#I shall thank everyone and my moots who is always on my side!

[cr1ms0n4nd-ac3]

Guess what today it is!?

That's right! Happy Birthday to me!!! :D

Shoutout to my friendzies and moots:

@callme-adam-iguess @mozzarella-ds @shapeshivvter @corelex @alcedeerie @xxl1ghtxx @kurushimiangel @dreamybasil @sammysundaee @foxett @soul-has-left-the-chat @stareulogy @starcoreboy @kaddyssammlung

LOVE U ALL SO SO MUCH!!!

[the-travelling-witch]

✨affectionate ask✨ hullo, my new friend!! I remember we met through my review post and I'm very glad we did. I know we haven't really had any conversations yet (which can always change, ofc) but I'm still grateful we've become mutuals and in my gut, i feel like you're a kindly soul and I'm always open to yap! esp if you want a buddy to yap to about the legend of zelda, the Magnus archives, and gokurakugai 💕💕💕💕💕

me when liking the post that says i should like it to receive an ask actually receives me an ask: :o

not but seriously i should’ve seen this coming hshshsh

anyhow, i totally agree!! i’ve not been doing much writing for reasons, so i’ve not dared show my face around the community(s) much the last few months, but i shall make my glorious return (and hopefully soon too) /silly

likewise, i’ve also not done much reading, digitally or physically for that matter, which i also need to catch up on (there’s a lot of books with bookmarks in lying around here, it’s not funny anymore)

but yeah, all that yapping aside, i really hope i can interact with people more again when i’ve recovered my emotional energy!! ngl i have been feeling a little lonely on here for some time now, like my blog’s in a different orbit, but i’m hoping to launch myself into other’s trajectory again!! all that to say, i’d love to talk more, about whatever really :]

and my view on you hasn’t changed either, so i’m also happy we’ve become moots!! i think you’re cool and have your fandom-heart in the right place, meaning understanding the importance of and encouraging engagement with people and creators of a fandom, which is a situation i’ve been giving much thought myself in general too (obviously i think your normal heart is in the right place too haha idek if this is a metaphor that works in english but we’ll roll with it)

also, the magnus archives… it’s less of a fixation by now and more of an obsession, really. i’ve gone against my very nature and restrained myself from looking at fanart and searching for merch bc i want to keep myself spoiler-free so i can spam my friends, who are further in than me, with my theories and be very smug when i catch on to sth

me about to go off on a tangent in the gc:

anywayyyyy, to conclude my rambling, thanks so much for the ask!! as i said, I’d love to talk more about whatever, i promise i normally know how to talk, just not right now apparently lol<3

and to everyone else here… i might reenter the kitchen soon to cook; do you like your fics sunny-side up or scrambled? too bad, i only ever make them scrambled. so i hope you look forward to the same irregular, incoherent posting schedule that i’ve been serving since the beginning :]

[inkdemonapologist]

[BatIM Call of Cthulhu Masterpost]

REMEMBER BACK WHEN WE GOT INVITED TO A MASQUERADE??? And we figured out the masquerade guests are definitely the sacrifice meant to summon their eldritch deity and that the party will probably be the location of the final ritual? ANYWAY WE’RE CRASHING THE PARTY, which means we need costumes.

The party is Alice in Wonderland themed; Sammy hasn’t read the book but got kin-assigned the March Hare by Joey, so naturally i’ve been doing nothing but drawing this loser in a dapper rabbit costume for an entire week

---

Anyway have a little smattering of out-of-context quotes from session 11

[Sammy is played by me, Joey is played by Boo (inkyvendingmachine), Henry is played by Maf (inkcryptid), Jack is played by Mochi (whatyouwantedmetosee) and Thren (haunted-hijinxer) is our GM!]

[Sammy] Sammy just has no magical powers. [Jack] YET. [Sammy] Yet. Correct. ...He doesn't want any. [GM] Half of him doesn't want any. [Sammy] That's... accurate, yeah. Half of him ALSO wants the OTHER half of him to stop having magical powers. [Jack] No Magical Girl transformation? [GM] *laughing* Is that what that is? [Jack] I'd watch a magical anime where the main character drugs themself and then becomes a weird... religious... madman! [Sammy] That does sound compelling! Maybe you should see if you can find a franchise that contains that element, and then become a big fan of it and draw a bunch of fanart for some reason. [Jack] Yeah, I dunno, I mean... it's so tiring getting into new media, I need to get a friend who will drag me into it. [Henry] And then you guys can start a roleplaying game with it and drag me into it! [GM] There's an idea! [Jack] Yeah! Someone should get on that! [GM] And if there was such a theoretical game... people might have to figure... what they're doing when they wake up!

[Sammy] We were put in a situation before where we were told that the only thing we could do was kill the host, but we found a way around it last time, [Peter] What way was that? [Sammy] Complicated.

[GM] Henry is the first to notice the apparent cultist, camping out, looking tired, trying to spot you guys. [Henry] Uh, Henry is just going to tap Sammy on the arm and point him out. [Jack] Bros! You've got to unionise! Look at these working conditions! [GM] Maybe one of these days you won't spot them, right? Hope springs eternal!

[GM] Okay, you can make an intimidate! [Sammy] Okay! *rolls* FIFTEEN IS -- this is the only thing Sammy's good at now -- fifteen is a hard success!

[Jack] I'm proud of him! [Sammy] Someone has to be.

[GM] Allison chats with everyone, and gets you into the costume room! Everyone seems relatively friendly! [Sammy] Except Sammy. Sammy doesn't seem friendly.

[Joey] My idea was, Joey would be Mad Hatter -- [Sammy] Because he needs a hat, [Joey] --Yeah, so he can have a hat -- I was thinking Sammy could be the March Hare, Jack could be White Rabbit, and then Henry could be the Dormouse, [Sammy] Yes! And then the Haiti boys are all the Mad Teaparty, which is great, because the Mad Teaparty is canonically trapped in a time loop. [Sammy] Because we tHOUGHT ABOUT THIS TOO MUCH,

[Jack] Kin-assign Pete! [GM] He's content to wear anything that looks like it fits him, as long as people aren't trying to push a co-ordinated effort. [Joey] (Pete can be Caterpillar,) [Jack] Catter-pete-lar [Sammy] Oh my goodness. Completely unnecessary. [Jack] This is a pun that Jack might make, out loud, to Pete [GM] Pete laughs, despite himself! [Sammy] I feel like, Jack would make this pun, and then Jack would be SO pleased with himself that Pete would laugh, because Jack was so happy about it. [Jack] Yeah that sounds canon. ....It IS canon!!

[Jack] You can like, actually pretend to be people who decided to come to this party to enjoy it, and not just steal and/or murder!

[Henry] I want someone on the help, because I feel like we would have more control if we had someone on the inside, [Henry] And Henry does have a very forgettable face, apparently!!

[Joey] What are the staff wearing? Target red shirt, khaki pants? [Sammy] Perfect! Everyone will fall for it! Based on my experience wearing red shirts into Target!

[GM] I guess this does mean Joey misses an opportunity to dress up Henry. [Joey] *excited gasp* Wait, wait, [GM] What? [Joey] Sorry, this has nothing to do with anything that's happening right now in the roleplay, but I just suddenly realised that (1) when Henry got married, was Joey his best man, and (2) did Joey get to pick out his tuxedo for him [Henry] UHHHH... I feel like, Henry usually defaults to Joey for outfits and stuff, but he would hesitate a bit to ask his best friend who has an obvious crush on him to help dress for his heteronormative wedding!

[Joey] There probably is at least one of the wedding photos where Joey is insistent on standing very next to Henry -- while Henry's next to Linda! -- but, [GM] ...but also, Joey is here, [Joey] But also Joey is here. [Sammy] ...absolute disaster of a man... [GM] But the tuxedos look good! [Joey] Yes. Henry was properly fitted.

[Sammy] I don't want a full-- I don't want a freakin' fursuit, because-- [Henry] (FNAF in the distance)

[Sammy] But I feel like, since both White Rabbit and March Hare are, like, dapper rabbits, they could do something like, yeah, splicer mask and also a hat. [Jack] I mean, Jack's not opposed; Jack likes hats. [Sammy] Jack absolutely should have a hat, I agree. [Jack] He's getting so many hats! So many hats, and so many boyfriends, [GM] He can't be stopped! [Jack] >:3c He shouldn't be stopped.

[GM] I'm still just stuck on the phrase "Dapper Rabbits."

[GM] If Joey and Allison are talking further away, I guess it's moot. Though Allison did see Prophet Sammy! He changed in her room. [Sammy] Well, nobody explained him to her. Sammy just showed up the next day and hoped that we wouldn't talk about it, and then we didn't! It was great. [Jack] Sammy's over here, hoping that Allison is distracted by Joey so that none of this conversation is being listened to, [Jack] MEANWHILE, smash cut to the other side of the room, where Joey is explaining SillySam,

[Joey] A lot of Joey's lack of giving information was to keep her out of it, and not paint a target on her back... but now? She has a target on her back, so... Sure! You can also sacrifice yourself, for the greater good!

[Sammy] I'm sure someone in this party will thank Allison. It won't be me. But I'm sure someone will.

[Henry] Henry's already smearing his blood on people, he's gonna agree to whatever at this point.

[Sammy] DEFINITELY not a cult, now hold still while we put this guy's weird glowing blood on you, it's fine. [Jack] Welcome to the flock!

[GM] What does this mean for Prophet Sammy's sacrificeability rating on Henry, though? Now he's potentially long-term useful... [Sammy] I mean... [Jack] The Prophet isn't here so he doesn't need to know about this! [Sammy] ...I feel like, if something has greater value, then it's an even more impressive sacrifice. That's why you sacrifice an unblemished sheep, traditionally. If it's not a blemish-- [Sammy] Like, that's most of what he was worried about, like, “does this make you not fit for sacrifice.” But if it's actually a really cool thing, ...!

[Sammy] Sammy's nervous. [Jack] Jack is also nervous. [Henry] Henry is also nervous! [Jack] Oh, that's always a good sign, [Joey] Joey's going to be confident! [Henry] ...Of course he is. [Joey] Someone has to be! [Jack]...is he "Confident" or "Confident (Fast Talk)"? [Joey] YES. That last one. [Sammy] *muttering* That's the best we got, unfortunately.

[Sammy] If Jack or Henry express nervousness, Sammy agrees with them. If Pete is nervous, then Sammy will very aggressively say that Joey knows what he's doing.

[Sammy] Allison, don't use a spell to bind people's souls together in order to avoid crunch,,, [GM] You never know when something might be handy! [Sammy] I mean, [GM] Waste not want not!

[Henry] Does Henry have to draw in blood on himself...? [GM] No, Henry has a lot of his own blood on his person.

[GM] Aw, man, Bendy should've commented on the rabbit outfits! I'm sure he'd find that hilarious. [Joey] ...why...? [GM] WHY? It's just objectively funny! No additional reason is needed!!

[Joey] Joey will go through his notes, and confer with Henry and Bendy on, okay, shall we try this, and see if we can help Bendy as well? [Henry] Henry is down to try! [GM] Bendy is worried about Henry overexerting himself. [Henry] ...Henry is down to try!

[Jack] Worst case, Jack looks at the symbol, and then he can be seeing-eye rabbit for the rest of the group!

[GM] Norman wonders what the plan is! [Henry] Bold of you to assume,

[Sammy] We're having such a good sleepover! We did a weird blood ritual, and we're braiding each other's hair~ [Joey] Having a fashion show, [Sammy] Yeah! We went out and got clothes, [Jack] Can't believe Joey called a boy, [Sammy] Gotta ask Joey about the boy he likes... wait, no, don't do that. [Jack] I'd say it's time to play seven minutes in heaven, but I think we, we did that early. [Sammy] WE DIDN'T DO A VERY GOOD JOB,

[GM] Norman wants to see how this plays out. [Joey] Okay, well, try not to get sacrificed, then, [GM] He laughs, and thanks you for the advice! [Sammy] *Hypnos Hadesgame voice* "Try not to get sacrificed, okay?"

[Henry] Allison is very helpful, and not weird at all!

[Joey] We already have the banjo case full of ritual circles, and Joey would rather have the emergency circles than Sammy carrying around bOTTLES OF INK. [Sammy] WHY, WHY WOULDN'T YOU WANT THAT TO BE HAPPENING? WHAT WOULD BE THE PROBLEM WITH THAT,

[GM] Make a sanity check! [Jack] Wait, what's happening? [Sammy] Joey was trying to think too hard.

[GM] Sammy does manage to catch that there's a little-- next to the kitchen, when you go into the place where they're serving food, there's a sign that says "Sheep Shop" over it. And there's a person wearing a sheep mask, handing out food. [Sammy] OKAY, THAT'S FINE,,, I don't feel like Sammy has actually read Through The Looking Glass, so I don't know if he knows why this is happening. I think he's just concerned. [GM] Excellent. Ideal response.

[GM] And Joey has NEVER seen the symbol EVER because he's incredible at not looking at creepy symbols! Which you wouldn't expect. [Sammy] I'm sure Joey will put this in his autobiography.

[Jack] :/ No Hashtag Gay Rights at this party,

[GM] Seems to be another party-goer; in fact, you recognise the voice! [Joey] Ohhh. Kyle -- I don't know his actual name, but -- [Sammy] (Dennis!) [GM] (Yes, that's-) [Joey] -- Kyle.

[Henry] Henry is going to try to sneak up on Moonlight while he's distracted! [GM] OH! ...Okay! He's very distracted, Sammy just screamed! [excited noises from everyone beCAUSE NO ONE EXPECTED THIS] [GM] You successfully sneak up behind him! [Henry] I'm going to grab the staff! [GM] Make a Brawl check, with advantage! [Sammy] (He has SO many limbs that don't work my dude, you got this,) [Henry] That's a success! [GM] You snatch it! [Henry] I RUN!!!

[Joey] We're just both escorting Jack, now. [Sammy] Would you say Jack is late, for a very important date? [Jack] Well YEAH, his Face Removal was scheduled like 2 dreams ago!!

[GM] He'd have to roll for it, to see if it felt familiar to his trip to Carcosa. [Jack] Extreme success! [GM] Then he would pick up that familiar feeling! [Jack] Oh, nice and homey at this party! Really nice. Nostalgic! It's been a while. [Sammy] Hm, [Jack] Maybe he should go play the piano, for old time's sake! [Sammy] NO

[lovingonrepeat]

Ship your moots with members of NCT 😃

I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long but I’ve taken this question extremely seriously LOL. I’m not sure I have enough moots that i talk to to ship every single member with a moot, but I shall try my best. I have a lot of moots, but sadly I don’t talk to all of them cuz I’m a little shy to make new friends, but I want to talk to more friends!

Taeil I think would compliment @subkpopboys. I feel like he needs someone who is a little more assertive and bold to balance out his soft and quiet nature, and KitKat would be a great person for that. I think your personalities would bounce off of each other really well. 

Johnny I would ship with @skzctnightnight cuz he’s just a soft fluffball full of love and light and Bel is so so supportive and helpful and sweet and I think their personalities would mesh really really well (I hope Mister is ok with that haha)

Taeyong gets shipped with the amazing @moonienico because I think Nico would give Taeyong the best care ever and he seems like a person who would cherish that and cherish Nico for their kindness and nastiness HAHA

Yuta does not get shipped with anyone cuz he’s mine LOL

Kun would get shipped with none other than the amazing @drippinlovetalk! I think she would always remind him how amazing and special he is and in return he would love to cook for her and I think they would just have a really cozy and sweet dynamic that I’m living for

Doyoung would be great with @vanillaknj. He’s sorta like Namjoon in the way that he’s super intelligent and also passive aggressive and snarky, and so that sounds like just the type of guy Alex would be into LOL (I’m so sorry if I’m wrong we haven’t talked much and definitely not about stuff like that I’m just going off of your Namjoon love LOL). I do think their senses of humor would bounce off each other really well and that his slightly more mild mannered personality would mesh well with hers that’s a little bolder than he is. 

Ten is a hard one to ship, but I ship him with @mellowriting. I know she hasn’t actually written anything for him but I was reading the texts you posted of you and that subby guy you’re talking to and idk why it just screamed TEN to me haha. He is KINKY and needs someone who can keep up with all of that, as well as love him tenderly when he’s feeling that too, and I think there would be such a great dynamic going on here haha.

Jaehyun gets shipped with my amazing friend @staranonthoughts (I hope you see this even tho you don’t use that account much anymore). She has a great sense of humor that I think would bounce off his really well, and she’s one of the people who can put someone like Jaehyun (who everyone thinks is a dom for some strange reason lol) in his place haha

Winwin I ship with @capriccio-con-espressione. This one might seem like a little bit of an odd pairing on the surface but I feel like Winwin really needs someone who is bolder than him and can help to bring him out of his shell in all areas of his life. He needs someone who can take the lead and help push him out of his comfort zone to try and experience new things, and Trinzie is just the girl for that LOL

Jungwoo I ship with @runningonkpop. She’s a good friend and she loves Jungwoo and I think Jungwoo deserves to be adored and with someone who can give him All. The. Love. I approve of you two together haha

Lucas would be great to ship with @kjmsupremacist. He. Is. Such. A. Baby. Everyone considers him to be such a dom, but really he’s just a big softie and wants some love. Xiami can provide this and more and I think would be able to compliment all sides of him.

