#Logan’s visage being used against her

[strangenewwords]

X-23 (2010)

[hageny]

Succession Thoughts: Gerri x Roman 

1. Power

Much has been speculated about Gerri’s ultimate goal regarding her future at Waystar, and what her reasons are for teaming up with Roman. While it’s impossible to say, and Gerri certainly has her own level of cunning, it is worth looking into the past for the answer. In Episode 1, Logan has fallen ill, his future uncertain, and Roman and Shiv are batting ideas for who should take the reigns in the event Logan eventually passes. Roman, of course, suggests Gerri and offers her the CEO position, but what’s of note is Gerri’s reaction. Contrary to her later desires--her wish for more power, her willingness to manipulate circumstances to suite her ends--she turns Roman down. When he asks her why, she says she has no desire for the, “job that makes your head explode”. This contradicts the theory that she is only using Roman. One could argue, to be fair, that she could still be using him and has only lately realized her abilities to run Waystar, but it seems more likely that Gerri’s desire was never to run Waystar on her own. As we see later on, she is taken for granted and viewed as capable but nowhere near intelligent enough by Logan to do so, and it is only Roman who sees her potential, as much as she sees his. He sees in her the intelligence and capability to lead Waystar in the future, something she may not even have envisaged for herself. The idea, however, is only palatable when she can do so with Roman. As much as he looks to her for approval and guidance, she sees and seems to seek out in him the support that has been missing from her life for so long. 

2. Intimacy

There is a lot that could be dissected in the scene where Roman visits Gerri at Tern Haven. One of the more interesting points is that Roman doesn’t ask Gerri if she can ‘entertain’ him the way she did before in Safe Room, nor does he fumble for a phrase to find a way to suggest to her what he wants. Instead he refers to their phone sex habit as “conference calls”, which is noteworthy for two reasons: 1) that he already has a code phrase for what to call them, something that could easily be used in front of others and not arouse suspicion, and 2) that he uses the plural form, ‘calls’ not ‘call’, suggesting perhaps that this is now a routine and there have been more than one since the first occurrence. What’s also of note is that, had Roman wanted to call her, he could have done so, but he instead decides to show up at her door, which would defeat the purpose of the call. This is another way in which he slowly bridges the intimacy between them, testing her first when he called her initially, and now again by showing up in person to gauge her reaction. What’s also telling is how easily and quickly Gerri caught on--both here and during the initial call--to what Roman wanted. For someone known for her cold and steely visage, it should’ve seemed far more off-putting, if not out-right harassing, for Roman to fondle himself on the phone with her. Instead, she immediately reciprocates his request and responds very comfortably to what he wants. Rather than move away from the bathroom door in Tern Haven, she stands almost against it, placing herself as close to him on her side as he does to her on his, suggesting that she wants as much to become more physically intimate with him as he does with her.

3. Dead Girl. 

The point at which Roman finally decides to become intimate with Tabitha--or attempt intimacy, rather--is a moment that could be interpreted many ways, but there is one aspect of this scene that reveals more than just Roman’s sexual hang-ups. Contrasted with Gerri, with whom he can easily become intimate, verbally, in close quarters with the lights on, we see Roman lying on top of Tabitha and complaining when she moves to turn on the light. He tells her, tellingly, “Tabs, you’re meant to be dead”. On the surface, this can be read as part of Roman’s need for wrong sex, which is what he equates it to, but it can also be read metaphorically. Tabitha, as noted in earlier posts, is only interesting to Roman as an object. Here, he takes things further, telling her she needs to be ‘dead’ in his mind for him to accomplish the act of consummation. This is interesting, because it showcases that, to Roman, Tabitha is not interesting enough as a person to arouse him in any sense, that the essence of her is not enough to sway him. He is only intrigued when he can picture her as being dead, removed from what she is and only a body used to accomplish his mission. He also insists that she leave off the lights, suggesting that perhaps what Roman needs is to see as little of her as possible so he can visualize the presence of someone else, namely Gerri. When he gives up and goes to Gerri’s room--again inviting her to inhabit his world sexually--all the lights are on and remain so for the time that he is there. Would Roman have retreated to the bathroom had Gerri not demanded it, or might he have been comfortable to lie down with her in her bed as he slowly bridged the physical gap between them as skillfully as he broke through the emotional one? 

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

FIC: Pink Moon Rising

Notes: Erzulie - Gina Torres Agwe - Gary Dourdan Ogoun - Jimmy-Jean Louis Damballah - Elvis Nolasco Baron - Mustafa Shakir Maman Bridgette - Saorise Ronan Filomez - Logan Browning Ti Malice - John Boyega Papa Legba - Sydney Poitier Anaisa Pye - Danai Gurira

----

Jo knew the moment that the letter box had a raised signal that there was something peculiar going on at that point.

They rarely got mail - most post going to the bar and she or Grey would pick most up whenever they went by to either do work or visit Harry, sometimes the researcher would bring any post with him for a movie night instead - and usually only ever junk mail and not worthy of the flag going up.

She wrapped Nana’s leash around her wrist a few times as the dog pulled and tugged impatient to go inside and have some water, and flipping the mail box open; Jo frowned at the light pink envelope with something written harshly in jagged lettering in red on one side and some design on the other. Picking it up and finally heading inside and unclipping the dog as she went running down the hall towards the kitchen and her water bowl, Jo flipped the letter back and forth over her wrist as she walked after at a slower pace.

“What you got there, Jo?” Grey’s voice pulled her out of her pondering, the flipping stopping after a moment as she moved around to press a quick kiss to the back of his neck on her way past to grab a juice out of the fridge.

“Letter.”

“Oh? Did Harry come around?”

“Nah, it was in the letter box.”

“We got a letter in the letter box?”

“I did.” She replied as she moved to sit down at the kitchen table, flipping the envelope upwards to face her - taking in her name clearly but jaggedly written across the front in the dark reddish brown ink, with a few dots bled across the front. Running her finger over her name, Jo lifted her finger to her nose before pulling a face realizing it hadn’t been ink at all. Perturbed, she flipped the letter back over and sucked in a breath at the delicate design all the same dark red - blood, not ink, as she’d identified - with two waves curling opposite each other, forming a heart alongside the soft swirls and the biblical-like crosses stabbing through the center of it. A design Jo was used to drawing on a rundown floor in dust or carving into a candle. “Oh.”

“You got a letter? Here?” Grey’s voice was tinged with worry from what she could hear, finger still running gently over the design and not yet daring to break the seal. “Who’s it from then?”

“A.. friend, I hope.” She muttered the last words as quietly as possible, a tiny frown on her face before sliding a finger under the envelope tongue and slowly tearing it open.

Pulling the single card out from inside, Jo let out an unexpected laugh at the design on the front - a soft pink moon with three circles underneath it all in a soft shimmering card stock - and the swirly lettering stating ‘You’re Invited!’ written across it. Opening the card itself, there was a date, time and address as well as three little crosses in the bottom corner all in the same not-ink writing as the envelope.

“What is it, Jo?” Jo jerked a bit at the hand on her shoulder as the shadow came over to look, a concerned look on his face that she’s sure came from her laughter and the peculiarity of it altogether.

“It’s an invitation, hun. I’ve got a… party to go to, maybe.”

—

Jo let out a quiet sigh to herself as she actually found herself out front of the building compound listed at the address on St Charles Avenue. It was definitely not somewhere she would usually be found, but as she had gotten out of her car and walked up the block towards the place, she found herself glad that she’d decided to wear something nice as she looked up at the ornate doorway of the exquisite old building. It helped the layered yellow dress she’d gotten the previous year and the jeweled sandals matched with it so well but both allowed her comfort while looking in keeping with the sophistication of the event. It also helped that the skirt of her dress was flowy enough to allow a pair of thin bike shorts underneath that likewise let her wear two thigh holsters for a pair of knives, just in case - she had been invited after all, but she wasn’t completely foolish.

Stepping through the wrought iron gates of the external courtyard from the street into the space, Jo blinked in confusion as the sounds of the traffic outside disappeared and were replaced with the sweet sounds of birdsong and the soft sound of music echoing out from the doors of the building. The whole place felt peaceful yet joyful all at once, and something settled sharply in her stomach to be on guard against giving in to that feeling. She’d been tricked once before from it, and she wouldn’t give in again so quickly.

Moving along the path and up the old stone steps up to historic mansion - it's columns white and gleaming, with the white wrought iron spandrels and fretwork like beautiful spiderwebs spreading from one pole to the next over the wide porch as she made her way up. The wood didn't even groan under foot despite clearly being aged and worn in, lived in and welcoming to many, many guests over the years. The front door was intricately carved wood with brightly colored glass shards cut into the design like jewels. It all made a very beautiful and awe-inspiring visage, and as Jo lifted a hand to the elegant door knocker she half expected to be shooed off as an interloper, someone clearly not suited for such a place even with her designer dress and pretty shoes from someone who likely would fit in in such elegant surroundings.

There was an extremely tall man that opened the door, his face set in a firm but bland expression. "Invitation?"

"Oh, uh. Here?"

"Hmmm, Harvelle-" The man frowned for a moment and looked carefully at the invitation she'd handed over with a slight bit of trepidation and then pulled up a clipboard to review. There was a moment before he stepped back and to the side, door opening wider and a hand waving her in in greeting. "Welcome Ms. Harvelle. You'll find the party in the inner courtyard, and all gifts are to be presented when requested."

"Gifts?" Jo asked, confusion rife as she moved through the door and craned her neck up at the man as if he'd have an answer, before frowning in confusion as the welcoming smile slid off of his face and was replaced with the same bland look as before. His eyes looked glazed over though and unfocused as he took a step back to stand beside the door and almost blended into the shadows. Blinking a few times as they watered trying to keep his stare and catch his eye contact, she rubbed at her eyes a little before nervously making her way further into the grand house.

The floor felt strange underfoot, and glancing down, she was surprised to see the entire floor was covered in a thick layer of rose petals from the lightest whites to the deepest, darkest reds and all the shades in between. They were thick enough to coat the entire surface and the scent of roses came forth with each step but was somehow suitably subtle and delicate to the flowers themselves. The grandeur of the place was beyond anywhere Jo was used to visiting - art covered the walls of the entry foyer and then the hallway she slowly made her way into, and there were antiques in the Spanish, French and English styles as well as some clearly even more ancient designs that echoed the beadwork and colorful nature of Africa that somehow stood out even more in beauty against the other flourishes. Moving along the hall, turning left when she got through the first set of doors out of habit and then following the turn of the hall to the right - Jo stared in wonder at the light filtering through the next array of stained glass windows and double doors that opened into the inner courtyard where she could hear noise and see the shadows of figures moving around.

