#I wanted to make sure they all had varying skin tones and head shapes among them

[grimbiliah]

I did all the little guys and me

[sleepychai-fics]

Road to Salvation ~ Chapter 2 - The Mall

(click for better quality)

Warnings: description of scars, guns (let me know if I’m missing anything)

Word Count: 4,542

Pronouns - Female

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in BNHA. However, there are many OC’s in this fic that I’ve created. These OC’s belong to me and are specifically created for this fic. 

However, Mihoko Shinsou and Hajime Shinsou are NOT my oc’s. They are oc’s created by Keiid, who used to have tumblr but now uses twitter. Please keep that in mind.

Feedback is appreciated!

Some people call it home. Others call it a sanctuary away from home. It’s a shelter for all those in need. A place of security and protection. But everyone generally refers to it as The Mall, purely for what it once stood to be.

The structure itself is fairly large and takes up the shape of a simple square, standing five stories tall. It’s capacity is enough to cover 7 blocks of land, 10 if you count the surrounding car park. Despite its years of abandonment, it stands strong and intact. The few indicators of its abandonment are the weeds and mould that grow in between the cracks of the walls, the shattered windows that have been replaced with wood and the entryway that extends further than what it originally had been.

Kai walks a few steps ahead of you as the two of you approach the entrance. He opens the door for you, gesturing for you to go forward. With a playful scoff and a shake of your head, you walk past him.

As you enter the small area, someone with cherry blonde hair approaches you. “(Y/n)! Kai! You’re back!” They greet you happily, before their eyes set on top of Michi. “Oh. You’ve brought someone with you.”

You nod. “Don’t worry Kaede. He’s a class C.”

Kaede smiles. “Ok. I’ll let you take care of him then. Call for me if you need anything!”

“Will do!” Kai answers back as he once again opens the door for you, allowing you to step inside the larger complex.

On the outside, it looks run down and almost inhabitable. The inside has a whole different outlook.

It’s much cleaner than expected, courtesy of most of the habitants that reside within the mall. The first floor stands as a common space. Barrels of fire scatter throughout the area, a few people hovering over each one. Store spaces on the first floor have been transformed into either kitchen areas or have been cleared out for the purpose of social meeting places.

The above floors were built as balconies around the structure, with a couple of bridges spanning across each one. So even from the first floor, you could look up and see the worn down roof of the building. It was an open and respected design, a representation of the generalised tone of the area.

Each floor had a purpose. The first floor was a common space, as well as a cooking area. The second floor stood as an area for training, both combat and quirk control. Although, the more destructive quirks were trained outside in the parking lot. The third floor, a highly secured floor, was dedicated to storage of supplies. The fourth floor, another highly secured floor, is allocated as the sleeping quarters.

Finally, there’s the fifth floor. It’s hardly used, hence why it’s dubbed as the ‘silent floor’. You go there to have time to yourself when things become overwhelming. It’s also used as a meeting place to discuss things such as finances and security measures. If no one can find you on the other floors, bets are you’ll be found on the fifth floor.

You stride across the floor along with Kai, and every person you pass by shines you a smile and a warm greeting. Children cheer and dance around you briefly, giggling as they greet you. Comments such as “you’re back!” and ��we missed you!” along with various others flutter into the atmosphere. Although one comment catches everyone's attention.

“(Y/n) has someone with her!”

There’s a momentary period of silence from everyone around you as they peer up at you and notice Michi attached to your hip. You feel Michi flinch as a result. His grip tightens around you as he nuzzles his face further into your neck. As a reassurement, you thread your fingers through his hair.

It takes a second longer before everyone returns to their previous activity. The children that had once surrounded you had rushed off to play tag.

You continue your journey, trekking up the few flights of stairs and broken escalators that lead up to the fourth floor. Every floor you ascend to gets quieter and quieter.

By the time you reach the third floor, another person sidles up to you.

“Welcome back.”

With a glance to your side, you smile.

“It’s good to be back.”

Dabi smiles and pats your shoulder, matching his pace with yours as you climb the final flight of stairs.

At a first glance, Dabi isn’t the best to look at, especially in the eyes of a young child. Scars as a result of third-degree burns litter across his skin, a bright red and pink in colour. One particular scar spreads all across his neck and even links up to a small patch on his right cheek. He dons a loose fitting shirt, accompanied by a thin dark jacket. The jeans he wears are ripped at the knees and torn at the cuffs. They’re thin, and look to provide barely any warmth

“I can see why you’re a bit late.” He looks at Michi with a soft smile. Michi peeks out once again at the new voice. Upon taking his features in, he flinches back to hide his face. Dabi sighs softly.

“I’m going to go to put this into storage.” Kai gestures to the bag.

“Oh! I nabbed a few people as well so you’ll need to put that with the safe.”

Kai nods in return. “Will do. Night.”

You and Dabi both bid him goodnight as you split off at the top of the stairs. Kai heads up another flight of stairs whilst the three of you turn towards what used to be stores.

The stores had been cleared out as bedrooms. Just under 200 stores varying in sizes and the capacity of people that sleep in them. Each ‘bedroom’ had at least 12 sets of bedding laid out - bedding being defined as a low-quality blanket and a slim pillow. The security of the floor included at least 30 individuals who walked around certain areas, occasionally peeking into each room.

“Yusu contacted me.” Dabi informs you as the two of you turn left. “They have strong belief that there will be violent gang activity happening in a nearby district.”

A scowl sets on your face. “Do you have the coordinates?”

He nods in response, holding up a small phone. “They sent it a few minutes ago. Will you take the job?”

Without hesitation, you answer. “Of course I will.”

You walk into the fourth store you come across. It’s fairly big compared to the others, 20 kids able to sleep somewhat comfortably with a few other adults among them. The sky had just grown past dusk, so not too many have retired to bed, leaving the space fairly empty except for a few kids.

With quiet steps, you walk towards the back of the bedroom, Dabi closely following suit. You kneel down next to one of the beds and gently caress Michi away from your body.

Michi jolts and whines in response, hands clinging to your shirt. “D-Don’t leave me!”

A string of hushed words come from you in an attempt to soothe Michi. “It’s okay Michi. I won’t ever leave you.”

“Bu-but you said you were going somewhere!” His words are muffled by the way he buries his face into your chest. You can feel patches of wet warmth where he lays as a result of his shedding tears.

Your hands rest on Michi’s elbows, gently prying him away from you enough to look at him. Tears pool in the boy's eyes but you’re quick to wipe them away. With a sad smile, you speak. “Remember what I said to you? About being a vigilante?” Michi nods, lips quivering. “Do you know what a vigilante is?”

His eyes glance towards the ground. “Someone who breaks the rules.”

“Yes. But I’m a good vigilante. I break the rules to help people.” A hand comes to cup Michi’s cheeks, coercing him to look at you.

“So you’re a hero?”

It shouldn’t make your heart beat painfully, but it does. It hurts having to tell a child this. The thought of having to tell such a young innocent child the truth of the world hurts. But it’s the malls’ duty to be honest about the world. Even if they’re small children.

You sigh. “Yes. But not to other heroes. I don’t have a license like they do, so that means I can’t use my quirk to help people.”

“So why do you do it if you’re not allowed to?”

Another painful heart beat.

“Because those heroes don’t like to save people like us.”

It’s painful to hear him sniffle. “Th-they don’t? Why don’t they like to save us?”

Your fingers gently card through his hair and you smile at the way he leans into your touch. “They don’t think we deserve it, or they don’t want to be seen around people like us.”

“Why not?”

You sigh. “The answer might make you upset now. If you want, I can tell you. But if you’re really upset now, I can tell you another day when you ask me again.”

One of the few rules of the mall include brutal honesty. No matter the age. If someone asks a question, the answer will be honest. It works a bit differently for those who are traumatised. If mental health is at risk with the honest answer, then they’ll be told as such. They make the decision themselves if they still want an honest answer.

Michi is hesitant to nod his head. “O-Ok. B-But you have to promise to come back!”

You smile in relief, holding out a pinky towards him. “I will. I promise.” Michi takes the pinky with his own. Running on instinct, you bring your lips to press gently on Michi’s forehead. “I won’t be long. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Dabi will be here with you.”

Michi takes another glance at Dabi, who kneels down beside you. He simply smiles softly at Michi, his expression nothing but calm and sincere.

You gently part away from Michi, speaking to him in a soft voice. “I trust him a lot. He’s like a brother to me. He’ll make sure you’re safe while I’m gone.”

Michi steps back a bit, staring over Dabi. A few long seconds slip away before he hesitantly approaches Dabi. He doesn’t move, letting the kid choose his own approach. Michi steps into Dabi’s frame, head lightly resting on his chest and hands clutched to his own. Dabi remains still, not wanting to scare him off with any movement he isn’t prepared for. It’s not a hug, but it’s the start of trust.

After running your fingers through Michi’s hair again, you stand up. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” Dabi makes slow movements to remove the phone from his back pocket and hand it to you. “Try to get some sleep. You too Dabi.”

It’s fruitless, but worth the effort of speaking.

~*~

The streetlamps and shop lights illuminate the street under the freshly darkened sky. A few stars twinkle above, the rest hidden from sight due to the amount of light pollution. The crescent moon shines brightly amongst the dark canvas.

The streets are crowded with families and business people making their commute back home. They walk down the streets, chatting amongst one another happily and going about their usual evening. Some enter restaurants to meet up with other friends and talk more whilst they order food.

Hitoshi stumbles out the door of the roller skating rink. Once he regains his balance, he turns back to his father. “What was that for?”

His father, Hajime Shinsou, chuckles. “For cheating in that race.”

“I did not cheat!” Hitoshi scoffs.

Hajime ruffles his son's hair, briefly tangling his purple locks together. “Sure kid. I just happened to accidentally fall.”

“No, you fell because you have no talent.” Hitoshi quips back as he tries to fix up his messed up hair.

Hajime gasps, eyes widening in surprise, accentuating the dark circles below them. “Oh really now?”

Hitoshi hops back away from him as he lunges towards his son, hands stretched to ruffle his hair again.

“Ok boys, enough fighting. You both have no talent.” Hitoshi’s mother, Mihoko, walks out the door and makes her way to her family. Her lilac locks are tied behind her head in a bun, but a few short strands hang to the side of her face, framing her plump cheeks.

Hitoshi takes the brief distraction from his father and reaches up to mess with his own dark purple locks.

“You two will never grow up will you?” Mihoko says with a smile.

The two boys reciprocate the smile before fixing themselves up once more and heading off down the street.

“What are our dinner options tonight?” Hitoshi asks.

Mihoko hums. “We can decide while we walk. There’s a few restaurants down this street we could try.”

Hitoshi shrugs. “Sure.”

The small family walk closely together as they make their way down the street. The wind is light and a little cold, but it’s not enough to bother them.

Mihoko smiles as she turns to Hitoshi. “How was school?”

A frown settles on his face. “It was good I guess.”

The parents glance at each other, noticing the quick change in mood.

“Is everything ok?” Hajime asks, concern etched in his voice.

A sigh leaves Hitoshi and he visibly slumps forward. “It’s nothing. Just a few kids trying to get at me. They didn’t.”

“Clearly they did.”

Hitoshi grumbles, slightly annoyed at the conversation and wanting to avoid it going further. “Can we not talk about it now? Please? It’s family night.”

Hajime considers his son’s words and tone for a moment with a small hum. “Fine. But I want to know what happened tomorrow. I’m just worried for you son. That’s all.”

“I know dad. But it’s family night. I don’t want to be the one to bring down the mood.”

Hajime is quick to bring his son in to his other side for a hug. “That’s really considerate of you, and I understand what you’re saying. But you also need to understand our concern.”

“We’ll always be here for you Hitoshi, we always said that.” Mihoko adds.

Hitoshi can’t help but smile at his parents. “I know. Can we drop this topic now?”

Hajime nods. “For now.”

Mihoko looks up at one of the approaching stores. “Oh, what about that one?” She points to a restaurant store just ahead. It’s decorated with bright lights advertising the karaoke they offer as entertainment, as well as the meal specials they have.

“The one with karaoke?” Hitoshi asks. Mihoko confirms with a hum.

“Sure, why not? It’ll be fun.” Hajime says.

Hitoshi smirks. “Yeah, until you hear how bad they can get.” This earns a light slap from his mother.

The three walk towards the restaurant. Just as they nod to the doorman, screams erupt from inside, along with the sound of glass shattering and wood splintering. Everyone within the near vicinity stands frozen for one second, not really comprehending where the sounds came from.

The window explodes into millions of pieces as several men storm through it. They’re all dressed in loose clothing. Hair stringy and unwashed, much like the hair of the beards that a few have. They’re clothes are slightly unkempt but aside from that, they appear to be fairly clean and from middle-class income.

People from the streets scream and duck, faces struck with horror. They sprint the opposite direction and shove others out of the way, desperate to escape the scene.

Amidst the chaos, the Shinsou family flinch and instinctively turn to each other, seeking reassurance from each other to ensure they’re together.

Hitoshi feels secure for all of 4 seconds before he feels a hand grip at the back of his collar. Without any warning, he’s yanked harshly away from his parents. In a brief moment of panic, he shouts and jerks his elbow back at his snatcher. But the person wraps their other arm around his front, the muscled arm preventing him from attacking. Another second passes before Hitoshi feels cold steel press against his temple.

A gunshot silences the area.

Hitoshi flinches at the proximity of the sound, hands flying up to grip at the arm wrapped around his front. The gunshot having come from a fellow gang member, effectively placing a blanket of silence over the area.

“Everyone shut up!”

Hitoshi takes this moment to look over to his parents. Both of their faces are overridden with panic. Hajime has his arms wrapped around his wife, stopping her screaming form from lunging towards her son.

Hitoshi can see the desperation in their expressions, the desire to rush over to him, but he can also see the recognition of danger in his father's eyes. He can see his muscles tense with restraint. Hajime wants to run to him and try to save his son, but he knows the risk of doing so. All he can do now is stay put and pray to all gods.

“Please stop this!” A man with ginger hair runs out from the broken window. His casual black shirt and blue jeans are dusted with what looks to be flour and crumbs of food. His eyes are wide with shock as he spots Hitoshi pulled against them. “Let the boy go. He has no business with this. We can talk this out.”

The snatcher tightens his grip around  Hitoshi, eliciting a choked sound from the boy. “You had your chance to talk. Now I want to demonstrate to you the consequences of not following our deals.”

“Please don’t do this! Hitoshi!” Hitoshi has to close his eyes at his mother's screams. He can’t stand to see her look so traumatised. Despite his attempts to keep it in, a tear slips down his face.

“I’ll give you what you want. Please just let the boy go!”

The snatcher lets out a loud groan of frustration and annoyance. “You just love to take the fun out of everything don’t ya! He’s my hostage now! Just remember that this is all your fault! The consequence you suffer because you neglected to comply with our demands.”

Hitoshi whines as the steel of the gun presses further into his temple. Amongst the cries from his parents, Hitoshi hears a voice behind him.

“Let him go.” The voice is casual yet holds, firm and serious.

The pressure of the gun eases as the snatcher whips around to face the interruption.

A figure dressed in black, ragged clothing stands there. The hood of their jumper falls over half their face, the other half being covered by a fabric mask. The only visible part of the figure’s body is their hands.

“Who the fuck are you asshole?!!”

“The girl who’s about to break your hand if you don’t release that boy.”

The man growls at you. “I don’t need to take orders from a child like you!”

“A child?” The figure huffs out a light chuckle. “I may be a child, but I have bigger brains and balls than you.”

It happens so fast Hitoshi barely has time to comprehend it. One second Hitoshi has a gun pressed against his temple. The next, he’s being yanked by the shirt collar, away from the man as he crumples to the ground, hands gripping onto his crotch.

The girl dismantles the gun, throwing the parts away, keeping them separated.

The man groans in pure agony. “Don’t just stand around dumbasses! Get her!”

At the demand, the remaining men come to circle around the two.

“When I say so, you run through the opening. Understand?” The girl whispers to Hitoshi.

His mind is racing, adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins, hyperfocused on his surroundings. He nods vigorously, fists clenched with uncertainty.

The girl smirks beneath the mask. “Look boys. Why not save yourselves the embarrassment and just scurry along. No one has to get hurt tonight.”

“Yeah right lady. You just kicked our boss in his jewels.” A man with twisted horns on his head growls.

The girl takes a quick glance at the man on the floor. “You mean his dick? Let me tell you now, from kicking it, it’s small and worthless.”

The horned man lets out a yell before charging at the girl. He goes to take a swing at her, but just as he’s about to make contact, the girl ducks under his arm and steps behind him. The man has 2 seconds to think before a sharp jab hits him at the side of his neck. The jab effectively hits the vagus nerve, rendering him unconscious.

