for my multi-chaptered, fairly popular fic:

So there's a few interesting thing to note here. There's an obvious spike in kudos when a new chapter is posted, likely from the fic being bumped back up to the top of the search results. The bump from finally being finished lasted two days (with the second day actually being slightly higher than the date I actually posted the final chapter). This double bump probably comes from readers who only read complete fics, but could not finish the 40k word fic in one day. Additionally, the kudos have slowly tapered off since the final chapter has been posted, but they seemed to have roughly stabilized with 1-7 kudos per day. Additionally, the fic has received kudo every day, except for when ao3 went dark, and that might be an error with the email system going down.

And now for the one shot that was less popular:

These graphs are also not surprising, although perhaps disappointing from an author's perspective. There was one large spike when the fic was posted, which quickly trailed off. There are no additional kudos bumps from posting new chapters, and there are far fewer new kudos each day. This fic was also posted after the multi-chapter fic was finished posting and it was posted for an event, but it trailed off faster. This could also be because it was much shorter (1.4k vs 40k words), or that that subjects were less interesting to readers in this fandom.

I am going to start posting the sequel to the long fic this weekend, so I look forward to charting that as well. I also may at some point compare guest vs registered users kudos, as I have all of that data as well, but I'm not sure what to do with that yet. And if you made it this far or have any thoughts, please let me know!

[commonalex]

future ready

future ready by common alex

Listen/download: future ready by common alex

It was around three months after I've been fired. I didn't dare to talk about it much, but it wouldn't that much of a mystery for someone to figure out why the short chick with the plaited hair isn't on the cash register giving wrong change to the old ladies anymore. To be perfectly honest, I was pretty devastated that I managed to fail even at working at the supermarket, where all you needed to get a grip was knowing how to count, wearing an "Olga" tag like a war medal, and acting like everything's okay at all times. Maybe that's why I ended up sneaking into it like a thief that day, out of stubbornness. It was the last sense of routine I had while everything was going under outside the window.

I could barely get out the bed before four in the afternoon. And when I did, all I had planned was dragging my body before the tv to catch some telemarketing and dumb commercials until the sun was out again and I successfully forgot who I am and what I'm going through. Because what other choices did I have really? For the last two years I was jumping from one dead end job to the next, either until I get fired or until I quit. I was leaving on benefits and a sad amount of savings, and I was starting to accept the fact that this would be my life from now on. Like, what else did I really have to rely on? Studies? Big deal, the world wouldn't end with just one english teacher less. Friends? Don't get me started. Family? All I was left with was a mother with a mission to make me feel horrible every time we spoke on the phone because I wasn't bothering to go see her. But even if I did, what would I have to say to her? I was mentally collapsing. So I said "leave it for now" and kept the thought pushed back for later. That's the reason why on that particular day I didn't pick up whenever my mom was ringing this cherry ericsson I had at the time. It wasn't like I really needed to answer, I already knew everything by heart.

"Have you seen how this girl you used to hang out at school does lately, Olga?".

No, mom, I haven't. It's been like ten years since I finished school.

"She's studying this thing you used to like, she got settled, she even has her own house".

Well done for her I guess, and?

"And you?".

I don't know what the hell I'm doing with my life anymore, mom.

"But don't you ever think about your future?".

My long awaited future, huh? What a glorious future that was. It was so good, half of the people I used to know didn't make it halfway through.

Outside things were a bit more casual that the deep existential turmoil that was described by the news at the time, yet I was indeed shocked by that eerie amount of silence that was stretching through the cold winds that was piercing my purple coat. I could hear a tv screaming from two blocks away and the screeching roars of the phone lines echoing around the city, but there was barely any human voice left. I was only catching some mumbles and grunts here and there as I was jumping out of fear every time I had to turn around a corner. So it was just like everyday Athens, only with a little more of snow and fear of getting mugged. My social atrophy made me feel like I was being chased as the surrounding landscape was rapidly being stripped from anything that was reminiscing of a typical day. Like, that was the first time I ever saw people looting kiosks and butcher shops. I only managed to see like three to five people with their backs hunched, covering their faces while carrying those huge gray tv screens with the vhs player still attached or fifteen bags of chips, with their eyes moving around uncontrollably. All I had in my mind seeing these scenes was the word "brutalization". Maybe because all this time I wasn't fully aware of what was going on, or maybe because the news told the truth for once.

I snuck from the side door where the staff entrance was, because all the glass on the front of the supermarket was smashed to pieces and I didn't like the thought of my hands sliced open. It was a mess on the inside and the aisles stood empty like sad metal canyons. People must have broke in trying to get all the toiler paper and canned foods left in the previous weeks. From the expired milk bottles at the back to the unstoppable static noise of the refrigerators in front of me, there were all those special little touches to make me feel like I was working in this hole of a job again. And no, I did not bother searching for supplies. Instead, I walked around like I was out shopping with my mom, opening the boxes of the diabetes flavored cereal that no one bother to take, just to steal their toys. I also found a bunch of unopened boxes of the supermarket's very own faux chocolate milk (yes, the one with the dark industrial waste left on the bottom) that was probably expired as well. But, I was a lady, right? So I took some of them to the cash register, because Olga ain't no petty thief. I got around my place of work and scanned the bottles to find out that they cost something less than three hundred and seventy-five million. "Luckily, I don't have to calculate any change now", I thought. Never before have I ever experienced such relief while being there. I was sitting in the same place I was rotting for hours before the world turned to shit, and I was patiently waiting for a huge line of old ladies to pop out of nowhere just to ruin my vibe with their pension money bills. I almost started to miss all of those stuff. This must meant that things have really turned to shit.

The new millennium have begun just like any other year, against the disappointment and secret eagerness of some people. All that screaming about the revelation, the second coming of Satan, the aliens, and the revolution of the machines faded miserably as the days went by and absolute destruction was not to be seen. Yet, at least. Because the first planes that crashed mid-flight in South Africa and Indonesia didn't appear before the end of January, but all were like "okay, technical problems". And when missiles were accidentally landing on Iraqi cities, people were like "well, what to do, technical problems yet again". Only when the bank deposits got erased people started to cry and run like headless chickens. Young people now would call me cynical, but you had to be there to see it. It was crystal clear that people had all of their hopes and dreams for tomorrow stored into a single digit of a computer. A kind of tomorrow which was now failing to promise anything anymore in front of millions of simultaneous personal bankruptcies. Then the reactors in Italy exploded due to a system failure and tomorrow officially died. This tomorrow that we were told would bring everything to us, from cancer treatments to all of Britney's music stored in a tiny mini-disc. From flying cars to underground metros. From huge tv screens for each living room to the giant digital information highway better know as the INTERNET. Nowadays all of these sound so silly, but the pain in the faces of people from the betrayal of their dream did not seem to go away. Until mid-February, everyone lost their minds. Those who saw all of this coming ran away in fear of the new Chernobyl to leave the rest of us behind to die. Shops, services, offices, all ceased to have any actual reason to exist in from of the impending disaster. All you could see around anymore were padlocks, deflated bodies on the street from people that couldn't take it anymore, and some shadows of people left to wander like animals while pretending to be alive. Maybe that's why the tv was constantly playing commercials and other irrelevant bullshit during all of this, it was the last useful thing they could show to the people that were preparing for the grand finale.

But that grand finale wasn't so tangible for me. Everyone had this type of end predetermined, but this panic of theirs seemed more like a slightly less shallow version of the preexisting self-preservation to me. I wasn't convinced by those who screamed that the world was over simply because it already happened to their world. Like, just as Rome wasn't built in one day, their illusions weren't shattered overnight. I mean, at that time the supermarket was filled with those obnoxious promotional banners featuring the new slogan that was everywhere lately, before things change for the worse. They had the "FUTURE READY" catchphrase in large white letters that spread noisy and ridiculous lacking any particular meaning as everything was collapsing. What future exactly was that slogan referring to? The future in general, as a concept of time and space? They wouldn't have thought that out that much. Was it the future of humanity from now on? I wouldn't be so concerned for this with all those rich fucks that had already kissed as goodbye from their shelters, we were far from being extinct and in maybe less that ten years we could wake up with someone like Will Smith ruling the world. No, the catchphrase probably meant that future with the flying cars and the internet. The future only fools would believe it would come (and yes, people actually believe that). That future we lost just as fast as we were promised for it.

So in short, we were crabs in a bucket, pulling each other down in excruciating depths. This wasn't living nor surviving; we more or less kept on functioning like bio-robots with depression. But for me, things weren't looking so grim. "Look at me", I would say, "I reached twenty-nine and haven't done crap to be proud of, I drink expired chocolate milk and I'm secretly glad the world is ending because every day was borderline unbearable for me anyway, so how good would the future be for someone like me?". Nowadays the denial of any form of reality in this reasoning stands out, but at that moment I was reaching redemption. I was now reassured by the thought of the end, acting like a barrier that could block this endless loop that was running relentlessly against me. "So finally", I said to myself, "let's calm down once and for all". I was spinning around in the cashier's chair like a silly kid and was finishing up the bottles of milk like there's no tomorrow, while convincing myself that once everything goes to hell, my torment is over.

My phone’s vibrating through my coat cut me off the carefree twirling around my craziness. "Mom" was flashing on the screen again, but by that point I couldn't be bothered for explanations. Still, the dialogue kept running automatically like a script inside my head.

"I just can't get you. Do you keep on acting unbothered by the world? Even now? Who are you trying to convince anymore, Olga? Me? Because I know you have roughened up out of fear".

Well, truth is I was actually fearing you would start with that kind of shit again.

"You are getting more and more difficult to talk to. You are basically denying something we both clearly see at this point".

We seem to say the same exact thing, ain't that something? I guess I was kinda doomed from the start to be and look just like you.

"You really do me dirty with all these conclusions you're drawing out of anger".

Okay, so what? Did you get upset?

"Why are you angry at me, Olga? Can I hear you say it, just for once?"

I don't have the time for this thing again, mother, I need to enjoy my remaining days over here.

"How much do you think this will last for you? When will you stop stalling and start looking after you and your future again, Olga?"

What future do I have, really, are you kidding me?

-Are you talking to yourself, ma'am?

I almost slipped out of the chair. I had never experienced such horror before. I was barely held off the bench to help me  get up again slowly with my heart sinking to my stomach, only to see a little girl with plaited pigtails looking at me half-frightened. She wasn't over nine years old, judging by the face and the childish dress she wore under this puffy purple coat.

-Why are you here? Where are your parents?

-Over here, come and take a look! But mom told me not to talk to strangers!

That of course made zero sense to me. Just like it made zero sense for a child to be left alone in a destroyed supermarket with the sun setting outside. I asked for the girl's name, nothing. I asked again, she hid her puzzled frown behind her pigtails trying to playfully imitate my posture with her hands on my waist.

-I'm Olga, I work here. And you?

She started to say something and suddenly changed her mind, running like hell to the back. I was confused thinking how would I look like to someone who saw me chasing a little girl in there, but then I reminded myself that probably nobody would be left to live to the end of this month, so I wouldn't be considered crazy for too long. I began running under the flickering ceiling lights and with each step I had to swallow my vomit. This little girl felt sorry for me in the end and stopped to wait for me at the end of the far right aisle, leaving one sleeve of her huge coat to stick out on purpose. I approached with an awkward smile and glanced at the strange grace she had on her face, with those weird baby hair that can't be caught for nothing in plaits pointing upwards. Despite my awkwardness, the girl stood unworried and expressionless as if I put her on timeout. I asked her name again. She slips away from a second time and runs like the wind, squealing something at lime while zigzagging the aisles.

-You should probably pick it up!

My phone was stabbing my pocket. It was "Mom" yet again, but I really wasn't in the mood for "Mama". I had to pick up my lungs from the floor at the top of my priorities, because this little devil wasn't running but galloping like a damn horse. I finally caught up with her in the aisle with the products of the day and tightly grabbed her by the shoulders. The little devil screamed and was banging her feet in pain. My hands had been too coarse for people after all this time.

-Hey, ma'am, did you get angry? I was just playing with you.

-I'm don't have time to play right now, please go to your mom.

-But I told you, My mom's right here.

"Where is "here"?

With just one finger sticking out of the sleeve, she pointed to the right middle shelf at the end of the aisle. She put her finger before her mouth to stop me from talking and I followed her on tiptoes. When we approached the end of the aisle and my eyes got used to the darkness I saw a woman laid inside the empty shelf. She was in her sixties and wearing an old black nightgown with holes on it. From her short hair down to her nails, there were ice flakes stuck everywhere as if she was just found buried in the snow. Her face with her eyes closed was carrying such an expression of pain and torment. I was so weirded out that something made me want to follow those ice streams that filled her skin's scratches with my fingers, however her body felt so stiff I jumped back. She looked more like a porcelain doll than an actual person.

-Ma'am Olga? Are you alright?

I threw up all the chocolate milk I drank. My body got the chills and my teeth were trembling so much that my breath was coming out in sharp puffs in front of the flickering lights of the refrigerators. I must have look like shit, because I scared the little girl for good and made her get five steps back from me while I was going crazy and trying to clear my eyes from the shock.

-Why is she here?

-Nobody wanted her. Nobody called to take her.

I didn't pay much attention. I pulled out my cherry ericsson to call for help, but the chaotic hum of the phone lines echoed in the aisle before I even put the phone to my ear.

-Who put her here?

She was just staring at me. I asked again and again. She let her lower lip half open. I grabbed her by the shoulders like before and she pulled out a choked scream due to my clumsiness. She started crying and feeling loose in my hands. It was then that I felt like something broke inside me and I crawled away from her because she would pass out in any second just by looking at the state that I was. I sat on the floor watching her wipe her tears from a distance, all while fixing her plaits and stressfully straightening the dress inside her coat. Every now and then she would throw these incoherent excerpts from conversations that seemed weirdly familiar, waiting for me to remember the answers I had given to each of the discussions. I felt sick, like my insides would explode at any moment. My mind was working overtime and I started seeing red. I understood, but I did not want to accept it.

