#I’m dropping a lot of lore on y’all today huh

[inkstainedhandswithrings]

btw I don’t know if I ever mentioned this, but Terrans don’t carry blasters, they carry guns. Nevaeh doesn’t have a blaster that shoots laser. She shoots real ass bullets. They’re made of Terrinite, of course, so they can absolutely wreck a droid.

BUT!! if someone with a lightsaber tries to parry a bullet!! CANONCALLY!! it ends with lots of shrapnel to that persons face. Which the Mandolorians knew and which is why they used “slug throwers” (guns with bullets) in the Mando Jedi Wars.

And now what system is Terra allied with again?

[sternbagel]

Inspired by the wonderful OC lore that @charlotte-balfours-garden​ wrote and posted, I decided to finish this piece that’s been sitting in my drafts for months about my own RDR OC, visual references here!

Note: This takes place in canon, Chapter 3, and while everyone calls her Alberta Taylor at this point, it’s not her real name, just something she’s been going by for years because of something in her past. Professionally, she’s a bounty hunter, but has dabbled in other things. 

Read This First

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, at least the one thing today that hasn’t been surprising is Arthur finding Al has dragged a chair over to his tent to read, one leg propped up on the chest at the end of his cot. Sometimes she’ll set up there to get ample shade from the sun, and according to her, the chest is the perfect foot rest height. 

“Afternoon, Arthur,” she greets lazily as she turns the page.

“Miss Taylor. Comfortable?”

“Sure.” She cuts her eyes up at him from under the brim of her hat, seemingly just to give him a greeting glance and smile, but when she spots the shiny new accessory pinned to his vest, her head raises higher. “You steal that off a dead lawman or somethin’?”

And it begins, Arthur thinks with a snort. “No, Dutch—” he waves an arm in the direction he came from, though Dutch has long ago left that area—“got us ingratiated with the local sheriff, so now we’re honorary deputies.”

“Was Sheriff Gray drunk?” 

That’s surprising. They only met the sheriff yesterday, and he’s not sure the full story of their encounter has been relayed to the rest of camp, just the orders not to cause any trouble. “How’d you know his name?”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he realizes that most likely, it was Hosea. Those two are close. 

She answers with a cavalier shrug before he can say anything. “I’ve been here before. Once. Didn’t stay long.”

Arthur takes the bait she leaves out. “Why not?”

“Well, it’s Lemoyne. I don’t spend very long here if I can help it. But first time I got to Rhodes lookin’ for bounty posters, Sheriff Gray was puking in the bushes. Somehow he managed to get out that they do all the bounty hunting themselves. No reason to go back.”

“Well, that’s pretty much how I found him when I went lookin’ for Dutch and Bill.”

“Figures,” she laughs, shaking her head. “Not that I really care, but where is Bill? Didn’t see him come back with y’all. Still with the Sheriff, ingratiating himself?” She looks thoughtful for a moment. “I didn’t get that impression off him, but I wasn—”

Arthur holds up a hand and shakes his own head with a smirk. “No, no, the Grays around here don’t seem… his type. Matter of fact, I should probably warn Bill to just play it cool—“

“What, drunk, dumb, and ignorant ain’t Bill’s type? What about that guy we saw him chattin’ up at that saloon in Armadillo?”

“That ain’t what I mean,” he snorts.

“I know.” Al flashes a playful smirk. “I’m just messin’.”

“Well, anyway, no, he’s off hidin’ some wagon full o’ moonshine we stole off some bootleggers under the Sheriff’s orders. Hosea’ll know what to do with it.”

“Moonshine?” This seems to pique her interest, again to Arthur’s surprise. “You know who you stole it off of?”

“Yes…” Arthur’s eyebrows knit together. He slowly lumbers over to his table, laying down the deputy badge and watching her carefully. Al’s expression is calm, but it’s a thin enough veneer that he sees the curiosity building by the second. “What’s it to you?”

“Curious.”

“Yeah.”

The book in her lap finally closes. “I used to run with some moonshiners not too long ago.”

