#The creature using the president's skin smiles with too many teeth

[writing-royza]

Royai Week Prompt Two - Little Pistol

Little Pistol

She walked home through the late afternoon sun, her head feeling fuzzy from the weight of her own thoughts, snippets of that day’s ‘orientation’ echoing in her mind. Riza normally walked with her head up, her eyes forward… but not today. Today, her eyes were on the sidewalk, her brow furrowed.

“Your assignment to the Fuhrer-President’s office will be permanent,” one memory whispered.

“You will accompany the Fuhrer-President on any outing he specifies,” another said.

“You will not carry any unauthorized weapon in the Fuhrer-President’s office or in his presence.”

“Any disrespect toward the office of the Fuhrer-President or his person may be treated as a court-martial offence.”

“Any contact with Colonel Mustang deemed to be of a suspicious nature may be investigated and/or punished as a form of treason.”

“Your dog may accompany you to the office, provided he is not disruptive.”

That last one had thrown her briefly for a loop. Something they added in to placate her, maybe, to soften her a little in regards to the way they had totally overthrown her life. The more Riza thought about it, however, the more she began to think that her being allowed to bring Hayate to the office was merely to ensure she wouldn’t leave the garrison to walk him during the day. A trip off-site for a dog walk could easily be turned into ‘contact of a suspicious nature.’

She missed Falman and his analytical mind to help her wade through all of this. She missed Breda and his knack for strategy to help her figure out her next move. She missed Havoc’s easy laugh and complaining about his latest girlfriend breaking up with him. She missed Fuery and his sheer earnestness in doing the best he could. She missed the Elrics and hearing about whatever their latest set of shenanigans was.

And, she thought as she unlocked her apartment door, she missed Roy.

Hayate stretched, his eyes squeezed closed, before standing straight to welcome her home with a happy yap. Riza smiled, reaching down to ruffle his ears… but her heart wasn’t in the gesture. Picking up on her mood, the little dog licked at her fingers, before shoving the top of his head into her palm.

Her smile grew a little stronger. “You think paying attention to you will make me feel better?” she commented, reaching down to scoop him into her arms. Hayate instantly broke into a doggie grin, settling both paws on her shoulder and starting in on licking her cheek. “Well, I suppose you’re not wrong. You’re the only one of my boys that they left me.”

Hefting him so that he rode more comfortably in her arms, she started across the room toward the lockbox on top of her dresser to safely stow her weapons… and paused as an idea occurred to her. Setting Hayate on the bed, she took her keys from her pocket and opened the box, looking in at the only gun inside. It was too small to be of any real use in a firefight, thus it almost never left the lockbox except for maintenance and cleaning. A little two-shot pistol, intended for use up close and with no other option.

Well, she was currently extremely low on options, and there weren’t many as close to Bradley as she was about to be.

Lifting the little gun from the box, she weighed it in one hand, her eyes on the dully shining metal, the words from the orientation ringing through her mind again. ‘You will not carry any unauthorized weapon in the Fuhrer-President’s office or in his presence.’

Were she found to have this gun on her at any point while she was working, it would almost certainly be seen as a plan to assassinate the Fuhrer-President. Roy wouldn’t be able to save her, Grumman wouldn’t be able to save her, no other command-level officer would care enough to even try to save her… she would be completely and utterly on her own.

For the sake of feeling at least marginally safe, that was a risk she was willing to take.

———————-

She awoke the morning after her confrontation with Pride with a creeping feeling covering her back, climbing up the back of her neck, raising the little hairs there. She brushed her teeth, brushed her hair, and then turned toward the shower… and hesitated.

Theoretically, he could be watching. He could have watched every stroke of the hairbrush, watched her spit toothpaste foam into the sink, watched her stretch beneath the blankets on her bed, watched her fumble for her alarm clock…. Would such a creature, keeping her under surveillance, extend that surveillance to watching her in the shower? She supposed it wasn’t out of the realm of the possible; they were already an embodiment of a cardinal sin, so why not sin a little more? Then again, perhaps leaving her that sort of privacy was the single shred of decency they possessed.

Either way, she couldn’t go the next however long without bathing; that simply wasn’t an option. The secrets on her back were useless without the parts that had been burned away, and maybe if they could figure out just what that tattoo was, it would make them take her a little more seriously as a threat. Something more than ‘Mustang’s lap dog.’

Firming her jaw, trying not to think about potential supernatural eyes on her, Riza started the hot water running, slipped out of her pajamas, left them neatly folded by the door, and stepped into the steam and spray.

The shower was short, brisk, and businesslike. Where before, she might have luxuriated a little more in the warmth on her skin, or allowed her thoughts to wander, this time, she could not relax. Rinsing the last of the conditioner from her hair, she cut the flow short, wringing out the blonde strands before reaching for a towel.

Hayate trailed after her as she crossed toward her closet, licking up drops of water that fell as she moved. Smiling at his antics, she took out the hanger holding her uniform and laid it on the foot of the bed, then turned to the top of her dresser to retrieve her belt and holsters.

She hesitated again. She locked every gun she carried in the lockbox when she came home; it was the first rule of gun safety. That box held her two handguns that rode either at the small of her back or underneath her jacket, her revolver (for special ‘leave no evidence’ cases), and the tiny hold-out pistol.

She had taken to carrying the two handguns at the small of her back and the hold-out under her jacket since working for Bradley. The question now was, had Pride seen her wear it? Likely not, since she hadn’t been physically searched or arrested for conspiracy to assassinate the Fuhrer-President.

Deep in the back of her mind, she recognized these thoughts for the paranoia they were. She also knew that even with the knowledge that Pride could look in on her at any time, she couldn’t stop living her life.

But if her luck happened to run just bad enough that he checked on her while she was fitting a contraband gun into a shoulder holster….

Making her decision, she dressed quickly, leaving her jacket in the bed and shrugging easily into her shoulder holster. Then, picking up the lockbox, she turned and deliberately walked into her small closet and shut the door. She felt immensely foolish, but also a strange sense of cleverness.

When she emerged a few moments later, and returned the lockbox to the top of her dresser, her two regular-issue handguns were nestled in their holsters at the small of her back, and the hold-out pistol was snug against the left side of her ribs. And if he were present, all Pride would have seen was her acting strangely and nothing more.

———————-

She evaluated everything in the apartment like it might be the last time she saw it. For all she knew, it might be. Riza chose her clothes carefully – she wanted dark, to get her through the night ahead, but nondescript for when events inevitably spilled over into daylight. She needed to be able to disappear both in shadow and on the street.

Her boots would serve well enough, meant for combat as they were. Dark blue pants, her usual black shirt, the light grey jacket with snap-closed pockets on the sleeves that were perfect for holding extra ammunition clips.

Riza had long since given up her paranoia of whether Pride was ever about to watch her dress or undress. Sure, he looked like a little kid, and a little kid might have that kind of curiosity, but the monster behind the mask was who-knew how old, and presumably uninterested. Lust might have been, but Pride was something else entirely.

She pulled the soft black cotton of the shirt over her head, freed her hair from the high collar, then tucked it into the pants and cinched the belt tight. The holsters snugged tight against the small of her back, strangely light without their usual cargo.

This felt good. This calm before the storm, this gearing up for battle before hitting the streets. This preparing to take action after months of forced inaction.

The memory of the night Pride had confronted her came to mind, standing in the dark colonnade next to the gardens, anger and fear and hatred warring in her chest for dominance. She could admit that now; she hated that smug little thing, the thing that wore a human body like a suit. But she hated him for what he had done, not for whatever he was.

Every so often, when this memory popped up, she got the briefest, faintest taste of the vengeance Scar wanted for his people. She wanted vengeance for her people, against these beings that had driven them apart, had manipulated them all, had decided their lives were completely insignificant. She wanted to take Roy’s gloves and burn that beautiful house down around Pride and Bradley’s ears, she wanted to destroy everything they had worked for up until this day… she wanted the tiny hold-out pistol in her lockbox pressed dead-centre on Bradley’s chest with her finger on the trigger.

Standing still, she breathed deeply, her eyes closing as she forced the memory, the anger, and the desire for revenge away. She was better than they were, she reminded herself. She would fight for her people, but she would not avenge them. She would stand up to the manipulators and not allow herself to be moved about by them like a twisted kind of chess piece. She would bring justice, not vengeance.

And she would bring that little pistol.

Riza had played nice for too long. She had bided her time, gathering information, coding it, passing it to Roy, or Grumman, or the rest of the men. She had learned Fuery had been sent to the southern front and her heart had nearly broken for that young man. He had been the most innocent of all of them, and now he had seen the same sort of warfare she and Roy had.

Falman had told her that Edward and Alphonse had disappeared from the north, and that the last anyone had seen of Edward, he had fallen down an abandoned mineshaft with two of Kimblee’s henchmen. Henchmen that had also disappeared. She refused to believe the boy was dead; he was simply too stubborn for that. Reading between the lines of the information made her suspect that Edward had talked the henchmen – chimeras, by Falman’s suspicions – over to his side and the three had gone into hiding until the Promised Day.

Breda had been lying low out west, but passing strategy ideas to her for her to pass on to Roy. She didn’t understand the code they were using, but she didn’t need to. The information was compartmentalized between the two of them, therefore it was safer.

She reached for the shoulder holster, but then decided against it. It didn’t restrict her movement all that much, but the jacket she had chosen didn’t close and with the shoulder holster’s strap visible across her chest, it would advertise there was a hidden weapon for an enemy to watch for. Instead, picking up the tiny hold-out pistol, she tucked it firmly down inside her right boot, on the outside of her leg where it would stay safe and snug until – and unless – she needed it.

She had been sneaking around, quietly communicating with her old team for six months, under the collective nose of her enemy. Bradley had probably thought that by bringing one of the more significant players so close to him, that he would remove a vital link of communication.

Riza was used to being underestimated. It was one of her greatest advantages. And now today, Bradley’s misconceptions about her abilities and methods of gathering and dispersing information were going to come back to haunt him. Separating her team hadn’t weakened them in the slightest, it had only made them stronger.

And they were about to collectively go for the throat of this nation built on lies and blood.

———————-

Exhausted and trying to stay awake, she sat in the shade of a hastily-erected medical treatment tent, doing her level best to ignore the IV needle in her arm. Blood dripped slowly from its glass container, feeding gently into her system to replace what she’d lost. Bandaging wrapped around her throat shifted as she swallowed, her mouth dry. Everything hurt… but in the good way that occurs after a hard job well done.

She had given up the makeshift table they had laid her on for the first half of the transfusion, in favour of others who were more seriously wounded. Rebecca had gone to check on the others, leaving Riza to her own thoughts. In another tent off to her right, through an open side, she could see Roy deep in conversation with Marcoh, and somewhere far behind her she could occasionally catch snatches of Armstrong’s rumbling bass voice.

It was over. Bradley was dead. Pride was gone. Mrs. Bradley was safe off-site, still under precautionary guard from Maria Ross, Breda, and Fuery. She had seen Falman darting every which way inside the medical tent, helping wherever he could. And, by whatever miracle, both she and Roy were alive and relatively intact.

Leaning her head against the IV pole, she allowed her eyes to close, but kept her fingers drumming on the grass to keep herself awake. It was probably safer to fall asleep now, but she didn’t want to risk any–

Something nudged her knee. “No sleeping for you yet, Lieutenant. Mustang will kill me if I let something happen to you while he’s busy.”

She opened her eyes to find Major-General Armstrong standing over her, just pulling back her right foot from the nudge. The other woman looked as rough as Riza felt, her arm in a sling, and several cuts and abrasions visible on her face. She smirked. “He’d have to wait until he can see again, and even then, who knows if he would be successful. I mostly don’t want to deal with the hassle.”

“Duly noted, sir.” Carefully lifting her right arm so that she wouldn’t dislodge the IV, Riza gave an approximation of a salute. “I’m glad to see you came through all right.”

“More or less.” Olivier settled to a seat on the grass, setting her sword to one side, blue eyes roaming her surroundings. Checking on things, always checking. “Certainly better than some of the rest of my men.”

Riza nodded solemnly. “I heard about Captain Buccaneer while they were treating me,” she said quietly. “And about your tanks.”

“Bradley was always a cunning bastard,” was the cool response. “He got the drop on us, and exposed a fatal weakness in the tank design. You can be sure we’ll be finding a way to remedy that. As for Buccaneer….” She looked up, to where white clouds glided smoothly across the sky. “There wasn’t any other way he would have wanted to go.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, each with their own thoughts, before Olivier spoke again. “So what’s next for you? Back to cleaning up Mustang’s messes?”

She smiled, shifting to a more comfortable position. “There isn’t any place I’ve wanted to be more in the last little while. Everything was so… regulated in the President’s office. I had set office hours, never stayed late once, never had to explain how to fill out this form or that one….”

“It was boring?”

“Completely.” She shrugged fatalistically. “Say what you will about the Colonel and his operating methods, but working for him is always interesting.”

“It suits you,” Olivier said simply. “I had ideas once upon a time of trying to win you over to Briggs; your work ethic and your aim would be vital to us. But I learned a long time ago that you’re more vital to keeping that idiot alive, and the team you’ve built needs you too.”

For a moment, Riza was speechless. Olivier Armstrong did not speak this candidly very often, and to see it now was both strange and validating. “I – Thank you, sir. I appreciate the sentiment.”

“You’re welcome.” Another smirk. “Don’t tell Miles or my brother; I’ll never live it down.”

Silence descended again, and this time, neither of them made a move to break it. Riza sat watching the half-destroyed face of Central Headquarters, watching volunteer squads moving through in search of survivors or salvage. The world had, in the space of one day, caught on fire, blown apart, and then resettled into its previous calm. But where the calm before had been tainted with darkness from Father and the Homonculi, now there was a chance for actual peace.

She looked to the side again, to where Roy and Marcoh were still talking, and smiled. He was actually going to get his shot at starting a better world. He was going to do it. And she was going to get to watch and help him. It was going to be a staggeringly monumental task… but if they could face it together….

She was still watching when his shoulders tensed abruptly, and he paused in the middle of whatever he had been saying. His expression, even with his eyes closed, turned to one of concentration… and then his head lifted, eyes opening. Even at this distance, she could just make out the greyed-out irises and pupils that somehow still managed to stare her directly in the eye.

A moment later, he smiled, and that sight warmed her from the centre of her chest outward. The little flame of hope she had thought had been extinguished rekindled itself.

And just like that, the tiny hold-out pistol she had hidden on her person for six months didn’t seem necessary anymore.

[razieltwelve]

The Drift (RWBY x Final Fantasy x Pacific Rim)

“The Drift is not about competition. It is about communication. It is a union created by the sharing of every thought and emotion. The most common mistakes rookies make is to worry about who is in charge. You need to understand that the Drift not about winning or losing against your copilot. You win or you lose together. You live or you die together.”

Pyrrha soaked in every word. Grand Marshal Lightning Farron was a living legend. During the First War, she had served with incredible distinction as first a pilot and then, after being crippled in battle, as a marshal of one of the most important Arks in the world. Her tactical and strategic acumen had allowed her Jaegers to turn back the Grimm again and again.

She had even climbed back into the conn-pod one last time near the end of the First War. She had saved her Ark but at the cost of a series of severe strokes that had almost killed her. Even bedridden, she had still managed to develop the plan that had ultimately won the First War and closed the dimensional breach. 

Lightning had retired shortly after, but the advent of the Second War had called her back into service. There wasn’t a pilot alive who didn’t know who she was, and she was almost universally idolised for her skills not only as a pilot but also as a commanding officer. Pyrrha could not believe her good fortune in being assigned to Lightning’s Ark to complete her training.

“You’ve all done exceedingly well to get to the final phase of the training program. However, this will also be the hardest phase.” The grand marshal’s gaze swept over the cadets. “I will be blunt. The world is not fair. You need a co-pilot to operate a Jaeger. If you can’t find one, then you’re not going to be able to pilot.” Her lips curled. “Believe me, you don’t want to try piloting one on your own. I’ve done it twice, and I’ve flatlined more than a dozen times on the operating table as a result. I do not recommend trying it.”

Nobody laughed because it wasn’t a joke. The tremendous neural load imposed by a Jaeger was all but impossible to manage alone. It had been tried twenty-three times in the past, largely due to injuries suffered in the field. Only seven people had managed to operate their Jaeger alone, and of those seven only two had survived the effort. Lightning was one of them, and her mentor, Amodar, had been the other.

“The purpose of this phase of your training is two-fold. We aim to provide you with far more realistic and intensive simulator training, and we aim to test whether the potential co-pilot pairings we’ve identified have any chance of working in the field. Of the forty people in this room, I would be surprised if more than ten managed to make it through. The best class we’ve ever had managed fourteen graduates.” She turned, the augments supporting her crippled leg whirring softly, and nodded at their head instructor. “Colonel Yun. I’ll the rest to you.”

As the grand marshal left the room, the colonel took over. Oerba Yun Fang was another legend from the First War, and she had been in charge of training cadets for the better part of a decade. If the grand marshal radiated a sort of icy majesty, then the colonel radiated a sort of warm amusement at their trepidation.

“Relax,” Fang said. “The grand marshal’s job is to prepare for the worst-case scenario, which is why she comes across as a bit doom and gloom. My job is to make the best possible cadets out of you.” She grinned. “Now, the fact that you’ve made it here means that you’re all pretty good already. However, the real challenge is going from good to great, and you’ll need to be great to deal with what we’re up against.” She gestured, and a hologram sprang to life beside her. “The Grimm are back, and they’re bigger, stronger, and more numerous than the last time. They’ve learned from their mistakes too, which means we can’t afford to get cocky.”

The cadets all gulped. Pyrrha did her best to remain calm as well. She’d seen what the Grimm could do. A single one of the titanic creatures could easily level a city in a matter hours if left unchallenged. When the Second War had begun, the world had been caught off guard. If not for the ceremonial Jaegers that had been maintained from the First War, they would have been overwhelmed. Now, however, production of new Jaegers using the most advanced technology possible was in full swing.

The last Jaegers to be used in the First War had been the Mark Vs. The Remnant Defence Program now had access to not only Mark VIs and VIIs but also smaller numbers of Mark VIII Jaegers. One of those Mark VIIIs had saved Pyrrha’s homeland only two months ago, downing a pair of Category VI Grimm on the shores of Mistral.

“Rather than waste any time, the very first class you lot will be going to is the Drift compatibility test.” Fang’s lips curled into a toothy smile. “Now, there are several ways to test for Drift compatibility, but I’ve always been a fan of doing things the old-fashioned way.” Pyrrha’s eyes widened. Could the colonel be talking about… “That’s right. Combat. We’re going to hit the gym. You’ll have ten minutes to change once we get there. Do not dawdle. Anyone who’s late can be my sparring partner.”

X     X     X

As Pyrrha got changed, she chanced a quick look at some of the other cadets. Given their importance, many of the cadets were already well known, with some even being sponsored by national governments or companies. Pyrrha herself was sponsored by the Mistral government, and she couldn’t help but feel nervous at the thought of so many people relying on her and placing their faith in her.

Two of the other cadets were second generation. Ruby Rose and Yang Xiao Long were sisters whose parents had served as pilots in the First War. Summer Rose had been badly injured toward the end of the First War, but she’d managed to survive and was now a commander of her own Ark, albeit not one as large as the one Lightning presided over. Was it weird that they were here instead of there? 

Ruby was young too, right on the limit of what the program allowed for cadets. Had this been peacetime, there was no way the program would ever even think of letting a fifteen year old into a conn-pod, but they couldn’t afford to be choosy right now. There were far more Grimm arriving at far shorter intervals. The program - and the world - needed every pilot it could get.

Yang was two years older, and Pyrrha had been lucky enough to face off against her in some of the simulator contests different Arks had run during earlier phases of the training program. Yang might have a somewhat blunt approach to combat, but she had excellent instincts and a brutally effective fighting style that was perfectly suited to the melee combat that was so often involved in battle agains the Grimm.

“Nervous?” Yang asked.

Pyrrha blinked and then realised that Yang was talking to her. She smiled and continued to tug on her clothes as she walked toward the two sisters. “A little, yes. It’s just… a bit surreal to be here. We’re so close to becoming pilots and at this Ark, no less. Being able to serve under the grand marshal would be an incredible honour.”

“It’d be tough too,” Yang said. “This is the busiest Ark in the world. The grand marshal commands more missions each month than some of the smaller Arks do in a year.”

“That’s kind of scary to think about,” Ruby murmured quietly. “I mean… if we screw up...”

“Relax, sis.” Yang smirked. “Mom wouldn’t send us here if she didn’t think we could cut it. Besides, we’ve got one big advantage.” She threw her arm around Ruby. “We’re almost guaranteed to be Drift compatible.”

Pyrrha’s brows furrowed. Yang had a good point. Siblings were almost always Drift compatible to some degree, and research had shown that siblings who were the children of pilots tended to be compatible almost ninety per cent of the time. It was why the children of almost all of the pilots of the First War had found their way into the program. “That is a good point.”

“But what if we’re the ten percent?” Ruby whispered. “What do we do then?”

“Then we’ll manage.” Yang chuckled. “Relax. The reason there are forty of us is because a whole bunch of us are potentially compatible with each other. They’ve got backup plans in case our first choices don’t work out.”

“That’s right,” Pyrrha said. “But we should hurry. I don’t think it would be a good idea to be late.”

X     X     X

Fang watched the cadets go through some basic stretches and exercises. Having them fight right off the bat would just be begging for injuries. It was better to let them ease into it. Still, she could tell a lot just by watching them. Yang was a chip off the old block. Fang had run a few missions with her parents, and if Yang was as good as they were, she’d be a welcome addition to the Ark. Ruby was a bit harder to read. The girl was clearly talented, but she was so nervous about being younger than everyone that she was making mistakes in even the basic exercises.