"But how?" I was saying again and again. I can't just live through this stuff. I was thinking that maybe that's it, we are officially past this tomorrow. Maybe that was the end of the world and the time I had at my disposal. Only instead of cloud islands or pits with flames I was stuck inside this supermarket with a little girl and a dead woman. Was this fitting? Not really. It might be considered symbolic, but still not at all subtle. That's why I was stuffed with anger and distress. I couldn't digest what to feel after all that I saw. And what was the meaning of all of this? To make me feel remorse? To help me maybe? But how? So many questions hanging above my head I began to feel like I was melting from the uncertainty. Luckily, the little girl found some courage to pick me up from the floor.

-You still don't recognize her, do you?

-I recognized her just fine the first time.

-Are you sure, ma'am Olga?

-I don't know, what do you say?

-You tell me.

-We have to get out of here, kiddo. We can't get through it like this. Even now, with everything else going to hell with us.

-Do you really want me to come with you?

-I don't know. Maybe I want to, maybe I should.

The phone started screaming again. It was dimming "Mama" with small flakes of ice filling its broken tiny screen. The girl bent down and put this in my palm with no emotion on her face. I answered it. I waited for an eternity so thin you could fit it inside a moment like this. "Hello? Mom?". Eventually the same confusing static noise creaked from the other side of the call, and I stuck there waiting through the buzzing to find her smoker's coughing that she used to do before starting to complain about how I constantly forget about her. Waiting just to tell her that I was here, I was fine, and the world might not end there. Maybe, somewhere, somehow, there's even some future we can fit in it.

-So are we ready now, ma'am Olga?

-Ready for what?

She pointed at the banner hanging from the ceiling.

-Future ready.

I didn't catch my mother's voice at the other end of the line, of course. I hung up and weakly threw the phone on the shelf where the woman was laying, just to hear its dying snout. This felt way more fitting.

-Nah, not really. But it probably does not matter right now.

-But. I'm scared.

-I'm scared too, being in here and all.

-So when will we be back? When everything was normal again?

-"Normal" may no longer exist. We'll just have to see. For now, get up.

-You know better, ma'am.

-Ma'am my ass.

The little girl glanced just once at the self with the phone on and continue to walk with me, with her palm lost and warmed up somewhere inside my own palm. An analog clock on the wall pointed somewhere after nine o clock and the sky was bruised from the clouds that were pouring snow on everything around us. I put my hand with hers in the pocket of the miserable purple coat and lifted our hoods to escape the cold on the way home. I don't really remember how long we walked with our backs hunched over somewhere between the white and the gray. I only recall that we took the long way home, like a punishment of some sorts.

Thinking that I would never hear again the saltiness in my mom's voice was my most bitter torment. I never thought of such a possibility. I always had in the back of my mind that she would find a way to defy any rule of the universe, just so she could care for me. That's science fiction, after all. It seems I was holding on to my illusions for so long, so waking up hurts like hell even today. And if my mom died, I believe she must've left with that pain and concern during her last moments. "Look at me now", I catch myself saying here and there "I avoided her only until I had to mourn her". Until then, the only thing I had on my mind was working on what I should say when I would get asked about her, only to answer that we "fell off" with no emotion. What exactly happened to fall off with her would be like unnecessary little details. Still, to this day, that's exactly what I tell people when it's being brought up. I can't talk about it without sinking in remorse. I can't get the right words to come out anymore, not even by force.

Of course I tried to find her. Especially with the years that were to come upon me, I needed this to have my mind calibrated just to not go crazy over the batshit hysteria that was building up inside of me. Deep down, though, I knew I didn't have the courage to look at past trauma anymore, and I was secretly hoping I would never fine here. Maybe because the end of the world not coming anymore, at least as I thought it would, and now I have to live with it forever. Maybe because the worst that could have happened to me in the end was the postponement of the apocalypse. And this falls heavily on my shoulders to this day. Every day I have to justify why it was worth it to stay behind, either as punishment or by luck, trying to convince myself that there is something left to do with the leftovers of my future.

[deceptive-jo]

Who am I to you?

Based on this post where I said I wasn’t gonna do it. Not part of my Brotherly Divination AU.

The Actor lost his best friend years ago. Meanwhile the Host just tries to live in peace with the other egos and Dark. But is that all there is to it or might there be a past and future for them?

TW: death, mention of lost body parts (It’s the Host what do you expect), manipulation, loss of a loved one, cursing

Words: 2.909

@blood-stained-ink I have a feeling you might want to look at that.

Author loved the Actor. That was a fact, they were both aware of it and it was completely up to them what they made of it. Currently that meant small kisses in passing, hot cups of tea and a warm blanket whenever one of them fell asleep on their desks and cuddles in front of the fireplace after waking up from yet another nightmare. It was enough. Honestly, being able to live in peace in their cottage and continuing to work was more than he could have hoped for. So what if Dark wanted to come over to bother them from time to time? He could go back to hell for all Author cared. It was not like he had a place to judge their relationship as long as he had that pink maniac running around. So what if they were a pair of egoistical assholes that killed people from time to time? That was nothing less then the other Egos could say about themselves. Well, maybe King, that boy was precious. No, Author was content, as long as he had his partner and a successful novel from time to time.

Speaking of- “Where did you put my baseball bat?”, the yell rang through the house to catch the attention of a certain performer in his bedroom. The Actor, or Marc as called by most, turned away from the mirror he was fixing his hair in front of and marched out of the room. “What do you mean? You put it back in your room after last time- Wait are you going out?! We’re supposed to be at the restaurant at 7!” Author dragged his hand through his hair. Right, the dinner Ace had planned. “I’m gonna be quick”, he yelled upstairs not bothering to search for his bat. He’d have to do with his pen and notebook then. He was already half out of the front door when he caught the “Don’t get any blood on your clothes”. ‘Don’t worry, love’, he thought to himself, ’I am going to look my best just for you.’ With that thought and a last grin the door slammed close behind him.

The Actor paced back and forth in the living room, throwing a hurried glance towards the front door and listening intently for any sound the back door might make. Nothing. What ever the hell was ‘quick’ for that asshole? Sure, they still had 10 minutes left but Author knew how much he hated to arrive in the very last secound if he could avoid it. But they’d just have to go through the void. If only this idiot would finally come back. But Author did not come back. Not in the next 10 minutes. Not the next hour. Not even the next day. It was after waking up on the couch for the secound time in a row that Marc decided to start searching for his friend. So he wandered through the forest for hours, trying to pick up any trace Author or his ‘victim’ could have left behind. Nothing. Then the actor went into the city, checking the cafes and restaurants they frequented, the book shops his best friend would sometimes spend hours in, but again, nothing. No one he asked had any recollection of seeing the Author the last days. Marc even sifted through the void for 4 days in a row steering clear only of the blue-red pulsating area that was Dark’s aura. After two weeks he stopped searching. He didn’t know if that was an appropriate time or if he should search longer. To be completely honest, he hadn’t really lost a person before like that. The last person to not come back to him was Celine but he still knew where she was back then and he refused to think about the implication this left for his current situation. Truth be told, he also didn’t like the other implications that left. The man sighed, slumped over on his desk staring at the small ring box in his hands that had become increasingly heavy in his pockets over the last days. Where the hell was his best friend?

The Host didn’t remember much. In fact, before a certain point in his life his mind drew a blank slate. When waking up the man found himself unable to see. The room smelled of hand sanitizer and peppermint. A hospital perhaps? But why would he be in a hospital? The next he knew a person appeared at his side and the scent of peppermint and hand sanitizer grew stronger. “Hello Host. My name is Dr Iplier. I’m going to change your bandages real quick then Dark will want to speak to you”, a male’s warm voice reassured him. The Host – was that his name? It seemed so peculiar – had many questions but he still kept them in while the doctor was at work. After that he couldn’t feel him leave the room but instead another presence joined him and suddenly the Host was glad that the doctor stayed. This presence was different, repressing and dark. The new man set himself next to the Host and began to talk in a deep, echoing voice, for a long time. He told the Host that his name was Darkiplier and that he was the leader of what he called ‘Egos’. Apparently the Host was one of them. They took him in after finding him on the forest floor, unconscious and with his eyes ripped out of his skull. The Host was still very confused but Darkiplier was there to explain most of his questions. Whenever he awoke in the hospital bed in the manor’s clinic Dark sat next to him, no matter how late it was. He was there to comfort him after he had another nightmare, more wild and obscure pictures just flunked around in his head. It was Dark who helped him figure out how his new sight worked and when he had his first vision that left him thrashing and screaming it was Dark who appeared and calmed him down. When he was allowed to finally leave the clinic Dark awaited him in the hallway and took his arm. While escorting him through the manor Dark did most of the talking. That was alright. The Host was more then content with listening to his boss (friend?) complaining about the Jim’s newest shenanigans. He just contributed his occasional nod or short remark and in no time they arrived at his room close to Dark’s.

The next months passed in a rush. Despite mostly staying in his bedroom, the library he discovered soon and Dark’s office he still became well enough acquainted with the rest of the hosehold. RJ and CJ were always eager to listen to his stories, Bim liked to spend his rehearsal time before a show in his room and even Google tolerated his stay in the android’s office whenever the Host wished to escape the chaos of the house. But over it all it was Dark who he was closest to. Whenever he could spare the time the entity would visit the Host in the library for a game of chess, a talk or simply to read in the semi-silence of the room. The first time he touched him the Host still repulsed, startled. But Dark didn’t seem annoyed to announce himself before making a move and soon the seemingly random hand on his arm or shoulder brushes became a regular thing between the two of them. He had a feeling they were more and more trusting towards each other. The Host knew that it was no use to try and lie to his friend and Dark was aware that he could hardly keep a secret from him. So they didn’t. Besides Dr Iplier was Dark the only one to have seen the Host’s empty eye sockets. Whenever Dark would have an episode his friend would know and help him with his chronic pain as good as possible.

The Host assumed this to be a normal thing until he noticed the reactions of the others and how Dark always seemed to distance himself to them somewhat, or how he seemed to never enter any of their offices in a non-business related matter. After this revelation he also began to notice how the others treated him in a seemingly overly conscious way as well as the looks Wilford would throw him sometimes that he couldn’t quite place. Something had changed with his closeness to Dark and he didn’t like the effect it had on his relationship with the other Egos.

But all that didn’t matter right now. In this moment the only thing that mattered was Dark’s arm around his, pressing the Host close to his chest. His chin rested on his head and the man’s hand gently stroke his hair, twirling his blonde streak of hair around his grey fingers. “What is on your mind, dear?”, mumbled the demon who had noticed his friend to be in deep thoughts once again. “The Host was just thinking about the other Egos. He noticed how their behaviour regarding him has changed over the last weeks. They appear to have become more...distant towards him.” The fingers in his hair stopped just for a moment before picking up their motion again. Dark hummed, “Don’t worry about them. Who knows what’s gotten into them. They’ll get themselves together again, I’m sure. You should get your mind off of these thing. I’ll invite you to dinner.” That actually took the Host off guard, “W-What would bring Dark to such an offer?” “Can’t I just take out my boyfriend?” “Boyfriend?”, when had that happened? Had he not interpreted the change in behaviour right? Dark chuckled behind him, “That wasn’t supposed to slip out. I can take it back if you want me too.” “No”, the Host mumbled. He didn’t move his head, just slowly raised his left arm before his hand got grabbed by Dark’s, “the Host wouldn’t be opposed to that.” “Wonderful, I will come by at 7 to pick you up”, and with that and a quick kiss on his head Dark was out of the room. Leaving the Host behind, alone with his thoughts.

It was exactly 7 pm when the Host heard a knock at his bedroom door. He opened the door, trying not to look as if he had been standing behind it for several minutes already. Dark smirked down at him looking somehow even sharper in his suit than usual. He reached forward before stopping himself as if he had to remind himself of something. What was it- right, the Touch-Rule. Why had they put that up again? It was not as if he would mind, right? “Your tie is crooked”, a moment later he felt quick hands redoing and adjusting his tie. “You look good”, came from his escort as he took his arm and began guiding him down the corridor. The Host beamed at the compliment. He had found a suit in the back of the wardrobe that he didn’t even remember owning. He did not know why it seemed so important for him to impress Dark all out of a sudden. But that was normal for boyfriends, right?

Dark watched his pet as he rambled on about his latest works. He did look just as handsome in the suit as he had imagined. ‘Yes, I can definitely make this work’, he thought to himself. By now all his moves had played out in his favour, from gaining the seer’s trust and affection to wiping his memories. It hadn’t been easy, he had to admit that, but in the end it pay out. When they found the Author in the woods, alone and unconscious, they had to take the chance they got. Host would be thankful for knowing that he freed him from this obnoxious personality and the Actor’s influence were he ever to regain his memories. Not like that was going to happen any time soon.

The Host was...content. He should be happy. Maybe he was. Technically his life hadn’t changed. He still spend most of his time in his office, writing and recording. Bim and the Jims didn’t come to his room quite as often. Dr Iplier rarely talked during their appointments any more. He hadn’t seen the rest of the group for days, or was it weeks? He found it hard to sleep, often falling asleep only in the early mornings which usually resulted in Dark bringing him breakfast. That was the one constant in his life: Dark. And while he still stopped by from time to time and they spent most nights together...there was something keeping them at the points they were now. They didn’t grow apart, you couldn’t say that, but there seemed to be this one topic that stood like a wall of glass between them – the Host’s past. He still couldn’t recall exact memories (not like he was trying to) but much like with the Egos he managed to catch onto certain auras and atmospheres. And while those surely changed – from wild green swirling in deep oak brown over baby blue tinted with cold metal to flashing yellow playing with lavendel – one red aura always stayed there, omnipresent and calming, warm. He was unsure on the identity of this man, for he knew it was a man, but he was sure of his connection with him, which was a passionate and loving one. For a moment he wanted to assume it was Dark’s, though it didn’t match with his current one. Maybe he should ask him. While Dark didn’t like to talk about his past, he had always shown interest in any possibility of the Host’s memories returning. The Host did not tell him about the man.

