#Jim Yip | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vanoincidence · 1 year ago

Text

Pot Meet Kettle || Van & Emilio

TIMING: current. LOCATION: worm row, emilio's apartment. PARTIES: @mortemoppetere & @vanoincidence SUMMARY: van does NOT break into emilio's apartment. CONTENT WARNINGS: implied self harm as a form of anxiety relief.

Maybe it was a little dumb, showing up at his apartment unannounced. Really, she wanted nothing to do with the guy, but with the constant back and forth online, she had to admit she was interested to know why he was so bulliable. Maybe Nora had broken him in, or maybe he just didn’t care. It was probably the latter. The only reason she even knew where he lived in the first was because of when she’d gone home with Wynne. But Van was going to make it his problem now. When it came to a select few adults, her social anxiety was nonexistent. Granted, visiting the apartments to insist on being gifted slim jims wasn’t the only reason she had swung by. Seeing Wynne would have been nice, too.

The door was ajar when she arrived, and maybe something in her should have told her to turn around, but Emilio was typically sloppy, so she figured this was the norm. Little did she know, she was kind of right. “Emilio?” She pushed the door open with the palm of her hand, peering inside. Instead of a full grown man, she saw a dog whose tail was wagging back and forth. “Hello.” She half-expected it to pounce, to bite, or to start barking, but it didn’t. It sat there kind of stupidly. She wondered if this was how she looked sometimes. “Hi.” She looked around the apartment, confused as to why he wasn’t coming out. “Did he die? I bet he died.” That was a sad thought, but maybe he had succumbed to the slim jim gods. “What’s your name?” She asked the dog, crouching down by the door, sticking her hand out for Perro to sniff as he trotted over.

—

Jeff had wandered into his apartment again. Ranting and raving, going on about how someone had moved all his furniture around. Normally, Emilio would have just tossed the guy into the hall and shut the door, but he’d been feeling generous that morning. He’d scooped his neighbor up off the floor and practically dragged him across the hall to his own apartment, accepting the smacks the man delivered against his chest and the rampant screaming his ears with a quiet, “Yeah, yeah,” as he opened the door to the other apartment with one hand. It was unlocked; Emilio wasn’t sure if that lock was as broken as his own or if Jeff just never knew where his keys were to lock it. Both options seemed plausible. His own apartment door was left ajar as he dragged Jeff into his actual living room, kicking his neighbor’s door shut behind him.

It took a few moments to get Jeff settled on the sofa; Emilio held his remote in front of his face. “Do you know what this is?”

“Mind control,” Jeff mumbled. Emilio sighed.

“Sure,” he agreed. He pointed the remote at the TV, switching on some sitcom with an irritating laugh track. Good. Served the guy right. “Stay here. Watch this. Don’t come to my apartment anymore. Dog bites, remember?”

Jeff mumbled something else, but Emilio was no longer listening. He ducked out of the apartment and went back across the hall, shoving his way into his own apartment with a sigh…

…only to stop at the sight of a figure crouching in the floor with Perro.

Immediately, Emilio went for a knife. His hand gripped the handle, though he didn’t remove the weapon from his pocket. The figure shifted, and he caught sight of an unfortunately familiar face. “The hell are you doing in here?” He demanded. Perro, having caught sight of his owner returning, yipped and scampered over to him, unbalanced on his three legs. Emilio crouched to scoop him up. “Why do you know where I live?”

—

Van jumped as Emilio’s voice rang from behind her. She lost her balance and slumped to the side, pushing against the wall opposite of where Emilio now stood. “You scared me. You shouldn’t creep up on people like that.” The confidence she wore was thin, but the ache of exhaustion and desperation buried deep into the core of who she was at this point. It was easier to pretend to be somebody else; somebody who showed up at others�� homes just to annoy them. Emilio seemed like an easy target for that, because if something were to happen, she could always tattle to Nora and she was sure her friend would put him in his place.

“You live by Wynne.” Van motioned to the hallway by jutting her chin out in a vague direction before getting to her feet. “I know Wynne. I came here to say hi to Wynne.” Not really a lie. “But then I remembered you live here, too.” She grinned at him before her gaze wandered back to the dog that he held in his arms. “Your dog is metal. Three legs. Could probably outrun me. Super cool.” What was she even saying? “Hey, you got any leftover slim jims I can grab?” She needed to leave. She needed to sleep. But she needed to keep busy.

If she wasn’t busy, then the thoughts came. She’d make somebody else frustrated with her, let them yell, force herself to believe she deserved it (even though in this case, she probably did). Emilio was the right person to go about this with. She already bullied him relentlessly online. “I see you grew your hands back. It must have been really hard, being a worm.”

—

“You are in my apartment,” Emilio pointed out, raising a brow. “I don’t think it counts as creeping up on you if you broke in.” She looked different than she had the last time he’d seen her, he noted. More tired, more uncertain. It was definitely a far cry from the show she put up online, the one where she was loud and brash and confident. He suspected this version of her was a little closer to the truth, felt a pang of something in his chest at the thought of it. He shouldn’t give a shit. He shouldn’t give anything resembling a shit. She was annoying, she was always bothering him, she didn’t know when to let something go.

But she was a kid.

She was a kid, and she looked a little lost in his apartment like this. It was hard for Emilio to hold on to any anger with kids, especially when she mentioned Wynne’s name. “Didn’t realize you knew them,” he commented. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Small town. Why did you come to my apartment?” He glanced down at Perro in his arms, stroking the dog absently. “His name is Perro. He likes you.” The last part was said with a hint of suspicion. Perro didn’t like people unless there was a little something extra about them. The kid wasn’t undead, and she didn’t seem weird enough to be fae. A shifter, maybe? Certainly not a hunter. “I don’t know. Check the cabinet.”

There was something familiar, he realized, about the way she was moving. Like she was walking through syrup, like it was hard to get her limbs to cooperate. Tired, he realized. The kid was tired. Bags under her eyes to rival the ones Emilio himself tended to support, voice thick with sleep. Normally, he’d chalk the weird shit she was saying up to exhaustion, too, but… he was pretty sure that part was just who the kid was. “Yeah, sure. Real struggle. Are you done?”

—

“The door was open. There was a dog inside. What was I supposed to do?” Really, the only reason she even remembered where Emilio lived was because of the stains on the carpet outside and the makeshift Axis Investigations sign that was on a piece of paper. Even if the paper looked like it had ripped at some point between the time she’d come around with Wynne and now. Van looked at the dog as it squirmed in Emilio’s grip, but looking otherwise content. She had taken him for more of a bird person. Who would have thought.

“I do. They’re really nice.” Nicer than Van deserved, probably. Especially now. She wondered what they’d think of her if they knew the truth about her. Would they be scared? Nora hadn’t been, but that was Nora. Nora was the bravest person Van had ever met. “Because the door was broken, plus your sign ripped. Figured you would want to know.” She crossed her arms over her chest and blinked away the exhaustion as her vision began to blur slightly. She needed another red bull. She’d have to get one after she left Emilio. “Perro.” Van knew enough Spanish to know that Emilio had named his dog dog. Not totally surprising. “Of course he’d like me, I’m a delight.” The joke fell flat and she looked over her shoulder towards the cabinets that Emilio mentioned.