The big surprise was the blond teenager. Jaune Arc had made it through each phase of the training program by the skin of his teeth. He wasn’t outstanding in any area, but he had the sort of grit and determination that could translate to success in the field. Just as importantly, he was one of the only people in the world who had a half-decent Drift compatibility estimate with Pyrrha Nikos.

Fang’s lips twitched. Pyrrha was a celebrity in Mistral. As a cadet, she’d set records for the earlier parts of the training program, and she’d topped every class she’d been in. Her simulator performance was outstanding, and she’d been one of the only people in history to approach the marks Lightning had set years ago. Her only problem was a lack of Drift compatible partners.

Oh, the Mistral Arks had done their damnedest to find people, but they’d failed. The preliminary Drift compatibility checks that they’d run in the earlier phases of the training program had turned up failure after failure. Of course, they’d been smart enough to conceal the results from Pyrrha. There was no point in making her nervous.

When the system had flagged Jaune as a potential match only a few weeks ago, the blond had been plucked out of the small Ark he’d been training at and shipped over to this one. Fang had no idea if he’d cut it, but they had to at least try. Pyrrha was too good a candidate to throw away, and if they could get Jaune up to speed, they could have a real success on their hands.

“All right,” Fang said. “I want everybody gathered around the sparring area. We’ll be doing a few bouts. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and spot some compatibility.” She waited until they’d moved into position and then glanced at her scroll. The candidates had all been ranked in terms of their potential compatibility with each other, so it wasn’t hard to pick out a pair of them to start things off. “Xiao Long and Belladonna. You two are up first.”

Blake Belladonna was a cat Faunus who’d come out of a Menagerie Ark with some excellent scores. Like Pyrrha, however, she hadn’t had a suitable candidate for her co-pilot. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. Adam Taurus had been a possible candidate, but the young man had suffered a severe stroke after sneaking into his Ark’s Jaeger bay and attempting to pilot a Jaeger alone. The doctors were confident he could make a full recovery, but it could take as long as two years, and they needed pilots now.

Yang and Blake squared off in the sparring area, each with a staff in their hands. The blonde would undoubtedly have preferred to fight barehanded, but it was tradition to fight with staffs, at least for the first time. WIth a quick bow, the two began to circle each other.

Yang struck the first blow, but Blake parried it easily before replying with a strike of her own. With a small smile, Yang blocked the attack and went back to circling Blake. Another quick exchange followed, and Yang found herself on the back foot as Blake used her superior speed to press her advantage. However, that advantage was short-lived as Yang seemingly read Blake’s next move and locked their staffs together before hoisting Blake over her hip in a throw.

“Point.” Fang said as Blake got back to her feet with a faint frown. Yang smirked back. “We’ll make it first to three. We don’t want any of you killing each other this early.”

Blake’s eyes narrowed, and the Faunus darted forward. Her staff streaked toward Yang’s side only to divert toward her shoulder at the last moment. Yang twisted away from the strike, and she brought her own staff around at Blake’s ribs. Blake jammed her staff down and then upped the pace, the room filling with the loud clack of staff against staff.

Fang’s brows furrowed. This wasn’t quite what she’d expected. The compatibility index for Blake and Yang was only 0.5, which suggested a reasonable chance for a successful Drift, but it hadn’t even been three minutes and the pair had already fallen into a swift, easy rhythm. Neither they nor the other cadets realised it, but Fang knew what to look for.

They weren’t really fighting anymore. This was closer to a dance, and the frown had faded from Blake’s face to be replaced by a small smile. Yang returned it with a smirk, and Fang called an end to the bout because she’d seen more than enough.

“Okay,” Fang said. “That’s enough.” She chuckled. “See that, kids? That is what compatibility looks like. We’ll have to schedule you two for more intensive testing.” The smile on Yang’s face faded ever so slightly as she took note of the crushed expression that Ruby wore. Fang winced. Even if they were sisters, if Blake was more compatible with Yang than Ruby, then that was probably what Lightning would decide to do. Even small percentages in compatibility could make a big difference in live combat. “Nikos and Arc, you two are up.”

Fang watched as Jaune warily took up a guard position opposite Pyrrha. The boy wasn’t an idiot, for all that his training wasn’t quite up to par with the others. He’d seen Pyrrha going through her exercises, and her skill was obvious. For her part, Pyrrha smiled in a friendly way and readied her staff.

“Same deal, you two. First to three or until I’ve seen enough. Begin.”

Pyrrha breezed forward and launched a strike at Jaune’s head. The boy was a fraction too slow to block it, but Pyrrha pulled the strike before it could connect.

“That’s one,” Fang said. A few of the other cadets laughed, and she shot them a scowl. “Quiet. This isn’t about winning. This is about seeing who is compatible.” She nodded at Jaune. “Arc?”

“Yes, ma'am?”

“Loosen up. You’re not fighting for your life here. Just do what comes naturally.”

Jaune nodded and took the initiative. His staff swung into motion, but Pyrrha easily batted the blow aside. However, he used the momentum of her parry to accelerate his next strike. Pyrrha’s eyes widened ever so briefly, but she was still able to block the attack. The two staffs met, and Jaune lunged forward, trying to lock the weapons together, so he could either disarm the redhead or throw her. Pyrrha was even quicker to react. She let go of her weapon, realising that it would be almost impossible to keep hold of it with the leverage Jaune had managed to get, and instead grabbed hold of Jaune’s.

There was a brief scuffle before the pair broke apart, Pyrrha holding’s Jaune’s weapon and the blond holding hers. Fang raised one eyebrow. That had almost seemed choreographed. However, neither Pyrrha nor Jaune seemed to have noticed how unusual it was. Instead, their eyes were locked onto each other.

Pyrrha attacked, but this time, she held her speed to a level that Jaune could manage. Despite the hail of blows headed his way, Jaune managed to keep afloat, somehow reading just enough of her movements to stay out of harm’s way. Fang’s eyes gleamed. Clever girl. Pyrrha had realised early on that Jaune just wasn’t fast enough to keep up with her, so she’d slowed down just enough to see what would happen.

And Jaune wasn’t disappointing. What he lacked in speed, he made up for in anticipation. As bizarre as it sounded, he was actually able to read a lot of Pyrrha’s moves. It shouldn’t be possible. Even Fang would have taken a little longer to get accustomed to the redhead’s style, but Jaune had already caught on.

From the flush on her cheeks, it was clear that Pyrrha had realised it too. Slowly, she upped the tempo of her attacks, working her way up toward her normal speed. Jaune struggled to keep up, but he was gradually adjusting, reading further and further ahead. A sudden change of direction caught Jaune off guard, and Pyrrha tossed him over her shoulder. However, he managed to grab her leg as he hit the ground, and he ended up dragging her down on top of him.

The pair ended up pressed together with Pyrrha practically sitting on top of him.

“Okay…” Fang laughed. “I should probably stop you two there before you go any further.” The two practically leapt apart as the other cadets laughed. A few even yelled out suggestions. “That is what Drift compatibility looks like. Of course, we’ll have to do more testing, but it’s a great start.” Fang glanced back at her scroll. “Let’s see if we can make it three for three. Rose, you’re up. You too, Valkyrie.”

As Ruby and Nora took their positions in the sparring area, Fang glanced at Jaune and Pyrrha. Before their match, they had not been standing anywhere near each other. Now, however, they were standing side by side.

X     X     X

Lightning scowled as Fang put her feet up on her desk. “Don’t make me shoot you for insubordination, colonel. I’ve already told you to get your feet off my desk.”

Fang chuckled. “Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?” she drawled. “Besides, we’re married. You’d feel bad if you shot me.”

“Which is why I would have someone else do it.” Lightning’s lips twitched up into a small smile. “So… how did it go? I would have liked to watch, but I had to meet with representatives from the Schnee Dust Company.” She shook her head in disgust. “We’re facing the apocalypse, and I still have to go looking for extra funding. Do people still not understand that if we lose this, we’re all dead? I might not like Jacques Schnee, but he is a practical man. In exchange for moving Weiss to this Ark, he has agreed to some very generous funding arrangements.”

“Weiss? I didn’t realise she was in the program.”

“She’s not. Her father has been having her privately tutored in Atlas for years. He didn’t want her in the program because then we’d be in charge of her progress. Now, however, he’s got no choice. If he wants her to pilot, he has to go through us.”

“But does she want to pilot?” Fang asked. “Her sister, Winter, was part of the program too, but she dropped out of the pilot side and switched to command.”

“Winter Schnee has proven to be an excellent field commander,” Lightning replied. “I’d poach her as a potential successor and assistant, but James has been most adamant in keeping his hands on her.”

“Damn. She must be good then.” James Ironwood commanded the largest Ark in Atlas. Anyone he considered good enough to serve as his second-in-command had to be brilliant. “But that leaves Weiss in a bit of a pickle, doesn’t it? She and Winter probably would have been compatible.”

“Yes. However, there is at least one candidate in the current group whose psychological profile and other markers suggest possible compatibility.”

“Oh?”

“Ruby,” Lightning said. “Although there is still Yang to consider.”

“Actually, that might not be as a big a problem as you’d think,” Fang said. “How about I fill you in on the details? It was a pretty good session, actually, we had several possible pairings make a good showing including our resident prodigy.”

“Ah, yes, I was hoping Pyrrha would find someone. Was it Jaune?”

“They look damn compatible,” Fang said. “I guess we owe Vanille another vending machine.”

Lightning scowled. Professor Oerba Dia Vanille was one of the most brilliant minds in the program. She was also totally addicted to energy drinks and had made it her personal mission to have a vending machine at every intersection in the facility. “Another vending machine is a small price to pay if we can get Pyrrha and a suitable partner into a Jaeger.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

So… this is a thing. Those of you who’ve read my other fan fiction might recognise elements of The Vestige (a Final FFXIII x Pacific Rim crossover I wrote). This is kind of like that… except it’s set in the future and on Remnant. This was also only supposed to be a really short snippet, but it kind of snowballed.

Oh well.

I do think there’s a lot of potential in this basic premise, so I might come back to this now and then.

You can find me on fanfiction.net, AO3, and Amazon. Please check out my newest story on Amazon. It’s called Monster Whisperer.

[cyberneticlagomorph]

Trial by Convolution

Somewhere you hear ticking, far in the back of your mind, steady and stoic, as familiar as breathing. You distantly recall a cat with a technicolor coat, and a smile like the moon on her side. You shut your eyes and pull away, nearly tripping on your own tail.

“You can’t keep me here forever, not without a trial, otherwise its just wrongful imprisonment.” you grit between clenched teeth, your eyes are bleeding. The Queen laughs, a sound like a choir of tiny silver bells in the breeze, her Charm retracts from your mind. Your heart aches when it does and you are enveloped by such a profound feeling of being starved for touch, you have to choke back a stray sob that materializes in your chest.

“A trial? You want a trial? Very well, I’ll humor you.” she sneers, her hand suddenly at your throat, fear raking icy talons down your spine. Your eyes fly open automatically and you instantly wish they hadn’t, the world is a maelstrom around the both of you, a sickening whirlwind of colors and noise that drops you into a courtroom somewhere on the vast edges of space, floating in some hollowed out asteroid. There, in the judge’s seat sits an unknowable creature with eyes like the passing stars, one of it’s many limbs coiled around a gavel. It looks almost comical. In the corner stands a bailiff with a face like TV static and a voice that comes from everywhere at once.

Other beings start to appear in puffs of smoke and light, the jurors box filling with fae your age. The Queen summons a demon with cartoonishly red skin and cloven hooves, he grins at you like he’s done this a thousand times and won every case. His suit is sharp and smells strongly of smoke, you hate him and his serpentine tail instantly. The trial hasn’t even started and you’re already tired, dragging your hands down your face as you find yourself sitting in the defendant’s chair as the bailiff starts to call the case. You are without a lawyer, panic courses through you in an instant before a cloud of opalescent smoke coalesces into the shape of a person, rapidly solidifying until there is an androgynous figure sitting beside you. They have eyes that shift in hue every second and the widest smile you’ve ever seen.

Cheshire pats your shoulder, “Don’t look so grim,” it says, “I know what I’m doing, I’ll have you free in a jiffy.”

This fails to fill you with confidence as the bailiff speaks in a voice as bleak and baleful as the surface of some long forgotten moon,

“All rise. The Court of Wonderland is now in session. Honorable Judge █ █ █ █ , presiding.” the judge’s name was something you couldn’t exactly hear or see, but kind of felt and tasted in the back of your throat. It makes you shudder, just a little as you and everyone else did what they were told. The judge banged it’s gavel and the prosecution gave his opening statement. You really weren’t paying attention like you should have been, so all you caught was that his name was Minos, he was representing Wonderland and the Queen by proxy, you were on trial for both your “crimes” as well as to prove your character. The whole thing seemed like some tedious formality or a D&D session gone off the rails, but you were too tired to do much more than sit and stare and disassociate a lot.

Cheshire said some words too, you still aren’t listening. You honestly feel like crying a little. Minos is still standing, eying you darkly as if you are a slab of steaming meat on a platter. He licks his lips and clears his throat, before calling his first witness to the stand, one Kiran Misra. Your blood turns to ice as a portal yawns above the witness stand and Kiran dropped down with an oof, she was scarcely given a moment to adjust before being sworn in and approached by the demon.

“Now, miss Misra, I hear you and the defendant have a bit of history… Would you say he’s a good person in any capacity, or that his impending punishment is cruel?” his voice is smooth and oily, dripping from his jaws like poison. Kiran glances at you, first confused, then angry, before her eyes light up with malicious glee. She leans forward in her seat, smiling a little,

“Oh no, it’s definitely warranted. Dude took out a whole secret lab on Earth, killed all the scientists there and blew it into a smoking crater. I don’t think he can be trusted with the power he’s got.” she thinks for a moment, tapping her chin with a finger. “Oh, and I think he destroyed a priceless, irreplaceable magical artifact, too.”

Minos grins, glancing at the judge,

“That will be all your honor.” he purrs before sitting, long tail dragging on the floor behind him. Cheshire stands, ready to cross examine the witness, it’s smile is gone.

“Miss Misra, is it true that you and my client have gotten into numerous altercations?”

She nods, opening her mouth to elaborate, only to be interrupted by Cheshire,

“And is it true that you were the aggressor in all but one of those altercations?”

Kiran’s mouth snaps shut, her expression going from smug to offended, Cheshire continues, voice coldly even and calm

“And is it true you caused life threatening injuries to my client, in addition to endangering his home and children?” Minos attempts an objection but is quickly overruled, Kiran quickly grows angry and quiet, teeth gritting as she realizes the hole she’s been backed into. Cheshire snorts softly it turns to walk back to you,

“No further questions your honor.” Kiran manags to glare daggers at you the split second before a new portal opens beneath her and she drops out of view. You shudder, looking at Cheshire for comfort. It gives you a double thumbs up and the case progresses. Bendy the dancing demon is called to the stand next, disorientated and shaking as he struggles to figure out where he is. Minos badgers him with questions in an attempt to get him to admit in his involvement with your assault on the Red Queen, which Cheshire quickly objects to. Minos can only growl and cease his questions, Bendy has been reduced to a quivering puddle on the stand, Cheshire doesn’t bother to question him so he is soon sent home. The seat is still damp and sticky, likely to remain that way for the remainder of the trial. You have no way of knowing what time it is out here, but it feels late, you’re having a rough time keeping your eyes open.

A chunk of the trial passes by in a blur before you hear Cheshire say,

“I call Marcela Closer to the stand.” your head snapping up so quickly you nearly give yourself whiplash. Like before, a portal opens above the witness stand, rudely depositing your sister into the damp chair. She is topless, in her andrid body, her hair a mess and her face partially obscured by a sleep mask. She tears the mask off, gurgling and hurgling in agitation and alarm before glaring sabers at the court, eyes wild. The bailiff steps forward to swear her in and she flinches like a suspicious animal, teeth bared. After a mild amount of screaming and biting, Marce’s hand ends up on what is hopefully not the Necronomicon.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” intones the static faced bailiff. Marce looks it where it’s eyes should be and says in a practiced deadpan,

“No.” much to the amusement of the court. The judge simply sighs and the examination begins. Marce spots you, squints, and then sighs, rubbing her temples as Cheshire approaches. “Miss Closer,” it begins, “You are very close to my client, correct? Would you say that he is a good person and that this trial is unnecessary and abhorrent?”

Marce looks at the grinning cat, exhaustion evident on her face as she speaks,

“Mothers and fuckers of the jury,” she says, with no hint of irony, “Alright, listen. I really, honestly have no idea what kind of weight my words here’re gonna have. Part of me suspects it’s none, this whole thing just feels like a shitty formality that has no bearing on the actual course of events, like the bullshit trials the Sheriff’s Secret Police set up when they’re bored and wanna fuck around with the family members being held at the abandoned underground missile silo during election season so that the town can ensure that everyone votes correctly, but anyways. Ever since the first day we met, Jack’s never been anything but good to me. I can’t remember us ever having a single fight.”

Of course, that’s because she can hardly remember anything, but she’s not gonna tell them that. “Like, he’s just this dude, y’know, just this dude tryna make his way. He’s just sort of, fumbling through, trying to survive an onslaught of absolute bullshit he never asked for, shoved into this shit he never wanted, trying his best to do right by the people who have suddenly come to rely on him. He never asked for this, none of us ever asked for any of this, you think I ever asked for the bullshit I’ve seen? Remind me to tell you about the demonic beagle puppy sometime, because THAT’S a fucking story.”

She spreads both hands wide in an accentuating gesture. “Point is, he’s doing his best to survive through all the shit that’s been going on, the cards have been stacked against him since day one, but he’s still here. And so are all of you. We’re all just, still here. The universe is crazy and cruel and arbitrary and unfair, so we’re all just… trying to survive.”

The cat seems satisfied, glancing at the vast judge, “No further questions.” it says, softly and returns to you. Minos declines to cross examine. Marce is soon sent home, her sleep mask left laying on the floor of the courtroom. Hopefully, you’ll give it back to her later.

[lxveille]

May I have Mingyu + 70 for the 100 ways to say I love you? Thank you!

100 ways to say i love you (requests closed)WC: ~ 2360 ; paranormal!au

It’s almost three in the morning when your phone goes off. You stumble out of bed and only just read Somin’s name on the screen before you answer wearily.

“You need to get down to the research center now,” she tells you, something electric and anxious in her voice.

“What’s going on?” you ask, still rubbing sleep from your eyes.

“They finally got one.”

That wakes you up.

You’ve been working under Dr. Nam at Central Research Center of the Preternatural for almost a year. Your department has long been underfunded and ridiculed quietly by others for its distinct lack of actual study subjects. You’ve run analysis of trace remnants of extraterrestrial activity and gone on numerous dead-end trips following calls reporting UFO sightings. But there’s never been a successful, proper study done an alien life form. It’s hasn’t been possible without any captured beings.

Now, evidently that has all changed.

You stand next to Somin on one of the upper walkways of the facility and stare down at the shatter-proof glass walls of the enclosement. You’ve passed it so many times, never sparing it a glance, because it had always been empty. Now that there’s a living creature inside, it looks smaller than you remember.

“It looks… human,” you comment in a whisper, unable to tear your eyes away from the unconscious form that lies in the middle of the sanitized, closed-in floor.

“I know,” Somin answers, “Dr. Nam says it might be some kind of cloaking adaptation. But look at the preliminary vital scans.” You force yourself to turn your attention to the chart your colleague is holding out. Your eyes widen at the information it contains. From body temperature and the double-pulse alone, it’s evident that whatever’s inside the enclosure is not native to this world.

“Certainly not human,” you murmur, and something about Somin’s smile in response makes you feel a bit queasy.

You’ll admit that work was less stressful and exhausting before subject A01 came in. Budget constraints mean most of your time on the observation deck is spent alone. It only takes a few hours of your first shift before the first time you find yourself speaking out loud to the extraterrestrial.

It’s a silly thing to do. A01 still seems a bit delirious from being knocked out during those first few hours after he comes to. He barely looks towards where you are, and seems more preoccupied with running his hands over the smooth glass that traps him in. He doesn’t seem to come back to full awareness until the second day in the facility.

Several hours into your second shift, you comment lightly, “A01, I don’t know about you, but I think the doctor’s got his hopes up a bit high if he thinks there’s gonna be an 02 or a B anytime soon.”

He shows his teeth; some of them sharper than a human’s would normally be. Then you realize he’s smiling. Almost chuckling even – at what you’d said, or at you, or something. You press your clipboard flat into your lap, staring at the alien with surprise.

So begins your working theory that A01 understands human language.

You run it by Somin first, who quirks her head and looks at you like you’re the one who ought to be in the enclosure. “I’ve never had A01 even respond when I’m doing linguistic runs,” she tells you.

It’s decided then it’ll be good to keep the observations to yourself. At least until you have more to go on, you tell yourself.

The worst is when you’re tasked with checking vitals or sample collection.

There’s a button on the panel beside the door into the enclosure that releases a gas into the chamber that renders A01 unconscious. Protocol says you should never open the door if the alien is awake. It’s too hazardous for the study, as well as for the security of the research center as a whole.  

But there’s a look of recognition on A01’s expression whenever you approach the panel that tugs are your sympathy for the being. And there’s a rough time he has coming back after the fact, the hazed and uncomfortable stares he gives at blank spaces of the glass, barely responding to any stimuli at all for many hours afterwards.

He’s been at the facility for two months when he comes right up to the clear wall just as you approach the control panel. He places one hand against the glass, looking at you imploringly, and you swallow thickly, fingers already position to release the knockout gas.

You move your hand away from the panel, and your gut twists when you see him smile softly in response from the other side of the glass. Tilting your head back, you scan the overhanging walkway for anyone else.

“I’m sorry,” you say, pressing one hand over your heart to try to emphasize your sincerity before it moves to push the button.

When he comes back too, freshly bandaged from the blood sample you’d taken, you’re still on observation duty. He stumbles over to the spot closest to where you’re sitting and sways slightly where he stands, steadying himself with one hand against the transparent walling.