It was the Host’s birthday. Well, actually it was the day he joined the Egos but they didn’t really have anything else to go of. He received some mumbled birthday wishes when he entered the kitchen but he could also feels how the others averted their eyes not even daring to look into his direction. He knew why they did it. He had had enough time to really think last night, seemingly for the first time in a while. That wasn’t to say that he liked the reason. He needed to get out of here before the air suffocated him.

The man sitting on the porch of the small cottage went by the name of Actor. His friends called him Marc but the last one of them had died three years ago. Exactly three years actually. That’s why he sat on this porch. Because he shouldn’t bother any more, right? He told himself he didn’t because that was not the kind of person he was. But that didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t had another partner since then, that he had taken no one here – home.

The man had lived in a manor once, together with his beautiful wife. When she left him the huge house felt too big and too empty for him alone. So he filled it with parties and music and loud women and men. Ten he had started to live here with his beautiful friend. When he left him the house felt way too tiny, suffocating, made him question how they had survived in it as two. So he didn’t need to fill it with noise. As it was it was enough. It had always been.

Movement out of the side of his eye caught his attention. Annoyed at the disturbance he turned around and looked right at- “Author?” The other man looked up at him, caught off guard. He could now see the bandage around his head, not the beautiful golden eyes of his beloved but besides that and the glimming golden streak of hair it was an exact copy of him. The man seemed to have noticed his stare and began muttering again. How had he not noticed that before? Actor opened his mouth again when- “The Host knows you”, the stranger (?) blurted out. “You do?” The man nodded, “Your...aura. He has seen it before. In his memory”, he tapped lightly against his temple as if to emphasize his point, “No, he doesn’t know who you are. But of all the few things he remembers...you are the clearest.” Actor frowned. He didn’t understand everything the man (the Host?) said but damn if he wasn’t going to try and help them both. “I’m the Actor”, he began while slowly walking towards the Host, “and you are the Author. But you’re supposed to be dead.” The Host (Author?) slowly shook his head, the same sad and omnipotent smile on his face as his partner, “He supposes that would have been three years ago.” “How did you know that?”, Marc hissed with narrowed eyes. “That’s when the Host was taken in by the Egos with no recollection of his previous life.” “The Egos- Fucking Dark”, Marc swore under his breath. That insufferable, disastrous bastard! How could he dare to- “What did he do to you?”, he had to know. And may the gods know if that absolute maniac had hurt just a single part of his beloved’s being he would make. him. suffer. But the Host just kept looking at him with that tilted head, the sad smile still on his lips as if he were to pity the other man. “He proposed.”

[ilikecowsnstuff]

CHAPTER 18!!!

SUMMARY:  UA Hero Course - Third Year. Shigaraki Tomura and Dabi have been classmates and rivals since their very first day at UA. But with new feelings developing how will they cope given their history of fragile and often violent encounters? Their dance begins after a partnered training exam goes wrong, leaving Shigaraki wounded and Dabi feeling guilty. AU.

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - YOU NEED A BREAK

 It was 12:35 AM. Shigaraki yawned as he stretched and then went back to staring at the computer. On it was the file of the villain from the agency's latest case, one that Fourth Kind had recently detained and who Shigaraki was supposed to be filling out the report for. But he wasn’t really focused. Instead, he played with the pen that was in his hand, tapping it in a rhymical beat against his bent knee, until somehow it escaped his fingers. He looked up and saw that the pen had landed on Fourth Kind’s desk. 

 The Pro-Hero slammed his hand down over the pen and levelled a stern gaze at Shigaraki.

 “Sorry.”

 Fourth Kind grunted and then sat back, steepling his fingers in front of him.

 “Is this work not stimulating enough for you, Shigaraki?”

 “Oh, no sir. This is great. Really.” Shigaraki replied sarcastically, shrinking further down into the couch and bringing the laptop closer to his chest.

 The Pro-Hero chuckled deeply.

 “You know, Hero work is not always playing outside and catching the bad guys.” He pulled open the top drawer of his desk and extracted a small cigar box as he spoke. Cubans. “Sometimes, you have to fill out paperwork.” He picked up a gold-plated cigar cutter and snipped off the cap of one of the cigars before placing it between his teeth. “Fortunately for me, I have you to do that.” He grinned and then lit up the end with a flick of a match.

 Shigaraki looked at him deadpan as a cloud of white smoke rolled upwards before disappearing at the ceiling. 

 “You asked for the hours, Shigaraki. This is what I need from you.”

 “To do all your paperwork and fetch you an espresso on command?”

 “Watch your mouth, boy.” He narrowed his eyes and took another puff from his cigar. On the outside he looked perturbed by Shigaraki’s attitude, however, the small curl of his lip suggested Shigaraki amused him, to a small degree anyway. “You are young, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to put your life in danger after you graduate.”

 Shigaraki breathed a quiet sigh and returned his attention to the task at hand, plugging in details of the arrest as Fourth Kind had described earlier. 

He knew he shouldn’t be complaining, he was grateful for the work and really it was easy money, but after a week of coffee runs, organizing files, and writing up reports he was eager for something more. Something a little more interesting. A patrol even. But Fourth Kind refused to send him out onto the streets. It was Summer break, he wasn’t even supposed to be working. That was the same argument that came back at Shigaraki every time he asked for just that bit more responsibility.

 Shigaraki worked silently for the next half hour, diligent, completing the report and helping Fourth Kind in planning the next day without so much as a fuss.

 It was getting late and they were both preparing to wrap up a long day, when an alarm and motion sensor detected someone coming into the office through the front entrance. It wasn’t unusual for people to stop by the agency - concerned civilians, police, heroes - but considering the hour it was somewhat out of the ordinary.

 “I think there’s someone here to see you.”

 “Hm?” Shigaraki lifted one brow and closed the lid of the laptop before powering it down. He dropped it carefully onto Fourth Kind’s desk. “Why would you think that?”

 “Just go.” He waved Shigaraki off.

 Shigaraki offered him a speculative glance before leaving the office. Down a hall, he entered into the foyer, and turned a corner to where the reception desk was located. Standing at that desk was the last person he ever thought he would see in the Fourth Kind agency.

 “Dabi?”

 “Hey, Mop Head.” It took just a few long strides for Dabi to reach Shigaraki and when he did, instinctually reached out for some affection.

 Shigaraki took a step back avoiding the impending hug and glanced up towards the concealed security cameras he knew were watching them. Dabi stopped and the initial enthusiasm left his face, replaced by something more akin to disappointment.

 “What are you doing here?”

 “You’re not happy to see me?” Dabi asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

 “No… I am. I just…” Another quick glance around and Shigaraki tentatively stepped closer to his boyfriend, wanting to appease him while also simultaneously keeping up an appropriate professional front. He smiled in reassurance, though it was somewhat tense, and took up a lax position beside Dabi, leaning casually back against the reception desk. “I thought you were away with your family. I didn’t expect to see you.”

 The corner of Dabi’s mouth curled up into an amused grin and then he leaned forward and kissed Shigaraki’s cheek. His lips lingered, and Shigaraki heard him inhale a deep breath before Dabi was nuzzling his jawline. Unbelievably, he managed to keep his hands to himself.

 “I told you I wanted to see you.”

 “Yeah, you did but…”

 Dabi snickered, “But you didn’t think i’d be able to get away from dear old dad?”

 “Obviously.”

 Dabi pulled away and straightened up. “Well, luckily for me, Endeavour prefers to spend his precious free time with his favoured child. Getting out of there really wasn’t that difficult. He probably won’t even notice that I left.”

 Shigaraki snorted a laugh and watched as Dabi strolled around the reception area, looking at the various photos, and framed articles and accolades hanging on the walls.

 “Don’t hate me, but I kind of called ahead.”

 “Huh?” Shigaraki said, his nose scrunching a little.

 “Here.”

 Shigaraki’s mouth formed an understanding, “Oh.” Fourth Kind knew their late-night visitor was Dabi, that’s why it hadn’t disturbed him to hear someone calling on the agency so late.

 “You need a real Summer vacation.”

 “No, I need money.”

 “Well, tough shit. I’m taking you away for a few days.”

 “I have to work.”

 “No, you don’t. It’s all sorted out. You’re good.” Dabi grinned, quite proud of himself. Shigaraki didn’t look half as impressed. “Actually, funny story. Fourth Kind seemed pretty keen on the whole idea of kicking you out of here for a bit.”

 “Tch.”

 “Shigaraki needs to relax and have some fun.” Dabi said, mimicking Fourth Kind’s deep voice. “Those were his words, not mine. Though, I completely agree.”

 “Yeah, yeah. That’s great and all but don’t I get any say in this?”

 “Nope. We’re leaving now.”

 “No, we’re not.”

 “I’m not asking. You need a break. Come on.”

 “Dabi.” Shigaraki sighed and scrubbed a hand roughly over his face. “Can we please just be serious for a moment. It's almost two in the morning.”

 “I am being serious.” Dabi said, his brow pinching together. “I want to spend some time with you. What’s so bad about that?”

 Shigaraki searched Dabi’s vibrant blue gaze for a moment, looking for a hint of dishonesty or humor but couldn’t find any. He really was being serious about this. “Okay.” He started, resigned to the fact that he was probably going on a little vacation with Dabi somewhere. “Where are we going?”

 “Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”

 “So, you’re not going to tell me?”

 “No.” Dabi grinned, “You’ll just have to trust me.”

 “How will I know what to pack then?”

 “Well the thing is… I kind of already did that for you.” Dabi said quickly, ending it with a cleverly timed cough.

 “You went into my room? By yourself?”

 “Yes.”

 “And went through all my things so you could pack a bag for me?”

 “Yes. And I only checked, like, all of your drawers so...” He chuckled when Shigaraki pulled a face. “Honestly, you’re really not that hard to pack for. And where we are going you won’t need too many clothes.” Another devilish grin and a wink, he ambled back over to Shigaraki and stepped right into his personal space.

 “That’s not funny.” Shigaraki grumbled.

 Dabi lifted his hand to frame the side of Shigaraki’s face and his fingers slowly swept his jaw. “It’s not what you think. I wouldn’t purposely put you in a situation you would be uncomfortable with.”

 “I know.”

 Dabi leaned in, and this time Shigaraki didn’t move away. Dabi brushed his warm lips over Shigaraki and their breaths mingled as they exhaled soft matching sounds of pleasure from a long-awaited kiss. Dabi licked Shigaraki’s lower lip and the lighter haired boy groaned, parting his mouth to allow Dabi to touch the tip of his tongue down against his. Dabi withdrew a fraction, teasing, encouraging Shigaraki to lean forward in search of a deeper kiss and when he did, Dabi delved deeper, exploding with a sudden urgency. His mouth was restless, lips moving over Shigaraki and drawing him closer with ambitious hands that slipped around his boyfriend's waist. But it wasn't enough, he wanted more. They had only been separated for a week but for Dabi, who was in an almost constant state of yearning for Shigaraki, it felt like a lifetime.

 They broke away seconds later, in desperate need of some oxygen, and Shigaraki pressed the palm of his hand to Dabi’s chest to prevent them from getting carried away by another ardent kiss.

 “So, should we go?” Dabi whispered, his voice low and laced with lust.

 Shigaraki cleared his throat and nodded his head. “Let me get my... things.”

 Dabi reluctantly stepped away and Shigaraki quickly moved aside, though he motioned for Dabi to walk with him.

 Back inside the agency, Shigaraki found Fourth Kind still in his office, though it looked like he was getting ready to call it a night too.

 “Ah. There you are.” He placed a gentle hand down on Shigaraki’s shoulder and handed him his cellphone, which he had left behind on the desk. “So, I won’t see you for a few days. Correct?” He grinned, a smile full of large perfect white teeth, and then nodded his head in greeting to Dabi. “Toya Todoroki. All grown up. Wow.” 

 “Sir.”

 “Thanks for taking this one off my hands for a few days. Not that I don’t appreciate having him around, but he needs a break. You’re a good friend.”

 “I am.” Dabi grinned. “A great friend.” He said with a huge emphasis on the word friend.

 Shigaraki huffed, his face flooding with heat. “You’re not that great. Don’t flatter yourself.”

 Dabi snickered.

 Thankfully, Fourth Kind didn’t pick up on anything beyond their being a friendship. Though, all he had to do was check the security camera footage and he would quickly find out just how friendly they were. Shigaraki internally scolded himself for the impromptu make out session in the reception area. 

 “And for the record, I didn’t need either of you to decide that I needed a break.” Shigaraki interjected, grumbling.

 Fourth Kind laughed, loudly, completely amused. “Get out of here.”

 Shigaraki huffed again but nodded.

 “Oh, and Toya, if you ever feel like a change in… scenery, the Fourth Kind Agency is always open.”

 “It’s Dabi, actually.” He amended, “And yeah, i’ll keep that in mind.”

 “Dabi. Give my regards to Endeavour would you.”

 Dabi narrowed his eyes and then turned away. He was the first out of the office, with Shigaraki following closely behind. They walked silently and when they cleared the entrance and were out on the sidewalk, Dabi immediately took Shigaraki’s hand, carefully linking their fingers together. Shigaraki did not fight it.

 “I’m parked just down here.” Dabi motioned with a jerk of his head.

 “We’re driving?”

 “Yeah. Car courtesy of Endeavour.” Dabi grinned, and then lifted a key fob. He pushed a button and the sound of a car unlocking with a double beep could be heard just a few yards ahead.

 “When you must tell him the story about why his car has a few extra miles on the gauge and an empty gas tank, leave me out of it.”

 Dabi laughed and propped open the passenger side door of a blacked-out luxury sedan, inviting Shigaraki to get inside. “I don’t know what you are talking about Old Man. Forgetting things. Must be your age. It’ll go something like that.”

 Shigaraki shook his head. All joking aside, he was concerned about what would happen to Dabi if Endeavour found out. First, leaving their family summer vacation, and then hijacking his car to go on a vacation of his own, and with his boyfriend who Shigaraki was sure Endeavour did not know about him or their relationship. That was three strikes.