“Alberta Taylor. Well, I never took you for a bootlegger.”

She throws an arm over the back of her chair and lets her head fall back, exposing more of her neck. It’s then that Arthur notices she’s not wearing her usual green neckerchief. Or her green jacket. She must be really burning up to be in just her workshirt and jeans. “Not every professional bounty hunter is a staunch upholder of the law, Arthur Morgan,” she says matter-of-factly with a lift of her brow.

“I never said that. Didn’t mean it neither. I mean, look who you fell in with, I know better. I just ain’t seen you drink much moonshine.”

“Sure. Always been more of a beer and tequila woman.”

He plops down on his cot and lights a cigarette. “Then what you doin’ runnin’ with moonshiners?”

“Tell me who you stole the liquor off of first, cowboy.”

Arthur concedes. Al is stubborn. “The Braithwaites. And those fellers that run around here with those yellow bandanas. Sadie and I ran into ‘em a few days ago. Uh—”

“Lemoyne Raiders?” She sneers. “I’d hoped someone had snuffed ‘em out by now. Hijo de putas.”

He takes a long drag of the cigarette before answering. “Yeah, that’s them. You’ve had some run-ins with ‘em, huh?”

“Like I said, just the once. Three of them stopped me on my way into Rhodes. Brought ‘em into town, dead, which is when I met Sheriff Gray. They didn’t have any bounties on ‘em, so all I got outta one of his deputies was five dollars. I know they weren’t even worth that much, but he coulda paid me more,” she grumbles. Her light Cuban accent comes out more the lower her voice goes.

“Sounds about right. Least ya got paid somethin’.”

“I guess.” She picks at the spine of her book for a moment. “Wasn’t long after that I met a… moonshiner legend, so to say, through a mutual friend. Though friend seems to be pushing it.”

He gets the sense she’s not fully sour on the “friend,” so his shoulders shake in amusement. 

“He was a lot like Uncle, actually.”

“Lord.” Arthur snickers, smoke billowing out of his mouth. 

“Yeah. Not as lazy. Probably younger, but who knows.”

“I reckon Uncle ain’t as old as he wants folks to think. Besides just bein’ too lazy, it’s probably why he don’t trim his beard.”

Al laughs, rougher than usual until she coughs and clears it up. “Damn humidity.”

“Tell me about it,” Arthur agrees, leaning forward and propping one elbow up on his knee. “So, this… moonshiner legend.”

“Ever heard the name Maggie Fike?”

The name isn’t familiar, but it isn’t unfamiliar either. “Don’t think so,” he settles on. 

“Well, she’s been mostly out this way rather than out where y’all been running around. Revenue Agents caught up to her a couple years back, tried burning her alive. Didn’t work, but gave her a nasty scar and bad eye. Almost puts Marston to shame. Almost,” she adds with a grin as he walks between Arthur and Strauss’ tents.

“Take a look in the mirror, Miss Taylor,” he grumbles back. Then he chucks a cigarette butt at a chuckling Arthur. “You too, Morgan.”

John disappears around the side of the tent as Arthur brushes off the butt. “Cranky cause he ain’t had his midday nap.”

“Pick better material.”

Al chuckles and presses the palm of her hand on her hat, affixing it more securely to her head. “Anyway…”

“Anyway…” Arthur sighs lightly. “You said she survived?”

“Yeah, went into hiding for a while. Somehow got a hold of my ‘friend’, who then asked me for help gettin’ her business back on its feet. Easy work at first. Finding a good location for the shack, gettin’ her some supplies, that stuff.” She waves a hand around. “Most folks don’t pay much mind to a bounty hunter buyin’ supplies in bulk like I was or destroying illegal stills. Sometimes I brought in the other moonshiners to the local town to collect on a bounty. Made for a better cover for what I was really doing.”

“Takin’ out the competition.” Arthur chuckles. 

“Exactly. Then came—”

“What the hell are you two talkin’ about anyway?”

