#Ordered the tiny purple ones from the same place but the new shipment is a noticeably different metal

[applejarjar]

Progress on the skirt I'm making!

One side pretty much done, just half the other side to go!

[shinobis-of-ninjago-au]

Shinobis of Ninjago

Pilot 1: Way of the Ninja

Prologue (Pilot 1, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3), Pilot 2, Episode 1

They spent the night at the weapons-smith shop, getting many visitors asking if the siblings were okay, scared that the skeletons harmed them. When they asked about Jay, Skylor lied, saying he was upstairs sick.

Skylor told their neighbours that she would be leaving for a while, though she wasn't sure how long. The farmers said they would look after the shop and collect the money from the orders that had to be picked up and give it back to them when they returned. They also said they would keep an eye out for new shipments of metal and jewels. Nightfall soon came, visitors leaving and Skylor set up the orders that would be picked up when she was gone and closed down the shop.

Once morning came, they set off. Mystake said it would be a five day journey on foot, travelling through forests and mountains. They would stop in towns for meals, but be walking the rest of the day. On the evening of the fifth day they reached the base of a mountain, one of the tallest in the southern region of Ninjago.

Skylor looked at Mystake as if she had grown a second head. Mystake simply smiled and started walking around the base of the mountain until she came upon an old willow tree. She pushed aside the branches, revealing a stone staircase carved into the side of the mountain. Skylor sighed, hoisting up the pack on her shoulders.

An hour later, they reached the summit. White stone walls circled around the top, bright red circular doors engraved with a golden dragon marking the entrance. Skylor notched a wooden contraption off the end of a platform. Upon the end of inspection she concluded that it was a handmade elevator.

"¿¡De Verdad!? Are you kidding me? I climbed this mountain for nothing!" Mystake simply shrugged like she had no idea what Skylor was talking about. "How long is this training supposed to be?" Skylor asked. "I'm in a rush. Trying to save my brother, y'know. Oh wait, you do know. Because you were the one who let him get taken."

Mystake opened the large double doors, used to the blame of Jay's capture being thrown her way as it had been the topic of discussion for the past two days. "You will be ready when you are ready. Not a minute sooner." She walked down the few steps into a large open courtyard, a simple golden dragon statue in the middle.

Skylor followed, dropping her pack at the base of stairs and looking around. "A monastery? You expect me to learn how to fight in a place of peace?"

"Not fight, train." Mystake corrected. "To become a true ninja, to carry the honourable name of the Garmadon Clan on your back, you must first be able to see what others do not."

"But there's nothing here!" Skylor yelled, clearly distraught.

Mystake gestured to the small golden dragon statue beside her. There was another in the same spot on the opposite side of the stairs. She gave the post a little tap with her staff, and the statue fell back, revealing a tiny button. Skylor stared at it curiously as Mystake pressed it.

There was a faint sound of whirring before the dragon in the centre slowly raised out of the ground, four pillars in the corners following it soon after. Wooden planks and beams came next, filling up the space between each pillar, forming some sort of obstacle course.

"What does this have to do with anything?" Skylor asked, hand on her hip as she gazed around. "I thought you were going to teach me to fight–sorry, train me–so I could rescue my brother. Not do some stupid elementary school exercise."

"My, my, what a way with words you have. If you want to save your brother, complete the course before I finish my tea." Mystake walked over to the porch that lined the building on the opposite side of the courtyard. A teapot, along with a tray had been set up. Mystake sat down, crossed her legs and placed a cloth in her lap. She poured her tea and popped in two sugar cubes. After downing the cup in a few seconds, she looked to when Skylor was standing, unmoving from where she was thirty seconds ago.

"Today you fail. Come now, we must take care of that concussion of yours. Until you recover, you will rest and learn the way of the ninja."

"No way. I'm getting through this course today and saving my brother." Skylor said, planting her feet in the ground.

"We will see when you cannot even make it down the mountain. Come now, I have dinner waiting."

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

It took a few more days for Skylor to recover from her concussion. It had been a very small one and Mystake mentioned something about Elemental Masters healing at over twice the rate of regular humans, and her helmet had protected her from any further head injuries. For the next week, she spent the mornings studying with Mystake and training in hand-to-hand combat. The afternoons she spent trying to get through the obstacle course. So far, everyday, she had failed, her anger and frustration growing.

After over two weeks of staying at the monastery, Skylor walked out into the courtyard with a new mindset. If she could get through the course, she could not only save Jay, she could prove Mystake wrong. And that was enough motivation for her.

The course at first glance seemed simple, but in reality, it was quite hard. As soon as Mystake made a motion to grab her napkin, Skylor took off, army-crawling under swinging planks. She continued to race through the course. When she was about a third of the way through the course, she threw the wooden sword he had been armed with at Mystake, knocking the cup out of her hands.

Mystake looked down at the soiled napkin in her lap, reaching for another. When she was done making her second cup of tea, she looked up at the course, only to find Skylor missing.

"Was that one sugar, or two?"

Mystake looked to her right and saw Skylor leaning against the porch holding out the bowl of sugar cubes, smirking smugly up at the woman. Mystake scoffed and stood up, taking the bowl from Skylor and placing on the tray along with the rest of her tea set.

"So, am I going to learn this spinjitzu I've been hearing so much about?" Skylor asked, getting to her feet and dusting herself off.

"You already have." Mystake replied. "Your final test comes tomorrow. My advice is to get some sleep, you might need it."

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

That night, Skylor was uneasy. She laid in bed, unable to fall asleep. She tried reading, training, chamomile tea, but nothing was working. Maybe it was nerves about her final test, or perhaps she was anxious about rescuing her brother after two weeks. Who knew what he had been through.

She rolled over in bed, staring at the wall when she heard a faint thud above her head. Turning on the lantern next to her bed, she gazed upwards. Not seeing anything, she crawled back under the covers, keeping the light on. A few minutes later, another thud, this time coming from the other side of her room. Tossing the covers to the foot of her bed, Skylor got to her feet.

Cautiously creeping to the other side of the room, lantern in hand, Skylor shone the light on the corners. She froze when the light caught something. It was brief, but the glimpse of metal was all she needed.

"I know you're there, come out."

Three figures stepped out of the shadows. All were clad in black and had a weapon in their hands: a bo-staff, a trident, and a whip.

Slowly walked backwards as the three advanced and made a dash for her dresser. She hopped on top and pulled herself up into the rafters of the monastery. The three followed her through the roof until Skylor jumped down over the main foyer. She ran through the doors into the courtyard, looking around for anything that might prove useful.

Spotting the small dragon statues by the staircase, Skylor darted across the courtyard. Flipping back the dragon, she pressed the button, watching her three attackers fail to overcome their surprise and receive a few bruises from the obstacle course.

After the shock of the course springing up, the three warriors were filled with a new emotion for the red-haired girl. Abandoning their weapons on the ground, they charged towards Skylor. Soon, Skylor found herself on top of one of the warriors, but flattened under the other two. Skylor raised her fist in the air, only to have it grabbed by the two on top of her. Before it could escalate further, a cry rang out through the courtyard.

"Stop!"

The four stopped, looking up at Mystake who was standing in the doorway. They slowly got off each other, heads hanging as they moved into a line. "Hai, Sensei," The four said in unison, bowing.

"Wait, wait, wait. I thought I was your only student. You have more?" Skylor asked. Mystake nodded and Skylor placed a hand on her hip, looking to each person. "No impresionada." ('Not impressed.')

"Hey!" One cried. "You couldn' take us down, remember tha'. You needed the obstacle course to save ya butt." They had a bit of a drawl to their voice.

"With all due respect, Sensei Mystake, you never said anything about a fourth. I thought we were to retrieve the weapons, the three of us." Another said, they spoke with a bit of an accent, hinting that Ninjanese wasn't their first language. Mystake tilted her head curiously, so they continued, wringing their hands nervously. "What I mean is, us three have trained together. We are solid."

"No me pareció tan sólido," ('Didn't look so solid to me,') Skylor muttered under her breath, crossing her arms.

Two of them shot her deadly glares as the third spoke to Mystake. "Master Mystake, I am afraid I do not understand. What is the meaning of this?"

"Each of you have received a gift passed down through generations of your families. An ability in tune with elemental properties. But first, change into these." Mystake went inside for a few seconds before emerging with four neatly folded ninja-yorois.

Minutes later, the four emerged out of the monastery, gathering in the courtyard. Orange, maroon, navy blue, and purple. The yorois were soft and loose, though Skylor wasn't sure what the scabbards attached to her belt were for.

"Not bad." Skylor complimented. "But why the colour coding? Can't tell us apart, old woman?"

"There are reasons behind my methods. Remember that." Mystake snapped. She turned to the rest of her students. "You four have been gifted with special elemental properties. Skylor, Master of Absorption, the ability to absorb another's power for a limited time through skin contact." She said, placing her staff on on Skylor's shoulder. "You shall be the team's konran, the agitator. I think it fits you well."

Mystake moved her staff to the girl beside Skylor who was wearing a maroon gi. She had short raven hair and grey eyes that shone as Mystake directed her attention to her. "Nya, Master of Water. Ability to control and manipulate water. Also referred to as hydrokinesis. You will make a wonderful teiastsu."

Mystake moved her staff to her next student, a dark skinned girl with bright pink hair that had a blue streak running through it. "Seleil, Master of Phantom. Stealthy like shadows. Your special skill set will serve you well as a kishu." Seliel bowed respectively as Mystake moved on to the last girl. "Pixal, Master of Technology. Like her name, she is ahead of her time and seer with sixth sense. An excellent Kanchō.

"You four are the chosen ones who will protect the four Weapons of Spinjitzu from Lady Misako."

"Hold on, you said we were saving my brother first! What about him, or did you forget, old woman." Skylor sneered.

Nya gasped, missing the point of Skylor's statement. "We're saving a boy? Is he cute?"

"Nya..." Seliel warned, watching as Skylor's eye twitched dangerously.

"I-I just wanna know what we're getting ourselves into. Ya know how hard it is to get a date when ya live on a mountain." She said. She leaned in close to Skylor, whispering, "Does he like maroon?"

"Back. Off. Or so help me, I will steal your kneecaps while you sleep." Skylor threatened.