 Dabi closed Shigaraki up inside the car before joining him on the driver’s side. “Look, don’t worry. Really. It’ll be fine. Fuck him.” He pressed the auto start and the engine hummed to life. He then fiddled with the GPS until a map showing the route they would be taking popped up on the display screen.

 The back of Shigaraki’s head hit the headrest and he slowly rolled his cheek to the side to face Dabi. He hadn’t noticed it until then, but on Dabi’s face, right by his ear where there was already extensive scarring, was a new wound - a small cut, surrounded by some purple bruising.

 Shigaraki’s brow furrowed and Dabi jerked his head over to him.  Shigaraki wanted to ask about the injury but thought it best to maybe wait until later - after they had finished their roadtrip.

 “What?”

 “Nothing. Just… wondering what you actually packed for me.”

 Dabi grinned and then returned his gaze forward so he could pull the car out from the curb and get them or their way. “You know, all the essentials. Socks, shampoo… lube.” He joked.

 “Right. The essentials.” Shigaraki scowled and looked over his shoulder to the backseat where two packed bags were sitting. They seemed full enough. “Sounds like your plan is to jerk off into a sock later. Fun vacation.” 

 Dabi snickered. “I did forget your toothbrush though. Unimportant. You can use mine.”

 “What?” Shigaraki drawled, unamused. “So, you remembered to pack lube but no toothbrush?”

 Dabi laughed again, “We’ll stop somewhere on the way. You know, we might need more lube.”

 “I hope you packed enough socks.”

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Chapter One – Accidental Attraction

Chapter Two – After Care

Chapter Three – Dazed and Confused

Chapter Four – I Like You

Chapter Five - Friends and Enemies

Chapter Six - Confrontation!

Chapter Seven - Transfer Student

Chapter Eight - A Period of Learning

Chapter Nine - Work and Play

Chapter Ten - Friday

Chapter Eleven - Extraordinary Day

Chapter Twelve - The Problem with Relationships.

Chapter Thirteen - Will You Go Out With Me?

Chapter Fourteen - A Not So Innocent Birthday Request

Chapter Fifteen - The Morning After

Chapter Sixteen - His First

Chapter Seventeen - Summer is Coming

[fistsoflightning]

and there’s no place like home for the holidays

merry chrimma, @to-the-voiceless! i’m your secret santa this year for @aetherstitch​‘s exchange, and i heard you wanted some mushy starlight fic? :3

(i am... late. sorry. aymeric refused to finish in time and that’s when i realized my arrogance in believing i could pull this off to a degree i liked b4 christmas evening...)

words: 3238

“Ser,” Lucia says among the thick silence of the Borel manor kitchen. “Perhaps this is a bit… excessive?”

Aymeric, seated in front of a good amount of books detailing Doman culture for gifts and holidays, rests his head in his weary hands and sighs. Lucia nudges his cup of tea towards him before leaning back, continuing her light reading as he slowly accepts the unsweetened tea. She may be right, but then how long would it take to come up with a new idea for a present?

“Your time may be better spent perusing the Jeweled Crozier, Ser. Finding something Doman in nature at this time of year may be harder than you think without one of the Warriors to retrieve it for you.” Lucia says as she flips another page in her book. Something about the mishaps of two Gridanian children as they search for the meaning of Starlight or whatnot. According to Lucia, Hilda had recommended the tale after it made its rounds through the Temple Knights.

“‘Tis true, but I feel something nostalgic would be more welcome than a trinket so easily found.” Aymeric squints at some detailed drawing in the book directly beneath his face, noting the plum trees and shallow lakes. What a breathtaking sight. “Perhaps I could call upon Madame Tataru’s connections…”

Lucia, for all her patience, scoffs at his latest idea, sliding a bookmark in-between pages and setting her book on the counter. Aymeric looks up in the corners of his eyes to see her endearingly irritated, as Lumelle once had called it.

“I had also thought Lady Hanami would appreciate most anything you’d choose just for her. A gift need not be perfect to give someone joy, and I fail to think a gift less than a reminder of home would displease her.” Lucia says as Aymeric lifts his head from his hands, eyes brightening up at the small amount of hope Lucia has given him; really, he shouldn’t have been so pessimistic in the first place.

“I… suppose. Mayhaps I overthought this time.” Aymeric sheepishly looks around at the number of books that he’s taken from the Scions’ library to further his own research. Hopefully a delivery moogle will be willing to take these back to Tataru.

“As you do. There is no shame in wanting to give someone you love the best, but.” Lucia taps the corners of her eyes while looking straight at Aymeric. “That is also what brings stress during Starlight for most.”

As the clock in Aymeric’s kitchen strikes four in the afternoon, Lucia and he laugh at the idea of “beautiful” Aymeric gaining wrinkles from stress despite all the paperwork awaiting him in the Congregation office, and then immediately shoot to their feet, realizing it is four and they are expected back at the Congregation for another meeting in no later than five minutes.

Aymeric has time to decide on a present to give. He will be fine.

It is a good two weeks or so of dedicated paperwork filing and controlling the eager lords in debate until Aymeric has the chance to continue looking for the perfect gift to give Hanami. He had hoped to find more time between his duties as Speaker and Lord Commander with Handeloup and Lucia’s wonderful assistance, but the newer lords of the minor Houses are much too determined for shortened gatherings, or lengthened vacations. The fact that the House of Lords was even on winter break now was owned to House Fortemps and Haillenarte finally putting down their foot and stopping the younger lords from continuing to throw rhetoric like bricks at Aymeric.

“Holiday shopping at the last moment, my lord? I thought you more prepared.” Hilda sneaks around the yellow canvas of the floral stand as Aymeric tiredly looks at a few colorful gladiolus. Would it be to Hanami’s tastes if he were to get flowers? Or would that be in poor taste of her name?

“Our House of Lords has finally taken winter break, and none too soon. I haven’t the time between the moments until now to truly look around.” Aymeric says without looking to meet ruby red eyes, Hilda soon joining him at admiring the floral displays of some poor merchant who’d have the misfortune to walk away at the moment they come around. Shame; Aymeric very much would have preferred the help of a professional.

After a few more moments of dizzying himself with cotton candy pinks and blizzard ice blues, Hilda slowly takes his arm and tugs him away from the flowers and towards rich and warm smells. For a small machinist lady, she is rather strong…

“Wouldn’t hurt to have a bite, eh? Might help you think, with that cookbook of a brain you’ve got!” Hilda points out, clearly remembering when he made rounds in the Brume with holiday cookies from last week. “Heard Lord Francel fancies the new pineapple fritters Miss Norlaise has got, if you’re interested.”

The smell of sweet pineapples is surely tempting as they approach Madame Norlaise’s stall, a small crowd of children gathering round for warm cookies or small cakes to bring home and devour. Aymeric steps behind a small group of three excited children as they receive their box of candied fruits, waiting patiently as they cry a jumbled ‘thank you!’ to Madame Norlaise just before leaving. Hilda laughs as she watches them scrabble a little, all wanting part of the sweets.

“Good day, Ser! Something warm catch your fancy?” Norlaise lifts up a jar of candied berries as he takes a second glance at her small display. “Mayhaps a gift box for a beloved?”

Aymeric chuckles as he takes a sack of gil from his pocket. “Something warm, aye. A serving of pineapple fritters, if you would.”

He places down enough money for two when he finally counts out the gil, and Norlaise raises an eyebrow before Aymeric tilts his head slightly to where Hilda stands, still watching as some of the children come back around in caroling outfits. She nods as she turns to get to work, leaving Aymeric to enjoy the children singing and Hilda clapping as they finish. Perhaps he could take Hanami to listen to the Ishgardian choir in the Vault; ah, but her horn…

Madame Norlaise sets down two small boxes of fritters in front of him, smelling heavenly and adorned with ribbons to look like twinkleboxes, ready to be unwrapped. “Your order, Ser. Do have a wonderful day, and happy Starlight!”

Aymeric nods, taking his purchase over to Hilda and placing one of the two boxes into her hands. Her eyes grow wide, lighting up quite like fireflies as she eagerly unwraps the steaming fritters.

With that, Aymeric has the pleasure of Hilda’s continued company as he goes to the jeweler’s stall (all things Hanami could easily outdo with her own goldsmithing skills), then to the armorer’s (“Who buys their partner armor for Starlight, ser?”), and then, after all else fails, back to the baker’s stall as Hilda once again reminds him that he could bake something.

“Her disdain for sweets prevents me from doing much else than bread,” Aymeric rambles as he racks his brain for something that might well work as a present. Bread just seems… half-hearted to him, with how many times he’s made it with her watching patiently behind. “A challenge of my skills may very well be in order.”

“S’not that hard to make a sweet treat sour, my lord.” Hilda says with part of a fritter still in her mouth, pointing at the display that Norlaise has across from them. Specifically, she points at a lemon and rolanberry pie, steaming from its stand and decorated with bright white whipped cream. “Lucia said the pie drew a shocking similarity to lemonade; doesn’t seem all that hard either. If you fancy a challenge after the verbal whipping some of the other highborns gave you, I’d say you’ve come to like punishing yourself.”

Aymeric sighs, shaking his head as Hilda laughs at his misery; she’d seen the younger of the lords chase him through Foundation to the Pillars in an attempt to finish their points despite two of the older lords telling them off already. He’d listened to them, certainly, and then forgotten them almost completely after getting home to a good book and Mandragora.

As he returns to flipping through mental baking ideas, Hilda gives him a small wave and wanders off, clearly intent to return to her city guard duties with her remaining fritters. He stays against the wall opposite of Madame Norlaise’s stand with his own fritters much like a gargoyle for a good bell as he thinks, rethinks, and ruffles his hair. The smells are all melting together in his head, and imagining something not so sugary sweet as the snow mounds some of the children walk past with is starting to become difficult, so Aymeric, tired and still presentless, walks home in thick, fluffy snow.

He has one last day to decide on what to give her. He will be fine.

The very next morning Aymeric realizes he does not, in fact, have a full day to figure it out.

He goes on a morning trip to the Jeweled Crozier to grab a bite—his steward is taking the day off for family—and to perhaps peruse the markets in needless worry for something that might be a better present to give, and as with the last few days, he leaves the Crozier with naught but groceries and a basket of oranges—he was so caught up in finding a gift before the day was done that he bought citrus instead of cranberries. No matter; Hanami had seemed to like the last set of oranges he’d left out in the kitchen, so perhaps she’d scoff these down with the same fervor.

And then Aymeric runs into the captor of his thoughts in the aetheryte plaza when running a small errand to the Temple Knights stationed at Saint Reinette Forum, accompanied by two who appeared to be—from where he stood about thirty yalms away—Lunya and Zaya.

The gala wasn’t until late that evening, and Aymeric was under the impression that the three of them would not be arriving until closer to four in the afternoon! Had he heard Hanami wrong all those weeks ago?

Lunya points Aymeric out to the other two Warriors as he remains in a standstill, debating whether or not to run in order to buy himself more time to think, but Hanami runs over much too quickly with her hands keeping a dress garment cover from flying off into the light snow. From under the plastic cover, Aymeric swears he’d caught a glimpse of silken pink fabric, but with how Hanami’s sworn off the color pink from here on out, he might simply have mistaken a bit of red for pink.

“You are out early.” Hanami says, coldfire eyes blazing bright and pinched at the corners; perhaps she was more tired than she’d prefer to show? “Do you still have work to do? Is that kid from House Dzmael stretching your meetings again?”

“Nay, we’ve already entered our winter break.” Aymeric says, waving politely at Zaya and Lunya as they make to leave through teleporting behind Hanami. “Albeit later than usual. Would you like to accompany me home, or do you have other plans for right now?”

Hanami shakes her head, falling in step with him as he walks casually on the path back home. At his request, she starts to pour out a few more of her tales from the First, filling in the empty air as light snow sticks to his hair and gloves. Their footsteps would easily trail a while back, but he hopes that by tonight the squall will finally settle in and drape Ishgard in a smooth white in time for the gala. The sparkling snow would make for a lovely sight to look out upon.

As they approach Aymeric’s doorway, Hanami goes to hang her dress (?) off of his pauldrons—he doesn’t mind much, with how often he hangs things there himself—and opens up the door for him, clearly taking note of the ridiculous number of bags he’s brought home. Hanami doesn’t seem to notice the large basket of oranges he carries through, not attempting to grab for one of the sweet fruits as he walks into the kitchen to set everything down.

“My sunrise,” Aymeric calls out, noticing she’s been standing in the doorway the whole time he’s been putting away some of the foodstuffs before he forgets. “Have you come in? The wind is carrying to the kitchen.”

A small grumble follows the door slamming shut, then clanking footsteps as Hanami’s pauldrons tap heavily on the wooden floor of the house. She comes to the kitchen, where Aymeric has set down a small plate of snacks meant for later, and picks up a few crackers before eagerly shoving them into her mouth.

“S’rry. It is cold here now.” Hanami crunches slowly through the crackers as Aymeric turns, giving her a soft smile. He does not mind much, thanks to growing up here; he was a bit more worried that Hanami had simply collapsed from the headache she seems to have.

“‘Tis alright, my light. Would you like to relocate your snacking to the fireplace?” He gestures to the living room farther in, where the fire has been crackling since he woke this morning. Hanami quickly takes the small platter and moves to the warmer lands of his couch as he finishes up with his groceries. The oranges remain on the table, but that is quickly reconsidered when Aymeric notices that he bought sour oranges and not the small, sweet ones that Hanami eats up like candy. What can he do with these now? It’s not as if he planned to bake anything with this many oranges…

He sets the oranges by the other baking ingredients, resolving to solve that dilemma later.

When Aymeric enters his living room, he is greeted by the sight of Hanami,haphazardly spread out on his couch under blankets and pillows. Adorably so, in his opinion, but likely to soak in all the precious warmth she’d lost out in the Ishgardian winter; snow is not kind to those with lizard-like features, as the Scions had remarked about their scaled friends. With her sleeping like a log, however, he has no place to sit down with her, so he simply returns to the kitchen with the plate of crumbs Hanami has left in her wake.