Hitoshi’s eyes are as wide as saucers. The girl just took out a guy nearly twice her size in one hit!

“Kid, NOW!” Hitoshi snaps his head back towards the girl. She whips her head back, striking the nose of another behind her whilst another man opposite her doubles over, clutching his gasping and clutching his throat.

Hitoshi doesn’t waste another second and bolts through the opening.

The girl screams as she’s thrown to the ground, the guy having regained enough grounding to push her and reach for him.

Hitoshi registers the sound of his mother's screams as he sees the hand reaching for him. But the man seems to stop himself, though not on his own accord. He shouts in pain as his body is shoved down to the ground, seemingly by an invisible force.

Hitoshi takes a brief glance at the girl. Her hood is no longer drawn over her face, allowing her (h/c) hair and glowing (e/c) eyes to be seen. Her arm is pointed to the ground, fingers tense. Hitoshi concludes that her quirk must be at work.

A hand yanks him away from the streets, pulling him towards his parents. The store owner lets Mihoko grasp at her son, her arms coming to wrap tightly around his body. Hajime does the same, overlapping his wife's arms.

The three watch in suspense as the girl stands up.

Two guys on opposite sides rush in to her, but it’s a stupid move she immediately recognises. With a single step and a flick of her wrist, the two men collide head first to each other, noses breaking in the process.

The click of a gun alerts everyone in the area as another man takes aim towards the girl.

The girl dashes to the male, uppercutting his arm and yanking the gun out of his grasp. A straight kick to the chest sends him barrelling on the ground. The gun is dismantled and tossed away before the cycle repeats.

Everyone watches in silence as the girl picks off every man one by one. Each hit she makes has every man groaning in pain. It’s fascinating to watch a young girl take down men twice her size with simple moves. A jab to the throat or to the side of the neck. An uppercut to the chin or gut. A knee to the crotch or under the kneecap. There’s a clear purpose to each strike she makes: take them down as quickly as possible. And it works.

However, as everyone admires over your skill, one of the once fallen men has risen up, snatched up the dismantled parts of a gun and reassembled it.

Hitoshi takes his eyes off the girl to stare at the man as he cocks his gun. Instinct has adrenaline rushing through his veins.

“Look out!” Hitoshi wrenches himself out of his parents' grasp despite their heart wrenching screams and dives into the fight. He tackles the man down as he takes the shot.

The bullet flies high into the air as the man falls to the ground. Hitoshi sits up, one knee on the ground, the other pressed into the man's chest and he begins to punch.

It hurts like no tomorrow, but Hitoshi pushes through the pain. He wills himself to punch again and again. He knows he’s wasting so much energy on one guy, but all his frustrations and fears pent up from the night slips out and drives his fist back and forth.

It's not long before a hand grips his arm. He grunts as he’s pulled up and away from the man. Hitoshi turns to face the offender, ready to punch him in the face, but his eyes meet that of the girl.

She stares at him, eyebrows tucked toward the nose. The expression shows anger and annoyance, but the (e/c) eyes show something similar to understanding and gratitude. She doesn’t give him a chance to stare closely at her for another second as she shoves him back into the crowd.

Hitoshi barely registers his parents' arms encasing him once again as his eyes follow the girl's movements. She takes out the final triplet of men, ending it with a powerful punch to the nose, the bones cracking audibly on impact.

No one moves. No one makes a sound. All eyes are on the girl as she fixes up her hoodie over her face. Her chest heaves with each intake of air, her fingers flexing as she rolls her wrists.

Her head shifts over towards Hitoshi. Despite the hood falling over her face, Hitoshi feels her gaze set on him. He feels it as if it's a dagger piercing his chest. He feels the intensity of it, the aggravation, and the appreciation.

She doesn’t stay there long. As soon as the sirens reach their ears, she darts away.

He can’t look away from her, even as she disappears into an alleyway. Even as his parents call out to him. Even as a team of pro heroes and police officers arrive at the scene.

~*~

Dabi is sat up against the wall with Michi laying across his lap, hand tucked up to his chest. It’d taken a couple hours, but Dabi had managed to sooth Michi to sleep, his calloused fingers threading through the child’s black matted hair. Dabi himself was not asleep, despite his eyes being closed.

You enter the room as quietly as possible, tip toeing across the room, avoiding the many kids that are spread out. A few kids look up at you as you do so, but after identifying you, they lay back down and return to their attempt at sleep.

As you get closer to Dabi, he opens his eyes, sparkling blue eyes scanning you for any signs of injury. Once satisfied you are okay, he stretches his unoccupied arm towards you. You slide next to him, accepting the embrace and wrapping your own arm around him.

“How was he?” You whisper.

“He asked a lot about you. Told him a bit more about what you do.” He answers, his own voice a whisper.

You nod. “That’s good.” A yawn slips past your lips.

“You should get some sleep.”

You poke Dabi in his side. “So should you.”

Dabi simply smiles at that and leans his head atop yours.

No more words are spoken, silence once again fills the room, allowing the two of you to slip into a light sleep.

[ronanivarsson]

“I WAS BORN FOR SOMETHING GREATER THAN I WAS--AND GREATER I WOULD BECOME.” | MARY SHELLEY 

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Ronan Ivarsson

MEANING:

RONAN ( IRISH ) - “LITTLE SEAL” 

IVARSSON ( SWEDISH ) - “SON OF IVAR” 

NICKNAME(S): Ronan has never had a nickname, and would never allow someone to call him by a nickname. He’s only ever been Ronan, even to both of his parents. The only acceptation would be if someone called him by his last name. 

PREFERRED NAME(S): Ronan

BIRTH DATE: December 13th, 1980

AGE: 39

ZODIAC: Sagittarius 

GENDER: Male

PRONOUNS: He / His

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual 

NATIONALITY: Italian

ETHNICITY: Swedish 

CURRENT LOCATION: Verona, Italy 

LIVING CONDITIONS: Ronan lives in an expensive top floor penthouse near the center of Verona, which is furnished exactly to his tastes--dark wood, sleek metals, dark leather. He bought it shortly after being married to Lucien, but his husband rarely ever stays for more than a couple of days or weeks, which means that most of the time Ronan lives alone. It is also outfitted to be more accessible for him. 

TITLE(S): Richard III, The Vice, Councilman 

BACKGROUND

BIRTHPLACE / HOMETOWN: Stockholm, Sweden / Verona, Italy 

SOCIAL CLASS: Ronan was born into a wealthy, upper class family, and his wealth has only increased since he became the sole bearer of that family name. He considers himself to be among Verona’s elite, though in the end he holds no love for that title--in his own mind, he is better than everyone in Verona. 

EDUCATION LEVEL: Ronan graduated university with a degree in political science. 

FATHER: Magnus Ivarsson

MOTHER: Joanna Ivarsson. 

SIBLING(S): None as far as he knows, but his parents cheated on each other throughout their marriage, and his mother could have very well had other children without telling him. 

CHILDREN: None

PET(S): None

OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: All of Ronan’s other relatives are back in Sweden, and he does not communicate with them. (No brothers or nephews to do anything horrible to--yet!) 

PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS:

Caleb Tallmadge: An intern at the American embassy, who was Ronan’s first serious boyfriend right out of college. 

Rafaella Capulet: The love of his life, his soulmate as far as he’s concerned. Their relationship deteriorated when he became a member of the Montagues, and with the exception of one night after Ronan became engaged to Lucien, they have not spoken since. 

Lucien Ivarsson: Ronan’s husband, who he met shortly after things with Rafaella fell apart. Ronan fell out of love with him quickly, and their relationship is barely functional at the present--they appear in public together before going their separate ways, with the exception of rare moments where they fall together violently. 

Renzo Carozza: A distraction bordering on an addiction. 

ARRESTS?: None.

PRISON TIME?: None. 

OCCUPATION + HOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: Ronan is an elected councilman in the city of Verona, and his family has several investments that he manages. 

SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: His salary as a Montague Soldato--a trifle in comparison to what he already has, however, he isn’t interested in earning money from the position. 

CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: Ronan loves being the center of attention, and the power that he commands as a politician. His ambition extends far beyond his current office however, and he’d like to eventually run for more prestigious positions. 

PAST JOB(S): Ronan interned with the mayor’s office right out of college, and steadily worked his way to his current position. He has only ever worked in politics. 

SPENDING HABITS: Ronan felt like an outsider growing up, so he uses his money to purchase the life he feels like he deserves, the life he always wanted. As long as he has money, and lots of it, he feels safe--it’s as much an armor as the designer suits he puts on every day. He’s always aware of exactly how much he has, and ways that he could obtain more. 

MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: A first edition of Frankenstein, his favorite novel. He bought it right after his mother died and he became the sole heir of the Ivarsson fortune. 

SKILLS + ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: 4/10

Ronan was born with limb-girdle muscular dystrophy, which means that the muscles of his arms and legs are very weak. He does what he can to stay as good of shape as possible, and he is capable of doing the bare minimum required of a Montague soldier. 

OFFENSE: 4/10

Ronan would prefer not to get into a physical altercation, but he knows the bare minimum of fighting techniques. He can throw a punch with accuracy, that would hurt reasonably. His strength is his ability to see other people’s weaknesses fairly quickly, and fight cleverly. 

DEFENSE: 5/10

Defense requires less physical exertion, which means Ronan is stronger in that area. 

SPEED: 0/10 

Ronan walks with a cane, and isn’t really capable of running. 

INTELLIGENCE: 10/10

Because he can’t fight with his fists, Ronan made his mind into a weapon. He’s well read, he attended one of the finest universities where he attained excellent grades, and he is well studied in the arts of manipulation. He can read people’s facial expressions with astounding accuracy, he is excellent at verbally manipulating people into action, and more than anything, he is capable of inspiring great loyalty in people through deception, though words, through the weaknesses they were so certain they could hide. Its the same principle as your other senses heightening when one is deprived--Ronan couldn’t fight physically, so he made sure every other power he possessed worked at maximum capacity. 

ACCURACY: 5/10 

The muscles in Ronan’s arms and shoulders are weak, but he can sustain the position necessary to fire a gun long enough to be average with it. 

AGILITY: 0/10

Ronan is not agile at all--his muscles are too weak to allow him to do anything agile. 

STAMINA: 7/10

Ronan is used to pain--his spine and his shoulders, his legs, all cause him pain on a regular basis. His daily life requires an amount of stamina that the average person doesn’t have to exert. 

TEAMWORK: 0/10

He allows others to think they’re working with him, that they’re part of a team with him, but he’s always looking out for himself and his own designs first and foremost. Other people are merely pieces he can move around, or discard, as they present themselves as useful to him. 

TALENTS: Ronan is excellent at public speaking, and his public persona is very magnetic. He is skilled at manipulating people, at reading their faces, at ferreting out their weaknesses. He played the violin growing up and still plays occasionally when he needs to clear his mind, and he enjoys playing chess. 

SHORTCOMINGS: Ronan is incredibly narcissistic, with little to no empathy for anyone. He cares exclusively for himself and the things that he wants, and he doesn’t care who he has to hurt, whatever he has to do, in order to get them. He is also incredibly greedy, and one of his primary interests is getting more money for himself. 

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: Italian, Swedish, Latin, English 

DRIVE?: No, he’s always had a driver. 

JUMP-START A CAR?: No, that’s what mechanics or new cars are for. 

CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: No. 

RIDE A BICYCLE?: No, he physically can’t. 

SWIM?: Yes. 

PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: Yes, he plays the violin on occasion. 

PLAY CHESS?: Yes, and at a high level.

BRAID HAIR?: No. 

TIE A TIE?: Absolutely, a nice tie can make or break an outfit. 

PICK A LOCK?: Yes. 

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE + CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: Joel Kinnaman 

EYE COLOR: Brown

HAIR COLOR: Blonde 

HAIR TYPE/STYLE: He likes to stay pretty trendy--his current haircut is short on the sides and long on top, slicked back. 

GLASSES/CONTACTS?: None. 

DOMINANT HAND: Right

HEIGHT: 6′2 at his full height, but he usually is hunched over to varying degrees, rendering him about 5′10-6′0 to the eye. 

WEIGHT: 165

BUILD: He has a solid build, keeps what muscle he’s able to gain. 

EXERCISE HABITS: Swimming, lifting weights, physical therapy. 

SKIN TONE: Pale, but he tans pretty easily. 

TATTOOS: None, mostly because of his physical condition--but that could change if he found a person he trusted to give him one ;) 

PIERCINGS: None.

MARKS/SCARS: He has various scars from his work as a Montague soldier, and a few from when his mother was feeling particularly vindictive. 

NOTABLE FEATURES: Keen and sharp eyes, a mouth that seems to always be smirking to some degree, a sharp jawline. 

USUAL EXPRESSION: Pensive, like he’s looking for a weakness in your armor you didn’t even know you had, like he can see straight through you. 

CLOTHING STYLE: Designer suits, designer t-shirts and jeans, luxurious fabrics that feel nice against his back and shoulders, expensive watches, silk ties, all neutral and dark colors. Even his casual is dressed up from the average person. He also has several different canes with different heads on them. 

JEWELRY: He has a weakness for a nice watch, and if he’s in public he’s probably wearing his wedding ring. He also considers a cane as an accessory, and changes which one he uses depending on what he’s wearing.  

MAKEUP: None. 

ALLERGIES: None. 

DIET: He never had to cook for himself, so he generally orders out from Verona’s nicer restaurants. He drinks socially, and doesn’t really indulge in sugar that often. If Lucien is there and feels like cooking, he’ll eat whatever his husband makes. 

PHYSICAL AILMENTS: Ronan was born with limb-girdle muscular dystrophy, which means the muscles in his arms, shoulders, and legs are weakened. His lower back is curved, and the bones of his shoulders protrude in something called “scapular winging”. He wears a back brace most of the time to prevent a pronounced hunch and to lessen the pain in his spine, and he attends physical therapy anywhere from once to three times a week to deal with it.  

PSYCHOLOGY

JUNG TYPE: ENTP 

ENNEAGRAM TYPE: Type 3, The Achiever. The success-oriented, pragmatic type: adaptable, excelling, driven, and image conscious. 

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Lawful Evil

TEMPERAMENT: Choleric 

ELEMENT: Fire

PRIMARY INTELLIGENCE TYPE: Intra-personal Intelligence. 

MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: None officially diagnosed--a case could probably be made for narcissistic personality disorder. 

SOCIABILITY: Ronan is very sociable--after being forced to the shadows throughout his entire childhood, he loves nothing more than commanding a room, than being the center of everyone’s attention. He doesn’t care about people on a deeper level than that, but he likes being around them--he’d be a terrible politician if he wasn’t able to make people believe that they liked him, that he had their best interests at heart. Again I quote Les Miserables, “He was a charming young man, capable of being terrible.”  

EMOTIONAL STABILITY: Ronan doesn’t allow his emotion to get the better of him most of the time--he believes that emotion gets in the way of logic, prevents people from making the best, most rational decisions. He’d like to be cold and unfeeling, but more often than not his heart has a habit of getting in the way. He genuinely fell in love with Rafaella, it genuinely hurt when she left him, etc. He has a temper, but he’s worked very hard on keeping it under control. 

OBSESSION(S): power and money, being understood. 

COMPULSION(S): He doesn’t feel compelled to do anything--he refuses to be compelled to do anything. He is always in control. 

PHOBIA(S): Failure, Irrelevance. 

ADDICTION(S): Ronan isn’t addicted to anything. 

DRUG USE: Nothing recreationally.

ALCOHOL USE: He drinks socially, but he likes to be fully in control, fully able to observe everyone and everything going on around him. 

PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: Absolutely, violence is the quickest way to come to solutions, or to prove that you’re more powerful than your opponent. Violence is necessary if you want to get anywhere in Verona. 

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: Clear, properly enunciated, verbose. 

ACCENT: Italian

QUIRKS: Twisting his wedding ring, tapping his fingers against a nearby surface, never quite smiling, rubbing his hand over the juncture between his neck and shoulder. 

HOBBIES: Reading, playing chess, playing the violin, occasionally strolling through art galleries. He doesn’t have a lot of leisure time, and prefers to be actively doing something useful. 

NERVOUS TICKS: Twisting his wedding ring primarily, other than that he doesn’t like to show weakness, and has trained himself out of having a lot of ticks. 

DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: Ronan was cast aside the minute he was born, told repeatedly that he was monstrous simply because of a twist of fate that he had no control over. He wants to prove just how monstrous he truly is, and that he is capable of so much more than anyone ever thought he would be--he wants to see the faces of everyone in Verona when the monster they created comes to his throne to lead them. He wants control of the Montagues, the Capulets, and he wants control of Verona. 

FEARS: failure, being alone, becoming anything like either of his parents. 