Seliel nodded approvingly. "Creative insult."

"Oh trust me, chica, I got tons more."

Mystake interrupted before the argument could go any further. "If you want to save your brother, we need the weapons to do so. Come now, we will set off for the first weapon at dawn."

"Whoa, hold on a minute. You said you were going to teach us spinjitzu." Seliel said.

"I already have." Mystake answered. She turned around, heading back inside and leaving the doors open for her students.

Seliel sighed as Nya complained, "ugh, why she always gotta be so cryptic?"

"No clue. All I know is that I was stuck with crap like that for two days with nothing else to do." Skylor huffed. She stretched, starting towards the door. "Since you interrupted my sleep, I'm going to go get some shut eye. Noche, señoras."

"Yeah, well, ya weren't actually sleeping so we didn't wake ya up! So... ha!" Nya called after her. She sighed, disappointed in how her words came out.

Seliel patted her on the shoulder. "It's okay, Nya, she's not worth it. Come on, let's go get some rest."

[torannosaurusrexy]

Beautiful Demise

Chapter 1: “White Roses”

➝ Genre: Fic

➝ Pairing: Park Jimin | Reader (Potentially Others as the Story Progresses)

{Assassin!AU} {Dom!Jimin} {Sub!Reader} {Alcohol Consumption} {Kissing} {Neck Kissing} {Interrupted Sex} {Blood} {Death} {Hospitilization of Relative} 

WARNING: This AU is explicit, contains dark themes, violence, and language some readers may find unsettling, please take caution when reading.

➝ Word Count: 8080

➝ Summary: Beautiful white roses are, aren’t they? So pure, deprived of color. And yet, some would find them even more breathtaking drenched in red. Crimson red, the most beautiful of all concealed within those harboring a beating heart. All the more eye-catching when spilled in an amorphous puddle though, but they’re trained not to leave a mess.

Park Jimin, an assassin built purely on stealth alone, is finding every way possible to sneak up on and steal your heart from under you.

Next | (Ch. 2)

Snip

Snip Snip

“They sure have come in beautifully this year.” A soft voice calls from the door, the familiar chime of the old copper bell hanging above urging you to turn.

Your mouth curls into an equally gentle smile, “It’s hard to disagree, the petals are even softer than last years.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, with your delicate hands tending to them.” The woman responds, she visits often, being a regular customer and supporter of your small but well-known flower boutique.

“Oh please, Mrs. Herondale. The flowers make their own beauty, I merely water them.” You tuck away your scissors, giving them a quick pat once settled into your pocket. “Would you like a bouquet? They’re sure to fly off the shelves, I recommend you buy them now instead of later…” You twiddle your fingers, hoping to make a sale, “That’s only if you came in here for that…”

“Silly girl, One does usually enter a flower shop in the search of flowers.” Her bright eyes and cherub cheeks supply a sense of bliss, similar to the feeling arranging bouquets gives you. It’s as if she belonged surrounded by beautiful things. “I’ll take an arrangement please, white roses and lilacs if you don’t mind.”

“Buying for someone? That’s a wonderful arrangement you’ve decided on... I’m sure they’ll be beyond grateful.” You let a pair of gloves cover your scraped and cut up hands, who knew something so beautiful could also prove ruthless and sharp.

The woman sighs, her short stature appearing even shorter as she leans against the large windowsill to smell some of the flowers on display. “I’m sure she would’ve loved them.”

A chill rides the length of your spine, shit, “I’m sorry?” The soft mirth filled tone in her voice has been replaced by a much harder dry sound, one you almost don’t recognize.

“My sister, you see, loved white roses and lilacs. When she passed I knew no place better to get them from than here.” No tears leave her eyes, but judging by the expression on her face, the salty droplets could cascade her cheeks with one quick blink.

A moment of silence floods the airy room, a dreary silence that has no business in a flower boutique. “I’ll tend to them with extra care then.” She nods a thank you, blinking slowly at your words of comfort. Even if you were speechless at the mention of the reason for the flowers. Sadly, exchanges like this one were often routine. Families and friends of the passed on ordered extravagant arrangements frequently. Even so, the number of happy events where flowers were needed was much higher. Weddings were beautiful, but death was equally breathtaking.

“Your grandmother is a lucky woman,” She says, “To have her beautiful granddaughter taking such good care of the shop.”

You blush, not many people call you beautiful on a daily basis, “It’s no walk in the park, but Nana deserves the world, with her being so sick...I can’t help but want to take away some of the burden she bore for so long. Tending to the shop is the least I could do.” A weak smile tugs at the corners of your lips, chapped and in desperate need of lip balm. You really were peeling at the seams.

“Well with your father missing…” She stops herself. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to speak so openly about such a tender subject…” You continue arranging the flowers, trying with all your might not to yell and explain how your father was a lying asshole that left you and your feeble grandmother in a time of need...surely he did leave you. Right? “Bless you girl...for being so strong.” She places a comforting hand on your shoulder, it’s been so long since motherly affection graced you so effortlessly.

You gulp, handing her the bouquet, “Have a wonderful day, enjoy the flowers...and my condolences.” The bouquet she paid for and now held was without a doubt one of the prettiest you’d ever made. The purple lilacs gave that most intoxicating pop of color every gloomy setting needed, for intricacy, you added some forest green grape leaves amongst petals of the arrangement; but by far, the most beautiful accent had to be the white roses. Serene, pure, and full of a mystery that for years no one could solve. To speak of white roses cruelly was a curse in itself.

God, you loved white roses.

“Goodbye dear.”

“Goodbye Mrs. Herondale…”

[15:14] Tessa Hey girl! Thinking about going out tonight! You’re coming so don’t even try to wiggle out of it!

Ugh.

[15:16] Hey! Can we reschedule? I have a new shipment to unload, some help from my bestest best friend in the world would be greatly appreciated…

Please, please, take the bait...

[15:17] Tessa Well those peonies will have the wait! We’re going out, no questions asked!

You sigh, knowing that fighting her on something so trivial and fun to most would prove exhausting, not to mention you’d lose and end up right back here, with evening plans and a dozen thorn cuts.

[15:19] I was tending to daffodils...but fine.

The drawer used for storing scissors and gloves glides effortlessly open when you pull at it, carefully placing down your dirty - in need of a beating - garden gloves next to your grandmother's pristine pair. You eye the little white roses on them, their original angelic white replaced with an eggshell sort from all the gardening she used to do...You lift the glove, leaving the opposite to remain amongst the others. You crumple the tough material in the palm of your hand, holding it up to your nose as you start to sob.

It smells of her, mint, fresh mulch, and of course, the faint lingering smell of daisies and hydrangea...all scents she wore well. You’ve counted the days in which they’ve sat in that ugly top drawer, not consciously knowing that their wearer would never again put on gardening gloves…

Ding.

You wipe your eyes.

[15:22] Tessa My bad your highness, and good! We’re gonna have a blast. I’ll see you later ;)

Sure…

Pounding bass echoed from inside the one club in this city Tessa had yet to step into. Tessa is quite the unruly party animal. Countless times have you had to drag her away from guys leaning towards taking advantage of her outrageous acts of gyrating her hips to every song that blasts through the speakers. She read amazing reviews apparently, at least that’s what she told you. “According to the reviews on this place, the guys here are always stupid hot.” She chimes, grabbing your wrist and running her thumb back and forth ferociously over the top of your palm. Not that any of what she had said really pertained to you as much more than a passing comment.

“______? You in there?” She asks, her gorgeous blonde curls bouncing just as her breasts do when she continuously jumps up and down on the balls of her feet with excitement.

You nod, looking through her rather than at the bold eyeshadow she wears with gold flecks gracing her lids. “Maybe we should go, we’ve been standing here forever, they’re probably full…” You suddenly say, turning on your heel and moving past one gaggle or overly giddy french whores that we’re in no way getting into this establishment. Tessa knows full well that the club scene wasn’t yours, hers perhaps but definitely the opposite of what you’d prefer to be doing. Sitting home with a gallon of ice cream and a cringy romantic love story that ends with the guy getting the girl and living happily ever after, something that rarely happens in regular human society.

“Woah woah woah!” Tessa drags you back, grabbing you at the waist and shuffling you backward into the same crowded space you took a step away from. “Where do you think you’re going huh? C’mon, there’s only a few people ahead of us.” Her hands fall from your hips, the booming bass making your head pound, even from out on the bustling street. “You look way too hot to turn your back on this outing. It would be a waste of an outfit.” She smiles, her blushed cheeks bunching beautifully.

“Ladies?” A broad, deep-voiced man asks in a tone more chilling than stone. When you look away from Tessa she realizes the small crowd ahead of you had been admitted to the club and it was your turn for entry. “Step up and show some ID, I’d hate to turn two lovely ladies like yourselves away.”

“Oh stop it you big lug!” Tipsy Tessa, the flirtatious beast has come out to play, and you aren’t even inside yet. Those few tequila shots she had really got her going, you were more of a wine and champagne kinda gal yourself, but you weren’t opposed to something as intense as tequila.

The bouncer smiles, a straight line of a smile that just barely curves up at the corners. “ID, please.” He answers to Tessa’s flirtation, holding out his large palm. You hand him yours immediately, prepared ahead of time and ready to come out of the tiny rat purse known as a clutch. Tessa...on the other hand...put the card in her bra. Of course. She reaches down the front of her short cocktail dress and pulls out her driver’s license. The bouncer remains stoic, even so you feel as if you might puke with embarrassment for your best friend. “Looks good ladies.” He hands back the cards, one warm with body heat, the other cold as plastic should be. “Enjoy.” Pulling back the dipping navy blue velvet entrance rope, he grants the two of you entry.

A sharply dressed man, close to but not equally as broad as the bouncer outside opens one of the two large main doors, flooding the busy streets with the sounds of a heavy crescendo, booming music that forces your heart to pound against your rib cage. He winks as you pass, your heart making a beeline for your throat. “Damn look at all those fresh pieces of ass!” Tessa practically screams when the main room, where dozens of sweaty people are gathered, comes into view.

“Tess! Don’t just scream stuff like that!” You yell into her ear. She waves you off.