It felt wrong to go through his things, even if there’d been an invitation to do so. Then again, she had kind of broken into his apartment. She pursed her lips and dug her fingers into her forearms. “Done with what? Joking about you being a worm? Did you like the picture I made?” Van wanted some semblance of normalcy, and arguing with the town snitch (or who she assumed was the town snitch given the PI title) would maybe be the best way to do that, she realized. If he didn’t know about what had happened with Debbie now, would he ever? Nora hadn’t told him, and Van wasn’t sure if Cass, Ren, or even Thea knew the guy. She hoped they’d be safe from him snooping around. “But to answer your question, yes, I guess I am.”

—

“So you walk into any house with a dog inside?” Arguing with Van always felt like arguing with a brick wall. Nothing he said ever seemed to make it through that thick skull of hers. Every statement he offered was met with a prepared retort, like she was waiting for it. A less stubborn man — or a smarter one — probably would have given up trying. But Emilio would rather argue with a literal brick wall for hours than admit he was wrong once, and it tended to show pretty well in situations like this one. He was pretty sure that, this time at least, he was right, anyway. Walking into someone’s apartment without being invited seemed like the kind of thing most people would take offense to.

He might have been angrier about it if she weren’t a kid, or if she weren’t friends with Wynne, Nora, and Ren, or if he had the energy to be angry about anything today. It didn’t look like he was the only one lacking in energy here, though; Van looked about as tired as Emilio felt, and that was saying something. “The door is always broken. And the sign is always ripped. I don’t need you to tell me that.” And he doubted that was why she’d come in. Van wasn’t here to be helpful; he might not know her well, but he knew her well enough to be very aware of that much. He waited for her to say something about the dog’s name, already on the defensive, but she let it drop. Said of course the dog would like her, because she didn’t know what it meant. “He doesn’t usually,” Emilio said, still suspicious. A werewolf, maybe? Gael was proof enough that someone could be one of those without knowing, and Van didn’t seem to act like someone who was aware of the supernatural.

She looked into the kitchen but didn’t go there, and Emilio grumbled for a moment before limping that way. He set Perro down next to his food bowl, which he happily busied himself with, then began digging through the cabinets. Sure enough, there was a box of slim jims he’d barely touched, though it looked like Rhett had been into it. He pulled a few out of the box and, as an afterthought, started a pot of coffee before going back to Van and thrusting the snacks towards her. “Here.” She was annoying, but she was still a kid and he was still a father, even without anyone left to be a father to. It was hard to see a kid in piss poor shape without it swirling up old feelings. “You look like shit, you know.”

—

“Maybe I do. Maybe the dogs are begging me to take them home with me.” Realistically, Van hadn’t ever done anything like this. Except maybe in the seventh grade when she stole the pet rabbit from her classroom because she insisted the teacher wasn’t feeding it right. The rabbit had been returned to the classroom the next day and lived out a happy and normal life, as a rabbit would. But this wasn’t like seventh grade. This was an adult’s house who she had broken into. Or, apartment, if you wanted to get technical. She did feel a little bad, but the impulsivity that’d began to cloud her judgment, or lack thereof, was more welcome than the reality.

“You should get it fixed. The sign, too. How are people supposed to take you seriously?” Maybe Emilio didn’t care if he was taken seriously. For a really long time, all Van wanted was to be taken seriously. For people to see her as worth having around. But that wouldn’t ever happen. Even Emilio wanted her out of his hair, but she couldn’t really blame him there. She was purposely being annoying, tugging at loose strings just to see which arm she could get to raise up, or what foot to kick out. She was definitely Jerry in this situation, she realized. The poor bastard across from her was definitely Tom. Unfortunate. “You mean you have a mean dog?” She tilted her head to the side, looking from Emilio to Perro, unconvinced that the dog could hurt a fly. He looked really sweet. “I guess that’d fit for the mean dog, mean man trope.” She needed to stop referencing parts of television that only came through in fanfic.

Van watched silently as Emilio set the dog down. She had half a mind to ask him to come to her, but he was busy with eating. Yeah, let the little man eat. She’d pet him later, if Emilio didn’t laser beam her hands off with the glare he was wearing. Van’s gaze followed Emilio as he began to rifle through his cabinets. Why he was doing this for her, she had no idea. Maybe so she’d leave faster? Well, that only made her want to stay longer. The slim jims were in front of her now and she had half a mind to tell him that she hadn’t actually wanted them. She should be eating better things, but she knew she wouldn’t get that here. She took them from him, frowning at his insult. “We’re twins, you know? I think I knew you in a past life. We were twins then, too. We’ve always looked like shit, Emilio.” That had been pulled from a show she watched a few years ago, but she didn’t figure that he would get the reference. She peeled the slim jim’s rapper down and took a bite. “But if you have to know, I’ve been fighting demons. A new patch of Candy Crush opened up that has been totally taking my time.” She took another bite and blinked up at him, then looked over to Perro as he continued polishing off his food bowl. “He really doesn’t like people?” The question came out sort of quiet, as if she didn’t want the answer. It meant that yet another being could detest her.

—

Emilio stiffened a little, shooting her a suspicious glare. “Do not steal my dog.” He held Perro a little more protectively against his chest, as if he was afraid she might come at him right then and there to snatch the dog from his arms. A stupid fear, he knew; whatever she was, he was pretty sure he could still take her in an altercation if it came right down to it. And he was at least seventy-five percent sure she was joking, anyway. Van didn’t really strike him as the ‘pet’ type, no matter what his paranoia might tell him. (And his paranoia, as always, told him a whole lot. Most of it wasn’t quite true. It was hard to remember that sometimes.)

“I’ve gotten it fixed. Many times. It doesn’t stay that way.” It was a waste of money, really, fixing things in this apartment. Either Emilio rebroke things himself when he was drunk or angry or having one of his ‘there but not there’ episodes or some angry client did the job for him. He couldn’t count how many times his door had been kicked in by someone who felt ‘wronged’ by his work. And then there were the handful of undead who managed to track him back to his apartment, looking to fight him when they thought he might be ill-prepared. Put it all together, and you had a man with no real reason to bother fixing his lock. As for the sign… “I don’t want my landlord to know what I’m doing.” This operation wasn’t exactly legal. “He is not mean. He just doesn’t like people.” He scratched Perro behind the ear absently, and the dog’s tail wagged furiously behind him. “But I am mean. So you should stop trying to talk to me.”

The statement probably didn’t entirely match his actions, and the fact that she took the slim jims without any kind of hesitation probably served as proof of that. With his hands free now, he crossed his arms over his chest and eyed her, trying to determine… he wasn’t sure what. If she was okay? It wasn’t like Emilio cared about that. She was friends with Ren and Nora and Wynne, sure, but that didn’t mean he had to give a shit about her. Still, there was that stubborn ebb of concern at the bags under her eyes. He shoved it down with a scowl, rolling his eyes. “We are not twins. We’re not even the same age. And I didn’t have any past life. Also, I don’t look like shit. I look great.” He knew it wasn’t true. The bags under his eyes were probably just as bad as the ones under hers, if not worse. But it mattered less, didn’t it? It mattered less when it was him. “Demons?” He tried to determine if she was speaking metaphorically or not, hated that he had to wonder. Before Wynne, Teddy, and Levi, he’d assumed demons were a nonissue. Now, they seemed to be everywhere, in varying states of friendliness. But he doubted there was one named Candy Crush. Glancing to Perro, he shrugged. “Not usually,” he replied. “Took him a long time to warm up to Wynne. Seems to like you well enough, though.”

—

“Dude, don’t worry. Your dog is cool and all, but I like not having to go outside more than I have to.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Even though she’d probably be the last person that Emilio would ask to watch his dog, she had to admit she was a little inconvenienced by the thought that he might decide to let her take Perro afterall. Like that would ever happen.