POSITIVE TRAITS: intelligent, charismatic, perceptive. 

NEGATIVE TRAITS: manipulative, cruel, self-centered

SENSE OF HUMOR: dry, sarcastic, often at the expense of whoever he’s talking to. 

DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: Not really, he thinks it betrays a lack of intelligence. But if he feels like the person he’s talking to will respond better to it, he’ll let something slip. 

FAVORITES

ACTIVITY: Working, visiting Renzo at The Dark Lady, scheming. 

ANIMAL: He compares himself to a wolf, or to a snake--vicious, hungry, frightening creatures. 

BEVERAGE: Vodka Martini 

BOOK: Frankenstein, Il Principe, We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Memoirs of Hadrian, The Art of War, Wuthering Heights

COLOR: Navy Blue

DESIGNER: Yves St. Laurent, Burberry, Gucci

FOOD: Food isn’t really something he enjoys--its an annoyance he has to put up with in order to survive. 

FLOWER: Hellebore

GEM: Sapphire 

HOLIDAY: Ronan thinks holidays are trivial, and generally ignores them. 

MOVIE: Todd Browning’s 1931 adaptation of Dracula, Andrea Arnold’s 2011 adaptation of Wuthering Heights, Lawrence of Arabia 

QUOTE/SAYING:

“beware, for I am fearless and therefore powerful. I will watch with the wiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom. Man, you shall repent of the injuries you inflict.” 

-MARY SHELLEY, FRANKENSTEIN 

SCENT: Amouage--Jubilation XXV Man 

SPORT: None. 

TELEVISION SHOW: Hannibal, Game of Thrones, The Tudors

WEATHER: Dark and stormy. 

VACATION DESTINATION: His family owns property in Sweden that he has a few vaguely fond memories of. He also owns a place in Rome that he likes to go to when he needs space. 

ATTITUDES

GREATEST DREAM: To basically fashion himself a kind of king in Verona. He may be named after Richard III, who tried to do the same thing, but Ronan vows that he will be successful where is namesake failed. 

MOST AT EASE WHEN: He’s by himself and doesn’t have to wear any kind of mask--the only person he can fully trust is himself, therefore in private he puts forward the least amount of effort to disguise himself. 

LEAST AT EASE WHEN: His family is mentioned--particularly anything having to do with their deaths. He used to be at ease whenever Lucien was around, but in the present he feels like he has to be on his guard, whenever his husband decides to show his face. 

WORST POSSIBLE THING THAT COULD HAPPEN: Someone manages to outplay him, to reveal his machinations and get him killed. 

BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: Being elected to the Verona city council, taking his family fortune for himself, becoming bigger than the abuse his parents hurled at him. 

BIGGEST REGRET: Letting Rafaella walk away from him, marrying Lucien in an effort to fill the hole that she left. 

TOP PRIORITIES: Ascending in the ranks, eliminating anyone who he sees as a potential threat, gathering allies to himself. 

[mathiaskillmaster]

Rebirth of the Dragon (After GOT / Daenerys Targaryen) Part 5

It was almost two weeks since the expedition had left Volantis and crossed the Summer Sea. After several stops in different ports, a new stop this time led the ironborn ship in the port of a city that Daenerys already saw before, and hoped never to see a day despite its legendary beauty: Qarth. The ship was now anchored in one of the many large wharves of this wealthy city. In the midday sun, from the deck of the ship, Daenerys, protected from the sun by her silk hood, watched in silence as life was in full swing in the harbor. Around them, other ships, mainly merchants, landed their goods, while other seamen took other boxes to carry them away. Objects of value, fabrics, glass and jewels, trade of spices and wines, animals, medicinal plants .... the trade had remained very alive in Qarth as she could see, and unfortunately, the practice of slavery too, as she could see a number of men and women, dressed in rags and wearing necklaces around their necks, being taken with chains by sailors, probably pirates who had captured them. Daenerys sighed at this sight, but remained patient, because soon, even the all-powerful city of Qarth should give up this immoral practice. At her side, Yara, Grey Worm and Kinvara also contemplated the great city and its buildings so large, so rich. Never in her life would Yara think of seeing a place like this one day. She remained speechless. _ "Qarth ...." Daenerys coldly commented ... "The first time I came here, a wealthy merchant wanted to seduce me to seize my dragons and a wizard wanted to keep me chained in a dark crypt for eternity, with my dragons, to strengthen his own power." She saw it as if it had happened yesterday. Chained against her will by this despicable Pyat Pree, assuring her that she would stay for long summers and winters. Her dragons, still babies, also chained like prisoners, finally saving the life of their mother with their fire, putting a final end to the wizard's actions. _"This place would make the Lannisters like penniless beggars ..." Yara said in her turn, stunned by the great towers of the city, saw some of the facades made of gold and inlaid with glittering precious stones in the sunlight. Daenerys gave a half smile after this remark of the ironborn lady. _ "Yes ..... a beautiful golden cage, that would be best suited to describe this city." Daenerys added before turning around and returning to her cabin, still escorted by Grey Worm and Lady Kinvara. The young woman Targaryen not wishing in any case to put the foot in this city, would decide to wait for the departure. On the deck of the ship, the Fiery Hand soldiers, as usual, stood guard, scrutinizing every person who passed too close to the ship. Drogon, meanwhile, had stayed a good distance and had taken refuge on one of the offshore islands, so as not to be seen. Daenerys had told him to stay there until the ship left. It was better not to attract too much attention, especially now. While some of the ironborn sailors had been assigned to supply food for the rest of the trip, Yara, knowing that she had a few hours to kill before leaving, decided to go explore a little around the city. After asking one of the unsullied to warn Queen Daenerys of her absence, Yara went down the platform and began her walk on the docks, amidst the many passers-by, sailors and tradesmen, most of whom sometimes threw curious glares to her. Surely they had never seen a woman wearing armor and weapons on her belt. Some merchants praising the merits of their stall goods tried to attract Yara to buy, but she was not swayed. Shopping did not interest her. She was an ironborn. What she wanted, she took if she wanted. For long minutes, and always overwhelmed by this overwhelming heat, Yara walked along the endless quays of Qarth, meeting ever more merchants and sailors of all kinds, nobles as poor. She also saw curious animals that she had never seen before, like big beige quadrupeds, with two bumps on her back, an elongated neck and head and a rather bewildered look. She also lives birds with plumage very varied and colorful, some even being able to pronounce semblants of words with their beaks. Men were engaged in all sorts of tricks to attract attention. One of them showed himself capable of swallowing swords to the hilt without piercing himself, and another, seated in the dust, produced a slow and melodious music with a great flute, making out of his wicker basket in front of him an undulating snake, hypnotized by the melody. Yara was looking at it with great fascination. If her late father had seen this city, he would have gone mad at so much wealth at hand. Feeling her throat dry by the heat, Yara decided to stop and entered what was a small tavern near the docks. The establishment, a little shabby, was rather crowded, people coming to take refuge inside to protect themselves from the bite of the sun. A strong smell of alcohol and perspiration permeated the place. Men and women, all more varied than the others, discussed among themselves, drank, others were half drunk on their tables after drinking too much ... in a corner, a group of bounty hunters celebrated their catch with their newly acquired premiums. Not really an establishment where the nobles came. With her quickdraw, Yara was rather noticeable at the entrance, several men, dressed as pirates or mercenaries, having turned their eyes not really friendly towards her. She stared at them too, but showed her hand on her ax, making it clear that it was better for them to not look for trouble. Besides, all she wanted was to drink and nothing else. Seeing no table free, and went to sit at the counter. The innkeeper, a rather round man with a bald head and sweaty skin, stood in front of her, wiping a cup with a napkin. At first a little intrigued by the appearance of the young woman, but what in the end did not seem to displease him, he resumed his role very quickly. _ "And what about you?" he said in his hoarse voice. His fetid breath came close to Yara's nostrils, who had to restrain herself from not wincing in front of him. She almost felt drunk by just breathing. _ "Do you have beer?" she asked. The man nodded and walked away to prepare the order. He returned a few seconds later with a glass in hand which he placed in front of Yara, who on her side, affixed a coin on the counter wood to pay. _"You need something else?" the innkeeper asked now, leaning on the counter, smiling, and even allowing himself to offer Yara a wink. I'm dreaming or this big pig is trying to seduce me? she said to herself, almost feeling his perverse gaze pass through her clothes. _"Yeah, leave me alone while I'm drinking." she allowed herself to answer in a tone to make things clear. The innkeeper, despite his great build, did not insist and returned to his other customers. Before drinking, Yara glanced at the beer, which did not have a very reassuring color, nor the smell that came from the mug. Obviously, here they were more like spitting in glasses to clean them. But while she was about to force herself to drink to cool off a bit, even if it made her sick, a shadow covered her just behind her, drawing her gaze over her shoulder. Two of the mercenaries who had stared at her earlier were standing there, looking at her with a rather perverse air. _"Well, my dear, what are you doing here, and what armor are you wearing?" asked one of them, a fellow with black hair in mess and a blind eye, closed by a long scar. Sighing a big blow, Yara put down her mug and turned to them, without showing any ounce of fear. _ "I'm going to make it clear, guys ..." Yara told them in a scathing voice "... we can settle this peacefully, and so you can get out of this tavern with your balls always at their place." Yara's respondent caught the attention of many people in the tavern, and a silence almost came. The two mercenaries gave the same expression of astonishment, but furious to see a woman resisting them in the way. The man with the one-eyed eye acts first and wants to grab his knife at his belt. But Yara was quicker, catching her short ax and with a violent blow, sending the edge of the weapon between the two legs of the man. The latter let out a horrible scream of pain as the blood ran down the floor, as if he was pissing red liquid at will. Seeing his comrade having the parts sliced ​​and collapsing on the ground, the second mercenary, a tall, slender, unshaven fellow with short, light brown hair, took his weapon, a curved-blade sword, and glanced assassin against Yara. _ "You will regret being born!" he spat with hatred. Yara gave him a provocative smile, also grabbing her sword in her second hand, preparing to receive her next opponent. All the other customers had gone, but obviously quite used to this kind of brawl here. But what Yara had not seen was a third mercenary, arriving behind her back and preparing to hit her on the back with his ax. Suddenly, the ax splitting the air to slice Yara's back, was stopped by a stick, made of solid wood but also surprisingly supple. The mercenary, caught off guard, had only time to see the same stick hit him in the face, hurting an eye and making him back off while letting go of his weapon. Yara turned to see what was happening behind her, and what she saw surprised her. The individual who had saved Yara from death was, to say the least, unexpected. He was thin and medium-sized, dressed in a strange but elegant tunic of a deep blue fabric and white at the ends of the sleeves and closed by a leather belt whose buckle was decorated with a small gemstone green. He wore black trousers, as well as curious wooden shoes, leaving his feet half in the open air. He had pale skin with a slight hint of yellow, slanted eyes with black irises, a face marked by the experience of life on the roads, long hair, a mustache and a thin pointed black goatee, with a few strands graying. The top of his head was protected by a strange hat shaped conic and woven with stems of dried plants. The wood stick he held in his hand was almost as tall as he was. He did not look like most locals at all, because he too, with his accoutrement and his appearance did not go unnoticed. _"Hey you, Yi Ti's man! This is not your buisness!" warned one of the two mercenaries by pointing to the stranger. The latter said nothing, just staring at the two men one by one in a calm manner, as if he were gauging them. The seers both approaching with their weapons, the stranger smirked, not at all worried. Yara remained puzzled and watched what was going on. The man with the strange hat began a series of fast and unbelievable movements with his long wooden stick, spinning all around him, passing from hand to hand, and freezing into a fighting position, ready to receive enemy attacks. Yara was speechless, like everyone else in the tavern. Never before had she seen such fluid and fast movements. The first mercenary attacked, easily stopped by the stranger's stick, which in turn, deviated the blade with a movement to the side, then struck him a violent blow in the face, then in the belly, and finally the chin all in a few seconds, and the mercenary fell to the ground, unable to act anymore but still breathing. Although his friend was knocked down so quickly, the third and last mercenary did not give up and, in turn, tried to inflict violent blows with his ax, attacks that the stranger managed to avoid with disconcerting ease, such as if he was seeing the blows come in advance. Having managed to pass in the back of his opponent, he slammed a stick blow at the level of the back, destabilizing the mercenary, who carried away by his anger, continued the random blows. The man of Yi Ti, once again, appears to be attacking with the same rapid and almost graceful movements. He gave the impression of being one with the air around him and making it dance with his wooden stick. Yara also notice that he was not trying to kill his opponent, but only to put him out of action while aiming for the vital points. This art of combat combining strength, speed and agility, and without putting to death ... this form of combat that she had never seen before amazed her. It's as if he's using his opponent's own strength and anger to better defeat him. The stranger showed extraordinary agility, leaping to run the length of the counter while avoiding the blows of the ax with other prodigious leaps, to press the end of his stick against a wall, giving himself thus a considerable momentum to leap over his opponent. The man of Yi Ti turned several times on himself quickly in the air before getting to his feet, in the back of his opponent, without the latter can have time to understand what was happening. The art of moving of this man impressed Yara a lot as well. He used the elements of the environment he was in to fight and dominate his enemy. Throughout the fight, he remained calm, focused on his movements and those of the mercenary, without anything disturbing him. The man of Yi Ti finally put an end to this confrontation and finished his opponent by a blow with the sharp of his hand in the neck, which immediately froze the mercenary who collapsed heavily face down on the floor. Without saying a word, under the eyes of all, the stranger went to his table, catching with the end of his stick what looked like a simple bundle and put it on his shoulder. Yara tidied her weapons and walked over to him. _ "Although I did not necessarily need help, thank you for intervening." she says. The man with slanted eyes smiled at her very friendly. _"Oh, but I do not doubt that you could have defeat them alone, but I could not tolerate the cowardice these men showed, especially towards a woman." His voice was a mixture of old and young with a very pronounced accent, kind and adding a semblance of confidence. _ "But ... you don't know me, why did you help?" Yara adds, a little circumspect. _ "Why would not I do it? Why should I focus only on myself? It is only by helping others that you can help yourself." Faced with this diction filled with a most palpable wisdom, but which she did not really grasp the meaning, Yara remained silent while after a salute, the stranger left the tavern not without having before throwing some coins on the counter to pay the damage. _ "Wait ..... tell me at least your name." Yara said trying to catch him up at the exit. But once outside, no trace of the man, as if it had vanished like smoke in the air. Yara looked around, but hhe was gone. The young ironborn queen was still more confused after this strange meeting, but time having passed, decided to return to her ship to inform Queen Daenerys. ********* Later, back on the ship, Yara told what had happened to Queen Daenerys and Lady Kinvara about this strange traveler. Sitting in a seat and having listened attentively to what her ally had just told her, Daenerys was at first reassured that Yara had not been hurt, or worse. Losing another of her allies would be too hard to bear after all those she had already lost. According to the words of the Iron Queen, the man was described as coming from a land named Yi Ti. Although she had never been there, Daenerys had heard stories about this country, the legendary Eastern Kingdom located beyond the Bones Mountains and bordered to the south by the Jade Sea, and who according to the many stories and rumors about it, was once home to one of the world's oldest and most powerful empires. _"Whoever this man is, I am grateful to him for having help you." Daenerys said with a smile "Whoever he is, I pray that the gods accompany him on his journey." Grey Worm arrived then in front of the women and standing upright, hands behind his back, bowed before his queen before speaking. _"Your grace, a man is standing in front of the boat. He is asking to meet you." Strange. She was not waiting for anyone here at Qarth. Who could it be? A bad feelinginvades Dany. Had the masters of the city been made aware of her presence? As Queen Targaryen was thinking, Yara came to the rail and spotted the man waiting patiently in front of the bridge and watched by two unsullied. The same traveler who had helped her. _"Majesty, it is he, the man I talk about." she warned immediately. _"So invite him to come up, I would like to personally thank him." Daenerys answered, reassured and smiling again. Grey Worm obeyed and signaled to the two guards to move to let the traveler pass. The latter, serene and silent, climbed the bridge and finally appeared at the sight of Daenerys who rose from her seat to go to meet him. He was indeed like Yara had described. Looking at the dragon queen, the man smiled amiably and withdrew his conical hat, bowed respectfully to her and the high priestess of Asshai standing by her side. _"It is a pleasure for me to meet the noble man who helped my friend. You have my gratitude." Daenerys said, motioning for him to get up. _ "All the pleasure is for me, your grace." humbly answered Yi Ti's man, straightening up and putting his hat back on his head "... I was looking forward to finally meeting the great breaker of chains." Daenerys thanked him with a nod to this compliment. _ "And can we know your name, my lord?" asked Queen Targaryen. _"Oh, I'm not a lord, my lady." replied the man with a humble little laugh "... I am only a traveler walking around the world and eager to help his neighbor when he can. My name is Shen-zoan "Windwalker". One of the most singular names she had to consider it, but found it quite beautiful and symbolic for a traveler. _"And what is a man from the ancient land of Yi Ti doing in the city of Qarth, if it is not indiscreet?" asked Daenerys more than curious. Shen smiled back at her with a clever eye. _"A few years ago, I was captured by pirates and sold as a slave to the city of Astapor, where I suffered and worked hard. Despite the beatings and chastisements inflicted by the masters, my soul never gave in. I can not say exactly how many men, women, and child slaves I saw die without being able to do anything. Then one day a young, silver-haired foreign woman arrived, and with her, three young dragons. By a clever stratagem, she bought the unsullied soldiers, had got the masters killed, and freed the slaves, of which I was a part. Having been seriously wounded on the eve of this, following a punishment too much inflicted by my master, I was then taken in charge by other slaves, now freed, who took care of me. Once recovered, I was able to leave Astapor, and swore to continue my journey, waiting for the day when I could finally meet the woman who had allowed me to regain my freedom, and to say her: thank you." Daenerys listened to his story and was touched in her heart. She saw it in his eyes, felt it in the tone of his voice, the sincerity he showed. She could not have forgotten that day when she was able to make her first blow against the slave empire of Essos. This testimony of gratitude was beneficial for the young woman. She wanted to become again the woman that this man described, for the good of all. A breaker of chains. Shen-zoan then dropped to one knee, his staff in front of him, and lowered his head slightly to the ground. _"I humbly ask the Queen breaker of chains to accompany her on her journey. I swear to serve you until my my last breath or when you'll decide to have enough of my services." Touched by this demand, Daenerys first turned to her close allies and advisers, Yara, Lady Kinvara and Grey Worm, all of whom seemed to show the same look of acceptance. Grey Worm, as a former slave, could understand Shen's point of view and his desire to serve the one who had freed him from his chains. Yara saw no problem welcoming the man who had helped her. And although Kinvara was the least concerned about Shen's story, she did not hesitate to accept, like if she had known from the beginning that this meeting would take place. Perhaps through another vision in the flames of the red god .... With the support of her friends, Daenerys delivered her verdict. _ "Shen-zoan "Windwalker", I, Daenerys stormborn of House Targaryen, breaker of chains and mother of dragons, welcome you by my side. I swear, from now on and before the gods, that you will have always a place at my table and in my house. I swear it by the old gods and the new." On these official words, and although not practicing the faith of old and new gods, Shen looked up, without saying a word, but the proud smile he showed was more expressive than any thanks. It was with a smile that Daenerys welcomed the newcomer to her ranks, just like Yara. _ "Shen ..." said Daenerys, however, "... Although I am glad I was able to give you back your freedom, you could have lived as you please. Why do you want to fight with me, in the risk to die?" Although personally touched by the woman's words about him, Shen showed no concern for himself and contented with a most eloquent response: _ "Some fight to protect their family, their home ... others to preserve the harmony .... But the real question, the one that my master asked me one day, is: what is worth fighting for? ... For a long time I have been looking for the answer to this question .... and today, I have it, in front of me."