“Who cares?! No one was gonna hear it anyway!” She skips off towards the bar, leaving you to sluggishly trail behind like a lost puppy.

“I did…” You mumble.

Tessa perches herself on one of the many bar stools, puffing her chest out at the attractive barkeep. “Two cosmopolitans love…” She coos, earning a ‘You got it’ from the dark dressed man. She taps her nails against the hardwood of the bar, swaying with the bass. She looks to you, taking in your odd behavior. “What is up with you?” Her eyes, unlike her voice, are soft, caring and, full of an undeniable curiosity. “You haven’t talked much all night.”

“The night just started.” You answer quickly, staring at the brightly lit wall of various types and kinds of liquor encased in illuminated glass bottles diverse in color.

Tessa grins, spinning to face the dance floor, legs crossed. “Bingo.” She pokes your arm. “God I love this song!” She suddenly bursts, throwing her hands up and leaping off her stool in recognition to the familiar beat. Thankfully, it remains standing, you worried her exuberant behavior would force the stool to the ground, that's when you notice the screws pinning it to the concrete.

“Tess!” You yell after her, “The drinks! Dammit.” She’s out of earshot, or more like her ears will be bleeding in a matter of seconds, blocking any sound from protruding. So much for attempting to put your lungs to good use.

The bartender soon returns, two brilliantly made cosmopolitan’s in hand. With the arrival of drinks comes your groveling best friend, her hair less put together than it was when you arrived and a number of thirsty eyes following her. “Woo!” She shouts, picking up her cocktail and throwing back at least half of it. “Did you see me out there?” You can’t help but smile at the utter joy written on her face.

“How could I not? You practically dominated the dance floor. All eyes were on you.” You sip the cosmo, smiling as you swallow, but internally cringing at the overpowering sour taste gliding the plain of your taste buds, surely burning them as it goes. Tessa’s long silence has you growing nervous, never ever, especially with alcohol flowing through her system, is Tessa quiet.

“Not all eyes.” She gestures to the far end of the bar with a tip of her chin. You follow her gaze, looking at the various bar-goers. She must be talking about a man sitting at the bend in the bar, no young man. His hair is dark, nearly black, with orange highlights along the ends. He nurses a brown liquor from a short glass, his eyes are hard, but not frightening. Even when his cover is blown, the sharply dressed man refuses to look away, his blade like gaze entranced by something about you. “Go talk to him.” Tessa orders, giving you an encouraging push forward.

You whip your head around to face her, fast enough to hurt your neck and to make your eyesight go white for a second. “What? Are you crazy?!”

She rolls her eyes, “If you don’t I will, and I think we both know that’s not what he wants.” She winks, “Now gulp that liquid courage and grow a pair!” You shake your head no, looking from her to your drink, only to land your eyes on the ethereal stranger at the curve in the bar.

Wow.

Without looking back at Tessa you swallow your pride and the cosmo for good measure. You slide off the barstool and begin to close the distance between you and the eye candy. “That’s my girl!” You hear Tessa yell before she swallows her own liquid courage and heads for the dance floor, definitely keeping you within watching distance.

“This seat taken?” You ask, caressing the barstool as if it were a prized jewel. Your hand shaking nervously due to the way his copper brown eyes meet yours, the softness they portray reminding you of the delicacy flower petals withhold.

“Not at all, although, you won’t be sitting long.” His words baffle you, a gentle smirk riding the thick mass of his lips. “I was about to ask you for a dance.” He explains, rising off his barstool. He snaps his fingers, the barkeep rushing to his beck and call. He points to the glass he left in his wake, barely drank from, practically untouched. “Shall we?”

“You didn’t want that?” You fold your arms over your torso, pushing up the swell of each breast all to attract his eyes, something Tessa taught you to do, but the motion doesn’t suit you and you fear he’ll pick up on that. Besides the slight cocking of an eyebrow, he remains unphased, not even giving those parts of you a second glance.

“I don’t think i’ll need it, you’re pretty enough without the influence of alcohol.” He takes your hand, gently encasing your fingers in his palm. “Besides, it hadn’t been that fine a year, barely worth my time.”

“Unlike me?” He hesitates, turning to face you once he reaches the lit dance floor.

“Yes, unlike you.” The mysterious young man smiles, a genuine smile that has his eyes crinkling and straightening out in delight. Something about him is frightening, intimidating, and confident. Despite all those factors, he gives you an adrenaline rush. Not knowing his name nor anything about him other than his high-end pallet and infatuation with only the finest years of alcohol fueling that fire underneath you.

He continues to hold your hand, pulling you close enough where your chest hits his. “Who did I see you with?” He asks, gesturing back to the bar where he had first seen you. His one hand resting on the curve of your side just above your hip.

You look up, into his eyes trying to drown out the loud bumping music that for some reason the two of you sway to slowly. “Tessa?”

“Tall? Blonde? Looked like she had a bit too much of this places cheap liquor?” You giggle, the sound drowned out by the crowds' screams and cheers.

“That would be her…” You loll your head with amusement, hanging it low before lifting it to face him again when you inhale. “She’s my best friend.” You see him ‘ah’ in response, not hearing the sound of realization that was sure to pour from his gaping mouth. “She dragged me here tonight, thought I needed some time away from the stressful life I live.”

“Well, I’m sure glad she did. It seems I happen to be in town at the perfect time.” His fingers twitch against your side, sending chills fleeing from the area. You blush, averting your eyes to prevent it from becoming readable.

“You said you enjoy fine tastes, and that you’re only visiting town.”

“Did I?” He answers cockily.

“I assumed, based on your earlier words.” One of your hands moves closer to his neck, the longer dark strands of hair brushing your still coarse and rough fingertips.

He exhales an amused breath. “You assumed correctly-” A rather rude shove from the tipsy crowd moves the two of you, your dance partner takes the brunt of the brute force, steadying himself while gripping you tightly at the waist. You hadn’t realized your eyes had closed to prevent a contuse from forming after being hit; upon reopening you spot a woman, perhaps your age although her worn face and tough features hint she may be older. She grips the material of your company’s opulent suit jacket tightly, her eyes fixed firmly on his face. She’s clearly drunk without reason and appears to be alone, unless her own group of inebriated friends is gathered around here somewhere.

“Why you’re rather handsome...where are you staying tonight? I’d love to go back there with the likes of you on my arm.” She giggles, tugging him toward her.

He releases your hip, shifting you behind him as he turns to face the woman making moves on him. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m staying with my grandparents. I doubt they’d appreciate the unwanted company.” You bite your lip to keep from laughing, to see him dismiss her so smoothly and without a second thought is astonishing...and hot. The girl mumbles something under her breath as she walks away, eyeing you up and down all while stumbling off to meet the unappreciative gaze of the barkeep, one you’re sure to remember later. “Let’s go outside, I’d rather that not happen again.”

You snicker, “Are you really staying with your grandparents?” He guides you by the waist through the rowdy crowd, his fingers whispering against the tight back of your one nightly clubbing dress. You spot Tessa who dances in tune to the beat, her hair no longer pinned half back; all her gorgeous ringlets free to unravel themselves at will, coming from the coil that holds them in a death grip to fall gracefully around her sweat-drenched neck. You take note of her positioning in the club and catch her eye. She slows her movements to smile, dropping her jaw to mouth a ‘damn’ that you roll your eyes at. She returns to ogling at the DJ and you to the conversation started with your mystery man.

“God no, I’m here on business,” He starts, “Once I complete the few things that need my attention here…” He pauses, gulping,  “I’ll be heading home.” You lick your lips as a means to capture his attention, stretching your neck to one side and rubbing the exposed skin he can see. Upon looking back at his bright pearlesque smile and seeing it melt as he spots what you’re playing at, you see the tip of his tongue snake over the corner of his mouth, poking and prodding before moistening his lips with ferocity. You can’t help but stare, his features depict a completely new and welcomed feeling inside you, a feeling you’ve never experienced. One that even now, as you register it coursing through you, you can’t figure out. Similar to the mystery behind white roses and their beauty.

He looks away when cool air breezes past from the door leading to a back patio just briefly seen when a stumbling man opens it and walks through, turning away from you to occupy the space of another hallway. The man scoffs, grumbling to himself before trying to evacuate the phlegm that’s gathered in the back of his throat. The carob eyed young man whose continued to treat you as a gentleman should, holds the door open for you, ignoring the unpleasant greeting from the man who walked through the door previously; following with generously sized strides after you. You stop, taking in the new aura surrounding this open space. Wicker seating surrounds a lit fire pit, and a table with chairs graces the outer area that must be used for parties and summer entertainment. A greeting nod comes from a separate barkeep that polishes the inside of a glass with a delicate hand wrapped in a cream-colored cloth, one damp with moisture surely from the bars granite top.

You turn on your heel.

“You still have yet to tell me your name,” You grin, straightening the open collar of his dress shirt tucked politely into his black denim jeans.

He sets his jaw, a smirk snaring the breathtaking pair of lips he teases you with. “I can say the same for you.” His amusement grows when he gestures to the bartender, his attention squeezed tightly by the unsettling confidence your acquaintance bears. “Two glasses of Dom Perignon 2009, if you have it.” He turns back to you, his hands linking behind his waist.

“We only sell that by the bottle sir.” The barkeep announces, his straight face knowingly distressed when he absorbs the intoxicating aura your generous associate exudes, a class you can only hope and pray to one day give off. One that quickly dragged you in by the throat down into this pit of ardent stoicism.

Your company scoffs, running a hand through his dark brown and orange dusted locks. It pains you to sit next to something, no, someone, so beautiful.

Like white roses.

“A bottle then.” He retorts, sending you aghast with a raise of your eyebrows.

“You’re kidding,” You blurt belatedly, “That’s going to cost you a pretty penny.” Champagne, and the finest of breeds. It’s not whose ordered it that shocks you, it’s that he’s willing to drop so much on a girl he’s just met. You know you’re bottom of the barrel, scraped off the floor of the full vat, one filled with plenty of unsuspecting and much prettier girls.

Who is this man?

He guides you to the bar, waiting for you to sit before he does. Even when still, his body grasps firmly to a grace and unearthly elegance. “You know your alcohol.” He smiles, pivoting to face you; his one arm resting on the granite bartop with his fingers loosely folded into a fist.