She looked towards the door again, noticing the marks where the hinges met each other. “Uh huh.” She didn’t think he had actually tried to fix it. Van knew the type of man Emilio was, and that was only because of television. She had seen plenty of gruff men who pretended not to care about anything, but secretly care more than anyone else in the room. She knew nothing about him, or his background– knew only what he presented to her. He acted like a dad, but only a little. She had forgotten what having one around felt like. It was an absent, phantom thing– it burrowed itself deep into her most days, and being around somebody who would have been his age now? Or maybe Emilio was a little younger, she couldn’t tell with the dark circles under his eyes. Whatever. “You are mean, but the dog isn’t mean? Got it, got it.” She nodded firmly as if it put all the pieces of the puzzle into place. “Makes a lot of sense. Lucky for you, I don’t get offended easily.” That was a lie. But she had decided upon her first encounter with Emilio to not let him bother her.

“We are twins, and we could be, who are you to say? Plus you don’t know that, we don’t even remember them if they do exist.” What a terrible way to live, to remember everyone you had lost after years gone past. Then again, she was living those exact moments now, so what would the difference have been? “And we both look like shit. Twins, see?” She snapped off another bite of the slim jim, chewing thoughtfully as her eyes wandered around Emilio’s apartment. It smelled damp, and a little like whiskey. “Demons, yeah.” Van was confused, hadn’t Nora been teaching him how to not be old? Or did she point and laugh that he didn’t know anything at all. Probably the latter. “That’s… weird.” Wynne was great with animals. She had seen them with the rabbit, and with the cats that lived in their apartment. But she didn’t think any more of it, because she had no clue that she was in the presence of a supernatural sniffing dog. “But maybe it’s because I smell like pizza?” Not that she’d gone to her shift in a couple of days, but still. Luckily she had some days off saved up, even if she wasn’t getting paid for them. “I like him though, he’s cool.” She watched as he trotted from his bowl of food to Emilio’s feet, head tilted back. “He looks like he loves you too, so maybe I shouldn’t trust his judgment.” Before he could say anything, she dropped down into a crouched position, holding the slim jim far enough away from Perro as he turned around to address her. She extended her hand, scratching underneath his chin. “That was a joke, B-T-DUBS.”

—

He relaxed a little as she assured him she had no intention of stealing his dog. He had no reason not to believe her. She did seem like the kind of kid who’d want to avoid going outside as much as she could, after all. And… she probably didn’t have much desire for something she wasn’t able to take care of. Emilio was the only sort of person who yearned for that.

Her eyes went to the door, and she didn’t seem to believe him but Emilio couldn’t bring himself to care. What did it matter if she thought he wasn’t trying to fix his door? The door would stay broken either way, because it always did. You could fix something a thousand times, but you couldn’t stop someone from kicking it until it shattered all over again. And wasn’t it pointless, after a while? Wasn’t it a waste of time to fix something just so someone could break it again? Emilio had no concept of mythology, no familiarity with it, but he had no desire to make himself into Sisyphus, to slave over the same menial and pointless task each morning only to have it mean nothing by evening’s end. “Yes. The dog is just scared.” By less than he used to be, but still more than he should have been.

“We are not twins. I’m older than you. By a lot. And I know I didn’t have a past life.” He disliked the idea of it, the concept that he’d lived before this and would live after it as well. For a man who wasn’t quite sure he wanted to live at all, the idea of doing it over and over again was its own kind of Hell. “No. You look like shit. I am very handsome.” He dug his proverbial heels in, decided that this was the hill he’d die on. Emilio was very good, as it turned out, at dying on hills. He did it just about every day. “Sure,” he said. “Could be.” Except Wynne brought food right to his door, and Perro still took ages to warm up to them. He only ever liked someone right away if there was something nonhuman about them. Either not human at all, or human with something extra, like hunters. Never someone like Van who, until now, he’d thought was a normal kid. “He is cool.” He glanced down as Perro came to sit at his feet, huffing a quiet laugh. “Yeah, he’s got shit judgment. You’re right about that.” Perro turned to look at Van, tail wagging as she scratched under his chin. “If you have to say something is a joke, maybe you are bad at jokes.” As if Emilio didn’t suck at them, too.

—

“Who said anything about ages? It could be a soul thing.” The idea of being soulmates with Emilio, no matter how mystical and platonic, made her cringe. Gross. Van rolled her eyes at his insistence that they were not the same. He was right, but Van was all for continuing to poke fun at him for the sake of just doing so. “Fine. I do look like shit.” Because she did. She would admit it at any given point on any given day. She thrived on self-deprecation. “At least one of us twins has confidence. Why did it have to go to you?” She shot him a half-hearted glare before turning her attention back to Perro.

At least they could agree on something. That the little dog with three legs and an ever-moving tail was cool. Van had wanted a dog when she was younger, but her mom had said that she was just like one, and that she didn’t to take care of two. Turns out she hadn’t needed to for much longer. Her grandma had said the same, though, so really who was it that had won that argument? Now, she was thankful. Most days, she couldn’t even muster the energy to brush her hair. Always her teeth, though. Always.

“No, I’m good at jokes. I just had to tell you it was one because you probably thought I was being serious.” Van got to her feet as Perro trotted over to a cushion beside the couch. She snapped off another piece of her slim jim, watching Emilio carefully. Even from where she stood he was a little blurry. Maybe it wasn’t exhaustion, maybe she needed glasses. With a sigh, she folded the empty wrapper into her pocket. It’d probably come out in the wash days later after she found the energy to do it at all. “What kind of jokes do you like anyway? Or are you always like, serious?” Her tone deepened on serious, but she continued watching him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

—

“There is no soul thing.” Though he knew souls existed, Levi had made it seem as if they were just… there. Not quite as big as the priests he’d grown up around made it seem, not quite as all-encompassing as he’d been led to believe. Certainly not assigning people ‘twins’ in the form of annoying kids who tried to eat black sludge in the woods and broke into your apartment with bags under their eyes. “I deserve to be confident,” he replied, dry as ever. That wasn’t something he believed. When it came to what he deserved, Emilio knew the bottom of the barrel was a little too good for him.

Perro seemed content with the company, tail wagging lazily as Van looked at him. He wasn’t much of a guard dog but, then, Emilio supposed that had never been in the cards. With his small stature and three legs, the dog wasn’t going to be scaring much of anyone away. Still, he’d done his best to defend Emilio during the encounter with the mare, and that stood for something. He was a good dog. He was also probably the only thing that got Emilio out of bed most days.

Snorting, Emilio rolled his eyes. “I’ve never found any of your jokes funny.” It was a lie, though he wouldn’t admit to it. He did find it entertaining to see Van fuck with people online, sometimes, the same way he enjoyed it when Nora did it. “I like funny jokes,” he replied, watching as she tucked the wrapper away. He wondered if he ought to get her another one. “I’m serious when I want to be.” Which was never when he was supposed to be. “Do you want coffee? I do not have a clean mug. You can drink out of the pot.” That was what he usually did.

—

“Why can’t there be?” Because if there wasn’t, then who did she plead to? It wasn’t like she believed in any sort of God, but her grandmother had– in her own way. Had spoken to the sky like there was somebody listening. Van wasn’t sure she believed in that kind of thing, but she liked the idea of there being more, even if it scared her a little. Even if it had everything to do with wanting to know that Diana hadn’t been trapped forever. That she had ascended, somehow; became something else, something better than the corpse Van had made of her. At his comment about deserving to be confident, she simply rolled her eyes.