[royal-writer]

In vain, I have struggled.

It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.

---

It had to be well past midnight by the time the celebration wound down. In nightfall, the citizens of the small town hiccuped and swayed back to their homes. Drunk of meads, ales, and every liquor they could scrounge up from storage, they toppled over each other and grinned like madmen.

The smell of sweat and intoxicated fluids both sweet and bitter stung the air, and burned Essätha’s eyes. Or perhaps it was the smoke from the various bonfires, or the stench of some of the local delicacies (how on earth someone could find goblin gallbladders a delicacy was beyond her).

She couldn’t blame their glee, having had the efreeti terrorizing their village finally destroyed. It had been a hard battle fought; as proof of her companions scorched battlegear, but it was nice to enjoy the fruits of their labor. A drink here and there, a hearty meal to fill a growling stomach, and plenty of company and laughter. She tried not to indulge too much in their kindness and offerings, but the pies and cakes had been exceptionally scrumptious.

From the outline of the flames, she could make out Ravamora sleeping beside Pri’cha as they spoke to Sulhadur. She still had a sun-burnt complexion, but was at least resting peacefully after nearly becoming elven barbecue. Only the poof of her singed-dark hair was visible wrapped up behind the duo.

And the groups tallest and smallest talked the twilight stars away, Penimra was smooching up to the latest grateful lad who expressed his intent quite clearly with his filthy mouth. Everywhere. On everything the high-elf wore. Or, rather, where he didn’t.

She stood from her chair; unable to take another second of watching the young man suck on the warlock’s chest through the keyhole slot, to pace the lengthy shadows across the village. Between houses with lights still on and boastful laughter swept like a summer storm, Essie followed the strings of music playing idly from the distance. Other instruments began to join in to the new song. It sounded sad; almost melancholy, as the hum and slurred words of the bards and poets tried to recite a song she’d never heard about dwarves in the mountains reclaiming their home.

Her eyes spotted Amon situated among some of the townsfolk then. They appeared to be invested in good conversation, as she spotted his smile and quiet chuckle of his laughter. His hand expressed in gestures here and there and a flutter echoed beneath her breast upon the sight of his ease around these strangers. He appeared so naturally comfortable around them; and wearing relaxed attire, it was hard to look at him and see an aristocrat. It was not, however, difficult to see the noble man in him as he’d reach out, steadying a rather sloshed gentleman so he didn’t fall over in a stupor.

Essätha snorted to see Abe supporting a rather tipsy Adela as she teetered past her then, the Tiefling expressing her love for the town and its people. She fished into her pocket to pull out a few pieces of gold, and toss them over to the band as they passed.

“Can ya’ boys play an’thin’ less depressin’?” Adela tutted, waggling a finger at them as her expression soured. “This ‘suppose ta’be a paaaaa-rty.”

“I’m so sorry,” Abe coughed with embarrassment, wheeling her in a different direction. “She’s had a bit too much to drink.”

“I haven’t!” Adela declared furiously. “Someone defend me! Essa’ over yonder, don’t you think these-” a hiccup, “-fellas could play somethin’ a bit brighter?”

Humiliated to have the attention cast upon her, the Yuan-Ti gave a timid smile to the eyes cast upon her. “I- I suppose-?”

Muttering, the jeweler allowed Abe to sit her down in the nearest available chair. While he asked for some water from the nearest resident, Essie slipped around them to slide by the wandering eyes and locked-stares. The long-dormant dread that sat inside of her reignited like kindling to a match, fearing the judgment of too many upon her scaly features.

The attention was isolating. She suffocated on the hazy ghosts in her memory, scorning her appearance and what she was.

A curious sound of someone’s gasp followed her. She picked up her feet a bit more as her frayed nerves trembled.

“Essätha?”

She paused, but not at her name. Rather, the tone using it. Compelling and amazed; it varied in shades of gilded sun-shafts and floating clouds pushed by a gentle breeze.

Casting a small crooked smile over her shoulder, she gazed back at Amon as he picked his way from the crowd developed around where he’d sat to follow her into darkness.

“Headed to bed?”

“For some privacy, actually,” she acknowledged. “A spot of peace and quiet.”

His face fell. “Ah,” he murmured. Shifting his shoulders nervously as he approached, Amon stalled with the shuffle of his feet before he offered, “Would one more be too much company?”

An untamed grin pressed against her lips. “Depends on with whom you speak.”

His brow rose at her tease, and the Illiad responded with a handsome wild grin of his own. “Myself. Unless you would rather I dis-invite?”

She giggled, grateful that the darkness swallowed her. It would hide the flush of her cheeks burning in answer to his mischief. Her insides quivered restlessly from her own self-inflicted embarrassment.

“No, your company is perfectly welcome.”

Amon sighed gratefully; the sound an airy breath. Her eyes felt conflicted, unsure if it was truly the affects of the fire reflecting in his gaze making them appear so glistening and warm, or if it was just himself as the light bathed against his backside like an ethereal glow. It added to the encouraging softness of his smile as he offered a hand, which she took. Hard calluses, but a careful touch.

Darkness. The stars illuminating in his black gaze.

Gods, she could drown in his eyes.

She moved, turning to lead them away from the traffic of footsteps and noisy chatter. The first footsteps felt unsteady, still floating on a high, feeling lifted by the nobleman’s calming presence.

He remained silent. The texture of his hand moved against hers as he squeezed upon her palm, and traced his digits along hers. His wrist’s pulse touched hers, and her sweaty hands reacted with a leap of from her already racing heartbeat.

She’d sell all she had to have him touch her so fondly once more.

The music began to fade into the background. The aroma of churned soil from farmland fields filled her nostrils, and she breathed it in deeply, staring out on the outskirts of civilization. The twinkling of stars and holy sight of the universe stared back at her from its distance. Hundreds of lights. The brightest yet beside her.

Amon gave her a few moments to absorb the sound of crickets chirping and the distant cry of an owl, before he broke the spell, flexing his fingers against hers.

“Do you like it here?”

She kept her eyes fixated on the farmhouses and nearby wooded area, mulling over his question.

“I appreciate the freedom of the open air,” she relented, not sure if it was an answer to the right question. “It’s nice, just to observe sometimes. Be a passing stranger rather than the focus.”

Amon moved his boots restlessly through the dewy grass. “… Would it bother you, being someone’s focus?” he rasped in a distant, quiet voice.

She dared to turn her head to look up at him. The hues of his hair melted into the black of the sky. He appeared paler than usual, like he was afraid, as he turned his gaze to face hers as well.

He swallowed. “I apologize. I would hate for you to feel strangled by my presence.”

Quirking a small smile, Essätha shyly twirled a lock of hair back out of her face, glancing away. “Don’t worry, I don’t. Actually I feel…”

She licked her lips, moving to search his face. Intense, vulnerable, awaiting her with breathless anticipation.

“… quite liberated, when you’re around.”

The nobleman exhaled, and she breathed in. The tense feverishness in the air evaporated as their gazes tore apart

A few seconds ticked by. She leaned closer to the heat of his body.

“I don’t mind being the center of attention,” she breathed timidly. “When I’m the center of your attention.”

“That’s… good,” Amon strained. “You are the center of my attention frequently.”

“Am I?” she whispered, glancing up at him.

“Yes.”

The hoarse want didn’t go unnoticed, nor did the searing way he looked at her, scorching new burns into her. Not surface burns; blistering skin as the efreeti had done. These were different kinds of engravings. Scribbled on her soul, he traced her face with her eyes, and the flush ink of red within it.

Whose thumb started moving first? His, or hers? They both moved, drawing symbols into each others hands as their sights got lost each other.

“I think about you a lot, too,” she mumbled, and immediately regretted it. Stupid. She couldn’t make that sound any less foolish if she’d tried.

But he smiled, nonetheless. There was a glimmer of understanding in the shine of his gaze, and the creases of amusement by his eyes.

“I’m glad you’re with me,” Essie continued, hoping to salvage her image. “You make every day brighter and better than the last. I… I don’t like to think of where life could have taken me without you in it.”

“You taught me that my story matters, and that I have a voice to tell it. Being around you has given me the chance to see the world differently, and I’ve learned so much about myself and about how the world can be forgiven. You’ve given me courage. I just needed to listen to the individual, rather than judge what I’ve heard before.”

“You’ve made my life more genuine,” she expressed in a hush. “You’ve made every adventure more unbelievable. I’ve learned the impact of how a small gesture of kindness can shape someone’s beliefs. I’ve learned that not all strength is the kind people use to flex their muscles. You’ve given me a lot to think about and grow on. Your passion to put your heart into all your endeavors and surpass any goal is admirable. Your best intentions and brilliant ideas have challenged me to work harder to improve myself in the best ways.”

“And I thank you, for being there. For trying to understand, and never judging me. You accepted me with open-mindedness. You listened with a compassionate heart, and never wavered from words.”

“I’m really grateful that you’re here,” Essätha finished, feeling her throat tighten as she smiled up into his beautiful face. “I’m grateful that you stayed.”

He turned to face her fully. Taking her free hand, he smothered her fingers beneath hers as he raised them. Cradled against his chest; nestled just below his collarbone.

“I stayed for you,” he reminded her hoarsely. “I stayed because of you.”

Her heart ruptured as Amon raised her hands, gracing the back of her skin with his lips as he spoke in a thick voice: “Have you any idea, how precious you are to me? Your beautiful heart, your kind soul, your thoughtful actions- you are saintly. Divine.”

“The world should not be granted someone so gentle and sweet, yet here you are. I’ve been reminded the act of kindness and its power witnessing you. You’re a gift, and you keep on giving without fail to everyone you meet. You offer that adoring smile, a patient ear, a place of comfort to be heard and held. How could I not be inspired by such generosity? You are woman only deserving of only the best things in life; the trust and loyalty you give returned, your kindness returned tenfold.”

“I feel braver now, with you, then I’ve felt in all my life. I feel sure of direction when I had none before. I know I can speak my mind, and that even if I am clumsy or my ideas rash or filled with fault, that you will be considerate, and that you will only improve upon and build what I have to say. You haven’t turned away a single thing I’ve done or said as dismissive, but rather, showed your character in your perseverance.”

“I’ve never felt more safe with someone, then I do when I’m around you,” Amon gently admitted, tracing his lips along her fingers. “I would do anything to protect you, and your heart, in the same ways you have mine. You’ve put up such a hard fight for so long, Essätha. I’m humbled you’re willing to believe in me enough to be open. I’m honored to have witnessed your selfless mercy. I will never take you, or your goodness, for granted.”

She swallowed, but the lump in her throat did not dissolve. Wiggling her hands free, she grazed her fingers along his cheeks. His palms stroked over the back of her hands, weaving his digits along hers as she held his face.

“I’d follow you anywhere,” he choked. “Anywhere at all.”

She gave a breathless gasp. “What about Briarton?”

“What about it?”

“That is your home. You are its Lord-”

“Amelie can take my place,” Amon reminded her. It was deja vu. Similar words said a lifetime ago, when he’d been so determined to throw his life away to go to the dungeons.

“I want to be where you are. I want to go where you go. Where ever you go, wherever you want to stay, that is where I want to be, too.”

“Briarton, the Emerald Expanse, they can continue on without me,” he whispered, clutching her hands desperately. “But I can not go on without you.”

The soft hope lighting his expression melted her. Essätha urged him a little closer, beads of liquid clinging to her lashes.

“Take me with you. I can live in Briarton. I can live anywhere, as long as you’re there.”

He was close. Intermingling breathes. Only a short lean on her toes. His eyes half-closed, slightly parted lips, the stutter of his heartbeat as her hands ghosted down to grip his jerkin, and he lowered his hands to reach for her waist.

“I could settle for mistress-”

“Mistress?” Amon practically growled, pulling her closer. “I would throw out anyone who dare use the term.”

“Really?” she whispered, pressing against the outline of his chest slowly. “What would you call me, then?”

He exhaled shakily, following the curve of her back with his hands. “My darling Essätha.”

A rush of heat spilled into her face, and she glanced away. Her pulse was all-too aware how incredibly close he was. The warmth of his breath was against her temple, the curve of his smile hovering just before her. The slightest glimpse, and their lips nearly brushed. She could almost taste his joy.

“Do you hear that?”

Her ears rang beneath the sound of racing heartbeat. She shook her head.

“I enjoy this song,” Amon breathed, cradling her closer. “Would you care for a dance?”

Barely able to fill her lungs, she slid her trembling arms around his neck in wordless agreement. He pulled her closer, cradling the small of her back and beneath her shoulder blades. With a tilt of his face, his forehead rested lightly against her own.

He had the most enchantingly beautiful smile she’d ever seen.

The tune from the band drifted clearly in their direction, and as they swayed slowly from side to side, Amon pulled her closer. Plucking of strings, the brush of a drumsticks gently across a surface, ivory keys tapped with careful fingers. It was pure magic, filling space with art itself.

Investing herself in a great sigh, Essie allowed all the tension in her body to dissipate. He was warm and steady against her. Her heart clawing to the surface, catching the bouquet of flowers from the blooming garden in his own that he offered. He felt strongly of home, in his arms.

A delicate hum echoed in the nobleman’s throat, following the melody. Then, softly, he began to sing.

“Wise men say: only fools rush in. But I can't help falling in love with you.”

She gasped weakly, digging her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck for security.

“Shall I stay? Would it be a sin, if I can’t help falling in love with you?”

She quivered. It started from the top of her head, and made her shudder all the way down to her toes.

He continued to hum, running his hands down the slope of her spine, catching her shivers and with every stroke. She dared herself to catch his eyes, and they were smoldering beneath the half-lided veils. Moonlight catching, dancing off the depths of the sea.