“A01, do you understand what sorry means?” you ask; you’ve tried, since Somin first told you about her differing experience with him, not to speak so much to him. While your theory about his comprehension still lingered on your mind often enough, it seems like a bad idea to try to prove something the linguist on your small team already seemed convinced of.

But he nods, and mirrors your earlier gesture of place one hand over your heart. In his case, you realize, it’s only one of his hearts.

You stand slowly, leaving the clipboard behind on the bench as you come up to the enclosure. Standing toe-to-toe to him, with only several inches of industrial strength glass separating the two of him, you let yourself ask, “Do you call yourself anything? Anything different from A01?”

His eyes scan over you and you think you must have broken some kind of protocol when you hear a low voice answer, “Mingyu.”

Or if that hadn’t been against regulations, it’s certainly some kind of wrong when you leave the interaction out of your observation notes.

Two weeks later, you’re assigned to take vitals once more. Dr. Nam had recently put in changes to the nutrients being provided to A01 – to Mingyu – and is looking now for any changes in his system resulting from that.

Mingyu comes up to the same spot he’d been the last time, when you’d apologized before knocking him out. He gives you the same beseeching look he’d had last time, and this time you waver more than before. A few long minutes go by of you checking that there’s no one else in this sector before you place one hand on the glass of the door.

“If you promise to stay away from here, Mingyu, I don’t have to use the gas.”

He takes several long strides backwards, retreating from the door.

This is a bad idea, some more practical voice inside your head chimes in. It does not win out.

Mingyu seems taller, somehow, without the glass between the two of you. Anytime you’ve been this close to him before, he’s been unconscious, unable to watch you as closely as he is now.

You start with pressing the thermometer to his forehead, taking note of his usually cool temperature while trying not to meet his gaze. He doesn’t say a thing, standing still and cooperative as you listen to one of his heartbeats.

It’s just as you’re switching to check his second heart the Mingyu lifts one hand up to your cheek suddenly. You look up at him abruptly; practicality says you should get away now, but you stare at him instead, speechless as his cold fingers brush lightly over the skin of your face. There’s something almost gel-like in his touch, and you wonder how it is no ones taken note of his skin exuding any kind of substance before.

“You’re warm,” Mingyu notes, hand coming to rest on the side of your neck with fingertips still pressing lightly at the underside of your jaw. He’s smiling once again, and somehow you feel more like subject than scientist.

“Why don’t you verbally respond to Somin or Dr. Nam?” you ask, trying ground yourself back in the priorities of the study. He removes his touch from you, his fingers curling slightly as he looks at his own hand as if looking for something. “Mingyu?” you prompt him for a response, and he glances up from his hand to smile a little wider at you.

You think you might be in trouble.

Sometimes Mingyu will be the one to say something first now.

He asks, for example, if you’re still warm. If you’re tired. If you’re happy.

Most troubling is when he asks if you’re still sorry.

He peers at you through the glass, looking not at all like he meant for the question to send as strong a pang of guilt through your system as it does.

“This is my job,” you reply as steadily as you can. He may not know what jobs are, you realize only after you’ve already spoken.

“That isn’t an answer,” Mingyu says, hand coming up to the glass. It leaves behind a small smudge of something – perhaps the same secretion you’d felt upon your skin – when he drags his fingers down a few inches. It makes you nervous for a reason you find difficult to place. But it’s the same kind of nervousness you felt in middle school, back when your science teacher paired you up for a project with the class president.

Somin calls out sick the next day Mingyu’s due for his vitals checked.

He smiles when you tell him as much as you come up towards the door. He doesn’t come up towards the same area to meet you, and you presume he hopes you’ll still allow the same deal you’d given him last time.

Just as before, he stays still and lets you go about with all the measurements and procedures you need to do without complaint. Even when you go to take a sample of blood from his arm, he simply holds out one hand and watches as the syringe fills with the dark, thick fluid that runs through his veins.

“Can I touch you again?” he inquires as you’re packing up all your supplies. It draws your attention back to him immediately, your eyes widened with surprise that he’d ask such a thing. He smiles when your eyes fall upon his face, and you stand up straight to come back to your prior spot in front of him.

It’s for research, you try to reason as you nod. He brings both hands up to your face this time, eyes fluttering shut for a millisecond when he first makes contact with your skin.

“Can you tell me…” you start hesitantly, shuddering lightly from the chill of his touch and gel-like substance he smooths over your flesh as his fingers move from your cheeks to your shoulders and down to your arms. You aren’t sure if you’re glad or not that you’d worn a short-sleeved shirt to work today.

He gives a small, puzzled-sounding hum that reminds you to finish your inquiry.

“What is it on your hands right now?” you finish at last, and you feel a familiar flutter of nerves when he chuckles breathily.

“It helps to understand,” he says vaguely, lifting one hand back up to your jaw. His palm drags forwards slightly until only the very tips of his fingers are left on the underside of your chin, tilting your face up so you can’t avoid eye contact. “To be with.”

Your brow furrows. “I don’t understand,” you admit, as if it weren’t already obvious from your expression.

“I love you,” Mingyu tell you calmly, like it’s the same as saying he enjoys your company or commenting on the differences in your natural body temperatures.

That’s enough to make you stumble back from him, your heart suddenly thudding with a confused panic. This is wrong, impossible, and against every regulation there is in the facility.

“You don’t know what that means,” you accuse, and Mingyu frowns.

“I feel it,” he offers as if it will make everything clear. Long legs carry him across the space between the two of you easily. You ought to turn and run, lock the door to the enclosure behind you, and maybe even press the panic button. Mingyu raises one hand and lets it hover just over your cheek; not touching, but asking for permission to do as much. “I want you to believe me.”

He sounds saddened, hurt by how quickly you’d denied any meaning to his words.

You glance towards his hesitant hand and back to his eyes before nodding faintly. He doesn’t smile, his features too focused in on taking in every micro-moment of your reaction when his hand cups your cheek again. He rolls his lips together contemplatively as he watches your shoulder loosen slightly.

His feet shuffle a little closer to yours and his face comes in closer than he’d been before. He murmurs another I love you just before his lips press against yours. It’s different, almost inexplicably, from kissing a human. Something in the texture of his tongue and the taste in his mouth is utterly foreign. For a brief moment, it occurs to you that you ought to panic; that you don’t know if his species may be capable of salivating something deadly upon will.

The worry melts away when you feel his thumb brush against the juncture of your ear and your neck, rubbing a trail of something new that leaves an odd, warming feeling against the soft skin.

Mingyu releases your lips just when you think you might lose yourself entirely to the sensation.  He pulls back just far enough that he can take in your expression. His mouth quirks up into a curious smile.

“Do you believe me?”

You’re definitely in trouble.

[veryangryhedgehog]

“The Personal History of Mr. Lucius Marcell

Part I: In which he acquires a New TA” 

By Hedgehog

There is one sentence that nearly every child grows to loath. The utter hate and disgust behind the specific way these words are phrased becomes so engrained into the very soul that even years later, the mere mention can send shivers running full tilt down the spine. The phrase I am referring to is of course: “So, how was school today?”

See, it worked. Isn’t it funny how four tiny little words can leave such an impact? It may not even be what the sentence implies that causes the body to convulse with revolt: that remembrance of drab halls, graffiti-crusted bathrooms, and the feeling that absolutely no one wants to be there. Rather, I would argue that it is the prospect of actually answering the question at all. How is one supposed to respond? “Absolutely terrible. I’m bored, no one likes me, and I feel very much alone”? Clearly, the truth will not suffice. This merely invites further probing. No, there is only one way to field such a question. Observe.

“So, how was school?” Ms. Miller asked her children from across the rotisserie chicken that she had purchased from the supermarket earlier that evening. When no one responded—Mike taking a massive bite out of a leg to keep his mouth busy while Cindy looked down at her plate—she let out a small huff of indignation and glared at each of them in turn. “Cynthia?” She dug.

Said teenage daughter shrugged in response. “Fine,” she said.

“Just ‘fine’?” her mother asked. “Honey, it’s your first day of senior year, the best year of your life.”

“Sure. Whatever.” Cindy turned back to her food. The last time she’d given half a damn about school had been a full two years ago. Sophomore Cynthia had been a straight A, 4.0 student, a two-time runner up at state for track, and president of the student council. One nervous breakdown later, and here she was: a B average student with not a lot else to do. What had triggered such a breakdown of her essential personality? Stress mostly, but it didn’t really matter. The point was that she was over her delusions of grandeur and overall a much better person. At least she thought so.

Ms. Miller pouted once she realized that she was getting nothing else out of the older child, but quickly turned to her son instead. “Mike?” she asked. “How about you?”

Sure he would reply much the same way as she had, so that the interrogation could end and they could get on with their lives, Cindy turned her thoughts elsewhere. Needless to say, it took her a second to get over her brain fart when Mike said something completely unexpected.

“It was...” he began. “Kinda weird.”

Mike no! The inside of her head screamed. You were the chosen one! You’ve doomed us all!

Looking pleased, Ms. Miller proceeded with her questioning. “Weird?” she tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he began, “it was all pretty normal, but then after lunch I had—” Mike paused for a split second, narrowing his eyes slightly as if he didn’t quite believe what he had seen. “I had history with that Marcell guy.”

If there had been one word to bring her out of her blue screen of death and into a whole other level of panic, it was that one. Cindy stared a hole into her brother, trying to telepathically yell at him to stop talking.

But it was much too late. “Cynthia,” her mother turned back to her, “didn’t you have Mr. Marcell when you were a sophomore?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “He’s a little... eccentric.”

Mike opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again just as quickly. It appeared he had come to the same conclusion as Cindy had two years ago. The thought had just taken a little longer to pierce his skull. It was simple really: if he told his mother about Marcell, she would never believe him. Not about the darkened room due to his “rare skin condition”, not about the unit on Atlantis, and least of all about his habit of yelling at the textbook whenever it disagreed with him.

Marcell had rarely been mean, and never creepy, but he was kind of a weirdo. Except you never came upon this revelation until after the fact. When you were in his classroom, you were the weirdo. At least, that’s what it had always felt like to Cindy, though that could have just been sophomore Cynthia’s appalling lack of self-esteem.

The rest of dinner passed quickly enough; the courtroom adjourned once Ms. Miller realized that neither of her children really wanted to talk about Marcell and his odd demeanor, and Cindy nearly forgot about the whole thing. She had essays to write, and more importantly, time to waste on the internet.

So, it was almost unexpected when she got the text from Mike the next day in the middle of sixth period: Might have left my lunchbox in Marcells. But hes really creepy. Will u plz get it for me? Ill do ur chores for a month!!! And this was the captain of the sophomore soccer team. What a little wuss. But the offer was tempting. She hated cleaning the toilet.

2 and uve got urself a deal, she typed back under the desk.

There was a long pause, and then the answer came. Fine. Thx!

Cindy groaned. She never imagined ever having to set foot in that classroom again. The space still seemed to exist on an entirely different plane of existence, one filled with AP tests and sore feet from hours of running, stress about grades and boys you didn’t really like. Yet far too soon, the final bell rang and she found herself making her way down that old, familiar hallway, procrastinating in any way she could.

And then, suddenly and without warning, she was at the door. It was ajar, and beyond it lay the soft blue of not-quite darkness. Peering inside, the classroom seemed empty, and Cindy’s eyes darted back and forth before landing on the red lunchbox that sat on the dirty tile floor, just beside the hard seat of a desk.

She darted in, intending to snatch the lunchbox and make a quick escape, but the instant her fingers brushed the handle of the lunchbox, she froze.

“That’s not yours, is it,” said a voice. It was not a question.

Firmly gripping the box, Cindy turned to find a figure sitting with his feet propped on the teacher’s desk, smirking. Ah yes, she’d nearly forgotten about his habit of appearing out of nowhere when you weren’t looking. This time, she was sure he hadn’t been there a second before.

“It’s my brother’s,” she attempted an innocent smile.

He didn’t seem to recognize her. It had been two years, after all, and she had changed a lot since then. “So he chickens out and makes you get it, huh? I didn’t think I was quite that terrifying.” He laughed, sitting up now. “Which one is he?”

“Mike Miller,” she sighed. “And I think he thought since I survived a whole year with you...”

Marcell frowned, eyebrows knitted closely as he held up a finger. “You took my class?” He asked. “Miller... Miller... wait!” He finally remembered, then shook his head. “No. Cynthia?” His brown, almost red eyes widened incredulously.

She nodded, embarrassed. “Though most people call me Cindy these days, if they bother to talk to me at all.”

“You’ve certainly changed.” He stood from the swivel chair and leaned against the front of the desk. “You cut your hair.”

“And that’s the first thing you notice?” she laughed, shaking her head.

“Of course,” he said. “You had the very distinct habit of flipping it to the side when you were about to start arguing with me.”

Cindy felt herself blush a little. She had been such a little bitch. “I probably wasn’t the most pleasant student.”

“On the contrary,” he countered, “it was certainly better than the silence I get from most kids. At least you kept me on my toes.”

“I just couldn’t believe you were teaching a whole unit on a city that doesn’t exist.”

“Ah,” he grinned, revealing sharp, white teeth. “Atlantis.”

“Which I will never forget was actually a city on the lost continent of Lemuria, thank you very much.”

Marcell crossed his arms over his chest. “Was it that strange?” He seemed bemused.

“It wasn’t strange, it was just...” she shook her head, “different. You were different.”

A moment of silence ensued, in which Marcell seemed to be considering something.

“Well,” Cindy shook herself. “I should get going.” She waved, turning to leave. “It was nice talking to—“

“Would you like to know why?” He asked suddenly, the final syllable seeming to float around the room. “Why I’m so... different, as you put it.” He added when she paused.

A second passed, then two. Then five. Cindy wasn’t really thinking about what she would say, it was just that she never expected the offer to just suddenly give up all the secrets that made him eccentric Mr. Marcell. She’d tried the whole year to figure out his deal, and now he was just going to tell her?

“Yes,” she said finally, definitely, turning back towards him.

“What if I told you I was two-thousand years old?” he asked, face completely straight. “Would you say I was crazy?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’d say you were pulling my leg.”

“Then I don’t suppose it’d be any more plausible if I were a two-thousand year-old vampire.”

“Absolutely not.”

Marcell sighed, looking positively done. “I’m a two-thousand year-old vampire.”

“Uh huh.”

“I know most people think we’re only legends, and more recently, fictional teen heart-throbs.” He ran through the line as if he had rehearsed it many times. “But—“

“Don’t get me wrong.” Cindy interrupted, to which he looked surprised. “It’s not that I don’t believe vampires exist, I just find it hard to believe that my mild-mannered history teacher is a ‘creature of the night’.”

He blinked. “That was... not the response I was expecting.”

“Welcome to Ede Valley,” she chuckled, approaching the far window that somehow managed to be even more broken than when she’d last seen it. “Where we’re all just a little bit... strange.” On the last word she yanked the chain, which miraculously pulled up the shade just enough that the fading light from outside landed on Marcell’s face.

He seemed merely miffed as smoke began to rise from his nose and the tips of his ears.

Nodding, satisfied, Cindy shut the shade and strode back across the room, grabbing a loose chair and plopping it in front of Marcell’s desk. “Alright,” she said. “I believe you.”

“You know that could’ve killed me, right?” He attempted to frown, though the corners of his mouth twitched upwards.

She waved the question off. “You would have stopped me first.” Glancing back at him, Cindy put her chin in her hands and waited. They sat like that for a solid minute as the clock ticked quietly in the corner. “So, are you gonna tell me or what?” she asked finally.

“What?” He replied.

“How it happened, how you became a ‘Creature of the Night’” she gestured sarcastically. “Well you can’t just tell me you’re a vampire and then leave me hanging like that.”

Marcell looked a little surprised. “You really want me to tell you? It’s... a long story. Don’t you have student council or track or something?”

“Nah, I quit both of those a long time ago,” she shook her head. “I’ve got nowhere to be. So spill. Just who are you, Marcell?”

“Where to begin...?” Marcell sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

Cindy sat back. “How about at the beginning. That’s where stories usually start, right?”

“The beginning...” He nodded slowly. “Now that was a very long time ago.” He took another deep breath, and Cindy waiting patiently for him to begin,

“I was born in 67 BCE, in Britain. Of course, it was usually referred to as Albion back then.”

“Wait, wait,” Cindy interrupted. “67 BCE? You’re telling me you’re sixty-seven years older than Jesus.”

“Yes,” he said, a little impatiently. “Now do you want to hear or not?”

Cindy stuck her hands up in surrender, and Marcell continued.

“I lived in a small village near the coast, up on the top of a series of hills. My uncle was the Smith, at that time a highly secretive and valued trade, so my life was more comfortable than most. We had three rooms in our hovel.” He had to pause as Cindy chuckled.

“But anyway, my father, uncle, brother, and I all lived in a small house. Well I say house, it was more like a hut than anything. Thatch roof, walls that could blow over with a slight breeze, the works.”

“What about your mother?” Cindy asked.

Marcell smiled, though the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She died shortly after my brother was born, which was a sadly common occurrence in those days.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He shook his head. “I don’t remember her. And there wasn’t really time to think about things like that. My brother was learning to be a Smith under my uncle, so it was up to my father and me to put food on the table. I remember the old woods, so filled with spirits and gods, the only sound the bending of my bow. Those were... carefree times.”

“And something tells me they didn’t last,” Cindy said.

Marcell nodded. “One morning, while my father and I were hunting near the beach, we heard something strange: voices. But they weren’t speaking in any tongue that we knew. Cautiously, we peered out from the trees to see a whole battalion of men with tan skin and golden, shining armor. ‘Who were they?’ We wondered. ‘Where had they come from?’ Then we saw their boats, though we weren’t sure if we could even call them that. They were enormous, towering over the men on the beach, more like dragons than vessels with which to tame the water. That was when we realized that they must have come from over the ocean.”

“Who were they?” Cindy asked, leaning forward.

“The Romans, of course. Didn’t you pay any attention in my class? The Romans invaded the southern tip of Britain in 55 BCE.”

Blinking, Cindy shook her head. “Oh, right. I remember. Sorry, it’s just hard to connect you and... 55 BCE. Anyway, keep going.”

“And then...” Marcell winced, as if he was watching a character in a book or a movie about to make a horrible mistake. “Just when we were about to turn around and get out of there, I stepped on a branch, the loudest branch in the world, it seemed. And the Romans heard. They turned towards the woods, looking for us. I remember my father gripping my shoulder so tightly, his eyes wide. These men were clearly warriors, with thick armor and sharp spears. We didn’t know what they would do if they found us.

“One of them called something to the trees in their strange language. At the time I thought he was probably asking if anyone was there. I thought we were safe. But a second later, another Roman called in response from directly behind me, and I felt a spear tip poking at my back. The Romans were in the woods as well.

“My father leaned over to me and whispered: ‘Run. Get back to the village, get your uncle.’ I paused, frozen in fear as the Roman began to prod us towards the beach. But my father had given me an order, you didn’t disobey your elders in those days. I nodded, just enough for him to see, and without warning the Roman, turned and streaked back through the trees.

“From behind me came shouting, and then the crash of an army running through the woods. I panicked a little then. They were following me. There was no way I could outrun full grown warriors. But I knew the forest far better than they did, and within a few minutes, I had reached the village.”

“Hold on,” Cindy interrupted. “I don’t mean to question your father, but isn’t it a terrible idea to lead your enemy back to your village?”

Marcell nodded, thinking for a second. “By modern, or even Roman standards, maybe, but you have to understand that back then, the people of Britain weren’t so much kingdoms or even cities as tribes. We hadn’t experienced the art of organized warfare before. Everyone over the age of ten knew how to wield a sword, so leading a raid of disorganized warriors back to your village meant you’d probably outnumber them and probably win. But we were not prepared for the Romans.

“As soon as the first huts appeared through the trees, I began to shout. ‘Help! Help! Uncle, anyone! There’s a raid!’

“Of course, as soon as they heard this, the people of the village, men, women, anyone who could fight began grabbing weapons. My uncle ran out of his workshop and grabbed me by the shoulders. ‘Who is it?’ He demanded, shaking me so much I could barely talk.

“‘I don’t know,’ I shouted over the growing confusion. ‘Strangers, from over the sea!’

“But I didn’t have time to say more, because by then the first of the Romans were emerging from the trees.”

“And you fought back, right?” Cindy asked.

Marcell nodded. “Of course we did. Killed a few, too. I remember hitting one of them, a boy who couldn’t have been much older than I was, square between the eyes with an arrow. The blood just poured down his face before his eyes crossed and he collapsed, almost on top of me. But...” He sighed, looking off to the far wall. “We were slaughtered.

“See, whenever we had warred with our neighbors, the battles had been relatively small, but uncontrolled. The easiest thing was to let the warriors go wild and rely on numbers to win. But the Romans had strategy, formations and the like. They didn’t act as a jumbled mess of warriors but as a single unit.

“Though we fought valiantly, once my uncle, our leader, was killed with a spear to the chest, it was all over. The Romans cut through almost all of us, I watched my brother die right in front of me, and I almost followed him. My bow had been broken in the confusion, and as my eyes were glued upon the still body of my brother, his killer raised a sword to kill me too. But then, another soldier, an older man with watery, blue eyes, put a hand on his shoulder and said something to him.

“I didn’t know the words, but they stuck with me until I eventually learned what they meant.”

Cindy raised an eyebrow in question.

“‘Nonne huic,’ he said. ‘Not this one.’”

“Not this one...” Cindy repeated under her breath, thinking. “Wait. Didn’t you tell us that the Romans enslaved the people they conquered? The one’s they didn’t kill, at least?”

Nodding, Marcell smiled. But he was not happy. “That is correct.”