Van scrunched her nose, pairing it with another eye roll. “I’m hysterical, and you’re rude.” It was bold of her to call him rude considering she’d been the one to break into his apartment, but it wasn’t like she was about to start apologizing now. “I am funny, and I make funny jokes, Emilio.” Only sometimes, she wanted to add. If she wasn’t trying to be funny, then who even was she? It was kind of nice, Van decided, to not fall into her own desperation like she had been doing with her friends. Emilio didn’t care about her, and she didn’t mind. She liked it better that way, anyway. Because he didn’t tell her to eat good food, only yelled at her for trying to eat the bad kind. He didn’t try to pretend to be somebody who had left her life a long time ago. “Coffee? Why would you offer me coffee when you’ve got like, cake mugs?” She wondered if he even knew what that was. “You know, when you make a cake in a mug…” Van looked behind him, wondering how a slim jim would taste with coffee. Maybe it’d be good. “Only if I can drink the whole pot.”

—

“Because there isn’t.” He didn’t believe it, even as he said it. Emilio’s relationship with God was a complex one. He didn’t want to believe in religion anymore, wanted to cast the crutch far from his body like a hot coal burning his hands, but such things were so much easier said than done. Religion clung to him like wet clothing, sticking to his skin and weighing him down. Even now, telling Van there was no ‘soul thing’ despite knowing it wasn’t true in some throwaway argument to win their latest bickering match, there was a bitterness on his tongue.

Raising a brow, Emilio looked her over for a moment, as if assessing. “I am allowed to be rude in my own apartment.” He figured he held a trump card here, considering the fact that she’d kind of broken in. “I have never seen you be funny. Don’t you think you should show me sometime? All the jokes I’ve seen you make are bad.” He wasn’t sure what he was trying to do here. Cheer her up? Distract her? Whatever it was, he didn’t think he was doing a very good job at it. There were probably ways to make someone feel better that didn’t involve making fun of them. “Cake… mugs?” His brow furrowed, confusion clear. “Cake won’t fit in a mug.” Did she mean a cupcake, maybe? Emilio knew about those. “Sure. Take the whole pot. I don’t want to drink after you. You look like you have rabies.” Which he knew wasn’t transmitted through sharing drinks… but he also knew it’d offend her. He thought that might be funny.

—

Van rolled her eyes, deciding that arguing with Emilio about something as arbitrary over whether or not there were souls was getting too far from the point. Because that hadn’t been the point. It’d been about telling him that he looked as much like shit as she did, and because of that, they were twins. Maybe she would surprise him with a matching t-shirt later. Thing one and thing two, like the weird Disney adults wore when they went on trips together. He’d probably burn it. She’d have to get extras, she decided.

“You’re rude like, everywhere. It’s not just here.” Rude here, rude online, rude out in the woods– which, Van still wasn’t sure why a man had been trying to sell cheese there, but that was beside the point, and not a topic she wanted to bring up again out of fear that Emilio would yell at her again. And he continued displaying that fact like a petulant child. She placed her hands on her hips, half-wondering if this was even worth it at this point. If she should steal Perro and run away. He looked old. He probably wouldn’t be able to keep up with her. “Your life is a joke, dude. That means mine is, too. Because we’re twins. Duh.” She rolled her eyes at him. She felt like a kid again, arguing with her stupid geometry teacher who hadn’t taken the time to explain a problem to her and instead sent her to the office after she started to question his teaching methods.

“It’s mug cake, not full cake, so that way it can fit into a mug.” It was surprising to her that a man who looked like he ate garbage full time (just like her) hadn’t tried a mug cake. Sure, she’d watched copious amounts of five-minute recipes and that’s where she had learned about them, but did that matter? No! It didn’t! At the mention of her possibly having rabies, she snorted. “If anyone has rabies in this room, it’s you. Or like, tinnitus.” She didn’t correct herself, because she didn’t know it was different from tetanus. “But bring it on, old man. Give me the bean juice.” Maybe he’d yell at her about how it wasn’t juice. That could start another spiral. How many more things could she make Emilio angry about now? She was a little tired, and maybe overstaying her welcome, but he had been the one to offer coffee in the first place.

—

“Maybe I’m only rude to annoying people.” He could make the argument that, when he spoke to her online, he was still doing so from the comfort of his apartment… but he had a feeling she’d bring up their first encounter in the woods. Which was stupid, really, because he’d saved her ass. If not for him, who knew what might have happened when she ate that damn sludge. It seemed to vary from person to person, with the least fortunate turning into the sludge itself, but Van didn’t believe a word out of his mouth when it came to shit like that. It was part of why, before seeing Perro’s reaction to her, he’d assumed she was very human.

But he was rethinking that now.

It wasn’t a perfect litmus test, Perro’s little sniffer. He still got it wrong sometimes, decided someone supernatural wasn’t so great after all, or decided he liked a human. The dog had a mind all his own, but nine times out of ten? Perro knew when someone was packing a little something extra. And he seemed to think Van was. Emilio was inclined to believe him on that. He’d been right about Ren, right about Alan, right about everyone else they’d come into contact with so far. Why wouldn’t he be right about this, too?

“Why would you want to put a cake in a mug?” None of this made any sense. What would you drink your coffee out of if your mugs were full of cake? He was pretty sure Van was either confused or making shit up just to fuck with him, though he couldn’t quite decide which option was the truth. Knowing this kid, he was pretty sure it could go either way. “I don’t know. You look pretty rabid.” He rolled his eyes, limping back to the kitchen and grabbing the fresh pot of coffee. He shifted it in his grip as he held it towards her so that she could grab it by the handle and avoid burning herself. “Here. It’s hot. You gonna tell me why you actually came into my apartment? Gotta be more than just the door being open. You need something?”

—

“And maybe I’m only annoying to rude and annoying people.” It was a miracle that Van hadn’t stuck her tongue out like some petulant child to back up her point. She thought about her grandmother for a moment and the way that the older woman had begged her to act her age, especially in public. That didn’t matter anymore. Just like the knives she’d been told not to play with, the warnings and calls for obedience had walked out the door with her grandmother.

Van was too self-involved to really notice the way that Emilio was studying her, like there was something wrong with her. If she would have caught on, she would have agreed. Instead, her eyes continued to wander around his apartment. It seemed like it was sort of falling apart, but she couldn’t really judge him for that. The state of her house was… unsavory, to say the least. It was a miracle that somebody hadn’t called on her about the grass being too high. When her grandma had left, all maintenance had ceased.

“It’s like, a college thing. When you only have a microwave. It’s good, I swear.” Van wasn’t sure explaining it any further would enlighten Emilio, but she made a point to tuck the knowledge away. Maybe she would send him a subscription box of mug cakes. He’d probably be annoyed by it which would be a win in her book! “What, should I hiss or something?” She watched him as he moved towards the kitchen. She noticed the limp, too. She thought about asking if he’d hurt himself, but would he even tell her? Instead, she took it from him wordlessly, giving him a small nod. It smelled like the stuff she had at home. Just regular brew, nothing fancy. She liked diner coffee. “I don’t need anything. The door was open, I’m being so serious right now.” She looked over her shoulder to the now closed door. “Why would I need anything from you?” A distraction, Van thought. That was what she had needed, and he had provided. He was an old man with a bad knee who didn’t know enough was enough when it came to arguing with her. It was better than a video game. No weird, traumatizing cutscenes.