Al puts her hand back on her hat before tipping her head back, almost touching the back of the chair, and looks at John, upside down. Arthur leans forward more to get his own look and the rangy outlaw, who’s circled back around to the other side of his wagon. 

“And what the hell is that?” John asks. He’s looking directly at the badge on Arthur’s table, disgust etched into his features. As if it’s some rotting, maggot infested carcass Arthur’s using for decoration.

Arthur sighs and briefly explains again.

“So this is just another excuse for you to play dress-up, eh? Guess I need to tell Hosea you’re itchin’ to go scammin’ with him again.”

“You do that, it’ll be your pecker in the stew pot next meal.”

Al’s crossed her arms over her chest and is watching them with barely contained amusement. “Playing dress-up? I don’t think I’ve seen that side of you yet, Arthur.”

“And you won’t,” he growls. “Only reason Hosea takes me on those jobs is because he knows I hate it. Just once I’d like him to take Marston instead.”

“You sure about that?” Al studies John as if she’s a talent agent in the big city. “Doesn’t he like to avoid mayhem on those jobs?”

John snorts indignantly. “Yeah, well, I’d like to see you try and follow Hosea’s lead. I swear even he don’t know what he’s doin’ half the time.”

“But it works.” Her eyebrows raise pointedly. 

“But it works,” John concedes. 

“Well, next time you go, let me know. I’d love to watch y’all work.”

“Whatever,” John grumbles as he waves her off and saunters away. Apparently he’s given up on butting into their conversation.

“I ain’t pullin’ that type of job with Hosea again. What we had set up in Blackwater, sure, but not...” Arthur wags a finger in the air, then unfurls the rest of his fingers and waves his hand once before letting it fall back in his lap. “Not that. The girls and Trelawny are much better’n me anyway. Safer that way.”

Al shrugs. “I won’t argue that.”

“So, back to what you was sayin’?” Arthur’s not willing to let the moonshiner story drop. It’s not often she lets down her walls and tells stories of her past that don’t directly involve some bounty she’s nabbed. He knows what happened to her family, but that had been a moment he wasn’t meant to see, and neither of them have ever brought it up again.

“So after we get a shack set up, she gets word of where this old buddy of hers is, go rescue him so he can make our moonshine. Not long after that, her nephew’s gettin’ moved from Sisika, so I go rescue him.”

Arthur pulls the cigarette from his lips and folds his arms across his chest, leaning back against the wagon. “Just you against a bunch of lawmen?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Morgan,” she drawls, lolling her head to the side.

“Suppose I shouldn’t be,” he chuckles.

“No, actually, I had a couple friends with me, cashed in on some favors. I’m not stupid or reckless enough to take on an armed prison transport.”

Arthur just shrugs. “Woulda believed you either way.”

“You’re too trusting,” she remarks. There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, but her eyes sparkle with something else. 

“Perhaps you’re right.”

“Well, we bring them back to the shack, get the business up and running. Enact some revenge on a rival of hers in the meantime, I get to kill the agent who tried to burn her. Spent about a year with them. I didn’t do a lot of the actual running of moonshine, one of those friends who helped me break out Maggie’s nephew, Lem, did most of that. I focused on taking out the competition, clearing out Revenue Agent roadblocks when we were sure we couldn’t sneak past them. The real dirty work. But I didn’t mind, kept me moving, out of the government’s crosshairs enough that I could keep killin’ those damn agents.”

Arthur cocks his head curiously. But she isn’t done talking, so he lets her continue, holding onto his question for now.

“Couple months before I ran into y’all, I told them I’d have to leave. I’d spent so much time in this area, couldn’t… Needed to get out and go back out west. See some old friends, see some open country. They reckoned they’d be fine without me, but threw them the name of another friend I knew’d be able to help them, pick up my slack.”

“So… you think they’re still runnin’ that shine?”

“No reason not to. Never heard anything about her being captured. Got a letter from them while I was in Blackwater, actually. They’re doin’ well.” She gives a fond, reminiscent smile. “That friend is working with Maggie now, too. Dunno how she stands him, but…”

“Good. Since we’re over this way, you plannin’ on seein’ ‘em?”