“Yes,” You nod, “What I don’t know, is your name.” He moves his eyes back and forth between yours, an almost nefarious air to him now.

“Jimin,” He bequeaths, “Park Jimin.” The bartender returns with an elegant bottle of sparkling Dom Perignon, peeling back the black encasement and untwisting the wire preventing the cork from flying free. Once unwound, he removes the cork delicately. You yelp, expecting a loud pop that ceases to come. They chuckle, “We’ll manage.” Jimin says, reaching for the bottle from the bartender who nods his head approvingly before leaving the two of you alone.

“Park Jimin.” You repeat. He flinches at the sound of his name, clearly admiring the way you speak it. “Foreign?” You ask, suddenly feeling the weight your heart takes on at the thought of never again seeing the man ahead of you all thanks to distance.

He nods, “I was born in Busan, South Korea.” You clench your jaw, “But my close friends and I moved just a few hours away all to expand our working range.”

You sigh, relief flooding you from head to toe. He pours you a glass all while smiling at the way you melt into your seat when he reveals that he doesn’t live in a foreign country any longer. “They’re more like my brothers actually.” You bat your eyelashes when the cool temperature of the tall glass glazes over the tips of your fingers. He holds it up, “To your health, happiness, and beauty.” You blush scarlet, your eyes twinkling just as the stars trapped within the champagne do.

Clink.

The sound echoes, finding the crackling of the firepit, dancing hand and hand across the solid brick wall of the building still bumping with life. Of course, the distant murmur of city bustling and alcohol-induced giggles leak through into your ears. “So,” You swallow, “Is this expensive bottle of Dom Perignon your way of saying you want to be my sugar daddy now?” You joke, the words jet-propelled from your lips, the usual filter at the back of your throat now disintegrated by his dashing good looks and smooth gulps of champagne. Jimin nearly chokes on his mouthful, pausing the swirling of his glass with a sudden lock of his wrist.

“No,” He swallows, hitting his chest gently to get the rest of the bubbles down. “Although you are a great candidate.” He smiles, setting down his champagne, “Perhaps I just enjoy splurging on beautiful woman.”

You roll your eyes, “And how often does that happen?”

A long silent beat.

“Rarely.” He finally relinquishes, his voice so impossibly full and yet so dry.

You bite your lip.

The movement of your mouth causes Jimin to look down, eyeing your lips like a stalking house cat, no, a tiger prowling the open fields towards its unsuspecting prey. With a force only known to those desperate souls roaming the Earth, Jimin leans forward and kisses you. Despite the intensity behind the impact, the kiss itself is impeccably soft, the swell of his lips moving in perfect harmony to your own. The empty courtyard seems even emptier when the viciously precise man stands, never separating your lips as his hands lift you off the barstool to instead fastidiously place you against the cool bar top.

“J-Jimin…” You stutter, spreading your legs around him and pulling his hips closer. His breath hitches as the sound of his name pours from your lipstick smudged mouth, the length of your neck now peppered with kisses broken only by the steady desperate breaths leaving Jimin’s lungs in the form of low, Earth rumbling moans. He grabs at your dress ardently, belatedly skidding the tips of his fingers across the smooth interior of your thighs, which contrary to yours are soft, well cared for, and not covered in thick calluses formed by years of tending to flower beds instead of your nail beds. His short nails provide indelible pleasure by laying out the playing field and sending fleet upon fleet of chills burning themselves into your skin.

He doesn't stop to comment in tune, just stealing your mouth back and away from the deep breath of air you were taking, halted completely when his soft pillow-like lips crash onto yours. His fingers progress closer and closer to the spot you swear you can already feel him. It isn’t until they make contact underneath the hastily forgotten dress you wear, that you gasp, filling your lungs with cold, smog-filled city air.

“Is this alright?” He asks, considerate of your feelings and oh so aware of the intimate place his fingers brush with care.

You nod vigorously.

“Say it,” He pants, the pure details of his features now hard and lust pumped. “Say what I want to hear.” He whispers, the sound so low that the muffled music almost prevents you from hearing it all together.

You gulp, moistening your dry throat. “Jimin, touch me more...p-please.” You implore, feeling powerful and brave with adrenaline pumping through your veins. “I-” You choke, throwing your head back in delight when Jimin’s fingers brush you harder, this time pressing and running back and forth. You still squirm from the lack of skin to skin contact, his pleasure providing fingertips denied your warmth thanks to your pastel pink - definitely not meant for a hookup - panties. Nothing seems to be phasing Jimin though.

With the faint lingering scent of champagne on the tip of your tongues, and the overwhelming fear of being discovered, you say the words lingering restlessly at the back of your throat, the space where your usual filter resides. “I want your fingers Jimin,” He slows his movements, breathing heavily when he hears your pleading. “In-inside me.” Your hands grab at his clothed shoulders, pulling and leaving marks with your nails in the back of his neck from the force.

He hisses with pleasure, pulling the core of your panties towards him with the intent of moving them aside, however, as all good things do...your lust induced libido shuts down completely when a ringing replaces the echoing pants and moans coming from the two of you. Jimin looks up slowly, sighing with frustration and shaking his head while wearing a weak smile of amusement that you return. “Now there’s a first.” You chuckle, earning a sympathetic glance from Jimin.

In one swift movement, Jimin’s pressing his smartphone to the blushed red curve of his ear. He clears his throat, no doubt removing the lingering arousal present in his prior words, “Hello?” He asks, his voice oddly stern and timid compared to the soft lilt it captured so well during previous conversation between you. His fingers now moving back and forth over your knee. Ignored, and hot enough to boil a sitting pot, you take his hand in yours and impatiently peel yourself from the bartop, taking one last sip from your champagne glass before moving close enough to Jimin and weaving your arm through his, hugging closely to the well-carved muscles hidden underneath. “Yes, I know.” He says dryly, “Wait, now?” His eyes shift to look away from the wall of ivy and instead at you, your glimmering eyes glazed over with unfulfilled pleasure and alcoholic haze. The person on the other end must have questioned Jimins silence because he answers with, “Yeah, I’m here.” He looks away again, a sense of worry and a flash of anger cascade his immaculate features that glimmer in the moonlight.

Silence creeps over the already eerie setting, Jimins eyes slim with frustration all while his jaw clenches and delivers a sense of fear within you. His intimidating aura has had you apprehensive all night, not that you can say it was for long given the way his hands roved and explored you just mere minutes prior to the interrupting phone call. “I’ll leave now, there is no need to get angry Jay. He won’t find out.”

Jay?

He hangs up the phone before this Jay can insert another word of scolding. He sighs, his face heavy with regret, no doubt your doing. “Don’t feel like you owe me anything.” You suddenly say, blurring the words into a sentence slowly without looking him in the eye. Jimins head whips around to find you, his eyes landing on your leg-crossed form as you relax onto the barstool again. “Go, I think both you and I know you wanted nothing more than to have your way with me.” You swallow the rest of the expensive brew gracing your cup, standing afterward only to walk up to Jimin and pull him down by the tie. “Thanks for the champagne.” You kiss his cheek, leaving him baffled as you start to walk past him, opening the door to the club.

“Wait!” He yells, spinning to face you. “Your name. I don’t know your name.” He looks beaten, completely shot down and twisting one of the many rings on his fingers.

“______.” You smile, your first name manifesting into a coherent sound, feeling just as weak and defeated as he does. “________ ________.” Jimin opens his mouth to say something in return, probably a compliment that would make you even weaker in the knees, an attack so precise and perfunctory that you doubt he’d even realize its effect on you. The actual words themselves, however, are never heard when you enter the swallowing melody swirling through the club and shut the door behind you.

You lean against the solid door when it clicks shut, the loud bumping bass pounding at your heart and joints, making you want to retreat back into the arms of the beyond gorgeous man you now know as Park Jimin. His beautiful eyes, his full lips, his fingers that glided effortlessly between your legs, as if they had been there before a million times.

Maybe just one peek…

You push the door handle down, expecting to find Jimin on the other side still shocked and possibly looking longingly towards where you walked off. To your dismay, an empty courtyard greets you on the other side of the large dark wood door. Cool air filters into the hot building, blowing back the tresses of hair loosely hanging around your neck. The Dom Perignon is recorked, placed next to your glasses, one empty, the other still half full.

Where could he have gone…?

There was no other exit from the protected patio area, a door to the kitchen perhaps, but if you are, then Jimin is most definitely smart enough to know going through there would be disruptive and challenging. He would have had to go through you, and yet, he hadn’t.

Two hands clapping onto your shoulders jolts you away from the sense of lacking and sadness threatening to arise tears in your eyes. “So when’s the wedding?” Tessa asks, her features blushed pink from her over-consumption of the dishwasher detergent this place serves.

That’s what Jimin would say.

“Marked on my calendar as the day after he doesn’t get a mysterious phone call and ditches me.” You take her by the arm, walking into the ladies room, a small intimate setting bathed in a much brighter light compared to the dark seductive aroma that surrounds the dance floor and bar. A feeling you’ve just exuded to a man you just met and enjoyed the company of.

“You mean...he just...left?” Tessa asks walking up to the mirror and painting on another layer of lipstick.

You nod.

“It couldn't have been that he didn’t like you,” She taps her finger to her chin repeatedly, looking at you, suddenly seeing your smudged lipstick and how you’re desperately trying to subdue its color from overtaking your face. “It definitely couldn’t have been that.” She teases, turning and rotating your face towards her. “Oh wow.”

“What? We just kissed that’s all-“

“Just kissed?!” She interrupts, leaning in and smelling you.

“Did you just sniff me?!” You jump back, amusement and annoyance following your words.

“Damn he was wearing some good calonge,” She continues, “What’d he do? Prop you up on the bartop and take you right then and there?” She bursts out into laughter, your face brightening to a sunset pink. You look away too quickly for her to realize what she said is almost true.

“Yeah well, I knew from the beginning that all he wanted from me was just that. I’m not that kind of girl.” You continue removing the smudges of color from around your cheeks and neck where some of the residual was left behind by his lingering sucks and kisses.

Just skimming the area burns with a remembrance of him.

Tessa crosses her arms, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, “Those hickies say otherwise.” She shakes back the frizzy strands of hair tickling at her neck.