Mark is a hard one, but I ship him with @starstruckdombbaby. She says she loves to make boys cry. Enter Mark to satisfy that for you LOL but seriously Mark is another one who I feel like needs someone to take the lead in a relationship, especially since he always has so much on his plate, so he needs someone to come home to who can really help him take the load off, and I think Maria can do that for him haha.

Xiaojun would get shipped with @wildernessuntothemselves because I know how soft Moe is for him and his sweetness and I think he really needs someone who can nurture him when he needs but also be a little rougher and commanding when he needs that too.

Hendery I would ship with @artificialvoe. Hendery is such a kind and caring soul, and it feel like Lee just radiates kind and sweet energy that would mesh well with his. Expect lots of laughs and cuddles. 

Renjun I ship with @00thisandthat. Not sure why to be honest cuz we’ve never talked, but I always associate Renjun with their account lol.

Jeno would be a good compliment for @nanavision because i feel like he would be equal parts confident and shy in a relationship that would mesh well with the way she is equal parts shy and confident. Y’all can push each other and both grow together while still not feeling like either person is above or below each other. 

Haechan would get shipped with @neosincity. This boy is a little shit and he would need someone who would not let him get away with doing whatever he wants, but also adores his playfulness and doesn’t get annoyed by it. Enter Grace to satisfy this haha

Jaemin gets shipped with @armysantiny. Minnie is the sweetest soul and is so kind and bright and I feel like that radiates Jaemin energy as well. I feel like their relationship would be extremely playful and happy and fun and cute and I ship it hahaha 

Yangyang is a hard one as well, and I think I’ve more of less run out of mutuals LOL, and I also sorta adopted him so it’s weird to try to ship him with someone (even tho I have a request for him I’m gonna write at some point), so I shall plead the fifth on this one. But he’s sorta like Haechan that he’s a little shit that needs someone who can handle his bouncy energy without getting annoyed but that can also put that in place if needed, so if you’re like this and a moot of mine, then you fit the bill LOL. 

THIS WAS SO FUN THANKS FOR THE QUESTION AHHHHHHH

[vannminner]

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Where Magic Flows (XVI)

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A03

FanFiction

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Part One: Fire and Ice

-

 As the sun ascended over the horizon, the Dark Sea washed in light. Waves reflected rays of orange and yellow. The white crest of its bend curled to new heights before it buried beneath the sea.

"Freeze it." Cleyo commanded.

Her voice had traveled close enough to Elsa's ear to draw a shiver down her spine. It caused her fingers to clench. Heat spread over her neck and up behind her ear.

This journey would change them all, but the source of Elsa's panic was that she didn't know how.

There were five of them in total, standing amongst the shore. Cleyo had two mages at her back, and Elsa stood with Honeymaren close to her side. Despite her growing concerns, Elsa was thankful for their low numbers. There was something amicable in Cleyo's decision to leave behind her coven. Elsa considered she did not want to share the secret of Ahtohallan with everyone. Even Elsa herself understood that all too well.

It was that, or Cleyo was confident in her victory. Perhaps she left the mages behind knowing full-well that she was going to win. Elsa would die before she let that happen, though. The only win she sought was for her people. She dared not consider Cleyo's confidence long enough to dwell.

"Answer me this first," Elsa turned to Cleyo. "What are you hoping will happen once we get there?"

Snarling, she shook her head. "I've told you- Ahtohallan owes me answers; answers about the past. That is all the information you shall be receiving from me, now move out!"

Yet, Elsa remained standing. She felt Honeymaren fidget beside her.

"What will you do with us once you've gotten what you need? How do I know you won't hurt my sister and leave Arendelle overrun?"

Cleyo drew in a short breath. Elsa could hear the click of her teeth behind her pursed lips.

"Killing anyone is not in my plans, Elsa. However, know that I have killed before, and I will do it again if you try anything once we are out there. The fate of your family and friends rest on your shoulders alone. I advise you to keep that in mind before opening your mouth from now on."

Cleyo knew Elsa was unwilling to risk the lives of those she loved. Her saying what she did proved that. Her point was moot, but the reminder still ached. It was always up to the sisters' of Arendelle's to save the world and everyone in it.

"It won't be easy," Elsa explained as she turned back to the Dark Sea. "I cannot guarantee anyone's safety once we've left the shore."

Without waiting for their reply, Elsa stepped back. Her hands extended at her chest, and she felt her powers rising to the surface. Any doubt that they might fail vanished when Honeymaren's hand caught against her back. Suddenly her magic was expelled from her limbs, and the entire sea froze with it. A thick sheet of clear ice coated the waves. The entire surface was solid and unmoving.

Elsa sighed, thinking, 'My powers still work'.

"Wait!" Elsa's thoughts stilled as Cleyo attempted to step past her. "You're forgetting something…"

"The Nokk…" Cleyo growled. "Yes, please do. Settle your spirit horse so we may proceed. I expect no trouble from him, nor you."

Elsa's eyes scanned the frozen horizon. There was no movement beneath the Dark Sea. Nokk could sense the strangers' presence, and feeling threatened; he remained hidden below the ice.

Stepping forward, Elsa closed her eyes. She reeled in a deep breath. There was the secret language she shared with her spirits. Never entirely certain how it worked, Elsa felt their connection fueled by their shared silence, and her feelings. She knew that's how the spirits communicated best. Today, however, Nokk would not respond to the call.

Seeing Elsa's frustration, Honeymaren removed her hand from her back. She threaded their fingers and squeezed their palms together. There, Honeymaren could feel the power tingling beneath Elsa's skin. It was like static, and she wondered if Elsa could feel it too?

Just then, the slick ground began to shake. Nokk appeared, barreling through the ice. It shattered and shards were sent flying into the air. He hurried toward Elsa, chuffing at the newcomers as he approached. Nokk bowed in threat. His eyes raised. They scanned to Honeymaren before he drew in tight at both her and Elsa's side.

"We must let mages cross." Her hand drifted over Nokk's head. "The forest depends on it."

Nokk simply raised from his stance, but his eyes stayed stern on the mages.

Cleyo's back straightened. Both Elsa and Honeymaren glared at her warning, yet she didn't respond. She dared a step past the nokk. He growled in protest, but made no attempt to stop her. Cleyo then dared a second step, and then another...

Soon, all five of them were crossing the frozen sea. There was Honeymaren and Elsa, while Nokk separated them from the mages. Honeymaren, who stood closest to him, couldn't help but marvel at his size. Countless times prior, she'd seen the Nokk up close. Elsa took him wherever she went, but never before could Honeymaren say she truly felt she was on his side.

"This reminds me of something…" She spoke aloud for the first time since leaving camp. Honeymaren didn't care if the mages overheard. This story was more for her than it was for them.

"When I was a young girl, around six or seven," Honeymaren went on. "My brother and I explored as much of the forest as the mist would allow. By adulthood, we knew every inch of the perimeter, including the shores of the Dark Sea. The first time we happened upon it, Ryder and I wouldn't dare further than the cliffs. We knew Nokk protected the land to the north, and we heard stories about how he took no survivors… but I was stubborn."

Elsa snorted. She hid her mouth behind an open hand. She knew better than to show weakness here, but with Honeymaren; she made it hard for Elsa not to.

"Anyway…" she lowered her eyes playfully at Elsa. "I came back to the Dark Sea at fourteen. I remember staring out at the waves, and watching the tide move further and further away from the coast. At the time, the spirits were merely a rumor for those of us who were too young to have lived with them. Some of us even believed they were merely myths the elders told to keep the youngest in line. But part of me must have believed her, though. I felt determined to be the one to awaken the spirits myself…

"I know how silly that must sound now… yet at fourteen, my mind was different. I remember waking up early to make the journey before sunrise. I stood in the darkness with my toes touching the tide, and then I walked out to sea." She felt Elsa tense beside her. Honeymaren squeezed her hand. "Who can be certain how far I made it from the beach, or what happened after that. One minute I was swimming in the middle of the ocean, and the next I was lying on my back against the rocks. To this day, I remember the chill that soaked through my clothes. I remember the pain of almost drowning, and the pressure against my chest as I glided through the waves-"

"Nokk was trying to drown you…" Elsa whispered with a slight pout.

"No…" Honeymaren shook her head. "I wasn't being forced down. I was being led back to shore. I know because the pressure on my chest never worsened. It always stayed the same."

Elsa turned to Honeymaren sharply. "Nokk saved you, then?"

With a shrug, she sighed. "Perhaps that is what happened? I couldn't see anything. I must have fallen unconscious. After that, my memories were of the rocks in my back, and the clear blue sky above my head; before I watched it fade away..."

"But the mist?" Elsa questioned, her eyes drawing low. "That doesn't make any sense?"

Honeymaren hummed as she turned to the north. "I know, but I'm only telling you what I remember."

Elsa wondered if it was possible. Had Honeymaren really gone out to sea, and if she had; did Nokk really save her? This was a strange and sudden admission from Elsa's long and trust friend. She knew Nokk had taken her parents life by instinct, but somehow he might have found it in himself to save Honeymaren's. Maybe there was more to the spirits than even Elsa understood. Perhaps Nokk could sense something inside of Honeymaren that had him bringing her back to shore.

"Is that…" Honeymaren's voice drifted off, causing Elsa's eyes to raise.

The tip of the glacier's peak was visible just above the frozen sea. They were getting closer.

"Yes," Elsa smiled. "Ahtohallan… We're not far now, but stay on your guard. The water below us grows stronger the further we draw from Northuldra."

There was silence between women as they continued across the ice. The mages in black had replaced their masks. Not even their eyes showed through the fabric. Cleyo, however, remained in only her hood. Occasionally she'd look to Elsa, as if pondering some question she dare not ask. Or perhaps Cleyo wanted her to see the fire behind her eyes.

What are they all thinking, Elsa had to wonder. Did the mages feel as she did when she first came to Ahtohallan? Could they feel the power of the glacier calling to them as it did for Elsa?

"Tell me…" Cleyo's voice cut through the cold. "What tricks will Ahtohallan have for us?"

As Elsa neared the shore, she slowed. "The glacier is unprotected. I am its only guardian, and currently, I am not a threat to you. That's not to say, however, that Ahtohallan doesn't know how to protect itself. It speaks directly to the spirits through the Earth. How Ahtohallan behaves is still a mystery to even me..."

Cleyo hummed softly, seemingly choosing to believe Elsa. Her eyes turned to the surface as the glacier before them began to grow. Its mountainous structure cut through the ground, and rose toward the blue sky. Like a cloud to the ocean, Ahtohallan hugged to the rise and fall of the Dark Sea.

"In my dreams, I never thought-" Honeymaren's whisper surfaced again before falling away.

"What?" She asked her.

Honeymaren shook her head. A single tear descended her cheek. "It's nothing… It's silly. I just- it's ice… I know you told me that, but seeing it; really seeing it... The stories about Ahtohallan go back way before either of us were born. The songs, the lullaby- I wonder how long this glacier sat before it could welcome you home?"

"There may have been others before me..." Elsa considered.

Honeymaren's eyes and voice lowered. "Did she show you?"

Blinking, Elsa shook her head.

"I can't be certain, but I believe Ahtohallan exists only for you."

Across from them, Cleyo appeared to perk up as she listened in on their conversation. She said nothing, though. Her lips remained pursed tight, yet she fell behind the group as she pondered.

Not long after, the women descended on Ahtohallan. Elsa's ears began to ring. Her heart raced into a panic, but Honeymaren's hand remained warm in her own. Like a totem, it kept Elsa grounded. With Honeymaren at her side, she knew they could face anything that came their way.

Elsa's bare feet planted on the icy shore. She stopped, looking up, and took it all in. Cleyo and the mages were doing the same. Elsa wondered if they had seen these types of places in person before, or if Ahtohallan was their first one.

When Elsa arrived here all those months ago, she felt alive; empowered. Her skin buzzed with energy. Mind, dizzied. It was thrilling, but somehow, also terrifying.

Even today, Elsa recognized the sensation. It was similar to how it always felt, being here. There was the fear of Cleyo and her plan. There was the fear Elsa held for Arendelle and her sister, yet there was also contentment. Her heart was wide open as she looked up at the mighty glacier. She'd never felt closer to it, and she couldn't say why.

Turning to Nokk, Elsa pressed her forehead to his. She thanked him silently before bidding him farewell. Nokk wouldn't go far, though, Elsa knew that. She was certain he'd remain close by. He dove back beneath the ice, leaving a splash in his wake.

"Let's go." Cleyo announced sternly.

Elsa half-expected her to take the lead. Yet, Cleyo appeared to hesitate. Perhaps, she didn't trust Elsa. Elsa certainly wouldn't blame her. Beyond the walls of the glacier, the only thing to fear was your own desire. Ahtohallan's true test was to how far a person was willing to go in order to retrieve the truth they sought.

What did Cleyo hope to learn, and would she be forced to go too far to get it?

"Ahh, ah, ah, ahh…"

Soft and melodic, the siren beckoned Elsa' home; home, and into the depths of Ahtohallan.

"Is that- is that her?" Honeymaren's eyes bore wide as she tugged against Elsa's hand. "The voice, the one that led you to Northuldra?"

"I thought you said the glacier was unguarded!" Cleyo snarled.

Elsa's shock-ridden face pulled from Honeymaren's. "You can hear it, too?"

"Of course I can hear it!" Cleyo's two mages stiffened at her side. "Can neither of you?"

They shook their heads in unison.

"There's no form to the voice." Elsa explained. "She's the heart of the river; a spirit herself, but nothing more."

Cleyo didn't respond, however her silence allowed Elsa to see that there were still some things about magic that Cleyo did not know. Ahtohallan was her domaine. She was the fifth spirit, and for now, that gave Elsa the upper-hand.

With that in mind, Elsa confidently stepped forward, and led their entrance into the foyer.

The first chamber was wide. Its high walls glistened with light, yet with each step' the walls steadily grew more narrow. Cleyo and the mages stayed strict at their backs. Their gazes lingered for long moments against the curved arches and bright hues of moving color. 

"Now, we go down."

At the end of the second chamber, Elsa came to a halt. She felt Cleyo's eyes over her shoulder. They peered past her into the dark tunnel. Even Honeymaren felt skeptical. She ignored Cleyo and hugged closer to Elsa's side.

"Down?" She asked. Her lip worried between her teeth.

Elsa fought not to smile. It tugged at her cheeks anyway, and she winked. "Down..."

Taking Honeymaren's hands in her own, she led her into the darkness. Her brown eyes were wide, and she clamped down onto Elsa's sleeves. All at once, their feet began to slide.

"Woah!" Honeymaren fumbled.

Elsa held her steady. Her hands tucked against the bend of her arms. The slide beneath their feet began to slope downward, and faster, faster, and faster; the two soared across the ice.

Holding onto her tight, Honeymaren circled around Elsa. "This is amazing!" She beamed.

They faced forwards, backwards, sideways; on their way down the slope. It was like dancing. Their arms warm around each other, moving with the ice as they would to music.

Seeing Honeymaren's elation, a laugh erupt passed her lips. She realized that had this been under different circumstances, it would have been fun. To share the magic of Ahtohallan with Honeymaren; the thought sent a shiver down Elsa's spine. She'd never brought anyone here before. Yet, seeing the wide smile on Honeymaren's cheeks; Elsa began to think she ought to.

"Here's the jump!" She warned her.

Elsa directed Honeymaren to her back, releasing one of her hands. They reached the final drop before the stairs. The slope inclined, and the two were tossed up into the air. While Elsa had faith in Honeymaren to make the jump; it wasn't worth the risk...

Power raced through her veins. Magic sparked at the surface of Elsa's skin. She was alive and well, despite the mages' presence here. It was the bright side Elsa needed, and she felt her powers continue to grow.

The steps beneath them rose to meet their feet. Honeymaren gasped at the contact, but then they were off again; sliding further downward. Each column fused together. The slope continued out from the tunnel, and descended toward the cathedral chamber. Honeymaren was giggling behind her. Elsa felt her own excitement peak.

They slid to a stop against flat ground, and Honeymaren reeled in a deep breath.

She circled to face Elsa, bringing their hands together. "Can we do that again?" She asked. Her eyes twinkled in the dim light.

Behind them, the mages neared. With flames blooming to life beneath her feet, Cleyo had found a way to control their descent. They came to a halt at Elsa's back.

Her face was stern. "Do not leave my sight again."