—

“I am not annoying. You are thinking of yourself.” He was arguing with a kid, and he knew it wasn’t a fight he’d win. Van was stubborn. She’d keep poking and prodding until he got frustrated and gave up, because this wasn’t the kind of ‘fight’ Emilio excelled at. Maybe with an adult, he could manage it — he and Teddy had participated in enough verbal sparring matches to make a mark — but a kid? He didn’t stand much of a chance, and he knew it.

That was all right, though. He wasn’t particularly interested in the bickering. Instead, he was focused on the way she looked like she might fall over any moment, like she was seconds away from passing out on his floor. She was looking at his apartment as he was looking at her, probably coming to the same conclusion everyone else did between these four walls — that Emilio was barely hanging on. That was all right. He could tell that she wasn’t hanging on very well, either.

“But I have more than a microwave.” Not that he ever used his oven. The most action it had gotten since Emilio moved in was when Teddy used it to cook Gabagool’s lamb. Still, if he were going to make a cake, wouldn’t the oven be his first instinct? “Sure. Start hissing.” She probably would. Van was a weird kid, odd in ways that didn’t entirely make sense to him. His eyes went to Perro again, tail wagging absently as he looked at Van. Maybe the ways in which she was odd would make more sense if he had more information. But how could he find out without pushing? Did he want to know? It felt like a burden, sometimes, knowing things. It felt heavier than he knew what to do with. She took the coffee and he watched her, glancing towards the closed door. “Do you walk into every apartment you walk by if the door is open? You should probably stop doing that.” Especially if she wasn’t human. What if he were a ranger or a warden, whichever was able to detect whatever it was she happened to be? What if he were the kind of person who’d stab someone just for being in the wrong place? She barely knew anything about him. Why did she feel safe enough to walk in his door without flinching? “I don’t know.”

—

“But it’s about the time it takes.” Van paused, eyebrows furrowing. “Or doesn’t take, I guess. I don’t know. I’m not a scientist.” She didn’t know how a microwave could cook an egg in a couple of seconds when it felt like she was standing over a stovetop for hours. She figured that down the line, it’d probably just be better to show him what she was talking about than to keep bringing it up without any reference. Knowing him, he’d like them, just like he did the slim jims. It was his loss on the yoohoos.

When he told her to start hissing, she nearly spilled the pot of coffee. She grabbed it, wincing as the heat licked her fingers, but shook the pain away by pressing her fingers against the back of her ear– something her mom had always done. She wasn’t sure why she still did it. Van shook her head instead of starting to do what he had asked of her, even though she knew he hadn’t meant it. “Not right now. The throat is on cool down. Did too much car karaoke.” More like board karaoke, but she didn’t feel like explaining why she was carless right now.

At his question, she shrugged. “What if I said I did?” It wasn’t that she didn’t. Van had a weird habit of wandering into places she didn’t necessarily belong in. When she was a kid, her grandma had to practically force her out of somebody’s birthday party just because they had a bouncy house. Then again, that made a little more sense. “Yeah, I don’t know either.” She took a sip of the coffee, the liquid scalding the roof of her mouth. Ow. She flinched slightly, but kept drinking, ignoring the way it hurt the back of her throat. She wasn’t sure why she was chugging it now, but she couldn’t stop. She’d say it was to assert dominance, if Emilio asked. Really, it provided something she needed; reprieve from the jumbled thoughts in her head. “This was a good talk.” She should probably go. She looked around the apartment, then to Perro. “Can I buy him a toy? I don’t– I wasn’t allowed to have pets, so can I buy him one? Not his own pet, but a toy.” She could focus on something normal like a dog. Even if that same dog was supposedly not a fan of people, but had been of her. Maybe she wasn’t all bad, or maybe the dog had shit intuition.

—

Emilio had never made a mug cake before, but to be fair… he’d never actually made a traditional cake, either. He had no concept of how long either would take. Things did seem to take less time in the microwave, but who was he to say if the same could be said for a cake? Either way, though, he didn’t think it was something worth arguing with Van about. If he kept at it, she’d figure out he’d never done a lot of things, and she’d be annoying about it. He’d like to avoid her being annoying.

She seemed surprised at his ‘suggestion,’ spilling some of that hot coffee on her hand. Emilio raised a brow, looking down to where the liquid had dripped onto the dirty carpet as if he cared about that, as if the stain was even visible among all the other stains down there. “All right. Sure.” It’d probably freak Perro out if she started hissing, anyway… though he’d be more at ease if Perro were freaked out by her. The dog’s calmness set Emilio on edge, in spite of the fact that his views on the supernatural had shifted since Mexico.

“Then you should probably start picking out your favorite holding cell at the police station. Not everyone is nice like me. A gringa would have called the police on you.” There was no chance of Emilio calling them, of course, and even if there were, he doubted they’d respond. WRPD didn’t tend to waste their time responding to every little call from Worm Row. If they did, they’d probably never have time to do anything else. He raised a brow as she began swiftly draining the coffee pot, but didn’t comment. If she wanted to burn her mouth on it, that was fine. He wouldn’t stop her. “Sure,” he agreed. “Good talk.” He thought she’d leave then, but she didn’t. Instead, she looked back to Perro. His expression softened at her question. He understood her, to an extent. He’d never been allowed pets growing up, either, but he’d also never understood that they were a thing enough to want one. Still, he could admit that having Perro around… helped. In its own kind of way. “Yeah,” he told her with a nod. “Yeah, you can buy him a toy. He likes the ones that squeak.” And maybe the dog would help her, too. He was good at that. “Just do me a favor. When you come over to bring it to him… wait for me to answer the door before you come inside.”

#para: pot meet kettle #para: emilio #self harm tw #wickedswriting #//self harm is not actual self harm but it was put there 2 be safe

5 notes · View notes

daggerzine · 1 year ago

Text

The Baseball Project- Grand Salami Time! (Omnivore)

I really enjoyed this supergroups first two LP’s, but missed their third one that came out nearly a decade ago. Having said that, on LP #4 they really knock it out of the park (think of Reggie’s towering shot in the ‘71 All-star game in Detroit). If you don’t know the band is led by vocalist/guitarist Steve Wynn (Dream Syndicate) and his wife Linda Pitmon on drums. Along with 2/5ths of REM in Peter Buck on guitar and Mike Mills on bass and you’ve got another guitarist in Young Fresh Fellows/Minus 5’s Scott McCaughey on another guitar.

The songs are all all baseball themed and this is just a straight up fun, catchy rock and roll record that hard to not enjoy (unless you’re the scroogiest of Scrooges). No surprise that the songwriting is marvelous and there’s hooks galore.

The opening title track is rousing round tripper while “The Yips” has a bit more bite and “Screwball” (Charlie Hough?! ok it’s not about him but you do remember his screwball, right??) tells a story as only Uncle Steve can. “64 and 64” is a nice tribute to Jim Bouton while “The Voice of Baseball” is about the golden voice himself, Vin Scully. Also, don’t miss the slightly somber but terrific “Journeyman” or the noisier “Disco Demolition” (about that fateful night at Comiskey Park when disco records were destroyed).

You can easily tell that these folks truly enjoy writing songs and playing together and well, that they happen to be very good songs is icing on the cake for any music/baseball fan and let’s give credit to Mitch Easter who did a fantastic job at his Fidelitorium Studio!

Ok, it’s time to say it......play ball!

www.omnivorerecordings.com

3 notes · View notes

outoftheirdifferences · 2 years ago

Note

☯ + the scene where Angel gets accepted into Scamp’s home!