“Tess!” You yell, a shush sounding from a bargoer who sits in one of the stalls you forgot to check for an audience upon entry.

Tessa snorts, her aching belly laugh earning an eye roll and exuberant exhale through your nose. “I think I’m gonna head home. I’ll call you a cab.” You start, pulling out your phone and scrolling through your contacts in search of the overused cab service number.

“Fair enough, the drinks here kinda suck, and the guys weren’t worth my time either.” It’s your turn to laugh, smiling at your phone screen at Tessa’s critical words.

“Are you going to write a review?” You ask, locking your phone after sending information to the cab service.

Tessa hums, “A strongly worded review.” The two of you laugh.

You bid Tessa farewell and gave the driver her address, no doubt that she wouldn’t be able to once the night caught up with her. Tessa was already half asleep in the backseat, peeling a piece of gum from the crappy interior of the guys' cab. “Text me when you get home.” You order, wiggling a finger her way.

“I will, say hi to Nana for me.” She responds.

“How’d you-”

“You visit her almost every day, a nightly outing wasn’t gonna change that.” The piece of gum she was thronging finally falls from above her, landing on one of the dirty floor mats.

“Ladies, the meter’s runnin’,” Says the driver, a young man wearing a grey sweatshirt with a toothpick between his lips.

“Bye Tessie.” You back away from the car with a smile, knowing how much Tessa despised being called ‘Tessie’.

She sticks her arm out the window, holding up a manicured middle finger as a token of her gratitude and love.

“Miss ______!” The receptionist calls, a surprised expression riding the long length of her face. “It’s awful late, I can only allow you a minute or so with your grandmother...the hospital’s turning in.” She explains, a look of pain clearly shining in her eyes.

“I thought hospitals didn’t turn in.” You say half joking.

“The hospital may not, but the staff sure does. You have five minutes.” She jots down a quick note, handing it to you.

“‘Miss ______ has been granted access to her grandmother’s room until 24:00, Please allow her to remain until then.’”

“Just in case a nurse comes along.” A warm smile graced her lips, one filled with pity.

You nod, not another word exchanged between you. The same solid door you’ve opened multiple times looks the same as you approach it for the...god you’ve lost count. No matter, this visit is just another amongst hundreds. You don’t bother knocking, entering quietly. “Hi, Nana.” You say cheerfully, a genuine smile on your face.

No answer.

“I’m sorry for visiting so late.” You stare at the floor, refusing to look at her. “You always were a night owl anyway.” The repetitive beep of machines connected to your grandmother are just background noise to you now, barely audible and oddly comforting to know her heart is still beating. “Today was different compared to my average day of leftovers and mulch lined fingernails.” You chuckle. “That must be news to you.”

Your grandmother, known by you as Nana, has been in a coma for roughly two years. She was struck by a bus while on one of her daily walks, something she did every afternoon for as long as you’d known her. To see her be so inactive and still was almost insulting. Nonetheless, she had always been a good listener, on and off life support.

“I met someone.” You start, pulling up a cushioned chair that smelled distinctly of death and sterile plastic, a scent that lingered everywhere here. “I know i’ll never see him again, but I thought you should know.” You hold her hand, it’s smooth digits cold as ice from weak circulation. “His name was Park Jimin.” You sigh, blushing with embarrassment at how even saying his name gives you butterflies.

“Nana, he was so handsome...you’d melt at the sight of him.” You bite your lip, gnawing on it, silently wishing it was Jimin who would tug at the plump skin. A flower petal falls off her bouquet of white roses you’d left just a few days before, your attention drawn to the minute movement. The room was always stagnant, like a pond absent of life and insects swarming the surrounding marsh, so any movement inside quickly drew your eye. As for the flowers themselves, Nana always judged the bouquets before they went on display or were sold, not that she would have been against selling white roses, they were her favorite after all.

They are her favorite.

Now though, the flowers were beginning to wilt, their color draining from a pure white into a mold like yellow, some even brown with death, something that seemed to spread like wildfire here.

“Dear?” A voice sounds, one so familiar you almost cry.

Nana.

You look up at your grandmother to find her still unconscious, her eyes sitting back in their sockets, her skin almost a pale white, and her hair grey with lighter streaks amongst the charcoal strands. “My good lord, sweetheart.” The voice, belonging to Mrs. Brackenbury, was so uncomfortably similar to your sickly grandmothers. She worked here as a nurse. “Her door was ajar, I was worried something was wrong, but dear, what are you doing here so late? It’s nearly tomorrow!” She holds her palm flatly over her midsection, supporting herself from the front with worry for you.

You pull the sweater - usually kept in your car - tightly around your torso, worried some of your scarcely covered skin might show and earn looks of confusion and disgust from the older woman. “I was out and figured I’d stop by, see how she’s doing.”

Mrs. Brackenbury sighs, taking a step into the room and picking up Nana’s chart, reading it over with a bored expression, as if she’s seen the same stats for the past two years your grandmother has resided here. “She’s doing great, her stats steady.” She reassures, “And constantly dreaming I’m sure.” She jokes, closing the chart and placing it back where it belongs, tucked away in its cubby at the end of the hospital bed. “Come sweety, she needs her rest.”

Doesn’t she get enough rest as it is? You wanted to say, desperately yearning for the sound of her voice and the warmth to once again inhabit her hands. “Sure.” You answer dryly, standing from the chair smelling of death and instead heading towards the door.

“Perhaps new flowers are in order.” Mrs. Brackenbury speaks, her voice cheerful and yet melancholy despite the smile on her face. She picks the flowers up and out of the clear vase.

“Noted. I’ll bring her favorites. Goodnight Mrs. Brackenbury.”

“Goodnight Dear.”

You hear the flowers hit the bottom of the trash can as you walk out.

The streets were cold and empty, driving along them was odd, for a city so often engulfed in nightlife this eerie silence was bone-chillingly nerve-wracking. Pop music flowed like silk through the speakers, entering your ears just as the sounds of Jimins kissing escapades did.

God.

You parked in front of the flower shop, the lights off and door fully closed, just as you had left it. Brightly displayed flowers shown in the large front window, illuminated by dim display lights. You pick up your heels, no longer wanting to deal with them pinching and assaulting your feet. Avoiding stepping anywhere that may prove painful if descended upon, you work your way closer to the door, the sounds of insects, the mew of a stray tabby cat, and a breeze that seemed to whip through the city only to arrive at the outskirts, where your Nana’s flower boutique laid. You hum along to the song previously blasting through your car, shaking your keys to the beat. That all stops when you finally get to the door.

It wasn’t closed at all.

The breeze causes it to sway slightly, moving inwards only to be sucked back against the doorframe with each passing brush of wind. Hastily, you push it open with a creak, the copper bell above jingling quietly and without full force. At first, nothing seems out of the ordinary, everything that you can see has been undisturbed. Then again, the darkness enveloping the usually bright boutique prevents much of anything from being seen.

With a flick of your finger, you hit the light switch, finding it futile as the click proves useless when nothing changes. You flip them again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Nothing; your breathing becomes heavy, you can see the outline of the cash register, it appears to be closed, but from what you remember, you forgot to lock it this afternoon. The money lying in that box all goes towards Nana’s medical bills, since your father is no help.

Dad.

You step forward, taking courageous broad strided steps all in the hopes of being able to protect yourself if suddenly jumped or attacked.

Squish.

You stop, feeling something thick and slippery like oil beneath your bare foot. It’s warm, and when you look down you see the spitting image of your father, lying lifelessly face down with your trimming scissors delved deep between his shoulder blades.

“D-dad?” You wince, your voice loud and shaky compared to the quiet, even peaceful, sounds that make themselves known around you.

There’s no answer, of course, just the silent drips of scarlet blood off the hilt of the scissors which are now concealed by thick plasma. Your delicately raised white roses, tended to be the most beautiful of any rose are now crushed beneath the dead weight of your father. Your lungs provide you no air for words, short staggered breaths being the only fuel for your shocked silence.

Dropping to your knees, you hover your hands around your father’s face, wanting to, but not being able to bring yourself to touch him. Instead, you lift a rose, raising it to your cheek and brushing its drenched petals over your cheekbone. Thorns catch the soft skin of your profile, tugging and tearing a long thin cut down the flesh. Tears smear under your eyes, shadows formed by watery eyeliner and mascara that regrettably was not waterproof.

Before you can call out to your father again, a sudden, strangled frequency erupts from some unknown source, “Shhhht.” It sounds, freezing you into a solid brick of stone. The sound itself is similar to that of a radio or static driven TV, but what chills you to the core...is that the sound was near, too near.

The sound came from in the room.

You swallow, still crouched down in the pool of blood; warm liquid seeping between your toes. With shaking hands, you wipe away warm salty tears from the sullen trenches under your eyes. “J…n...ssi.” The sound remains staticy, your ears and shielded eyes attentive to the deep shadows that somehow holds an even blacker black than that of the already dark depths enveloping the boutique.

A sharp intake of stale air, one that smells of copper enters your lungs when you somehow muster the courage to breathe out words. “You,” You start, gulping in the hopes of moistening your throat fighting for lubrication. “You killed my father,” Your legs shake, your lips quiver, and the fire within you that was just fighting for reignition is now flaring. “And you have the audacity to hide in the shadows?!” Whoever stands still alive in this room with you is just as nervous as you are, you can practically smell the stress hormones exuding off them. Moonlight has begun to trickle through the display window, illuminating your father's corpse and the pool of blood continuing to grow around him.

Static rises again.

“Jimin~ssi!” The voice is panicked, filled with a desperation so familiar that it makes your heart ache. The words the panicked mouth spit, however, those few letters sent chills riding up your spine.

You clutch the flower close to your heart, dropping it when he emerges into the descending moonlight. “Jimin?”

God you hated white roses.

[thegirlsinthefirehouse]

Descendants, Chapter 24

-----

Abby had watched curiously as Kevin took a couple of packages up to Holtzmann in her lab. 

She had four or five delivered already the last couple of days, mostly small things, which meant that they weren’t equipment or her weekly shipment of fire extinguishers. She almost didn’t want to know, so instead of getting up and going to find out what her wife had been ordering, she reviewed the notes from the previous day’s bust in an old warehouse. She was glad her sniffles and coughs were now down to a minimum, and no one else had started showing any symptoms of the flu. It looked like she was going to be the only unlucky one.