The courtyard was clearly where she was expected to go, as it was filled with guests milling about in different groups and the aurora of power from so many Pagan gods assembled in one place was electric. Her eyes darted about cautiously before entering the courtyard - taking in the wide number of people and the different postures across the space. That she could tell who was a god and who was merely mortal like her felt unsettling, the brightly colorful garb and confidence that rolled off of the gods so at odds with the people - horses, her mind supplied to her, or rather those that would wish to provide their bodies for possession and channeling of the gods and goddesses will - that were in mostly dull neutral clothes that hung from their frames but was not so standardised as she’d have expected. It was more the deference and slight bow of their heads that gave away those here as worshippers from those to be worshipped. There were still more people though - those mortals who offered other types of sacrifice than their own beings, clearly wearing their version of ‘Sunday Best’ and while not so subservient as the horses milling about, were still clearly deferent to the gods that moved through the space, heads tilted just that little bit or eyes just not able to hold direct eye contact with those they worshipped to. Wiping her sweaty hands cautiously against the fabric of her brightly colored dress, Jo took a calming breath before throwing her head back and stepping forward as confidently as possible once she’d taken in as much as she could from the secluded spot just before the doorway, eyes up and back straight, refusing to be thought as cowed by any of those with power in the space.

The purpose of the celebration was clearly easy to locate - the rattan throne raised up on a dais towards the centre of the courtyard was obvious and drew the eye. The peacock chair throne was resplendent in its detail the same was the goddess that sat upon it was glorious in the late-morning sun. Erzulie was holding her court.

Jo’s eyes locked onto the goddess’ after a few steps into the courtyard, and the slow smile that came across the goddess of femininity’s face grew with each step as she reached out a hand, beckoning to her as Jo moved slowly forward. Her wrists were covering in gold and beaded bangles, her golden rings shining catching the light as she called out in a warm, comforting voice, “Joanna! My darling girl, come here.”

It wasn’t a command at least, and Jo felt her own lips twitching into a smile at the way those between her and the one goddess she knew parted like the sea before her. Moving closer, the blonde barely concealed an eyeroll as she got to the raised platform acting as a dais that the beautiful goddess sat on. The rose petals were twice as thick on the platform, and Jo glanced in confusion as a man with thick braided hair stood up from a seat off to Erzulie’s right-hand side to take the brightly embroidered pillow from his chair and placed it a foot before the goddess with a smirk. Looking at the pillow and then back to meet the woman’s eyes, Jo quirked a brow at the other questioningly as the goddess stood.

“My sweet girl, how are you? Did you have a good trip down to my humble little party?” “I mean, New Orleans in Summer is a bit of the pits.” “So true, so true my dear. Much warmer here than that little lake you’ve taken to.”

Jo found herself holding back an eyeroll at that - the crisp summers at home compared to the muggy humidity of Louisiana were the difference of the sweat beads rolling down her back - and taking the goddess’ hand when she offered it before scowling slightly as she was guided down onto the bright pink cushion as Erzulie settled herself back onto her rattan throne with a ringing laugh.

“Apologies though, youngling, I unfortunately am not the one who can control the weather. Nor was I the one to name the date,” Erzulie shrugged a shoulder, the delicate golden chains that adorned her neck and shoulders rattling faintly with the movement as she shook out the yards of shimmering pastel pink silk that was draped over her body from the haltered dress the goddess wore about her to cover her own bejeweled, bare feet. Jo spotted the flash of toe rings on the feminine toes that poked out before being covered with the silk as she herself had plopped down indelicately onto the cushion at the goddess’ feet, uncaring if her shoes scraped up petals or her skirts caught between her legs. “You see, today is my feast day.”

“Happy birthday.” Jo snarked back with a smirk, picking at an invisible piece of lint from her lap before she looked back up at the other at the laugh that rang out again. “If I’d known, I’d’ve brought a present.”

“Ah, but already have - or rather, will - my little flower. It has been quite a time since you’ve made a devotional, after all, and I had hoped you would have done one before now so I could be my very, very shiny best-” The dark skinned goddess pouted, lips full and as pink as her dress as she looked the part of a spoiled child not having gotten her way, before she tossed her head back and gave another of those shrugs that made her necklaces and chains catch and shimmer in the light. Erzulie waved a non-commital hand again before she reached out to run the same over Jo’s own hair with a softer smile. “But then I thought, what better gift, my sweet, then for you to come and partake in the festivities yourself? Besides, half the point is the show after all, and your devotionals are always so… What word would you say, my love?”

The man who’d moved the pillow spoke then, even without Erzulie’s eyes moving from Jo’s face. “Awe inspiring, my beauty.” The man smiled - all teeth sharp and white like a sharks - towards Jo for a moment before glancing over his shoulder back towards the goddess’ face. “You will always in all ways be the most gorgeous woman of course, but you do always seem more refreshed and extra beautiful afterwards.”

“Oh you flatter me, my love.” Jo blinked in surprise to see the slight blush on the other woman’s face before she let out another loud laugh. “But you are right. You see, Joanna, your prayers are always so invigorating for an old lady like me. And I’d love to rub that in that good for nothing Anasia’s face that I have such a daughter.”

Blonde brow raised, Jo blinked a few times as the goddess’ words before she shrugged a shoulder of her own in return. It was true she hadn’t called upon the other’s powers in some time - her hunts more straight forward lately and even more sparsely in between as she had spent more time working on answering hunter queries and helping research than actively hunting for a while, soaking in the chance to be at home during the warm months to spend with her love and baby girl instead of in her sweltering car on the road - and if the answer to getting home safe and sound was to light a candle and say her usual prayers for safety and protection, it wasn’t like that would be hard. Sitting on a cushion like a pet at the others feet however, that was not so easy, and shuffling uncomfortably, Jo raised her other brow before sighing.

“I suppose that would have ta do for a gift, right? Can’t really pull anythin’ out of my pockets when I hadn’t planned anythin’.” “So true, but don’t you worry my dear, I can promise to appreciate it the most.”

“Even more than my gift?” The man standing to the left of Erzulie’s throne spoke then, dark brown eyes sparkling with the same humour as his tone as he placed a hand over the other’s shoulder. “Why, I am hurt, my love, absolutely skewered through. I thought my love meant something!”

Erzulie let out another loud laugh, her hand moving from Jo’s hair to catch the man’s hand and pressing a bright pink lipped kiss to the palm of his hand - an imprint left behind as she squeezed his fingers. “You think so very highly of yourself, don’t you, husband-dear?”

“Of course, my dear, I’ve always done so. A snake may change his skin, but he doesn’t change what he is.” “Damballah, you think your gift outshone mine?” “Given mine did not smell of seaweed, Agwe, I am absolutely certain it did.” “Mine did not smell like seaweed, you good for nothing snake-”

The back and forth between the two men was quick and fast, Jo barely registering the jokes of the two as her mind scrambled to assign the name of Damballah, the serpent father, to the standing man and the title of Agew the sea god to the man that had set the pillow down for her. Blinking rapidly, her eyes quickly jerked between both men, scanning anything that would be recognisable before she noted the golden rings each wore with their own symbol that matched two of the three rings on Erzulie’s own hand as she laughed and batted at the both of them. Turning her eyes over towards the quiet, stoic man that sat to Erzulie’s left in front of Damballah, Jo noted the ring on his hand barely visible under his own long sleeves despite the heat matched the goddess’ last ring - identifying him as the third and last of her husbands, Ogoun the warrior. As the three others continued to speak, their tones warm and playful even if the gods both had a slight undertone of threat to it, Jo found herself simply staring back at the silent, considering look she was getting from the third.

“Come on, girlie.” Jo jerked in surprise at the hand that fell on her arm as the sea god got back to his feet with another of those sharp, white smiles. “We’ll have to show you around to our love’s guests before the devotionals and sacrifices start. It’s all part of the spectacle to show you off after all.”

“I, uh, that is, I’m not-” The hunter stammered a few times as the god stood in front of her and held out his hand to help her up. Panicked, Jo’s eyes darted back to her patron’s for a moment, as if uncertain what to do. Erzulie really was the only one she even knew how to interact with at all in the room, but the goddess was smiling gently at her as she was pulled to her feet. “Um… o-okay?”

“Don’t worry, little huntress,” Agwe spoke gently a few moments later after he’d helped her back to her feet and down the steps from the dais and back into the milling, curious crowd. Jo’d noticed how Damballah had moved to reset the cushion onto the seat the sea-god had been on and taken the spot for himself as the pair had moved away, Erzulie’s attention taken up by her other two husband’s as her first had taken Jo away. His voice, the first husband’s, was soft and his green eyes caught her uncertain ones as she finally looked back from the centre of the room to catch his own. “You are here under my lovely wife’s complete protection, little one. Nobody here could touch you, even if they dared. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

“Oh will I? What makes you think I’m worried ‘bout that?” “The ear splittingly loud thudding of that heart of yours, first off-” “I am not-!” “And secondly, because my darling beauty did mention your first interaction with a crowd of gods may not have been so… comforting an experience as she hopes you will find this one.”

“Oh?” Jo breathed the word out in surprise, blinking widely as she glanced over her shoulder towards where the beauty still sat laughing with the men to either side. Surprised that the goddess might have understood or possibly even felt Jo’s uncertainty and fear the first time they had met. That a being with endless years and so little humanity left to her could remember and thought to ensure that Jo would feel comfortable was a peculiar feeling. Turning back to the speculative look she was receiving from the god holding her arm as he took two cups of some fruity drink from a passing waiter and held one out to her, Jo quirked a brow up at him. “And what makes you so certain I’m safe here? I know your, uh, pantheon of sorts isn’t known to be the most…”

“Cohesive?” “I was gonna say safe.” “Ouch, cruel! No wonder you are my love’s favored!” “Favored?”

“You think all of those who pray to my love gets their prayers answered?” Agwe sent her a surprised look in return as he took a sip of his own drink as Jo fiddled with the straw on hers, before letting out a loud crack of laughter that sounded like the oncoming book of thunder rolling over an unprepared sea. “Only the most special of our devotees get even more than a scrap of our attention, given our long lives and how little you little humans deserve of our attention. And you, dear flower, are by far my wife’s most favored and most devoted and most loved daughter.”

Jo barely held back the shudder at that thought. She took a sip of her drink mulling over the words as she was slowly led in an aimless circle around the room, as if the god leading her had no intention of actually introducing her about until he was certain of her mindset and understanding of the situation she had actually entered.