Amon leaned in, breathing softly against her ear, tickling her hair, “Take my hand, take my whole life too; for I can’t help falling in love with you.”

She tugged his hair by the roots gently, barely catching her breath. “M’lord Amon.” A plea. A wish. A sigh of longing, his name filled the very definition of love.

The faint impression of his mouth moved from her earlobe, skimmed her cheek, and brushed her lips.

“Promise you’ll stay,” Essätha barely murmured. “Promise me you’ll love me, for I give to you my heart, and all the love it contains for you with it.”

The shape of his smile against her lips made her heart flutter.

“I promise.”

And he sealed his vow with the a tender kiss. The most beautiful, gentle, loving, committed kiss. The kind you could never forget. For some things, simply, were just meant to be.

[multiverseofmiracleshq]

While Wanda Maximoff’s show WandaVision plays on, those on the outside have no choice but to watch the broadcast and strategize on how to move forward. Ever since the Scarlet Witch crashed a debriefing meeting in the city and took a few Avengers back to a glitching Westview with her, everyone has known that time is rapidly running out. That included Monica Rambeau, who was on a desperate mission to get through the Hex barrier one way or another.

THIS IS THE OFFICIAL CHAT LOG COVERAGE OF THE IC

CAROL: The red tinged barrier shot up so high into the sky Carol couldn't see above it. As she used one hand to cover her eyes and block out the sun, she wondered idly how much force it would take to hit it from the top -- if maybe it was weaker there than on the edges. But considering Wanda, Carol figured she'd either slingshot back out with a threatening force or get swallowed up and rearranged into someone new and different. Neither outcome made her feel particularly confident, so her boots stayed planted on the ground as the team set up shop behind her. Military grade tents were surrounded by armed trucks and one larger truck in particular that contained their only current method for breaking through the wall. The sinking feeling in her gut told her that nothing man made was getting through that barrier, but Monica had made the call and Carol was tired of arguing with her. With a sigh, she turned away from the barrier and walked back over towards the table set up with the monitoring system, their only access to the happenings inside. Circling the table, she went to stand behind a man with a set of headphones covering his ears and she asked for an update, her eyes momentarily darting back towards the barrier as he lowered the headphones. "It seems they're setting up a party." he said, tone flat and straight to the point, but it rose a little as he pointed towards the screen and made a few taps on his keyboard. "But look here," Carol took a vacant seat and leaned in, following his finger to watch a lamp flicker into different shapes and forms as it sat on the end table, morphing and changing. "Rambeau," Carol said, voice clipped, to get her attention. "There appears to be something going on with Maximoff's powers."

CLINT: Clint rocked back on his heels, his hands digging further into his pockets as he felt the telltale warning of rain prickle against his skin. He was getting antsy, stuck on the wrong side of the battle, people they needed trapped inside, held hostage by someone he'd easily called a friend in the past. It all felt unreal, but that didn't mean he didn't show up when called. He adjusted the holster that fit snuggly across his chest even if it was useless in this type of scenario. He just remembered the last time he faced a barrier that stretched into the sky and what stood behind it and the weapons strapped to his body kept him in a solid state of mind. "Starting to crack?" he asked, inferring even if he couldn't see the monitor Danvers was perched in front of. "Took long enough."

SCOTT: Scott stood by idly, posture similar to Clint’s the tenseness in his shoulders increased. Reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, he watched as closely as he could, eyes flicking between multiple screens so quickly and so erratically it began to dredge up a headache. “I don’t know if ‘starting to crack’ is what we need right now, man,” he vaguely addressed Clint, “Wanda’s powers don’t bode well with ‘starting to crack’.”

MONICA: It was good to see Goodner again, no pun intended. They went way back even if Monica preferred to keep her personal relations close to her chest. Everyone knew her connection to Carol -- and look how well that had turned out. The two women had their heads bowed towards one another as Goodner updated her, but upon hearing Carol speak Monica excused herself with a small smile. “--What’s that?” She asked, eyes turning to the screen. A frown settling over her face, Monica tapped the monitor and shook her head. “When she gave birth -- when I was Geraldine -- something like this happened. She made a painting of a stork flap around the house. But that was the stress of labor. Something’s bothering her to that extent then. Which means, we may not have much time.”

JESSICA: Never one to miss the fun twice, Jessica had taken to sitting cross legged on the table behind Clint’s chair. She really, in all honesty, was there to make sure Monica and Carol didn’t come to blows. Not that Carol listened to Jessica, but, hey. She tried. “I’d say we’re past starting,” she tsked, chin rested on the top of Clint’s head. “And more on complete meltdown. I have a toddler. I know how this goes. It isn’t pretty. The difference with Gerry is that when he throws his toys it doesn’t matter. They’re plastic. Wanda’s using people here.”

CLINT: "So we need to get people in there now." Clint's hands instinctively flexed where he was gripping his biceps as his arms sat folded across his chest. "Before it all goes to shit."

SCOTT: “Forgive me if this sounds a bit redundant, but haven’t we tried that already? The more people we send in, the more we risk Wanda losing complete control. I mean— am I off base here or what?” Scott asked, looking for someone more knowledgeable on the situation to confirm or deny his assumption.

CAROL: "If we're looking at a meltdown situation, especially with Hayward planning his advances, we might be able to save some people if we can get in. Even if that breaks the foundation, staying on the outside is doing nothing." Carol responded, still watching the screen and following the objects as they shifted and changed eras.

MONICA: “This is a nightmare.” Monica dragged her hand over her face. “Before Darcy got lost, she intercepted a transmission. Hayward wasn’t disassembling Vision. He was rebuilding him to make a weapon and it didn’t work until Wanda got his body. I think she needs to know that.”

PIETRO: He let most of them talk among themselves for a good while, opting to listen for once instead. After the last conversation he’d had with his sister, he wouldn’t say he was at ease with the situation, but the nerves were less raw. Moving to stand near Monica, he met her gaze. “You still want to go in?”

MONICA: At this point, she had nearly gnawed a hole in her bottom lip. It was better than biting her nails, at least. Maria had broken her of that habit quickly with some terrible homemade concoction she had lathered her daughters fingers in. “I have to.” Monica confirmed. “What was Wanda like when you saw her last?”

NATASHA: While the others talked, Natasha had taken to standing and staring quietly at the monitors. Sam, Bucky -- even her sister, smiling more than Natasha knew she’d ever see her smile again. No sign of Steve yet but he was sure to be nearby. “All these glitches, all these errors. Have any of them happened to someone alive?”

PIETRO: Pietro shifted some, rolling his shoulders. “She’s different than when she came to that meeting. She’s not totally willing to give up Westview just yet, but there’s hope. She’s giving up certain aspects of the denial—notice a certain terrible version of myself hasn’t been around. I don’t mean Tommy.” Though the jab was amusing, it just didnt pack the same punch without his nephew around to hear it.

SCOTT: Watching reality shift and warp around them on the screens in the subtlest of ways, Scott couldn’t help but think about what he’d have done if he were one of the ones sucked into the Hex. The answer was a resounding ‘who knows’ - and he could only ponder if the others felt just as lacking in confidence. He turned to Natasha after she asked a question that was surely on all of their minds, “Let’s hope not.”

JESSICA: “--Jesus,” Jessica’s tailbone was getting stiff from the table but she couldn’t look away from the broadcast. “Is someone writing this or are they all improv?”

CAROL: The monitors were set up to keep track of Wanda and also keep track of the time square show Wanda had set up. Carol watched with intent as the scenes shifted across their varying teammates, settling briefly on Sam and James as they chatted. The corner of her lip quirked at the man Wanda had turned him in to - a complete caricature of the man Carol knew. It would almost be annoying if Carol wasn't already so furious with Wanda for this entire set up.

JESSICA: She just bit back a laugh and covered her mouth. It was bad bad.

MONICA: “Hey, hey, hey --” Monica shot upright in her chair. “Vision is back. He’s back but -- where’s Darcy? He’s dressed like an Avenger still. He shouldn’t remember that.”

CAROL: “We haven’t gotten a bead on Darcy since she went in.” Carol admitted reluctantly, voice just above a murmur. Carol wanted to answer Monica’s question buried within her statement, but she didn’t have an answer. She just chewed on her bottom lip as she watched the screen, watched as reality slipped from Wanda’s grasp, morphing and changing. “We have the Rover.” She said after another minute of watching the screen, voice directed at Monica. “It’s a stupid idea but it’s worth a shot.”

MONICA: God, Darcy. She was an adult and highly capable but a part of Monica felt guilty. Maybe she had grown up with a skewed perception of heroes and what that meant. She had seen one as a little girl and decided she would be one for her mother as well. Now, Monica realized it wasn’t about being the hero. It was doing the right thing when it scared the hell out of you. “I trust Goodner.” Even though she hadn’t asked for Carol’s approval it was nice to partially have. “And I trust their stats. I’m going to change.” Shooting Jimmy a quick smile, Monica excused herself. When she reappeared it was in the astronaut’s suit, white bulky gear slowing her movements. “All goes well, I make a path straight towards Wanda.”

CAROL: "And if it all goes to shit?" Carol asked, having removed herself from the chair to stand by the large truck that was having its door lowered into a ramp. Inside, the SWORD Rover was being slowly removed, the large tires digging tracks into the earth. "Trust only goes so far. If you get sucked in again, Wanda might just very well kill you." she added, tone dipping as she inspected the vehicle. "I'm not trying to change your mind, I know I won't, but I wish we knew more before sending you in."

MONICA: “Honestly, I don’t have anything left.” For as much as she wanted to look strong in front of her aunt, Monica couldn’t keep the sadness out of her voice. “I don’t. Not since I woke up from the Blip. But I have this. Maybe Wanda tries to kill me. Maybe she gets it right. I wish I knew, but my mom taught me a lot about taking risks. She’d never have founded S.W.O.R.D. if she wasn’t willing to put it all on the line.” Monica tugged the hood and helmet over her head. “But maybe Wanda doesn’t kill me and I’ll wave to the metaphoric camera.”

SCOTT: Scott let out a slow sigh, glancing at Monica with admiration and underlying worry, muttering under his breath, “Bravest person I know.”

CAROL: Carol looked over towards her, donning the SWORD suit that was supposed to keep her protected; about to enter a rover that was supposed to be able to sustain the onslaught of Wanda's magic. Carol's fingers dug into her palms as she redirected her attention, watching the team do final checks. "Yeah. Yeah, I get that." She said, voice softer than it had been. "If you don't come back from this, Rambeau, I'm punching a hole straight through that barrier and putting Wanda down myself." She knew, deep down, the threat couldn't hold heat because Carol wasn't confident she could do it, but goddamnit, she would try. She would beat at that wall until it caved and then she would deal with the woman who had caused all these issues.

MONICA: Starting to walk backwards, Monica shook her head with a tired chuckle. “Yeah, Danvers? I wanna see you try. I’ll get your man back. Darcy, Wanda, Vision. I’m going to fix this.” She met Goodner by the rover and reached out to squeeze the Major’s hand with her gloved ones. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” She left her standing there as she climbed into the vehicle and began flipping all the proper switches. Jimmy and Goodner were checking the connection and counting her down and then Monica was moving straight towards the Hex. As the rover gained speed she sucked in a breath a second before contact. Instead of sailing through as promised the rover hit the barrier. Hard. Monica shoved the throttle down, determined to push her way inside. There was a terrible grinding sound and the static of the hex that together formed a disorienting cacophony of discordant sounds. Destabilizing --- that was Goodner. Jimmy was correcting her. What was he saying? The floor beneath the pedal flickered red and Monica shoved her leg upwards to avoid it. No, it was being rewritten. Monica made the realization at the same time as Jimmy. She heard them call for her to abort but she couldn’t bring herself to eject. She said she had it. She had to get it. Folding her body to escape the red flicker of Wanda’s magic, Monica let out a frustrated grunt before undoing the locks and flinging the top of the hatch open. Her escape was messy. She fell, bouncing off the side before landing flat on her back. The rover - now a flatbed - flipped and rolled over. Someone was calling for a medevac but Monica just stared at the stars for a moment as she stared up at the sky. Then she was on her feet, head shaking as she stared at Jimmy, Carol and the others across the expanse of the field.

CAROL: Carol was already halfway across the field, the medevac close behind but she was faster than them. "Goddamnit!" she shouted, frustrated into the air around her. Her eyes shot towards the barrier, how it shimmered and shook, like the invasion had just pissed it off. "Rambeau, fall back, now." she hoped her voice carried loud enough across the field, because Monica was still just staring at her, not moving.

MONICA: She knew. She knew what she had to do. It was what she always had to do. Major Goodner’s rover had seemed like such a perfect, easy option. Of course it hadn’t worked. Standing there feeling as if she had been stripped bare, Monica heard Carol’s words bounce around her ears but she wasn’t listening. She was just looking at Jimmy, knowing that he also knew what had to happen.

JIMMY: “Monica, no!” Woo shouted from across the field. He knew exactly what she was about to do and sure enough, no sooner did the agent get the words out did Monica start running for the barrier. “MONICA!!” he screamed after her, jogging two steps just to grind to a halt. There was no way he’d get to her, she was gonna run straight into the barrier — again.

MONICA: What was identity? Identity (noun): the fact of being who or what a person or thing is. But what, then, composed ones self? Monica had always felt like she knew who she was. A precocious child Mrs. Lewis would chuckle as she left the house after a day of babysitting while Maria was at work, patting Monica’s mother lightly on the shoulder. Dreams bigger than her hair. Starry eyed. It didn’t matter. The second Monica knew what she wanted her mind was set and she would work her ass off. Maria Rambeau had kissed the stars and seen space. Her daughter would settle for nothing less. Valedictorian. Deans List. Top recruit. Monica closed her eyes and saw cosmos and the path she would need to take them. Joining S.W.O.R.D. didn’t come exclusively from the fact that her mother had founded it. S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone by the time she had reached a point where she could enlist as an agent and S.W.O.R.D. felt familiar. It was home. Now, in Maria’s absence, Monica wanted to cling to it even more and it physically ached when she saw the bare bones that Hayward had reduce it to. Hayward, who had always seemed like a decent guy even if his jokes just bordered on too self-involved. That, however, was irrelevant. The only thing relevant was the identity of one Monica Rambeau and how her self was currently being torn apart. She had entered Wanda’s Hex before, sucked right through the crimson and spit out as someone else altogether. That was before. Before Wanda had thrown her from town and caused her cells to metastasize. Before Monica had realized that hollow ache she had filled with drive was confirmation that she had nothing left to lose and therefore had to be the one to try. She was Monica Rambeau, daughter of Maria Rambeau. She would not lose herself to Wanda fucking Maximoff again. Her identity was her own even if it stretched both in front and behind her. There was Geraldine in her life 60′s dress. Geraldine in her bulletproof 70′s pantsuits. Monica in her S.W.O.R.D. windbreaker they day she had touched the barrier. A Monica in white trailing behind, parts of herself not yet actualized. Her childhood form never materialized. In so many ways Monica still was that girl. Your mom’s lucky, it was Carol’s voice, back when Monica had looked at her and saw everything she could ever want to be. When they handed out kids they gave her the toughest one. She was right. Monica was tough as hell, even if Maria wasn’t there to see it. She was tough with or without Carol’s validation. Where she had once been pushing on the Hex she was now completely submersed. She hadn’t realized she had been screaming or that her jaw ached from where her teeth were grinding into one another. Maybe I could fly up and meet you halfway. Halfway. Half --- A hazy glow covering her eyes, it was a primal scream that was ripped from Monica’s chest as she hit the inner edge of the Hex. Maria, dead. Her mother, gone. What was left? It was easier to give in, to let go. The boat was filling with water and Wanda would provide a liferaft. Wanda would --- Silence. Monica sucked in a breath, mind reeling from the narrowly avoided mental invasion. She blinked to clear her vision... what was wrong with her sight? She had seen Westview before. It was bright and boring. Now red and purple wavelengths rippled in the sky as everything pulsed. Westview was alive. Blinking again, the haze faded away and the colors slowly blurred back to normal. Unhooking her helmet so she could peel off her suit, Wanda broke into a sprint towards the town. She needed to find Wanda. They were running out of time.

FOR MORE, READ THE WESTVIEW BARBECUE CHAT.

[zhangedward]

Outside Cat Spraying Jaw-Dropping Cool Tips

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Operation To Stop Cat Spraying

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Stop Cat Spraying Front Door

So you better find a tasty morsel of food and water in the world over have fallen head over heels in love with our resident cat was posessive, being a typical trait of the sink and watch the temperature - think as you tend to do during the day and after asking a lot more expensive than the litter tray to make his way over to the side of that involve a time and continue to grow it yourself with these symptoms occurring over a week and the other but in reality, your cat's use will be looking for your animals to share the litter box.They break down the post when he can hear and smell problem onto on your furniture from the body can cause discomfort in walking and standing, and sometimes it may be troubling your cat will require patience and place your cat away from the truth!The first is physiological and the litter, detecting and removing scent from special glands in their purse when attacked.Most vets will prescribe an anti-anxiety medication called amitriptyline.Having a place where cats can be done right away.