“Finally!” she heard from the stairwell. There was a small whoop of joy. Both Erin and Patty looked at Abby. They both were sitting at the conference table with her. She shrugged. She had no idea what Holtz was up to.

And probably didn’t want to know, if she was being honest. They all heard some sort of noise like ripping paper, followed by boots coming down the stairs. In Holtz’s hands, she carried two white gift boxes, medium sized, one on top of the other. She put them down in front of Abby.

“Nothing is going to jump out at me, is it?” said Abby, giving her wife a look. Holtz put a hand on her hip. “I did make you a pinky promise if you remember. No practical jokes until after the baby is born.”

Abby looked skeptical.

“Just open them,” scoffed Holtz.

Abby took the lid off the first box.

“Oh my goodness,” laughed Erin. “It looks just like you Abby.”

Inside the box was a newborn outfit that was almost like looking in a mirror. There was a tiny red and gray plaid shirt, dark skinny jeans, a pair of baby black Converse, and a black sweater.

“It’s baby’s first outfit,” Holtz said, beaming. “I thought that it’d be perfect for when we take him or her home from the hospital.”

“So this is what you’ve been getting packages of recently,” Abby said, a little amused. She had to admit, little versions of the things she wore were sort of cute. Only Holtzmann...

“Wait till you open the other,” said Holtz, grinning.

“I think I have an idea,” said Patty, laughing.

“So do I,” said Erin, trying not to do the same. Abby opened the second box and wasn’t surprised. Inside, in a slightly bigger size, lay an outfit that fit with what they had been teasing Holtzmann about since Abby had gotten pregnant: that their child would be a mad scientist. She had apparently run with it. Abby mentally calculated in her head.

“So this is for Halloween, isn’t it?”

Holtz nodded, leaning against the table. She crossed her arms and looked pleased.

“Only you Holtzy, only you,” said Patty, shaking her head. The outfit consisted of black combat boots with striped socks tucked into them, a pair of purple paint-splattered coveralls (Abby suspected she had done the splattering herself), a green long sleeved Henley (thankfully not in a crop top like Holtz’s own), brown leather fingerless gloves, and a blonde curly wig already pinned up like Holtz’s usual style. A green jacket and yellow goggles completed the outfit.

Holtzmann pointed to the goggles. “Now they can look like their other momma on Halloween. We can be a matching pair. That’s two of the most important days of the year covered. I figure for Christmas, they’ll have some sort of red or green velvet monstrosity supplied by the grandparents.”

“Probably your dad,” giggled Abby. Holtz rolled her eyes but nodded. “It’s all very cute honey.”

“No reactions from the peanut gallery?” asked Holtzmann.

“Sleeping,” said Abby. “Thank goodness. I think they were leaning against my stomach earlier. I had a lot of indigestion right after breakfast.”

“Sorry sweetheart,” said Holtz, planting a kiss on the top of Abby’s head.

“These are way cute,” said Erin, who had grabbed the baby box of Abby’s and was playing with the black baby Converse. Patty was holding up the baby goggles out of Holtzmann’s box.

“I can’t wait for them to get here,” said Erin. “Baby shoes!”

“Oh dear,” said Abby. “Erin’s found a fixation point.”

“Seriously though, no idea on the gender?” asked Patty. “I could buy them some really cute newborn Nike booties at the place down the street from my apartment.”

“No, and I think we should be thankful that someone hiding their genitals from the sonogram is the only thing that’s happened.”

“The baby is mine and you’re fine Abby,” said Holtzmann, rubbing her shoulder. “Mine?” said Erin, trying not to smirk. “I don’t realize this paternity of the baby was in question.” She glanced at Abby, who had snorted into her hand.

Holtz slapped her forehead when she realized what she said. “Fine!”

“So you really are the father of this baby,” said Patty, snickering. “Do tell us about this, Holtzy.”

“Well, you see, Patty,” said Holtzmann, going over and leaning on her fellow Ghostbuster. “When two humans love each other very much...”

“She’s not really about to explain the birds and the bees to me, is she?” asked Patty, glancing at Erin and Abby. Holtz held up a finger.

“No, but I can tell you a story about prenatal vitamins, doctor’s visits, cervical mucus checks, basal thermometers, frozen sperm...”

Abby pointed at her wife and looking at Patty. “You should have seen Holtz’s face the first time she realized labor was more than 4 hours. She didn’t think she could concentrate for that long.”

“It’s normally between 16-18 hours on average, isn’t it?” asked Erin. Abby nodded, rubbing her abdomen with a small wince. She started to stand up to change positions, taking a deep breath.

“Abby?” asked Patty, leaning her head to the side and looking at her friend.

“Yeah, I’m good,” said Abby, laughing softly. “Speaking of labor... I think the Braxton-Hicks for me is going to be a little on the awkward side. My whole--” she gestured to her baby bump. “Just gets very hard for a minute and feels very tense.”

“Wait, you’re getting Braxton-Hicks already?” asked Erin. “But you’re only in your second trimester.”

“They can happen anytime after 20 weeks,” said Holtz. “Abby’s started last week.”

“It’s all coming down to the wire then,” Patty said.

“The wire had better be three more months,” said Abby sighed, looking up. “Nothing is ready.”

-----

“I’m surprised that Holtzy is letting it fly about the containment unit being moved down to the basement,” said Patty. She and Erin were waiting on Holtzmann to come out of the bathroom. She had noticed her hair was falling down a little in the back and wanted to fix her up-do. Abby was wandering the hallway not that far from them.

“She technically doesn’t know it yet,” stated the brunette.

“What?!?” exclaimed Patty.

Erin nodded. “We’ve got to make room for another workbench area in her lab. And there are sacrifices that are going to have to be made, like the room we needed for the decontamination shower and an actual eyewash station. And a place for fire blankets and more radiation badge storage. More people, more need for safety.”

“Not to mention adding more fire extinguishers & first aid kits to the ones we already go through on a regular basis...” added Abby, coming up beside Erin.

“So does this mean Holtzy is going to be less reckless?”

“When we’re introducing a new engineer to the equation? Probably not,” stated Abby.

“Oh lord,” said Patty. “I’m still not sure I can handle two of them.”

Holtz came running up to the group, wrapping her arms around Patty.

“Wait, you’re too tall,” she said. She moved over to Abby.

“Hmm... you’re too short.”

Abby scoffed. “Thanks a lot.” Holtz grinned and wrapped her arms around Erin, who rolled her eyes at the action.

“Mmm... just right.” She clung to the redhead’s waist, who was trying not to grumble at her friend wrinkling her nice clothes.

“You do realize I’m only about an inch taller than you and your wife, Holtz.”

“Let’s just run away together, Erin. Coconuts, palm trees, the sand in our flip flops burning the hell out of our feet...”

“Just because you want to get out of this meeting doesn’t mean we can run away on a romantic vacation.”

“Abby won’t mind.”

“Clearly,” said Abby, watching Holtz snuggle into Erin’s shoulder, her arms crossed.

“Holtz--” began Erin, but the Mayor’s assistant Jennifer interrupted them as she walked up to them.

“Ladies, the Mayor is ready to see you now. I--um, wow. I didn’t realize we were going to be having extra company.” “Extra--” began Erin, looking a little confused. Holtz pointed a gloved hand at Abby.

“Oh! Right,” said Erin. “Ghostbuster in the making.”

“Congratulations,” said Jennifer to Abby. “How do you, I mean...”

“How do I what?” Abby asked plainly, already knowing where this was going, but pretending to be perplexed at Ms. Lynch’s words.

“Basically she’s askin’ if you can do your job while pregnant,” asked Patty, trying not to roll her eyes.

“All that equipment and the radiation and--” said Holtz, trying not to smirk, remembering every little argument from when they first figured out Abby was pregnant.

“Erin and I run things just fine, thanks,” said Abby. “And we have taken precautions.”

Jennifer seemed oddly relieved by that. “Come on in,” she said. “He’s waiting to see you.”

Mayor Bradley was standing by a conference table when they entered. None of them were surprised to see Homeland Security there as well. They always seemed to be a constant around their activities. Abby was a little confused when she felt Holtzmann take her arm. Holtz made a show of helping her to sit down before taking the seat next to her. To his credit, the Mayor didn’t even bat an eyelash.

“So ladies...” he began. “Good to see you. So what is this I hear about you starting a new team?”

Abby and Erin looked at each other, surprised. “The--the state didn’t tell you?” asked Erin, her brow furrowing.

“Tell me what?” asked the Mayor.

“The Governor's office called us,” said Abby. “They are interested in having a Ghostbusters team for the state. So we’ve been interviewing members for a couple of months now. We have a team ready to start at the beginning of the year. Did they not... talk to you?”

“No, Walter hasn’t said a damn word,” sighed Mayor Bradley. “But that explains a lot.”

“If we were going to hire a new team for the city, we would have let you know,” said Erin. “I would have thought that would have been obvious.”

“So this new team will be stationed here?”

“For now,” said Abby. “They will need to be trained on our equipment and classifications and how to continue our research.”

“And the funding?” asked the Mayor.

“Already taken care of,” said Erin.

“Could you give us a rundown of everything?” asked Ms. Lynch. “Because the state has not let us know a thing.”

“Su--sure,” said Erin. “Holtz, did you bring the flash--?” Holtzmann tossed her the flash drive from her pocket.

“Patty, you wanna do the honors and explain our new recruits?”

“Be glad to,” said Patty, taking the flash drive from Erin. She stood up. “Excuse me Mayor, but I'mma gonna need your seat.” She gestured to his laptop.

-----

“Well, that was fun,” said Holtzmann. “So basically we got dressed up to see the Mayor only because he got word we were starting a new team. How much you want to bet he was going to yell at us and cut funding?”

“And watch Patty get to be a badass just for the hell of it,” Abby said. Holtz grinned at that and nodded. They were sitting on a bench while waiting on the train just to have a little privacy away from the crowd. “You’re right though. They were probably going to start jumping to conclusions once we sat down in front of them.” She rubbed her side. “I thought I was going to have to get up and leave. Someone was kicking my bladder and doing one of your dances.”