Elsa's eyes turned. Teeth, grit, and shoulders raised. No amount of concern for Cleyo's actions would take from the moment she'd shared with her friend. Elsa wouldn't allow it. Cleyo may have frightened her before, but here; this was where Elsa belonged.

With a steady breath, she led them beneath the first arch. The final tunnel opened to a wide, dark ice chamber.

The air in Ahtohallan was still. Everything around them draped in heavy silence. The mark of the spirits had yet to show themselves, and Elsa began to wonder if they would appear at all.

Frowning, Elsa gently tugged Honeymaren forward by the hand. The darkness continued to spread. Soon, it would swallow each of them entirely from sight. Elsa sensed Ahtohallan was in debate, the newcomers having stirred its power. This was the diamond tunnel. It was a home for where moments in time would come to share their truth.

Yet, everything around them remained frozen and cold.

Honeymaren's hand slid further up Elsa's arm. There was a hint of nervousness in the action, as she clamped down tight around her bicep. However, Elsa's reaction was much different. The gesture was possessive. It was bold. It caused her to blush.

A ripple coursed through her skin, and a bright flash erupt at the center of the darkness.

Tendrils of snow lifted at their feet. Swirls of power wavered at their sides. Against the walls of ice, and in the air around them- The nokk, Bruni, Gale, and the earth giants. Elsa had seen this display many times before. However, seeing it for the first was much different. It caused the mages to linger, their eyes grew wide, and they watched Ahtohallan come to life.

Creating space from them, Elsa descended into the start of the chamber. Diamond crystals pulled from the walls, and rose to new heights. Flashes of colors birthed behind clear ice. Spirits danced in their given forms, and they disappeared into the center snowflake.

Elsa turned to Honeymaren.

Diamonds reflected in the depths of her brown eyes. Dark curls caught the purple and blue hues ignited behind the walls. As fractals of light continued to swirl around them, Honeymaren's skin sparkled with the sheen of ice. She was smiling wide. Her eyes blurred with tears that refused to fall. Mouth, agape. Honeymaren's hand was limp in hers, and to Elsa in that moment; she was breathtaking...beautiful.

Elsa's eyes turned to find the mages nearing. Her heart lurched in her chest. She brought her full attention back to Honeymaren, and bit down on her tongue.

Elsa couldn't fight it, though. Her head was leaning forward, and her lips touched to Honeymaren's ear.

Shielded by brown curls, Elsa whispered. "I love you, too."

As she drew back, Elsa pulled her hand from Honeymaren's. She came to stand at the center of the chamber, and a bright flash of light beamed up from the floor. It shot into the face of the ceiling, and circled in a half spear around them.

Cleyo hurried to Honeymaren's side. Her face displayed less anger than it did wonder.

All five heads raised to watch as Ahtohallan finally revealed its truth.

 Cheers,

-M.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: The Real Housewives of Storybrooke (10/?)

A fic based on this premise here, following the lives of Storybrooke’s elite wives, with all the scandal, bitching and backstabbing that goes on behind the scenes of high society…

This verse is open for prompts!

====

Previously on the Real Housewives of Storybrooke: 

Belle had a heart to heart with Bae about possible future half-siblings for him, and Mary Margaret and Ariel began to plot how to help Regina stop Belfrey Developments from building on Storybrooke’s green spaces.

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [AO3]

====

MARY MARGARET

“This is mad, Mary.”

“I know.”

“Is it even legal?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I called Ariel.”

“And what did she say?”

“She didn’t know either. She told me to speak to Cameron Gold or Carella de Ville. Which I did, and to be honest, I’m still in the dark, but at least I’ve got Gold on side.”

“Have you asked Regina about it?”

Mary Margaret paused in her hunt for her keys and gave David a look. “Yes, of course I have. Why else do you think I’m done up like a dog’s dinner if I hadn’t had the go-ahead from her?”

Truth be told, it was actually nice to be wearing a suit again, even if it was somewhat sooner than she’d planned. Especially because she was going into this with the firm conviction that she knew what she was doing, even if she didn’t quite know how she was going to go about it, or if it would even work.

Since inheriting the Blanchard Group, Mary Margaret had always worked on the principle of ‘fake it till you make it’, hoping that if she looked like she knew what she was doing, she could convince all the board members that she was worthy of following in her father’s footsteps. Sidney Glass, who had been her father’s right-hand man back in the day, had always backed her up on paper, but she had never quite trusted him fully, and so she had taken to asking sources outside her company for advice on business matters that were particularly close to her heart.

Yesterday she had done just that, and today she was presenting her proposal to the board. Since most of Storybrooke’s town council seemed to be in Belfrey Development’s pockets already, time was of the essence.

The idea had come to her out of the blue whilst Regina had been lamenting her inability to block Belfrey’s bid for building rights on the land. What if there was another bid? What if another development company took a shot at the same land, with a view to putting it to use a different way? Say, a protected nature reserve, rather than more housing?

With the full backing of the Blanchard Group, Blanchard Holdings would be able to snap up the area in a cinch, and Mary Margaret could ensure that Belfrey stayed out of town. Ariel had been all for the proposal when Mary had mooted it to her, and Gold had agreed to help her with the legal side.

They were going to hash it all out with the board and then with the council, and whilst Mary Margaret had at first declared that she wouldn’t come home again until it was all sorted, she accepted that these things took time.

“I’ve found your keys.” David fished them out of the fruit bowl and tossed them to her. “Now, go and knock ‘em dead.”

“Says the man who thinks I’m mad.”

“I still think that you’re mad, but I haven’t got any better ideas myself, so, you go for it.” He came over and kissed her. “You’ll be fine. And remember that I’ll support my mad wife over those witches Fiona Ebony and Victoria Belfrey any time.”

Mary Margaret was glad of his faith in her, however pessimistic he might be about the idea in general, and she left the house. At least she had the drive to the office to get out of mom mode and back into successful businesswoman mode.

She wondered what it would be like when she got there. The board had been surprised when she’d called the meeting with them and Mary Margaret couldn’t really say that she blamed them. Lacking confidence in herself and constantly feeling out of her depth, she’d always been a hands-off executive in the past, and this change of approach would have startled them.

Mary Margaret didn’t like to think of what that might mean for the company. It would be just her luck if she got there to find Sidney and the board had run the place into the ground in her absence and her idea would all come to nought anyway.

Gold was waiting for her outside the plush office building when she arrived, giving a polite nod as she parked in her space – still reserved despite months of maternity leave. There were some definite perks to owning the majority share.

“Ms Blanchard.”

“Mr Gold. Thanks for coming. I know that this isn’t your normal line anymore.”

“Always happy to help a friend. Now, shall we perfect this pitch before you have to go up in front of a bunch of stuffy old men wearing suits? Well, the ones that aren’t me.”

Mary Margaret just laughed, and they made their way into the building and towards her office. The receptionists squealed in surprise at her entry and hastened to warn everyone upstairs that she was on her way. Sidney met them halfway.

“It’s an unexpected pleasure, Ms Blanchard.” He gave a little bow and as he straightened up, Mary Margaret caught the somewhat guilty look in his eye.

“Oh, you know. Just dropping in. I don’t want to remain completely out of touch with what’s been going on whilst I’ve been away. I take it that you read the proposal that I sent to the board last night?”

“Yes, yes, but I must say that it is highly unorthodox…”

He continued to talk, keeping pace with Mary Margaret as she strode down the corridor towards her office with a confidence that she was not really feeling anymore. Gold followed a few steps behind, not even trying to hide his amusement at Sidney’s obsequiousness.

They eventually made it to the office. Sidney had not stopped talking for the entire trip down the corridor and Mary Margaret didn’t think that he’d said a single word that had any real meaning other than beating around the bush to stall for time. Johanna, her faithful secretary since before her father had died, jumped up to greet her with an exuberant hug that Mary Margaret was all too happen to return despite time being of the essence. Once pleasantries had been exchanged with Johanna, they entered the room.

“Do sit down, Sidney. Now, you’ve seen my proposal.”

“Yes, but as I was saying…”

“No, I’m the one saying.” Mary Margaret sat down behind her desk and wished that the action had given her all the confidence that she thought it ought to have done. “Belfrey Developments have bid for certain plots of land in Storybrooke. There are currently no other bidders. I intend for Blanchard Holdings to enter the race.”

“Yes, yes, I understand what you’re proposing, I just don’t understand what you propose to do with the land once it’s in Blanchard’s hands.”

“I made it quite clear in my brief that I don’t intend to do anything with the land, Sidney.”

“Yes, that’s the part I’m having trouble with.” Sidney gave her his best ingratiating smile. “You see, you would hardly be turning a profit by purchasing land and then not doing anything with it. That is the whole point of business after all.”

“There’s no need to be condescending, Sidney, I did economics at college.” She’d hated every minute of it, but Sidney didn’t need to know that. “I am not intending to make a profit from the land. I am intending for future generations, including my own children, to profit from the retention of Storybrooke’s green spaces. I’m sure that you and  the board would agree, Sidney, that in an era of an increasing call for corporate accountability, especially in environmental concerns, it would do very well for the Blanchard Group to be seen to be proactively taking an interest in protecting areas of natural beauty and special scientific interest.”

It was quite possibly the longest speech that she had ever delivered to Sidney and she was so amazed at having been able to get through it that she almost forgot where she was and what she was doing there.

Sidney opened his mouth to say something, but Mary Margaret cut him off. She couldn’t be put off her stride now, not when she was so close to the end of her pitch.

She had no idea if she was making her father proud or if he was spinning in his grave as a result of her plans, but she knew that her mother would have supported her. Integrity had been in Eva Blanchard’s soul.

“You can see all the details of the charitable trust that I am proposing to set up to maintain the parkland once it is in Blanchard’s possession. Mr Gold has helped me with the paperwork and he’s here to answer any questions you might have.”

“Ms Blanchard. Mary Margaret. Please, you have to slow down.” Sidney was definitely pleading with her now. “There are so many things to be considered.”

“I’m well aware of that, which is why I’m getting started now. I know these things take time, but time is a precious thing and given the speed with which Belfrey Developments are moving, it’s not something we have a lot of, so I suggest that we speak to the board as soon as possible.”

“Yes, but…” Sidney sighed, and Mary Margaret knew that she’d worn him down with sheer tenacity if nothing else. “Very well.”

She smiled, pleased at having asserted herself so well and not daring to bring up her further plans to eventually return the land to Storybrooke Council’s hands whilst leaving the trust in place to protect it from future developments.

From his position behind Sidney, Gold winked at her.

“Well, I shall go and brief the other board members.” Sidney got up, trying very hard to look like he had the situation entirely under his control and failing miserably.

“Thank you, Sidney. I knew that you’d see my side of things. There’s just one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“You might want to start reading the minutes of the board meetings that I’m copied in on when Johanna sends them out. I may be on leave, but I do still read them occasionally. I’m sure that you can inform Mr Keller that the remark ‘I’ll never forgive Leo for not having a son’ is highly inappropriate in business correspondence. It was most insightful, though.”

Sidney fled, and Mary Margaret sagged. She’d need about a week to recover from this and it was nowhere near over, but the first hurdle had been jumped. They were on their way.

[keevansixx]

The Future Was Now...

I heard an interesting opinion concerning sub-cultures and why, in today’s age, you almost never see any sub-culture being represented on the streets anymore. When you do spy one of these rare individuals out in the wild, it’s like some rare mythical beast of a thing...fleeting, fierce, and wonderous. 

Welcome to generation V (V as in “Virtual”, and not vain, vibrant, vitriol, vivacious, nor victor) 

The sub-cultures of the past have all died, their digital ghosts haunt the databases like the proverbial zombies of old. Resurrected every so often to wistful nostalgia, and as meme fodder for the youth of today. Gone, are the days of artfully attired denizens of the world... languidly rambling to and fro across the surface of the land, spreading creativity in their wake like massive glaciers carving rivulets in the tapestry of the earth to be witnessed by eyes unseen, and thoughts unbridled. No....those days are long gone and forgotten.

Here I sit, alone in a box of my own design. Shackled to a monitor who’s glow is the only ambient light in the room, I watch the world scroll by in 1′s and 0′s rendered in pixel point perfection into images that my mind perceives as pictures of a world I no longer see, in a land I no longer feel, and a place that only resembles what one would call home. I no longer leave the confines of my prison. No toe crosses the threshold of my room....it’s safe here, and everything I need is in the box....no need to leave, no need to explore, no need to wander anymore. 

I’m told what I should eat...and I do so. I’m told what I should be thinking...and I do so. Anything contrary to the will of the mob is quelled with harsh criticisms, threats, and heavy handed browbeating from the lowest common denominator. “No!...thou shall not think outside the box! Thou shalt follow the thought speak of the masses! Thou shalt not have an original thought or opinion! Those are reserved for the popular chattel that have earned their vanity marks in the digital realm.” I’m to remain a good obedient little digital puppet to the will of the masses. I’m told how I should dress....and I do so. The almighty digital overlords demand acquiescence, obedience, and submission to their cyber-hubris. “No creativity allowed that exceeds that of the common person, lest you offend...lest you shame...lest you make feel....the mighty digital overlords.”

“Sounds like a pretty shitty way to live.”...and you’re right...it is.

It starts on any given day, on any given week, of any given year...

I open the window. the moonlight pours in from a harvest moon I haven't seen since I was a kid, alone in the dark, watching the stars go by. I throw on some shoes that were the huge internet trend a few months ago, everybody just absolutely had to get them to be in the vouge of the moment, and walk to the door. Stepping out side, I hear the chime of the monitor, the chirp chirp of the phone screaming out for my immediate attention “Message! Alert! Come respond NOW!” the annoying braying pings, whistles, chirps, and bells that demand obedience and response. 

I close the door behind me to the sound of stillness...the sonic detritus silenced by wood and glass, and I beheld the night in all it’s splendor...….glorious!

For the first time in a very long while....I have an original thought. 

“What if I'm not the only one..?” “what if, there are others out there like me?” “what if...we found each other?”

Over the many weary months that followed, I slowly weaned myself, bit by agonizing digital bit, from the shackles that bound me to my electronic prison. As each day and night passed, I spent more and more time away. Wandering the empty paths I once trod in my youth. It’s empty now....very few wander anymore outside of those whom make the world turn through service, and the multitude of electronic zombies (E-Zomb’s) faces crammed into phone screens, that move back and forth following their scripted paths of life. Just grunts or the half-hearted handwave to acknowledge that they are still breathing and alive.

I sit alone beneath a large tree in the center of town, watching it all go by...a little notebook open in my lap, where I jot down the most interesting thoughts that pop into my brain from time to time, when I see a purple post-it note pinned to the tree with a thumbtack. On it is an artful picture of an eye wearing a butterfly wing in it’s corner crease, with a small address and time and no designation. I take the note, and put it into my notebook to await evening at the appointed time...curious, but still a little bit cautious.

the sky is a beautiful velvet purple and crimson as the sun sets and I near my destination from the note. I walk along a sidewalk counting the building numbers as I go by, various lamps and street posts begin to ignite into glowing life in the growing dusk. I stop between two buildings, note in my hand, I count the two and note that the number skips one between the two building fronts. I hear old music drifting on the wind between the two storefronts and notice a small painting of an eye with butterfly wings off a ways down the narrow alley between buildings. I step off the well trod sidewalk, and follow the sounds down the alley until I reach a courtyard....like the kind one finds in the special places of New Orleans that aren’t on the tourist maps, nor social media posts.

there are strings of lights everywhere, a few odd pieces of art statues, and wrought iron scattered across the courtyard. sitting on benches are kids in old hippie clothes, goth kids lurking near the stairwells, art kids wearing whatever the hell they stitched together out of a scrap bin and dancing in small groups to whatever was flowing out the speakers surrounding the area. I see street kids, and punk kids, rappers and writers huddled around tables furiously scribbling down lyrics and rhyme. Skaters talking about their latest gnarly shred, plain janes and joes talking about life and oppression....in a word...it was old scenes alive and well and very much kicking in a little courtyard in the middle of nowhere.

I get approached by one of the goth kids and a beautiful hippie girl. They both had smiles on their faces and a welcoming look.

The goth is the first to speak, “hey, new guy....you look a little lost. Anything we can do to help?”

I pull out the purple note and reply tentatively “Not all who wander are lost...”

“and not everyone who do are found....welcome!” beamed the hippie girl.

“well to be honest, it was blind curiosity that led me here, so far....*looking around*....I'm not disappointed.”

The goth dude looks sideways at me, then asks. “so....how long have you been unplugged?”

“About 6 months now, it’s not been easy.”

“Six months? Damn man.....you been alone all this time?”

“Yes....but it gave me time to think, to dream, to see a world I was no longer part of.”

“Wow....that’s deep, Mr. moody.....*eyeroll giggles* welcome to the club!!!” Hippy gal chimes in, “we all found our own ways out of the web in one way or another and sort of found each other by happy accident. You....well, you found one of our calling cards we throw up from time to time for a moot, just to touch bases and stay in touch.”