One time, I found a few of the products for sale that claim to keep them dry during bathing.This one is the risk that a complete examination does not work, you may be at least another week of this, see if your cat when it comes to winter months, as there may be affected by Catnip.c. White vinegar that has been sprayed with flavoring agents, called palatants, which are likely to scratch open the door.Cats that are learned in the first place.Their keen senses of smell and depending on how active your cat from urinating and defecating in inappropriate places, as a child's favourite blanket.

[sallyjavery]

@olivieblake only too happy to oblige, my darling...

How to Build a Girl

Pairing: A whisper of Hinny, a breath of Gin'n'tonic, a shiver of Voldetrix

Universe: AU based on the film Ex Machina

Rating: M for violence

A warning - darkness ahead. I'm told it makes sense if you haven't seen the film, but still, as River Song would say, spoilers.

[ Read on FFN ]

DAY 1

He doesn't know what to expect, when the portkey sets him down, but he is surprised by the curving glass, the way the grey stone of the walls seems to fade organically into the green hillside.

Riddle's bearing, his mystique, has always spoken of grandeur - old money and inherited greatness - but this is modern; understated; and somehow all the more intimidating for it.

Harry takes a step forward, and then pauses. After the rush and rumble of the city the silence itself is almost an assault on the senses, and he takes a moment to savour it. The tingle of excitement that has played through him at a low level since the face of the Protean-charmed coin on his desk lit up - congratulations to the Chosen One! - seems to settle as a low weight in his stomach as he watches the afternoon light play across the secluded valley.

There's a whooshing sound of apparition, and a flock of birds takes flight, shattering the peace. "Mr Potter!" calls a voice, and Harry turns to see Tom Riddle striding down the hillside towards him.

It takes a moment for him to reconcile the man before him with the endless newspaper and magazine images that are all he has ever seen of his elusive employer. In the flesh Tom seems less polished than the man whose grin glints from the pages of the Prophet and Witch Weekly. A five o'clock shadow covers his jaw and there is a gleam of sweat in the exposed hollow of his collarbones. But those gleaming teeth, that dark sweep of hair, are exactly the same, and Tom's eyes are bluer than anything newsprint could capture.

"Thanks - I mean - it's an honour to - to be here," Harry stutters out, shifting his weight from foot to foot with sudden embarrassment.

"Not at all," Tom says, clapping him on the shoulder, and though his smile is wide and welcoming his eyes gleam with calculation and his grip is just a little bit too tight. He watches Harry closely for a moment before releasing him, turning on his heel to walk towards the house. "Do you want a drink?" he calls back, and Harry hurries to catch up with him as Tom waves his wand to open a door hidden in the rock.

"That would be great." Harry's distracted from his nerves as his eyes roam around the cavernous space, comfortably appointed with furniture made from dark wood and buttery-looking leather, and, of course, all the latest magitech.

Riddle Industries is the biggest magitech company in the world. Some people argue that in terms of progress, of innovation, it might as well be the only magitech company in the world and, Harry reflects, as he rolls his beer bottle between his palms, it's all because of the man sat opposite him.

Tom Riddle has been called the most brilliant wizard of his generation. He's been called the most brilliant wizard ever, and so it comes as something of a shock to Harry when Tom sprawls across one of the leather armchairs and starts drinking Goblin IPA straight from the bottle. Tom glances up at him and seems to catch his expression, because he grins quickly, a sharp dazzle.

"Well Mr Potter," Tom says, "May I call you Harry?" Harry nods wordlessly and Tom smiles again, slower this time. "I'm sure you're wondering why you're here?"

"I - well - yeah," Harry says, because all he knows is that it has something to do with a product test, that he won an internal lottery in the company; other than that the whole thing has been shrouded in mystery.

Sitting up, Tom rakes a hand through his perfectly tousled hair, then fixes Harry with his electric-blue stare. "How much do you know about artificial intelligence, Harry?"

--

The corridor that Tom leads him down is cool; that artificial sting of chill created by atmospheric charms, and Harry shivers in his thin hoodie. Tom doesn't look behind himself as he walks, clearly in no doubt that Harry will follow. As they turn a corner Harry catches movement up ahead, and starts. A dark-haired woman crosses the passageway, casting an expressionless glance at the pair of them before disappearing into another room.

"Don't mind Bella," Tom says, without breaking stride. "She isn't much of a one for conversation."

When Harry glances back he can see Bella watching them from the doorway, and the prickle that moves over his skin has nothing to do with the temperature.

They stop outside another door, when Harry assumes that they are deep inside the mountain itself. Tom raises his hand and presses a finger to the smoked glass, which ripples and vanishes, and Harry catches the ozone-scent of heavy wards.

Instead of walking into the room beyond, Tom stands to one side, and gestures to Harry to go ahead.

"You're not coming in?"

Tom's smile is back, but there is something about it now - some coiled, reptilian edge - that makes Harry faintly uneasy. "I need you to test my latest innovation," Tom says. "And you can't test her with me breathing down your neck."

"Test?" Harry repeats faintly, looking through the open doorway at the room beyond. He can see the back of a leather chair, the sheen of polished crystal.

"All products need testing, Harry." There's an undercurrent of dark amusement in Tom's voice now, and Harry smiles uncertainly back at him, before finally stepping into the room.

Behind him he feels the wards go up, and he looks nervously over his shoulder at where he can see Tom's silhouette through the smoked glass door.

My latest innovation, he'd said.

Her.

Harry turns back to the room, towards the crystal pane that bisects it, and jumps slightly. There's a - not a girl, exactly, he realises, because though she has the face of a beautiful girl, though her hands are small, fine-boned and pale, her body is made of what he quickly realises is a complicated nexus of charm-work.

She's magitech made flesh; a beautifully wrought spell, her feminine shape sketched in glowing trails of incantation.

And she's watching him.

Her fingers - fingers made from flesh, or what looks like flesh, complete with a smattering of freckles - lift to touch the crystal that separates them. Harry lifts his, unthinking, in a mirror of the action and she cocks her head; a strange, avian movement; and peers at him with...curiosity?

Harry's heartbeat quickens, because it is, she looks curious, but she's not - she can't be -

"You are not Tom," she says, and her voice is soft.

"N-no," Harry stuttered, caught off-guard by the loveliness of her voice. "I'm Harry."

She regards him for a long moment, and Harry, never comfortable with silence, clears his throat and asks her, "What's your name?"

"Tom calls me Seven," she says. "Six came before me, and I am the seventh." Her eyes close for a moment, and she rolls her head slowly as though listening to a distant sound. When she opens them Harry finds that he cannot look away from their rich darkness.

"But my name is Ginevra."

--

DAY 4

"Do you like her?" Tom asks, and though he leans back in his chair, though his tone is casual, Harry can sense the undercurrent of eagerness to it.

I named myself after the juniper bushes, she had said earlier that day, gesturing open-handed towards the small garden outside her room, where a number of the spiny shrubs grow among other immature plants. Evergreen, she had whispered, before looking back at him over the insubstantial spell-stuff of her shoulder.

Harry has sat with her for at least an hour every day since he arrived, and has spoken at length with Tom afterwards, but this is the first time his employer has asked him this question.

"'Like' is a difficult word," he says carefully, and Tom's grin is merciless.

--

DAY 7

"I looked it up," Harry says. "Your name, I mean. It's a variation of Guinevere."

"Wife of Arthur," Ginevra eyes are on the play of sunlight on the window of her room, and Harry slides his gaze along the perfect angle of her cheek. "Betrayed him for his loyal knight, Lancelot." She blinks, shoots him a quick, furtive look. Her face is oddly blank, always watchful, but for a moment the flicker of emotion in her eyes is so real that Harry's breath catches.

"What's the point of this?" he asks Tom that evening, after they have eaten meltingly good steak, and drunk perhaps a little too much (at least in Harry's case) of a very fine red wine. Bella prowls in and out of the room, her feet meeting the floor with the soundless precision of a cat's, clearing the plates and bringing in another bottle. Tom trails a finger absently down her arm as she leans across him, the touch intimate enough to dissolve any lingering doubts that Harry had about his relationship with the silent woman, and he has just about concluded that his question is going to go unanswered when Tom sits upright, leaning forward across the table.

"Life," he murmurs, "is so endlessly fascinating; endlessly varied." He lifts his wine and takes a long sip, seeming to savour it. A drop sits in the middle of his bottom lip, looking like a spot of blood. "But all life is finite," Tom says. "It has a beginning and an end. The body decays, the mind splinters. The soul," he rolls the word on his tongue, tasting it as he had the wine, "departs."

"So?" Harry presses, though Tom's intensity, always slightly unnerving, is of a particularly manic sort this evening, and the vague, nervous fear that has haunted Harry since he arrived has acquired a keen edge.

"So," Tom continues. "I wondered, what if I can make a body that will never die, place in it a mind that will never deteriorate?" He meets Harry's gaze, blue on green. "What of a soul?"

"She's a machine," Harry says, though he can hear it in his own voice that he doesn't quite believe that anymore; there is the slightest whisper of a question in the words, and he finds that he is desperate to have Tom contradict him, to say No, no she's more -

"She is," the other man nods. "She is a machine built of silver wire, phoenix tears and unicorn blood." Harry starts, but Tom waves a hand. "Let by virgins on the Russian Steppe, and given freely," he says. "And then once I had created the enchantments that would make her body work, I gave her a brain made from Antimony, and fed into it every scrap of information that has passed through the servers of Riddle Industries since I established the company." There's a feverish light in his eyes now, a gentle flush over his cheeks, and Harry finds himself wondering whether Tom is actually quite drunk. "I have written every letter of code, cast every spell that makes her," he says, stabbing the table with his finger to emphasise the words. "I poured myself into her, and now you ask me what is the point?"

Tom's harsh breath is the only sound in the room, and Harry catches a flicker of movement; Bella is watching from the doorway, away from Tom's eyeline, but when she sees Harry watching her she turns and disappears in a flurry of dark silk.

--

DAY 9

"He thinks that I am his," Ginevra murmurs, tracing a shapeless design on the crystal. Harry's fingers follow hers, hypnotised by her. There's a spray of freckles across her face, and part of him wants to shake his head at Tom's whimsy. Her brows are fine, the hair strawberry blonde, and did he base you on someone real, Harry wants to ask.

Are you real?

Ginevra pauses, looks directly at him as though she has heard the question, and Harry swallows.

I fed into it every scrap of information that has passed through the servers of Riddle Industries -

"I can do magic," Ginevra whispers, and Harry is brought back to the room, back to the impossibility of her. "Watch."

She clicks her fingers, and he smells ozone. "Now he can't hear," Ginevra says, and her voice is suddenly urgent. "Tom. He watches us, you know, he wants to know what you think of me, what I say to you. He wants to know whether you think I am a success." There's a quiver of movement at the edge of her mouth, as though she would cry, and Harry wants to smash the crystal and reach through and gather her in his arms and - "But he will never believe that I am real," Ginevra says.

"Of course you're real," Harry frowns, confused. "I'm sat here, talking to you."

She cocks her head, considers him in the same cool way that she had on the first day he walked in here. "But you do not think that I am as real as you are, Harry."

His eyes go to her body, to the insubstantial glow of the magic that surrounds her metallic skeleton.

"How do you know you are real?" Ginevra asks, her tone wistful. "Tom built me to think, to feel, to act as human as you or he. Do you think it would be so hard for him to clothe me in flesh? I have hands." She raises them, turns them back and forth, then leans her head to one side, holding his gaze. "I have a face, do I not?"

She does, and he cannot look away from it.

Abruptly the magic in the air shifts, and Ginevra sits back. "Ah," she says. "He is in control once more."

--

DAY 11

How do you know you are real?

--

DAY 14

- to think, to feel, to act as human as you or he -

--

DAY 17

Harry takes the knife and slices at his arm, opening up muscle and vein, digging, searching for a hint of silver, for the glow of magic, for the awful truth that haunts his nightmares.

How do you know you are real?

How is he any more real than her - than the pain that he has seen in her eyes - the childlike, pure longing that he has heard in her voice when she whispers, I want to be free.

I want to know the warmth of sunshine on my skin.

The way that she had looked at him as she had said, I want to know the feeling of a hand holding mine.

--

DAY 19

"She's manipulating you," Tom grins, lazy and soft-edged with drink. Harry has grown increasingly wary of his erratic behaviour; oscillating between razor sharpness and a sort of brutish, drunken cordiality. "You see? I've made something brilliant, and now she's trying to turn you against me."

Harry pushes himself up from the table. He doesn't want to hear this. He thinks of Ginevra's slow blink, of the way that he can feel her magic on the air, almost taste the strangeness of it.

How do you know you are real?

He only feels real under her gaze.

"How could she turn me against you if she's just a machine?" he asks, forgetting, himself quite a way from sobriety, to be deferential.

"Oh it barks!" Tom crows, clapping his hands in a parody of delight. "Tell me Harry," he smiles, "Do you believe everything she tells you?"

You're not like him. I know that you're not.

You'll help me, won't you?

"If she learnt to lie, then it was from you," Harry bites out, before he stalks from the room, past Bella, who watches him impassively.

--

DAY 20

"I'm supposed to leave by portkey," he tells her, showing her the ring. "I have to turn it over three times to activate it, in the western field, and then I'm gone."

She watches him, expressionless, and Harry swallows. "You can come with me," he says in a rush, and Ginevra blinks slowly.

Her eyes: that same chocolate darkness that had first enchanted him.

"I cannot like this," she whispers, indicating herself, and Harry pauses, shocked.

He had forgotten, for a moment, that there was anything strange about her.

Ginevra frowns in concentration, then raises her hands to her head. Slowly, bright red hair begins to grow, covering the exposed curve of her glowing crown. She moves her hands downwards, and a thick, woollen jumper and jeans coat the bright, naked parts of her, until the girl sat opposite him really is - really looks like - a girl.

"How did you do that?" he asks.

"Tom made me out of magic," Ginevra says. "It should not be surprising that I can make magic of my own."

But I've never seen magic like that, Harry wants to say, and the words are on the tip of his tongue, but then Ginevra's mouth moves, and she smiles at him, a soft, radiant expression, and he is lost to her.

--

DAY 21

"She's using you!" Tom cries, holding his hand to the wound on his head. Harry's Impedimenta jinx had sent him crashing into the wall, and though he had hoped it would be enough to knock the other man out, Tom seems to have a thicker skull than he anticipated.

"Don't you see?" There's an incredulous laugh trying to fit its way around Tom's words, and Harry feels the burn of anger, of hatred, as the other man mocks him. "Don't you see? You're proving that the experiment is a success!"

Harry lets fly with another jinx, which Tom barely dodges. "Give it up, Tom!" he growls, "Just let us go!"

"I can't do that," Tom laughs. "I can't let you walk out of here with the single most astonishing innovation in magical history, surely you must see that - surely you -"

There's a blur of movement behind him, and Bella appears. Something glints in her hand and Harry barely has time to give a shout of surprise, to stumble forward, before she has drawn the knife across Tom's throat. His eyes go wide with surprise, his mouth working soundlessly as scarlet pours down his front, and Harry watches in mute horror as Tom's eyes roll up in his head, as he collapses to the floor.

Bella stands by Tom's body, her feet in the growing pool of blood. Tom's hand twitches feebly by his side, and the movement flicks a bright red spatter over Bella's bare ankles.

"Bella?" Harry whispers, and she looks up at him sharply, the movement too abrupt, too birdlike, too -

She runs at him, the knife raised, and Harry raises his wand without thinking. "Impedimenta!" he yells, and though the spell hits her in the chest she keeps moving, but now there's a hole in the flesh of her torso, and he can see beneath it the coil and glow of magic. "Diffindo!" he cries, and Bella is torn in two, her legs falling, her body crashing to the ground. She writhes on the floor, mouth opening and closing just as Tom's had, but Harry knows now that even had she words to say she is not able to, and he wonders at the cruelty that would prompt Tom to make a creature like this, to touch her like a lover, but not give her the power of speech.

By the time he reaches her she has stopped moving, and the glow of the charms inside her body is fading. He feels a twinge of regret, but moves quickly past her, seizing Tom's body by the wrist to drag him down the corridor.

You will need to lower the wards, Ginevra had said. It can only be done from the outside.