Send me '☯ + a scene from my characters canon' and I will drabble it from my character's POV.

And... there it was. Watching Scamp reunite with his family... his sisters running to greet him, his mother nuzzling him so lovingly, his humans hugging him and fawning over him... though Angel lingered at the gateway, knowing better than to intrude where she wasn't wanted, it warmed her heart to see. The love rolling from all of them was such a very tangible thing, and for a few moments she simply basked in it, her own tail swaying gently.

This was her dream, forever unreachable to her... but she didn't begrudge Scamp a moment of it. Her boy, her friend... just seeing how very loved he was, was enough for her.

He'd made the right choice. He was home.

And she couldn't have been prouder of him.

And yet... now, it slowly started to dawn on Angel that... this was probably it for them. Her job, her mission - self-imposed though it had been - was done.

She was happy, so happy for Scamp... but she ached for herself.

(Under the cut for EXTREME length!)

Having burned her bridges with the junkyard gang, she had nothing to go back to. She had no regrets, of course; she was free of Buster, free to be herself, and felt more at ease with that self than she had in a long time. But still...

She couldn't keep the corners of her mouth from curling down as she contemplated the empty future ahead for her. But there was no escaping it; the longer she lingered here, the harder it would be to leave it all. Swallowing a lump in her throat, the little Pom-mix turned her back on the best friend she'd ever had and slunk off, unnoticed by anyone else.

Or, so she thought, for at least half a moment.

A cacophony of familiar barking followed her down the steps, letting her know that her departure hadn't gone entirely unseen. Dear Tenderfoot... but though the thought that she hadn't been forgotten touched her heart, there was really nothing else Scamp could do for her now. To linger over the goodbyes would just make a hard parting even harder...

And yet, over the yipping barks, Angel could have sworn she quite clearly heard a human voice.

"Jim, dear, I think Scamp brought a friend home."

And now, finally, she turned. Scamp stood partway down the pathway, he'd clearly run after her a little way, and he tossed his head back, silently inviting her to...

To...

No. It- he couldn't- he didn't mean--

All eyes, Angel became suddenly aware, were on her. A moment ago, she'd thought that only Scamp and Tramp of the whole group had known of her existence at all (his uncles had been too busy bickering amongst themselves to pay her much mind, after all); but now everyone, human and canine alike, were watching her. And many of them were smiling...

Her heart dared to leap.

And then the human, the one apparently called Jim Dear, was beckoning her. He crouched to one knee, clicking his tongue, calling her over...

It wasn't... it couldn't...

She was dreaming, there was no way it was real...

And yet, against all odds, and certainly against her better judgement, she felt her legs start to move, propelling her forward. Her ears pinned back nervously, her posture on instinct becoming small and submissive... he was a stranger to her, after all, and she had no idea what to expect from him. Surely, though she may hope against hope itself, surely he couldn't actually--

She daren't even form the thought.

As she reached Scamp's side, she was aware of him slowly falling into step beside her. She didn't look at him, couldn't take her eyes off the beckoning hands that promised everything she'd ever dared to hope for... but she didn't need to look at him. It may have only been two days together, but she knew his presence by now almost as well as her own, and she appreciated it immensely.

"Come on, girl. It's okay. Don't be afraid."

All eyes were still on her. Peripherally, she was aware of the expression of curiosity on Lady's face; of the encouraging smile worn by The Tramp; of the knowing looks passed between uncles Jock and Trusty. Of the trio of girls tripping over each other to crane their necks for a better look at her, but all smiling even so.

She didn't know what to expect, still... but it couldn't be bad, could it? Not surrounded by so many kind faces. She was dimly aware that Scamp had stopped keeping pace with her, pausing beside his father, but her own legs kept on moving without her consciously telling them to, and the big human was coming closer and closer...

"Did you help our Scamp out on those lonely streets?"

It was his tone, more than anything, that set Angel at ease. Jim Dear had a kindly voice, full of affection and gentleness... and with a tone, moreover, that told her he was very used to talking to dogs.

Her head finally raised, her ears pricking back to their normal upright (on one side at least) posture as she reached him. Angel would freely acknowledge that, despite the reputation dogs had, she was no great judge of human character - if she was, she wouldn't have been left heartbroken so many times - but something about this Jim Dear exuded warmth, compassion...

She dared to smile, even to bark a response that she knew he wouldn't be able to understand. She knew, of course she knew, that if there was any moment to be on her absolute best behaviour then this was it. And she was still a scruffy, stinky stray that had no business being welcomed by humans of 'Snob Hill', of all places...

And then-- then he was petting her, strong fingers gently scratching behind her flopped ear, and Angel practically melted in bliss. It had been how long, so long, since she'd last been petted, and the tender sensation brought so much long-buried love and affection rushing back to the surface. It even just that moment, she felt loved, almost even wanted...

As Jim Dear straightened back up, Angel became aware for the first time of the other human presence besides him and his wife, the one much closer to her own level. The baby-- no, not quite a baby, but certainly younger still than little Emmie, the child who had meant so much to her in her third home. But whatever his age, he was watching her quizzically, but smiling. And while, deep inside, Angel knew that there was no way a dirty thing like her would be allowed anywhere near a human child, memories of Emmie were bubbling to the surface now to, of their friendship, of the way the girl had loved her so dearly... common sense be damned, she took a careful step towards the child. Then another.

No-one yelled at her. No-one shooed her away from him. And then he was opening his arms to her, and though she knew, she KNEW that she shouldn't, in a sudden flash all Angel could see was Emmie doing the exact same thing, and instinct took over. Gently, ever so gently, she hopped into the outstretched arms, small head butting up against his shoulder; and he was hugging her just as Emmie had used to do, and her tail was wagging, wagging more vigorously than it had in many, many, many days...

She was sure any moment now she was about to get shooed away. No sensible human parents would allow this, at the VERY least not until she'd had a bath and they were sure she wasn't carrying some kind of disease. But in that moment, the affection, the love pouring into her heart was worth a million scoldings. And even then, the next words she heard weren't that at all, but rather:

"Awww. She's a little angel."

She wasn't surprised when, a moment later, the young boy was lifted away from her... there were limits, it seemed, to how long even the most tolerant human parents would let their kid cuddle a grubby little puppy. But there was no disgust, no scolding. Just... well...

She couldn't help but grin ruefully to herself. Angel... it seemed there was no getting away from the word, was there? What had started out as an unwelcome nickname from Buster, and had become a very deliberate irony, a name that she'd never choose but had become stuck with because everyone in the gang heard Buster calling her it and assumed it was her real name, and she'd had so many real names that she simply couldn't be bothered to correct them...

And yet now...

To be gifted the term so sincerely was something else entirely. Not as Buster's little messenger angel, announcing before the so-called 'king' when he claimed his territory; not a sarcastic way of referring to how much of a troublemaker she could be; but genuinely because the family here were seeing her as so genuinely sweet and innocent...

Nothing could be further from the truth. But at the same time...

For the first time ever, that hated nickname felt good.

Even more so as the child echoed it happily.

Maybe... maybe it could be...

She had no illusions about being taken in permanently, of course. No family with six dogs and a child already would want another permanent addition; but there were rumours of the way The Tramp had used to live, regularly dropping into certain homes as a welcomed guest. Buster, of course, had sneered at such a way of living; but who cared what he thought anymore?

Just one day a week in a home would be as much heaven as she could possibly dare hope for.

And then, the suggestion she'd not dared to imagine...

"Jim, dear, you don't suppose...?"