“Moot???” I reply.

The goth snorts a bit and broodingly says “Moot....a meet-up, soiree, party, get together, picnic, graveyard bash, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.” with profound dramatic hand waving. ”We meet up a few times a month in various locales to hob nob with the other unplugged, and share ideas or show off what’s been happening in our own scenes. Art, music, poetry, crafts...basically, all the best of us with none of the digital chains......everything’s on the table, and nothing is taboo. Within reason, of course *smirks* get too lewd and the community here is good about looking out for one another....fair warning.”

“Point taken. Understood. So, why the notes? Why not advertise on a board or through alts?”

Hippie gal grins, and says “Because, sugar, we’re old school.....analog, no digital...rockin’ the paper tags like the punks of old. Only those who unplug, and really start to notice the world around them will find us....like you. Notes on trees...that’s my contribution, people rarely ever look at the trees these days...too busy online with their faces crammed into their phones to notice. The goth crews tag the cemeteries and dark places, other kids leave clues in whatever scene they happen to be in, and we cross post the messages word of mouth in our own ways when we find out about the different moots going on across the cities. Tonight, it’s here in the garden with my tribe, next time it could be anywhere...you just have to keep your eyes open up for the clues as they place them. When in absolute doubt...always check the library...the dungeon/dragon kids always cross post every event they hear about in the stacks. We’re off grid baby! the ultimate “fuck you!” to the digital world. No chains, no obligations, 0 fucks given....living the life that was taken from us one soul at a time. 

“Ok, so no online presence. check. Moots posted in randoms if I'm paying attention. check. If lost, check the stack for tags. anything else i’m missing?”

“Well, only thing else is snail....”

“Snail?”

“Snail mail....post office. Look, you’re going to meet people here...If you play your cards right, you might even get land addy’s from some of them. you want to stay in touch? Snail, or wait for the next moot to IRL face time. either way, you’re going to have to dust off those ancient writing skills if you want to stay in the loop. You don’t have to commit to anything...this isn’t an obligation, nor requirement, but it’s old common courtesy to reply when someone sends you a snail. Take a chance! you might just be surprised at what you get.”

“ummm, thanks?”

“No problem....and welcome to the revolution.”

I spend the rest of the evening being introduced to the different groups, watching the event as it unfolds. Being exposed to new ideas, and feelings I haven’t felt for a long long time. I get a few land addy’s from various patrons, and give out mine. It’s kind of nice, being here...in the moment. 

the moot winds down, with groups and couples slowly wandering off into the night. I make my way over to a 24hr diner and grab a bite to eat. a few of the attendees are there as well grabbing coffee, or eats, and we continue conversations we had started a few hours earlier. It was a good night.

I make my way home in the early dawn, and for once, in my long life...I feel a sense of profound peace. Like everything, for just one brief moment in the world, is alright. A new glimmer of hope in my mind, and countless dreams just waiting for me to dream. life....is good.

I open the door to my home, the chimes of my digital masters fall on deaf ears for once, and I sleep the peace of the newly freed...

Sometimes, the most profound acts of rebellion involve the most simple of things, like removing oneself from that which binds you....

Welcome to a new sub-culture...may you free yourself from your virtual prisons, break the chains, and take a journey into the unknown. 

this is Generation V.....signing off.....

[meowdarame]

also also!! OUU kuroo college au is one of my fav things ever. i just know he was such a cheeky piece of shit in university HAHA. i hope your work is coming along well! tag me when you post it, i’d love to read it :)

omg this so made my day, i'm so sorry that i'm checking this just now, had quite a busy weekend in general, and shall definitely tag you!! <33 oh and already assigned you the emoji in my moots list hehehe!!

unfortunately i have to tackle an exam and a paper due tomorrow before i’m free for the weekend :( but i am excited nonetheless!! my coworkers and i planned a carnival type thing for the residents at my school and i’m working that tomorrow so that should be fun!! and also i’m going to see a bunch of family on saturday so i’m looking forward to that as well. hbu dear?

wanted to check up on that, how did all of it go? <33 i hope you had a fun weekend, and that all of it went well. <3

i was wanting to watch a couple of movies this weekend, (the batman, and rrr, a south indian movie) but my body was so exhausted from working that i thought of taking a breather and sitting at home.

I hope you have a good week ahead <33

hihi shyna!! thank you for the emoji tag lovely <3

also BIGGEST OOF my exam was not good 😬 genuinely, how do some professors expect us to finish these hard ass exams 😭 like i’m sorry, but it takes me a solid 20 minutes to answer some of these problems even WHEN i know what i’m doing LOL but on the bright side i think everyone else didn’t do well too HAHA

my weekend was fun… a bit interesting (had to take care of my cousin who drank too much which was… stressful HAHA but she’s okay!) how was yours?

i’ve heard that the batman movie was so so good and that rob and zoe are hot AF in it!!! if you do watch it lmk how it goes :) but also staying home and resting is always always good too heh

[the-legal-duchess]

Reflecting on 2017 and Setting Goals for 2018

2017 was a good year. My husband and I were just talking about how nothing terribly exciting happened- it was just an average, good year for us. I really can't complain about that; generally, our family was healthy and happy and we made a lot of great memories.

Early 2017 started off exciting when we rescued our sweet Annie. This dog reminds me of all that is good in the world. When we adopted her, she was 1.5 years old and had already had a litter of puppies, had been shot in the shoulder with a pelleted shotgun which it healed poorly without medical attention and the pellets are still in her leg encased in a large amount of scar tissue and leaves her with a small limp, and she was found running stray on the streets of Kentucky. After all of that, this dog is still the sweetest and happiest dog I have ever had the privilege of knowing and has a trademark smile for whenever she gets excited. She fits perfectly in with our other two dogs and has meshed into our life like she was always here. We simply cannot imagine our life without her now and we are so thankful we got to adopt this sweet little angel. #adoptdontshop

January also featured me getting reared ended in a hit and run which lead to two weeks of my husband and I share a car and a rather big bill to get my car fixed. Not very fun but I am just thankful I was not injured and the car was fixable thanks to good insurance.

Most of my spring was just busy busy busy with law school. Over spring break I had an emergency root canal which put a little damper on my vacation time. I did finish spring semester strong with a big improvement on my GPA and my first A in law school. Soon after, I found out I made the Moot Court Products Liability team which was a big dream of mine in law school.

I spent my summer interning at my local prosecutor's office and I loved absolutely every minute. I had the opportunity to work on murder cases, write official briefs and memos and attend and assist at several trials. I have officially decided that criminal prosecution is where my career plans lay and I can't wait to continue forward in my career path by interning with a local Judge this coming summer.

At the end of the summer, my hubby and I took a vacation to Maine. Maine is one of my absolute favorite places on earth- my dad grew up there and we have visited almost every year of my life. It is one of few places I can visit over and over again and love it just as much every time. We had a wonderful and relaxing week full of ocean views, mountain hikes and family time. If you are looking for a vacation spot, mid-coast Maine is one of the best.

School started back up in August and I embarked on my busiest semester to date. I started working in Law School admissions as a student ambassador and I absolutely love it. It is the best job as I love helping new law students (hence the whole point of this blog) and I have the best bosses! I enjoyed most of my classes this past semester: I took a Criminal Adjudications class with my favorite professor which I absolutely loved, I took an appellate procedure writing class to prepare for my moot court competition in the spring which was so informative and helpful and I surprised myself by getting through a very challenging commercial paper class despite my lack of natural ability in those type of classes. My grades are trickling in slowly and thus far I have been very pleased and my GPA is rising. In between the craziness of school and life, I did get a chance to go to two amazing concerts: I saw the legend himself, Sir Paul McCartney, and he was just as fantastic as I expected. I also saw my favorite artist of all time, Garth Brooks, and it was the absolute best night.

During the early Fall semester, I competed in my school interscholastic appellate advocacy competition. This was fashioned in the format of Moot Court and involved weekly head to head argument sessions that eliminated one person each time, bracket style. I made it all the way to the final four in my class which involved arguing in front of three federal judges and my entire school. It was a grueling experience on top of all my regular school work and my job but it was such a wonderful opportunity and I grew so much as an advocate through it.

We had a lovely, quiet holiday with family and enjoyed a white Christmas for the first time in years. The snow is still hanging around and I am hoping we can sneak in a ski trip sometime soon.

That brings me to now- winter break. I have been lounging around the house, reading novels, drinking too much hot tea and completing some various little projects and cleaning/organizing around our home. This time to relax, reflect and rejuvenate had given me some time to think toward the new year and all that I want to accomplish. 2018 will bring another semester of law school, my first moot court competition, a new internship, a Carribean cruise in May and I am sure many other adventures. I did sit down to make out a few goals.... we shall see how I do with those.

2018 Goals

1. Make My Health a Priority

I recently purchased a treadmill and I am absolutely determined to get in shape and run a 5K in 2018. I have a Fitbit, I have a jug of lemon water in the fridge and I am ready to get in shape. I am tired of spending my days hunched over a desk and feeling like a bump on a log. I am also starting the Tone It Up 5 day Detox tomorrow (you can still sign up and it' completely free!) and even once that ends, I am vowing to eat healthier and improve my overall wellness in 2018.

As a part of improving my physical wellness, I am working on my mental wellness as well. I have been on a mission to remove as much negativity from my life as possible- cut out toxic friendships and toxic influences. I am trying to make an effort to seek out the positive in every day... something I have always struggled with as I can be a somewhat glass half empty type of person. But I am vowing to try see the glass half full from now on. I am vowing to be a better friend, a better daughter, sister, wife, dog mom and overall better and less negative person.

Also, I am working to make social media a little less toxic. The beauty of social media is the connections and relationships it fosters. The ugly side of social media is that it encoruages comparing yourself to everyone else and only seeing the highlight reel of peoples lives. This can feed into my natural propensity for not seeing the positive so I am trying to delete any negative influences through social media and make a constant effort to see the best out of social media and not compare myself to the highlight reels of seemingly perfect Instagram feeds. I know guilty of this as much as anyone else- as a blogger, I tend to carefully select everything that goes on my blog or social media and it becomes a bit of a highlight reel... I try to strive for transparency and try to keep it real but I, like most, fall into the trap of only showing the best parts of life on social media. In the new year, I am going to try to keep in mind that behind every gorgeous, jealousy-inducing Instagram feed, is a normal person who has struggles and ugly moments just like me... letting that jealousy from comparing myself eat away at me is just silly so I am going to try my hardest to avoid that from now on.

Similarly, this is true in law school as well. It is a competitive environment. It is easy to compare your grades to others, be jealous of someone else internship or job... this is not helpful. In the new year, I am doing all of this for me. The only grades I am trying to be better than is my grades from last semester. The only internship I care about is my own. I am getting this law degree for ME and the accomplishments of everyone else is irrelevant to that goal.

2. Professional Networking

As an aspiring attorney, networking is so key in getting jobs in the future. In fact, both my internships thus far in law school have been the result of pure networking and had nothing to do with my grades or anything else. In the new year, I am setting a goal to increase my legal contacts through networking and start setting myself up for the post-graduation job f my dreams.

3. Be a Better Wife

In the hustle and bustle of life, I have realized I often forget to put my husband first. Remedying this is one of my goals for the new year. I am blessed to be married to a thoughtful, sweet, patient man who goes out of his way to make my life easier and works so hard to support me through law school. My goal is to remember to thank him more often, send a surprise note and cookies in his lunch more often and make at least one evening a week a date night where I turn off everything else spinning around my mind and focus on my husband and my marriage. After all, we are still technically newlyweds LOL.

4. Explore

It is easy to get caught up in the day to day routine and forget to explore. When I was in Europe for study abroad, I explored: I tried new things, stumbled upon crazy adventures and had the time of my life. I am not in a place in life where exploring can be European vacations but it doesn't mean that I have to stop exploring completely. In 2018, I am going to make exploring more of a priority. I am going to explore other places through books, I am going to explore my city on weekends, I am going to explore my limits by pushing myself out of my comfort zone and eat new foods, try new drinks... basically I am going to treat everyday life like it's a European vacation and find the beauty in every day, ordinary things and attack life with the mentality of exploration.

So that's my recap of 2017 and my goals for 2018... I am really looking forward to another great year. Hopefully, I can stick with my goals! I hope everyone has a safe and fun New Year's Eve and a wonderful 2018.

[seladorie]

I have an idea for a side story for "A Royal Soulmate"? What happened when Messy wrote "My name is Ignis Stupidhead Scientia, and I hate having fun."?

ask and ye shall receive

can also read here on AO3 on the side stories fic

Noctis is so prepared. He couldn’t be more prepared. There’s no guard in his room with him, Iggy and Gladio are both busy, his dad’s in meetings until he goes to bed, and he’s finally gotten good enough at warping to get from one building to the next.

It’s official. Noctis is going to sneak out of the Citadel.

He’s going to sneak out of the Citadel to go to a party.

More importantly, he’s going to a party! His first party!

He got invited to a party!

Noctis doesn’t open the window; he takes a deep breath, and takes a step without stepping, phasing through the wall. It’s much colder outside, and his footing slips for a moment. He briefly but vividly imagines falling off the roof, reinjuring himself after the years of recovery the daemon attack cost him—a party isn’t worth that not worth that at all what is he thinking?—and he throws his toy knife across to the base of a nearby tree.

When he touches solid ground, a knot of tight anxiety releases. The image of falling, of breaking, of years of trying to heal an injury that should have killed him don’t fade quite yet, but he tries to refocus on the party. The party that he’s going to. That he was invited to.

His first party!

He tucks into his jacket, and adjusts his cap and tries to hide from where he knows the common guard routes are. Warping is pretty noticeable, especially for glaives, who would be able to easily catch up to him, so he’s got to be quick about it.

And Noctis really wants to go to this party.

He’s not popular in high school. He doesn’t have friends.

That’s not true, he thinks, admonishing himself. He has Gladio and Iggy. But by the Six, he wants to get along with someone from school. Even just one. Just one friend who wanted to sit next to him during classes. And lunch. Or who would be his partner in group projects and lab. So he doesn’t have to sit there, desperately trying to make eye contact with anyone else who might not have someone yet.

He just wants someone to choose him.

He shouldn’t be ungrateful. Noctis has two soulmates. Wonderful, awesome, fantastic soulmates.

But they were always going to be in his life, soulmates or not. They were raised to be Noctis’ advisors.

Noctis would never admit this, not to anyone for any reason, but the fact that they were also his soulmates just made it seems even less like a choice.

But one of his classmates, Amet, is having a party while his parents are away on a business trip. He invited the whole class—which, well, means that he had to invite Noctis unless if he wanted to be really rude, but it still counts.

And Noctis isn’t unpopular. At least, he hopes not. He is the Prince, and people smile at him and say hi, even when they don’t have class together. But no one actually comes to talk to him, or hang out with him.

I am the Prince, he thinks to himself, scowling.

And he doesn’t really know how to talk to people his age.

Or who aren’t Gladio or Iggy, but they’re both already twenty. With people actually his age, who he hasn’t known his entire life and who are nobility, Noctis is a little lost.

He gets outside the gates, and not wanting to waste this opportunity, hurries down the streets. Noctis looked up the address before, it’s not that far from the Citadel. Like only twenty minutes. Amet’s parents must do pretty well, to live this close to the Citadel.

Worrying about having the wrong address was moot; the place is lit up, cars parked everywhere nearby, and music and talking thrumming from houses away.

Noctis’ grows less certain of himself the closer he gets to the house. He sees some of his classmates, but doesn’t know how to approach them. How does he even start a conversation? Talk about classes? Talk about their families? Everyone already knows who his family is.

If he lingers too long away from the house, someone will notice and wonder what his problem is, so he inches closer. Then he tries to stride purposefully to seem like he knows what he’s doing, but no one even glances his way. They’re talking, laughing, and having fun together, with their friends, and Noctis is here alone.

Oh, gods, this feels even worse.

He decides to go inside, and has to dodge someone running down the stairs. Inside the music is louder and the lights are brighter. It smells of alcohol and sweat.

His jacket is too much, so he takes it off, and hesitates. There’s no place to hang it, but then he sees a pile of jackets in the corner and—well, he might never see this jacket again, but it’s not an expensive one, so Noctis drops it.

His hat stays on, for now. Everyone knows who he is, but having it is reassuring.

Amet is chatting with some people by the snack table (which comprises only of chips?), so Noctis goes over there. “Hey, Your Highness!” Amet says.

“You can just call me Noctis,” he mutters. Clears his throat. “Uh, thanks for inviting me to the party.”

Amet gives him a strange look, and Noctis wonders if he said something wrong. Gods, why does everything in high school make politics seem easy? “Uh, sure. No problem.”

“Cool, I’m going to—go over there,” Noctis says, darting to the drinks. Which is beer. Not a great kind either, but he decides to get himself a cup too.