Swallowing the sugary sweet nectar from the mango drink, she closed her eyes for a moment before opening them and really looking around the assembled groups. When she’d arrived she had thought that it was simply the changes in clothes and the crackling of energy that could show the difference between the gods and those devotees at the party. And while that was true, she could see clearer now as she glanced about the different groups milling about. There was no touching, no interacting, no affection or care shown between the gods and the humans in the space. The way the mortals would defer and drop their gazes after a few seconds made complete sense - devoted, god-fearing humans of course feeling unworthy of attention or uncertainty at catching more than a little attention - but blinking her eyes, Jo found herself surprised to note how those she could see to be gods barely noticed those beneath them. Their gazes would slide over and off the mortals, never catching any amount of attention for more than a second, as if there was nothing of interest to them. That was, except when she would catch an eye looking at her that stared firmly back all around the room. Even the god holding her elbow gently was unusual, no other god seemed to even brush a human as they stood talking. Everything seemed so in tune towards the fact that people were boring to this crowd of gods, that humans were typically below notice.

“Oh.” “Very succinct of you, Joanna.” “It’s Jo.”

“Of course it is, Jo.” The correction took her by surprise, eyes jerking back to the smirking god beside her as if he knew he’d managed to catch her off guard. A large hand threw out gesturing about the space for a moment as they finished the first lap about the room towards his goddess wife. “But the point stands, as I hope you’ve noticed. You are safe here, for humans are both nothing to us, and you are also important to my love so will be safe here on her devotional day.”

“So I wouldn’t be if it wasn’t her party?” “Of course not. But it is. So you will be safe.” “Uh huh.”

There was a long sigh before the god beside her let out a chuckle. “Since you seem to have grasped some of it, let me introduce you around then. But no taking advantage of your protection to cause trouble-” The look she got from Agwe, as she raised a brow and opened her mouth as if to argue, was knowing and bemused. “You think I don’t realise only one as troublesome and unpredictable as my love would catch her attention? No, I see through you, girlie, and I would think better of some of it.”

“Only some?” “He means anything that would get you into the more fun kind of trouble.”

Jo let out a surprised yelp at the interruption from her other side, eyes wide and confused at being approached out of the blue by someone here. Everything seemed so strangely structured even though it wasn’t, and she half expected to be the one taken to be introduced to whomever Erzulie or her husbands’ decided to dictate she would. Blinking in surprise, she turned to look at the boyish grin on the man that had approached, taking in the roughishly bemused look on the man’s face.

Swallowing thickly on nothing, Jo shrugged a shoulder as she glanced back at the god that had let go of her arm at the other’s appearance before raising a brow at the newcomer. “What kind of fun is that?”

“My kind, I’m betting. Or perhaps Baron and Bridgette’s type.” The boyish charm didn’t leave at all as the god grinned at her still, his eyes shining with a warmth she hadn’t noticed had been missing in Erzulie’s companions until she saw it in this god’s eyes. There was a beat before a wide hand was held out towards her, and Jo let out a loud laugh as she shook his only to have an unexpected zap come from the touch. “My bad!”

“Ti Malice, are you up to your tricks again?” “Hey, I heard you promising safety not utter boredom. Lighten up, Agwe, or your wife might get bored of all three of you and be after some more fun.” “What makes you think anyone wants your kind of fun here?” “If I wasn’t wanted, my invitation would’ve gotten lost in the mail.”

“What makes you think it didn’t?” Jo could hear herself speaking before she recognised she’d even spoken, and getting a warm laugh from the man beside her felt like both an achievement and something easy to achieve all at once. Agwe simply gave a sigh and an eye roll as she turned to look at the new god. “Or would it not have mattered if it did get lost?”

“Oh it absolutely wouldn’t have mattered. I never miss a party when I can.” The god grinned back at her, all teeth but in a way filled with joy and excitement and not the slightly cold, predatory look that the sea-god’s smile gave off. There was a beat before the other smiled even wider and gave a exaggerated bow and hand gesture. “Since the cold fish won’t do it, may I introduce myself? Ti Malice, trickster-extraordinaire, pleasure to meet you.”

Jo let out a little giggle of her own at the flashy showmanship, her mind immediately recognising some of the flare to the god’s presentation from her experiences with her fake-trickster friend. “Nice ta meet cha, I’m Jo Harvelle.”

“There now, boring bits out of the way - we can get rid of the boring old seaman, right?” Ti Malice’s smirk should have sent a shiver down her spine if it had been directed at her, instead it was fully focused on the glaring god beside her who stared back for a long moment. “Oh come on, old man. You know I might be a trickster but I’m not an idiot. Besides, your wife is waving for you.”

Jo glanced back over her shoulder as did Agwe beside her, both to see Erzulie waving a hand towards them and calling barely audibly over the distance and the hum of conversation in the room for the sea-god himself. Jo glanced up at the taller god for a long moment before he gave her a sharp nod and turned to head back to his wife’s side. Blinking a few times, she was unsurprised to realise the trickster had stepped carefully closer on her other side that she shuffled an inch away, getting a laugh in response.

“Don’t worry, I’m far far more behaved than what my title suggests-” “Oh? Because I’ve some history with tricksters. And the last one I dealt with was a right piece’a work.” “Have you now? Which of us was that?” “Stupid fuckin’ fairy-”

Her grumbled words got a loud laugh from the trickster beside her, his laughter bouncing about the courtyard and cutting over and through other conversations like a booming thunderstorm. Jo blushed as she noticed several heads turn their way and staring for a long moment, fiddling with her dress awkwardly as she waited for the man beside her to unbend from his laughter.

“Oh! Oh no wonder you looked like you’d sucked a lemon! Not all of us are like him, I promise.” Ti Malice’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears of laughter as he finally righted himself, wiping at his eyes with a few warm chuckles. “I mean, we are all like that - but some of us are a little more fun and a little less sadistic.”

“That’s good to know-” “If you want sadistic though- come with me!”

Jo let out a surprised yelp as the god grabbed a hold of her closet wrist and tugged her quickly, pulling her through the crowd and weaving through the different groups milling about until he’d reached some unknown destination. She looked up from her feet, where she’d been focusing on not tripping over or slipping on the built up rose petals covering the uneven ground, to blink in surprise at the pair that the trickster god had brought her to.

A willowy, redheaded woman with pale skin that glowed in the warm sunlight that managed to dapple through the overhead tree canopy and an even taller man with skin as dark as hers was pale looked back at her curiously. Ti Malice’s grin was uncomfortably towards that edge of sadistic glee as he gave a tug to pull her in closer to the small little group. “Hey Mama and Daddy, want to see something strange? Look at this one!”

Jo jerked her hand back out of the god’s grip, temper flaring as she slapped away the hand flourishing towards her as if showing off something to the other two. The look of unrepentant on the trickster’s face was far too well suited to his boyish face, and she barely bit down snarling at him as she was gifted with a teasing tongue stuck out at her for a second.

“Malis, what trouble are you causin’ now?” The woman spoke softly, voice gentle and lilting with an Irish accent that matched up in Jo’s mind with her looks quickly. Glancing between the goddess and the man with his arm firmly around her waist, there was a second before Jo managed to work out the pairs identity as the Baron and his wife, Bridgette. “You sure you should be playin’ such games today?”

“Oh Erzy has a good sense of humor when she wants to-” “And you think today she does?” “Well, she will. Or else she’d’ve sent Ogoun over to stop me.”

“He isn’t wrong, renmen,” The Baron said, his voice a gruff growl. Jo barely stopped the shiver the god’s voice made want to happen, the tone rough and somehow bone-chilling for her. Likely something to do with the power the god of the dead held. There was a second before she managed to get control of herself again and glanced up to meet his piercing look straight on like none of the mortals in the whole space seemingly had, and couldn’t hold back the shiver at the next words spoken. “You have died.”

“Yeah, just the once.” Jo replied after a long, quiet moment between the quartet, unable to drop the death god’s gaze. “Fun times had by all, totally enjoyed chokin’ on my own blood. Would totally recommend it.”

“Would you now?” Jo swallowed thickly herself at the dark smile that graced the god’s face as he stared back at her undeterred from her sarcasm. Baron’s eyes stared her down for a further moment before he finally turned to look towards his wife with a wide grin. “I like this one.”

“Now, sweetie, I don’t think that’s goin’ ta work very well. You know how Erzulie is about bein’ the centre of attention and sharin’ anythin’.” Bridgette’s smile was just to the side of patronising as she gazed back at her husband for a moment before rolling her eyes at his shrug. Turning towards Jo, the redhead held out a dainty hand to shake. “Since neither of these men have any manners, I’m Bridgette, and this is my husband the Baron.”

“I guessed that.” Jo smiled back slightly, still processing what the pair had been talking about before shaking her head and taking the other woman’s hand. “ ‘m Jo. Erzulie’s my, uh, I guess patron?”

“Oh yes, that’d be the right term for you-” “Good to know.” “I much prefer my followers to be like that myself too. Unlike some others.” “Huh?”

“Not enough free will, sweetheart, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Bridgette waved a delicate hand around towards the rest of the crowd, pointing out towards the horses milling about in their dull clothes and heads entirely bowed to below that of the shortest god irrespective of their own height. There was a much older man, clearly an old god from the gnarled hands and grey hairs, that was seated and slumped slightly that they all kept to below despite his clear disinterest in being so measured against. And then likewise she pointed to some of the other devotees who kept their eyes downcast but in constant look out for if they’d spoken too loud or interrupted a god’s voice. “I mean, the power is nice and all, but I miss the irreverence of the Irish sometimes.”

“Oh, but don’t you think we deserve subservience?” The chirped voice sprang up on Jo’s other side, and jerking to the side, bumping into the grinning trickster, Jo looked surprised at the young looking woman beside her with a head full of thick curls and wide almond shaped eyes. Her pink dress matched the tones of Erzulie’s herself, and Jo blinked in surprise to see it - having figured the goddess would’ve wanted to be the only one in the color on her special day. “Hi! I’m Filomez, you must be Joanna Harvelle.” There was a second before the girl seemingly broke all patterns of the other pagans and moved forward to tug Jo into a tight hug. “Erzulie’s told me so much about you! I look forward to seeing your devotional later.”

“You’ll be partaking?” The rumbled words from the Baron were less surprising this time as Jo gave a few pats to the young woman’s back before the shorter goddess - one of the only ones near Jo’s own height - pulled back. “So that is the surprise, hmm.”

Jo gave a shrug of her shoulder as she shifted a little, uncertain if she should speak more or not as Malice seemed to jump in making up some story about an entire secret room of devotees that were due to arrive and bolster the beauty goddess’ powers to outshine everyone else in the space. Filomez nodded along, agreeing repeatedly and eyes wide and happy as she spoke about her ‘big sister’ having promised something spectacular. Jo’s stomach felt slightly queasy as she listened, finishing her drink slowly as she shrunk in on herself. It was pressure, and pressure on her she could tell, even if there was any sort of joke that it might not.