"Oh no, darling. We've got enough dogs as it is."

The refusal surprised her not in the slightest; and yet, even so, it still hurt a little to hear it voiced aloud. But she wouldn't whine or beg, she would just look at Jim Dear, a silent request for she didn't know what, even just being accepted for a single day would be more than she could ask for...

But she didn't need to whine or beg; from every side around her, she could hear such little whimpers. She had been willing to take whatever came, but everyone around her... she chanced a look. Every other dog, from Scamp and his parents, to Jock and Trusty, to even his sisters who she hadn't met and knew nothing about... every canine face was turned to Jim Dear, each bearing the famous puppy eyes, little pleading whimpers in the back of several throats and Scamp's most prominently of all...

All... for her.

They all... wanted her.

HER. The dirty, scruffy little stray, who had long ago made peace with the fact that no-one would ever want her, at least not for long. The bad dog who was more trouble than she was worth, good for nothing except cheap tricks and kissing Buster's ass because she was too afraid of being kicked out of the only place that would have her to do otherwise...

They wanted her.

Even as Jim Dear's resolve started to waver, she looked away, overwhelmed by what was happening - but just as quickly looked back, now wanting to miss a moment. If this was a dream, it was a more amazing one than she could have imagined...

Jim Dear finally gave up entirely.

"Oh, what's the use?"

And then, to her: "Welcome to the family, Angel."

The family.

THE FAMILY.

HER FAMILY.

Her dream come true.

#bluestarofthunderclan #bluestar-of-thunderclan #meme response #long post #talented [angel]#scene meme #And I thought I'd got carried away with *yesterday's* one of these!#There's just SO MUCH ABOUT ANGEL'S MINDSET that I always want to talk about xDDD #Thanks for sending this! :D

6 notes · View notes

sekhisadventures · 2 years ago

Text

Weapon Repairs

Wingrest Embassy, a Couple Hours After the Primalist Attack

What was once a ruin had become the de-facto entry point into the Dragon Isles proper for all the representatives of the Alliance and Horde. Buildings were being refurbished, braziers relit, and the Embassy was coming to life for the first time in living memory. Both the Explorer’s League and the Reliquary had already set up shop and while there was still a tiny bit of suspicion among some of their ranks of the other, by and large they seemed quite eager to work together for the greater good of discovery and knowledge.

Among the mixed ranks, two vulpera walked side by side. Sekhi, the shamanistic musician, jabbered excitedly at her long-lost friend Jeemjazo, who had reappeared after the defeat of the Primalists who attacked the Reliquary’s landing site… much to the former cabin boy’s annoyance and embarrassment.

“Its just so crazy that we met up again here! I mean, our whole caravan 'n a few others are in Orgrimmar now, we left Vol’dun and are travelling the whole world!” she yipped, “What're th' odds that we’d meet up on th' Dragon Isles? What were ya doing those ten years?!”

“Look, I just… I wound up with a pirate crew, they all died when th' ship crashed, 'n I left. Okay?” grumbled Jeemjazo as he padded through the embassy. “Nothing. Else. Happened. We sailed around 'n… did pirate-y things!”

Jeemjazo’s eye twitched and he grumbled under his breath. All those years of dreaming of leaving Vol’dun, then ten years of outright torture and abuse as Saltfang’s cabin boy… and all he had to do was wait for his people to join the damn Horde?! He felt like kicking himself.

From behind him came a faint gurgling sound, an incoherent stream of fish-like bubbling noises and warbling as the baby murloc he affectionately called Murgly Jim said something to Sekhi.

“Huh, he says you were really happy that your captain was dead though… I mean, it doesn’t sound like it was ‘just pirate-y things.’” she murmured.

Jeemjazo sighed, his ears folding back, “Well it WAS! Look, I’m gonna go bed down fer th' night. I’m freakin’ wiped out Sekhi. Nice seeing ya again, good BYE.” he nodded firmly, padding into the Inn and glancing over his shoulder. “Whose side are ye feckin' on Jim?” he muttered.

The murloc just giggled, in it’s murloc-y way.

Sekhi whined a bit as he left, but she was just happy to know her friend was alive. She glanced around, then spotted the scribe’s table. Well, she had promised her mother she’d write regularly after she’d basically vanished for two years herself, and this would be quite the bit of news to share with the caravan! She padded over and bought a scroll, quill, and some standard black ink, then found a convenient bit of rubble to form a makeshift table, and got writing.

“Dear… Ma…” she murmured aloud as her quill scratched it’s way along the parchment, “We made it… to th' Dragon Isles… and… you’ll… never believe… who I found…”

As Sekhi penned her letter however, Galdia was wandering the embassy looking for someone in particular. “I really don’t want to ask some light-user but…” she grumbled, fingering the hilt of what was left of her sword. She was able to gather both halves, but a broken sword was a broken sword…

But, happily, she did know a guy… still, it had to be someone who used that sort of power.

She saw him, talking to some others of his people, then sighed before calling out, “HEY! STEELHAMMER!”

From the group of dwarves, a head with a mane of silvery-white hair and a huge bushy beard looked up as Dareley Steelhammer heard her call. “Eh? Oh, er… hoy Galdia. Whatcha need lass?” he asked.

Galdia frowned… a Paladin. She had to ask a Paladin for help… it could be worse, at least he wasn’t a vindicator… she’d rather find a new sword than ask one of them, but… “Look, you know blacksmithing, right?” she asked.

Dareley snorted, “Lass, ye think me name is just a fun little play on words? Th’ Steelhammers have been blacksmiths in Ironforge fer generations!” he nodded firmly, “… er, why tho?” he asked, raising one bushy eyebrow at her.

She sighed, “So, there was an ambush at our landing site ‘n…” she unsheathed her sword, holding it out, “… one of them had really fuckin’ good armor.” The sword had been a claymore, almost as long as Dareley was tall before… but now it was broken right along the middle. “The rest is in the scabbard.”

Dareley whistled, taking it carefully from her and looking it over. “Whoof… that’s… aye that’s a bloody thing. Pandaren make too, not easy ta break. Those pandaren make their things ta last.” he muttered as the two dwarven smiths he’d been talking to nodded in agreement. “Hm… cannae just fuse the halves back together. Too fragile after bein’ broken. It’d just snap all over again.” he frowned.

Galdia grimaced, “… well…” she put her hands on her hips, “What about… if we just made a new sword? Like, a smaller one?” she asked.

Dareley looked up at her, “Oh? Like a longsword? Aye, we could manage that I suppose. Heat it up, lengthen whats there, sharpen the edge…” he murmured, “Hmm… pandaren make tho, not me specialty. I dabbled a bit back in th’ day, but I ain’t an expert…”

“Well, what about Jaie or Zhan-min?” she asked, shrugging, an edge of desperation in her voice. She really did not want to give up on that blade.

Dareley glanced up at her… he could tell the sword wasn’t just a sword to Galdia, but he didn’t say it aloud. “Jaie is a jewelcrafter lass, she dunnae how ta forge anythin’ but rings ‘n th’ like… but Zhan-min…” he looked around, then spotted the shirtless beer brewer, “HOY! ZHAN-MIN! C’MERE LAD!” he called out.

The pandaren ambled over, looking at the sword and whistling, “Wow… is that yer Red Crane Sword, Galdia?” he asked, “Those things’re forged down in th’ Karasang Wilds, gotta be able ta stand up ta all sorts o’ nasty critters… they don’t break just from overuse.” he frowned, “Clean break too, what the heck did ya’ll hit with it?”