“Now, what to do with you…” Aymeric goes back to face the basket of oranges once again, sighing as he realizes it has barely been five minutes since he left them here. He feels much too restless for someone supposed to be on break; his hands crave something to fiddle with, so he picks up one of the oranges, tossing it around in his hands.

And he still has the dilemma of Hanami’s gift and retrieving it before the gala; he can’t just very well get up and leave, either, with Hanami sleeping so peacefully here. Leaving her seems like a rather rude thing to do, so he’s left with what’s in the manor.

Not books; that is a cruel and unusual punishment, to gift someone Ishgardian print books when they can barely read the Ishgardian alphabet out loud. In fact, much of what he has would seem… odd. Hilda’s remarks at his odd shopping habits from yesterday come back to haunt him, except this time about his belongings; Why books that are old enough to be her grandparents? Really now, a pair of slippers? Have you truly lost it?

Perhaps Hilda was not so rude, but the mere thought is enough to give him a laugh as he scans over his baking books, crammed into a shelf on the corner of his kitchen.

Then Aymeric catches the remnants of his box of fritters from the other day, and he has an idea of what to do in the bells between Hanami’s eventual awakening and his abundance of energy. The crust would take a bit of work, and the toppings would have to be sweetened, in all honesty, but he has time. It is almost ten in the morning; the pie should be done by half past three if he starts now.

Aymeric finds himself going much faster than he had intended, and a good bit messier than he’d prefer; the oranges take a while to open, and his hands slip with the knife on the butter, but he gets through it. Certainly a challenge, though not in the way he’d imagined. For him to have more trouble keeping his nerve while making a treat for a dear one than in the middle of four different High Houses all trying to get him to approve of their idea; the lords would have made fun of him!

At some point that Aymeric doesn’t realize, Hanami wakes up and shuffles her sleepy self over to the chair set by the countertop. In his flitting about the kitchen in a rush to get the pie in the oven, he barely notices her, not even when he has to look for his whisk and she hands it right to him. A mumbled ‘thanks’ slips from his mouth, but otherwise he makes no other notice of her.

That is, until he finally gets the pie in the oven. The moment the oven starts to heat up and bake the sweet, Aymeric finds the eyes staring at him more noticeable than before.

“Forgive me, my sunrise.” Aymeric sighs out, brushing off some flour before leaning on the counter to look Hanami in the eyes. “I hardly noticed you there. Have you been watching for a long time now?”

“Not too long. Your work was much more entertaining than sleep was, though.” Hanami smiles sleepily as the smell of oranges starts to bake into the air. “Why the pie? Was there not enough sweets for the gala already?”

Aymeric stiffens a bit, despite the complaints of his already tired back. “That was… a gift.”

“Oh? A present?”

“Yes; my schedule was… packed this year, and I haven’t the time anymore to buy something, so a handmade gift will have to do.”

“Is it for Lucia? Oh, or perhaps for House Fortemps?”

Aymeric winces at the shortsightedness of his thoughts. He’d forgotten theirs, as well; a batch of cookies in the next few days ought to do it, though. They were not the cranky elders of the less-than-friendly houses, and he knew both parties personally; he can apologize without seeming rude.

“‘Tis a gift… for you, my sunrise.” Aymeric sheepishly admits, the orange smell wafting around as he speaks. “I had a lack of ideas, and when you’d come home early, I panicked quite a bit. The oranges were a saving grace, I must admit; perhaps I would have made more bread without them.”

Hanami laughs, not daring to leave him in awkward yet surprised silence. “You were stuck in your head, hm? Perhaps this will help you learn. The pie, knowing you, will be perfect. Thank you.”

“I suppose, yes. Happy Starlight, my sunrise.”

And when the pie finished baking, the smell of oranges and rolanberries was not sweeter than the moments shared waiting at the counter for the telltale ‘ding’ of the oven.

[ardentmuse]

Perchance a Parchment (George Weasley x Reader) - Part 1

Harry Potter - George Weasley x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.3k

Series Summary: After your owl decided the proper destination for the note intended for your best friend is Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, you find yourself in an anonymous romance with the man of your dreams. But little do you know, he is also the owner of that obnoxious joke shop just down the street from your store, the one that is slowly putting you out of business. 

Series Masterlist // Masterlist

A/N: Woohoo Part 1 is here! I am excited for this cute little journey of ours. :) I hope you like this. 

“Oy, Georgie! You gotta come see this,” Fred screamed from the first floor of their shop.

George could hear the commotion clearly from where he was sitting at the top of the spiral stairs, buried under a stack of papers in the circular room that worked as a makeshift office. He imagined for the previous owners, this might have been a place to keep the most valuable wares, to walk the wealthiest customers up the long helix until they felt intrigued by the exclusivity offered only to them. The tall wood-paneled walls were lined with glass cases, now filled to their brims with potions ingredients, meticulously labeled and sorted; each box for a different best-selling product and an entire case for “experiments.” But for George, even the amount of order he and Fred managed was not enough to keep up with the chaos that was his mind. The business was expanding at an alarming rate and it took almost all of George’s energy to simply keep up the books, let alone the supply and creation of new, innovative products.

He’d have to hire a new cashier soon, and maybe even an accountant. But the prospect of interviewing made him a little bit nauseous. More to do. Always more to do.

“Georgie!” Fred screamed again.

With a sigh, George closed the giant tome that was functioning as a legger. He checked his reflection in the glass for just a moment -- you never know when a beautiful woman might decide to stop in -- and with a quick adjustment to his vest, he descended the stairs.

As the shop came into view below him, colorful shelves and school children running all around, collected in corners and laughing with their friends, it wasn’t very hard to find what had Fred in stitches. A young boy, at least he presumed he was male, had hair growing wildly all around his neck and each time he tried to speak to George’s twin, who casually sat upon the counter overlooking an adoring crowd of youngsters, his voice came out as a purr or a roar; a little lion in all but body.

Fred turned to his brother and smiled. “Combined those jelly beans and the shape-shifting gumdrops you released last week. Wish we would have thought of it ourselves.”

And with that, Fred jumped onto the counter and reached into his pocket. He examined the candies within and with a quick decision, tossed two George’s way.

“Ready for some fun, Gred?”

With the eager eyes of the children and the cheshire grin of his brother upon him, George left the mounds of paperwork behind him in exchange for some mischief.

“After you, Forge, my good sir!” George called as he too hopped up on the counter, the crowd around them growing ever stronger.

“Now, friends, don’t try this at home,” Fred said, to which George followed up, “Yeah, wait until you get to school. Give ol’ Minerva a show for us, won’t ya?”

And that was what you saw as you walked back to your bookstore as the sun began to set. Not George Weasley, the wonderfully brilliant mastermind behind new and amazing treats, the skilled bookkeeper and investor, the hilarious and bright man who found such joy in his work and his family, and the soft and caring brother who always knew the right things to say to make anyone smile. No, what you saw was a self-obsessed fool standing on a countertop with a face vaguely resembling a seal as he tried to balance massive gumballs upon his snout. You saw only a man who was fueled on the adoration of others and on creating chaos for the sake of chaos, running a shop that was so popular it was encroaching on the entirety on Diagon Alley.

You looked on only for a moment, at the bright yellow lights of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, like a beacon to children of the joys within. And you thought just maybe that strangely beautiful pompous Weasley brother met your gaze just before you continued your journey to your humble shop down the road.  

“You okay, George?” Grizzly bear Fred asked his brother. But George didn’t really hear him. His eyes were intent on the street just outside. Bright eyes, the brim of an adorable nose, and the shine of a maroon cloak in the setting sunlight consumed his vision, but not more than the saddened pout on that near perfect face, a perfect face that slipped into the crowd of busy commuters and was gone as quickly as it came.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah,” George said after a moment. “Just--”

“A pretty face?” Fred asked with a wink. Immediately, George began to blush, or at least he thought he was. It was hard to tell with the strange texture of his skin at present.

“Prettier than Angie’s?” Fred asked later that night as they locked up the shop.  

George sighed, “You know that’s over, Fred. Please stop bringing it up.”

As Fred clicked off the last of the lights, he addressed his brother who was already halfway up the stairs towards their apartment. “Maybe if you’d gone on a single date these past four years, I would. Speaking of which, I’m meeting Lee at the Leaky Cauldron if you want a crack at getting back in the game?”

George laughed, “Lee’s not really my type, mate. Have fun.”

George heard Fred screaming, “You’re not going to find that pretty face in our apartment, Georgie. At least not until you invite her up yourself.”

And George shut the door to their suite before he could hear any more of his brother’s silly encouragements. Thought George knew he was right, he had more pressing things to focus on at the moment. Romance could come much later. If this woman was perfect for him, she’d be perfectly fine waiting until the business was settled.

Though he’d been saying that to himself for years now…. Would things ever settle or had he and Fred opened a can of worms that would consume their lives forever?

That night, in your apartment over your shop just ten doors down the way, you also laid in bed contemplating the same things. Years now you had been with the same person, the man you thought you’d marry someday if things kept going as they had when you first started up. But they hadn’t. Thomas was still your dear friend, and you owed him so much for helping you transition to life in the UK, but the passion was completely gone. You were both going through the motions, you knew, neither of you willing to say the words to end it for good.

Passion. When you first opened your shop, you were so excited about bringing fiction to the lives of the wizarding community. All the books shop you had seen only sold textbooks and reference literature. Occasionally there was “fiction” masked as memoir, but a proper narrative was lost on adults. You wanted to expose witches and wizards to adventure, horror, humor, and romance. You even brought in books from muggle communities. You had a robust section for children and a daily story time that was widely attended, mostly due to your impressive use of magic to create visuals and voices to go with each story. But sales were questionable. You loved what you did but it wasn’t necessarily sustainable. The landlord was already on you about a potentially having someone else willing to pay a higher price for the space. If that were true, you may have to kiss this dream goodbye. But then what would you have left? Thomas who hadn’t kissed you with love in months?

At least you had a good group of friends who’d let you crash on their couches until you figured out your next career move. The Weasleys had a help wanted sign up still, didn’t they? You laughed at the thought of working for those pompous fools.

But speaking of friends, you lifted yourself out of bed and lit the candle upon your desk, waking Diomedes, your owl, and penned a letter to your longest and dearest friend.

The following morning, George insisted on now interruptions. He needed several hours in the office to get up to date on the books before they met with the realtors next week to discuss expansion.

And as lunch time came and went, George had almost actualizing the previous month when he heard a strong and insistent banging at the window just beside his desk. He pulled his head away to see a tawny owl, more cream than brown, with a long piece of parchment tied securely to his ankle. The owl tilted his head, asking to be let in. George obliged his request.

Immediately, the owl swooped in and positioned himself on the end of the desk, his leg in the air to be plucked of the parchment. He didn’t recognize the bird. Maybe Ron got a new bird through work or Ginny is using one from a local owlery while she’s in tournament play.

“Someone trained you well, little mister,” George said to the animal. As if hearing him, the bird screeched and flapped before settling back against the bookshelves in the far corner of the room, clearly awaiting a reply.

And so George opened the scroll, expecting the opening line to explain the unfamiliar bird but instead he found a note in pleasant script addressed to a, “Peaches.”

Dearest Peaches,

I’ve been thinking a lot about those nights you and I spent in your clubhouse during summers as children. We would talk about how we wanted life to be when we grew up. I remember each night was a different elaborate story. We would start a band and travel the world performing in every tavern and pub in the wizarding world until someone took us seriously. We’d buy a house in the hills of the Pyrenees and catalogue all the creatures that hid within. We become two of the greatest aurors the world would ever know and tear down dark wizards around the world, maybe hunt vampires and werewolves too. We’d marry brothers so we could be sisters-in-law and have a brood of children who’d be best friends. We had so many dreams.

Did you ever notice that we never simply imagined being happy? Each story was always about doing something grand. All the small moments of life -- the lunches with friends, the Christmas dinners with family, the books we’d read and the vacations we’d take -- were completely left out. But isn’t life just a series of small moments? Does there have to be a grand adventure, a great love, an epic quest, to make this life meaningful? Or can we just exist? Can we just be two people happily moving forward each day?

Don’t get me wrong. I want passionate love. I want harrowing escapades. I want tales to tell. But more than anything I want to wake up each day to something that makes me smile and fall asleep to the same. And I feel like I am just getting there...

I hope today you find something to make you happy, my friend.

Yours,

Cherry

As George read the words, he felt he could anticipate the next sentence. Had he not wanted the exact same thing as a child? He pictured sitting with Fred in their beds, pushed together despite mum’s protests about how to doing so would scuff her floors, and plotting the trajectory of their lives. Dragon-taming with Charlie or curse-breaking with Bill or playing quidditch for England’s team as they won the World Cup. But now, as adult life was settling in, he was realizing he was much more fulfilled by the smiles he put on children’s faces, by the laughs he shared with Fred as they came up with a new treat, and the coos of his nieces asleep in his arms after Easter dinner.

Whomever was on the other end of this letter, this “Cherry” which he assumed was a codename, seemed to know just the tiniest part of his soul. He found himself smiling at the thought of a woman for the first time in many moons.

“Dear Cherry,” his letter began as he completely ignored the growling of his stomach letting him know he needed lunch. The tawny owl was staring at him intently as he put words to paper.

Your owl seems to have confused my office for the home of your dear Peaches. Thought I must say, I am not sure he made a mistake. I needed to read your words today. Things have been overwhelming stressful and I have found myself trying to see the forest through the trees. Your letter has helped remind me that the trees are valuable all on their own.

I like to think I’m the kind of guy who can find joy in most things, but sometimes the pressure to succeed is overwhelming. Work used to just be fun. The fact that it made me money was an added bonus. But now… I don’t know. It feels like work. Like you, I think I’m getting close to the things that make me happy. Maybe I just need you to help change my focus...