Looking around the space, she noted other gods and goddesses having arrived, and especially a beautiful woman in a bright yellow dress that almost outshone against Erzulie’s own glorious gown. Jo frowned noting it, looking around the courtyard for a moment and noting how that goddess seemed to stand out alongside Erzulie. All the others, while dressed ostentatiously and clearly in rich and vibrant colors, were not eye-catching and attention seeking in a way like the newly arrived goddess was. Filomez wore a soft baby pink dress that draped around her to show off her slim figure but it didn’t scream for attention, likewise Baron and Bridgette were matched in black and red clothes that sucked the light from around them but still didn’t draw attention to them over anyone else. Malice’s bright orange jumpsuit might have stood out anywhere else, but seemed considered and paired back in this crowd somehow. But the newly arrived goddess stood out, and in a way that, as Jo flicked a glance towards the centre of the room where Erzulie and her husbands sat to see the glare upon her goddess’ face, was inappropriate.

“Look what the cat dragged in-” “Don’t you mean ‘look out for the cat fight’, Malis?” “Same thing, Baron.”

Jo frowned slightly, attention drawn back to the group she stood near to notice the glare being delivered towards the newcomer from Filomez, and blinked a few times at noticing how the younger looking woman’s face had shifted. It was something she’d seen on Erzulie’s before, the shifting of which facet took control but without the entire change of hair style like the first time Jo’d met the goddess of women. “So, uh, who’s that?”

“Anaisa Pye. She thinks she’s better than my dearest sister.” Filomez spoke, voice harsh and gravelly to the exact opposite that it had been sweet and light before, and it wasn’t until a meaty hand landed on Jo’s head that she realised she’d been waiting for the goddess to speak some more.

Jerking in surprise, she looked up towards the person who’d interrupted to see the impassive looking face of Erzulie’s third husband, Ogoun, looking back at her. “You need to come with me.” The man’s voice was still so quiet, and after a moment he removed his hand and turned back towards the dais and started to walk without waiting for her.

Glancing back to the assorted gods she’d stood with, Jo was unsurprised to see Ti Malice’s eyes glittering with mischief as he opened his mouth to suggest she stay where she was. The other three were less clearly unbothered by the massive warrior god’s arrival and departure, and after raising a quick brow, Jo turned back towards the centre and headed towards her goddess. After all, if she was being summoned, it would be to pray; and then she’d likely be able to head home before any kind of troubles could start if the change in atmosphere she’d noticed since the goddess Anaisa Pye’s arrival spelt.

As she reached the dais, Jo was surprised to notice that the newly arrived goddess was standing before Erzulie herself, cocky smile to her face. “Why, Erzulie, old girl. How lovely to see you today! I hope you’ve not broken your back putting this all on, I wouldn’t want you straining anything.”

“Anaisa, you actually managed to get out of bed for once!” Erzulie replied snippily, eyes focused like a cat on it’s prey. “Tell me, did you make sure to get all the prayers for the year in before this? I mean, that’s the only way you’d get the energy to even make it here.”

“You underestimate my followers, as always. But I suppose you can’t have quite so devoted worshippers as the rest of us who fulfil their needs better, Erzie.” “Better? Oh, you mean by having so few calls that you’ve the time for all, what, three people who ever think to ask you for help, Annie?” “They can’t be all so desperate as to have to ask for yours, you know.”

Jo had to bite down on a smirk watching the two goddesses at each other’s throats as she waited patiently a few steps away. It wasn’t surprising to find that not all gods could stand one another, the animosity reminding her of the Irish couple she’d been exposed to - but without the underlying sexual tension, which she had to cover her mouth to stop from laughing thinking at that comparison.

She must have made a noise though, as Jo found herself with the attention of both goddesses upon her then, and shrinking back a step Jo scowled at the one closest to hers remark. “Oh, what a beautiful dress. I do so love yellow. Are you one of mine, human?”

“Anaisa, that is my follower.” Erzulie’s words were hissed out and sharp, eyes just as cutting as she glared towards the other goddess. “My husband had fetched her for me, Joanna, my darling girl, come sit. We’ll get to your gift after the others.” Jo frowned for a second as she realised that her patron hadn’t dropped her glare from the other goddess’ face yet and yet pointed towards a spot for Jo to sit. Her frown disappeared to realise that she was pointing at the seat that Ogoun had been sitting in before instead of a cushion on the floor, and glancing up, Jo noticed that the tall warrior was stood behind the chair instead. “Quickly, my flower, before the stench of some uncivilised upstart goddess gets caught entirely in my nose.”

“Oh you-” Anaisa sneered back for a second, glaring towards the goddess of the day for a moment, before she turned to stalk off to the side as Jo sat down and Erzulie stood in the same moment to draw the attention of the crowd.

That wasn’t hard for the goddess though. She barely needed to raise her voice to silence all the murmuring of the gods around the space, hands thrown wide and shimmering small golden light sparks around the space where her chains and bracelets and rings caught the sunlight. Erzulie clearly intended to make a point of this all. “Everyone! Thank you all for joining me today on such an important date.” Her voice was sweet and warm, but the underlying current of power that ran through it reminded Jo of her other facet - the fierce, blood thirtsty side that gave the power to the downtrodden to rise up. “I look forward to our next gathering for the next feast day with glee, but before that can happen, so to must todays rituals. My love, the first?”

Jo was unsurprised to see that Damballah was the husband to step forward and beckon to the first of those humans here to give over a ritual or gift to the goddess. What did surprise Jo was to witness how those who were so drawn into this religion and practices gave their thanks to a deity right in front of them. She knew, of course, how the usual practices went and was not surprised to see a goat’s blood spilled at one point or, given the goddess in question, bottles and bottles of perfume poured out into vessels before the worshiper would spill drops of their own blood in as well. She was surprised however to witness how with each prayer or sacrifice that the goddess seated on the throne beside her would glow faintly, and that each devotee was granted the permission to approach the dais and kiss the goddess’ feet before being rewarded with a kiss to the crown of their heads. It was something strange to see the looks of wonder and awe on each of the worshipers faces as they genuflected over and over as they retreated after each of their provisions; that such a small symbol, from a goddess that Jo saw more as a quirky aunt that pinched her cheeks than a deity, meant so much to these people. Jo even watched with eyes wide as the practitioner who introduced her to the idea of drawing from the voodoo gods was there and gave her own thanks. Jo was more surprised to see the look of absolute astonishment and wonder when the other saw her seated there. That look would haunt her for a while.

As the last person bowed and scurried back from the dais, Jo was unsurprised to see a hand held out to her from the god standing behind her. Ogoun helped her to her feet, even though Jo raised a brow at the sheer idea she might have needed the help, and walked her to the same spot that the others had stood to put forth their sacrifices.

Jo waited a second after he’d let her hand go and moved to take the seat that she had vacated to look about uncertainly. It was all well and good to pray, and she would easily, but after witnessing the others it felt a little anticlimactic, especially since she clearly held far less belief than the others.

“Um…” She shifted her weight awkwardly, weighing up the options. “I, uh-” Looking around, Jo could see a few gods shifting their own weight and twisting to mumble to one another. Obviously laughing at the lost little girl, and likewise laughing at Erzulie who stared down at her impassively. There was a moment as a dark brow quirked at her, before Jo glanced around again before letting out a quiet noise of approval as she spotted something she could contribute. Approaching the closest table, Jo pulled a lit candle from the centrepiece before moving back before the altar - candle still aflame and the wax dripping down one side of the candle to the floor. It took barely a moment to pull one of the blood-dipped daggers she had strapped to her legs to start the carvings that she knew off by heart at this point, even as she felt her cheeks flushing brightly at the laughter and murmurs she could hear from those around her at that. As she finished the last of the swirling curls of the heart design for the goddess before her, Jo raised an eyebrow back at the other before setting it down.

There didn’t seem to be anything for a moment before Erzulie gestured towards the flame with her hand and Jo gave a quiet sigh. Kneeling down, she pressed the edge of her blade to her thumb before holding her dripping finger over the flame itself. Pressing on the wound gently with her other hand until a enough drops of blood had fallen to extinguish the flame, Jo let out a gasp as she noticed the light in the room change from the overhead shadows of the sun to something shining and golden before her. Looking up, it wasn’t just her clearly surprised to see the amount of light shining off the goddess. Erzulie sat smiling wide, toothy and pleased, as her skin seemed to almost glow golden like her necklaces and chains, and her hair likewise shone golden. The shine didn’t go down completely like it had after a few seconds from the other sacrifices and rituals, it seemed to sink into the goddess’ skin but not leave as a whole, her whole being softly radiating light under her form as she smiled down towards the blonde.

Rising to her feet, Jo approached at the hand the goddess held out towards her, frowning slightly as she got before her. “I ain’t kissin’ your feet, just so you know.” Jo heard herself speak again, and scrunched her eyes up as she heard what she said, before letting out a sigh of relief at the laugh she got in response.

“Of course not, my flower,” Erzulie replied gently, standing from her seat for a moment like she hadn’t for the other followers before surprising her with a kiss to her forehead unlike anyone else. “You’ve been having a very good time lately, Joanna, I am so happy for you and that I can share in even a little bit of it. Thank you again, my sweet girl.”

Jo felt herself frowning slightly as the goddess pressed another kiss to her forehead before letting go of her, and stepping away, Jo was not surprised to see that those milling around were no longer looking at her at all but drawn entirely like moths to the flame towards the power exuding from the goddess behind her. It was expected. Gods of their kind, those with slowly diminishing follower bases but who still relied upon them would always be drawn towards such sparks of power, and especially the god or goddess that had it at the time.

Moving through the crowd moving forward was easy enough for her - no other mortals seemed to still be present, having left after each of their sacrifices or prayers themselves; and what was a mortal to a god? Shaking her head to herself as she wiped her dagger off on a nearby cloth napkin, Jo was actually surprised to hear a cough from behind her. Turning about, she kept a firm grip on her blade and the cloth as well as she stared cautiously towards the god before her.

“A pretty demonstration there, girl.” The god was surprisingly tall compared to when she’d seen him before, spindly though and his eyes seemed almost ancient as she looked up at him. The god hadn’t moved at all throughout the whole time she’d been there from the seat he’d been sunk into, his old body clearly reflective of his age and looking down at the cane and dog by his side, Jo let out a whoosh of air as she realised which of the loas had approached her. The only one old enough not to care for the frenzied and overly bouncy reaction of the goddess on her throne. Papa Legba stared down at her with eyes milky from cataracts but that seemed to see right through her. “I would leave if I were you, child. They say beware being a favorite, but also being known to be favorite can be even more dangerous. Especially amongst those starving for power.”