Galdia sighed, then explained the events of a few hours past, the attack on the landing zone, and the draenei who shielded himself with a carapace of living stone. Zhan-min looked troubled by that, he’d heard a few people talking about ‘primalists,’ but mostly it had been kept under wraps by the Alliance and Horde leadership out of fear of starting a panic after so long at peace.

Dareley however looked very troubled, “Elemental magic users… hrm… that brings back some memories, bad ones too…” he frowned, “Did any of ‘em say anythin’ about th’ Twilight’s Hammer, or anythin’ about ‘Twilight’ in general lass?” he asked.

Galdia shook her head, “No, just something about these ‘Incarnates.’ We tried to interrogate one, but Nitika couldn’t use her powers on him. Said it was like his brain was on fire or something.” she replied.

Dareley actually relaxed a bit at that, “Oh, well then… thought we’d be havin’ th’ Twilight’s Hammer Cult ta deal with. I swear we stomped down Cho’gall, Deathwing, ‘n all th’ others ‘n we’re still dealin’ with th’ odd cell here ‘n there…” he shook his head, “But I’ve never heard o’ these ‘Incarnates’ before.”

Zhan-min nodded, “Still, misusin’ th’ elements… I don’t like that one bit.” he frowned, “Well, if we gotta deal with that kinda crap we’d better get ya'll a proper weapon again!” he nodded at her, taking the blade and looking it over, “Hm… Mostly did tools back when I was workin’ at th’ Stormstout Brewery, but I can probably help Dareley with th’ metal. Ya’ll think ya can handle th’ actual forgin’?” he asked him.

Dareley snorted, taking a smaller hammer from his belt, a blacksmith’s hammer, “I can forge a proper sword outta that or I ain’t a bloody dwarf! Galdia, go take a rest fer a bit, we’ll get ta work on this but it’ll take us some time lass.”

Galdia grunted but nodded at that and walked towards the inn herself. She hated waiting, but she couldn’t fight without a weapon…

… well, okay, she could fight without one. She could fight better with one though, and she’d need one to fight anything bigger than another orc. She was a Warsong, not an idiot.

As she walked in she passed Nelen, who was sitting at a table discussing some notes he had with someone else. A tall elven man in luxurious purple robes decorated with silver.

“… so yes, you see my concerns here! It wasn’t just the Dragon Isles that were uncovered. I think that the island revealed itself for a reason, and that reason is related to what I saw in my leygraph!” he exclaimed.

The elf looked over the notes he’d taken, comparing them to those from his bestiary on proto-dragons. “Hm, yes indeed… a troubling thing most assuredly Magus Fullmoon.” he replied, “Well well, I came here hoping to find something useful for my own studies, but if I encounter something that gave off this sort of aura rest assured I will most certainly pass news along as soon as I am able.” he nodded, his bald head shining under the lamps of the room.

Nelen smiled at him, “Thank you, truly. I don’t know what the fel did that, but we need to stamp it down fast before it causes a panic among the Alliance and Horde. The Dracthyr showing up in Stormwind already got people riled up when they found out they were connected to Deathwing after all.”

“Indeed, Orgrimmar much the same… ah, but I must be going. I have business in the southern reaches of the isle.” said the elf as he stood, “A pleasure meeting you.”

“Indeed, you as well… er…” he paused, “Sorry, terrible memory for names.” muttered the worgen.

The elf chuckled, “Ah, but a mind can only hold so much and you are clearly a learned man for such a short-lived people. Nyloc Athel, of Suramar, at your service.” he smiled, shaking Nelen’s hand before heading to the door.

Nyloc looked around, then gestured with one hand as a manasaber seemed to appear from nothingness, the Nightborne climbing atop it. He had the knowledge he needed, the seat of the Bronze Dragonflight was in this ‘Thaldraszus’ area… well, time to see what he could use there.

Nelen gathered up his books, feeling rather cheerful. He’d always lamented how the poor relationship between the Nightborn of Suramar and the Night Elves under Tyrandae and Malfurion had driven a wall between them. A race that had mastered Arcane power to their degree could teach them so much! Truly, the armistice was a blessing for all Azeroth. He looked around, then headed out into the half-ruined, half-rebuilt embassy grounds before walking over to the representatives for the Dragonscale Expedition to see if any odd jobs had cropped up. After all, a mage had to earn coin if he wanted to eat.

As he did Sekhi walked past him and slid a rolled up scroll into the mail bag that would head back to Orgrimmar come the next morning. She wagged excitedly, Jeemjazo’s mother would be so happy to hear her son was still alive!

And further along the path, Laurelgosa, back in her humanoid guise of Laura Brightflame, sat alone as she processed what had happened with the Primalist attack.

She barely remembered most of it… but she knew one thing. Hearing that crash of thunder and lightning aimed at her and brought back one of those fragmented memories from before her sealing. She muttered under her breath as she turned her stave over and over in her hands, “Did… did I fight Raszageth? I…” she screwed up her eyes, remembering bright flashes, screams, a horrible whispering, and then… darkness… then sighed long and hard, “… nothing.” she frowned.

She wondered if she should bring this up with Nitika… the tauren woman seemed to have some power when it came to minds, and she had come off as nothing but friendly and caring on the voyage over… perhaps if she asked for help, she could do something.

And slowly, day turned into evening and into night. Work was done, food was cooked, and the sound of rebuilding, hammering, sawing, and the like filled the air as the long-abandoned Embassy was slowly restored piece by piece… a little bit more every day.

The next day, around noon, Dareley called Galdia over to the forge and presented her with two things.

“We couldnae save all th’ sword, but we could use th’ rest o’ th’ metal fer somethin’ else.” he nodded, pulling a cloth off a table to reveal a long scimitar-like sword, about as long as Galdia’s arm, with a pattern of pandaren scrollwork on the back, along with a sturdy shield of wood over a metal back, a stud in the middle, and it even had the red symbol of the Horde on the face. “I know yer used ta a claymore lass, but a sword ‘n shield is about what we could manage with wut we had ta work with.”

Galdia looked them over, picking up the shield first, sliding it on over her left arm, then lifting the sword and examining it… then taking a couple steps back and swinging it through the air, chopping rapidly as if an invisible foe was before her. “Hrm… light, but not TOO light… good edge… yeah, I can work with this. Good job.” she grunted.

He nodded, “Damn right it is lass! A dwarf always stands behind his work when forging is involved!” he grinned.

She looked at it again, then at him, then back at it. “… hey… could you, um… show me how to do this stuff?” she asked. “I mean, I did some stuff back on Draenor, but… it was mostly workin’ with scrap and whatever we could steal off the Lightbound.”

Dareley looked up at her, nodding slowly. He had heard about what had happened to Yrel and the draenei there, though he didn’t want to believe it… and he knew asking a paladin like him must have been hard for her. “Hrm… aye, I ain’t ever taught no one afore… but I suppose I could show ye a thing or two.” he replied, picking up his hammer. “First, ye need a good bit of ore. Always get more than ye think you’ll need, there’s always some bits of crud in ‘em that ya gotta work out…” he began.

Galdia put the shield down and slid the scabbard for her sword onto her belt, then sheathed it, before nodding to the dwarf. She hated how powerless she’d felt to fix her broken blade, and if he could teach her how to do that in future… well, she could look past him being a paladin for that. Maybe, it wouldn’t be easy, but she could try.

#warcraft #warcraft fanfiction #dragonflight #warcraft roleplay #adventures in azeroth

2 notes · View notes