“So this Roman man spared you because he thought you would make a good slave?” Cindy’s heart dropped a little as Marcell nodded again, and then a little more as he held up his arm, and Cindy could see a faint, red discolored line running around his wrist that she’d never noticed before. “Why you?” She asked, her voice suddenly very small. “What made you special?”

“I have an idea,” Marcell admitted. “But he never told me himself.

“More importantly,” he continued, “that was the first time I saw her.”

“Her?” Cindy frowned, confused.

“In the old Celtic tradition, there are many legends of the Morrigan, the goddess of death. She is said to appear on the greatest battlefields, driving men to madness with her laughter. And there, right as the Roman raised his sword to end my life, there she was, skin pale as death and cloak of crow feathers blowing in the breeze as she guided his hand. At least until the blue-eyed Roman stopped him. I blinked, and the Morrigan was gone. For years afterward, I thought I had been seeing things.”

“But you weren’t, were you?” Leaning forward, Cindy’s eyes narrowed. Part of her remained skeptical, but she of all people knew that there were strange things in this world.

Marcell tilted his head, surprised. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you wouldn’t have mentioned it otherwise.”

“Very astute.” He nodded. “I’ll come to that later.

“After the battle, almost everyone I knew and loved was dead. There were maybe four or five of us left, mostly young, the leftovers who for whatever reason hadn’t been killed outright. I think one of us fought, but I was so numb and confused that I don’t remember that much after that.

“The Romans dragged us back through the forest, all of us tied together by one long rope. But reaching the beach only numbed my head more when I saw my father lying in a bloody pile at the edge of the woods. I should have felt sad or angry but I just felt... nothing. None of it seemed real to me. I let the blue-eyed Roman guide me onto one of their huge boats and into the dark below with all the rowers.

"It wasn't until they actually started rowing that I realized what was happening. They were sailing away, back across the ocean, and were taking me with them. That was when I finally broke out of my trance and started screaming: ‘Stop! Turn the boat around! I want to go home!’ But of course no one could understand me. This was the first time the Romans had ever been to Britain, mind you.

“I started tugging at the pole that I was tied to once a few of the Romans came down to see what was happening. The blood dripped down my arms, but I was too focused on the Roman who carried a whip. He had a particularly cruel look in his eyes, and didn’t look afraid to use the rope in his hands. But once again, the blue-eyed Roman stopped him simply by putting up a hand.

“He approached me, saying a lot of words that didn’t make sense. ‘I want to go home,’ I cried, but he didn’t understand. ‘Please, let me go home.’ He just shook his head. Then his voice rumbled again, steady and low. I couldn’t tell what the words were but the tone quieted me.

“As I continued to cry he wrapped his arms around me. Of course, in any other circumstance this would have frightened me more. He was a complete stranger, after all. But I had just lost everything, and whether he be the cause or not, the tears kept coming and I didn’t back away.”

Cindy shook her head. “Man,” she said. “What was this guy’s deal?”        

“You’ll see soon enough,” Marcell adjusted in his chair, and continued.

“The journey was many weeks, but it could have been forever for all I knew. The blue-eyed Roman often came down to see me, and eventually convinced the slaver, the one with the whip, to untie me from the pole so my wounds would heal. Gradually, as he talked, I began to pick up some of his words. Tempestas for storm, navis for boat. Tu for you and ego for I. Eventually, I learned that his name was Gaius Marcellus.”

“Wait,” Cindy interrupted. “Marcellus? But isn’t your name—?”

“I’ll get to that,” he intoned. “Don’t you have any sense of dramatic timing? Anyway, now I knew his name, but as soon as I told him mine, he just shook his head. From what I could grasp of what he was saying, my name was... well, bad. It wasn’t Roman. Non Romani est. I needed a new name. A Roman name.”

“So this guy took everything from you, and now he was taking your name too?” Cindy asked. “Weren’t you angry?”

Marcell thought for a second. “A little, I suppose. But keep in mind that I was unarmed, trapped in a small space with strangers who didn’t speak my language. I was far too scared to argue. This man could kill me if he wanted. So when he patted me on the head and said: ‘Your name is now Lucius,’ there wasn’t much I could do about it. It sounded a little like my name, I suppose. He got the ‘Lugh’ right at the very least. He and everyone else on the ship began to call me that, and eventually I started to respond to it.

“I can’t remember how long we were at sea, I think at one point or another I lost track of the days. But one day, I felt the ship stop. I had almost forgotten what it was like to not be jostled around by the waves at every moment. Though I felt fear rising in my throat as I wondered just what would great me outside of the ship, I almost didn’t have to time to be properly scared, for just then, the slave master came and began to parade us onto the deck.

“The air outside felt more thick and heavy than it should have been, and the light seemed almost... brighter, more stark than back home. I immediately hated it. The slave master began to force us done the gangplank and onto the dock below, but held out his stick when he got to me. ‘Not you,’ was what I think he said. ‘You with Marcellus.’”

“The blue-eyed Roman?” Cindy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “He bought you?”

“Yes,” Marcell nodded. “Is something the matter?”

She shook her head. “It’s just... hard for me to imagine. Buying another human being, I mean, renaming him at your whim like some kind of pet. And you... you talk about it so casually, like it’s nothing.”

“In principle, I can see how appalling it would seem to you,” Marcell nodded slowly. “But in practice, being a slave in Rome was... very different from what you’re familiar with.”

“How so?”

“Some were treated cruelly, I suppose, those with harsh or uncaring masters, but for most a slave was almost... part of the family. It sounds strange, I know,” he laughed. “But we were provided room and board in exchange for work, allowed to have families, and routinely freed when we were too old to do the work we had been bought for.”

Cindy’s face still remained scrunched in confusion.

“I’m not trying to defend slavery. A slave is still a slave, after all. But in Rome, it often wasn’t the worst position to be in.”

“Okay,” she nodded slowly. “I think I understand. What happened then?”

"I waited a few minutes before Gaius came over. He placed a small bag of coins in the slaver’s hands and led me away. We plodded down the gangplank, landing on the bustling dock below. I stayed close to him. I’d never seen so many people in one place before. He kept a hand on my shoulder as he guided me into the strange city.

“We went in the opposite direction than the rest of the slaves, and I looked over my shoulder, wondering where they were going. Though if I was honest, I didn’t think I wanted to know.”

“So was this Rome?” Cindy asked.

“No, no,” Marcell waved her off. “Rome was about two hours inland, along the Tiber River. This was Ostia, a small port on the coast. It was a rather small town at the time, but for me it was massive. There were people everywhere, flooding the paved streets, and the buildings seemed to tower over me, like they were trying to close me in.”

“You’d never been to a town before,” Cindy realized, her eyes widening slightly.

Marcell nodded. “I almost froze up, but Gaius was... very understanding. He led me through the town quickly and to a wagon that was waiting for us. I did know what this was.” He smiled wryly. “Gaius pointed at me and then at the wagon and I obeyed, climbing into the back.

“The journey through the countryside was... hard, to say the least. It was the first vaguely familiar sight I had seen in weeks, the rolling hills and green trees were a little comforting, but I couldn’t help thinking that with every turn of the wheels I was getting further and further away from home. I didn’t cry, though I wanted to, and there was this twisting, knotted feeling in my gut that would not go away.

“Eventually the wagon came to a stop, and looking up, I saw an enormous house with farmland and several other buildings surrounding it. We had arrived at Gaius’ villa.”

“So you didn’t go to Rome at all, then?”

“No, not just then.” Marcell shook his head. “And that was probably for the best. Remember how I had reacted seeing a town as small as Ostia. There were at least half a million people in the city of Rome at that time. But anyway, Gaius was not a rich man by any means, but he did have a villa about a day’s distance from Rome that provided an income from the farm, and a townhouse in Rome itself for festivals and events.

“At first I was confused. The very concept of such a big house for only one person was something that I’d never really heard of. Gaius didn’t have to go hunt for his food, there was just masses of it stored in the kitchen, and there was no need to fear wolves or other predators, for there were none there anymore.

“However, I adjusted fairly quickly. I think it is... easier for children to accept new things for what they are than adults. Gaius taught me enough Latin to get by, and I picked up quite a bit more from the other slaves. Within a year I was almost fluent in Latin, in another I had completely mastered it.”

Cindy blinked. “Wow. That was fast.”

“It was by necessity.” Marcell shrugged. “That was the one common language everyone spoke at the villa, and I had always been good at remembering things. Later, I would learn that I have a particular skill for languages. Gaius must have been impressed, for I quickly became his... I guess ‘Personal Assistant’ is the best way to put it. If he needed a letter written, I transcribed his words. If he needed to remember something, I remembered it for him.”

“That must have been horrible,” Cindy said, shuddering a bit.

Marcell tilted his head, looking genuinely confused. “How so?”

“Well, you were taking direct orders from... uh, the man w-who destroyed your life,” Cindy frowned. “Didn’t that make you, like, angry?”

“Perhaps a little at first.” Marcell nodded slowly. “There were several times I thought about killing him; it’s probably what my family would have wanted. Revenge for their deaths. But, well... I wouldn’t say I loved the man, but I respected him.

“And I learned a lot about him. Gaius was a career soldier, finally just nearing the age of retirement. He’d had a family, a wife and son, but they had both died of plague when he had been on a campaign. Though he never really talked about it, I could tell that he missed them dearly. In that way I also learned possibly why he’d chosen me to save. One day, I found a drawing of his son, and—“

“Let me guess,” Cindy interrupted. “He looked just like you.”

Marcell laughed. “Not exactly, but yes, the resemblance was there. So you see why I couldn’t bring myself to just kill him. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I was quickly ‘Romanized’, as we call it today. I enjoyed the easy, new life I was living. Yes, there was a long period of time where I missed the peaceful forests and old hut with my family inside desperately, but I buried that quickly. I think the books helped a lot.”

“Books?”

“Yes, Gaius had a large library in his villa. Sure, we had had stories and legends back in Britannia, but we had never written anything down. So whenever I wasn’t assisting Gaius I was down in the library, reading whatever scrolls I could get my hands on. It was a wonderful distraction, but I think the act of learning also excited me to no end.

“And that was how it was for... oh, eight years. I read books, assisted Gaius, and even accompanied him to Rome several times. Eventually I began to feel more like some sort of weird nephew than a slave. The man was... kind to me.”

“But...” Cindy leaned forward.

The darkness of the room almost seemed to grow a little deeper as the smile shrunk from Marcell’s face. “But of course, nothing good lasts forever.” He nodded.

“I was about twenty when I met her for the second time.”

“The second—? Are you talking about—?” Cindy began.

“The Morrigan?” He asked as she shifted in her seat. “Gaius was sick. He was getting old—it was a small miracle for anyone to live much past sixty at that time—and the last year hadn’t been kind to him. He’d been ill on and off for that time, but had just recently taken a turn for the worst. I was outside, getting some air, when I caught sight of the crow-feathered cloak walking down the road towards me.”

Cindy smirked a little. “What, she wasn’t flying or cackling or anything?”

“No,” Marcell laughed. “Just walking. I remember being frozen in place, unable to even breathe. Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I was not really scared of death, just simply in awe. She seemed so powerful, so alien, like she was something not of this earth. She was death, she held humanity’s life in her hands, and could snuff it out at any moment.

“She stopped a short distance away from me. I squinted, trying to get a view under the wide, dark hood. She said nothing, just stared back at me.

“‘You’ve come for Gaius, haven’t you?’ I asked, and the hood nodded slowly. ‘What happens if I stand in your way?’

“From under the hood came laughter. It was hard, and so cold I physically shivered. ‘I remember you, boy’ she whispered. Her voice was surprisingly smooth, steady. ‘You’ve evaded me once before. Do you think you could do it again?’

“‘I don’t know,’ was all I managed to get out, my throat constricted by the cold the Morrigan emanated.

“‘Come closer, boy,’ she held out a hand, and I began to walk towards her without meaning to. She finally let me stop about a foot away from her. Then she lowered the hood to look at me, and I flinched. She was beautiful, her skin a pale porcelain, her hair black as night and wild. But her eyes... they were clouded, dead. Like a blind woman, or a corpse.

“She chuckled as she saw my reaction. ‘Surprising,’ she said, her blue lips parting, ‘you haven’t even screamed yet. Think you’re brave?’

“I shook my head. From all of the stories I’d heard, it was never a good idea to brag to a goddess, especially the goddess of death.

“‘But you won’t step aside? You Britons are always so stubborn. Oh, but you’re not a Briton anymore, are you?’

“I looked away, down towards the dirt. What she said was true: I was not a Briton. I bore a Roman name and had a Roman master. But I myself didn’t feel like a Roman. I had never cared about the dictators and the wars and the politics. So what did I care about? This villa, and all of the books inside. Gaius, and all the slaves who worked for him. What would happen to them if he died? What would happen to me?

“‘No,’ I replied firmly. ‘I will not step aside.’

“Her expression was icy, the smile falling off her face. Keep in mind,” he added as he saw Cindy’s confused face, “that gods are not like you and I. They are ageless, all-powerful, and used to getting their way. You do not stand in their way. I probably wasn’t the first human to do so, but those that did were few and far between.

“I blinked, and suddenly her milky eyes were an inch away from mine. ‘Tell me, boy: do you fear death?’

“‘I don’t know,’ I stuttered, though I didn’t really consider the question. I tried not to think about those kinds of things.

“‘Good,’ she grinned. ‘Because now you’ll never truly know.’

“I began to back away slowly, away from the corpse goddess. ‘What do you mean?’

“‘You do know what happens when you cross the gods, yes? I could just kill you now, but that would be too anticlimactic for my tastes. So if you won’t let me take the life of your master, then I’ll make you do it for me.’”

“What?” Cindy blinked.

“That’s exactly what I said,” Marcell nodded grimly. “But I didn’t have time to do much of anything else besides, for it was at that moment that she stuck out a long, spindly finger, and touched my chest.

“Suddenly, I felt very cold, emanating from the place where she had touched me and spreading over my limbs like ice. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, my world was filled with the laughter of Death. This was what dying felt like, I was sure of it.

“And then... my heart stopped. Literally. At some point I had fallen to the ground, and everything was still. I had to be dead. There was no other explanation. But then how was I still thinking? I felt nothing but cold. Then I opened my eyes, The Morrigan was gone, and I was alone outside the villa, laying on the hard, dirt ground. For a minute, I thought that maybe I had imagined the whole thing.

But as I felt my chest, I knew that that was just wishful thinking. You see, my heart was as still as... well, death. And the world looked different somehow, like there was a whole new spectrum of shadow that I hadn’t been able to see before. I felt frozen solid, and I grasped at the dirt desperately, trying to find something alive.

“But I stopped. There was something alive, something close. Something... warm. I couldn’t tell what it was, only that it was hot, and red like the sun and I needed it. Blindly, I crawled my way towards the thing, up the stairs and into the villa and...” He broke off and closed his eyes, almost as if he were in physical pain just thinking about it. But there was something else, too, something in the shape of his lips and the shortness of his breath. Cindy came rather abruptly to the realization that she was alone in a room with a predator. And she didn’t like that look that was creeping into his features.

“Mr. Marcell?” She asked finally, unpeeling her heart from the inside of her throat. “Did you... kill Gaius?”

He stared at her for a solid minute before answering, his pupils appearing more red than brown in the low light of the classroom. “I don’t know,” he said. “To this day I don’t know if it was the illness that got to him or...” his breath almost caught in his throat. “Or me.” He took a deep breath, shaking his head.

“These new ‘Teen angst novels,’” he rolled his eyes, “often picture my kind as slaves to our bloodlust. They make us lose control so that we aren’t wholly responsible for our actions. This is... not the reality. We are always in perfect control of ourselves and we know exactly what we’re doing. It’s simply that the hungrier you are, the less you care about artificial constructs like morals, the more you become like an intelligent animal.

“And the Morrigan had sapped all of that from my body. I raced through the villa, half man and half mist, and into Gaius’ sickroom. And there was the source of what had attracted me so. Gaius’ fever, his blood pumping so fiercely in an effort to keep him alive. Without thought, or hesitation, I tore the skin of his inner arm with my teeth and drank furiously.

“He hardly made a sound, just a soft whimper, and I barely noticed anyway. I could feel the coldness of my dead body being driven away by the blood, the life I was taking from him. That,” he sighed. “That was the point of no return.”

“What do you mean?” Cindy barely managed to squeak out.

“My... transformation, I guess you could say, didn’t really begin until I first tasted blood.”

“So if you could have, I guess, resisted, would you have—?” Cindy began, before Marcell cut her off.

“Have gone back to normal?” He asked. “I doubt it. My heart had ceased to beat. If I hadn’t taken the life of another, I probably would have just died. The gods are not kind, after all.”

He began to stare into the distance again, but Cindy couldn’t wait any longer. “And then what happened?”

“Then,” Marcell shook himself. “Then I stumbled backwards as the gravity of what I was doing returned to me. My vision began to swim as my whole body started to pound. I stumbled from the room and out of the villa.

“I don’t remember much after that, just pain, like I was being stabbed with a dull knife, but over my whole body. At one point I may have fallen asleep, but I’m not sure.

“It was the next morning when I finally came to my senses, laying in a pile of hay in the stables. I felt relatively normal again, but even before the thought formed, by the lingering taste of iron on my tongue I could tell that the events of the previous night had been entirely real, though I couldn’t remember all of the details.

“I was dizzy, and my mouth felt oddly sore and sensitive. I spit, and two of my teeth plopped into my hand. But as I ran my tongue over my teeth I found that I wasn’t missing any. I had grown new teeth in the middle of the night.” He opened his mouth, showing Cindy his oddly pointy canines.

“I licked the blood off of my chin and fingers, and hated myself. Nothing had ever tasted so divine before, and yet I was starting to remember the fact that this was a living person’s blood I was so enjoying. More than that, it was Gaius’ blood. This thought brought me back to my senses, and I stood abruptly before almost being brought down again by dizziness. But I had to see, had to know if I’d killed him.

“Except that the second I stepped into the sunlight outside of the stable my skin burned. I shrank away, back into the shadows, and watched in horror as blisters began to form on my forearms. Keep in mind,” he added, “that vampires were not as culturally engrained in Rome as they are today, so I had no idea what was happening to me. I paced back and forth though the stable, trying to figure out how to get back to the villa while avoiding the sunlight. I couldn’t make it across the field. If I tried, I would die.

“Then, a miracle happened: a cloud blotted out the sun. I didn’t think; I just ran. The residual light still made my bare skin tingle, but I made it under the roof of the villa without harm.”

“Hold on.” Cindy held up a hand, and Marcell blinked a few times, coming back to reality. “I have a question: just how much does sunlight affect you? I mean, I opened the shade earlier and you look fine now.”

“As far as I know, the sun is one of the only things that can kill me. But only direct sunlight can really do it. It still hurts if it’s through a window, but to a much lesser degree.”

“Or from behind clouds.” Cindy nodded. “Which you didn’t know at the time.”

“I made a very lucky guess,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t really thinking at the time. I ran to Gaius’ room, and almost bumped into one of the maids. My heart sank as I saw her expression. ‘Is he...?’ I began.

“‘Soon,’ she replied. ‘His time is coming, you should go to him.’

“‘Thank you,’ I nodded, entering the near silent room. I stood in the doorway for the longest time. Gaius almost looked small, like a child, in the bed, and so very pale. His arm had been bandaged, so I couldn’t tell just how much blood he’d really lost. Still, I couldn’t help but think that this was all my fault.”

“But it wasn’t. I mean, not really.” Cindy said, though the more she thought about it, the less sure she was.

Marcell simply laughed. “I’ve been wrestling with that question for two-thousand years.” He looked off towards the wall. “And I still haven’t come to a solid conclusion. I think I’ve made my peace with that. But at the time... well, I’m sure you can imagine.

“Gaius looked up at me after a minute, smiling weakly. ‘Lucius,’ he whispered. ‘Come here, my boy.’

“I obeyed, kneeling beside the bed and gripping his hand, and cried.

“‘No, no, child,’ he said. ‘Do not cry. All things have their time.’”

“Then he didn’t know what had happened,” Cindy asked.

“I’m not sure.” Marcell shook his head. “I didn’t really have time, or the courage, to ask. In fact, before I could say anything he beckoned me closer and placed a piece of parchment in my hand. ‘What’s this?’ I asked.

“‘Everything,’ he said. ‘My land, my library, it’s all yours now.’

“Of course I tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear of it. And in the end, ‘thank you,’ was all I could say. I sat there with him until he finally stopped breathing, just as the sun was going down. In the course of one day my life had changed completely. Again. I was no longer Lucius the slave. Now, I was Lucius Marcellus the Roman.”

“He gave you everything?” Cindy asked. “But you were a slave!”

“And he was without an heir.” Marcell shrugged. “And anyway, I think I was the closest thing to family he’d had in a long time. Needless to say, I felt worse than death. I thought I had killed him, only for him to leave me all of his worldly possessions. I retreated to the library and didn’t come out for weeks, poured over the numerous scrolls for some way to cure my curse so that this never had to happen again.

“No one came near me, of which I was glad. I was so afraid of giving into my hunger and hurting someone. Eventually I became so desperate for sustenance that I tracked one of the rats in the walls and drained it dry. And thus was born Lucius Marcellus, the bane of rodents forever after.”

Cindy tilted her head, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards despite herself. “So, you don’t need human blood in particular.”

“No, any animal will do as a substitute, but that’s all it is, really. Nothing satisfies even remotely as much as human blood.

“Anyway,” he continued, shaking his head, “Gaius had collected writings from all corners of the empire and beyond, and it wasn’t long before I came across various legends of ‘the vampire,’ and found that there was no known cure beyond death. After that, I didn’t stay at the villa for long. It was hard to be in that place with its constant reminders of Gaius, and the slaves and neighbors were beginning to suspect that all was not right with me. I freed most of Gaius’ slaves, only leaving enough to keep the farm going, and left immediately.

“I decided to travel, learn all I could. I now had all of the time and money in the world, after all. So I did, for many years, which is a story all by itself, until I finally decided to settle down for a while in the city of Pompeii.”