Jo frowned slightly, twisting the hand at her side holding the cloth napkin as the god’s dog shuffled forwards to sniff at her hand, before she moved to stroke the animal’s head for a moment. The god’s words felt kind in a way none of the other’s had - the trickster wanted to cause trouble; the god of the dead wanted to get under her skin and his wife was simply bored; the young goddess was bold but didn’t have enough to know what was right or wrong; the fiery competitor had said no kind words towards her that weren’t selfish in it’s own; the three husbands cared only for their competition and their wife; and while Erzulie favored her, that was always self serving and selfish as the goddess was. The old man’s words felt kind for the sake of kindness and compassion. The voice that spoke of more than just his own power nor the demands for power from humans, the communicator between the worlds of gods and the realms of humans, the one who still held a compassion for humans and their fleeting worlds.

As the dog snuffled at her hand and after she scratched under it’s chin, Jo glanced up ready to thank the other to note his warm eyes already nodding to her without her having to speak. There was another moment before the old god turned, picking his way back into the crowd, through which Jo could still see the golden goddess spinning and laughing and soaking in all the attention she craved so much. Drinking in being the centre of the world for a few brief hours in a way that left the blonde sighing in sympathy and pity as she turned to head home to true safety and where the world span from.

----

[doomstypewriter]

ok so this is kinda out there so i totally understand if you decline this short request but: angsty, hurt no comfort, major character death moceit where janus is like 5 minutes away from being executed (i was thinking by hanging) and this is their last goodbye. it probably wouldnt come into play at all but just to be thorough: in my mind its like a vaguely fantasy 18th century setting

Hello, Anon. Thanks for the request. 

I normally do not enjoy reading major character death fics, but I surely am most willing to write them. 

I was sold-out on the whole fantasy18th century setting. 

Did I get carried away? Well, yes. 

I hope you don’t mind the piece of subversion I decided to incorporate. Also, I did indeed get carried away and wrote 1808 words for this. I have no self-control.  

Anyhow, I hope you enjoy it! 

AO3                               For other requests

TW: Major character death, swearing, HEAVY angst. Really, this will not end up nicely. 

Words: 1808 

It is one’s duty to abide by the laws

Tap. 

Tap. 

Tap. 

Tap. 

The tireless dripping of the filtrations in the stone cell did not stop, a repetition akin to a clock. It followed along the rhythm of the passage of each second he had left. 

As expected, the dungeons stunk of humidity and other things he did not wish to dwell on. They hadn’t even allowed him the comfort of a pile of hay to lay onto. All the dirt on his left cheek stuck to his skin disgustingly, god knows how scruffy his appearance would be after a week imprisoned.  

Far away, carried by the reverberation of the undergrounds, the sound of steps from upstairs reached his ears. There was a scuffle between who he deduced were four people. Two guards, and two...

“I said let me IN!” 

Ah. 

Two idiots. His two idiots.

“I needn’t remind you that challenging His Royal authority will wind you up where you are so adamant to give us pass to. I can begin reciting all set laws you’d be violating”. 

The loudness in Logan’s voice surprised him. It was almost as if he intended for him to listen too. 

A heavy door opened with a low creak. Then steps rushing down the irregular stone stairs. 

“Janus!” 

Oh. His heart jumped and wailed at the shadows turning the corridor. A sweetness missing from his cheery, silly, and endearing voice. His idiot. 

A cloaked figure fell on his knees in front of him, yet the bars rendered him so far away. He removed his hood, and, there he was. With his curly blond hair, the freckles he’d counted so many nights and the round wire glasses he only wore in private. Patton, his lover, but, most importantly, the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Ulidorean. Right behind him, as always, the royal advisor, also, his very good friend Logan Abinie. 

“What are you doing here? Does His Highness fancy tainting his reputation even more? I did deny our relationship, and anything that may have involved you with this mess, dear. Skillfully so. Have you any understanding of how hard that was? Well, of course not, because here you are, definitely not ruining all of my very light efforts on keeping your reputation untarnished. Lovely”. 

A pained smile graced Patton’s face, cutting him in half. He reached for the inside of the cell through the bars, to at least be able to touch him. 

“I’m sure those pants are not expensive at all. Thank goodness the guards bother to keep the floors spotless” Janus said as he gave in and got closer. 

Patton cupped his cheek, brushing some of the dirt away in a caress. Just as he always did. 

Not this time though. 

There was so much shit on Janus that not even a thousand caresses could unbury him out of the schemes that had brought him where he was. And, where was he? Oh, right, in a filthy cell, a night away from being executed. By hanging no less, and, oh, what a shame, for his windpipe looked so lovely whenever Patton pressed kisses alongside its column; but would, regardless, end up broken. 

All honey in his glance dripped on Janus leaving him with a bitter aftertaste. The brightest light in the world could not afford to be drowned in such sadness. 

“I’m going to save you” the whisper was so tiny he’d barely heard it. 

It felt like a love confession. ‘I’ll save you, he says, when he should rather save himself from me’. 

The half-born reptile looked up at the other person witnessing the prince’s lunacy. 

“You, get him out of here”. 

“No”.

“Great”. 

His scales popped, disentangling themselves from the glamour he had cast with blood magic, costing him a cut on his fingertips. At this point, he should be able to control his emotions. But no, apparently, there was no chance that the kingdom would not see his true visage. Dignity and death did not fit in fate’s plans for him. 

“How are you planning to do that exactly? Getting out of tricky situations was never your strong suit, my dear. That’s my job. And just look where it has led me. Where it has led us! You cannot ruin your chances with the crown when Earl Heeldwing and his supporters are threatening your father’s authority like they are”. 

“Roman is searching for the Dragon witch” he tried to argue. 

“So what? He may be your best knight, but he’s not your brightest one. Virgil is still wounded, and, without his help, he may never find the Dragon witch”. 

“You are not the only draconid descendant within the kingdom, the council knows this. If we manage to apprehend the Dragon witch and get her testimony we may be able to persuade the Circle of Elders to reconsider the nature of your penalty and earn the time needed in order to prove your innocence, but first, you must--” 

“Logan, goodness, I was not aware of the fact that there are many draconids in Ulidorean. Well, not that you mention that I’m sure it changes the circumstances. The Elders could not have possibly considered that! You are truly the genius everyone pegs you as”. 

“Jan, trust me. Everything will be fine, just let me help you”. 

“No!” he pulled apart and stood up. “Do you think I have not considered this? I made my appeal to them! I did try to persuade them and show them that I was framed! But nobody in the council believes me anymore. If the Circle of Elders are set on having my head, me, their main consul, then whichever meager testimony you find, will not make it through to a hearing! I am to be hanged by tomorrow morning. So I advise you to leave me alone and save yourselves the heartbreak!” 

“I am doing my best!”

“Yes, because surely doing your best is all it takes to change the world! This ridiculous willingness to believe in the good in others. People will condemn an innocent and the world shall not move a finger to stop it. Patton, your naivety is what brought us into this situation!”

Patton struggled to keep his breath steady after that, managing only a nod in response. 

“I did not mean that” Janus said as he pushed his body against the bars. 

“You said it still” he stood up. “Believing that there is good in others is what brought me to believe in you”. 

His chest twisted in pain when Patton pressed a kiss on his forehead and made a move to leave. Janus caught the soft hand before he never had a chance to again. 

“Please”. 

“Don’t be afraid, I will find a way to keep you safe, okay?”

The hand squeezed back and then let go. 

Seeing the dawn one last time. Maybe, if they moved him to the carriage early enough he could watch the sunrise before it got dark for good. 

The cell door opened.

A pair of handcuffs were quickly snapped closed on his wrists. 

Walking through the corridors he realised. ‘I don’t want to die’. 

He disentangled himself from the grip of the guards and he ran. Away, anywhere. 

‘I don’t want Patton to marry a noblewoman for heirs, I want him to marry me. I don’t care about what the court thinks anymore, I could not manipulate them. I want to wake up with him. I want to still be the Elders’ consul, I want to write law, I want my books, my house, my friends… I want to live’. 

One of the guards caught him. Janus was immobilised in the blink of an eye, the other guard hit him in the head and everything went black. 

Not for what seemed long enough. 

He woke up to the jolting of a carriage. Unexpectedly, a very nice looking carriage, rather than the disgusting ones which took the prisoners to the gallows. 

What? 

Impossible. Patton had made it. There was no other explanation. He… he did manage to save him! God. To hell with his views on the nonsense of the institution of marriage, he was going through that wedding Patton had always wished for. 

His vision finally focused. The concussion would not heal immediately, but he would have Patton by his side. 

By his side, he found Remus instead. 

“Remus?” 

“Hey, dragon penis. Long time no see. You got pretty roughed up in the dungeons”.

Remus by his side, and in front of him…

“Logan?” 

“Ah, you’re finally awake. You might be suffering from a concussion. It would be best if you rested for now. We will wake you once we get to the border”.  

“To the border?” Janus asked as he tried to sit up. 

A wave of nausea filled his esophagus. 

No. Not a good idea. 

“Rest. We will explain in time”. 

“What is going on?” 

“...” 

“Logan, you never keep quiet when someone asks a question, what mess…” 

“I can hit him in the head again, if you want” offered Remus, not sounding as joyful as usual, 

“Where’s Patton?” 

With that question, the world for everybody withing the carriage suddenly stopped. Logan tensed within seconds, even Remus held his breath back. They looked at each other in a way that conveyed far too much sympathy, especially considering their personalities. An unspoken message went between the two. Janus could almost hear it. It was a ‘we have to tell him’ kind of look, was it not? 

“He pleaded the principle of exchange using his royal power”. 

“No”. 

The principle of exchange was one of the laws introduced during the reign of Patton’s grandfather, it allowed for a person to exchange the penalty of a crime with that of a relative’s. It was intended as a way to prevent the most vulnerable members of a family to endure the hardness of a punishment they might not be able to withstand, while ensuring they received the impact of said punishment through the bond with their family. 

But, for that to happen… Patton must have recognised him as his spouse. Members of the crown could not be executed for a crime, only exiled. 

Then…

Oh no. 

Patton walked up the wooden planks that made the stairs of the gallows. It was worth it, he told himself. He even kept on telling that to himself when the Circle of Elders encouraged him to reconsider. Janus was convicted before he had made him his husband, which means that the veto on punishment by execution on the royal family did not stand for him. His grandfather had not thought this far ahead when he wrote down the law. One may stand in the place of a relative for a crime. That applied to everybody.

Including him. 

Logan and Remus would watch over Janus. 

Patton smiled in spite of it all. 

He did keep him safe.

...

I AM SO SORRY. 

[sapphyrelily]

Remembrance

inspired by a conversation I had with @fellis-world, though this doesn’t quite depict how that conversation went...