But, tell me, Cherry. I’m intrigued. How come a woman with a lovely mind like yours hasn’t found herself some passionate love?

Sincerely,

Ge Call me Rhubarb

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt,  @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug

Harry Potter tags: @tessimagines, @0-lost-in-stereo-0, @whysoseriouspadfoot

Perchance a Parchment tags: @cucumberinmyass, @justducky0423, @thequeen-ofnerds, @yuaasa, @comic-creature, @hermionebennet, @semicharmedkindofali, @sugerquill, @can-i-fangirl-yet, @doct0rstrange, @igotmadskills, @otherthingsinhead, @olixerwxxd, @caramiriel, @gryffinclxw, @lizmar20, @indicisive-af, @confettidreameryouwhoreo-blog, @hellizhelusive2, @kaitsubaki, @dooriha, @justfollowtheroad, @memogorgon

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

The Murderess from the Grunewald (4): Dr. med. Claire Beauchamp - indicted for murder

(”Katzenfutter” by Crepessuzette)

Previously

Six months ago

         Five minutes after Mrs. Fritz niece had put the key to Claire's house in Jamie’s hand, he stood at her front door and held the key ring undecided in his hand. What would he expect if he walked through that door? An hour ago he would have been eager to see Claire's apartment, but he did not like the idea that he was going to become a cat babysitter. There had been cats at his uncle Dougal's Scottish estate, but they ran around freely and to be honest - he had never cared. Jamie was clearly a 'dog person'. If he was honest, he had no particular desire to take care of this cat. But it was Claire's cat. He loved Claire. Claire obviously loved her cat. So he would have to swallow the bitter pill and take care of the animal.

         He took a deep breath. "For Claire's sake!" Then he unlocked the front door and carefully opened it a little gap. When no cat appeared, he quickly slipped inside. Then he stood in a small white hallway. On the left side stood a narrow sideboard, in which shoes could be stowed. On it stood a wooden bowl with keys. Next to the sideboard was a small, modern, white wardrobe, on which a coat and two jackets hung. Obviously these belonged to Claire. And there were cat hairs on the white-tiled floor. Four steps led from the hallway into a large, bright living room. On the right side there was a window front that lit up the room for many hours a day with sunlight. In front of the windows were two large comfortable sofas opposite. Between them stood an oriental coffee table in dark wood. The size of the table irritated Jamie a little. He had never seen a coffee table that large. On the walls behind the sofas were bookshelves that occupied the entire wall. On the right side of the room, as soon as one entered the living area, was a door. Jamie walked up to it and opened it. The room was dark. He felt along the wall and found a light switch. When the light lit up the room, he saw that it was the kitchen. On the ground stood two silver-colored bowls. In one was still a small amount of water in the other, Jamie could detect traces of cat food. He looked around the kitchen, then began to open the doors of the cupboards. He did not like to search the cabinets in another person's apartment, but somehow he had to find the cat food. When he opened one of the lower doors, his face lit up.

         "Ah, what do we have here?"

         He examined a number of cans of different colors with interest.          ''’Sea Fish Royal', 'Chicken Royal', 'Beef Royal', 'Veggy Royal'. Mmmmph, 'Veggy Royal'!"

         He chuckled softly and shook his head slightly. Then he set the can on the counter beside the sink.          "So, all I have to do now is find a can opener." 

         Jamie opened a few drawers and found what he needed. When he began to empty the contents of a can of 'See Fish Royal' into the bowl, he suddenly heard the creaking of the kitchen door. When Jamie raised his head, he saw a cat's head cautiously slide through the crack of the door. 

         "Hi. You have to be Adso. I am Jamie. As long as your mom is in jail, I'll be your can opener," Jamie said, reaching for the animal.

         But Jamie's greeting was not received as warmly as he had wished. Adso made a crooked back and hissed at him. Then the cat struck him with its right paw. On the backs of Jamie's right hand, three parallel small bleeding lanes became visible, left by Adso's claws.  

         “Au! This is not how you treat the person who has just filled your bowl, old boy!”

         Jamie shook his head, picked up the water bowl, and filled it with fresh water. Then he put it next to the other bowl and sat down at one of the two chairs that stood at the small kitchen table. It took a few minutes, but then Adso's hunger seemed to be stronger than his distrust of the big, alien male being. The cat sat down at the bowl and began to eat, occasionally squinting suspiciously at Jamie. Suddenly Jamie's smartphone rang. It was an unknown number. He accepted the call and hoped the sound would not scare the cat again. But Adso seemed used to such a sound and did not bother.

         "Fraser?"          "Hello, Dr. Fraser. My name is Joseph Abernathy. I was told that you wanted to speak to me urgently. "          "Yes, thank you, Dr. Abernathy. It's about Dr. Beauchamp."          "Claire? What about her? I'm worried. She didn’t come to work today."

         "She could not do that, Dr. Abernathy. She was arrested by the police at 5:30 am and is now at the Women's Detention Center in Moabit. I’m her lawyer. James Fraser of 'Fraser, Gowan & Coll.' Dr. Beauchamp asked me to inform you and your wife about her currant situation."

         Dr. Abernathy was silent. Then he asked:          "What are the authorities blaming her for?"          "She should have killed her husband."          "That's nonsense," Joe Abernathy replied resignedly.          "Dr. Abernathy, I have to prepare Beauchamp's defense. It would be good if I could meet with you and your wife. If I understand correctly you are Dr. Beauchamp’s best friends and know her well?"

         "Yes, Dr. Fraser, that's right. We are friends with Claire for many years. Could you come to dinner at 8 pm tomorrow?"          "Gladly. Your address is?"          "Sauerbruch Straße 47."          "Thank you very much Abernathy. See you tomorrow."          "See you tomorrow, Dr. Fraser."

         Jamie put the phone in his pocket. Then he looked over at Adso. The cat had eaten everything and started cleaning itself. Jamie reopened the door of the cat food cabinet, reached for a box of dry food and filled the empty bowl with it. Adso hissed again but then remained calm. When Jamie left, he left the kitchen door open. He would come back the next day to feed the cat, and then he would also take a closer look at the apartment.

(JVA Berlin-Moabit - Entrance * Source: G.Elser [CC BY 3.0  (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons)

Nine Days Later - First Attorney's Visit in Prison

         It was just after 10 am when Jamie was escorted by a law enforcement officer through the corridors of the prison. He hated those endless, barren corridors, the squeaky doors and the sound of the keys. At last you reached the meeting room where Claire was already waiting.

         "Good morning, Dr. Beauchamp. "

         "Good morning, Dr. Fraser. "

         Claire looked pale, but she gave him a friendly smile. After a (too!) short handshake, Jamie pointed to the table and they sat down. There was a small pile of papers on the table and Jamie guessed that these were documents that had been sent to Claire by the court. From his briefcase he took out two files. The first file was the file Tessa Lüttgenjohann had set up a few days ago. It was the internal file of the law firm. The second file had been send to him by the court the day before. It was the regular ‘Duplo Akte’, a 1:1 copy of the courts file about Claire’s case.

         “Dr. Beauchamp ... "          "Claire, please. I do not need this formal address."          "Fine," he replied, smiling, "Claire. But only if you call me Jamie."          "Sure, Jamie."

         "First of all, I would like to inform you about what has happened in the last few days. I visited Mrs. Fritz house. Your cat will be cared for. You do not have to worry about that."

         "Thank you! Please greet Mrs. Fritz, if you see her. And tell her that I pay for the cat food, when this is over."

         "Do not worry, I've already settled that. Then I was - excuse me - in your bedroom and packed some clothes for you. The prison allows each prisoner to own a certain number of their own pieces of clothing, but you have to hand these clothes over at the prison’s service station in the first 14 days. I assumed you would be happy if you could wear your own clothes and I hope it does not bother her that I've opened your wardrobes."

         He looked at her questioningly.          "No," she said after some hesitation, "it surprises me, but no."

         "I tried to pack practical clothes together. Jeans, shirts, sweaters and so on. The clothes should be handed out to you in the next few days.

         "Thank you."

         "Then you should know that you now have a prisoner account. On it are currently 250 euros. Another 250 euros will follow monthly, as long as you have to stay here. From this money, you can order things from the jail shopping catalogue and pay for the washing of your personal clothes. If you need more money, just tell me. You are allowed to receive a package three times a year. To do this, you must apply for a package mark at the prison headquarters. You will need to specify who will send this package to you and you will then receive a list of the items this person is allowed to send. Then send the mark and the list of the person from whom you expect the package. At the moment, you are only allowed to make phone calls with the prior approval of the court. That’s because you are a ‘Untersuchungshäftling’, a prisoner awaiting trial. So, if you want to make a phone call, you must ask for a phone allowance and send it to the court chamber, where your case is pending. This is the 17. Strafkammer, Criminal Chamber, of the Landgericht, District Court. When the phone call is approved, you will be told a time when it is allowed to take place. Of course the phone call is monitored. You may receive letters and also write letters, but the letters will automatically go through the control of the court. So when you write letters, do not mention anything about the case or the trial."          He said the last sentences very seriously and Claire nodded.

         "Then I’ve talked to Dr. Abernathy and his wife. They greet you warmly. "          Claire's face brightened.          "Will they come and visit me?"          "I have already applied to the court for a visit certificate for both of them. Maybe it will be a bit difficult because I intend to name Gail and Joe as witnesses in the trial. But if necessary I will play the health card. "          "Health card?"          Claire looked at him questioningly.          "Well, it would certainly be detrimental to your physical and mental health if the only friends and caregivers you have in this country were not allowed to visit you, right? Imagine you become ill and unable to stand the trial? That would certainly not please the presiding judge."          On Jamie's face a big grin became visible.          "Lawyers! Up to every trick!" 

Entrance hall of the regional court of Berlin located in Littenstrasse 12-17 in Berlin-Mitte.  * Photo by: Ansgar Koreng / CC BY-SA 3.0 (DE), CC BY-SA 3.0 de, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=51211562          "Exactly, we do not shy away from any kind of tactic and do everything for our clients. But now we should come to the court procedure. Do you have any questions? " 

         "Lots. But maybe you'll explain to me how the justice system works in this country. I learned about it a bit in my naturalization course, but ... "          "Well, there are several types of courts: First the ‘Amtsgericht’, the local court. These courts only handle offenses whose sentences are below four years. All other offenses are heard at the ‘Landgericht’, the District Court. Your case will being heard before the district court and there before the ‘Schwurgerichtskammer’. The ‘Schwurgerichtskammer’ is the great criminal chamber of the district court, which has three professional judges and two lay judges and is responsible for special felonies in the criminal proceedings (eg murder, manslaughter, assassination with fatalities, hostage taking with fatal consequences etc.). In Germany there is no jury in the court, as you know it from America. The persons named 'Schöffen' are two honorary lay judges. These two persons represent the jury, so to speak. So you will have to face a total of five judges: The presiding judge, called “Vorsitzender”, two assisting judges, called “Beisitzer” and the two lay judges. The High District Court is also responsible for appeals. The last instance is the Federal Court of Justice. There we can appeal the judgment of the district court, if necessary. So you see, even if you get convicted, that does not mean you have to stay convicted ... "

         "Suppose they convict me for a murder I did not commit, how many years in prison do I have to expect?"          Jamie took a deep breath.          "Don’t worry, Jamie. Be honest."          "15 years, but ..."          "But what?"          Again he breathed deeply. It was cruel and he did not want to say it. Just the thought of it made him shudder internally.          "Jamie, please!"          "There is a chance that the court will determine what is called “besondere Schwere der Schuld”, 'severe gravity of guilt'. Then parole is delayed for a non-specific period beyond 15 years."          "Does that mean that I have to stay in prison for maybe 20 or more years?"          Jamie could not answer verbally. Just the thought that Claire, the woman he loved, should suffer such a fate, made him sick. So he just nodded slightly. Joe Abernathy and his wife Gail had asked him the same questions and were similarly shocked. However, in contrast to Claire, Jamie had expressed his concern that the prosecutor who had written the indictment of Claire was pursuing to get a sentence with the ascertainment of ‘severe gravity of guilt'.. When he raised his head again, he saw that her face had returned to the color of a limed wall.          "Claire," he said, trying to put all the confidence he was able in his words, "nothing is lost yet. What's important is that we now look at the prosecution's allegations and find out how we can refute them."          She nodded. Jamie reached for the ‘Duplo Akte’ and put it between himself and Claire.          "This is a copy of your court file. It contains, among other things, a so-called 'Lichtbild-Mappe', a folder, which contains all the photos of the crime scene and of the forensic autopsy. I know, it's not easy to look at these pictures, but ... "          "Jamie, go on. I know how those pictures look."          "O.K., Claire. Here," he said, opening a double page of the folder, "you can see Frank's shaved head with the injuries which you should have caused with a blow poke from the fireplace in your home."          The pictures showed the shaven head of the corpse. On it were seen seven lacerations that had severed the scalp. The lacerations had interesting forms. They reminded Jamie of the shape of a sign from the old Nordic rune alphabet. The Runic letter ‘algiz’. It looked like two letter ‘algiz’ were placed on the left side and on the top of the head and another laceration on the right side.

Runic letter ’algiz’  by BK (selfmade image using the free Junicode font) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

         "What can you tell me about these injuries?" 

         "Nothing. As a surgeon, I've seen countless serious injuries, including head injuries. But I have not seen such injuries yet."

         Jamie did not wonder about her statement. Only days before, he had dr. Abernathy submitted the pictures with the same question and got a very similar answer.          "The prosecution claims that you inflicted these injuries on your husband’s head  with a blow poke that his cousin Alex gave to him as a present many years ago."          "I know. But if it were that way, why didn’t Frank’s skull have fractures or his brain injuries? If you hit the head of a human being with the tip of a blow poke, there must be deep injuries where the tip hits the skull. Not just lacerations in the skin! Besides, Frank was much stronger than me. Had I really hit him with the blow poke, he could just have turned around and wriggled it out of my hand easily. I might have had a chance to beat him once, but certainly not seven times."          Jamie wrote down everything she said.          "Well, if there is anything that comes to your mind about these wound in the future, please let me know. For today I have only one more question. As you can see from the indictment, the reason for your re-arrest was a witness. Eight months after your husband's death, a new witness has suddenly appeared, severely straining you. Claire, who in the world is Sandy Miller?"