Which is what he does, until a familiar hand grips his shoulder and Noctis knows Iggy’s found him before even seeing his face.

“Your Highness,” Iggy hisses, “what are you doing?”

Shit, now people are looking at him. And oh gods, people are getting out their phones. “Not here,” Noctis says, and luckily Iggy sees them two, and they duck away to an unoccupied room in the house. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” Ignis repeats. “You snuck out of the Citadel! Without any guard! Do you know how risky that is?”

“I just went to a classmate’s house,” Noctis protests. “I didn’t go outside the Wall or anything! And how the fuck did you find me?” He had been so careful!

Ignis glowers. “One of the Kingsglaives saw you. You’re still training, Your Highness, and the Glaives are our front-line soldiers for a reason.” Yeah, sure, they’re much better than Noctis, he already knows that. “The Kingsglaive alerted us that you had left the Citadel unaccompanied. He followed you to ensure your protection, since you left on your own—”

Noctis snaps, “What’s the point of training if I’m not trusted to protect myself?”

“You haven’t finished you’re training yet, there’s too many dangers—”

“What, in Insomnia? Nothing bad can get in!”

“There are people in Insomnia who will wish you harm, and as the Crown Prince, going anywhere alone is a risk we can’t have,” Ignis says, furious, clearly wanting to yell but not. “We can’t discuss this here. We are going home.” He waves a hand, and the Glaive is there. Noctis glares, and he doesn’t react at all. “Discreetly. I don’t want photographs in the paper tomorrow about the Prince being escorted home from a party. With underaged drinking.”

It’s a lost battle at this point, and all Noctis can do is scowl and glare as he’s herded out of the house away from prying eyes. A car is waiting, because of course it is. Noctis gets in with Ignis, and they drive away from any chance of normal his social life ever had.

…

This is how he ends up making one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

The car ride is silent and tense. Ignis is fuming, his face betraying more of his anger than he’d probably like. Noctis wants to say something—defend himself, explain that it was just a party with his classmates who all had a billion background checks done on them anyway, and what was the point of that if Noctis couldn’t even hang out with any of them?—but all too soon they’re at the Citadel.

They stop, and to his surprise, Ignis makes no move to get out of the car. “Your father is waiting for you inside.”

Noctis flinches. “You told my father?”

Ignis nods without looking at him. “As well as Clarus and Gladio. I expect that they’re also waiting for you.”

Noctis gapes at him. “My father had meetings tonight!”

“Well, you should have thought about that before you snuck out,” Ignis snaps. He takes a deep breath. “Now get out.”

Too stunned to respond, Noctis fumbles with his seat belt and leaves the car, which Ignis drives away as soon as he’s out.

He can’t remember the last time Ignis was so angry with him.

Noctis sees Gladio waiting for him, and any momentary worry is quickly replaced by bitterness. Did Iggy really have to tell everyone that Noctis had snuck out? He was only going to a party!

He doesn’t want to go to Gladio and hear whatever he has to say that is causing that expression on his face, but he trudges over anyway.

“Your Majesty and Lord Amicitia are waiting for you inside,” Gladio says after a prolonged pause.

Noctis starts, “Gladio—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he interrupts gruffly.

“But Gladio—” Noctis tries again.

“Why didn’t you trust me?” Gladio asks. “I would have gone with you. I would have been your security, and you could still have gone to the party. We could have avoided all of this.”

But that wouldn’t have been the same, Noctis thinks, even though Gladio’s right. But he just wanted one party on his own. Just one.

He leaves Gladio, and braces himself for his father.

His father is in his chambers, waiting for him. Noctis’ guilt rises over making him cancel his meeting, and grows ever more frustrated with Ignis making such a big deal out of this. With a breath, he opens the door, and steps inside.

There are no guards or glaives this time, just his dad and Clarus sitting down at the table, clearly waiting.

Noctis is in so much trouble.

“Why did you sneak out, Noctis?” his father asks softly.

“I just wanted to go to a party,” Noctis says. “It was just a stupid party. It didn’t need to be this big of a deal.”

“No, it didn’t,” Clarus says, voice cool and face stoic. Noctis looks away.

“You went to the party,” his dad continues. “You were unguarded for ten minutes during that time. Noctis, how much can happen in ten minutes?”

Noctis knows this answer. The time it took for his mother to die and for Noctis to be so badly injured that he couldn’t walk for years was less than five minutes.

Suddenly, his mind flashes to sliding down the roof, and he tries not to let his horror show on his face.

“Luckily, nothing happened. Not this time,” his dad says. “Our Kingsglaives and your Advisor acted well, but we might not be so fortunate in the future. I understand that you wish to join your peers at social activities, but we must be cautious. I am assigning a guard to your chambers at night for the next month, and after that, perhaps we can discuss how you may safely attend your classmates’ social events.”

He doesn’t want anyone to watch him sleep, but Noctis knows he’s actually getting off pretty easy. He murmurs, “Okay. Can I go now?”

His dad and Clarus exchange a look. Clarus says, “We’re relieved you’re safe, Noctis. But there’s a reason Gladio has been assigned as your Shield. If nothing else, you should have had him with you.”

“I understand,” Noctis says, miserable and looking at the floor. “Can I go now?”

There’s another brief pause, but his dad thankfully says, “Yes. We’ll speak more tomorrow,” and Noctis wastes no time is ducking out of there.

A glaive shadows him, but he ignores him as much as he can. He can’t lock him out of his room—not that that would work on a glaive anyway—but Noctis can ignore pretty much everything else.

And he can lock everyone else out.

He pulls off his jacket and throws it across the room, rips off his shoes with similar force, and falls down onto his bed on top of the covers. Shifting around, he slips out of his pants and tosses them onto the floor, and crawls under the comforter.

He just wanted to go to a party and be normal for once.

And, despite what his dad said, nothing happened! Yeah, that time on the roof was scary, but Noctis is a lot better with his magic now, he was fine on his own. And how is he ever going to run a country and fight a war if he’s not even strong enough to go out to a party with his classmates?

How can he rule a country if he can’t even be social like a normal person for one night? If he can’t even get anyone to like him without having been raised and predestined to be with him?

He can’t sleep. Doesn’t want to sleep. He thinks about Iggy, and how all people are going to talk about at school next week is how the Prince of Lucis got dragged out of the party like a child.

He’s so pissed off. He just wanted to have fun, why did Ignis have to—

Grabbing a pen on his nightstand, he doesn’t think as he scrawls out MY NAME IS IGNIS STUPIDHEAD SCIENTIA AND I HATE HAVING FUN.

It feels good for a moment. Not enough, because he’s still angry and had such hopes for this party, and it’s just childish, but it makes him feel better.

For a moment. Then icy realizing crawls up his chest, and he hurriedly scratches out Iggy’s name.

It was only a minute, he thinks. They couldn’t have seen it. But they might have.

They might have.

They have Iggy’s name now. With his name, it wouldn’t be at all hard to find him.

That’s not what Noctis wanted. Not at all. He wanted to be mad at Iggy, not risk his life.

Maybe Iggy and everyone was right after all, about risks.

“Glaive Solea,” Noctis says, voice shaky. “Can you get Clarus to come here?”

[qqueenofhades]

The Rose and Thorn: Chapter XVIII

summary:  Sequel to The Dark Horizon. The New World, 1740: Killian and Emma Jones have lived in peace with their family for many years, their pirate past long behind them. But with English wars, Spanish plots, rumors of a second Jacobite rising, and the secret of the lost treasure of Skeleton Island, they and their son and daughter are in for a dangerous new adventure. OUAT/Black Sails. rating: M status: WIP available: FF.net and AO3 previous: chapter XVII

Emma woke with a start sometime in the small hours, gripped by a sudden need to make sure that Killian was still next to her. After the family moot had finally broken up quite late, they had gone upstairs, shut the door, and celebrated their reunion in a far more intimate way, repeatedly, and she was languorous and sated with sleep and sex, somewhat enjoyably sore – God, she was getting old. She fumbled across the covers in panic, until her fingers encountered the warm flesh of his left arm, the roughened end of it in place of a hand, and she surfaced enough to be aware of his comforting weight in the bed, dark-silver head sprawled in the pillow, breathing deep and slow. It was real, then. She hadn’t imagined it or dreamed it. He had come back to her.

Tears of relief stung her eyes, and she knuckled them away. She settled back down, not wanting to disturb him, but, sensitive to her as ever, he stirred. “Swan?”

“I’m. . .” Emma hesitated, then snuggled closer. “I’m sorry. I just needed to make sure you were still here.”

Killian made a soft sound half between a laugh and a sigh, pulling her against him and mouthing light kisses over her forehead and nose and cheek. “That I am, love. So far as I can tell.”

“I know,” Emma whispered, nuzzling her head against his shoulder and unable to resist one final, confirming poke that made him chuckle. He was thinner and more ragged and older-looking than when they had last seen each other, and he plainly had not had an overall good time of it, but at least he didn’t appear to have been outstandingly maltreated. Not that she had any warm sentiment toward the fiends responsible – the Lost Boys would have a great deal to reckon with if she ever caught up to them, no matter if Killian had already killed Rufio. Yet now, after the euphoria of reunion, the long talk with the family followed by the wild abandon of lovemaking, all had fled away to leave just them in the darkness, and the question she did not want to ask, but had to. “Are you still mad at me?”

“What?” Killian sounded startled. “For Charlestown?”

“I. . .. yes. Before you were abducted, we were fighting, and everything we said then. . ..” Emma paused. “And now we do know where Gold himself is, according to you, and we’re going to have to face that again. . . I was just wondering if you still felt that I’d done wrong.”

“Emma.” Killian shifted her on his chest, so he could look into her eyes. “I have thought of nothing but getting back to you ever since those juvenile snotrags grabbed me and dragged me aboard that dismal boat of theirs. Nothing else has mattered. And I. . . I didn’t appreciate it at the time, to be sure, but I’m not sure I would have gotten to face my brother otherwise. What happened between us, we. . . we needed it. And it’s making me realize how much I put aside, how much I took for granted I would do later, if I wanted, and never actually intended to. I was a selfish git, and perhaps this was the kick in the arse that I bloody needed.”

Emma didn’t answer at first, tidying a loose strand of hair out of his face. Then she said, “You’re right, though. I shouldn’t have gone off alone and tried to push everyone away, but with Charlestown. . . you know how that place is for everyone, it just made me. . . I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” Killian said gently. “I do, Emma. And I’m saying that between the two of us, I was the one who acted far more like an idiot, for a far longer time, and you can ask Regina if you don’t believe me. So I do accept your apology, love. But I hope as well that you – and Liam – can see your way to accepting mine.”

“I can’t speak for Liam, but I do.” Emma shifted, turned over, and settled against him, her back to his chest, as he rested his chin on her head. She pulled his arm over her, circling the stump with a finger, feeling his warm breath and the slow, comfortable thump of his heart, the slant of his legs tucked against hers – admiring how well they fit, even after close to a quarter-century of marriage. “I’m just glad you’re back. I – always thought you would, that we would see each other again, but I. . . I’m relieved anyway.”

“So am I.” Killian planted a light kiss on her ear. “But we’re not out of the woods. There’s everything you were telling me about Sam and whatever that rat bastard Da Souza did to him, there’s Geneva and Thomas off with Silver, there’s Gideon Murray and his Jacobite friends, there’s Billy and Lady Fiona hunting Skeleton Island, and there is, of course, Gold. Bloody hell, you think we throw dice to decide which one we handle first?”

“I don’t want to split up again if we can help it.” Emma was very devout on that point indeed. “We’ll have to talk with the others tomorrow, see if we can possibly work out something for tackling all this. Finding our children, or fighting our enemies. That seems to be our choice.”

Killian tugged her closer. “Hey, if we found each other again, I’m quite certain we can find them. They’re both clever and resourceful and too much like the rest of us for our peace of mind, unfortunately. For example, I’m quite sure that John Silver swiftly discovered he was biting off far more than he could chew, when he decided to tangle with Geneva.”

Emma laughed, somewhat painfully. “As am I. But I hope it wasn’t more than she could.”

There was a brief silence, both of them clearly trying not to worry themselves to distraction about Geneva and Sam, the creeping fears and the whispering phantoms harder to push away in the darkness. Then Emma said, “We should sleep. We need to think about this in the morning.”

“Aye.” Killian kissed the back of her neck. “It’s all right, love. I won’t go anywhere.”

Emma tightened her grip on his arm, closed her eyes, and while it took a few moments, managed to relax. Then, slowly, she swam once more into the dark depths of slumber, and for the rest of the night, did not dream at all.

The  next morning, they stirred soon after dawn, and despite the obvious urgency of getting up and attending to their manifold problems, could not resist one more round beneath the blankets, quick and intense, with a delightful furtiveness like secret lovers trying not to be caught in the barn. Emma’s breath hitched as Killian gripped her left hand fiercely, pushing it over her head into the pillows, bending her back like a bow as he thrust into her with a rasping, rough possessiveness. She ran her right hand down his side, caressing and clawing, meeting his need with her own, and bit hard on her lip rather than have anyone notice what they were up to (the walls were rather thin, but then, doubtless they had guessed anyway). When they were both spent, sweaty and flushed and panting, they lay there as if their spinal columns had been removed for several moments. Then Killian groaned, rolled out of her with decided reluctance, and pushed to his feet. “Well then. Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

Having gotten dressed, they made their way downstairs, still holding hands, to Charlie’s kitchen. David was the only one up, and greeted them with a warm smile. “Killian. It’s good to have you back with us again.”

“It is, yes.” Killian sat down at the table. “I think I’ve had enough sailing for a while, even for me, but I don’t doubt we’ll have more. You own a good bit of property and ships here, if we have to borrow one – ”

“You’ll have whatever you need,” David assured him. “And I don’t intend to charge you for it, either. Will your brother and his wife be returning to France? It’s late in the year for another sailing, and I imagine they’ve likewise had all they want, but – ”

“I don’t know.” Killian looked hesitant. “I don’t think so, but Liam did say he would go after Gold with me, and I can’t see him being content to just turn around, go home, and sit on his arse while the rest of us are in danger. We have quite a few reparations still to make, and I. . . I don’t think I want him to go either. So I shouldn’t think so.”

“Good,” David said. “I think that’s a good decision for both of you. But either way, we’re completely overstuffed here in one house, so I’ll track down one of my other properties to move a few of us into. Unless – ”

“I’m not sure any of us will be staying here much longer,” Emma interjected. “So the accommodations are most likely the least of our concerns. But thank you.”

“Of course.” David looked at her steadily. “You have a wonderful family, Emma.”

“I. . .” Something caught in her throat, but she nodded. “I know.”

They sat there for a short while longer until Charlie’s housekeeper appeared to prepare breakfast, followed by Flint and Miranda (also with the look of quiet contentment that made Emma think they had been doing some private making up of their own) and then Charlie, Liam, Regina, Henry, Violet, and the children. That made everyone, except for Charlotte, and Emma looked up in concern. “Did she not come back from Max’s last night? What if something happened to her in the streets? One of Da Souza’s men lying in wait to – ”

“Charlotte is a tremendously capable young woman,” Miranda said. “I am quite sure that nothing happened to her that she did not intend to happen.”

Emma glanced at her mother in surprise, but Miranda did not appear inclined to elaborate. Indeed, they were halfway through breakfast when there was a knock on the front door, footsteps in the hall, and Charlotte appeared in the kitchen, looking somewhat windswept and fresh-faced. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I hope I didn’t make you worry. It got quite late, and Max didn’t think it was wise for me to walk alone across the city at midnight. But I’m back, and – who are these?”

“This is Killian,” Emma said. “My husband. He made it here last night, with his brother Liam, and Liam’s wife, Regina. Killian, this is Charlotte Bell, Cecilia’s aunt. Her husband is Jack, the one who seems to be with Sam, so we’ve all ended up on the same adventure.”

“Mrs. Bell.” Killian got courteously to his feet and bowed over her hand. “I’ve heard you’re quite a good shot with a pistol, is that so?”

“Yes.” Charlotte looked pleased. “Are you the one that was kidnapped in Charlestown, then?”

“I was, yes,” Killian said wryly, “but through a complicated chain of events, very long story, I managed to escape and make it home. Now that we’re all around the table again, however, it seems like the time to discuss what in blazes we’re doing next.”

“Max had heard some sort of rumor,” Charlotte said. “About Gold. They thought he was in – Barbuda?”

“No,” Killian said. “Barbados. Regina and I found it in the Navy’s offices in London. He sailed to Bridgetown last year, aboard a ship captained by an M. Rogers of Bristol. No sure chance he’s still there, but he always liked to have a lair. We’re guessing he is.”

Liam looked at him askance. “You and Regina just. . . walked into Whitehall?”

“Yes,” Regina said, somewhat defiantly. “We were looking for you, and since a few officers still remembered me from Antigua, it worked rather well.”