Murasaki stood in the little garden behind the Firstborn’s statue, gazing up at his visage. The stars were a pretty background for his forward-looking face, the Mother Tree’s leaves dipping in and out of view.

She wrapped her hands around her elbows, fingers pressing into bark. Harder, until her fingers grew sore from the pressure, but not enough. Never enough. It was never enough, for her bark wasn’t hard enough to draw sap, not hard enough for her to injure herself.

It made her a little bit resentful, but also grateful. The Mother knew her tendencies towards self-harm, and though she would never pick up a knife and willingly draw sap, anything else was on the table.

The soft sounds of raking from behind her made a small smile rise to her lips. Mender Earie tended his garden beautifully, and though she had little skill with plants, it was always nice to sit near and listen to him work.

She let her mind wander, and soon noticed voices floating over. Her eyes darted back. A short sylvari with bright green bark spoke to the mender, his posture open and friendly. The leaves on his head were burgundy, his pulsing glow a bright blue. She didn’t think she’d seen him around before.

He looked a little like Caithe, though her mentor would never be that open or friendly. It made her curious, but not curious enough. She didn’t want to be seen, not at the moment.

Mender Earie called to her. “Murasaki. Come, speak to a brother.”

She pretended she couldn’t hear him and walked towards the statue, standing just under it. She really couldn’t bear to speak to anyone, not at the moment.

But footsteps approached anyway, and she felt a presence looming behind her. She didn’t want to look back, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the Firstborn’s feet.

Don’t speak to me. Please.

“I miss him.”

Murasaki glanced at him then, surprise softening her animosity. That was not what she’d expected, but it was not…entirely unwelcome. “You knew Trahearne?”

He smiled, but it was a sad smile. The kind of sadness she knew, shaped by loss. “Who didn’t? He was a kind mentor, a loving man. A great leader.”

“He was, wasn’t he?” Murasaki said softly. She shifted to half-face him, surprised to find that he was nearly as short as she was. Not many sylvari were. “I wish I spent longer with him.”

“As do I.”

“Were you in the Pact?”

“I was.” He shook his head, leaves fluttering into his face. “I left, after the Maguuma campaign. I could not stay to keep it going, when the man who brought it all together was gone.”

“You don’t like Logan?” Murasaki teased.

(She caught herself. It surprised her, for she hated talking about this. It made her heart hurt.)

“Logan Thackeray will never live up to Trahearne.”

Murasaki chuckled. “I would not say that to his face, but you are right.”

The man grinned, offering a small bow. “I’m Eos.”

“Murasaki.” She smiled, not entirely falsely, but not completely truthfully. She glanced up at the statue, then back at Mender Earie, who was not watching them. Maybe it would be alright, to be indulgent for a few minutes. “Would you like to go up there? See the view as he does?”

Eos started, looking at her curiously. “Can we do that?”

“As long as you don’t tell Mender Earie.”

Murasaki winked at him and casually walked away, her hands twisting beneath her sleeves. A last glance at the mender showed him tending his plants, and she spun on her heel, disappearing as she focused on the ground where the statue stood above them.

She blinked at the new view, then spread her hands over the ground, locking her spell in place. A swirling pink portal appeared at her feet, and the moment Eos appeared through it, she let the spell fade, the portal dissipating.

He let out a low sigh as they looked over Caledon Path, at the travellers that came and went, at the Wardens standing sentinel. Then he looked up, at the visage of their beloved Firstborn and the way he extended an arm out to the Grove, resplendent yet reserved.

Eos' face crumpled, and he fell to his knees, sobbing softly. Murasaki slowly lowered herself to the ground near him, but just out of reach. She wondered distantly, what it was like to give in to your emotions, to be allowed such freedom of expression. To cry when you felt sad. To not have to hold it all in.

She tilted her head back, gazing upon Trahearne's smiling face. It made her eyes water, to see him so. To see the eagerness on his face, the life in his expression. The gentleness with which he beheld the world.

She missed that. She missed his surprised laughs and thoughtful guidance, his strategic mind and careful actions.

She missed being inspired by such a great man, and his untimely death had left her with a bigger hole in her heart than she dared to admit.

Murasaki took a slow, deep breath, wishing away the ugly frown that had pulled her lips down. She could not cry. She wouldn’t. Enough tears had been shed–

“Murasaki?” Eos’ voice pulled her gaze back to him. His voice was hoarse, and his face was wet. “Why don’t you cry?”

“I can’t.” Her fingers laced together under her sleeves, crushing each other. “I won’t cry. Trahearne deserves better than my tears. Because I couldn’t save him.”

“None of us could.” The words were a bolt to her heart, hitting harder because she knew they were true. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t cry.”

She shook her head. She barely knew Eos, and she didn’t want to cry in front of him. “Crying is my weakness. I don’t like it.”

“Then I’ll turn away,” he offered. His eyes bore into hers, bright and understanding. “We all deserve to cry.”

She smiled tightly as he did as he said, pondering on his words. She’d love to. But she hated people seeing. She really hated it.

Above her, Trahearne reached out, his smile comforting. Familiar.

Murasaki squeezed her eyes shut; let her smile wobble and her teeth grit together, a few tears leaking out. Her breath hitched and her inhales were shaky, her heart plummeting. Shattering.

I miss you. Trahearne, I miss you.

Her hands clutched at the grass, tearing some loose. She let them bite into her hand for a moment, then released them. Squeezing her eyes tightly, she blotted her eyes on her sleeve, breathing deeply through her mouth. Willing her emotions back under, behind a wall of calm.

“Sister, that’s hardly called crying.”

“You weren’t supposed to be looking.” Murasaki flicked her gaze over to Eos, who leaned against one of the statue's feet. Her heart was still heavy – even though she had only been vulnerable for a few seconds – and she did not have the energy to be angry.

He shrugged and smiled lightly. “I can still hear, even if I don’t look.”

She smiled at that, a small, tired smile. “Yes.”

She was so tired. She didn’t want to move, not when it meant others could come upon her in her distress, and she wouldn’t be able to pull a brave façade for them.

Maybe she could stay. Just for tonight. Just another few hours of vulnerability. What was a few more when one person had already seen her as such?

“Do you want to stay up here, brother? I can create a portal for you to go back if you don’t, but I don’t want to move for the night.”

Eos glanced up at her, his expression shaded with thoughtfulness, with pain. “I think… Perhaps I will stay the night, if you don’t mind sharing this space. I would shelter under Trahearne’s shadow. It feels as if he is still here.”

Murasaki nodded. She thought the same. “In the morning, then. Maybe in the morning, it’ll be better.

“We can keep remembering him here, tonight.”

[sweetmoxiety]

Behind This Mask Is a Desperate Heart (Part Four)

Hospital AU

AU Summary: A fall. A single fall. It may seem like nothing until it’s all consuming. What happens when the doctors struggle to diagnosis the disease responsible for Virgil’s rapid deterioration?

Characters: Virgil, Patton, Roman, Logan.

Pairings: Moxiety and Logince.

Word Count: 1830

Warnings: Swearing, death, and speaking about it (not main character death).

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |  Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 |

     “Logan... Lo-”

    “What Roman!” Logan snapped, whipping his head Roman’s way. Sweat dripped down his brow as he kept pressing the heel of his interlocked fingers down.

    “He’s been down forty-three minutes,” Roman said softly, fingers latching onto Logan’s arm.

    To his dismay, Logan roughly shook off his grasp. Nothing was working; the defibrillator atop the crash cart had done nothing to restart the child’s choked heart.

    Training his jaded eyes back onto the monitor, Logan watched on as the desperate pressing of his hands forged fleeting peaks. Ceasing again, Logan rattled his fist, his nails digging gratingly into his sweaty palm. And the crests were rapidly replaced with the shrill of the flatline buzz.

    ‘Fuck,’ he cursed under his breath, disregarding the throbbing ache in his arms and the sticky feeling of sweat hugging his skin as he began compressions again. The line of nurses waiting to take over had dwindled. And instead, tired eyes watched Logan’s adamant refusal.  

    “Logan,” Roman hesitated to reach out a second time, but the larger the crowd of patients that framed them, the faster he knew he needed to bring it to an end, “Lo, you need to stop.”

    “People have come back after having been down for longer,” Logan countered, rhythm faltering and voice strained.

    “Lo.., he’s been deprived of oxygen for too long.”

    Logan knew Roman was right. The longer the brain was deprived of oxygen, the worse the damage would be. Logically, he should stop. He should stop. What he was doing defied logic. But reason, faulty or not, told him that there was a chance; he’d seen it happen before. So, no, he can’t stop from pressing the heel of his palm down. He-

    “Stop, Logan,” Roman firmly grabbed Logan’s sweat-slicked arm, dragging him off the patient and onto the tile floor.

    “No-,” Logan spat coldly, trying to tug his arm free from the attending pulling him away, but that didn’t halt Roman from tugging him further as the monitor shrieked out a dying cry. It screeched at him, wailed at him, and squawked at him. And he wilted. He wilted hearing the shattering whine of the flatline. And he stopped fighting. He slumped, watching the nurses’ unplug the heart monitor; the call of the monitor vanishing like ships crossing the Bermuda triangle. Absent was the rise and fall of the child’s chest, and absent was the reassuring beep. Instead, reassurance was replaced by machine wheels being dragged away along scratched floors.

    Teal lips and muted, cold skin glaring at him from the corner of his eye sunk their teeth sharply into his memory. But what had, had tears springing into the corners of his eyes was the withered flower visage, the sagged shoulders, and the child’s arms limp at his sides. It was seeing them shelter the child in a flimsy, white sheet that caused Logan to truly depress.

    “F-Fuck off, Ro,” Logan shook, finally yanking his arm free. Stumbling, he turned, wiping away the tears before anyone could see them leave wet trails in their wake.

    “Logan-”

    Logan cleared his throat, shifting, and abruptly cutting off Roman.

    “The beta-blockers should have worked,” He, then, said all too controlled, fists clenched and watching on stiffly like a switch had been flipped. The Propranolol should have worked. Why hadn’t it worked?

    “I know, Lo,” Roman frowned with unease, guiding them both down the achromatic hallway. He’d never observed Logan as anything other than the stoic, calculating logicistian he so frequently gloated on being... “You know you didn’t do anything wrong, right?” Roman watched the other scrunch up his nose as if he’d been asked to try escargot.

    “The facts would seem to suggest otherwise,” Logan scoffed under his breath.

    “I know you know that sometimes people can’t be saved,” Roman opted to use logic against him as he ushered him through the mess room’s ajar door.  

    “I’m aware.”

    “Then you’d know it wasn’t your fault. Sometimes we just lose patients,” Roman said, shutting the door and steering Logan’s stiff frame to sit on the mattress beside him.