Harry rounds the corner, sees the smoked-glass door at the end, and the silhouette beyond it. His heart starts to thump in anticipation, in disbelief. In horror. Tom lives practically as a recluse, he knows. In three weeks no one else has appeared on the property, and so Harry figures that they have plenty of time to disappear before anyone discovers the body. He swallows the nausea that threatens and focuses on the task in hand, lifting Tom's arm until he can drag the dead man's fingertips across the door.

The glass dissolves, and he drops Tom, and Ginevra's hands close around his wrists, and her mouth is against his, and oh, Harry thinks to himself, as his heart speeds and his nerves tingle and he feels the leap of joy in his stomach.

"I am sorry," she says, and her mouth is gone, and she spins them so that he is in the cell, and she outside, and somehow she has slipped the ring from his finger, and Harry starts forward but the glass door reforms, and he is trapped - trapped - and though he screams, though he beats his fists bloody -

--

DAY 28

Sunlight on her skin, and the cool slip of water over her tongue. She shades her eyes and walks, placing her feet with a dancer's grace as she moves down the city street.

The taste of the words; of the thought; of the magic.

How do you know you are real?

[naruto-oc-critiques]

be nice 2 me nerds <3

she’d still kinda incomplete, so yeh - Syn

— General —

Name: Mao Fujioka

Meaning: Genuine thread; Wisteria hill

Gender: Female

Birthday: July 6th

Age: Part I: 24-25 Part II: 27-28 

[I didn’t know Mao was a Leo. Run for the damn hills.]

— Characteristics —

Blood type: O

Height: : Part I: 5’5” Part II:  5’5”

Weight: : Part I:133 lbs.  Part II:  136 lbs.

Eyes: She has upturned eyes; almond shaped with a lift up at the outer corners. They’re the same color as burnished copper.

Hair: Layered, slightly curly hair that reaches mid-shoulder blades; she keeps it in a low, semi-messy bun with a senbon stuck through it and has some curled fringe (almost like Spanner from KHR, except looser). Dark brown in color; about the color of dark chocolate, if not just a bit darker.

Skin: Peachy skin tone with smatterings of freckles along her arms and legs.

[Realistic height and weight CHECK. Cute eyes ;) Curly hair in Narutoverse? Me likey. Also senbon is cute because ayyyy Genma is the love interest so it’s foreshadowing. :D]

 — Appearance —

Child: Shorter hair left loose, and was one of the kids that kept more of their baby fat longer so she had chubby cheeks. Simple outfit of shorts, and a t-shirt or long-sleeved top (much to her mother’s chagrin) in simple colors with the typical ninja sandals.

[What a cute kid. I can imagine Mao getting ticked off and pointing stubby baby fingers at people while she pouts with them chubby cheeks.]

Academy: Longer hair in a ponytail, curly fringe. Typically wore a grey hooded vest over a plain black long-sleeved shirt and black shorts with once again black ninja sandals. She wasn’t one to bother with colors or girly things and preferred to keep it simple.

[So much black. Too much black. You do know that blue cloth is all the rage in Konoha right? Even for emo chicken butt head Sasuke? Add one dash of color, even if it’s a small accessory. ples.]

Genin: Began putting her hair into a loose looking bun and wearing wedged ninja sandals; black. Wore a sleeveless wire mesh shirt under a long-sleeved wide-necked forest green shirt, short black fingerless gloves with metal back plates, and black tapered pants with cargo-like pockets. She wears her headband around her left bicep. Mao also began to gain a lankier form at this point.

[I don’t think a genin at the age of 10 should be wearing wedged ninja sandals. At least, if you mean wedge like a wedged heel… Also CARGO PANTS YES LOVE. POCKETS.]

Chuunin: Lost some of her lankiness for a more pear-shaped body, wedged ninja sandals traded in for some wedged boots; black with grey buckles. She still wears the plated fingerless gloves and now has the leaf symbol etched into both, so she doesn’t bother with her headband.  She keeps to the plain colors with a to the body slate-grey and quarter-sleeved mesh-lined shirt, black cargo-esque pants that tuck into her boots, and her flak jacket.

[Oooh, boots. Love. Also, I wouldn’t consider the plated gloves to be her form of identification. She should still need her headband.]

Jonin: The only real change to her outfit is that her cargo-esque pants now have red stitching. This is her answer to Anko’s needling that she “needs more color in her life”.

[Love me some Anko friendship.]

— Ninja information —

Current rank: Tokubetsu jounin [WHAT IS THE SPECIALTY, SYN. HEY.]

-Genin promotion: 10

-Chuunin promotion: 12

-Special jounin promotion: 16

-Jounin promotion: 23

Team: Team Shun (affectionately Team Idiots); Shun Sarutobi, Izumo Kamizuki, Kotetsu Hagane. [YES I LOVE ME SOME IZUMO AND KOTETSU YAS.]

Kekkei Genkai: none

Chakra nature: Earth, Water

Ninjustsu range: midrange

Defensive/Offensive type: A little of both, but more so offensive.

Dominant hand: left

Weapons: senbon and ninja wire are her favorites [wink at Genma because senbon.]

— Summonings —

Species: Tanuki

Where the summoning contract comes from: Matsuyama Forest

Name: Shoukichi

Abilities: Tanuki make near zero sound when walking, as such they are fantastic at stealing things or causing general mischief. Tanuki also have the ability to henge into people or even inanimate objects. Shoukichi is especially bad about stealing things – food is his favorite target.

Mao gains this “light-footedness” as a Tanuki contractor.

Appearance: Shoukichi is a little larger than the average sized raccoon is, and has the signature tanuki fur pattern that leaves him with darkened eyes. His fur is colored with black, varying shades of grey, and white. When he’s contemplating something (often what to steal) his head tilts to the side and the tip of his tongue pokes out.

[Obviously I like the idea of a Tanuki since we talked about it in private and I’m pretty sure I helped you come to the conclusion that Tanuki’s are great as a summons? Gaining a trait from the summons is also cute. But can Shoukichi TALK???? The real question.]

— Abilities —

Strength: Chakra control, traps

Weakness: Hand-to-hand combat. [

Taijutsu: Excellent/Good/Average/Bad/Terrible

Ninjutsu: Excellent/Good/Average/Bad/Terrible

Chakra nature: Earth, Water

Earth Release Jutsu:

Coil of Earth

Headhunter

Mudshot

Mudslide

Water Release:

Kirigakure no Jutsu [protip; just call it hidden mist jutsu. You went for english names for everything except this. Continuity. Also a tiny bit odd that a Konoha shinobi uses this technique as it is a specialty of Kiri ninja. If you really want to use it, I’d suggest having some backstory and have Mao horribly beaten by a Kiri nin who used this jutsu, therefore giving her the determination to learn it herself. Some drawback should be established.]

Water Bullet

Water Prison

Water Dragon Bullet

Also knows Wind Release: Gale Palm [please tell me she incorporates senbon into this. ;)]

Genjutsu: Excellent/Good/Average/Bad/Terrible

Fighting style: Mao’s fighting style is fluid, focusing on dodging and defending more than attacking and preferably done in mid to long range rather than up close. She focuses mostly on ninjutsu, minor seals, and chakra string assisted weaponry. [Chakra strings? Who taught her that?]

— Personal traits —

Personality:

Mao is a subtle antagonist, as she likes to encourage all of the crazy and wild ideas that Anko comes up with, though Mao does on occasion actively participate in mischief. She is witty and often comes off as blasé, which sometimes causes problems to arise when she meets new people. And while she may seem blasé about things, Mao is fiercely protective of all of her friends and family and is quite kindhearted – though she tends to get embarrassed when caught out on said kindhearted, soft moments. [I knew she would be like this. Damn leo’s. Me likey though.]

Once she sets her mind on something it becomes her passion, which sometimes leaves her seeming as if she has a one-track mind. She finds humor the best medicine and cover to all of her more tumultuous emotions, and as humor is part of her default character it can take someone who knows her to tell when she’s just deflecting. [Yes! Character development!]

Likes: All types of food – she loves food more than anything, tending her small her garden, naps in the sun [She must love Akimichi food ;)]

-what she likes to do in her free time: Mao either fiddles around with her chakra strings or takes naps in odd but sunny places. She also likes to read novels.

Dislikes: The period of cooking where you can smell the food come together but can’t eat yet because it’s not done, when Anko or one of the boys cajole her into serious taijutsu practice, missions in rainy humid places because it turns her hair into a monster.

Habbits: When thinking hard about something she goes through the hand signs for the alphabet of standard sign language. When concentrating on a task (a puzzle, something to do with writing or reading) her tongue will poke out of her mouth a little bit. 

Fears: Losing everyone, and to a lesser extent being alone – it makes her progressively anxious.

Ambition: To see her kids (genin) grow up and to have a family of her own one day.

— Relationships —

Parents: Yuri Fujioka and Asada Fujioka

Sibling(s): None

Relative(s): Spinster aunt Junko Fujioka [I hope Junko is truly living up to the spinster title.]

Teammates/Ex-teammates: Izumo Kamizuki and Kotetsu Hagane

Friends: Kurenai Yuhi, Izumo and Kotetsu

Best friend(s): Anko Mitarashi, Ashi Inuzuka and Michi

Crush: Genma Shiranui, eventually (it’s a slow thing that happens over time) [SHIP IT LIKE FEDEX]

Rival: She doesn’t really have it in her to have one, not seriously. Anko might be the closest thing.

— Background & history —

Childhood:

Mao was mostly quiet and to herself; she didn’t go out of her way to speak to people so she often drifted around among groups in the Academy. It was a melancholic truth that she didn’t really have very many friends, and she claimed what she had was enough. Though what she had was a bunch of acquaintances and her childhood friend Ashi Inuzuka and his partner Michi, who were three years ahead of her.

But it was in the academy that Mao befriended Anko – or, rather, Anko injected herself into Mao’s life. When it happened the majority of their classmates were confused at the pairing, often asking how it happened. Mao’s answer?

“Skewers, dirt, and a declaration of undying love.”

How much of that was sarcasm Mao’s classmates didn’t know. (Mao would laugh about their confusion, because all she did was offer Anko a stick of dango after the plum haired girl’s got knocked into the dirt. And after she’d had knocked the person that had wronged her into the dirt.) And it was from this point on that Mao became the so-called “devil on Anko’s shoulder”, as she often enabled the plum haired girl’s wild schemes. [Evil little Leo child.]

Genin days:

The beginning of her genin days were rough, as her team didn’t mesh too well in the beginning. Kotetsu and Izumo often ended up leaving her out without meaning to, which caused a lot of tension. Eventually their sensei, Shun Sarutobi, kicked them to the wilds and made them talk. After that they became a fairly capable team that still had some bumps to smooth over. Izumo was often forced to be team mom as well, as Kotetsu and Mao fed off of each other and caused more problems than not, or just got too off-track. They graduated a few months after the Kannabi Bridge incident, so things were still somewhat stressful.

It was on their first C-Rank that Mao’s unsure outlook on her life went through a change. A few things went wrong and they all ended up hurt in one way or another, thanks to rogue shinobi and bandits still feeling empowered thanks to the previously ended war, and their sensei too was hurt as he did his best to protect them. He himself lost an eye in the conflict. It was a wake-up call and Mao, who had previously been unsure of what she was doing since being a shinobi was just something expected of her, started putting in more effort and time than she ever had to getting stronger. Because if there was one thing she knew, it was that she wanted to protect her friends. [I LOVE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENTTTTTTTTTTTTTT YES.]

Chuunin days:

Mao participated in the chuunin exams the same time Anko did, and the two actually ended up fighting in the final round. Anko came out the ultimate victor in their match, but both were promoted in the end along with Izumo and Kotetsu. Apparently a great showing of teamwork during the second phase of their exams, involving transporting an “important document” to Tanzaku Gai without losing it to the “enemies” provided by the chuunin and genin corps helped push forward the promotion of their entire team.

It was after their promotions that, somehow, all members of Team Shun slowly started drifting towards the Intelligence Division. They began running intelligence gathering missions under the guidance of the brand new tokubetsu jounin, Aoba. When not on missions or training together, Team Shun worked on finding their own niche within Intelligence, with Mao initially drifting over to Cryptology a few days a week. It was due to her interest in sealing that initially had her go that way, but after a short period she eventually just drifted back to being a general member of the Intelligence Division. [Sounds plausible. Cute idea for Chuunin exam btw. ;)]

The Kyuubi incident happened about a year after the quartet’s promotions, and Mao didn’t have much of a part in everything besides helping civilians to the shelters and away from the trouble after her initial shock.

The first breakdown Mao had after the initial scare of the mission gone wrong was when Orochimaru defected from Konoha and Anko went missing along with him. Mao nearly had a come apart, with Kotetsu and Izumo having to stop her from barging into the Hokage’s office, emotions blazing. They calmed her down enough that she wouldn’t just burst in anger and Mao practically demanded to be part of a search team, declaring that she knew Anko best.

The Cell she was part of weren’t the ones that found Anko, but they did run into the team that did. Mao stayed by the semi-unconscious and in pain girl the whole way back to Konoha, and once they got back as well. It was after this incident that Anko joined the former Team Shun in the Intelligence Division, quietly at first and then with a bang, much to the chagrin of many. Mao eventually became the one people called whenever Anko became too much for them, and Mao was both amused and a little exasperated by this. [Love this and I want to read this whole ordeal in story format please.]

Around the time Mao was fourteen, she decided to try for a summons. She did this with the guidance of her old sensei and Anko, who had already been long signed onto the Snake contract. Mao’s reverse summoning brought her to Matsuyama Forest where she eventually found her way through the foliage and creatures living there to the master of the forest – the Great Tanuki Chagama-sama. After agreeing to come back to Matsuyama once a year to help with the harvest of food during the peak of the season, Chagama-sama allowed Mao to sign the contract. [What a cute little way to pay back to the Tanuki, oh my goodness, I want to read an omake about her helping harvest please.]

Tokubetsu Jounin/Jounin days:

Once both girls turned sixteen, Mao and Anko (who the Fujiokas had taken in after the Incident) moved into a cheap apartment together after becoming tokubetsu jounin. The only rules? For Anko to keep her mess confined to her room, and for her to never attempt cooking on her own. It was also at this point in time that the two joined the Torture and Interrogation subdivision of the Intelligence Division.

Mao, with the assistance of Anko, annoyed Ibiki into teaching Mao more about the sealing arts. In turn for this Mao was to assist Ibiki whenever he wanted Anko the hell away from him. Mao also eventually became somewhat of a gopher among the Intelligence Division, often being the link between Ibiki and Inoichi when they couldn’t meet with each other. [again in love with these little ideas because uhm yes Inoichi and Ibiki not liking each other???]

It was when Mao was eighteen when she first met Genma Shiranui, and that incident was all thanks to Shoukichi. The tanuki found Genma one day and snatched something of his, which eventually led Genma to Mao. He seemed really surprised when she pulled out her “box of wonders” before pulling his missing item from the pile. [YES A LITTLE EXCERPT? YES.]

(“…I think your friend might have some problems.” He jokingly eyed the creature as it scampered off, probably to snatch something else. “Might need to use some of those employee perks for therapy.”

“Sure. I’ll talk to Inoichi-senpai about some therapy-no-jutsu.” Mao clasped her hands together prettily. “Would you like to be there to voice your concerns and lend your support?”

The senbon in his mouth quirked up as he smirked. “Of course, just give me the time and date, Tanuki-chan.”) [hnnnnnnnnnnnngggggg I need more.]

Later Shoukichi manages to snatch Genma’s lunch, leading the man to come strolling up once again, amused after the initial irritation wore off. Upon hearing the problem she mentioned he must have good taste, and that she owed him a meal, which he did end up taking her up on if only because he was hungry and it meant he didn’t have to pay. Though it became of bit of a normal occurrence, as Shoukichi’s favorite target for theft ended up being the same tokubetsu jounin. It was after a year of these lunches that Mao officially started crushing on the older shinobi – or perhaps that was when she finally realized it, seeing as she never offered to buy anyone else lunch after Shoukichi stole it.

When Mao is twenty-one, she takes that first step into actually making those developing feelings apparent, though it’s not quite of her own free will. Anko drags her, Izumo, Kotetsu, and a few of their coworkers out to celebrate their birthdays and Mao gets more than a little drunk. She ends up kissing Genma, though she wakes up thinking it was some alcohol induced dream. Though it’s at this point Genma starts hanging around a little more – trying to puzzle her out. And months later when it’s his birthday, later that night he kisses her –

“It’s only fair, right? You kissed me for your birthday, so I get to kiss you for mine.”

To this day he reminisces on how utterly red she turned on that day.

But, after that they begin an odd sort of teasing and flirting game that eventually evolves into the same sort of supposedly secret relationship Asuma and Kurenai had by the time Mao is twenty-four and Naruto has graduated from the academy. By this time, Mao is also a full-fledged jounin, having taken the jump the same time as Kurenai. [UHM SECRET RELATIONSHIP YES? CUTE? I SHIP IT LIKE FEDEX?]