Liam looked as if he was trying to picture this, and being somewhat sad he’d missed it, even as he nonetheless had his own opinions on the advisability of strolling straight into the Admiralty, especially given the circumstances in which the Jones brothers had resigned (rather spectacularly, in Killian’s case) from the Royal Navy. “Well then. Moving on. As I said, Billy and Lady Fiona are also sailing for Barbados. That seems to be the place in which we have the best chance of catching the most of our enemies together.”

“Indeed,” Flint said. “And this time, I’ll be sure to fucking kill Billy Bones properly.”

“As long as you realize,” Miranda pointed out, “that he will be set on doing the same to you?”

Flint shrugged that off. “I’ve known that since we first got word that the big blonde bastard had resurfaced, from whatever shithole he’s been squirreled down for the last twenty years.”

Emma was quiet. She and Billy had, of course, been friends once, and she still wanted to think that if they came face to face, he would not be able to kill her out of hand. He had tried to make her safety a condition of his bargain with Woodes Rogers, to betray the pirates and lead the Navy to Skeleton Island after the Walrus, but she had rejected it then, and spent years living as family with Billy’s mortal enemy. She knew very well that it might be necessary to kill him to save that family, but she didn’t want to think about it.

“Jenny and Thomas are still off on whatever plan of John Silver’s to follow Billy,” Miranda said, picking up on Emma’s own thoughts. “They’re likely to return here at some point. Even if some of us go to Barbados, the others should stay behind to run interference.”

Flint looked as if this was a job which, even with Thomas’ welfare at stake, he would not be caught dead doing, not if it entailed a reunion with Silver. “I nominate Nolan,” he said. “He’s the one who owns Nassau now, as I have not ceased to be reminded, and has the most connections. Not suspicious at all for him to stay here, and he can also keep an eye on Henry, Violet, and the children. Charlie can help him, make up for his bungling in letting Jenny and Thomas go in the first place. The rest of us go to Barbados.”

Everyone was forced to admit that this was, even and especially for Flint, a sensible plan. Sending Killian, Emma, Flint, Miranda, Liam, Regina, and Charlotte after Gold, while leaving David, Henry, Violet, Charlie, and the children on Nassau, bisected their forces fairly evenly, and applied their strengths in the correct directions. Flint had clearly given up on trying to convince Miranda to stay behind in a less dangerous spot, and did not want to be parted from her anyway. Besides, all “less dangerous” spots were relative, with one’s safety not particularly assured over another, yet nonetheless, matching six senior citizens, plus Charlotte, against Gold was not a terribly wise idea. “We need help,” Flint said. “We need to let me recruit a crew.”

“We could ask Nemo,” Liam suggested. “He did say he was willing to – ”

Flint tensed. “Nemo?”

“Yes.” Liam looked at him, confused. “The one who brought me, Killian, and Regina back here. I suppose you didn’t see him last night, but – ?”

“He’s the one who pulled you off Skeleton Island, all those years ago,” Killian said. “He told me.”

“That was him?” Miranda looked startled. “James did mention a man named Nemo, to Thomas and I, but – I didn’t realize it was that same one in Nassau now.”

“There can’t be many men named Nemo who sail ships called the Nautilus, and he remembered you.” Killian looked at his father-in-law with a quizzical expression. “Mate, I don’t think he’s interested in wringing you for the whereabouts of the island – he’d have done that long ago, if so. And since he’s now saved your arse and ours, it might be a bit presumptuous to ask him for another favor. But it’s still safer than trying to raise a crew.”

Flint looked as if it was not Nemo’s potential interest in the whereabouts of Skeleton Island that concerned him, but did not, as usual, want to talk about his feelings. Instead he said, “What about Sam? Are we planning to pick him up on the way? Da Souza said he threw him into the sea near St. Kitts – that’s between here and Barbados, but it’s not likely he’s still drifting somewhere.”

“Of course we want to find him,” Emma said. “And it’s not out of the question, if he’s already in some sort of trouble in that direction, that Gold sniffed him out and scooped him up. You know what a prize he would regard that as.”

“If Gold – ” Flint rose half to his feet, making the plates and teacups rattle. “If that bastard did anything to Sam, I swear – ”

“We will both skin him slowly,” Killian said grimly. “You have my word on that. If by some miracle, Gold’s been able to resist adding to his crimes – well then, we can think of something else. But if he’s taken it out on Sam, all bets are off.”

Nobody had anything to say to this, even as Emma prayed more than ever that it would not be needed. She thought of something that Sam senior had said to her many years ago, that he would rather be hurt himself than watch her and Killian be tortured, and as a mother, she had always intuitively known the truth of it. She could stand Gold hurting her, if she had to – him, or any other malfeasants who might cross their path and mean them ill. But she could not bear to see him replay his campaign of destruction over Killian, or even worse, over the younger Jones, recreating every element that had led to his father’s fall. No, not Sam, not my sweet, brave, gentle boy, you can’t touch him, you can’t do that to him. Fruitlessly, she thought of Gideon Murray, back in Charlestown, and his avowed hatred of his sire. Was even Gold such a monster as to remain unmoved when confronted with his flesh and blood, his lost child? They had thought of the possibility before, but there was small chance now of popping back to the Carolinas and bringing Gideon along as a nasty surprise for his father. What with that bloodline, it would be far more trouble than it was worth.

“Sam?” Liam said, startling her from her reverie. “This would be my other nephew?”

“Aye.” Emma recalled that he and Regina had never met the youngest Swan-Jones child. “He’s an absolutely lovely lad, but he does have. . . a bit of a knack for trouble.”

“No idea where he could have gotten that,” Liam said wryly. “Well then, if nobody has any alternatives to Captain Flint’s plan, I say we put it to a vote. All in favor?”

There was a pause, and then the adults more or less raised their hands in unison, some looking more keen on it than others. After all, some of them did need to stay in Nassau, and some of them did need to go to Barbados, and the delegations that Flint had proposed for each were sensible, but it was still another separation, another hazardous undertaking, with no certain victory. It was well along in fall by now, and there would be squalid winter weather to reckon with, on top of everything else. A voyage south to Bridgetown was not the longest or most unfamiliar in the world, but it was still over a thousand miles, and a confrontation with their oldest enemy awaited even if they did get there in a timely fashion. For all that they spoke of “handling” Gold as if he was a distant and mildly embarrassing relative, all of them knew better than to underestimate him. His minions had made damn near successful attempts at killing them twice already, and the danger would only increase the closer they came to the man himself. This might be the choice they had to make, to account for Thomas, Geneva, and Sam the best they could, but it was still a hard one to swallow.

Silence, until a voice said from the door, “Aunt Charlotte? Are you going to find Uncle Jack?”

Charlotte turned in her chair to smile reassuringly at her young niece, who was peering into the room anxiously. “Yes, sweetheart, I think so. You’ll be staying here with Mr. and Mrs. Swan and Richard and Lucy, isn’t that nice? You’ll have plenty of time to play.”

Cecilia considered this, then nodded bravely, scampering off as if aware she was not supposed to be listening in on the adults. Flint watched her go with sharp curiosity. “From what I can gather of your husband, he’s not much the fatherly sort. He doesn’t mind her, then?”

“He likes her,” Charlotte said defensively. “Why all this interest in Jack, anyway?”

“Well, for one, he appears to be with my grandson – and according to that fucking wretch Da Souza, may be the only thing that saved him from a watery fate. And he’s a Spanish spy, there’s that small detail. But what you called him – Black Jack. Given as we are on Nassau, I feel it only fair to ask. That, to say the least, is a rather pirate-sounding moniker. Is there some other association of his that we should know about?”

Charlotte hesitated. “It was a slip of the tongue.”

“I don’t think it was.”

“James.” Miranda put a hand on his arm. “If you recall, Charlotte has explained herself to my satisfaction. What with everything else, I don’t think we need to resume the interrogation.”

Flint, as if deciding that they had just made up and he did not want to be at odds with her so soon again, paused, then nodded. But the look in his eyes as they remained on Charlotte was not angry or suspicious, it was sad. Until Emma thought suddenly that he was not trying to sniff out a potential rival in order to destroy them, but rather that he had grasped onto some faint, wild, impossible idea, and could not, however much he wanted, dismiss it out of hand. After all. . . the use of “Black” before one’s first name, and a surname that started with Bell. . . it called to mind the man that all of them had had ever more to reckon with, their vanished love, even as they were finally coming to terms with the fact that he was gone, and they must let go. But that was just a strange coincidence, unsettling but immaterial. Sam’s son with his Cape Cod lover, Mariah Hallett, had died at birth, the reason he had gone back to try to plead her forgiveness, and sailed into the storm where he met his fate. They could not return to grasping at straws now.

The next order of business was to find a ship. Despite Flint’s unenthusiastic response to the proposal, there was no harm in seeing if Nemo was willing to take them the rest of the way to Barbados, even if he might then justly decide that he and his crew wanted nothing to do with Gold. So Emma, Killian, and Liam went to the docks to see if they could track down some of his men, as the Nautilus was still anchored outside the harbor. It took a while, but they managed, and the sailors took them to the lodging house where Nemo was staying. “I would be happy to take you to Bridgetown,” he said, upon hearing their updates. “And if it comes to it, any man of mine who agrees is welcome to back you in a confrontation with Gold, but I will not force it upon anyone who is unwilling.”

“Neither would we,” Killian said. “The man’s a bloody demon, we won’t blame anyone who’d rather not come to grips with him. I don’t think it’s a wise idea to take a whole army, as that’s a good way to be spotted in a hurry, and I am sure he’s well fortified the place against any potential invasion. The smaller the group, the better, but as it will be me, Emma, Liam, Regina, and my father-in-law, with my mother-in-law traveling with us but not along for the actual fight, and with all of us considerably over fifty, we could use some fresh blood. Charlotte Bell will be with us, but she likely doesn’t want to be the sole caretaker of the feeble elderly folk.”

“Indeed,” Nemo agreed, with a wry smile. “As I said, any man of mine who agrees to help is yours, so that should not be a problem. We could use a few days to resupply and recollect ourselves, but we should be able to depart by the end of the week. And your father-in-law – that would be Captain Flint, would it not?”

“Aye. He. . . doesn’t seem terribly chuffed about sailing with you, to be honest.”

“I imagine,” Nemo said, “that he fears what I might tell you of Skeleton Island, of what he said to me then, of the man he was when I took him to Philadelphia. He need not. As I said to you back in London, I remember nothing particularly enlightening, and even if I did, I would not share it without his consent – which, I sense, I would wait a long time for him to grant. At any rate, he will not have to endure me long. I had other business in the Caribbean that I meant to see done, you will recall, and while of course I do not wish to strand you on Barbados at Gold’s mercy, would you take it terribly amiss if I set you down there, and then returned in due time, assuming you could not arrange other passage, to pick you up again?”

“No, of course not. You’re doing us another bloody favor as it is, as I said – we won’t look down our noses at you for seeing to your own interests. If you don’t mind me asking, what is it? We used to know the Caribbean quite well in our day, if we could offer anything in return for what you’ve given us – ”

Nemo considered briefly. Then he said, “My business is with a certain vodou priest, a man named Merlin, and a pair of Maroon chieftains, Ursula and Lancelot. They periodically assist me with information about where I might find men for my crew, men who need to be freed from their chains. I expect this is something you can underst – ah. You know them?”

“We – we do, yes,” Emma said, blinking. “From a long time ago.” She remembered Merlin, the oddly ageless-looking houngan of the Maroons’ island where she and Miranda had taken refuge, and surely Liam did as well, since Ursula, then just a young girl and the daughter of the chief, had helped nurse him back to health after he was stabbed by his half-brother. Merlin had given her foreboding prophecies of the fall of Nassau and the arrival of Woodes Rogers, warned her that everyone she loved would die, and Emma felt a faint, unaccountable chill at the memory. As for Lancelot, he and Killian knew each other quite well, as Killian had saved his life back on Jamaica, Lancelot had later returned the favor with Liam, and sailed with his men on the Jolie Rouge, as well as fighting with them throughout the pirates’ war. Ursula, however, might be a less pleasant reunion. She had ordered Killian off the island for his dishonorable treatment of her, and as far as Emma recalled, had not seemed inclined to forgive him.

Still, though. They had Gold to reckon with, and it was Nemo who would be venturing off to find the Maroons, not them. It was oddly comforting to hear that their old allies were still alive and kicking, and Emma nodded firmly. “Very well. Let us know when you’re ready to go. Not to rush you, but we. . .” She trailed off, thinking of Sam. “We can’t afford to wait much longer.”

“I understand,” Nemo said. “It will be as soon as we can possibly manage it, you may be assured. We will do this, Mrs. Jones. No matter what.”

“I hope so,” Emma said softly. “I do certainly hope so.”

As the gun went off, with a kick and a boom and short, sharp explosion of fire from the muzzle, time seemed to slow, strange and stretched and distorted, until it seemed impossible that it should still be happening, that Geneva would never do anything in her life but watch it happen. She could almost see the trajectory of the ball as it left Israel Hands’ pistol, see it tearing toward the capstan and the barrel of powder that must be waiting there to blow the entire Rose sky-high. Knew then that she had to jump in front of it, that indeed she should already have started to do so if she wanted any hope of stopping it, and yet her feet were not cooperating. She took half a stumbling step, pushed off, and started to leap – and then was knocked violently sideways by something, ended up face-down on the deck with reality snapped back to full speed, and nothing, anywhere, but shouting.

Geneva began to panic, twisting and kicking to get free, as whoever had tackled her out of the bullet’s path struggled to hold her. The Rose had not yet blown up, so it must not have hit, but – it could be a misfire, it could not have penetrated deep enough, Hands could be reloading even now, someone else could have been hit, something could have –

She rolled over, jammed her knee up hard, heard a grunt of pain, and realized that the person who had tackled her was Silver. There was a look of desperate fear on his face that she had never imagined, and he only half seemed to see her. Yet there was also a terrible commotion going on behind them, and after their eyes locked for a jolting instant more, Geneva recovered herself and pushed him off, springing to her feet. She glanced wildly from side to side: in one direction, someone was slumped in front of the capstan, and in the other, Jim had charged Hands personally, and was now battling to contain him with the help of Thomas and one of the brawnier crewmen. Hands was fighting like the madman he was, but Thomas, likewise with a look Geneva had scarcely imagined from him, something hard and hot and violent, swung back a fist and hit him in the face with the sound of crunching cartilage. “Stay down.”

Hands spat blood as Jim wrestled the empty pistol out of his grip and kicked it away across the deck, then divested him of the several more loaded ones that had been strapped at various locations on his person. Geneva stared between them, then remembered that someone had been shot, and experienced a terrible fear that it was Madi. She whirled away from the hand Silver was trying to put to her elbow, ran back to the capstan, and –

It was not Madi. It was Eleanor. She half-sat, half-sprawled against the wood, hand pressed to the scarlet hole ripped low in her left side, staring with an expression of disbelief at the blood leaking through her fingers. By the looks of things, she had made a last-second leap between Hands and the gunpowder, perhaps realizing for bloody once what a misjudgment she had made in trusting a dangerous man and arrantly taking for granted her own ability to control him. Eleanor was not a martyr, Geneva had known that from the first. She must have just meant to stop the Rose from being blown up, to preserve her chances of reaching her son, but. . .

Geneva paused, staring at the older woman, as Eleanor’s eyes met hers in a look of silent, desperate appeal. Then she bent down, awkwardly slid her arms behind Eleanor’s back and knees, and hauled her upright. Awkwardly balancing her, grateful for all the ropes and barrels she had hauled, Geneva carried her across the deck, Eleanor’s torn skirts trailing, and kicked the cabin door open. Aside from serving as first mate, Mr. Arrow had also been the Rose’s surgeon, and they had nobody left of remotely comparable skill. It would have to be her, Geneva realized. She knew the basic idea of it, but this – and for a woman who had sold them out to Hands, had sold her family out to Gold, betrayed everyone who ever cared for her –

For a brief moment, Geneva supposed that she would be completely justified in standing here and watching Eleanor die slowly. Wounds to the abdomen were often a death sentence even with attempted care; they festered and lingered and worsened inexorably, brutish and protracted. She didn’t think the shot had hit the bowels, but she would have to look, and even if she managed to get the bullet out and stop a preliminary infection from setting in, they still had at least another fortnight at sea before they reached any sort of land. Bermuda was the closest, as they had stopped over on the way out from Nassau, but even if they dropped Eleanor off for care – even if Geneva did her best now, it still could be all for –

Eleanor looked up at her, eyes blank with terror, and Geneva realized that Eleanor knew exactly what she was thinking –  that she was debating whether to let her live, or perhaps whether to fetch one more pistol and make a clean end of it. She reached out, clawing at Geneva’s skirt, staining it with blood. “Please,” she choked. “Please help me.”