“They’re north, Roanoke Ridge territory. Might, if I feel safe leavin’ you fools by yourself for more than a week.”

Arthur chuckles and shakes his head. “I reckon we can survive without ya for that long.”

“With all the trouble you been causing lately? I don’t think so, Mr. Morgan.” Al fans herself with her book, smirking at Arthur pointedly.

“I actually got another question for ya,” he diverts.

“Shoot.”

“I been thinkin’ about this since you got here, but now, knowin’ how much you seem to hate the Revenue Agents, how come you’re a bounty hunter, takin’ payouts from the government, but runnin’ with a bunch’a outlaws? After a year of runnin’ shine, that is.”

A simple shrug is her reply, and the pause is so long Arthur isn’t sure she’ll actually give him an explanation, until, “You have your code, I have mine.”

“Huh,” he grunts. They watch each other casually for a long moment, then he asks, “You gonna explain?”

He can see her weigh her options, and eventually she relents. “You know…” Her expression immediately tells him what she means: her past, what happened to her. 

“Yeah,” he offers quietly.

“Well, nobody’s born a seasoned gunslinger. When I first started bounty hunting, I had to take the easier targets. Most big pay days, or the jobs that are good start for those of us that’re green, they’re people who rob banks with a pen, rich people doing rich people crimes. They’re soft, easy, and all it really takes to catch them is knowing the land better and being tougher than city folk. Which ain’t hard at all. So, until I could stand on my own, those were the only kinds I took. Then I started goin’ after the bastards I really wanted to. People like the Johnson Brothers.”

She nearly spits the name. Arthur feels the sting in her soul.

“I never take those soft bounties anymore,” she continues after a deep breath, seeming more like herself again with every word. “Unless I need a break. But it’s been a while since I have.”

“Been a while since you took a bounty at all.”

She must notice the question in his voice. Not judgement, but question. “No. You’ve been kicking up too much fuss. Wouldn’t be smart for me to be seen around town here more than once or twice.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. While it is mostly true, it’s about all he’s going to get out of her, but he knows the real reason why. Even if she won’t admit it to herself. “Got me there, Al.”

“Not hard to do, Arthur.”

[fallen029]

Untitled

I’ve sat on this since the summer. Y’all think we should finish it? Or scrap it? 

.

He proposed to her in the most beautiful fashion.

A trip, just the two of them, out to the coast. With sunshine glinting off the water as they overlooked the ocean from the balcony of the little cottage he rented for the week. Over dinner, during their glasses of wine, with a knowing look in his typically dark eyes, but they were just as alight as her own that early evening. And of course, there was a diamond ring to top off the event, with the slayer bowing to her, the only woman, only person he ever would.

It was perfect. Everything Mirajane could have ever wanted. It took place during the middle of their trip though so it was hard, she found, to stay away from her siblings and friends awaiting the good news back home. She chastised Lisanna and Lucy both for keeping it from her, as they both had assisted Laxus in picking out the ring, but they each laughed and it was so perfect.

They’d be married in the Magnolia Cathedral, in front of all their family and friends, and it would be the event of the year, no doubt, not only for their guild, but the higher ones as well, and it would take a lot of planning, a lot of work, but Mirajane couldn’t wait.

But…

There was still something that they needed to do first.

“I want to meet your mother.”

Laxus snorted some, when Mirajane brought this up over breakfast one morning. He was glancing over the paper while sipping at his coffee, mostly trying to plot out what he was planning on doing with his next week entirely free. There were no new S-Class jobs, but the Thunder Legion were still out on their lower level one, and that meant, to him, that he was going to be able to do whatever he wanted for the next few days.

Until, of course, his woman spoke.

“Can’t,” he replied simply. “She’s dead.”

“She is not.”

“Is so.”

“Laxus-”

“What are you on about anyways?” he griped as she came to drop a plate of food in front of him. Piled high with eggs, hash browns, and greasy sausage, the sigh of the plate was enough to get the man to immediately drop his newspaper. Stealing a glance over at where his girlfriend was fixing her own plate, he kept up, “What’s up with you and my mother?”