    “Yes, well-” Logan muttered, peeling away from the look Roman offered children to comfort them through a particularly painful injection, “I haven’t.”

    “Never?”

    “That is what I said.”

    When Roman fell silent, Logan glanced back at Roman to see his mouth curled downward like a bad omen. He was about to speak up when Roman suddenly interjected, “Do you know why I went into pediatrics?”

    “You’re too exuberant and animated for any other field,” Logan joked jadedly, scooting back further onto the bed, the mattress faintly creaking underneath him as he did so.

    “No- well, it does help with dealing with children, but no, that's not the reason,” Roman shook his head, a choked laugh caught in the back of his throat.

    “Why then?”

    He’d piqued Logan’s interest, but Roman had fallen silent a second time - two times too many. For a man that was so boisterous and noisy at every possible opportunity, him sitting there with his hands resting limply in his lap was unnerving. It was far from the childlike energy he typically exuded.

    “...Roman?”

    “In my third year of med school.., I was assigned a pediatric oncology rotation-”

    “I do remember you mentioning that quite a few times. It would appear it had an impact on you.”

    “Yes...,” He wasn’t past the point of return, but in a moment of trust he proceeded, “but I’ve never told you about Layla.”

    “Layla?”

    “She was the bravest princess,” Roman smiled ruefully, head lolling forward slightly, “She adored my marvelous story telling; her favorite tale was the battle of the dragon witch and the strong, fearless princess!”

    Pausing to collect himself as history painfully nudged its way into the present, Roman continued, “Oh, Lo, if only you could have seen the dreams reflecting in her eyes and the way she lit up every room with her contagious smiles.”

     “More contagious than dear Patton’s!” Roman’s fragile smile straddled the edge of sinking again as his fingertips swiped away new tears over old memories.

    “What happened to Layla, Roman?”

    “She had acute myelogenous leukemia...,” he let out a shaky sigh as he reached into the past to tug those memories looser. Memories of Layla were fragile treasures, priceless glimpses of hope. Memories of her enacting a battle with Roman and striking him with a foam sword before she was too sick to get out of bed weren’t allowed to simply fade away. Those memories once left his heart mangled and weeping. But memories of Layla going wide-eyed as Roman spoke frivolously of the adventures of Princess Fiona and of Layla giggling wildly as Roman’s attending poked fun at him sprung forward with dizzying speed; short, happy time capsules of history nestled in Roman’s mind.

    “She was nine, Lo, and I blamed myself. I was the one that encouraged the transplant.”

    “But you know what?” Roman continued, drying his downcast eyes with his white sleeve, “she helped me; her story shaped mine.”

     When Logan didn’t say anything, Roman resumed, his voice freckled with an incurable ache, “There was a time when I tried to shake the memories because it hurt. It pained me too much, but it was Layla that made me fight for pediatrics.”

    And a silence fell over them.

    “I- I.. I don’t know what to say.”

    “Lo, what I’m trying to tell you is that we can’t save everybody no matter how hard we try, and I know you won’t admit how much it’s eating at you and how much it’ll eat at you because ‘it defies logic’, but I want you to get it into your brainiac head of yours that you’re not alone.”

    Glancing over at Roman, Logan saw the fences torn down by the man himself, “I- Thank you, Roman.”

-------

    “Ye- yes, Patton,” Logan nodded quickly,  interrupting Patton’s distressed rambling, and eyeing the way Roman disappeared back into the E.R., “I am fine. It was just a moment of weakness.”

    “Having emotions isn’t a weakness.”

    “Emotions are messy and unpredictable and precarious.” Emotions were far from the safe clutches of reasoning and deduction; emotions just weren’t Logan’s thing.

    “You shouldn't feel guilty or view having feelings as a weakness,” Patton set the fact free from its fetters, “sure, sometimes, your feelings may not make sense, but it's not your feelings job to make sense. You just... experience them. And you have to do your best to deal with them.”

   Logan stopped, pondered even, only to recycle pages of his own inadequate words and cycle through dozens more he wouldn’t share.

    “Yeah?” Patton cocked his head, picking up again, “understanding them and being in touch with them can give us a better outlook on our issues and our situations. And by understanding how they influence us, we can better evaluate ourselves.” He could tell he was starting to sway Logan, but Logan had long ago cocooned himself in the safety of rationality.

    “Have you heard of Antonio Damasio?” Patton pursued changing Logan’s mind like he chased after a second cookie.  

    Logan shook his head.

    “Well, Antonio Damasio noticed that when his patients lost the part of the brain that controlled emotions, the patients’ decision making abilities became very poor. So, where would we be if we didn’t have the emotional side of our brains?”

    “Huh...” Logan furrowed his brow, eyeing Patton incredulously, “you seem to make a sound argument, Patton.”

    “Hmm....,” after another wordless moment of careful contemplation, Logan spoke up again, “it would seem you are.. right, Patton.” Patton was right? What..? Patton was right...

    “Oh my juice! Really?” His spirit danced with reason to celebrate, lips stretched into a shocked grin.

    “...Yes,” Logan admitted, though he much preferred not having to say it a second time. It was like pulling teeth to hear him verbally acknowledge when he was wrong, but maybe that’s what made it so astonishing to hear.

    “Come ‘ere, hug time!”

    “Fine..” Logan grumbled, letting Patton wrap his arms tightly around him, his own limbs trapped underneath the sweet sunshine’s arms circling his torso.

    “Just know that I’m here for you, Lo,” Patton squeezed, looking up at Logan before letting go. He knew Logan didn’t particularly enjoy long hugs even if they were from him.

    “Thank you, Patton.”

    “Now, how about we go get a nice warm cup of hot cocoa?”

    “That would be satisfactory.”

    “Yay! Let’s g- Oh-” Patton started and then stopped, cogs turning before setting his own universe back in motion, “maybe I should see if Virgil’s up first? You did say you wanted me to keep an eye on him. Last time I checked in on him it was three ish?”

    “That’s right,” Logan said, waving his hand, “go ahead, Patton, I’ll meet you in the cafeteria.”

“Okay! I’ll be right behind you!” Patton leapt into motion with a pep in his step. He’d done good.

Tag list (ask to be added): @buckydeangirl91 @bunny222

[gloomshrike]

Martyrdom and Madness

Sparks tore themselves from the torches, floating in the steady Westfall breeze before flickering out. At least two dozen torches illuminated the clearing, as well as almost fifty people. A crude deck stood at the back of the clearing adorned by a wrought-iron brazier at each end, and a podium of hasty and shabby craftsmanship was affixed to the center, where a man stood. Dirt, dust, and oil clung to his robes, down to the tattered edges which fluttered in the wind. On the breast of his tunic was torn spot, where an insignia had been unceremoniously ripped from the garb.

As the last of the audience filed into the clearing, the man pulled down his hood, letting a mess of dark-brown hair fall over his blue eyes and down the sides of his face, most of which was covered by a red bandana. The crowd recognized the symbol wrapped around the man's head, and regarded it with caution. Through the crimson cloth, the man began to speak.

"You are wise to scrutinize this visage, people of the Alliance," he began, gesturing to the bandana, "for what could this sanguine cloth represent for you starving and suffering people than the blood of those who have failed you. Wrynn blood. VanCleef blood. My blood."

Furrowed brows washed over the crowd of farmers and workers as they listened.

"Your presence here warms my being, and brings a nostalgia I haven't felt in many years. You see, I grew up like you. Working families, toiling through the day to provide for our great kingdom. I never appreciated what we did, what you do. I clung to dreams of escape, dreams of rising to newer, nobler stations. I was, more than anything, a... sycophant. I believed in this kingdom and believed they had won the hearts of the people through valor and triumph."

Many people's nostrils flared, and the sounds of spit hitting dirt echoed through the clearing.

"But they didn't win it, did they? It was given to them. The right to oppress, the right to deny, the right to start wars, the right to claim the food you grow for the /privilege/ of growing it! Land your families have owned for this entire sickening dynasty! It is all one bad harvest from being taken from you, as it has been taken from others!"

The people grew heated as shouts and claps of agreement spread through the audience.

The man sighed, his expression softening.

"I fulfilled my dream. I left our farm and studied, trained, worked in a manner only people like us know. My family succumbed to illness, as poor as they day I was born into their life. I did not attend the humble service our friends had for them. I was at war. A young Alliance battlemage, fighting side by side with the Kirin Tor in Northrend. My dreams of glory and valor and blood being fulfilled! I was a hero! And I was welcomed back as a hero!"

Jeers erupted from the crowd as the rest shook their heads. The man raised his hand, quieting the clearing.

"But I never forgot my roots. After the destroyer set this land ablaze I came back. To rebuild. And what did I find? Here in Westfall? Starvation. Drought. Oppression. A Garrison with overflowing stockpiles of food who let their charges sleep outside with the horses. A new defias kingpin, touting her father's name and using your suffering as a facade for her petty vendetta. Another claimed bloodline shitting on the people they claim to represent!"

Solemn nods from the crowd as a few raised their torches in agreement.

"I sought to use my new station for good," the man continued, "and I asked them. Noblemen, church officials, ranking military I fought and nearly died with, I asked them! 'I thought we won?' I pleaded, 'why does their suffering endure?' Do you know what they told me?"

A few voices piped up in the crowd. "Price of war!", they cried, knowing the tired platitude of the haves.

The man slammed his fist onto the podium, gripping the edge of the wood until it began to crack under his whitening grasp.

"THE PRICE OF WAR!?" He roared over the crowd, tearing the bandana from his face, revealing a burn scar that covered most of the lower half of the right side of his face. He gestured to his disfigurement, continuing his wrathful sermon.

"WE PAID THE PRICE OF WAR! DID WE NOT!?"

The crowd roared back in unison, their cries chasing the birds from the trees surrounding the clearing.

"DID YOU NOT GIVE YOUR SONS AND DAUGHTERS TO THE WAR!? YOUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS!? YOUR FRIENDS?! DO THEY CARE!? CAN THEY SEE BEYOND THE COLD OPPORTUNISM OF FEWER MOUTHS TO FEED?!"

The crowd's voices echoed louder in the night, as the man raised his voice over them again.

"THE PRICE OF WAR IS MEASURED IN THE EMPTY CHAIRS AT DINNER, IN GRIEF, IN THE COURAGE TO PERSEVERE! THEY WANT TO MEASURE IT IN GRAIN?! I SAY WE MEASURE IT IN BLOOD!"

The crowd began to roar once more, but a single voice shouted them quiet as he moved to the front of clearing. The farmer spat on the ground, staring up at the robed man. "We don't need another bloody kingpin. You're all the same, you revolutionaries, comin' 'ere and shoutin' about hatin' war while lookin' for soldiers for yours!"