Geneva remained immobile an instant longer, then whirled away. Tied up her loose hair in a knot, splashed her hands in the wash-basin, and fetched Mr. Arrow’s old surgical chest from the trunk. Most at-sea medicine was of the quick and gory sort anyway, the amputation of a shattered limb or the stitching of some wound from a gun or broken spar, and she had certainly assisted at these, shoved the leather strap between a man’s teeth, told him to bite, and held him down through the awful grates of the bone saw. Mercifully few, but at least she wasn’t going to swoon at the sight. She uncorked a brandy bottle, wiped the wicked-looking shears with them, and cut away Eleanor’s dress and corset, revealing the mangled mess of her lower ribs where the round had struck. She had to get it out, or it would putrefy and burrow deeper and tear apart more of Eleanor’s innards. Jesus. There was a lot of blood.

Taking a deep breath, Geneva removed the fine-nosed forceps, and likewise washed them in brandy. She was just thinking sorely of the need for a pair of extra hands when the cabin door opened again. “Jenny? Jenny!”

“I’m a little busy, Uncle Thomas.” Her voice sounded strange, thin, detached. “Can it wait?”

Thomas evidently saw what she was doing, as she heard another sharply indrawn breath, but he did not miss a beat. “Silver and Jim are dragging Hands to the brig,” he said crisply. “And I sent men down to the hold to sweep it thoroughly, as well as check the capstan. We should be safe enough, for now.”

“Thank you.” Geneva gestured to him with her chin. “Hold her down, please.”

Thomas strode over without delay, taking up a position at the head of the bed and gripping Eleanor’s forearms with both hands, pinning her firmly in place. Geneva dipped up another bowl of water, pulled some punctured whalebone from Eleanor’s corset out of the way, and began to excavate for the bullet, prodding gingerly with the forceps to further gushes of blood. Eleanor was clearly doing her best to suffer stoically, but she finally screamed, a horrible, choked, gulping sound, as cold sweat dewed on her forehead. “Light,” Geneva ordered tersely. “I need more light.”

Thomas managed to strike a one-handed spark against the corner of the desk, dropping it in the wick of the oil lamp and moving it for Geneva to see what she was doing. Finally, she glimpsed the dark, blood-wet curve of the ball, embedded fairly deeply in tissue, and had to use the knife to help cut it free. She gripped it and eased it loose, Eleanor uttering a repetitive, stabbing whimper every time she tugged, until it finally came free. She dropped it in the bowl, a fine tremor running through her hands, and tried to think how to possibly stanch the bleeding. It was impossible to stitch, and all but inviting corruption. It was plain that Eleanor could not be moved, or exiled to one of the crew’s berths below, and that Geneva would have to devote a good chunk of further time to her care. For better or worse, for whatever motives, whether intentionally or by accident, Eleanor had saved them all from being blown up by Hands, even if she had been the one to partner with him and help bring him aboard in the first place. She might well still die, but at least not if Geneva could do a damn thing about it.

After a pause, she went back to Mr. Arrow’s surgical chest, pulled out the wads of cotton wool, and remembered that ideally you were supposed to boil them, but she did not have time, or a cookfire, near at hand. Instead, Geneva carefully pulled together the wound as best she could, then began to pack it with the wool, pressing down hard, even as each layer kept soaking up red. Eleanor’s eyes were showing their whites, and the bedclothes where she lay were sodden as well; her pulse was fast and shallow. Thomas snagged the brandy bottle and administered her a few swallows as makeshift pain medicine, with a sort of casual dexterity that made Geneva realize he had done this before, and often. Thought again of the years he had spent apart from Grandpa and Granny, and how he had said that they did not need to know it all, just as he felt no entitlement to demand every part of their lives. That, however, would have to wait.

At last, with their combined efforts, they got the bleeding slowed to an oozing, angry trickle beneath the pads and pads of soaked gauze, and carefully replaced them with some fresh ones, wrapping Eleanor’s torso about and about with bands of torn linen. Thomas held them in place while Geneva pulled the knots tight, and then, finally, she laid Eleanor back against the thin pillows, feeling absurdly guilty that this was such a poor hospital. Thomas gave her another swallow of brandy, and Eleanor’s eyelashes fluttered as she shivered uncontrollably, teeth chattering, blue veins showing beneath her skin. “I’m c-c-c-cold.”

Geneva went and fetched the other quilt from the trunk, draping it over her. “You can’t move. That will open again at any exertion. I’ll clean it and do my best for it, but I. . .” She hesitated. Eleanor wasn’t a fool, she knew it was bad. “I can’t promise anything.”

Eleanor paused, then nodded once. She was barely at the threshold of consciousness anyway, and with the hellish procedure done, clearly saw no reason to cling on in pain and blood. Her head dropped back, and she passed out as if struck with a rock.

Geneva and Thomas stood side by side, breathing hard, regarding their patient. It was the most time they had spent together since their fight – if fight was even the word for it, just Thomas’ disappointment and anger – in Bristol, and neither of them said anything for a long moment. Geneva braced herself for her uncle to ask why she had not told them about Hands and Eleanor, why she had nearly risked getting the Rose blown up, all the other mistakes she had made. She supposed it was his right, but she felt as if she might crack if he did, and did not want to cry. Not yet. There was still that monstrous lie that Silver had told Jim about Daddy, and – and – so much. So much. It pulled at her like an endless dark sea, threatening to close over her head no matter how much she struggled, the way a drowning man drowned faster when he knew that he was and his body tried to force him to breathe, and took in only water. Jesus Christ, she was so exhausted.

Thomas, however, did not rebuke her. Instead, he bent to rinse his bloody hands in the bowl, still with an intent, inward expression that made Geneva think that he was recalling some less-than-pleasant memories of his own. Finally, she said in a small voice, “You were good at that. And – and with stopping Hands. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Thomas did not look up, scrubbing methodically between each of his fingers as if determined to get more than Eleanor’s blood off him. “I – used to assist with such things. At the plantation. The men were all highborn, embarrassments to their families in one sense or another. Many like mine, incidentally, though not all. At any rate, none of them were accustomed to manual labor. Many of them had never lifted a finger for themselves in their lives, always had servants to do it for them. When they were stripped of all such comforts and expected to work the land, that resulted, at times, in rather gruesome accidents, and there was a need for a man to help the surgeon. I – well, I found myself in the role.”

Geneva nodded wordlessly. She could well imagine that her uncle, who cared so deeply for people, who would have felt with every breath the injustice that had led their families to reject them and pack them off to the middle of nowhere, would have been drawn, indeed bound and determined, to alleviate his fellows’ suffering how he could. It made her heart hurt that this was how Thomas Hamilton had had to cling to his goodness through those years in the wilderness, that he had only been in Georgia and James and Miranda in Nassau, so close and never knowing. She did not want to ask if he had ever heard of the exploits of the dread pirate Captain Flint, for that seemed too cruel to be borne. Besides, she sensed that Thomas’ preoccupation just now did not have to do with Grandpa. Finally, she ventured, “Did something. . .?”

Thomas smiled, very faintly. “There was a man a few years younger than me,” he said after a pause, “and disgraced for similar offenses. We arrived around the same time, and as people in desperate circumstances do, we grew close. His name was Alexander Gordon MacKenzie, of Edinburgh. I at least had the experience of Bethlem Royal Hospital to prepare me for what I was going to face – indeed, by comparison, the plantation was a great relief. He had less, and suffered more. I protected him, as best I could. We – I suppose we loved each other, for a little while. He had the most delightful wit, turn of phrase, gentle humor, when it could be coaxed out of him, from the wrack and wear and madness that the world had dealt him.”

Geneva could hear the pain in Thomas’ voice, his struggle to speak of this even now, and knew better than to ask if he had ever mentioned Alexander to James and Miranda, if this had been another of the ghosts that he, like they, had quietly put aside in the terrible joy and terrible agony of their reunion, all these years later. Left behind with the pieces of the old self, in the past, and yet still mourned. Softly she said, “I’m so sorry.”

“Aye, well.” Thomas drew an unsteady breath. “One day, in the fields, he cut himself badly with a threshing knife – an accident, or so they said. Given as he was a soldier in his previous life, I doubt very much that he should suddenly be unfamiliar with a large blade. They brought him to the surgeon’s, and I, of course, was there to assist. I held Alexander’s hand, and watched him bleed, and when the surgeon tried to give him brandy for the pain, he spat it out. We patched him up much as you and I did for Mrs. Rogers, just now. I told the surgeon that I would stay with him, and so he left. When the man was gone, Alexander told me to take off his bandages, kiss him, and sit with him until I should prod him with a knife, and make sure he was dead. If he screamed, he told me, I would know that he was bound for hell, as the Scriptures said, for loving another man. If he did not, if he should die with a smile, then I should know he saw the gates of heaven before him, and I should feel no shame.”

Thomas’ voice caught, ever so slightly, and he had to turn away. Finally he said, “So I did. I took off the bandages, and kissed him, and held his hand. I was terrified, I confess, that he would scream in torment, and that I would know I had done a terrible wrong – to him, to myself, to James, to everyone else I had loved. Not to Miranda, true, but then, nothing could ever dishonor her. But he did not. He never did. I have never seen a man die in such profound relief, and with his eyes reflecting some light far beyond that rude little hut. He looked over my shoulder in such humble awe and delight, and I wonder still if he saw Christ Himself coming to take him up into his arms. Then I saw him go, so quietly, the very moment. I did not need to prod him with a knife or anything else of the sort. I knew.”

Geneva reached for his hand, and Thomas held it tightly. Again it was several moments until he could complete his story. “They came in later, and found me with his body, his bandages off, and it plain that I had done it. They asked why I had not called for a priest if I knew him to be dying, that I had placed his soul in peril of hellfire if I had not allowed him to confess and be cleansed, that I had even helped him along the road. It was, they said, as if I had murdered him myself. After that, I was no longer allowed to assist the surgeon. I went back to the fields.”

“Uncle Thomas. . .” Anything Geneva could say felt hollow, just as when she had heard Madi’s story of losing her son. Part of her did not want to know these soul-deep scars of her elders, since learning them illicitly was what had made Thomas angry with her in the first place, but that was only since she could not imagine bearing such pain herself, and remaining sane. Retaining any scrap of herself, of continuing somehow onward, and not wanting ever to know, in such fashion, if she had enough strength to do it. She now knew why Thomas did not, could not, grudge Sam Bellamy to James and Miranda, or any of the other ghosts. Any of the others they had known, and loved, and lost, in the long years thinking the others dead. “Uncle Thomas, I’m so sorry.”

He smiled at her, eyes still a thousand miles away, and patted her hand. “I’m sorry too, Jenny,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry too. But it’s all right. Alexander is in heaven, I have never known anything so strongly as I know that, and I knew then that I had not been wrong. To believe as I had, to act as I did, to love as I had, and always would. And so, I found the strength to carry on.”

“I shouldn’t,” Geneva said. “I shouldn’t have sailed into the storm, I shouldn’t have spied on you and Silver, I shouldn’t have made such a mess with Hands, I shouldn’t have – ”

Thomas leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Te absolvo,” he said, very quietly. “If you will forgive me the bit of Popery. Alexander was a Catholic, you see, and it rather comes to mind.”

Geneva nodded, silent tears slipping down her cheeks, and Thomas offered her his handkerchief. He put his arm lightly around her shoulders, the Rose creaking reassuringly beneath them as they kept on sailing into the night, whole and intact. She allowed herself to shake for a few moments more, then pulled herself together and got to her feet. “I need to talk to Silver.”

Thomas paused, then nodded. “Very well. I’ll stay here with Mrs. Rogers.”

Geneva kissed his cheek, then got to her feet, hair coming down in tangles from its slapdash knot and blood drying brown on her skirts as she crossed the cabin and pushed out into the night. The crewmen had managed to mostly clean up the scene on deck, and Madi was still standing by the capstan, shawl pulled tight around her shoulders. Geneva could not help but wonder if Madi thought that of course, one more time, Eleanor had elbowed her aside for her own needs. She paused. “Madi? We can find you a bed, we – ”

“Thank you,” Madi said, not looking around. “I will find my own. You have other matters to attend to, Captain. Do not trouble about me.”

Geneva winced, sensing her dismissal, and decided to take it. She climbed onto the ladder and down toward the brig, which was not much more than a barred privy shaft crammed against the fore hold. Silver and Jim were standing in front of it, not looking at each other or speaking, both of them keeping baleful eyes on the rattling and clanking from within. Israel Hands, by the sounds of things, was not disposed to take his imprisonment quietly.

Geneva could not help glancing nervously at it, even though she knew he couldn’t get out. She and Jim stared at each other for an excruciatingly uncomfortable moment. Then she cleared her throat. “Could I – could I borrow Mr. Silver, please?”

Jim grunted, as if to say he couldn’t stop either of them from whatever it should damn well please them to do. He remained where he was, plainly intending to continue standing guard, and this was not a conversation that Geneva wanted to have with an audience. She beckoned Silver off down the gantry, for as much privacy as anyone could ever have on a sixth-rater. The ensuing silence was even more hideous. Then Geneva said, “I must ask this only once, and you must answer truthfully. Did you have anything to do with smuggling Eleanor and Hands onto the ship behind my back?”

“No.” Silver threw his shoulders back and regarded her coolly. “Did you think I did?”

“No,” Geneva allowed. “But I had to be sure. Besides, that is not what you have to answer for. Thank you for saving my life, by the way. But if that bullet had struck the capstan and Hands’ firetrap there, we all would have – ”

“And was it better that it should strike you?” Silver’s blue eyes were both angry and pleading. “Allow yourself to be shot by the madman, in some damaged atonement for your own mistakes? Believe me, I know something about those. But you are, if nothing else, the captain of this vessel, and therefore, you are slightly less replaceable than the others. Besides, I dealt with your parents long enough to anticipate that some unwise self-sacrificial streak might appear at a moment like this. And so – ”

“Yes,” Geneva said, not quite as coolly as she wanted. “My parents. Do you care to tell me, perhaps, why you told Jim that my father killed his, and for what purpose?”

Silver grimaced. For a moment she thought he would try to run, and resolved to kick his false leg out from under him and beat him over the head with it if he did. Then he said, “I told Jim to stop him from going down to the hold, after I met Eleanor and she warned me that there was something dangerous down there – which, as we have all learned most spectacularly, was our friend Israel Hands. As for what I told him, it is because. . .” He hesitated. “Geneva, your father did kill James Hawkins senior. I was not lying. I know you don’t want to hear that, but – ”

Geneva reared back as if he had slapped her. “How would you know that?”

“I was there in Nassau at the time. So were you, in fact, but still some months from being born.”

“So you told Jim that my uncle Liam didn’t kill his father, because – ”

“Because it wasn’t what happened!” At last, Silver sounded frustrated, balling his fist and hitting the bulkhead wall with a thunk. “Your uncle didn’t, but – ”

“So what, hold back the real information until you could most profitably use it?” Geneva’s own tone was becoming more heated. “When were you planning to turn Jim on me, exactly? And I still don’t believe that Daddy even did it, he and Mr. Hawkins were friends, they were friends, Hawkins was the purser on the Imperator, why would he – ”

“Your father was Captain Hook, Geneva.” Silver modulated his tone with an effort, and looked at her straight. “You know the stories, but the reality is. . . different. You know that he sacked Antigua and Jamaica, you know he killed men – many of them, in fact. Yet all of those were faceless, abstract, and doubtless you half-felt, as he did, that they deserved it anyway for daring to side with Robert Gold and the British crown. But to know that your father looked into the eyes of a man he held a dear friend, wished with all his heart it had not come to this, and destroyed him nonetheless – that is no easy thing to reckon with.”

“And what? You’re judging him for that?”

“Me?” Silver laughed, unfathomably bitterly. “When I did the exact same thing? Jesus Christ, no.”

“Oh?” Geneva lifted her chin. “Whatever you did to Grandpa on Skeleton Island, you mean?”

“Yes.” Silver’s hand opened and closed on the wall. “Yes, I do mean what I did to your grandfather on Skeleton Island. Now that that is clear, may we proceed?”

“But – ” Geneva faltered. “You didn’t kill him – so it can’t – ”

“Believe me,” Silver said, “I killed Captain Flint. And to know that James McGraw made it off eventually, that he reunited with his great loves, that he has had a long and happy life with his family – yes, I tell myself that it was all to the good in the end, and that he must have seen it my way, and even have ventured at forgiving me. Then I remember that man forgave no one, and never did, and that he must still hold the bitterest loathing in his heart deep down, that he feels it stab again when he thinks of me. Over and over, for twenty-five years. And then you and Thomas appeared, like something out of a dream, like something from a nightmare. Do not expect me to stand aside and watch you be shot. Do not.”