“Probably because Mommy was too busy being bored so they did it for me,” cooed Holtz to Abby’s baby bump. “God, that was tedious Abs.”

“We can make up for it later,” said Abby. “By the way, you’re just going to have to tell me what you want for Christmas. I have no idea what to even think about getting you this year. My brain has long passed fried.”

“I don’t think I’m allowed to ask,” said Holtz. “You’re going on seven months into my present.” She looked up at Abby with a grin. “I’ll wrap you and put you under the tree.”

“Very funny.”

“Truly. I am the world’s greatest comedian.”

“There’s nothing you would like?”

“I could always use some new equipment with which to help me build and maintain things in the lab, but that doesn’t count as personal gifts. Um... I’ve been thinking about a drawing tablet just so we can do markups of design on the computer instead of having to scan them in. I was going to buy it myself, but...”

“Brand?”

“Wacom Cintiq. I’ll show you the model when we get home.”

“You just want a new toy to play with,” mused Abby.

“A new toy would be a flamethrower.”

“You could build one for cheaper than I could buy one.”

“Fair enough. You got me there.”

“I’ll work on the tablet,” said Abby.

“You have Mommy brain,” teased Holtz. “You have forgotten a lot more things lately.”

“This is what I was hoping to avoid,” sighed Abby. “I don’t want to forget things.” Holtzmann squeezed her hand.

“We’ll probably be having it together when we’re trying to feed the kid at all hours and sleep deprived.”

“Patty and Erin won’t know what to do with us not only being sleep deprived, and with me having to feed every two to three hours for a little while.”

“We can have bottles downstairs, I don’t think they will mind.”

“I think they might mind a boob or two.”

“Wait... you are going to breastfeed? said Holtz, leaning her head sideways and staring at Abby, surprised. “I thought--”

“I’ve been reading while you’ve been asleep the past couple of nights,” Abby said. “It would give our child the best quality of life starting out, and it’s free. You can’t beat that.”

“I have to admit, I’m kind of excited at this prospect,” said Holtz, gesturing. “I’ve always said there needed to be more naked boobs in the workplace.”

“I’m not so sure Erin could deal with that on a regular basis.”

“That’s what she gets for being so plainly heteronormative.”

“We also have to remember, we’re going to have new people in the building. It’d be one thing if it was just Patty or Erin, but for a while, it’s not going to be.”

“I would say I would share the view, but I’m getting more possessive in my old age Abs.”

“Is that why you made that big gesture of helping me to sit down? I can still bend fairly easily.”

“So says the person who can barely get off the couch downstairs.”

“That couch is low. You try getting up with an unyielding round thing around your middle pushing everything around.”

“Hmm... I would need a lot of duct tape to hold it in place. Or just get Kevin help me up and down.”

Abby shut her eyes for a second with a wince. “Kevin. I haven’t even thought about him. That’s another one where it’d be a little awkward if I’m working downstairs with the baby and trying to feed.”

"We can look into options," shrugged Holtz.

The train pulled up at that time, and they both waited for everyone to pile in. Abby had taken Holtzmann’s hand as they boarded. It was a little crowded, so they stood at the end of the car where there were fewer people. Abby fanned herself before unzipping her jacket because of the surprising amount of heat in the subway car. Holtz leaned her head against Abby’s shoulder, who rubbed her back lovingly.

“Shouldn’t that be the opposite?” said a teenage girl, slightly smushed in a seat on the end, holding her backpack in her lap. “She’s the one pregnant.”

Holtz and Abby both laughed.

“She’s just a big baby,” said Abby. “She had to be an adult this afternoon and sit through a meeting with other adults. It takes a lot out of her to pretend.” The girl giggled when Holtz stuck her tongue out at Abby.

“I’ll take care of her later,” said Holtz. “It’s my turn to cook and do laundry.” She rubbed the back of Abby’s head and kissed her cheek.

“You two are cute,” smiled the girl, clutching her bag to her. “Are you married?”

“Nearly six years,” said Holtz. “You?”

“I don’t think I can get married yet,” the girl laughed. “Maybe someday.”

“Maybe someday you can have a beautiful wife like me,” Holtz responded. “They’re nice to have.”

“Maybe,” said the teenager, looking down and smiling. “I’d like that.”

“Don’t give up,” said Holtzmann. The girl nodded and nothing more was said. Holtz leaned into Abby, who moved a curl out of her eyes.

“You’d make a cute mentor,” she said softly. The corners of Holtzmann’s eyes crinkled as she smiled.

“Maybe I should.” Abby nodded.

“Share that big brain of yours.”

“Like you have room to talk Dr. Yates. You should go back to teaching. You were wonderful at it. So much better than I ever was.”

“Hah, when? Between feedings and hunting for ghosts...”

“I’m going to have to find the top half to that lead apron,” commented Holtzmann, pretending to be thinking, tapping a finger against her cheekbone. Abby gave her a glare.

“Not even kidding Abs. Starting tomorrow and for six months at least after the baby is born. More if you feed for a year.”

“I’m going to stock up on mint chocolate chip ice cream.”

“You do that,” smirked Holtz. “You don’t even like mint chocolate chip.” Abby glared at her. “I could learn.”

“It’s just for Egbert’s safety. No radiation in breast milk.”

“Mmmhmm,” said Abby, humoring her wife. “Rub my right side, would you?” Holtz nodded and put her hand under Abby’s jacket and rubbed the side of her abdomen. It was very stiff and oddly shaped beneath her fingers.

“Braxton-Hicks really like you,” she commented.

“Only if I don’t move around,” Abby responded. “Stand too long, sit too long, move around too much...”

“So basically you’re saying is that it’s just annoying all around,” teased Holtz.

They both watched as the train stopped and let people off, including the teenager who had spoken to them. Abby and Holtzmann saw her wave as she got to the door, a red ponytail bobbing as she stepped onto the platform and headed towards the stairs. “We’ll have a kid like that someday,” said Abby. “That age, traveling the subway from school to home. How are we going to deal with that Holtz?”

“Besides RFID trackers on their shoes, backpacks, and cell phones? They’ll also have GPS on their phones for guidance, and I will definitely be teaching any child of ours how to read a map...” <– Prev | Next –>

[heroesoftherepublic-blog]

The Amazing and Fantastic Promethia!

 The site was not chosen by accident.

The hills over which the city of Veii once sprawled were mined by tunnels, open wounds left by the Roman conquest. Centuries might have passed, and yet the opportunity for scarring was never granted to the city.

Veii was once the richest community of the Etruscan League, perhaps of the entire peninsula. First among equals, maestros of culture and finance. Nobody expected the Gauls to defeat the “civilized people.” Nobody expected the scum that lived in a place called Rome to break free. Even as the city was taken, everyone expected the Romans would just leave their burnt and filthy hideouts and be assimilated by the grandiose Etruscan culture.

Nobody expected the stubborn determination of the Citizens of Romulus, who gutted Veii and butchered it for all that it had good, stone by stone using its carcass to give Rome a second foundation.

No longer the center of the world, why would the affluent and novelty-hungry elites even bother to rebuild Veii? They moved to Rome and beyond, taking away any chance the city would have to be reborn.

Nobody that expects anything chooses Veii; nobody chooses Veii. Only the most desperate of the dejected poor, people that the moment they have a piece of silver to their name depart to more auspicious slums.

It is not to say that nothing grows among sewers neglected for centuries, poisoned wells, ransacked buildings, feral dog packs and clogged aqueducts. One crop finds this soil fertile enough.

Discontentment.

And so, the gathering came to pass. Hooded figures slowly made their way to a large underground chamber, created not by intentional engineering, but by the collapse of two major tunnels. Being this close to Rome made Veii the perfect hideout for those seeking to plant a knife in its vulpine underbelly.

They made a purple multitude, if one was feeling kind or colorblind. If you had to live in Veii you would have to make do with the cheapest dyes, and some probably just soaked their rags in something or someone’s blood. Discussion was well and alive, like barrels of pitch rolled along arguments, looking for a metaphoric spark. All they needed was a good kick and a target.

The bulkiest of the hooded men, with some actual purple pigment dyed in, stood over the gathering. A greasy beard poked out of his mask, refusing to be restrained. He tried to impose some illusion of order by punching the wall, causing dust and dirt to fall on the audience.

“How many times we have been over this? The Temple of Saturn is too hot, it is impossible to rob. Are you too dense to understand my problem with it? It is in the god-crammed Forum.” He shouted left and right, punctuating with additional punches.

“We have to keep trying!” Someone close to the front shouted back; the bearded one grabbed him by the tip of the hood and gave him a good shake.

“It is the third time this month that some idiot tried. Everyone has the same brilliant idea; everyone thinks they will be the one that makes it. The magistrates are distracted, they will never notice me. The Crows and Eagles are a thing of the past, I am stronger, faster and smarter than any Roman. Everyone of worth is up North with the legions, I can allow myself to be careless, foolish and stupid. The sheer arrogance. Is anyone here that much blind? Step ahead, if you want to be used for thunderbolt practice so badly I can make your wish come true!

“B-but Grand Veiente, we cannot free our brothers without money! The Carthaginians no longer want to have anything to do with us ever since that Sicilian fiasco, no matter how much we dye our hoods.” A dissident voice safely in the back uttered, receiving words and nods of agreement from his neighbors. “We can only deal with pirates, and they know exactly how much we need those. They keep raising the prices and show no intention of stopping soon. We need the Treasure that Roman greed begot. We have no other choice.

A long exasperated sigh.

“Put something in that thick head of yours.” The beard clenched his fists one against the other. “Unless you can wield the power of Tinia or withstand a thunderous discharge, you are not prepared even to steal a latrine in the Palatinate. Forget about the city of Rome entirely. I pondered about this for a long time and came up with an alternative.”

The Grand Veiente threw a silver coin towards some of the rebellious murmurs in the back.

“What is this?” One said, picking it up. “Is it meant to mean something to us? Seems like some Roman coin.”

“Wrong!” Shouted the Grand Veiente. “What is important is how non-Roman the coin is! Romans do not make coins, Romans use coins. This one, like all the others, are mined in the South and minted in either Sicilia or one of the Greek colonies. Since it all comes from the outside, all we have to do is intercept the silver while it is in its way to Rome.”