Thank you for reading. Next time, read: Secret Whitsun holidays on Rügen

[believingispowerfulmagic]

Christmas is close, so could you write soldier verse, where Henry realizes that in reality Santa is uncle little John. What is his (and his parents) reaction?

Many companies held holiday parties throughout the month of December and Robin’s was no different. He made sure they set money aside in the budget that could not be touched until it came time to plan the party, wanting to thank his employees properly for their hardwork throughout the year and boost their morale. The party was held in the office but was fully catered and a DJ was brought in to play Christmas music as well as oversee games. Especially the ones for the children as Robin always insisted that the parties be open to his employees’ families, even before he had his own. And at the very end, “Santa” came to visit and give gifts to everyone–young and old.

Robin was very proud of his parties.

“Does he always look like that?” Killian asked, motioning to Robin with his gloved hand as he clutched a glass of eggnog in the other.

Robin tilted his head as he studied his friend. “Like what?”

“Like the proud father watching his family have fun,” Killian replied. “I swear, your chest is even puffed out.”

“It is not,” Robin protested.

Regina chuckled, wrapping her arm around his as she rested Diana on her hip. “It kinda is.”

He rolled his eyes as he took the girl from her, bouncing Diana gently. “You ready to see Santa, sweetheart?” he asked her.

She cooed, waving her little hand at him as she flashed a smile revealing one little baby tooth. Robin took her hand and kissed her fingers. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“You better go get Santa, then,” Regina said. “You can’t keep this one waiting.”

He nodded, kissing her cheek. “I’ll be right back. Can you and some of the others start rounding up the children?”

I’ll give you a hand too,” Killian said, setting his empty beer down on a table. “Should be some fun.”

“Do you define herding cats as fun?” Regina asked, raising her eyebrow at him.

He grinned at her. “The very best kind.”

Leaving his wife and childhood friend behind, Robin headed toward John’s office. The door was closed and he knocked on it. “John? You in there?”

“John? There is no John here,” a loud booming voice responded. “Only Santa Claus in here.”

Robin rolled his eyes and opened the door. John stood in the middle of the office, all decked out in his Santa suit. His hefty frame was covered by red velvet lined with white fur. A black belt with a gold buckle was wrapped around the middle of his coat. Gold rimmed half-moon glasses were perched on the edge of his nose and white hair framed his face, matching the long white beard covering his chin. His nose and cheeks were rosier than usual and he was just putting the hat.

“You get a little too into this, you know,” Robin said, crossing his arms as he studied his friend.

John chuckled, the belt bouncing up and down with his stomach. “I don’t know what you mean. I am Santa Claus, Robin.”

Robin rolled his eyes. “Fine. Come on, Santa. Your audience awaits.”

“Lead the way!” John bellowed, picking up the bag of toys he was to give out to the children. “And don’t forget the bell!”

“Can we not?” Robin begged, wincing.

John shook his head, holding out the bell to Robin. “You know what to do.”

“I humor you too much,” he muttered. But he rang the bell as he walked down the hall, John following the sack on his back.

As they approached the main room, Robin heard the cheers of the children. They all started chanting “Santa” in unison and he had no doubt that Will was leading them. He was sometimes an ever bigger child then the actual children.

Robin entered the room and stepped aside quickly as the children rushed “Santa,” clamoring around him. Roland was right up front, jumping up and down to get Santa’s attention. John laughed, guiding them over to the chair set up for him.

“Ho, ho, ho,” John said. “Now, boys and girls, have you been good this year?”

“Yes,” they chorused.

John paused, stroking his beard as if considering their answer. He then smiled, nodding. “I agree. So I had my elves make these toys just for you! Listen for your names and come get your present.”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a little box, smiling. “This one is for our newest addition–Diana!”

Regina approached with the baby girl, accepting the box from him. “Thank you, Santa. I’m sure she’ll love it,” she said.

“I’m sure she will too,” John replied, winking. Regina herself had picked out the set of Christmas themed pacifiers herself for Diana.

Robin had bought the gifts for Roland and Henry so he grew more and more excited as John handed out more presents to the children, waiting for his sons’ names to be called. He knew they would love the Star Wars Lego sets and he wanted to see their faces light up.

“Roland!” John announced, handing the present to the eager boy. “Merry Christmas, Roland.”

“Merry Christmas, Santa, and thank you,” Roland replied before giving John a big hug.

“You’re very welcome,” John replied before reaching into his sack to call the next name.

After a few more children, Henry’s name was finally called. Robin watched his oldest bound up to Santa and accept his gift with a “thank you.” He also hugged Santa but as he pulled back, Robin saw a peculiar look come across Henry’s face. He tilted his head and frowned as he walked away, sitting down next to his mother.

Concerned, Robin walked over to the table. He placed his hand on Henry’s back. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No,” Henry said but it didn’t sound convincing. Robin caught Regina’s eye and she frowned as well.

Before they could press him further, Roland had finished opening his present and had gasped loudly. “A Death Star Lego set! Santa is awesome!”

Henry’s eyes grew wide and he tore into his own present. When the wrapping paper was torn away, he let out a whoop. “The Millennium Falcon! Just what I wanted!”

With his mood improved, Robin decided to let the matter lie for the moment. He and Regina could address it later.

“Come on. Let’s go have your picture taken with Santa” Regina said, placing one of the new pacifiers in Diana’s mouth. It had a Santa on it, which moved as she sucked it.

The boys nodded, following their parents to join the line of other families waiting for their picture.

Henry and Roland climbed onto John’s lap, thanking “Santa” for his gifts. Regina then set Diana in his arms and they stepped back, letting Belle take some pictures of the family. She smiled at Robin and Regina. “They’ll be ready before you leave,” she said.

“Thank you, Belle,” Regina replied before going to gather up Diana. She helped Roland down as well and he waved goodbye to Santa.

Henry stayed on John’s lap, studying the man intently. Realization dawned in his eyes and he hopped down, a purpose in his step. Dread built in Robin’s stomach as he realized his son had just realized who “Santa” really was and prayed they didn’t have to have the “conversation” with him just yet. He didn’t want Henry to lose his belief just yet.

Their children were absolutely exhausted by the time they got home from the party. Regina carried Diana into the house while Robin did the same to Roland, dragging a zombie-like Henry behind him. They easily changed their children and tucked them all in, all concerns about Henry’s peculiar look at the party forgotten.

Forgotten until after lunch the next day, that was. Robin and Regina sent the boys into the living room to play while Diana napped in her carrier. They double checked all their lists, making sure they had gotten gifts for everyone and didn’t need to return to the mall. As they did that, Robin heard Roland say something he couldn’t quite make out but Henry’s response was very clear:

“You know Uncle John is Santa, right?”

Robin and Regina froze, their eye locked onto each other. He knew the same debate raged on their heads–did they let it play out or did they step in before they had two disenfranchised children?

“What do you mean?” Roland asked, confused.

“I recognized him yesterday when he gave us our presents,” Henry said. “It was Uncle John. He’s Santa Claus.”

“Do you mean he’s like one of the elves Santa sends out to learn what children want, like the mall Santa?” Roland asked.

Robin held his breath, praying that was what Henry meant. His heart pounded wildly and his stomach dropped as he heard his eldest say: “No.”

He had just started to push back his chair when Henry continued: “I mean that Uncle John is the real Santa Claus.”

“Really?” Roland asked, sounding excited. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. I mean, he travels a lot for work, right? And he always says that Virginia is very hot, even when it’s cold to us. He’s also very knowledgeable about reindeer too,” Henry said. “And Christmas is his favorite holiday.”

They heard Roland gasp. “Uncle John is Santa Claus! Cool!”

“But we can’t tell anyone,” Henry said, sounding solemn. “Not even Neal and Eva.”

“Why?” Roland asked, confused.

“Because there’s a reason why Uncle John hasn’t told us, right? So we need to keep his secret or else he might stop visiting,” Henry reasoned. 

“Oooh. Okay, Henry. I won’t tell anyone. Promise,” Roland said. Robin imagined the two had just locked pinkies. 

He looked up, meeting Regina’s eyes. They sparkled with amusement and they both chuckled softly. It seemed their boys’ belief was safe for another year. He was just going to have to text John to give him the head’s up. 

John was no doubt going to have a lot of fun with this one.  

[tact-and-impulse]

At Arm’s Length Chapter 5

Well, I’ll post in case the storm over here knocks out the power. :p FF.net, AO3

Chapter 5: The Runaway

The following morning, Koshijiro was prepared to train the newest officers. He had ideas about how to assign them, but that would depend on their individual personalities and work ethics. He was about to depart for the police station, when his daughter came up to him.

“Otou-san, have you seen Kenshin?”

“I did not.” Breakfast had been on the table, but there was no other sign of the redhead.

“Hmm.” Her brow furrowed, and she turned on her heel, walking further into the house.

Yahiko was of more help, calling out from the yard. “Sano stopped by, he said they were going out.” At Kaoru’s dubiousness, he added. “I wouldn’t lie. If you worry this much, get Kenshin on a leash.”

She flushed. “You little brat! That’s just…ew!”

“You didn’t have to take me seriously!”

Koshijiro sternly interrupted the exchange. “The both of you should start lessons. Himura and Sagara will be fine wherever they are.”

“It’s the Shuueiya.” Yahiko informed Kaoru. “A gambling hall.”

“G-gambling hall?! Geez, they had better not lose everything.” Despite her disgruntled tone, her expression had relaxed from before. “Otou-san, do you need a bento box?”

“No, I will be in town for most of the day. I’ll be back before dinner.” He said goodbye and saw them wave as he left.

When he entered the department’s large meeting room, the chief introduced him to the group of fifteen officers. “This is former officer Kamiya-san. He recently returned from Satsuma, but he’s been with us for over ten years. He will be in charge of your training from now on.”

Fifteen pairs of eyes stared at his trailing sleeve.

“Yes, I lost my arm in battle.” Koshijiro directly addressed the matter, hoping their curiosity was satisfied. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case, because they began to chatter amongst themselves. He loudly cleared his throat, and they remembered to be quiet.

Soon, he realized the group only needed to be motivated properly. They slacked off on patrols because they were bored, and it was difficult to keep their attention. When he started to lecture about the new patrol routes, they were still distracted by the novelty of his missing arm. Well, except for Kosaburo. He remained attentive the entire time, politely raising his hand when he had a question. He showed the most promise, despite his inexperience.

It was still early when Koshijiro finished lecturing, so he divided them into groups of three and assigned each a route. The young men were well-behaved as they practiced patrolling, but he would have to observe them later, when they thought he wasn’t looking. It was close to evening when he finished checking their paperwork, and handed over their next assignments.

He walked through the streets of Tokyo, alone. It had been a little over a month since his return, and already, much had changed. His daughter was the master of Kamiya Kasshin. An Ishin Shishi veteran and ex-assassin was now handling the household chores. The sole student had once been a pickpocket and their most frequent visitor was a former street fighter. In the old days, all of this would have been frowned upon. But Koshijiro did not care for the past. Now, every day was high-spirited and cheerful. Even with unexpected events, the house was a great deal livelier. He preferred it.

As if fate had read his mind, another surprise awaited him at home. Everyone was in the yard, and ignoring Himura’s spread-eagled body on the ground, he immediately singled out the one unfamiliar person, a young woman with long hair and a red-lipped smile. She wasn’t a friend of Kaoru, judging by how his daughter leveled a firm look at her.

“Takani-san, was it? I’m very sorry, but you can go home. These two idiots might have won you in gambling, but you’re free now.”

Takani didn’t budge. “Oh, I don’t want to. I like this man, you see.” She knelt, helping the half-beaten Himura to a sitting position. She tilted her head close, intimately. “I don’t want to leave his side for a second. And I’m better company than that sweaty girl, aren’t I, Ken-san?”

Himura only gave a dazed moan of ‘oro’, while Kaoru spluttered. “S-stop that!”

“What’s the matter? It doesn’t look like you’re his lover, so you don’t have a say in what he does.”

“Come on, don’t tease her so much, she’s naïve.” Sagara’s input was the last straw.

His daughter was seething in frustration, and Koshijiro stepped in. “Kaoru, you and Yahiko should change out of your uniforms. It’s getting late.” The boy was eager to acquiesce, but Kaoru flashed a glare at the other three.

“If you’d rather not stay at the house of a naïve, sweaty girl, then you can just go!”

Well, Koshijiro hadn’t been happy with how they had picked on her, but losing her temper was too far. “Kaoru!” He scolded, but she ran inside.

“Oh, it’s alright. Girls at that age can be quite testy.” Takani gave a lofty laugh, as if she were a worldly lady, instead of a girl barely older than Kaoru.

Koshijiro turned to them, and Takani stiffened. He then looked to Sagara. “Is it true about the gambling?”

“Er…yeah?” He scratched his head. “Sorry, old man, but we’d like her to stay close.” His tone wasn’t very lighthearted, foreboding rather. He was hiding something, Koshijiro was sure of it.

“Perhaps it’s best for all of you to be elsewhere, until Kaoru calms down. Takani-san, I am Kamiya Koshijiro, Kaoru’s father. You’re welcome to stay for the night, but you should know that my daughter is your hostess and she should be treated accordingly.”

“…yes.” For a moment, it was like she was hiding behind a shield, backing off to protect herself. Her smile was tight. “I’ll be a model guest.”

***

Koshijiro gave a stern lecture, while dinner was being prepared. “Even if you don’t like Takani-san, that is no excuse for bad manners.”

Kaoru had been slicing tofu and now, she brought the knife down heavily on the cutting board. “I was polite! It was Takani-san who was rude first. Why isn’t she hearing this?”