Despite herself, Geneva flinched at the rawness in his voice, the burn of tears in his weathered eyes, as he realized he was saying too much, baring too many wounds, and shut his mouth with a click, turning away. The horrendous silence returned. Then she said, “If Daddy – if he did kill Hawkins – why didn’t he just – why didn’t you just – ”

“I was not trying to hurt Jim,” Silver said, half to himself. “Or turn him against you. I swear.”

Geneva considered grimly that if Jim did end up turned against her, she did not have the luxury of only blaming Silver, easy and convenient as it was. Would have to face her own choices, if she likewise wanted to stand aside and watch it happen, or try to avert it now before it went past the point of no return. “Even if so – what would be enough, what would make Daddy turn on a friend like that – if he – ”

“As I understand it,” Silver said, “Hawkins wished to hand Sam Bellamy over to the Royal Navy, in exchange for the possibility of a pardon and restoration to service of the Imperator’s men who had followed your father into piracy. In hopes of preserving this chance, he had also led those men into mutiny. Your father himself was. . . not amenable to the idea.”

“Daddy had known Hawkins for years. He had only known Bellamy for – what, a few months?”

“Your parents loved him.” Silver’s voice was very quiet. “So did your grandparents. It was something he inspired easily. The time of it mattered little, but – ”

Geneva did not answer. She felt as if her heart was falling out of her foot. She had always been so adoring of her father, never given much real thought to the darkness of his past, had felt – exactly as Silver had said – that anyone who crossed him and ended up dead must have deserved it somehow. She had always felt attached to her godfather as well, been determined to honor his memory, when everyone in the family seemed to miss him so much – but to hear that your father had killed a friend of many years’ standing for the sake of some pirate that had been dead all this time, and none of them could just let go of –

“To hell with Sam Bellamy,” Geneva said furiously. “I’m tired of the control his ghost somehow still has over all of them. He can fuck off and drown again, for all I care. Maybe this time we’ll finally be rid of him. I don’t care what Daddy thought he was doing. I know they were bad people in their day, but – you know what, I can see exactly why Jim is so angry at the lot of us. I used to be proud to be part of this family. I don’t know that I am anymore.”

Silver opened and shut his mouth, looking stricken. He reached for her, but she pulled back as if he had tried to stab her. She spun on her heel, and strode away.

The next several days were a repetition of the same dreary routine. While it was debatable if that had been her exact intention, Eleanor had ended up with the best bed on the ship, and could not be dislodged from it. Geneva fetched her chicken broth twice a day, rich with meat and marrow, and changed and washed her bloody bandages, carefully tending the wound with what few supplies she had to hand. But Eleanor was clearly suffering, hanging on but not mending, and kept urging Geneva to try something else, as if she was supposed to become a full-fledged surgeon on the spot. Thomas helped with what field knowledge he had, but a gunshot wound of this location and severity was sometimes fatal even in the best-equipped circumstances. Geneva still did not intend to just let her die, but Eleanor’s care was occupying all of her time, attention, and the extra supplies on the Rose, and it could not even be certain of a favorable result.

As well, the situation with Jim and Silver continued to walk on eggshells. Jim barely exchanged more than a dozen words with Geneva a day, and those only when he could not otherwise avoid acknowledging her presence. Thomas had given up his berth to Madi, as she refused to bunk with Eleanor, which meant that she and Silver were now sharing quarters; Thomas and Geneva themselves slept on cramped pallets on the floor of the cabin, Eleanor occupying the bed. They continued to make good time on the westerlies, but if they were drawing closer to Skeleton Island like this, preparing to find Billy and Lady Fiona and whoever else they might have recruited – Geneva could not for the life of her imagine it going well.

A few more evenings hence, she got a distant sight of land on the horizon, pulled out the chart, and reckoned that they must be almost in reach of Bermuda. As it was of course where they had stopped over on the way out, and learned of Billy’s intent to go to Bristol, there was something to be said for a return visit – if nothing else, they could offload Eleanor and transfer Hands to the custody of a proper bailiff. They could also top up on their beleaguered supplies – nothing critical, but still running lower than Geneva would like. God, she wanted to be off this wretched tub and not set foot on it again for at least another six months. Or a year.

She went off to find her crew and give the order for them to make for St. George’s Town. They were bearing up reasonably well under all the unexpected exigencies, detours, and delays, but Geneva knew they were running thin at the edges as well, and one night ashore did not sound like the worst thing in the world. Thus, of course, no matter how much they changed the sheets and lines, they could not wrestle the Rose out of the grasp of the wind. Geneva ordered the sails reefed, trying to slow their headlong charge, but even with the canvas down, the current kept the ship firm in its grasp. The waves were rough and choppy, and remembering that this was almost precisely where they had encountered the hurricane on the outward journey, everyone was terse and on edge, watching the sky for any hint of an ominous darkening. It wasn’t quite that bad, but at this rate, all they were going to do was wave at Bermuda as they were swept by.

Geneva had been fighting the wind and current with the rest of them all day, every muscle aching as if she had been clubbed, hair coming down in long, sweaty clumps until she was sorely tempted to take the shears and hack the lot of it off. At least the effort had kept Jim from remembering, too much, that he was mad at her, and they had been working in close proximity to more or less success. But as it became clear that they were not going to be able to force a landing at St. George’s, and Bermuda began to fall astern again into the twilight, Geneva pushed back from the wheel and began to beat her hands on the helm-housing, swearing. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck this whole fucking stupid fucking fuck of a voyage! Fuck!”

She felt someone grab at her wrists, trying to stop her, but ignored them, hitting her hands again and again, ignoring the pain. Then Jim managed to catch her palms, covering them with his own, and their eyes locked for a long moment as one of the crewmen dove to take over the abandoned helm. The entire mood on deck felt fragile and furious and close to snapping, men grumbling and staring evilly at Silver, the most clearly apparent scapegoat for their present misfortunes. “What d’ye think, lads?” one of them asked. “Chuck him overboard, see if the goin’ gets easier?”

A low, agreeing rumble went up, chilling and ugly; Geneva had heard the sound of men intent on violence often enough not to mistake it. She took a step. “Jesus Christ, you cretins. Throwing him off the ship isn’t going to help a – ”

“How do you know?” one of the men asked – one of the newcomers she had taken on in Bristol, who had no particular reason to trust a young female captain. Job Anderson, Geneva thought his name was – a tall, athletic, powerful man, who would have been rather nice-looking if he wasn’t scowling so heavily at her. “You’ve barely been seen all voyage, nursemaiding that bitch who nearly got the lot of us blown up.”

“Eleanor didn’t – look, bloody hell, there are plenty of other sins to lay to her account, but – ”

“You shut up, woman.” Anderson’s scowl turned into something closer to a leer. “Keep all those pretty teeth inside your head, eh?”

“You don’t speak to my niece that way,” Thomas warned him. “Or else you’ll be the one we offer as a sacrifice for calmer seas, Mr. Anderson.”

“Oh? And what are you going to do about it, old man?”

“Don’t do this. We barely avoided this situation once, and to replay it again can be of no use whatsoever. Stand down, all of you.”

“And look at you givin’ the orders for her. Isn’t it clear she can’t command men by herself?” Anderson took another step, causing Geneva to retreat an involuntary pace. She hated it when taller, stronger men purposefully used it to loom over and intimidate you, knowing it was something almost primal in a woman to back down before an angry male, if the alternative was being hit. “Think it’s time you go back to your dollies and your embroidery, little lady. The Rose needs a real man’s hand to master her.”

“Fuck off, you arrogant son of a bitch.” Geneva’s knees were trembling, but she locked them hard. “This is my ship. Anyone who disagrees is welcome to explain himself to the magistrate, when we reach the Colonies and I have the lot of you arrested.”

“Oh, arrest and the gallows, is it?” Anderson eyed her appraisingly. “Well, if what’s standing between us and that fate is you, an old man, a one-legged arsehole, and the Hawkins lad, could be we’ll take our chances.”

“Don’t you lay a finger on the captain, or any of the – ” One of Geneva’s longtime crewmen, Alan MacGregor, drew his pistol. “You rabble-rousing bastard, you get the fuck off our ship before you do something you can’t – ”

Anderson whirled, pulled his own gun, and shot MacGregor through the head. The sound was like a thunderclap, nailing everyone’s feet to the ground, as Geneva felt as if she had been about to scream but it had been driven out of her. Jim grabbed her arm one one side, Thomas to the other, as MacGregor, lips still moving, keeled over and went down face-first on the boards, blood spreading in a slow leak beneath him. Even Anderson seemed momentarily taken aback by his temerity. Then he lifted his head, and grinned.

“Get her, boys,” he ordered, and the mutiny of the Rose began.

“Sam,” Jack said, after a long pause. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Of course it’s a good idea.” Sam got to his feet, brushing off the leaves and twigs, as if he was prepared to charge back down into Bridgetown and murder his quarry on the instant. “You were the one who jumped onto the roof of his carriage wearing a dishcloth like a nincompoop. I’m going to actually think about it. Besides, since when was anything you said a good idea?”

“I’m – ” Jack appeared briefly at a loss for how to answer that, which was satisfying. “Well, since when were you any good at killing people?”

“Last night,” Sam said challengingly. “I killed three men, in fact. It wasn’t even that hard.”

Jack stared at him. Sam expected some stupid crack about how perhaps he wasn’t entirely useless after all, but Jack looked rattled, and less than pleased. “You – ” he said convulsively. “You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“Oh? Nathaniel shouldn’t have had to die either. Fuck them, I hope they’re roasting in hell.” Sam did his best to sound fierce, but his voice still wobbled. He would kill three more men for something to eat, but his stomach twisted in knots at the thought of actual food. He felt possessed of a black, restless, manic energy that would not let him stand or sit, stalking back and forth between two palm trees like a caged tiger. “Either help me, or go on with whatever the hell you were doing that was so important. I really don’t care.”

With that, he spun on his much-worn boot and did his best at an icy, imperious exit, bushwhacking through the trees with far less grace than he wanted. After he had just enough time to think that of course Jack was abandoning him, he heard more crashing through the underbrush, and a hand grabbed his arm. “Jesus, if you’re – at least think about this! What are you going to do, walk straight into his mansion? Even if you did kill him, you’d be surrounded, his men would kill you in retaliation right away. Never meet an enemy on his ground!”

“Fine then! And I suppose you’re Hannibal the master military strategist, are you?”

“If we have any hope at killing him, it’s when he is outside his house and off his guard.” Jack clearly wondered whether he should explain this as if to a two-year-old. “If we could lure him somewhere by himself, without his guards – then yes, we might have a chance at him, he’s an old man and I don’t think he’s trained as a soldier. I still think we would be shot on the spot, and he’s far too canny, he’d sniff out a trap a mile away. So we’d have to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse, even knowing it was some sort of trick, and I’m afraid the only thing we have with that sort of leverage is you. And why bother to come to get you by himself, when he can just bring his guards and capture you by force?”

“I just – ” Sam tried to pull away, but Jack held on tenaciously. “I just want to kill him!”

“So did your entire family, they spent months trying to do it, and look where it got them, with all their skill and all their plots and all their rage! And call me completely mistaken if you must, but I’m not sure they want a dead son to add to the pain Gold has already caused them. I’m sorry about your friend, you know I am. More than I can ever say. But this isn’t going to – ”

“Shut up.” Sam shoved harder, managed to break Jack’s grip, and turned his back, marching angrily through the plantains. “Just shut up. Instead of trotting across the Caribbean after me, how about you go home to your wife? Or back to Cuba and Güemes for a new assignment, wherever a spy goes? Oh, and don’t act like you care about my family. It doesn’t suit you.”

There was a marked silence at his back, and Sam lowered his head and told himself it didn’t matter. Remembered that plantains could be eaten for food, grabbed one, tore at the tough skin, and took a bite. It was starchy and unripe, but he was hungry enough that he forced it down. He kept on trudging, driven on by the bonfire of rage in his stomach, until he reached the road that led back in the direction of Bridgetown and the governor’s villa. It was just a muddy track, heavily shaded by the palm leaves overhead, sunlight coming and going behind the clouds. Gold’s men were surely still out hunting for the escapees, and if he wasn’t careful, he would walk directly into them. Fine. If nothing else, they likely did not expect him to take the main road, so he’d stick with it as long as he could, and dodge into the brush if he saw anyone coming.

He walked for a while, until the sun went in, did not re-emerge, and it shortly began to rain. Rain, however, was a far too delicate and civilized word for this full-throated torrent, drops as thick and heavy as mercury slashing through the jungle and hitting Sam hard enough to make him stagger. Seething runnels of brown water ran around his legs, first at ankle height and then up his calf, until it occurred to him that it he had better get to higher ground if he did not want his grand revenge quest to come to an anticlimactic end by being drowned in a flash flood. He clawed up the steep, muddy bank, hair coming loose and pasted in his eyes, grabbed onto a root, and it broke off in his hand, sending him skidding. A stab of real fear went through him as the water began to suck eagerly at his boots, knocking him off balance. He gathered his legs under him, felt the ground start to crumble, slipped, and –

A hand caught his from above, a hand large and sun-browned and attached to an arm corded with lean muscle, clasped hard, and gave him a very firm jerk clear of the rush. Sam did a stupid little somersault, got a faceful of rich, soaking mud, and then an upside-down view of Jack, who looked utterly exasperated. “What, exactly, were you intending to accomplish?” He had to shout over the thunder and the downpour still drumming the canopy. “Amazing start, really!”

“What are you – ” Sam spat out a large beetle and sat up. “Were you following me?”

“Of course I was following you, you idiot!” Jack looked incredulous that this even had to be asked. “And good thing I was, wouldn’t you say? Now, should we go together, or do you still want to storm off in a huff?”

“You have no right to point fingers for storming off in huffs, Mr. I’m-Bad-At-Caring-For-People!” Sam struggled to his feet, almost slipped again, and had to grab the trunk of the nearest palm tree. Trust Jack Bellamy to bugger off when you wanted him to hang around, and to hang around when you wanted him to bugger off. “So don’t start now!”

Jack opened his mouth, once again discovered no good answer, and shut it. They were thus obliged to discontinue the conversation until the tropical cloudburst passed, leaving the road a good two feet of muddy swamp and the trees dripping like bullets, as well as both of them thoroughly soaked to the skin. Then they started to walk, boots squelching, the humidity briefly dispelled by the rain but already closing in again, as unpleasantly as a hot wet blanket. Sam felt as if he was breathing more water than air, drenched in sweat, by the time they reached an overlook into Bridgetown. Gazing down over the harbor, the first thing they noticed was that the Griffin was still in port. Evidently, whether because of the need to search for the fugitives or some other reason, Matthew Rogers had not yet departed.

Sam was half tempted to suggest that they make it a clean sweep and kill Matthew too, but for some reason, the young Navy captain frightened him more than Gold did, and he didn’t want to get Matthew’s entire crew, as well as the Admiralty, on their cases as a result. One Jones poking that bear in the eye was more than sufficient. Besides, Matthew would thank him, once they killed Gold and he had his eyes opened to the wee bastard he’d been serving so devotedly. Might even give them a free ride home in gratitude. No sense shutting that door just yet.

Sam blew out a wet, weary breath, wondered if it was worth it to empty out his boots or if they’d just fill up again, and beckoned Jack around to the path that led down the backside of the headland. It was a slow, skidding descent, nearly flying off the hillside several times, but when they finally made it down, they spotted another ship just entering the harbor, perhaps held off from approach by the earlier storm, but now closing with intent purpose. It was a sleek, black, two-masted brigantine under English colors, outwardly no different from anyone else landing at the busy trading port of Bridgetown, but something about it made Sam look again. He stood still, watching intently, as it drew nearer and nearer. It had a figurehead that looked like a queen or a fairy or something of the sort, a crowned woman with wings. The hell?

The ship glided up to the quays, enough for Sam to squint and see that the name on the bow was Titania. A rope was thrown out to tie up, and then after a few moments, two passengers appeared to disembark. A tall, muscled, rough-hewn man with a blonde-grey beard, and a smaller, dark-haired woman in an elaborate black traveling gown and parasol. For no good reason, the sight of them made Sam uneasy, and he squinted harder, possessed by the conviction that he should know them from somewhere. Until suddenly, he recalled something that Gold had said during their audience at first arrival: Make no mistake, the prospect of Skeleton Island intrigues me as much as anyone, but I have already set other pieces in play toward that end. You recall a man named Billy Bones? I don’t suppose you would.

But wait – was that Bones? The one who hated Grandpa? They had already discovered that he had bought up the maps from Mr. Kerr in Nevis, but – was he back now, and who was that woman? Sam did not like her just to look at her, and he didn’t know why. She had a prim, sickeningly sweet, self-satisfied expression on her face, as she and Bones climbed into a hire cart and she leaned forward to have a word with the driver. After a brief discussion, and an aristocratic wave of her gloved hand, they set off up the hill toward the governor’s mansion.

Sam remained irresolute an instant longer, then jerked his head at Jack. “Come on,” he said. “We’re following them.”