Cindy’s eyes widened. “Pompeii? But isn’t that—?”

“—A story for another time.” Marcell finished for her.

“What?” She stood. “But you’ve barely scratched the surface. You’ve still got one-thousand, nine-hundred years to account for!”

“And it is already almost 6 o’clock,” Marcell motioned towards the window, its shade glowing around the edges from the setting sun. “I’m sure the janitors would like to get in here and go home.”

Cindy sighed, grabbing the long forgotten lunch bag. “You, my good sir, are a tease.”

“Tell you what,” he smiled crookedly, “I seem to suddenly find myself in need of a Teacher’s Assistant for seventh hour, to help me with paperwork and listen to me ramble. Could you swing it?”

“I have study hall then,” she grinned. “I’m completely free.”

“Then we’ll talk tomorrow and get the paperwork all filled out.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Cindy pointed a finger before making her way through the sea of desks towards the door. “Good night, Mr. Marcell.” She waved. “And... thank you.”

“For what?” He asked.

“I’ll tell you some other time.” She shook her head. “It’s a long story.”

[abutterflyscribbles]

Griselda and The Laughing King

A Changing of the Seasons Drabble

How Bog’s parents met

The party was in full swing. Drinks were circulating and no one had to send up a shouted demand for more, because there was always a fresh cup close to hand. The buffet table, groaning like a dying creature under the weight of the food, was being kept presentable no matter how many dishes were snatched off or how many dancers bumped into it, sending the centerpieces into disarray. Griselda and her troops of nieces and nephews pattered back and forth between the kitchen and the party, making sure the wedding feast ran smoothly.

Griselda had done some counting the night before and figured out that this was the twenty-third family wedding she had presided over as organizer. She had begun her career working under her uncle Horatio. He had been an old goblin with a cheery disposition and a love of seeing others happy. He had often said that he was so busy looking after all his relatives that he felt no need to find a wife and have children of his own.

“Everyone is kind enough to share their little ones.”

Griselda had been one such little one. She showed such a knack of minding other people's business for them that Horatio, his skin bleaching with age and hands growing too stiff to attend fine details, decided to make her a successor of sorts.

This was a decision that Griselda had been in perfect agreement with. The bustling life of organizing celebrations and bustling from one branch of the family to the other to help out when an extra set of claws was needed, it suited her right down to the ground. She was allowed to boss and mother anyone and everyone and enjoy the sight of blissful newly weds, whose big day had been made perfect thanks to Griselda's handiwork.

This wedding, the twenty-third, met a small hitch. Not that Griselda wasn't up to dealing with hitches, big or small. It was just an unusual sort of hitch. It was a pair of uninvited guests. Which was odd because these family weddings tended to extend invitations to the surrounding village. Or villages, if the hosts had deep enough purses and magnanimous temperaments.

The uninvited guests were not from anywhere nearby, that was certain. No one in the family had any connections to high goblins. And these were indeed high goblins, both in rank and stature. Both of them had to duck to enter the hall. Credit had to be given, they had entered dramatically, out of the darkness in a swirl of wings and cloaks, but they had not kicked up a fuss. Only those nearest the door had noticed them enter.

Griselda tossed her braid of wiry red hair back and marched forward to greet the guests. She had her head lowered to make her horns point at the intruders. There was food and cheer enough to share with a few strangers, but only so long as they weren't there to make trouble. She would let them know from the get go that disruption to the happy occasion would not be tolerated for a second.

“Now, what's this?”

She stood with her fists on her hips and head tilted back to get a good look at the faces far above her. She was well aware that her mouth was exceptionally wide for her face and she made good use of it, giving the strangers a pronounced and disapproving frown.

“Well . . .” the taller of the two, who had his arm around his friend as if keeping them up. Griselda wondered if they were already in their cups. The taller one rubbed the back of his neck and gave an embarrassed chuckle. “There's a bit of a story.”

“Isn't there always?”

The taller one laughed again.

He was one of those scaly, armored sort of high goblins. Wings, too, black curtains twitching nervously under Griselda's unwavering gaze. He had a pronounced burr rounding his words, an accent not heard anywhere nearby, so whoever he was he had come a long way. He didn't seem to be a young troublemaker. He looked to be more in his forties, face already creased with laugh-lines. But there was a sparkle of mischief in the goblin's eye that made her suspicious.

“Well, you see,” he laughed once more, “my friend and I sort of ran into a little trouble. There was a sort of snake and these were the first lights we saw.”

He paused to heft his friend back up, as they had been slowly sliding out of his grip while he talked to Griselda.

“Hey, hey,” he pulled his friend back up, “Hang on for another two minutes or I'll just nudge you under a table and grab a drink.”

“The tavern is closed,” Griselda said, folding her arms, “They've parked their kegs here for the night. How are you two already drunk? Have you been skimming off the barrels in the back?”

The taller, and at least less drunk of the two held up his hand when Griselda stabbed an accusatory finger at him, like he was trying to surrender before a battle even began. A genuine, cheerful grin was given as a peace offering.

“No, no! I would never be so rude! If I had known you lot were in the middle of a party I would never have . . . Ha! Actually, I would have anyway. But with possibly more discretion. I apologize . . . sorry, I didn't catch your name, miss . . .?”

Griselda rethought her previous opinion. It was likely that the laughing one was just as drunk as his unconscious friend, just better at holding his liquor. He was very steady, but the constant stream of giggling pointed to him being not quiet in a sound state of mind. He was beaming. The heavy ridge of his brow did nothing to hide his amber colored eyes and their good-natured shine. Nor did it hide that persistent twinkle of mischief.

Really, his grin was sort of catching. Griselda was finding it hard to keep her frown in its proper downward curve. She was finding herself very near to ending the interrogation and giving him an official invitation into the party. A slumming noble might add even more life to the party and Griselda would really like to find out what the secret joke was, that made him laugh so much.

“Dan,” the unconscious one roused long enough to be heard, “Dan, if you don't stop giggling at her I'm going to bleed out.”

“What?” Griselda dropped out the half a dozen threads of thought that she had been weaving around introducing these two—or at least the conscious one—into the party.

“Oh,” the tall one blinked, “Oh! Yes! Yes, I mentioned the snake? Anyway, there was a snake and it was rather quarrelsome. There was a bit of a dust up and she—my friend, not the snake—got roughed up. A bit. A large bit.”

“Dan,” the injured one hissed.

“Yes. The snake is dealt with but she got bounced off a tree or two.”

Griselda was hustling them away before Dan finished talking. She shoved them both down the hallway that led to the bedrooms, cast a quick glance back to make sure there was no blood on the floor or witnesses goggling after them. There were neither and Griselda continued to shove until she had the two of them contained in a guest room and the door shut behind them.

“Put her on the bed, Danny,” Griselda ordered, stripping the bedding away and tossing a clean leaf over it.

“This is all your fault,” the injured one complained while Danny set her on the bed. A ruff of fuzz circled her neck and it was flattened with sweat and dirt. She clawed at it, itching no doubt, and growled when it pulled at her injuries.

“I didn't ask you to get bashed about!”

“We wouldn't have been in a position to get bashed about if you hadn't insisted--!”

Griselda cut her off by pinching her nose. The high goblin had an impressive nose and it made an easy target. “Pick your bones later. Lay back and keep a lid on it.”

“It's for your own good,” Danny said in an poor attempt at a serious tone.

His friend tried to kick him.

“I will tie you both up if you don't knock it off!” Griselda smacked Danny's hand. He smiled and backed away to sit out of the way. The patient bared her teeth in a mixture of pain and annoyance.

“Now,” Griselda peeled the leaves that had been put on the armor just below the patient's armpit. The hasty bandages were soaked with blood but it was already drying, “I'll see if I can handle this. If not I'll pry the good doctor Bones away from the buffet and roll him in.”

The patient looked skeptical.

“What does some backwoods housewife know about medical care?”

Griselda removed the last of the bandages and refrained from ripping it right off the wound. “I'll admit, my great lady, that I wouldn't be much help with a fancy disease or something going wrong with your insides, but you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone around here who doesn't know how to look after a few cuts.”

“Dan, if I die here, under the care of some self-taught old--”

“I am also not a housewife,” Griselda interrupted, “I'm a spinster. Also Griselda.”

The patient was considerably battered. The fine layer of velvet that covered her armor had been scraped off in large patches and would need to be trimmed before anymore peeled off. A number of fresh cracks had been opened up in her carapace—which was more like bone than Danny's brittle-looking armor--but thankfully nothing that couldn't be patched together and left to heal. One of the two blunt horns on her head had been snapped off, but aside from a possible wound to her vanity it would cause no lasting harm.

“The wound under your arm is nasty, but not dangerous. A good cleaning, a couple of stitches, you'll be fine. And unless the fine lady has any objections I'll do just that. Is that alright with you, miss . . .?”

“Spruce.” the patient growled. “Fine, get it done. I just need to be able to get home.”

“Your gratitude is unmatched,” Danny said, grinning in his corner, “Don't mind her, Griselda, she gets cross when she loses blood. Be careful with her, she's fragile.”

“Dan!”

“No, but really. Be careful with her. She's my best friend and I kind of like her in one piece.”

Griselda wasn't sure why her heart suddenly warmed at the revelation that the two strangers were not a couple. It didn't matter to her. It never mattered to her whether a fellow with pretty eyes and a cheerful grin was married or single, except to help him find a nice match if he were the latter. And just because he wasn't attached to this particular person didn't mean he was without a wife. If he was married you couldn't expect him to have his wife on hand at any given moment to prove he was taken.

But it really didn't matter.

“Now that her ladyship finally condescended to take her medicine she should sleep through the night.” Griselda was scrubbing her hands. Danny was helpfully pouring water from a pitcher. “All that's left is to put your somewhere and get back to work. I've left things in the hands of my nieces and nephews, but you can't expect them to have all the details in hand.”

“It is a wedding then?” Danny tipped his head, listening to the sounds of music and dancing coming from the hall, “Sounds a great deal more cheerful than they let mine be.”

Now Griselda's heart dropped all the way down to the floor with a hard bump. Which was uncalled for. Maybe she had been overworking herself. The last three weddings had come one after the other . . .

Danny continued, “The experience never made me keen to have another, though everyone else seemed to think I ought to.”

Griselda's heart wobbled uncertainly on the floor. “Your wife is . . .?”

“Died a long time ago, bless her.”

Griselda's heart returned to its rightful place in her chest but insisted on jumping up and down in an uncomfortable way.

“I wonder . . . would anyone object if a lofty noble too full of his own dignity joined in the party?”

The idea that Danny was even on speaking terms with dignity made Griselda laugh. “They'd forgive you your rank, whatever it is, but possibly not your lofty height. What would your friend Spruce say at the idea of you joining in on backwood festivities?”

“She'd say 'Dan, no'.”

“You don't know that for sure. But you can't exactly ask her now, can you? Guess you'd better just do what you think is best.”

Danny laughed. So far he had restrained himself to quiet chuckles and giggles, which Griselda has mistaken as a result of him having had one too many. Now he laughed out loud and the strength of it threw back his head while the sound of it boomed off the walls and ceiling. Griselda had never thought a high goblin would be able to laugh like that.

“What I think is best?” Danny repeated, “oh, Spruce and I would disagree about the definition of that! But, as you said, I can't just assume. I'll have to follow my instincts and inquire if I can join the party, have a drink, and maybe dance with a charming lady?”

“Oh, I'm sure I can find you a charming lady or two.”

“Don't put yourself out. I've taken care of that already.”

“Oh!” Griselda smacked his arm and hurried out of the room. Danny followed, laughing.

The next day the troops of helping sprouts were surprised and scared of Aunt Griselda's sharp orders and peevish mood. The clean up was less festive than she usually made it.

She was mad.

And she had no reason to be mad.

Danny was some high goblin who had stumbled across a quaint little scene of the peasantry and decided to have fun pretending to be one of them. So what if he danced with Griselda and her heart had been floating weightlessly in her chest all night. It didn't matter that he had lovely eyes, a blinding smile, and a wonderful laugh.

It's not like he had done anything but flirt a little. Griselda had seen hundreds of flirts. She knew their words were empty, like little puffs of spun sugar. Sweet, but nothing to them. She had even been flirted with, when she was younger, and done a fine job of flirting back. And it never meant a blessed thing.

Yet when she found out Danny and Spruced had hopped it sometime in the middle of the night Griselda had found herself . . . not devastated, that was too strong. Let down. She had thought there was something to it all. At least a friendship. Or the courtesy to thank her for her hospitality and say goodbye.

Nothing. Not even a note.

Griselda snorted. Maybe he didn't think the simple peasantry could read.

By midday Griselda had burned out most of her anger and decided she was being an idiot. She was thirty-seven and somehow had made the mistake of a credulous girl who read too much into every smile cast her way. Nothing had changed, it had all been a little hitch in the usual flow of her world.

She baked up some potato for the children who had suffered through her moodiness and was lavish in portioning out spices, butter, and cheese. The happy couple were off to look at their new home, as if they hadn't inspected every inch of it already. Griselda had already packed up leftovers from the party to take to them. She knew from previous experience that they would be too busy rearranging furniture and being in love to remember things like cooking.

After that she had to check up on all the victims of hangovers, fill them up with remedies, and resist smacking them one between the eyes. It was hard work, rolling huge goblins to bed—or at least out of the way of cleaning—and make sure they were comfortable. Many parties ended up with a hall full of unconscious guests that Griselda and her sprouts would cover in a comfortable nest of leaves.

She managed to get so involved in her work that she wasn't even thinking of Danny when he flitted out of the forest and perched over the door to the kitchen.

“What are you doing up there, you loon?”

“I assumed you'd be angry with me for vanishing into the night and thought I should open the conversation at a safe distance.”

“Why should it matter to me what you do?”

For some reason Danny was carrying a staff. A very nice staff of metal, and a great chunk of amber at the head. Griselda wondered if it could possibly be real, but threw away the thought. Many lesser nobles adorned themselves with baubles of yellow glass to make themselves look more important than they were. There was no way that anyone would be carrying around a piece of amber that large.

“Oh.” Danny scratched the back of his neck. The plates of his shoulders flipped up and down in a nervous way. “I was hoping it might.”

“Even if it had mattered, why should it now? You sweet talk a girl all night and then run off without so much as a kiss. I know your type. Honey-coated nonsense.”

“Hey, now!”

“I was quite willing to be kissed, you know. But that was last night.”

“I was quite willing to do the kissing.”

“Yes, but that was last night.”

“I missed my chance?”

“As if you had one.”

“Look,” Danny dropped down off the roof and onto his knees, letting his staff drop so he could take Griselda's hands, “Kissing you was on my mind last night. Excessively so. It's just that it would have been under false pretenses.”

“If you think I haven't noticed that you're some sort of noble doing a bad job at going incognito--”

“Look, my full name is Aidan.”

“That supposed to mean something to me?”

“Give me a chance, love!”

Being called 'love' encouraged her to give him that chance. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

“I think you're adorable. I want to pick you up, carry you around, and show everyone how fantastic you are. I want to see you meet . . . um, the people I know and watch you boss them all around like they were children. Nothing phases you, not even an idiot and his half-dead friend. It's just that . . .”

“Go on!”

“I'm . . . I'm sort of . . .” Danny was turning very red in the face, “. . . called Aidan the Laughing King.”

He offered a nervous giggle to back up this declaration.

Griselda looked at the discarded staff. On closer inspection it was definitely decorated with amber and not with mere glass.

“That . . . that actually makes sense.”

Both of them giggled.

Griselda's head was in a whirl. A noble was one thing, a king was another. The Autumn King had just . . . fallen into her life. They'd both taken a shine to each other, but that would be the end of it. He was a king. She was a nobody.

“That makes it kind of complicated,” Aidan went on, “because I'm already absolutely head-over-heels for you and want to marry you this second, but a king is kind of a lot to take on when you weren't expecting it--”

“Say that again.”

“Which part? I've said a lot of stuff and I've lost track.”

“The marrying part. Were you serious?”

“Strangely enough, I was. And I've been told I'm not serious about anything. And I know that it's all or nothing with this. I can't ask you to put up with me and all of the court unless I were really serious, otherwise I wouldn't have brought it up so soon.”

She had meet him just last night. This was ridiculous. She couldn't be falling so easily for the last person she was suited for. The discussion should have been over. Danny—the Laughing King should have been the one to end it! A king was supposed to be responsible and there was no way that having anything to do with her was anything but irresponsible. This wasn't supposed to be her choice!

“I'm nobody, though.”

“You've got enough personality and lung power to be three somebodies. And I think your family would disagree with you. Hey, hey, kid!” Danny waved at a little sprout wandering by with an armload of plates. “Do you think this lady is amazing and wonderful and important?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Elaborate!”

“She helped my mom after we lost my sister and she made my mom smile again. And Aunt Griselda is really fun. I like her.”

“Thank you! See? All night long all I heard about was how glorious Aunt Griselda was. I know that the court would write you off as nobody, but you wouldn't let that stand. Not you. If you wanted to you could rule this whole kingdom better than I could.”

“No thanks! Idiot. Get up.”

“Nope. Gotta look you in the eye. And if I'm standing up I won't be able to help myself. I'll pick you up and make unwanted advances, like playing with your hair.”

Griselda was really afraid she was going to kiss him soon.

“I'll need a month.” she said.

“For what?”

“To make sure my niece Fang is ready to step into my place. I can't just get swept off my feet by some lunatic king and leave everyone here without--”

Aidan kissed her. Which wasn't fair. If he had let her finish talking she would have kissed him.

[demialwrites]

Cornered Ch 3

Link to AO3 Page

"That was too easy, " purred Widowmaker.

"Boring is the correct word," Sombra complained. A few seconds later, "Are you sure this will accomplish anything? My sources say these Americans hate this president."

"You don' t know the American people," replied Reaper. "They always do."

"Aren't you American, Gabe?"

Sombra almost caught him off guard with that question. Just like he almost forgot to destroy the bug she insisted on planting on him every mission. Almost forgot to 'mistakenly' properly rematerialize everything on his body but the bug, then tossing it like the useless hunk of metal it became.

She's persistent; he'll give her that.

"Get your brown nose out of my business, Sombra," Reaper growled. He switched to a more professional demeanor. "We're done here. Let's return before Overwatch shows up."

"You are both so negative," said Widowmaker. "Don't rain on my parade. That was a fine kill."

Sombra scoffed.

"Even when you're happy, you sound like a Vulcan," she said.

Sombra did as ordered, despite her last bit of sass.

Good thing Reaper remembered to destroy that bug today, because he had somewhere to go. And at that destination was something Reaper knew could get him in trouble. Or at least, something any of the smarter members of Talon could use against him. He had gotten this far without getting attached to anything, going it alone. And then you showed up. Reaper punched a nearby wall. Like a dusty rug being beat in the afternoon sun, smoke burst out of his arm from the impact.

On the way to his destination, Reaper had some time to muse. He didn't know why all his ability to think straight went out the window when he saw you. When he saw you waiting for him at one of Talon's safe houses, he couldn't help the instinctual urge to protect you. A good owner protects his pet. Not to mention, he was the one who got you into this. He was momentarily reminded of when Blackwatch picked up Agent Jesse McCree, but this was different.

It wasn't all on him, though. The reason you followed him to this safe house...he didn't know that, either. It was so stupid of you. He could have killed you so many times by now, and it would be smart of Overwatch to assume you were brainwashed like Amelie. He wondered if you could force information out of a willing partner by fucking them hard enough. Punishment for being stupid enough to follow him and because he really, really want to feel the inside of you. His train of thought stopped there.

Reaper burst into the room you were in (old bad habit of his) but caught the door handle before it slammed into the wall. It wasn't loud enough to wake you. You were lying on the bed, taking a nap under a window. The blinds on the winder were shut, but they let in enough light. Enough that Reaper could see that you were wearing one of his shirts. This was a safe house he frequented enough that he stored some extra essentials here. A quick glance at the set of nondescript drawers told him that you had made a bit of a mess finding that shirt. He hated that kind of mess. Something he would just have to fuck you a little harder for.

He approached the bed. Up close, he could see that you were only wearing the shirt. You looked so comfortable, lying on top of the covers, but it was time to disturb you. He knelt down and pinched the hem of the shirt between two clawed fingers. He dragged it down to properly cover your fleshy nub. Instead of it meaning to protect your modesty, he grazed it with the shirt fabric. When you didn't stir, he properly caressed you with it. Then he continued to gradually ramp up the pressure until you opened your eyes. You greeted him with a sleepy half-smile. If he hadn't woken you up the way he did, you might have had more to say. Instead, you put your hand over his, bucking up into the shirt.

When it was enough, he grabbed the top of the shirt, and firmly pulled, making you stand. Rather than waste time unbuckling, his belts dissolved into black mist, and then the mist in turn dissolved into the air. Jesus Christ, he was already rock hard just from the thought of his dick in your mouth. He had to take better control of the situation.

"On your knees, girl," were the first words he spoke to you since he arrived.

He almost groaned at the sight you immediately lowering a knee, then the other. What a rush. Then he hesitated, the white mask staring down at you. Something was not quite to his liking. A tendril of his mist sprouted from his body, snaked out into the air towards you, and it meandered in circles around your body.

"Stay, girl," he ordered, just in case it spooked you.

It wound tighter and tighter, until it closed in around your neck. It formed one of his missing belts. Reaper removed his mask to properly admire the sight of you on your knees, collared like the obedient little puppy he considered you. He smiled, but you couldn't see it in the dark.

He watched your face relax into a blank expression. It was like collaring you turned your mind off. You blinked back at his mask as he continued to stare down at you. His desire coiled and uncoiled inside him, and he absentmindedly slid his palm down the front of his pants. He felt almost as hot as he could once before he permanently became this creature. If he had been that man he used to be, he would have begun to sweat.