“You mean my future mother-in-law?”

“Mira-”

“I know she’s not really dead,” she told him bluntly. “That you just tell people that.”

“How do you know? Huh? That you’re not really dragging up some deep childhood trauma for me? And aren’t being really insensitive right now?”

“Because I went to Master.”

“Why did you talk to that old geezer,” he griped, “about my life? Huh? Where do you get off?”

“Uh, I get off at my fiance sending checks to another woman every few months,” she told him bluntly as, returning to the table, she only raised an eyebrow at him. “Would you rather I have called off the engagement when I noticed you writing the letter? Or asked Master who Elise Dreyar is?”

“How are those my only two op- And hey.” He glared this time. “How did you even find the checks, huh? Or letters?”

“Laxus, come on.” She gave him a look of her own. “You know I’m going to snoop through your things. Without a doubt. Don’t play dumb.”

“You’re tricky.”

“And you’re avoiding the question?”

“What’s the question?”

“Why,” she insisted then, “have you been hiding the fact your mother is alive from me?”

And…

It wasn’t an easy thing to talk about.

At all.

People who’d been in the hall for decades probably didn’t even know the full story. Not really. It was just as well assumed that Laxus’ mother, whoever she was, had passed away at some point during his childhood and left him without the demented Ivan and the very busy Makarov to raise him. It was such an easy story to recount, such a common troupe for the numerous kids who’d been raised in the hall, that it needed no questioning.

Would would you even question?

The allusive Makarov? Or the agitated Laxus?

It was a topic that seemed to be buried and done with and very few people wished to dig further.

But Mirajane was hardly just anyone. She was the soon-to-be bride of the guild’s most cantankerous slayer and there was a lot of ceremony, she felt, to be had in being inducted into the Dreyar clan. They had a rich history in the Fairy Tail guild and while she had more than made a mark for herself under her maiden name, the idea of now being forever entwined with the guild’s first family gave her a further cementing into the hall’s lore.

If she was going to become the future Mrs. Dreyar, then she didn’t see how it was outlandish to request access to the former.

The woman had the dragon by his tail anyways and, at her request, gave in with only a tad bit of griping. She wanted to meet his mother? Was she completely sure? Absolutely sure? Because he wasn’t going to write her saying they were coming if Mira was only going to chicken out.

But she was no coward. And though she had some hesitance over the fact she was potentially leading Laxus into an unfavorable situation that he wasn’t prepared for, she also also steadfast in needing this for her own confirmation. One last piece of the puzzle of the Dreyar family before she knew, with absolute certainty, that she was meant to be one of it’s members.

She expected the worse.

Considering Ivan’s known insanity, she imagined the woman was much the same. Perhaps locked away in one of those dreadful asylums. Or, oh, what if she was a terrible recluse? Living out in the woods somewhere, all alone? Maybe a wicked old woman, living in her ivory tower on the edge of the continent, scowling and smiting anyone who got near?

Mira’s many thoughts and fears were proven all for not as, when they boarded the train, it was headed to a small town a few hours away that, from all she knew of it, was just a cozy little beach town. Unremarkable.

She didn’t know why she was so disappointed, but she truly was.

Laxus, equal parts his motion sickness and not really wanting to make the journey, spent the time white-knuckling and trying not to barf. His soon-to-be wife was very concerned with him, as she usually was in such situations, but he was still rather pissed about the whole thing and didn’t pretend for once as if her measures were doing anything to aid him.

She was the one causing him pain this time.

And he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise for her own benefit.

The man had refused to give her any true info on what they were going to be presented with, once they got to his mother’s place. He claimed that, if she wanted to go, she’d have to see it all firsthand. And while Mirajane knew he was doing this as one last fail safe, she found she liked it better that way.

Whoever Elise Dreyar was, it was only right that she got her chance to tell her side of the story, before the man raised by Ivan and Makarov got a chance to interject.  