“I do not care who started it, only that you behaved poorly and we must remedy that.” Also, he was honestly at a loss for how to deal with someone like Takani. Or this entire tug-of-war over Himura.

Meanwhile, Yahiko was listening nonchalantly. “Yeah, you were overreacting. Get a grip, moody hag.”

“That’s enough from you, young man.”

“Sorry.” He clammed up.

“But he is correct in that you overreacted. You need to be more mature, in control of your temper. The minute you lose restraint, your efforts will be for nothing. You must be clearheaded and calm, especially with those who are difficult. If you are not, they will get what they want.”

“Fine. I understand, Otou-san.” Kaoru said shortly, and it was silent, except for the thud of the knife in her hand. “Ah, then again. You tried to punch Kenshin when you first met him.”

Of course, that would be brought up! But he supposed he deserved it. His own temper was a work in progress, forty-six years in the making.

Yahiko’s eyes widened. “What?”

“It was a misunderstanding. I apologized later that day, as you should, Kaoru.”

“I know, I will.” She griped, but she sounded more contrite.

An hour later, Sagara and Himura returned. Takani was with them, but she looked rattled, her eyes darting around the room. She didn’t sit down until Himura urged her to.

Kaoru was remorseful, as she set the table. “I’m sorry for snapping. It’s been a long day.”

Himura shook his head. “No, we shouldn’t have brought a guest without asking you beforehand. That was presumptuous of us.” He smiled at her, and she tentatively returned the expression.

“Good, so all’s forgiven.” Sagara grinned. “Let’s eat.”

Dinner was mostly civil, although Sagara and Yahiko’s etiquette needed polishing. Twice, Koshijiro reminded them to stop talking with their mouths full. Kaoru related the day’s events to Himura, and while he was listening to her, Koshijiro noticed his shoulders were tense. He’d have to find out what matter Takani brought to their doorstep.

“Would you like more tea, Takani-san?” He politely asked.

“Oh, no, thank you. And I’d rather not trouble you.” Her gaze was on his missing arm. “Is that recent?”

“From Satsuma.”

“Ah, so you were wounded there.” She was more alert. “Any pain or tenderness?”

“I have occasional phantom pains, but my physician has already given medicine. Aspirin, I believe.”

“No opium.” There was a note of relief in her voice.

“Dr. Oguni doesn’t trust it.”

“That’s good.” She pressed her lips together. “Well, if you feel ill, I have no qualms about hearing your concerns.” Then, she turned her attention to Himura, and the chance to question her was lost amidst her flirtations and Kaoru’s barely restrained apprehension.

After dinner, the stark jolts of pain had also returned, forcing him to excuse himself to his bedroom. He closed his eyes, focusing on breathing and slowly emptying his mind.

“Hey, old man! Your daughter’s peeping!” Sagara’s voice broke him out of meditation. Heaving a sigh, Koshijiro rose and peered out through the window into the yard.

“I wasn’t!” Kaoru said vehemently, releasing her grip on Sagara’s collar. “I was…checking in on Kenshin and Takani-san. They haven’t come out yet.” Supposedly, they were having a ‘discussion’ in one of the rooms.

“It’s not what you’re thinking.” Sagara reassured her. “He might be strong, but Kenshin’s just weak when it comes to women and children.”

“And what about you?” She countered.

His eyes darkened. “I couldn’t care less about that vixen!” It was a strangely intense reaction.

“If there’s something we deserve to know,” Koshijiro cleared his throat and stepped out. “It’d be wise to share it.”

At that moment, Himura joined them. “It’s a sensitive matter, Kamiya-dono. This one can only say that it there may be a serious incident.” He handed a slip of paper to Sagara, who unfolded it. “In this case, the fewer people involved, the better.”

Koshijiro raised his eyebrows. “It’s a matter too sensitive for the police?”

He gave that harmless smile. “Yes, for now.”

It wasn’t a very satisfactory answer, but Kaoru relented a little. “Alright. When it’s over, we’d like an explanation.”

“Of course.”

Suddenly, a cackle floated up from the floorboards. Koshijiro frowned, as Yahiko squirmed out from underneath the porch. “I heard everything! It’s not fair, I want in on this!”

“No way, you’re just a kid.” Sagara dismissed him.

“W-well, you’re just a Sanosuke!” Yahiko attempted a retort and a flying kick, which was easily blocked.  

While the others laughed, Koshijiro caught Takani’s profile, from within the house. She was looking at them, her expression inexplicably melancholy. It was odd, for the spring night was pleasant enough.

At least, until the gate blew open. Concrete and wooden splinters soared through the air.

“They’re here!” Takani’s voice was panicked.

Beyond Himura and Sagara, Koshijiro spotted a hulking shadow that had taken the place of the gate. It was a large man, who could have been a sumo wrestler in another life. He pushed aside pieces of the crumbling wall, as he ordered. “Megumi. Hand her over. I’m Hyottoko of the Oniwanbanshuu, and I might not hurt anyone else if you do what I say now.”

Tense silence followed. Koshijiro drew Kaoru and Yahiko behind him.

Hyottoko scoffed. “Well, a fight it is then. Who’s first? Either, both, it doesn’t matter.”

“Me!” Sagara roared and rushed forward. “I’ll make you talk about the opium!”

Opium? Koshijiro glanced at Takani, who was paler. A sensitive matter, the appearance of a former spy, the secrecy, her interest in physiology. She was likely a manufacturer of the drug, probably escaped from whoever handled her.

Sagara had landed a punch, but Hyottoko didn’t budge. He clicked his teeth, and in the next instant, there was blazing heat. The flames were brief, yet they blackened the grass and Sagara had to throw off his singed coat. He had been lucky, only his leg had taken the most damage.

“That’s our fire man!” There was a distant laugh. “Oil in his gut and flint in his teeth. Nothing he can’t burn!”

“Leave, Beshimi.” Hyottoko snapped, and at the base of his tongue, a drip was visible. Did that connect to where the oil was held?

“Don’t look away. I’m your opponent.” Himura called out, holding the sakabato before him.

“After I’m finished with this one, you’re next, no hurry.”

“That’s true, you can take your time with your sideshow act. It won’t touch a hair.” Himura’s goading worked, for the man was enraged enough to direct the next blast of flames toward him. But Himura wasn’t even singed, as he rapidly spun his sword.

“Oh, he’s using the wind to make a shield!” Yahiko crowed, and Koshijiro pulled him back.

“Go inside and wait there.”

“As if I could! I’m part of Kenshin’s company!”

Exasperated, Koshijiro turned to his daughter, only to see that she wasn’t there. Neither was Takani, but they hadn’t gone far.

“Going somewhere? You could at least watch those who are fighting for your sake.” Kaoru was stopping Takani, who appeared to be trying to slip out.

“Beshimi might be a different story, but Hyottoko is more typical of the Oniwabanshuu. He can’t be beaten by a regular swordsman.”

“Kenshin will win.” She said with certainty. “Because he’s not a regular swordsman.”

Indeed, Himura’s deflection had stalled the attack. Hyottoko had run out of oil, and the flames sputtered out. Then, he suddenly began to pound his stomach.

“He’s trying to refill the oil!” Kaoru realized.

“You’ll have to remove the bag in his stomach!” Koshijiro added. The height of battle could be blamed for that outburst.

However, Sagara walked up, insisting. “Thanks, Kenshin, but I’ll take care of him this time!”

“Your leg’s hurt.” Kaoru protested, but Himura retreated.

“Go ahead, Sanosuke.”

Hyottoko had also recovered, and he aimed directly at Sagara. Within the fire, Sagara’s shadow leapt. He reached into the other man’s mouth and dragged out the oil sack. His arms were covered in burns, but his good leg landed a roundhouse kick into Hyottoko’s jaw, landing the former spy.

“They’re strong.” Takani had found her voice again. “Himura and Sagara.”

“They are, and I can count on them as friends. I’m proud of them.” Kaoru beamed and headed toward them. “Are you two okay? Geez, you really are hurt.”

Exhaustion set in as the adrenaline crashed, and Koshijiro sat on the porch with a sigh. “Yes, they barely managed to win.”

“It seems like that, doesn’t it?” Himura grinned, but the revelry was cut short as he whirled around. “Beshimi is still here!”

A second ninja emerged from the trees over the wall, his face ghastly in the moonlight. This one was more the type, with cunning, angular features and short stature. He snapped his wrist, and something whistled straight towards Takani. But it never hit her.

“Watch out!” Yahiko jumped, a dart landing in the back of his hand. It would have been in Takani’s heart, otherwise.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kaoru ran to him, helping him up from the ground. “What if it was in your heart? This isn’t a game, so stay back!”

“We’re all protecting her, aren’t we? I said I’m part of Kenshin’s company! Have a little…faith…in…” His words began to slur, and he collapsed once more.

Poison. Dread filled Koshijiro and he hurried over as well.

Beshimi was still talking. “That’s what happens when you get involved in other people’s business! He’ll have an hour at most. You’re next, by the way-huh?” His target had been Himura, who had vanished before him. A moment later, Himura landed his ambush, striking the sakabato down on Beshimi’s head.

However, the falling poisoner’s body didn’t touch the ground. It had happened quickly, but another ninja had been present and dashed to catch his comrade. The man, wearing a Hann’ya mask, held up his hand in surrender. “We’re retreating.”

“We won’t stop you from leaving.” Himura answered. “But give us the poison’s antidote.”

“Why should we? You’re the enemy.”

Himura attacked, but the Hann’ya man stopped the blade with his gloved fist. With the other, he struck Himura, who dug his scabbard into the other man’s liver. As the Hann’ya man stumbled backwards, Himura fell to the grass and Koshijiro moved to stand near him. There was no chance to win against this ninja now, but regardless, he looked for an opening. Anything, to obtain an antidote.

But there was none, and the Hann’ya man only said. “This battle isn’t over. As long as you house Takani Megumi, we’ll be back.” With that, he quickly extricated himself, Hyottoko, and Beshimi. They seemed to melt into the darkness.

“Yahiko! Yahiko!” Kaoru and Sagara were shouting, slapping the boy’s face to keep him awake.

Koshijiro offered his hand to the grimacing Himura, helping him up. He was rather light, but his grip was still strong. As they ran over, Koshijiro inquired. “Himura, do you know what we can do?”

“This one only has experience with broken bones and sword wounds. Should we suck the poison out of the wound?”

Kaoru was prepared to, but Takani grabbed her hand. “You’ll only infect the wound. This isn’t a job for amateurs.” She knelt, fluidly taking Yahiko’s pulse and opening his eyelids. “It’s jimsonweed. Kamiya-san, help me elevate his body with pillows. You mentioned your physician Dr. Oguni. I’ll write a prescription, Kaoru can get it from him. Ken-san, I need boiled water and washcloths. And you buy ice.” She told Sagara, before turning her focused gaze on all of them. “This is a race against time. Go!”

***

By the time Dr. Gensai arrived, most of the debris in the yard had been cleared. Koshijiro waited outside, keeping watch in case anyone else would ambush them in this uncertain situation. But no one did, and Dr. Gensai beckoned him inside, to join his daughter and Sagara. Among the pillows on the floor, Yahiko was asleep, his forehead damp but his breathing even.

Dr. Gensai explained. “The boy will be alright in a few days. Who wrote the prescription? It was perfect, they must have studied at a Western university.”

There was a moment’s pause before Sagara gave her up. “A woman named Takani.”

“Takani? From Aizu?”

Now that Koshijiro thought about it, her accent had a trace of the mainland’s northern provinces. “Do you know her?”

“Not personally. The Takani clan is famous for being physicians, men and women alike. I heard that the last head of the family, Takani Ryuusei, sent his children to one of the new Western institutes in Nagasaki. He was courageous enough to leave his province. Then, Aizu fell; the two of you were probably too young to remember, but you do, Koshijiro.”

He nodded once. He hadn’t been part of the subjugating forces sent by the government, but he and Kyoko had mourned how many had died in the rebellion. “And I’m sure the Takani family had plenty of work on their hands.”

“They did. Takani Ryuusei died on the battlefield, his wife and sons went missing in a fire. But I heard his daughter was in Tokyo, although the doctor she worked for had an ill reputation. He was murdered by gangsters, and no one had seen her since.” Takani-san must have been that daughter, but how had she come to manufacture opium, instead of saving lives?

Then, Kaoru stood, saying grudgingly. “I should thank her. Wait, now that you mention it, I haven’t seen her since you came here.”

Sagara started. “She couldn’t have escaped again? I’ll check inside.”

“We’ll look outside.” Koshijiro offered, and Kaoru followed him.

The yard was still empty, but there were voices from beyond the destroyed gate. Himura was further along the road, perhaps to stop Takani from leaving again. She was crying, looking more like the lonely young woman she was.

“I just wanted to continue working as a doctor.” She sobbed. Evidently, Himura had also discovered her past. “I thought, if I did, my family would find me. But…it’s been ten years, and nothing. And the doctor here made opium, before Kanryuu came.” She spat out the name. “Now I’m making opium for him instead. I tried to escape, even into death.”

The loss of her family and livelihood had driven her to desperation, yet her suicide attempt had failed. She had been lost for many years, without a true sense of purpose. Koshijiro pitied her, and it seemed his daughter did as well, pensively observing the conversation.

“However, for these three years, you produced the opium at a minimum. Yes, there were victims, but not as many as there could have been. You took on this burden, and now it’s time for you to forgive yourself. And you are alive.” Himura replied. “We will do our best to protect you and after that, you can find your own way to live on. There are many people who you could help, with your expertise. That is the only way you can atone, Takani-dono.”

Kaoru spoke up, relenting. “You saved Yahiko, and we have you to thank. The least we can do is give you a place to stay. Just for now.”

Takani wiped at her eyes, before bowing her head. “Thank you.”

For the moment, it had all ended well and Koshijiro couldn’t complain. A brisk wind blew, and he quietly said. “It’s been a long night. We should all go inside.”

Together, the four of them returned to the warmth of the house. But Sagara did not greet Takani, his expression still guarded.