If it were not for his aching erection, Reaper would have forgotten why you were on your knees in the first place. He was so pleased with you, and it was more than lust. It felt right. He freed himself from behind his zipper, a tantalizing string of precum connected the head to where it used to be tucked away. Reaper didn't even have to command you this time; your shoulders relaxed, and you crawled, closing the small space between your mouth and his cock. You suckled gently on the head.

His breath hissed out between his teeth. That hit the spot. He mused that it had not been that long since he'd fucked you, but having your lips on his cock scratched a strong itch. This did not raise a red flag in his mind. Instead, he continued to look down at you, his eyes slowly closing like a pleased cat. He let you savour his cock like it tasted sweet. It was when he was halfway did he remember that he intended to fuck you in the first place.

"Stop," he said, "Stand up."

You let his cock fall out, and it bounced up into a more upright position. He couldn't help flexing the muscles to make it dip slightly.

"Come to me," he demanded gently, holding out his arms.

You stood up and got close to his body, looking up him. You braced yourself on his forearms, and he wrapped them around you. When he lifted you up, you reflexively wrapped your legs around his waist.

"Hang on," he breathed. Mist billowed from his mouth into your face. He was losing some control of his form. You caught the scent of fresh soil and wet stone; like a graveyard on a rainy day. You cross your forearms behind his neck. He rumbled his satisfaction.

"You're going to like this," Reaper boasted.

One gloved hand held onto your tush, the cold metal making you twitch forward. His eyes crinkled at that. The free hand purposefully fumbled pressing his pulsing erection into you, dragging the head against the needy flesh between your legs. He watched the shine of your eyes disappear in the darkness as they closed and almost rolled back into your head.

Reaper completed the act, sliding all the way in. The shine reappeared as you opened your eyes. You couldn't see each other's eyes, but you looked for them anyway as he began to thrust up into you. You responded by rolling your hips in his direction.

He pulled you closer against his body. You should have come in contact with the spare shotgun shells on his chest, but they were mysteriously gone. In their place was fairly smooth skin. No hair, but there were imperfections here and there. You leaned further, resting your nose and lips against the skin in front of you. The closest thing to intimacy you dared to show. He was warmer than you thought. He seemed more human than before, and strangely that went to the space between your legs.

And then you were peaking, your quivering legs squeezing his waist the same time your inner muscles squeezed his cock. Fuck, that felt good. You sagged on his cock, your head dropping down so that your forehead rested against his chest.

"Fffuck," he swore, the thrusts slowing to a stop. This time his cum leaked down your inner thighs. He swore a second time under his breath. He shifted his weight, and yours, as he came down from his high. You shared an oddly intimate kiss, but neither of you had any illusions that it was romantic.

He had every intention to leave you to clean yourself. The adjoining bathroom was spotless because he had no need to use it. But the lights flicked on, illuminating Reaper's naked form. Only his gloves remained.

Vitiligo. That was the first word that came to mind while looking at Reaper. Except it didn't look like vitiligo at all. You just didn't have another word for it. His skin was washed of all colour. Uneven, wide stripes of white and light gray ribboned around his body, blending into each other. That explained the whiteness of his arms that showed through his body armour. It didn't give you any clue as to how he came to look like this, though. You wanted a look at his eyes, but Reaper was looking at the door. A tall, slim woman stood in the doorway.

He pulled at your arms, and you got down off his body. His mist enveloped his form with his usual combat gear. You thought the woman would stay in the doorway, but she strutted over to look down her nose at you.

"I see why you went dark on us, Reyes," the slim woman said, her delicate lips pulled gently in a smirk, "Cute. Is she your new pet?"

"I told you not to use my real name! You're getting cocky working for Akande, Lacroix," sneered Reaper, "Sharing his bed, too?"

She opened her mouth to reply, no doubt with a cutting remark, but a loud blam sounded in the room. Her body fell to the floor with a thud, and Reaper lowered one of his giant shotguns. Shock made your stomach flip. You didn't understand why he did that. They worked together, that you knew.

"Why-"

"Shut up!"

You didn't expect Reaper to snap at you. Black smoke hung in the air around him like rain clouds threatening to pour. He rolled one shoulder in annoyance and thought better of his nasty tone. He rumbled a nasally growl and said softer, "I need to think. And she was miserable, anyway."

That was a one-two punch of horrible things. Your mouth hung open. You stared at the shape of the body formerly known as Widowmaker lying in a heap. It wasn't the shape of something that had been a living, moving human being just a few seconds before. It was some kind of broken doll at best. While you stared, he slipped the shotgun underneath his coat. Reaper took his now-empty hand, engulfed yours in his, and pulled. You shut your mouth and figured you had no choice but to go along with him for now. You didn't have a better plan as of yet, and he would keep you alive, if anything.

Some of the black smoke lingered in the room after the two of you left.

[sfkedamono]

Kumbaya

By John H. Reiher Jr.

Jason Smith looked out over the sea of cameras and faces. He had requested this meeting with “…every government, science nob, and other important people…” And that this had to be televised around the world to as many people as possible. Now it’s his turn to step forward and tell the masses what the aliens told him. “Bloody hell,” he muttered as he took a drag on his cigarette.

“It’s not too late to cancel this,” said his handler from Her Majesty’s Government. “We can make an excuse and keep this revelation secret.” His handler was smarmy older gent, with the look of Oxford prominently boot stamped on his face.

“Shit,” said Jason, “I wish I could. But I can’t. You really don’t understand what I’m going to say, and… hell, everyone has to hear it.” Privately he wished he had run just like the rest of them when the saucer landed in the Kingsbury football pitch. No, he just stood there and decided to be famous. Bloody effing hell…

“Well I hope you are right and these aliens will handle the translation to other languages,” said his handler. Cecil something? Or was it Sid?

Jason shrugged. “That’s what they told me they could do. Hey, they came all the way here to deliver a message to mankind, I’d expect that they bloody well can make sure everyone understands it.” He finished his cigarette, threw it on the floor and crushed it into the boards that made up the impromptu stage that had been set up in Wembley Stadium. It was the largest venue that could be found to hold as many dignitaries, presidents, premiers, and rulers from every nation on Earth. There were a couple of holdouts, but the visitors had assured Jason that their people would hear his words nonetheless.

The visitors. He looked up and thought he saw a glint from their massive ship in orbit. He had been aboard a smaller version of that ship… and what they showed him… He patted a pocket and the device was still there, despite being searched several times. It truly was invisible to anyone else but him. He had a show to put on.

A man wearing earphones gestured that they were ready, and Sid escorted Jason to the right of the stage. The Prime Minister was warming up the crowd, unsuccessfully, and when he saw Jason, he said, “And now let me introduce to you, the first man to ever encounter an alien race from the stars, Jason Smith!”

Jason resisted the urge to behave like a game show contestant, and walked calmly out on to the stage and shook the hand of the Prime Minister. ‘Bugger, I didn’t even vote for your party, and now I’m shaking your hand,’ Jason thought as he smiled.

Taking the microphone, he felt the buzz from the device and heard the resulting voice say: “We are now live and translating this transmission. Go ahead Mister Smith and relay our request as you see fit.” The voice wasn’t audible, but he still heard it. It sounded like was inside his head. Maybe it was.

Jason smiled and looked out at the sea of faces and camera lenses. “Hi, I guess you’re all wondering why I asked you all to be here,” he joked, his laugh dying in his throat as a sea a faces frowned at him. “Uh, right. Let’s get to brass tacks. Our guests,” he looked up at the night sky, at the twinkling dot that was the kilometer-sized spaceship, “have asked me to explain to you what they want. They chose me, primarily because I didn’t run when they landed, and also because I was smart enough to realize why it wouldn’t work…”

He stood on the pitch, debating whether or not to run like everyone else, but thought ‘Iffen they can fly here from the stars, land their ship without rockets or something, what use is it to run. Might as well put out the hand of friendship.’

The saucer looked like… well a saucer. It had a flat bottom with a bulge in the middle, and the top sloped up from the sides to a larger dome on top. The ship settled on the pitch, and Jason realized that the bulge was making a rather large divot in the pitch. “That will be a bitch to fill in,” he said keeping his eyes on the ship as it settled into place. After a moment, a hatch appeared in the side of the ship and a… bloke, stepped through.

“Hello there!” the man said with a distinctive American accent. Jason thought, ‘Right, this will be a walk in the park, the Americans are joshing us and there are no alien…’

Next to the man a creature that looked like a giant insect house fly. “Greetings fellow sapient! We wish to communicate.”

Looking around to see if anyone else was with him, Jason gave a sly smile, and walked over with his hand out. “Welcome to Earth. I’m Jason Smith and you’re an… whatsit? An Earther?” he said shaking the hands with the human looking alien. Jason then held out his hand to the alien. It took it and it felt like he was shaking a hand made from sticks.

“Thank you Dirter!” it said as it shook Jason’s, “We have spent a long time seeking the world of Dirt.”

”Don't try correcting him,” said the human “it's something with their language. They actually only have one word for the word dirt. So yeah whenever they hear the word ‘earth’ they hear the word ‘dirt.’”

The human held out his hand “My name is Miles Wilson," he looked a little embarrassed, "but my nickname is ‘The Man’. I'm a law officer from Washington State, so it figures that the first guy that I meet on the ship is a hippie who promptly nicknames me The Man, oh well.“ He shrugged. “So, want to come in and see the ship?”

Jason thought for a second, then said “Sure, why the hell not. Lead on McDuff.”

The three walked back up the ramp into the ship and the door and ramp slid close.

“So you were abducted?” asked Jason as they walked the twisting corridors of the ship.

“Yes several years ago,” said Miles. “And well we been traveling around for years and well this is the first time back to Earth, but back to Earth with a mission.” He led Jason down a twisting corridor. “Before we do anything else,” he said, ushering Jason into a medical looking room, “How about a checkup?”

Jason looked startled, “You gonna probe me?” he said, his hands flying to his backside.

“No,” said Miles calmly. “When I said checkup, I mean a checkup, a medical checkup. This is an autodoc and it can fix just about anything wrong with you. This is Amanda, our resident doctor…”

“I was an intern when I was… taken,” said the pretty, young woman who stepped from behind a machine with a large glass tube. A man-sized tube Jason noted. “The autodoc has been calibrated for human galactic genotype, so just step in and it will do most of the work.”

Jason hesitated, and then said aloud, “And if you meant me ill will, I’d be dead or with me hindquarters up in the air.” He smiled, “So, do I need to strip?”

“Yes,” replied the pretty young thing. “Youri will help you. Please, disrobe and get on the bed.”

Jason turned and faced an unshaven face of a decidedly Slavic origin and sighed and obliged. Yuri took his clothes and placed them into a slot that hummed. As he got on the bed and the tube lowered, he noticed his clothing reappearing cleaned, pressed, and folded.

Lights glowed, things moved back and forth, and in a few seconds, the young woman frowned, and then asked, “Do you smoke?”

“Um, well yes,” he guiltily replied. “I’m trying to quit.”

She fiddled with a dial, and a full color image appeared before him, showing pink foamy-looking flesh. A bit of it was red and angry looking. “That is an incipient cancer. Right now, it’s not doing anything, but if left untreated… So, do you want me to fix that?”

“Yes please.”

A button push, and the angry tissue took on a healthy color and less tumor-like appearance. The rest of the exam was like that, she’d find something and asked if he wanted it fixed. And he did. The badly set fracture in his right arm, fixed. A nasty looking abscess in jaw, fixed. A fungal infection on his feet, cleansed and cured. Everything fixed, included incipient male pattern baldness, but one…

“No,” she said, “I don’t do ‘cosmetic’ surgery. Live with what nature gave you.”

“Just an inch more?” he asked.

“No.”

He sighed and said “So, do I have a clean bill of health?” The tube rose up and Yuri handed him his clothing.

“You do now,” she said. “By the way, I’m Sylvia, I’m the Ardanna Nuu’s doctor.”

“The Ardanna Nuu is this ship?” he asked, slipping on his Baby Metal t-shirt.

“Yes. And the real reason we ran you through our autodoc, was to make sure you weren’t carrying some new disease or bug. We don’t have the resistance we used to have.” She led him to what looked like a conference room.

Seated around the table were… people. Some were humans and… not human. And some of the “humans” didn’t look right. He looked at them as he was introduced to each of them. He then got it. they had human-like faces, but the details were off. Eyes just a bit too widely set apart, the head just little bit too domed, the teeth too small, and other tells. They were different, but similar.

Miles sat at the head of the table. “I bet you wondered why I called you here?” That got nary a chuckle, and Miles played with his tablet for moment before continuing. “Jason, we’re here to deliver a message to the people of Earth, and we can’t do it ourselves. It needs to be done by a person who has no connection to us. You’re that person.”

Youri spoke next, “You see, everything you know about humanity and its history is both wrong and correct with some caveats. The biggest of which is that there are other humans out there… but not human.”

The man with the too wide set eyes and slightly off skin color nodded and said, “Yes, that is true. I, Tal Sha, am from the world Shohana. My people, the People, evolved on that world, much like you humans evolved on your world. And you’re not listening are you?”

Jason had been staring at Tal’s mouth as he spoke. The words didn’t match his mouth and lip movements. “Sorry, but you look like a badly dubbed movie when you talk.”

Youri leaned next to him, and said, “Yes, and you’ll notice that I don’t speak English either.” Jason stared at his mouth as well, then his eyes went wide.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, standing up, “What did you do to me?”

“He’s a smart one, isn’t he,” said Miles.

“You shut up!” said Jason pointing an accusing finger at Miles. “You messed with me head! You put something innit!”

Sylvia nodded her head, and said, “Yes we did. We inserted a translator nodule into your head. It’s now fully integrated and can’t be removed. It’s mostly a relay with any compatible system that can provide translation services. Otherwise we wouldn’t be able to have this talk.”

“But that…” Jason pointed at the insect-like being, “bug, spoke English before I had the translator thing in me head.”

Somehow, the “bug” smiled and said “I took great pains to learn your language ‘man’ and I’m quite fluent in it. Can you dig it? Oh, and I am !gzzbzzzt^zzt! of the Greez!ebe! But you already know my human name, Bug!”

Jason stared again, then sat down with a thump, his mouth opening and closing without sound.

“I think we broke him,” said Youri.

“No, no,” Jason finally managed. “Seen too much Dr. Who on the telly to be that surprised. But seeing it up close an’ personal… that’s another thing. Got anything strong t’drink?”

An appropriate beverage was poured for him and he downed it in one shot. “Cor! That’s a burner!” he exclaimed, then licked his lips, “But good. It’s alien popskull innit?”

“Yes, if you mean from another world,” said Tal. “it’s a distilled beverage from my planet.”

Jason nodded and held his glass out for a bit more of the beverage and then sipped it. “So, there are humans that evolved on other worlds?” he asked. “That’s bollocks, but I can’t deny what I see wit my own eyes. There’s a reason for this isn’t there?”

Tal filled his glass as well and nodded with a waggle of his head, “Yes, and it’s a long story…”

Nine billion years ago, the Anshani arose on one of the few worlds capable of supporting life in the galaxy. They lived, loved, and expanded their knowledge of the universe until they were able to leave their home system and venture out into the galaxy. There, while looking for other races to be friends with, they instead found the ruins of other cultures that rose and then killed themselves off. They were, in fact not the first sentient species, but they were the first that managed not kill themselves.

This was because the Anshani were different from other species: They were true pacifists. They could not even think of harming others. Yes, they were omnivores and ate animal flesh, but the flesh was willingly given to them, as the creatures on their homeworld had evolved into a self-supporting ecosystem, every creature with something like a brain linked together in an empathic web, with each creature filling its roll to its utmost. And into the galaxy, went a true innocent, looking for others to be friends with.

Instead they found death and hate. This confused the Anshani, as they were incapable of the kinds of emotions that would lead to harming or even killing another sentient creature.

So for the next billion years, they sought out cultures that had just achieved spaceflight and gifted them with their advance technology. Which was promptly turned into weapons of mass destruction. Species after species wiped itself out, leaving their homeworlds glowing balls of radioactive lava.

This frustrated the Anshani. They gave no weapons, but each species found a way to make the technology into weapons. Luckily, the Anshani weren’t stupid, and never divulged where their homeworld was. Nor did they share their more advanced hyperdrive with other cultures. They wanted to make sure that they could run away if necessary.

They ran a lot.

In that billion years, their technology grew by leaps and bounds. Their understanding of how things were, was near godlike… but, they also knew that there was more to learn. Every discovery lead to new questions. They tried to understand why the other civilizations that they encountered were the way they were. But because the Anshani were natural empaths with each other and all the creatures of their homeworld, they couldn’t understand the fear of the of the other. They couldn’t understand hatred of those that were different. The Anshani imposed their world view on everyone else, but never realized why others didn’t behave “the right way.” It was their blind spot, their own blinkers that prevented them from understanding.

After a billion years of failure, the Anshani decided to ignore those violent species, and instead find and nurture proto-sapients. They would find likely candidates and slowly lead them down the path to full sapience. By this time, the Anshani were functionally immortal, and had all the time in the world to uplift a species. The process took millions of years, but in the end, the resulting species were less violent than the unguided ones, and rose up and left their cradles and joined the Anshani…

And then fought amongst themselves over who was the favorite.

They tried and tried over and over, but each time ended up with a race that was more like a spoiled child, than a sophisticated, intelligent species. This frustrated the Anshani to no end.

So, they started The Long Project. They located likely candidate stars that had sprung into being at approximately the same time. From a selection of several thousand “starter kits”: Genetic seed packages that would overwrite the genetic code any existing native life, they planted their crop and watched over it and tended to its seedlings.

At the same time, they had to deal with the uplifted and the native-born spacefaring species that inhabited the galaxies with them. Yes galaxies. Their domain stretched from the Milky Way Galaxy, all the way to the Andromeda Galaxy. The Anshani had become the keepers of the peace, the watchers over the weak, the punishers of those that transgressed. And they used the same methods of control for all three: The Kumbaya Device.

The Anshani was familiar with over a million species. A million different, yet similar ways to generate thought, consciousness, sapience. From collective hive minds to neural nets forged in silicon, they knew it all. And what they knew, they could control.

The Kumbaya Device allowed them to make sophonts happy and peaceful. To make them sing songs of friendship, in Anshani of course, and dance the dance of friendship.

As long as the device was used on them.

Turn it off, and for short period of time, the people they used it on would be happy and friendly. But it would always wear off. And the result were angry people, shouting people, threatening people. No sophont liked having it’s free will taken from them, so they all hated the device that made them happy.

Meanwhile, around 200 thousand years ago, the seeds that they had planted, started to bloom. New sophonts appeared, ones that stared at the sky and wondered. Who, at first were friendly with one another. But soon, the first hand was raised in anger, the first life was snuffed out over greed.

It was just too much for the Anshani. Frustrated and hating to be frustrated, they threw their collective hands up in disgust, and left…

“Some say that they finally ascended into a higher plane of existence,” said Tal, “others say they broke the barriers between universes and moved to one better suited for them, and others said they created a new universe just for themselves. In any case, they created a power vacuum and you can imagine the rest.”

Jason sipped his popskull and nodded, “Bloody war it was, wasn’t it?”

The rest nodded, wobbled, clicked, and waggled antenna in agreement.

“But wait,” he said, putting his drink down, “I’ve seen on the telly that we evolved on Earth. You’re saying we was planted like seeds?”

Sylvia nodded, “Yes, and we’re compatible.”

“’Compatible?’” asked Jason.

Smiling, she called out, “Talia, you can come in now.”

A young girl, no more than ten walked in. She had Sylvia’s hair… and Tal’s eyes.

Staring at her for a moment, then looking down when he realized what he had been doing, Jason said, “Oh my god. It’s true.” Looking up, he then said “So that’s what you want me to tell everyone?”

Sylvia sat her daughter in her lap and hugged her. “Yes and no. What we want you to tell them is…”

He could hear the murmurs and angry whisperings from the crowd when he finished giving them the true history of life on Earth. The crew had taught him enough so that he wouldn’t sound like a loon when he broke the news. But that’s wasn’t the bombshell.

“Now, understand something,” he said, as the crowd grew silent, “they seeded us for one purpose and one purpose only: To find a race that could be both violent and peaceful at the same time. A bridge between hooligans and the angels. We humans, we Galactics are the most peaceful and sometimes, the most violent species around. Now, we’re not saying we are the only race capable of being peaceful. No. Species like the…” he paused as he remembered how to pronounce the name, “Greez!ebe! are pacifists. But they are small ‘p’ pacifists. If push comes to shove, they fight. Us Galactics have had people who refuse to hurt others, even other living creatures. Gandhi, Buddhists, others, would rather die than to hurt others. Big ‘P’ pacifists. Of course, they’ve good way to far in the other direction.”

“No, we, and this time I mean us, us humans, have a chance to do something, not only for ourselves, but for the whole galaxy. We can learn how to get along with each other.”

That got a laugh from the assembled dignitaries, to which Jason smiled and said, “Yeah, I laughed too at the thought. But, we’ve had lots of people who just want to get along and live together peacefully. Well now we have to figure out how to do it. And in the process, teach others how to do as well. And when I mean us, I mean all of us.”

He looked back up into the sky at the bright dot. The bigger ship, the Dormas Nuu. The Peaceship. The closest thing that the Anshani made to a warship.

Looking back at the crowd, he said, “The larger dot up there? That’s the Dormas Nuu, an Anshani Peaceship. Remember when I talked about the Kumbaya Device? The Dormas Nuu has one big enough to cover the whole of the Earth. And it will make every sentient being on this world sing and dance and be friends with one another. All of them.”

As what he said sank in, he saw the look of shock and fear cross many faces. “I’m sorry,” he said, “But we have to know. Ok guys, it’s dance time.”