Laxus wasn’t completely certain on the directions, when they got off at the train station. While Mira remarked on how nice it must be, his mother living in such a bustling city, he only retorted that he’d only been a few times.

“:When I was younger,” he went on as he looked over some directions he’d scrawled on a piece of a paper. “And c’mon. Left up here.”

His mother actually lived on the outskirts of town, in a tiny little yellow house. The grass was a bit overgrown and Laxus grumbled about it, just a bit, as they walked up the porch steps to the door. Knocking his knuckles against the white door, Laxus was still annoyed, it seemed, when a middle-aged woman opened up.

“I give you enough money to get your grass cut,” Laxus complained with a glare, “and you don’t use it? And look at your bushes- Someone needs to trim them. If you’re not going to do it-”

“Laxus,” Mirajane remarked with a frown and a glare up at the man. “What is your-”

“Fuck off.” The woman who opened the door stood there with a glare, her eyes the same auburn shade as the man before her. “The boy who comes around to do it’s sick, huh? Is that what you wanna hear?”

“I wanna hear,” Laxus retorted, “that you didn’t spend it all on booze.”

“Laxus!” Mirajane tapped his arm then, but he only continued to glare at his mother, the woman snorting then and turning to walk off further into the house.

“Come in then, I guess,” the woman griped and there was a bit of a roughness to her voice, raspy-ness, maybe. As Laxus did so, Mirajane hesitated for a moment, finally doing as the slayer had hoped; second guessing herself.

Still, she came forward, walking into the home expecting the worse. But she was greeted to it. Just quaint, maybe a bit dusty and cluttered home that she could imagine just about any single person living in. There was an overflowing ashtray though, a cigarette still smoldering in it, and as she went to retrieve it, Laxus only snorted at their surroundings.

“Clean for my arrival, Mom?” he questioned, but the woman only rolled her eyes, running one hand through her stringy blonde hair while the other plucked the cig right back out of her mouth.

“Gonna introduce me to your woman?” she asked instead, glancing Mirajane over now. In response, the barmaid stood to attention, giving the older woman the best smile she had. It was the one that landed her the slayer, after all (and nearly every other man she wanted), but her fiance’s mother only seemed to look right through it.

“Mom,” Laxus finally grumbled, “this is Mirajane. Mira, this is my mother.”

“Hi!” Mirajane bounced some, standing at the man’s side with her shining blue eyes at their maximum pop. “It’s so nice to-”

“That’s what I am, huh?” the woman cut her off. “Laxus? Your mother?”

“Fuck, you better be,” he complained then. “All the jewels I’ve sent you-”

“That is the second time,” she kept up, “that you’ve brought that up today. I never asked you to keep sending me money, Laxus. I asked you, once, to help me out-”

“How would you pay for your bills?” he retorted with a huff of breath through his nose. “If I didn’t? You don’t work-”

“I have,” she cut him off, “a bad hip.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

“I do.” And it was to Mirajane that she looked now. “His father pushed me down a flight of-”

“Don’t bring Ivan,” Laxus growled then, “into this. That nearly thirty years ago.”

“And I’m still hurting from it, so what does that tell you?”

“Um,” Mirajane finally spoke up, reaching a hand over to pat gently now at the arm of her seething slayer. “I think maybe we should all just take a breath. Okay? I’m really glad to meet you. Laxus… Well, he hasn’t really had a chance to tell me much about you, but-”

“That’s because of his grandfather,” the woman offered with ease and Laxus huffed, but didn’t rebuke this.

“Master?” Mirajane questioned with a bit of a frown. “You think that Master doesn’t like you?”

“Master.” And she mocked it, the woman did, as the word left her mouth. “So you’re one of them, are you? A Fairy Tail member?”

“An S-Class one,” Mira kept up. “Yes.”

“You’re speaking to the Demon Mirajane,” Laxus said then, glancing down at his fiancee before back at his mother. “I’m sure you’ve heard of her.”