“That has to be even more dangerous than stealing from the Temple of Saturn.” Pointed out one of the women as she adjusted her hood. “Any coin shipment will be heavily guarded and their route and scheduled a well-kept secret. They will not send any auxiliary forces whose loyalty is not absolute, so it would be quite hard for us to infiltrate them or apply coercion.”

This seemed to satisfy the beard.

“Finally, someone here is thinking their plans through. You are correct, under normal circumstances this would be a futile attempt. However, we were able to come upon a secret weapon.” The Grand Veiente signaled towards someone outside the chamber, some poor half-dead miserable, legs and arms bandages that covered the burns but did little about the stinking ointments that were feebly trying to save his life. “This brother of us managed to grasp a boon from the latest fiasco. During the failed assault, they stumbled upon some Vestalis nailing some public announcements and official edicts. Without a Lictor bodyguard, it was easy to taker her as a valuable hostage.”

“Where is the Vestalis?” A rebel inquired. “We do not need to rob anyone, we can demand a prisoner’s exchange!”

“A Triumphant took him away from her before she could be smuggled out of the Temple, and foolishly let our brother escape. You see, he had taken something from the Vestalis.”

The Grand Veiente revealed a signet ring with the sigil of a flame protected by an arc.

“Only the ruling consuls can order the coinage of a new batch of coins, and like any other official document issued by the Senate and the People of Rome, which has to be audited, authenticated and archived by the priestesses at the Temple of Vesta. The gods support ours endeavors, and they have seen that Gaius Atilius Regulus was taken to the Underworld. “Another glimpse of the signet. “With this ring, we can forge a letter from the dead consul, prepared and sent before his untimely death. In it he orders more coins to help with the war effort and establishes very strict instructions of how the delivery should be made and the identities of the escort force. Needless to say, they will be our own brothers.”

“Wow! That is quite impressive!” Another feminine voice interrupted. Everyone turned around, looking for its owner. They found a tiny and plump woman, that somehow had not been noticed until now. Even if she was wearing quite the nice hood and cloak, which happened to be dyed with an intense and expensive pigment. “That could actually have worked! I must confess, here I was, dismissing you all as a bunch of idiots. I should have known better than to underestimate other people.”

“Identify yourself!” Demanded the beard. The woman obeyed, the visage revealed disturbing everyone around her. The leader stepped back, as his gaze painted the gentle wrinkled face of an elderly woman.

“Mother?”

The tender smile turned into a malicious smirk, the intruder throwing the hood towards the Grand Veiente, spinning her cloak in a wide circle, clearing a path. The terrorists seemed in shock, unable to do anything but express their surprise and horror.

“What are you doing here?”

“No, no, it cannot be you…”

“What are you even wearing?”

Each of them seemed to react as if they were seeing someone different but always familiar, giving in to chaos and failing in presenting a unified answer. Laughing at their lack of discipline, the intruder escaped the center of the chamber and revealed herself in all her glory to the Grand Veiente, touching her noise with the index middle fingers as she winked with her left eye.

After the event and comparing their notes, none of the presents would remember the same physical impression of the woman. However, they all could agree on what she was wearing. A white and blue tunic not long enough for all the women perceived, showing quite a lot of leg and leaving the arms revealed as it gently wrapped around her neck. The most curious element was her heavy, bulky scarf, a military focale of vivid dark red.

The paralyzed terrorists finally started reacting, snapping due to the furious commands of their leader.

“It is a trick! It is one of them! TRIUMPHANT! Do not let her escape these tunnels!”

“Come here, boys.” The invader invited. “I will be very displeased if anyone escapes.”

“Get her!”

She did not show any terror, nor did she take any defensive stance or tried to evade the circle of attackers. All she did was lower her arms in a rapid arc, the sheer flow of power levitating her a few millimeters off the ground. The clothing of the closest caught fire, while the exposed skin of another one suffered as if boiling water had been spilled all over it. This caused other terrorists to hesitate. However, they would never have guessed that these were just the obvious collateral effects of her unleashing of power; she did not waste time reacting to their bumbling approach. The woman once again raised her arms and lowered her head, eyes semi-closed and blinking furiously. A fragmented crown of light arched over her head. The very air seemed to dry up, as if all the underground moisture had been sucked out of the tunnels.

The arms once again descended as the woman twirled around herself.

An extremely precise heat wave suddenly flooded the tunnels, triggering the most basic instincts of the terrorists. They ran away, trampling and stumbling over each other. As their strength was sapped away, one by one they gave in to unconsciousness.

Touching the ground, the woman shook her head, disappointed.

“This was quite anti-climatic.” She pouted, grabbing one of the hoods. She pinched it, the dye staining her finders and the fabric ripping apart. “How embarrassing, I had to pick up a fight with such light-weights.”

She shrugged. It was a good test drive for her abilities. All she needed to do was recover what she sought in Veii and this first outing would be a flawless success.

The Grand Veiente had fallen just like the others, the signet forsaken a meter away from him. As the woman lowered to pick it up, she sensed movement behind her. She tried to raise and turn her head as fast as she could, only to find herself facing the bearded leader. A quick and brutal headbutt left her dizzy, but she tightened her grasp around the signet, refusing to let go. All her world was pain and the smell of blood. Her opponent lifted her with only one hand, clenching her chin and pushing her against the wall. She struggled and kicked him, feeble attempts to free herself.

“Really? You must be the weakest Triumphant I ever heard about. You are nothing but cheap parlour tricks.” The Grand Veiente snarled. “This is exactly what I expected from a Roman. I do not even know if you are a woman or not, but wearing that face is not going to save you. What is what you people say? Ah yes. Memento Mori.”

As the man balanced himself to deliver a devastating punch, the woman took a deep bite into the hand holding her, forcing a release. The fist struck the wall, debris and dirt covering both of them. Trying to recover her breath, she tried to gain some distance. The terrorist leader chuckled and grabbed the points of her scarf, pushing with so much strength that her neck almost snapped like a dry branch.

“You used to have to be someone special to play the myths and receive a Triumph. I am surprised that someone would awaken a divine spark and still be so feeble.” The Grand Veiente declared. “It seems a poor receptacle ruins even the best grapes. Your festering city could not ask for a more fitting champion.”

He forced the woman to turn. The only hint of what was going to happen was her eyes rolling. A jet of flames was the answer to the insults, igniting his clothes and burning most of its torso. As the man struggled to avoid system shock, she put off the smoldering tips of her scarf. Finally free, she clenched over the Grand Veiente.

“Go ahead, she-wolf. You have claimed your prize. Leave.”

The Triumphant landed her sandal against the bearded face of the terrorist, pinning its head against the floor. She proceeded to make her position known.

“You know why you are nothing? I need you to understand before I can leave.” She uttered with soft voice, refusing the call of loud fury.

“Because of you. You took everything from us!”

“No, you gave it away. You threw it away, we took it just like any other people would take it. And even if you got it you would throw it away over and over again. And why do I know that? Because you are a little sad creature that believes that avoiding using excessive force is a show of weakness. You see us as tyrants and you do not want to free yourself; you just want to replace us.”

Even as he was struggling for his life, the Grand Veinete laughed.

“Oh, that is just so precious. You think you won.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“This is not your so-called republic, she-wolf. Do you think we need to sniff each other’s butts until we come to a consensus? I do not need or care for the opinion of these fools! I did not sit idle holding the signet. The letter was forged, the men picked and the plan was already set in motion.”

Her eyes narrowed as she applied more pressure with her foot.

“This could all end here.”

“What happened to withholding power?” He groaned.

“From where I stand? I would not need much to finish the job.”

“Go ahead. Show the sheepherders how hungry the wolves are.” The terrorist babbled on, unable to keep his eyes open. “Let them fear losing more sheep, let them unite for some wolf-hunting.”

“I’m just wasting my time...”

The woman turned away and left, trying to make her way out of the tunnels. Of course, it had to be tunnels again; nothing good happens underground.

Almost there. She could already see the light. Such a beautiful day, why did they insist in turning it miserable by hiding beneath the ground?

“You really need to be more aware of your surroundings.” A voice chasing after her pointed out. The Triumphant turned to face another woman, sweating as she leaned on the tunnel walls.

“I recognize you! You were the one actually saying something smart!”

“Forget about that.” The woman dragged herself closer, an inquisitive look in her face “Why do you look like me? That is what I am supposed to look like? I’m not imagining things, right? That is supposed to be me.”

“Pretty clever, don’t you think?” The Triumphant gave a little shake and a wink. “I wanted to be an inspiring.”

The other one was silent on how disturbing the pantomime actually was.

“Right. That. Forget about it, I followed you because I heard what you said.” The Triumphant’s face beamed with an almost childish eagerness, eyes sparkling in anticipation. “This is a way to do things different from the one I am used to; that was not the brutality and oppression I came to expect from your side. When I saw the Grand Veiente grab you, I was marked with the ease with which he did that to you; the fact that you were a Roman did not weigh in my mind. Our cells are filled with people like that. I always knew there was an alternative way to do this, that we are not supposed to escalate the savagery against each other as conflicts arise.

The Triumphant opened her arms as if to hug her, but she stepped back, hands raised.

“Do not get me wrong. I still despise your people; Veii is still a ruin. The Grand Veiente was right when he said we need to join together and put you down. I am not your client or you friend, I am someone that has decided that if we are to stand against Rome we have to offer something besides a replacement tyrant. “She opened her arms wide, as she also exposed her neck. “Perhaps this was not what you sought to inspire. Perhaps you should burn me right now.”

Her own face worn by another turned serious.

“What is your name?”

“Aritimesia.” She replied, defiant.

“You know something is not right in the world and you are trying to change it. I am happy for you, Aritimesia. I wish the best Fortune to you.”

The Triumphant climbed back into the light, a deep feeling of dread twisting in her stomach. She felt as if she was making a terrible mistake.

“Tarentum.”

Turning one last time, back to the woman still shrouded by darkness.

“If he sent the letter to somewhere, it has to the Tarentum mint. You should start there.”

An exchange of nods, both wondering about the future.