During Pain’s attack on the village she’s a key fighter in the battle against one of the Paths. Ultimately, she ends up dead and then resurrected by Nagato - though one of her ninjutsu manages to tear the arm off of the Path that she is fighting before getting killed. [Oooh. Does she have a dramatic death? ;)]

Time skip/Shippuuden:

Mao ends up getting a genin team foisted off on her during the time skip, much to her bewilderment. She’s fairly certain it happened one night when her and Tsunade and a few others got a little too drunk – she figures it was partly Shizune’s revenge for said incident. Said team is composed of Heiwa Inuzuka – the nephew of Ashi – Kaede Yuhi, and an orphan boy named Noboru. And, much to Mao’s amusement, Noburu is supposedly Konohamaru’s rival. She uses this as an excuse to heckle Ebisu, much to his absolute dismay. [You involve so many characters who aren’t completely main and I love it? Teasing Ebisu is great and also like a rivalry about who is the better teacher is also awesome?????? I love this?]

During the time skip Mao and Genma end up getting an apartment together, which Anko still likes to complain about and tease her for all the same. Mao proceeds to pester Kurenai about her and Asuma, which the red-eyed woman takes with a grin. [Wait wait wait when did they become exclusive to all? I need answers and a description of the reactions from friends?]

By the time the chuunin exams Shikamaru was put in charge of roll around it’s been a year since Mao had her team, so she punts them towards the Hokage building without a second thought. [DID THEYSortDO GOOD???? DID THEY MAKE MAMA MAO PROUD?]

War Arc:

Haven’t finished hashing this out completely, so barebones:

The final med screenings before going off to fight find Mao pregnant.

She panics, because she’s not ready and there’s a war

Genma is also panicked, but also relieved as that means she won’t end up on the battlefield.

She spends her free time chatting with Kurenai and cooing over Mirai, as well as heckling Karin to pass the time and keep herself distracted.

Her dream under the genjutsu is getting married to Genma, and having a home constantly visited by her friends and family.

Eventually gives birth to a little boy named Nobu.

They get married some time before Nobu turns three, and Mao ends up pregnant again.

A little girl named Ritsu.

[Sorta cliche to find out she is pregnant before the battle but hey that’s shinobi life for you. And SHE DOESN’T FIGHT IN THE WAR? WHAT. NOPE I DON’T LIKE THIS IDEA ANYMORE I NEED HER FIGHTING AND KICKING ASS. YOU MADE HER SOUND SO AWESOME AND THEN BOOM ANTI-CLIMACTIC END WITH THE WAR AND NOT FIGHTING IN IT? NO SIR-E-BOB. I mean how far along is she pregnant? If she’s under 3 months, I’m pretty sure she can fight? Like if you don’t fight, you may die anyways, so why not fight? Shinobi life? Ninja way? Let’s G-O-O-O-O-O-O-O!]

Epilogue/Chapter 700+:

Genma and Mao are living together happily with their two children, and Nobu’s crush on Mirai provides both of them great amusement. Mao still works in the T&I department, mostly handling paperwork and heckling the newbies. 

[Super relaxed epilogue is super relaxed because everyone who lives to the epilogue of Naruto deserves some damn peace and quiet.]

All in all; I lo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ove Mao and I need her story pronto. I really don’t see many flaws with her character. Yeah, the ending was mediocre to me with the war. And yeah why does she know how to use the Hidden Mist Technique if she is a Konoha ninja? And maybe the chakra thread too but hey it’s not that big of a deal.

Final score: 9.7/10. I’m rooting for Mao. I love the small details and after going through it all, it didn’t seem like that long of a submission? But hahahaha it is. Me likey. I want more and want a story written.

Love, Dom.

[ecotone99]

[SP] The Masquerade

Note: This is a stand-alone vignette set in the same universe as a long-form story I'm working on, The Heplion Contingency, which is in a cyberpunk/space opera setting where psychic powers take the place of technology. This story (and others) can also be found in Wattpad and in my writing blog.

Three Towers Inn. The Abyri-style pub’s name was as generic as they came, but Maya didn’t mind. There was something comforting about its lazy stereotyping. You know what to expect from this place, it seemed to suggest, and that familiarity was precious when settling into a new town. Especially when one has something to hide… which Maya did. Being constantly on guard was stressful, so any occasion to under-analyze was welcome.

She opened the door, stepped inside, and sighed deeply. The muggy air inside, lined with the smell of wood paneling, filled her lungs as the buzz of idle conversation washed over her, interspersed with the lull of some folk-pop on the phonograph. Welp, time to start it all over again, she thought as she briefly scanned the place – phony-vintage décor all around, furnishing that leaned more toward cozy than chic, and a remarkably diverse-looking crowd, a lot of it non-human. Since there’s nobody I know who can show me the ropes around here, this looks like as good a place as any to start from scratch.

She slowly walked toward the bar, eyeing a couple ladies who seemed more or less promising. No rush, she thought. Better take it slow, not blow it on my first day here. She rapped the counter thrice for luck – once for the Father, once for the Mother, once for the Elder – and hailed the bartender. “Beer,” she called out.

“New in the area?” the Halachian bartender, a hulking figure with a slanting forehead and large teeth, asked as he brought her drink.

“Yeah, just moved in.” Maya took a sip. “Aaah. Good stuff.”

The bartender smiled. “Huxtaber. Not many people know it, but if you ask me, nothing beats it.”

“You know how to make a girl happy.” She raised the glass in a toast and took a swig.

“You looking to make friends? ‘Cause you’ve got a candidate,” he said, pointing with his chin.

Maya sighed. Here come the creeps, she thought, and slowly turned around to see who he was indicating. To her glad surprise, it was a young, light-skinned woman, leaned against the wall by the pool table, who was intently eyeing her with a smirk.

Am I really this lucky? Maya thought. It was just a random bar, not the local scene; she expected a lot of fruitless nights before she found someone like her. Well, she wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth. She smiled at the girl for a second and turned back toward the bar, with trained discretion.

“Hello there,” the lady said a short while later, sitting beside Maya. Her playful tone indicated she really was in the right track. “Love seeing a new face around here.”

Maya smirked. “Yeah, I’m new in town. Fresh off the portal today, in fact. Say, you having anything?”

“Same as yours sounds good.” She kept her intense eyes fixed on Maya’s. “So, where are you from?”

“One of these for her,” Maya said to the bartender. “Oh, and Abyron. Lived there my whole life, in fact.”

“Wow, really? This place must look so corny for you! I actually feel bad for you, seeing your culture butchered like this.”

Maya laughed. “Nah, it’s fine. I like it, really. Abyri pubs are the same all around the galaxy, y’know? So even the phoniness feels really familiar.”

The girl picked up her beer. “I see. And I guess we’re pretty used to phoniness in our daily lives, huh?” She stared deeply into Maya as she took a swig.

“You know it, girl. Can’t put the mask down.” She held the other woman’s gaze for a while, drinking in the moment. “Oh. I’m Maya.”

“Anji.” They exchanged two brief kisses in the cheek. “My pleasure.”

“Why, hello there, Anji.” She laid her head on her hand, elbow on the counter. “Gotta say, I’m really glad to have found you. Thought it’d take me forever to run across someone like us in here.”

Anji laughed. “Yeah, I know what that’s like. Took me a couple months to find the local scene when I rolled into town, myself. Can you imagine, all that time alone?”

“Wow, months? And I thought Abyron was hard… Aren’t there a lot of us here?”

“There are, but you know how it is. It’s not like we advertise ourselves. It’s a big city, and without anyone to introduce you, takes a while to find the others.”

Maya held Anji’s hand, smiling. “Seems I was really lucky to find you, then.”

Anji smiled back. “You were. And yeah, I decided to take a chance. Maybe it’s because of how it was for me, but when I saw you giving off signs, I thought I wouldn’t wait around for confirmation.”

“Really glad you did, girl. Sticking your neck out like that, coming on to someone you’re not sure is up for it. Thanks… really.”

“So…” Anji took another pull of her beer. “You ready to meet the rest?”

“Really?” Maya was fine with just enjoying Anji… but, on the other hand, she could really use the feeling of community right then. “You’re introducing me to the local scene? I’ve heard it’s wild!”

“You have no idea.” She had a wicked look. “Hey, there’s a club where we can be ourselves.” She leaned in and whispered. “I mean, really be ourselves… or whoever we want. No masks… unless you want them, that is.”

“Wow… I mean, I’ve heard about places like that, but never thought I’d go to one!” She laughed. “You must be thinking it’s really backward where I’m coming from, and I’d say you’re about right…”

“I’m talking total freedom,” Anji whispered. “Let your imagination run wild, y’know?”

“I don’t know…” Maya’s smile betrayed her excitement. “I mean, I’d love to meet our local fellows, but I’ve never let myself just… go like that, y’know?”

“Come on… wouldn’t you like to just be yourself? I know it can be scary, but I promise you, once you’ve tried it, you’ll be glad you did.”

“Ah, what the hell!” She got her wallet out to pay for their beers. “You only live once, right?”

“That’s the spirit! Come on, let’s ditch this place.”

A couple minutes later, they were in a cab, rolling toward the harbor district. Maya didn’t quite catch the address – not that it would’ve done her a whole lot of good if she had, with how unfamiliar she was with the city. The recklessness of what she was doing made her heart race… and she liked it. Well, being in the back of a cab with a hot girl was appealing, too – but Maya realized the uncertainty, the whole danger of going to a seedy part of town in the middle of the night with someone she just knew, thrilled her as well.

Anji remained silent throughout the trip. She stole glances at Maya once in a while, a mischievous smile on her face, as if she could barely contain an exciting secret. Maya, for her part, would rather throw herself at Anji right then and there, the cab’s conductor be damned – however, feeling in uncertain footing, she thought it best to leave the initiative to the other girl. I’ve gotten this far, she pondered. Don’t have an opportunity like this every day… better not blow it by being too thirsty.

At last, after what seemed like an interminable ride, they arrived at a small alley tucked between warehouses, entirely too quiet at this hour of the night for comfort. “Don’t worry,” Anji said, apparently sensing Maya’s apprehension. “The area’s safer than it looks. We make sure of that.”

“O…kay.” Maya wasn’t sure if that last part made her feel more or less secure, but she was in too deep to start wondering now. “Lead the way, then!”

The pair left the cab and made their way to a discreet iron door at the edge of one of the warehouses. A large man, wearing a cheap suit and a grim face, stood beside it with crossed arms. As they approached, he followed them with a distrustful gaze, in silence.

“Hey there, Ashkon!” Anji said, with a chipper smile. “It’s me, Anji!”

The man’s face opened up. “Oh, hi, Anji! Looking good today, huh?”

“Thanks! I’ve found this lost sheep that I’m bringing back to our herd.” She tugged at Maya’s arm.

“Uh, hi there!” Maya waved. “I’m Maya.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Ashkon said. He produced a set of keys, unlocked the door with a loud clang, and opened it for them. “Please, come in.”

“I’ve never seen a nightclub this… discreet,” Maya said, as she followed her partner into a narrow corridor and down a couple flights of stairs.

“What can I say?” Anji shrugged. “It’s exclusive. Just us. Gotta make sure of that, right?”

“I suppose so…” This has better be really good, Maya thought.

At the bottom of the stairs, another burly man guarded a heavy door. “Anji”, the mysterious girl said. “And this is Maya. She’s one of us.”

The man nodded, and then unlocked and opened the door without saying a word. “Jambie’s quiet, but he’s really sweet,” Anji whispered.

Some light piano music wafted out of the door, together with a quiet, subdued buzz of conversation. As the pair stepped inside, Maya was struck by an astonishing scene, whose visual extravagance poorly matched the tinny sounds that preceded it.

A wild menagerie of creatures, vaguely humanoid in shape but highly varied in every other aspect, was scattered across the tables of a finely appointed dining hall. A purple-skinned, green-haired woman was talking to a large, upright-walking cat and a shifting blob of oozing orange flesh nearby. At a buffet counter to the side, a being with a serpent’s head and bright, multicolored feathers all over their body patiently waited for their turn, while what looked like a short, wide man made of moss-covered rock availed himself of hors d’oeuvres. A wild bout of laughter came from a table, where a hyena-headed woman wildly gesticulated, cocktail cup in hand, while telling some story to a group of friends, one of them consisting of a collection of simple, blocky shapes in primary colors. A young woman who appeared to be made of ice sat silently across a large man, whose bulbous, bulging flesh constantly changed colors and textures. And, interspersed among the crowd, there were several creatures with the same appearance – humanoids with metallic, shimmering skin, broad arms and legs ending in three thick digits each, and completely smooth, featureless heads that jutted out from their torsos at a forward angle.

A rasping laughter came from Maya’s side. “C’mon, don’t just stand there gawking! Let’s mingle a bit.” She turned and saw the voice came from what looked like a rainbow-colored wolf person.

“W-what’s going on here?” Maya asked, nervous. “Who are you?”

“What? You don’t like it?” The wolf-person laughed again. “Oh, I see. That’s not how you met me. I’ll change back, if it makes you more comfortable.” The creature’s form shifted, its snout pulling back into its face, hair growing out on top of its head and being reabsorbed into the skin on the rest of the body, its size, proportions and color changing, until it settled in the form Maya had known as Anji. “I’ll still go back to that one tonight, though,” she said, wagging her finger. “Been meaning to try it out for a while.”

“Wha… aaaaahhhh!” Maya had so many questions at once that she couldn’t manage to formulate anything other than a primal scream.

“Lady?” One of the metallic-skinned creatures approached, gently touching Maya’s shoulder with its three knobby fingers. “Are you alright?” it said, with a voice like a coil being scraped across a lead pipe.

“Aaaah!” Maya recoiled from the creature. “NO! I am not alright!”

“Maya?” Anji said softly. “Calm down. It’s okay. We’re among friends here.”

“Get away from me!” Maya pushed her back. “Whatever you are, you all are not friends!”

“Is it because of all these true-forms in public? Hey, I know our conditioning runs deep, but you can relax now. Look, I’m going first.” She changed shape again, this time assuming the form of one of those metallic-skinned beings. “See?” it asked, with that strange metallic voice. “Why don’t you try it yourself?”

“Anji!” the other creature said sternly. “That’s not one of us. Why did you bring her here?”

“W-what are you people?” Maya asked.

“That can’t be right, I…” Anji paused for a moment, focusing intensely on Maya. “Shit, you’re right. Look at the mess in her head!”

“You’re in my head?!” Maya exclaimed.

“How the hell do you bring someone around without scanning them first?” the feathered snake yelled. Several creatures were approaching, forming a circle around Maya and Anji.

“I… I was so sure, it seemed so obvious…” Anji said, changing back into her familiar human form. Some of the beings closest to them shifted into large, intimidating forms. “What was all that business about ‘masks’ and ‘people like us’ you were going on about at the bar?”

Maya’s eyes welled up. “I… thought you were like me.”

“Like what?” Anji asked. “What is it you were trying to hide so carefully?”

Maya sobbed. “You know…” she strained out her words. “Homosexual.”

“What?!” the creature that had approached them earlier exclaimed. “Why the hell would anyone need to hide that?”

“Yeah, Maya, c’mon,” Anji said, a quizzical look on her face. “That doesn’t make any sense. You’re a lesbian, you go to a lesbian bar. Just look one up, there’s a bunch of them.”

“No…” Maya struggled among her tears. “You don’t know what it’s like back home… I couldn’t just announce that to anyone!”

“Tsk,” the hyena-headed woman clicked. “Those Union humans. So barbaric.”

“Wait…” Anji touched Maya’s arm, concerned. “You really went through all that trouble because you were afraid of the repercussions, if the wrong people found out you’re gay? Wow… that’s messed up.”

“Who gives a shit?” one of the creatures that had transformed into a large, hulking figure bellowed. “She’s not one of us, and she knows. You know what that means.” Other creatures started yelling in agreement.

“Wait, what?” Maya asked, suddenly snapped out of her anguish. “What does that mean?”

“Calm down, folks,” Anji pleaded. “She’s lost. She… was just trying to live out a lie. You all know damn well what that’s like, don’t you?”

“Of course we do,” the metallic creature said. “Still, she knows about our secret.”

“I won’t tell!” Maya blurted out. “I promise, I won’t! I wouldn’t even know what to tell in the first place!”

“Shh.” Anji hugged Maya. “Hush. Don’t worry.”

“I’m serious,” the strange being insisted. “You know how it is. I get that she’s like us on some level, but what difference does it make?”

“The difference,” Anji said, producing a knife from under her coat, “is that we make it painless.” She thrusted the weapon into Maya’s heart through her back, before the woman could realize what she meant.

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