“Can’t say I have,” his mother remarked, crossing an arm over her chest as she tapped her foot, as if thinking. At Laxus’ snort though, she added, with a hint of sincerity, “I don’t keep up much with wizards these days. Not really my thing.”

“W-Well, I really don’t go out on jobs that often anymore, anyways,” Mirajane assured the woman. “I actually work in the bar.”

“The bar?”

“In the hall. Master gave me a job there, serving the drinks after… After I had an accident, out on a job.” Mira looked off then, still a tangled mess, deep down, over the early days surrounding that transition. Blinking away the thoughts, she said, “It was many years ago though, now.”

“Yeah.” She paused to take a draw then, Elise did, before remarking, “Makarov really has a way of helping out young women. And girls. Doesn’t he?”

“Mom.” Laxus was the one that took steps then, towards her, and when he reached out, it was to rest his palms on her shoulders. “Let’s just take a seat, alright? You can… Mira wants to hear. From you. About whatever you want to tell her. So let’s just do that and then we can go back to normal, okay? How things have always been.”

How things had been.

She nodded at that, turning away from him before gesturing towards the couch and loveseat.

“Make yourselves comfortable, I guess,” she said then. “Don’t got a lot, but-”

“It’s very nice,” Mirajane insisted to her as she went to take a seat on the couch, the slayer having to take a deep breath before following suit. “How long have you lived here?”

“Oh, what’s it been, Laxus?” Elise perched herself in a nearby recliner where, on a side table, another ashtray sat. Stabbing out her smoke in it, she questioned, “Not twenty years, yet, has it? Since your grandfather ran me out of Magnolia?”

And he swallowed it, this time, whatever he was going to say, instead sitting back in his seat and staring straight ahead. Mirajane, after glancing at the man, leaned forwards, eyes on the woman in question.

“I’ve never had a problem with Master,” she told the woman simply. “He’s only ever taken care of me and everyone I know. And the guildhall. What-”

“Makavor’s an old man. Was then too, I guess,” she sighed, thoughtfully, before shaking her head. “But now he’s a weaker one. A remorseful one, maybe. Wouldn’t surprise me. Laxus says the same things about him. Don’t you, Laxus?”

Focused completely in a painting then, across the room, Laxus imagined himself there. In the little row boat encapsulated forever there, on a quiet pond, with a surrounding still forest. How nice it seemed, then, to the typical active man, to just be sitting somewhere quiet, somewhere scenic and implying solitude. It had been a bit, since he craved something so fully.

“Gramps took care of me,” he told her simply. “While you and Ivan couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t.” She made that same kind of snorting noise as her soon, looking away as well as she say, “Your grandfather wouldn’t let me.”

“I don’t understand,” Mirajane said with a frown. “What happened? I mean, I know that Ivan-”

“You don’t know,” the other woman assured her, “Ivan.”

“But I do. I mean, I haven’t met him, but-”

“Ivan is a terrible person,” Elise began and though this was hardly up for debate, Laxus still found himself huffing and shifting uncomfortably. “And his father spent years, literal years, defending him and protecting him from the consequences of his actions.”

Mirajane, who’d never seen the man have anything, but contempt for his only son, frowned some as she sat back. Slowly, she asked, “When were you and Ivan together? And for how long?”

“I met him when I was young. And stupid. And thought that mages were all the rave. They were.” She waved her hand. “Ivan and I were together, off and on, for five or six years before we had Laxus.” She paused then, but her tone was different now and, as it was her tone to shift, she only shook her head. “Things were always hard, because it is hard, for a wizard. On them and their family. But with Ivan… He wasn’t always so bad. But when he was bad… And then Makarov, when I finally, truly, decided to get away from him, he decided that I wasn’t fit-”

“So you’re not going to tell her?” Laxus questioned then, eyes finding his mother once more as, clearly, he wouldn’t be able to hold his tongue. “About how youw ere sleeping around? And you fucking left, Ivan, fine, but you left me too and told Makarov you weren’t coming back.”

“I did,” she told him harshly, “come back. And you have no idea what Ivan-”