The bright spot that was the Dormas Nuu glowed pink. And then, everywhere, people stood up and began singing a song of peace and love. They danced the dance of friendship. Some of the people were in zoos, behind protective walls, and were called Chimpanzees and Elephants. Some were in large aquariums, and were called Dolphins and Orcas. The Great Whales sang the song and danced in their own way, while Crows, Parrots, and Ravens sang along. In the deep, dark ocean, the Giant Squid’s skin flashed in colors in time with the unheard music. All the People of Earth sang and danced.

Then the light from the Dormas Nuu went out, and everyone felt love and friendship for each other, for while. Jason, who had been exposed to the device earlier, fought the rising tide of bile that he felt as the effect wore off. “Ok, some of you are going to be right mad at the folks in space. Dammit!” he swore.

“Right mad,” he said as he kept his temper, “But understand, look at the monitors...” And the large display behind him showed the supposed animals singing along with their keepers, with each other. “It’s not just us humans. It us Earthers… Dirters, whatever. We all need to learn how to live together. Because if we can do it, we can do it for everyone. We can all learn to get along.”

After the stadium quieted down, he continued, “But, much like Moses, I can’t be here to help. I’ve seen too much and I now know too much. I would contaminate the attempt. So, I have to leave. I’m going to bring some of my friends and family with me, and the invite will go out to certain folks to see if they want to go out there and see what’s what. I’m not saying we’ll never be back, no, but it will be for tea and biscuits, and a chat about the upcoming FIFA games.”

“They won’t stop you from going into space. However, they assure me that it will take a couple of centuries for Earth to make it to the stars. Hopefully by then, it will be as teachers and friends.”

He looked at the camera, “So, the task is before you. There’s not test, no passing grade. You either succeed or fail. I hope you succeed. I wish you all good luck, and Godspeed. I hope you do it. I hope that someday, we’ll all be friends, not enemies. All of us.”

[the-everqueen]

2 for hamliza!

2. Things you said through your teeth

i’m sure you imagined some great angst or conservatory au, but this turned into Morristown fluff. so have a girl and her dog instead!

That month’s ball happens to fall on the first night of the new moon, something for which Alex is grateful.

It’s not that he can’t attend the dances any other time. At least, Washington hasn’t told him so  outright, continues to pass him the invitations when they come. But he knows it would be a bad idea. He isn’t a purebred like Lafayette, can’t pretend to be human when it might be convenient. The rest of the camp has gotten used to him at this point and recognizes him no matter what form he’s in, but he isn’t enough of an idealist to think the ladies would welcome his presence. Who cares that he’s the General’s chief of staff, or that Washington sends him on important missions? Who cares that he writes to the president of Congress or drafts plans to fix the national economy? At a glance he’s just a cur with mange, a stray the General found useful.

But he misses it. The dancing, the wine, the girls. Witty banter and stolen kisses and the firm tightness of corset stays beneath his (human) hand.

He’s been to a few dances since… well, since the accident. It wouldn’t do for him to turn down every invitation, so he tries to make social events whenever possible. Otherwise he pens notes in advance: Colo. Hamilton regrets to inform Miss — that he has urgent business elsewhere on the night of… Unfortunately duties prevent Colo. Hamilton from attending. All very polite and untrue, and he is certain there must be rumors. How could there not be, with a dozen aides who see him on a day to day basis and a French aristocrat who can’t hold his tongue? At some point people will find out, and God knows where that will put him, but certainly not in the echelons of the Clintons or the Rensselaers or -

A vision in pale blue watches him from the other side of the room. Her dark eyes on him are like an invitation, or a threat, and it unnerves him but he also can’t help sneaking glances in her direction. She seems familiar, has he seen her before? His fingers tighten around the stem of his wine glass - a prop, turns out dogs can’t ingest grapes, but he needed a reprieve from Miss Lott’s leaden toes.

The dark-eyed girl leans in to whisper something to Kitty Livingston. Points at him.

His stomach churns. He and Kitty exchanged some flirtatious letters after the last ball, but she let him know she wasn’t interested after a couple weeks. He thinks she must have suspected. Or maybe his pedigree was lacking in another sense.  

Alex looks around the room for Laf. Suddenly he feels overwhelmed, in this room crowded with the smells of sweat and perfume and the rustle of skirts and those dark eyes on him and John not here. He wants a friendly face, he wants pack.

A hand grabs his wrist. He almost jumps out of his skin, swallows down the growl that rises in his throat.

Kitty tugs at him. “Alexander, come.”

He laughs a little. Inside joke. “Where are you taking me?”

“I’m about to change your life.”

He raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth to make a suggestion -

“Elizabeth Schuyler, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The dark-eyed girl drops a curtsy, offers him a sweet smile. Alex tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “Schuyler?”

“Thank you for all your service.” Her voice tremors on the words, and she’s beaming at him, her eyes huge and earnest. He meets her gaze and there’s something in her, beautiful and pure and shining, that dissolves the last of his tension and makes him feel something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Safe.

He wonders if she can see the gold of his eyes, or if she thinks it’s a trick of the candlelight.

Taking her hand, he bows and presses a soft kiss to her knuckles. She smells like roses and green outdoors, over her own scent, the smell that means Elizabeth Schuyler and no one else in the world.

He straightens and gives her his best smile. “If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it.”

***

Alex never meant for this to happen.

Eight days. Eight days since the new moon, and eight days since he met Eliza.

Her letter came soon after: I do hope that you can join me for tea on the evening of the 16th, as I would Greatly enjoy your company and, though I know he Relies on you as crucial to his efforts, I am certain His Excellency can spare you for a few Hours. Surely the British will Allow us this small Happiness? I am staying in town with my Aunt.

He hasn’t replied.

They talked for hours at the ball, during a dance and later in a semi-private corner behind the punch table. She told him about her sisters and her home in upstate New York, and he told her about his work and recounted the Battle of Princeton, with as many gruesome details as he could, because she laughed when the cannon decapitated George II’s portrait, and he wanted to hear that sound again, wanted to watch her tip back her slender throat, soft lips parted like petals.

He once sent John his qualifications for the perfect wife in jest, but Eliza surpasses his most  fantastic demands. If Alex were human he would have plied her with declarations of love the very next morning, courted her with all the tenderness and passion of Eros.

He’s an animal - a good dog, not a mongrel - so he did not.

She doesn’t know. Of course not. He looked human, why should she suspect otherwise? The golden eyes are a dead giveaway, though. Maybe she thought him a purebred. Lafayette has his Adrienne, after all, it’s not uncommon for born weres to find human mates.

He has to tell her. He just doesn’t know how.

His slashes through another error in his copied letter with a vicious growl. McHenry looks over at him, makes a sympathetic noise. “Congress giving you trouble, Hammie?”

“Aren’t they always?”

“At least come spring we’ll see some real action.”

Alex hums. Maybe the other aides will, but not him. The General seems determined to keep him leashed to his desk. At least he doesn’t mind the winters anymore. Fur is a good insulator, keeps him warm while John is down South.

A familiar voice in the hall snags his attention. His ears perk.

“… I understand he’s busy, but it won’t take more than a moment…”

Eliza.

Lafayette is arguing with her, trying to keep her out of the workroom, but the firm tap of her heels continues to get louder. Alex pushes back from the table with a yelp, paw pads and toenails scrabbling for purchase on the hardwood floors. He glances around the room, frantic; the other aides frown. He doesn’t care, he has to get out, he can’t let her see him like this -

“Alexander.”

The sight of her pulls him up short. He turns his head and lowers his ears, tail tucked between his legs. Five days from the full moon, he’s veering closer to wolf, starting to look more dog than human, but she doesn’t startle or look away from him.

“Can we talk in private?” Her voice is gentle.

Avoiding Laf’s pitying face, Alex bobs a quick nod and leads them into an unused side parlor. There isn’t a door, but it gives them space. She turns around to face him. “Why didn’t you answer me?”

That wasn’t the question he expected.

“I thought - we had such a nice time at the ball, and I’d never met anyone so - like you, and - did you not feel the same way?” She twists her fingers together. “I’m sorry, it was presumptuous, but you could have at least said no.”

“Miss Schuyler, you know what I am.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course. There aren’t many humans with your eyes.”

“Then you know this -” he gestures to his face, almost-but-not-quite a muzzle “- gets worse. I wasn’t born like this. You are without doubt the sweetest and fairest of your sex, and you deserve better than a - a creature like me. Please don’t deceive yourself otherwise.”

“Oh, Alexander.” She takes his hand, rubs her thumb over the short fur. “It’s still you.”

He closes his eyes.

“I knew. But it didn’t matter, because it was you. Have you ever wanted something so much nothing else mattered?”

His lips twitch in a smile. “All the time.”

“Then will you come on Thursday?”

“I would, except…” He hesitates. “It’s the full moon.”

“Yes? I thought, well, His Excellency might not need you then because…” She bites her lip, blushing. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just hoped you might have the night free.”

“Won’t your aunt mind?”

“Oh, she’ll be pleased to meet General Washington’s right hand man.” She rocks onto her tiptoes to place a kiss on his nose. Bold, his charmer. Her hand squeezes his. “Unless you would rather not?”

“No, I - I would love to. Thank you, Miss Schuyler.”

“Eliza,” she corrects him.

“Eliza,” he repeats, and feels his tail wag.

***

The walk to Aunt Cochran’s is only a couple miles, but it’s faster on four legs, even if Alex does have to avoid the more popular streets. He’s a bit too large to be mistaken for someone’s pet, and he doesn’t want a repeat of the incident with the farm. Then the General might actually make him wear a collar, and Alex would die of humiliation.

He finds the house without trouble and scratches at the door. It opens to a sharp-eyed, middle-aged woman with a generous frame. “You must be Colonel Hamilton.”

He bows as best he can. She laughs, steps back to let him inside. “Eliza is in the parlor. I’ll join you in a minute.”

The house smells like butter and sugar, but he catches Eliza’s scent and follows it to the parlor. She’s setting out teacups and looks up as he trots into the room. “Alexander, have a seat.”

Eyeing the wing back chairs near the hearth, he jumps onto the settee next to Eliza. He almost takes up the entire thing - he forgets how much bigger he is like this, all fur and muscle - but she doesn’t seem to mind, just slips him a secret smile.

“We’re patriots,” she explains, as she pours steaming liquid into cups, “so it’s coffee rather than tea. Except wolves can’t have coffee, so I have water for you.” She fills the third teacup from a pitcher and holds it up for him. He laps delicately, careful not to spill, and licks his lips when he’s done.

Aunt Cochran brings with her a plate of shortbread, cheese, and pear slices. Eliza feeds him pieces of each and he takes it all gingerly from her fingers. The entire time she keeps up a pleasant conversation, explaining his work for the General to her aunt and describing her daily routine in Morristown to him.

When they’ve finished eating, she tells him, “If we’re not going out, Auntie and I usually spend the evening reading while we finish our sewing. Do you mind?” She holds up a novel.

In answer, he noses at the cover and makes a soft whine.

She adjusts her position so he can set his head in her lap, and begins to read.

Usually he hates these days, when he’s stranded without words or work to keep him occupied. His mind runs in circles. But here, with Eliza stroking his ears and her soothing voice filling the parlor like music, he can appreciate quiet.

Later he goes back to camp, head warm where she kissed him goodnight. Thoughts of her overwhelm him - her smell, the taste of sugar on her soft fingers, her throat moving with every word - and he prances to the gate.

“Password!” the sentry calls.

Oh, for goodness’ sake. He barks, once. C’mon, it’s me.

“I cannot admit any persons without the password.”

He knows they recognize him. The sentries are trained for this: wouldn’t do to have a soldier putting a bullet in the General’s top aide or, God forbid, the Marquis de Lafayette. He growls.

The men are stifling laughter. “Has the lovestruck colonel forgotten?”

He hasn’t forgotten, he’s a damn wolf. He lunges forward and makes a snap at the air, showing his teeth. The sentries stumble back, cursing. “All right, just a bit of ribbing! At ease, Colonel.”

He curls his lip at them as he trots past, but even their teasing can’t upset his mood. His mind is a delighted whirl of Eliza and a tiny corner perks up its ears and goes mate?

That night he dreams of dark eyes.

[funkzpiel]

And The Tag Read Simply: ‘Pretty’ - Ch1

Words of comfort and affirmation bubbled to his tongue – He’s caught, we have him. Don’t worry. He’s at MACUSA, he’ll never hurt you again. But one look, and Newt realized that the context of Graves’ question was not 'please say he’s not here.' It was 'please say he’s coming home soon.'

“He’s… away,” Newt said lamely, eyes flickering to glance at Graves now that the man felt confident enough to speak with him. Graves was leaning far enough forward now that his shoulders were visible, pale and naked. Newt felt his cheeks begin to burn at the implication, and even more so when he caught sight of the thick leather collar that hung snuggly around Graves’ throat – Grindelwald’s symbol hanging delicately next to a small gold tag that read simply: ‘Pretty’.

FANTASTIC BEASTS KINK MEME FILL Grindelwald is captured, they track down Graves, but instead of finding a locked up and tortured Graves they find Graves naked and in a collar, napping on a soft bed without a hint of recognition in his eyes. Turns out Grindelwald messed with Graves' mind, removed all his memories and made him believe that he's Grindelwald's pet.

Includes: Gellert Grindelwald x Graves, Newt x Graves, Non-Con, Rape, Stockholm Syndrome, Pet Play, Forced Pet Play, Collars, Non-Con Body Modification, Animal Ears, Animal Behaviors/Qualities, Mind!Fuck, Memory Loss/Alteration, Master/Pet, Dubious Consent, Angst, Literally Graves Believes He’s A Dog, I AM TRASH

CHAPTER 1

Newt wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be on an ocean charter halfway across the Atlantic by now. But yet, somehow he still found himself in New York – well, not somehow. He knew exactly how. Because Tina had asked him, that’s how. Painfully worried and nearly frantic and wholly desperate, she had come to him just as he was about to board the boat; and what should have been a wistful goodbye between newfound friends turned into a sad affair indeed. Just sad in a nature wholly different than what he had been anticipating.

It was raining, but Tina had an umbrella. So when he noticed that her face was wet, his stomach had lurched with the understanding that something was wrong – and he could tell from her expression that it was not because she would miss him, although she would.

“Newt,” she gasped, out of breath from trying to catch him before he boarded. “I need your help.”

“Oh- o-of course,” he stammered, blinking rapidly as he tried to keep up with this sudden twist in reality. “What do you need?”

“It’s Graves,” she had said, and when she looked up at him, Newt felt his stomach sink even further. “We found him. He’s… he’s not well.”

“I imagine not,” Newt had said before he could catch himself, and flinched when he saw the way it hurt Tina. “I apologize… How can I help?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, “but I can’t think of anyone else who can.”

That was how he found himself at the doorstep of one Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security and former prisoner of the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald. It was a nice building that Graves lived in. His neighbors seemed kind enough, although completely oblivious to the dark happenings that had been occurring in his flat for these many months. Which was sad in its own right, Newt imagined. He shuddered to think of a world in which he could be replaced and no one would notice. His heart stung fiercely when he wondered if his creatures would know the difference. He hoped they would.

But he promptly closed the door on that thought before it could overwhelm him. There was a task to be done. What it was, he wasn’t sure… but he would try and help all the same.

“It took a lot longer than we would’ve liked to track him down,” Tina said, staring at the door leading to Graves’ flat with a distant, hurt look to her eyes. Guilt, Newt realized. Guilt hung like a heavy blanket over the usual sparkle he had become accustomed to seeing from Tina. Dark and smothering.

“Whatever happened… it was not your fault. You know that, right?”

Tina took a deep, shaky breath and looked at him with wet eyes. “I know. It’s just… If we had just…”

If we had just noticed, maybe things would be different.

Whatever had happened, whatever was holding Tina back from opening the door... It was bad. Very bad.

“Tina,” he said gently, grabbing her gaze without actually holding it himself. “What happened to Mr. Graves?”

Tina swallowed with a dry, audible click before finally reaching for the door knob and twirling her wand with a deft little spell to unlock it. “I think it’s best if you see for yourself.”

The moment the door opened, Newt felt it. A thick aura of magic both past and present, hanging thick on the air like a heady gout of smelly perfume. It was thick and dark and pungent in a way that made it hard to think, and even as a man not extremely skilled in the art of magic of the mind, he knew instantly what would cause such a vivid and overwhelming mark. Dark magic. Old magic. Grindelwald.

He gagged and raised his sleeve to his nose and mouth to mask himself from some of it. His eyes stung. A quick glance to Tina confirmed that she was not fairing much better. Her hands were trembling.

“This way,” she said after a moment.

Newt followed her through the quaint flat. It was a nice flat. Sparsely decorated, but richly and deliberately so. It matched Graves, or at least, the image of Graves that Grindelwald had stolen. He followed her down a hallway to a door that had a rather cold looking Auror standing guard before it. He seemed tired down to his very bones, face creased in places no man his age had a right to be creasing in already. Whatever had happened to Mr. Graves, his team was taking it very hardly.

“Some did notice,” she said finally, startling Newt.

“Excuse me?”

“Some of us did notice. A clerk. Two of the senior Aurors. His secretary… Grindelwald manipulated their memories once he found out. Our medical staff found scarring in their minds. Nothing too severe. Just enough to dissuade them from noticing anything else,” she said, stopping. “I know it may not look it, based off your experience from the past few days, but… Director Graves was – is a good man. He was well respected on the team. Now that Grindelwald is gone and the team is back to themselves, well…”

“President Picquery should have fucking murdered that demented bastard,” the Auror outside the door suddenly spat, his mouth twisted with hate – all teeth and fury.

Tina looked at him with strange eyes and said, “Justice must be upheld. That’s what Director Graves would want.”

“Justice ain’t going to fix him.”

That drew Newt’s attention. He looked at the door and noticed for the first time the small sigil that had been carved into its wood, old and powerful. A locking charm, long since dead. Newt frowned and pointed at it.

“Grindelwald?”

The Auror looked over his shoulder and scowled when he noticed what Newt was pointing at.

“Yeah,” he said, turning away. “Best as we can tell, he used it before,” he swallowed, “Before he changed him. The Director must’ve been one surly prisoner, it’s a powerful charm.” The little nod he gave at that was a proud one. “Must’ve gave Grindelwald hell.”

“I’m sure he did,” Newt said softly, his mind on other things – namely, what he’d find behind the door. A thick, cold dread was beginning to slide down his spine. He had a bad feeling. A familiar feeling. “May I?”

The Auror gave him an assessing look, but Tina stepped forward.

“I think he can help,” she said. Newt was beginning to think that his presence wasn’t strictly sanctioned. But whatever was wrong must have outweighed that, because the Auror gave him a small nod and moved to open the door for them.

“Just… be careful.”

Newt blinked, but walked in all the same.

The aura was worse here, thick and clingy and greasy like slime. He could feel it on his skin, pressing in on him; overbearing and disgusting and sick. He shuddered.

The room, however, was a normal bedroom. It contained nice, plush carpets and bookshelves and a night stand. There were trinkets and a mirror. A painting charmed with subtle movement; wolves stalking beautifully through snowy woods. A closet of immaculate clothing, and finally, a lush four poster bed – and at its end on the floor, a large pillow oddly reminiscent of a dog’s bed beside two upturned gold bowl. A puddle was slowly leaking from beneath it. Water.

Newt almost thought the room to be empty and nearly looked at Tina to ask why they were there when a rattle and a soft whine emitted from the closet. There he saw the clothing sway.

He took a step forward, but stopped when that whine turned into a rumbling growl. Tina’s fingers brushed his forearm.

“He... He’s frightened. Nothing we say helps. He… He bit the last Auror that tried to grab him. I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, he just… He’s confused,” she trailed off, but Newt suddenly understood why Tina had thought of him.

“I see,” Newt said, then reached for a confident smile – if only to comfort her. “I understand. Let me see what I can do.”

She nodded.

“Stay here.”

A pause and she nodded again, her eyes drawn to the closet once more. “Ok.”

“Ok.”

Silently and slowly, he placed his suitcase by the door and turned to address the closet. He took another step closer, his body automatically hunching and folding in on himself in order to appear smaller and less threatening. He held out his hands, but even so, another growl emerged angrily from the closet.

A simple warning if Newt had ever heard one. I’m afraid. I’m confused. Back the fuck off.

“Mr. Graves,” he said softly, soothingly, “We’ve never met but my name is Newt. I’m here to help.”

When Newt finally found Graves’ dark eyes within the shadows of the closet, he averted his gaze – instead watching the concealed figure of the man out of his peripherals – and squatted lower to the floor. But he stopped there, giving the man his space. The growling lessened, but didn’t stop. It did, however, intermittently fall into a whimper. Newt’s lips twitched into a frown, concerned.

“Mr. Graves? Can you hear me?” He asked as he slowly extended one hand out, giving the man the choice to meet him halfway. As he did, he gently extended out a wordless spell. Soothing and gentle, it emitted slowly from his hand and crept across the room until finally – after a minute of silent waiting – Graves shifted in the closet.

Newt saw a glimpse of pale skin and smiled.

“There we are,” he praised softly. Behind him, he heard more than saw the way the Auror at the door clearly disliked how he was treating Graves. But Newt was not the only one to catch onto the man’s agitation, and Graves pale face peeked out hesitantly for no more than a second before he caught the man’s body language and huddled back into the closet once more, snarling.

Newt sighed.

“Tina, could you?” He asked and nodded in the Auror’s direction.

“This is ridiculous,” the Auror spat, eyes flicking to Tina even as she made her way toward him.

“Nothing else has worked,” she said, clearly cross as she guided him from the room.

“You too, Tina,” Newt said, making her stop in the doorway. He clenched down on the guilty feeling that arose when she sent him a hurt look. “He’s afraid. The less people in the room to overwhelm him, the better. Please.”

She glanced to the closet, clearly unwilling to leave.

“But what if he-?”