A few the crowd nodded in agreement, turning to the man at the podium for rebuttal, who nodded solemnly.

"No, you do not. I never liked the word kingpin. What respectable revolutionary dubs themself a title of the system they seek to overthrow? I am no kingpin, and I am not in need of soldiers. I have the people I need. I have people, but what I need, is /the/ people. To be ready. To be assured they are not forgotten, to lend me their spirit and their will." the man tied the bandana around his face again before he continued, "This world has lost its mind. Sometimes I believe it is well and just that the Old Gods and the Legion and whatever else continues to rise up to wipe us out. But as long as the human spirit endures, so will I. It is my duty."

The man looked down at the skeptic farmer.

"Would you prefer a donation? Another rich nobleman to toss coins into your basket? To bring you alms in your time of need? Do you ask for charity?"

The crowd scoffed and jeered again.

"Maybe I stand alone, but I /HUNT/ for my food!"

The crowd roared again.

"I will find your tithes, I will kill the thieves, and I will return them to the people!"

The crowd roared again, and the skeptic farmer looked up at the podium, "Who are you? What do you want from us if not to fight?"

The man stepped back from the podium, lifting his arms towards the crowd.

"My name is Mordbrand, and all I want is to deliver a message."

The crowd erupted a final time as Mordbrand opened a portal behind him, stepping through to the other side. The cries of the crowd fell away as the portal closed behind him.

The air was colder here, and the woodland thrived around him. Elwynn's forests grew in brazen protest to the weather. Mordbrand stood in the center of a small outpost, where a wagon of grain, vegetables, meats and pelts stood parked outside the barracks, ready to be moved into the capital.

A guard spotted the new arrival, drawing his blade before a blaze erupted underneath his plate, killing him instantly. Mordbrand moved fluidly, almost gracefully as his hands began to unleash spells. The alarm sounded as more guardsmen rushed out to meet him, several meeting their end instead as Mordbrand ran them through with a storm of sharp hail. Methodically, and effortlessly, he tore his way through the rank and file, until the last guardsman stood against him.

Mordbrand's gaze met the guard's, who stood defiantly with his greatsword drawn. "You must be up for a promotion." The mage teased.

The guard didn't offer a reply, and began moving towards the invader. Mordbrand tested him, throwing fireballs and small icicles as he blinked out of the guard's range again and again. The guard dodged the spells that came his way, gaining ground on their caster. Deftly, the guard swung his blade in a wide arc, forcing Mordbrand to blink away again. No sooner had he reappeared some distance away that a throwing knife whipped past his face, shredding his mask and drawing a thin line of blood.

Mordbrand stopped moving, staring at the charging guard. He lazily lifted his hand as shadowfrost shards erupted from the ground, piercing through the guardsmans greaves. The guard dropped his sword, crying out in pain as blood began to pool at his feet. Mordbrand approached him, removing the man's helmet.

"Very sneaky," the mage said coldly, "dress like a soldier, fight like a brig-"

"Like a brigand?" The guard gasped, looking up at his enemy as the red cloth began slipping from his face. “I’ve heard that before. Is that- is that you, Logan?”

Mordbrand looked at the guard, peering past his beard and a new set of scars, until a look of recognition passed over his face.

"Private Adams. Oh, this world truly is so small for one that enjoys a new apocalypse every year."

"It's Sergeant Adams," the dying man coughed.

"Congratulations."

A stream of blood poured from the guard's mouth as he stared daggers into Mordbrand.

"Why? Why all this, what's happened to you? What have you done?" The man struggled for consciousness.

"What I've done I have done for the people from whom you stole," came the reply, bluntly, as Mordbrand gestured towards the wagons.

Adams looked around at the slain guards strewn about the outpost, "This is about the tithes? What about those people? The ones following their orders, their duty?" he gasped.

"I'm saving them the disappointment of living in a world where duty absolves us of responsibility. Besides, you and they have a new duty."

"And wh-" Adams's reply was cut off as Mordbrand's hand covered his mouth, muffling screams as the flames flew down his throat.

"Harbingers."  

His grim work done, Mordbrand hitched the wagon to a horse, and prepared to ride out towards Westfall, where his defias waited. As the sun began to crest the Elwynn hills, he looked back to admire the burning barracks, the red glow of the flames reflecting and dancing in his eyes, before mounting the horse and riding out.

All that was left of the outpost was a smoldering building, untouched barricades, and a platoon of impaled guards lining the edges, with the bloody points of unmelting shadowfrost poking from their mouths.

--------------------------------------------------------

The man walked briskly through the Mage Quarter, with his clean and pressed robes fluttering in the breeze, and his oiled dark-brown hair swept neatly back. A golden lion was emblazoned proudly on the chest of his tunic. He climbed the steps to his floor to answer his summons, entering the door to find a few of his colleagues gathered around a map. One of the mages waved Logan over.

"It's good to see you, Logan, how ha-," he paused, looking at the newcomer, "your scars, they're gone?"

Logan shook his head, "Some trivial illusion magic. I grew tired of frightening the children on my morning walks."

The man nodded and gestured at the map, "I didn't want to call you for this, as far as I'm concerned you earned your retirement. But.."

Logan cocked his head slightly to the side, "But?"

The mage sighed. "Someone hit a small outpost outside the Westfall border. Burned the place down, stole our supplies, and stuck the damn guards on icicles for us to find."

Logan scratched his head, "So Horde, then? It's a supply line disruption, classic tactic. It explains neither why I'm here nor why this conversation is happening here and not at SI:7."

"Because some very concerning magic was used. Both very advanced and very dark."

A man stepped forward from behind the mage, towering in stature and equipped in full plate. The mage gestured to the newcomer, "This is Commander Vandryck, he's the Paladin Order's liason to the militia."

The paladin nodded towards Logan before continuing.

"The barricades were left intact. No forced entry, no signs of battle at all until the barracks, near the back of the outpost. It was done almost line for line like-"

"Operation Ibis," Logan interrupted, staring in awe at the map "the portal hit and runs we used to disrupt Hand of Suffering lieutenants in the Third War."

Another mage piped up from behind the two, "Except we had Silver Covenant mages conjuring those portals. Who besides the Kirin Tor has the resources to cast such pinpoint translocomotive spells? I'm telling you, the Sunreav-"

The first mage snapped back, "this is the last time I'm going to tell you, we are not presenting an accusation of murder to the Sunreavers without proof. What would they want with meat and pelts?"

"It's like Logan said, disrupt the supply lines, it is an act of war!" The other mage replied.

"To what end? None of this-"

Logan raised a hand, his gaze unmoving from the map. "Who has the capability to do this is academic. It's been done. It's going to be done again."

Commander Vandryck looked at Logan, "So I take it that means you're going to help us?"

Logan offered a soft smile to the paladin, "I've never shied from doing my duty."

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around...(Part 14)

This is PART 14 of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-six different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 14 is written by @darling-in-my-fashion!

[Part 13]

The ground beneath them shakes as the barn rattles from the impact. The rickety structure seems to sway and groan as the sound of wood splitting rips through the air.

Jeff screams and turns in the opposite direction, sliding around on the detritus of the wooded area with his mostly clean loafers as he attempts to make a quick escape.

“No you don’t, damn it,” Wei yells as he grabs Jeff by the collar. “You know more than you're letting on, and if you don't tell us, you're going to get a lot of people—”

Something slamming against the barn door cuts off Wei’s speech. Two loud thuds rings out through the wooded area and Jeff sends a well-placed kick to Wei’s shin to break his hold before scampering off screaming.

“Goddamnit,” Wei mutters before he takes off at a fast clip after Jeff.

“I think he’s got the right idea,” Logan murmurs as he grabs Veronica’ hand and starts to pull her away from the barn.

“But, Logan, we—”

“Should absolutely run and not be those people. Think about how proud we’ll make Wallace when he realizes we didn't become stereotypical white people for a change.”

Veronica huffs but reluctantly follows, doing her best to look behind her to see who or what comes out of that rattling barn, but Logan is moving too fast for more than a glimpse as they make their way back towards the house.

Once she turns her attention forward she takes a moment to admire the cut and power of Logan’s back. His lats and delts so strong and chiseled as he moves with speed and precision across the rough underbrush.

Logan starts to slow down as the house comes into view through the trees and Veronica is grateful for the much more sedate pace. “We can't go back to the house, but we need to get somewhere with good cell reception. I'm hoping Dick contacted Mac by now.”

“We both know the odds of your stoner friend doing anything useful are slim to none, honey.”

The air is thick with the cloying smell of burning fuel as they draw closer to the house and smoke continues to rise from Logan’s charred car in the distance.

Veronica can no longer hear Jeff’s screams and only catches a glimpse of Wei before he vanishes in pursuit of Jeff. Her knees and shins ache from the too brisk run and constant strain of the day turned to evening.

A flash of headlights and the fast screech of tires draws Veronica’s attention from her aching body and towards the SUV barreling too fast up the driveway.

The vehicle makes an abrupt stop halfway down the lane and the passenger door opens before it even comes to a full stop.

“Mac!” Veronica yells as the tiny brunette tumbles from the car. Veronica happily takes the lead and pulls Logan behind her happy to see one of their problems solved.

“I figured following the billowing smoke would lead us to you,” Mac snarks, but relief is clear on her face when Veronica draws closer.

“Ronnie is always at the center of shit blowing up in this town. Though it's generally a little less on the nose,” Dick drawls as he rounds his truck with his usual negligent ease. “Dude, what happened to your shirt?”

Mac does a double-take at Logan before she looks back to Veronica. “Did we interrupt a round of ‘we survived’ sex?”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “Logan graciously gave up his shirt as a tourniquet for Ruby, who seems to have conveniently vanished.”

“I’m not sure I've got extra shirts, but I'm sure I have extra swim trunks with me,” Dick replies.

Veronica sighs. “What's he supposed to do with them, Dick? Wear them like a cape?”

“You should be nicer, Ronnie. We be the calvary. I don't see any of your other friends around to save your ass. Again, I might add.”

“You know what—”

“Not the time,” Logan interrupts. “I'd appreciate it if you'd take a look Dick. We can use the time to figure out what on earth is happening and what we’re going to do next.” Logan leans down and brushes his lips across her cheek before following Dick to the back of his truck.

“Right,” Veronica’s eyes track his stellar figure for a few moments before snapping back to Mac. “Did you find anything on...Mac?”

Mac’s ashen visage gives Veronica pause as her friend points to the line of trees she and Logan just emerged from.

“What the fuck is that?”

Want to find out what happens next? Check back next Saturday for the next installment written by… @beezlebobble . Tag, you’re it! Make sure to submit your segment to  vmheadquarters@yahoo.com by Wednesday, August 2nd.