“I can handle it, Tina,” Newt said gently, giving her a look that said ‘do you remember what I have in my suitcase?’. “Just keep an eye on the case for me while I help Mr. Graves calm down, if you don’t mind.”

Tina took a deep breath, but finally nodded, grabbed the case, and moved to close the door.

“Don’t,” Newt said, catching her off guard. “He’ll just feel trapped. Leave it open.”

And so she did, and disappeared down the hallway with his case.

“Better?” He asked the closet.

And those curious eyes were back, watching him. Growling, but softly.

“I’m sorry if they scared you,” Newt said. “They’re just worried. They’ve missed you.”

A whine.

“It’s alright,” he said and began to extend his spell again, gently trying to soothe the man. “I won’t hurt you.”

The clothing shifted and out peeked a familiar face – clean shaven, surprisingly. A messy yet silky fringe of hair trembling in front of dark, simple eyes. Graves looked from Newt to the door and back again, as if assessing an escape. He looked younger than the man Newt had fought in the subway tunnels mere days ago. He wondered if it was the eyes.

“Where?” Graves asked, startling Newt.

“We’re in your flat,” he said.

Graves shook his head and furrowed his brow, searching for the words.

“Master didn’t come home. Where?”

Newt felt his stomach twist. He opened his mouth, but didn’t really know what to say. He was suddenly fiercely glad Tina had left the room.

“You mean Grindelwald?”

Graves narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. Did he not recognize the name?

Words of comfort and affirmation bubbled to his tongue – He’s caught, we have him. Don’t worry. He’s at MACUSA, he’ll never hurt you again.

But one look and Newt realized that the context of Graves’ question was not please say he’s not here. It was please say he’s coming home soon.

“He’s… away,” Newt said lamely, eyes flickering to glance at Graves now that the man felt confident enough to speak with him. Graves was leaning far enough forward now that his shoulders were visible, pale and naked. Newt felt his cheeks begin to burn at the implication, and even more so when he caught sight of the thick leather collar that hung snuggly around Graves’ throat – Grindelwald’s symbol hanging delicately next to a small gold tag that read simply: ‘Pretty’.

Newt grimaced, but quickly shoved the negative body language down.

“Away,” Graves said, eyes distant as he looked at the door. His face crumbled slowly and he began to back himself into the closet again.

“No,” Newt said a little too quickly, making Graves flinch. He instantly smoothed out his voice into a calm, hushed tone and said, “It’s okay. Grindel—your master asked for me to watch over you while he’s gone. Would you like that?”

Graves narrowed his eyes, but clearly didn’t know what to do with that information. He whined, at war with himself about something, before finally looking at Newt with large brown eyes. So strange on a face that had sentenced him to execution mere days ago.

“You’ll touch?”

Touch? Newt tried to link the implication to whatever Graves was really asking for, but shuddered at the thought of… certain avenues.

“I… I can,” he said, reaching his hand out again. “If you come out.”

When Graves finally came out, it was on all fours – his hands curled up like paws as he hesitantly crawled out of the closet, revealing more and more of his lithe and very naked form. He was hairless, although Newt couldn’t tell if that was from magic or grooming. His skin was milk white from lack of sunlight, and it contrasted so prettily against the raven’s black of his hair. With a twist of disgust for having thought it himself, Newt suddenly understood why the tag on his neck read ‘Pretty’. Regardless, Newt remained completely still, one hand extended, while Graves approached him like a wary dog.

When the man actually reached out to sniff his fingers, Newt felt the gravity of what Grindelwald had done fall down on him. A feeling he did not think could be outdone until a spark of shock exploded into life inside his chest at the sight of two large, wolfish ears suddenly perking up from where they had been laying flat against Graves’ head. Black as they were, Newt had not even noticed them, nor did he think the other Aurors had. But there they were, perked and curious atop Graves’ head and most certainly not adorable.

But the unnatural ears atop his head were not the only things Newt noticed. Graves was in fact flushed in the cheeks, eyes glassy – feverish. Now that he was so close, Newt could practically feel the heat burning off the man like a furnace.

Graves stopped just a hair’s breadth from Newt’s hand and looked up at him.

“You’ll touch?” He asked again.

“Do you want me to?” Newt asked.

“Yes,” Graves said with a whine, but did not move.

And so, Newt slowly reached out – eyes wary of Graves’ body language until finally his was cradling the man’s jaw. He blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding with Graves suddenly pressed into his palm and keened, his arse slightly swaying in what Newt realized would have been a wagging tail, were the man the dog that Grindelwald had made him believe himself to be.

Oh Tina, he thought, I’m so sorry.

The tears made sense, now. Asking Newt of all people for help made sense now.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he noticed that those large, brown eyes – once closed from bliss – were staring at him hopefully. Graves took one step forward, then another and whined.

“Oh!” Newt said, catching on and promptly, but slowly, eased himself into a cross-legged position. No sooner than he did he found himself with a tentative lap-full of eager Graves. Newt was torn between the normal ecstatic feeling he always got from charming a scared creature into trusting him and a sick wrench of dread as he slowly began to understand exactly what Grindelwald had done.

Now that he had hands on the man, he could feel the fever burning beneath his skin. It worried him, but even as Newt touched him, he could feel it slowly begin to cool. Something he took note of. He wasn’t sure how long he sat like that, with Graves curled into his lap, but it was long enough that he didn’t notice they weren’t alone anymore until Graves suddenly stiffened and began to growl.

Newt looked up to see Tina in the doorway, eyes wide.

And what a sight they must make, Newt realized.

“Y-you,” Tina stuttered, then visibly composed herself with a dry swallow. “You coaxed him out.”

Newt nodded before gently stroking Graves again, compelling magic into the motion to soothe him; warmth and safety and a little bit of compulsion to help him begin to doze. He watched as Graves’ eyelids began to grow heavy, dark lashes fluttering.

“This is Tina,” Newt said, voice thick as he realized his next words would hurt Tina all the more. “She’s also a friend of your Master’s.”

Tina jerked, but didn't correct him.

Graves looked at her, his growling long since ceased, but there was no light of recognition within his sleepy gaze.

“Tina,” he repeated.

“Y-yes, Director,” she said, hopeful at the sound of her own name from his lips. “Do you remember me?”

Graves frowned and looked to Newt.

“It’s okay,” he said.

Graves shook his head, then sought out Newt’s hand once more. Newt kept his gaze pointedly on Graves, unwilling to watch Tina’s face fall.

“That’s okay,” she said. Newt flinched. It was not okay. “Newt, is there… is there anything I can do to help?”

“Perhaps bring my case?”

Tina promptly turned to retrieve it, no doubt left in the other room. Newt had a moment of anger flare at the thought that Tina might have left it unsupervised, if only for a second, but reminded himself of the situation Tina was in. He couldn’t hold a momentary lapse like this against her. Not when he had her very well respected boss curled naked in his lap and falling asleep.

“Oh Mr. Graves,” Newt sighed, his hands deep into Graves’ hair as he pet the man in his lap. “What did he do to you?”

Graves merely burrowed deeper into Newt’s lap and asked, “Who is Mr. Graves?”

KINK MEME PROMPT: Grindelwald is captured, they track down Graves, but instead of finding a locked up and tortured Graves they find Graves naked and in a collar, napping on a soft bed without a hint of recognition in his eyes when they awaken him. Turns out Grindelwald messed with Graves's mind, removed all his memories and made him believe that he's Grindelwald's pet, utterly devoted to him and his cock, without any cure due to his extensive talent. Grindelwald is smug and Graves gets all whimpery and pleading when he realizes they aren't taking him to his Master and no one knows what to do. Bonus if Graves no longer knows how to handle himself like a proper human, eating out of hands or a bowl, sleeping curled up at the foot of the bed, responding to 'pet' or similar rather than his own name, etc. Praise and toys and the like would be appreciated.

+Grindelwald charmed Graves somehow so that he starts to get a fever or something if Grindelwald isn't close to him or doesn't fuck him somehow once a day and they have to give in eventually and listen to how happy or loud Graves gets ++Grindelwald thinking about how pretty Credence or Newt would be, learning how to be a good pet at Graves's side +++Grindelwald escapes, and takes his pretty little pet with him

[adwsbvuoas]

I found these questions and I'm bored. — 1. Who was the last person you held hands with? - @danc1ng1nth3ra1n 2. Are you outgoing or shy? - shy 3. Who are you looking forward to seeing? - @danc1ng1nth3ra1n 4. Are you easy to get along with? - I really dont know. I would guess yes. 5. If you were drunk would the person you like take care of you? - I think so, but if I'm drunk there's a fairly high chance she is with me. 6. What kind of people are you attracted to? - Kind, loyal and honest people. 7. Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now? - Well I hope so 🤔 8. Who from the opposite gender is on your mind? - @danc1ng1nth3ra1n 9. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable? - Depends on the person and if its online where nobody really knows you or face-to-face 10. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with? - @danc1ng1nth3ra1n 11. What does the most recent text that you sent say? - "Goodnight, I love you too! 🖤🖤" 12. What are your 5 favorite songs right now? - Bausa - Baron Written by Wolves - To tell you the truth Deadmau5 - Pets 5Haus - Shapeshifting EXGF - We are the hearts 13. Do you like it when people play with your hair? - Again, it depends on the person. If its my gf I have absolutely no problem with that, if its my mother I have a huge problem with that 14. Do you believe in luck and miracles? - The "sciency-guy" in me tells I dont, while my feelings tell me otherwise. 15. What good thing happened this summer? - This summer was shit tbh. Jakes 7th anniversary and Chesters death... 16. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? - ABSOLUTELY 17. Do you think there is life on other planets? - Yes. Its dumb to believe that we are the only "smart" species in this world. I also think that its possible that they arent carbon-based 18. Do you still talk to your first crush? - Nope 19. Do you like bubble baths? - Kinda 20. Do you like your neighbors? - They dont bother me, so thats nice 21. What are your bad habits? - Eating when frustrated or sad. 22. Where would you like to travel? - New York, New Zealand, Japan, Ireland (again) 23. Do you have trust issues? - Yep 24. Favorite part of your daily routine? - Looking in the mirror and realizing that I'm a huge disappontment. Jokes aside that would be the moment when I come home and my dog greets my as if I was away for years. 25. What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with? My stomach 26. What do you do when you wake up? - Dressing, washing, brushing my teeth 27. Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker? - I dont care 28. Who are you most comfortable around? - @danc1ng1nth3ra1n, and my best friends 29. Have any of your ex’s told you they regret breaking up? - Nope 30. Do you ever want to get married? - I dont really care. 31. Is your hair long enough for a pony tail? - I dont think so. Its fairly long for a man, but not long enough for a ponytail. 32. Which celebrities would you have a threesome with? I think Jennifer Lawrence would probably be in there. Third person-??? 33. Spell your name with your chin. - Mika 34. Do you play sports? What sports? - Does eSports count? 🤔 35. Would you rather live without TV or music? - Without TV, definitely 36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them? - No 37. What do you say during awkward silences? - "Ok, I'm sorry" 38. Describe your dream girl/guy? - @danc1ng1nth3ra1n 39. What are your favorite stores to shop in? - The candy store. For real: probably a vans store 40. What do you want to do after high school? - I already have a training space, after that I think Im gonna study 41. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance? - Most people do 42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean? - Probably that the situation is extremely awkward or uncomfortably for me, OR that I'm really enjoying the moment 43. Do you smile at strangers? - Sometimes 44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean? - Space 45. What makes you get out of bed in the morning? - Knowing that people would be disappointed even more if I dont succeed in school 46. What are you paranoid about? - Losing the ones I love. Also I hate when people are behind my back. I just feel watched, so if I turn my back to you that means I really trust you 47. Have you ever been high? - One week ago 48. Have you ever been drunk? - One week ago 49. Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about? - well kinda 50. What was the colour of the last hoodie you wore? - Black 51. Ever wished you were someone else? - yep, I mean who doesn't want to be the president or Elon Musk? 52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself? - Reduce my body weight 53. Favourite makeup brand? - 🤔🤔🤔 54. Favourite store? - The music store 55. Favourite blog? - @danc1ng1nth3ra1n 56. Favourite colour? - Black, dark blue, orange 57. Favourite food? - Pizza, Ice cream, Cookies 58. Last thing you ate? - Some candy 59. First thing you ate this morning? - A little piece of chocolate (I was already awake for more than 4 hours at this point) 60. Ever won a competition? For what? - I think two for "bike racing" and 2 for rc car driving 61. Been suspended/expelled? For what? - Not from school 62. Been arrested? For what? - Not yet 63. Ever been in love? - Yes 64. Tell us the story of your first kiss? - I rather dont 65. Are you hungry right now? - Not really 66. Do you like your tumblr friends more than your real friends? - I dont really have friends on here. My gf is using tumblr too, and obviously I know here 67. Facebook or Twitter? - TWITTER 68. Twitter or Tumblr? Twitter for memes and shitposting, tumblr for serious stuff 69. Are you watching tv right now? - Nope 70. Names of your bestfriends? - Amrei, Robin, Arnim, Svenja, Eva 71. Craving something? What? - A hug. A long, tight hug. 72. What colour are your towels? - Blue? 72. How many pillows do you sleep with? - A lot. 73. Do you sleep with stuffed animals? - Yep, I have a few that are as old as I am 74. How many stuffed animals do you think you have? - around 200? In my bed i have around 5 or so 75. Favourite animal? - Black panther, cats, dogs, snakes and spiders. I also like big cats like tigers and so on really much. Also wolves. Wolves are wonderful creatures. I like animals in general! 76. What colour is your underwear? - Pink/white I think 🤔🤔 77. Chocolate or Vanilla? - Chocolate 78. Favourite ice cream flavour? - Chocolate 79. What colour shirt are you wearing? - Blue 80. What colour pants? - Black 81. Favourite tv show? - Elementary, Scorpion, Bojack Horseman 82. Favourite movie? - Star Wars 83. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2? - Wat 84. Mean Girls or 21 Jump Street? - Wat 85. Favourite character from Mean Girls? - Wat 86. Favourite character from Finding Nemo? - The doves. MINE. 87. First person you talked to today? Sadly my mother. 88. Last person you talked to today? My wonderful gf 89. Name a person you hate? - Hate is a strong word. I dont hate many people, but my parents are two of them 90. Name a person you love? - @danc1ng1nth3ra1n 91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now? - My parents 92. In a fight with someone? - My parents. Constantly 93. How many sweatpants do you have? - 6?7? 94. How many sweaters/hoodies do you have? - Too many 95. Last movie you watched? - Before the flood 96. Favourite actress? - I dont know 97. Favourite actor? - I dont knoe 98. Do you tan a lot? - No 99. Have any pets? - A cat and a dog 100. How are you feeling? - "Meh" 101. Do you type fast? - Pretty fast, but there are definitely people that type faster 102. Do you regret anything from your past? - a lot, but then again no. Because my faults from the past lead me to this point in life which is good 103. Can you spell well? - w e l l 104. Do you miss anyone from your past? - Yes, Jake 105. Ever been to a bonfire party? - Kinda 106. Ever broken someone’s heart? - I hope that I didnt 107. Have you ever been on a horse? - Yes 108. What should you be doing? - Right now? Probably sleeping 109. Is something irritating you right now? - No 110. Have you ever liked someone so much it hurt? - Kinda. 111. Do you have trust issues? - Again, yes 112. Who was the last person you cried in front of? - My gf 113. What was your childhood nickname? - Mika 114. Have you ever been out of your province/state? - Yes 115. Do you play the Wii? - No 116. Are you listening to music right now? - Yes 117. Do you like chicken noodle soup? - Yes 118. Do you like Chinese food? - YES 119. Favourite book? - The boy in the striped pajamas. 120. Are you afraid of the dark? - Just a little bit anxious 121. Are you mean? - I think that I am, but I really dont want to be 122. Is cheating ever okay? - In games under some circumstances, in a relationship no way 123. Can you keep white shoes clean? - No 124. Do you believe in love at first sight? - Yes 125. Do you believe in true love? - Yes 126. Are you currently bored? -Yes 127. What makes you happy? -Being around my favourite people 128. Would you change your name? - I would delete my second name 129. What your zodiac sign? - Capricorn 130. Do you like subway? - Yes 131. Your bestfriend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? - Cry, then talk with them about it, cry more 132. Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? - Still @danc1ng1nth3ra1n 133. Favourite lyrics right now? - "You're too good for me 134. Can you count to one million? - Probably if I really wanted to 135. Dumbest lie you ever told? - In a police control "I have never done drugs" 136. Do you sleep with your doors open or closed? - Closed 137. How tall are you? - 1.90m/6'2"-6'3" 138. Curly or Straight hair? - i dont care 139. Brunette or Blonde? - I dont care 140. Summer or Winter? - Winter 141. Night or Day? - Night 142. Favourite month? - i dont have one, but I really like november 143. Are you a vegetarian? - Nope 144. Dark, milk or white chocolate? - Milk chocolate 145. Tea or Coffee? - Cocoa 146. Was today a good day? - Kinda 147. Mars or Snickers? - Twix 148. What’s your favourite quote? - "Remember to look up at the stars and not down at your feet. Try to make sense of what you see and wonder about what makes the universe exist. Be curious. And however difficult life may seem, there is always something you can do and succeed at. It matters that you don't just give up." - Stephen Hawking. In my opinion this quote is just inspiring. 149. Do you believe in ghosts? - Not really 150. Get the closest book next to you, open it to page 42, what’s the first line on that page? - "Die Fenster der Kaserne sind leer und dunkel" which means something like "The windows of the barracks are empty and dark" If you still have questions, ask me! C:

[ookamikasumi-fanfics]

Diabolic 10

Summary: Vincent Valentine is kidnapped by the ghost of Sephiroth for a very personal mission. 

(S/VV- After AC) COMPLETE

All characters property of Square Enix. This story was written for the intent of Personal enjoyment. No money was made from this work.

Warning! Rated NC-17: hard-core Yaoi content, adult language, mild violence, non-con seduction

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ten ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night sky over the wastelands was veiled in stars and the moon just a delicate curve of brightening silver rising in the east.

Vincent leaped upward from cliff edge to cliff edge, stretching his wings with each upward leap until he reached the top of the red sandstone bluff. Stones crunched under his armored boots and soft dust swirled with each step. Below him in canyons, to either side of what was left of the main highway, the dust bowl desert was already showing signs of returning green. The world was coming back to life, even here.

He turned to look back at the glimmering lights of the crater-city of Midgar. The city’s new mayor, Reeve, had gotten the city’s power running again, to some degree. Cid had said something about super-pressure steam engines being used to power the turbine reactors -- water power. It was old-fashioned, but the lights were back on and that’s all anyone really cared about. Life was returning to normal.

Vincent snorted. Good for them. He turned his back on the half-lit city and considered the horizon. He had other concerns. It wasn’t that he was in any great hurry to discover who might be a good host for Sephiroth, he just figured that as long as he kept moving he’d be reasonably safe from the ghost’s attention. He smiled. Catch me if you can.

So, where to begin?

He looked to the north-west. He knew of only one place in the world where the early ShinRa records might still exist. It was the one place he never wanted to see again, yet the one place that he kept returning to – Nibelheim.

With a deep sigh, he opened his arms wide and called forth the other side of his soul, the one made of utter darkness. Black lightning danced under his skin then expanded to wrap around his entire form. In a glorious rush of expanding power the change came upon him.

Briefly he wondered what happened to the clothes and armor he wore when he did this. Strangely, they were always in perfect order when he changed back. It was just another one of those odd personal mysteries that seemed to have no answer. Unfortunately there was no one to ask, or even discuss it with. No one knew he could do this, except for Sephiroth.

He shook his head briefly. He didn’t want to think about the ghost.

Armored, horned and clawed, he launched into the sky heading north-west on broad wings darker than midnight. All three crimson eyes were wide open to view the currents of the wind.

Surfing the rising air flows, his wings oaring the tides of shifting winds with casual ease, his mind calmed and his heart eased. Peace came upon him.

He crossed the inlet sea of the northern passage at its narrowest point. On the south-western tip of the second island, he found a cliff-side cave large enough for his monstrous form. The cave was occupied by something large and mostly natural, but the beast was hungry from its flight. Sated by flesh and soul-fire, the beast curled up deep in the cave and rested through the daylight hours.

Nightfall came and the beast turned its three scarlet eyes westward. It launched into the sky for another night flight, this time across the open northern sea. The ocean winds were far stronger and the flight swifter. Even so, he reached the eastern continent roughly a few hours before dawn.

There were too many small towns dotting the coast to rest without being seen, so the beast continued inland, flying high over the bright lights of Costa Del Sol, almost due west toward the Corel mountains.

Dawn was pinking the sky when the beast reached the rolling foothills of the mountains and landed in one of the greater forests. It found another meal, somewhat larger and less natural. It ate with relish and nested among some fallen trees. Completely sated, it slept deeply through the day, the night, and the following day as well.

Night came and he launched into the sky, stretching his wings over Corel’s steep fjord cliffs and deeply shadowed river valleys. Far below, cliff-side towns glimmered in their tiny spider webs of lights.

Another cliff cave, another meal, another rest, and then further west, toward the tall and jagged snow-peaks of the Nibel Mountains.

The cold was fierce but the beast barely felt it. What it did feel was hunger. The few creatures that lived among the mountain’s heights were small and fairly natural, barely touched by the magic the beast needed to feed on.  

A long and slender, rather middle-sized ice dragon flew out from a banked glacier. It blazed with power.

Too hungry for caution, the beast went after the dragon.

The dragon’s cold blasts did little harm against the beast’s armor, but it was a clever hunter. For all that it was only a quarter of the beast’s mass, the dragon was blindingly swift and ferocious. It dove close on its tiny wings, slashing with its long jagged teeth and ice-tipped claws.

Although larger and far more powerful, the beast was not nearly so maneuverable. If it could catch the dragon, it would kill it fairly easily, but catching the swift sleek dragon wasn’t so easily done.

The dragon’s serrated teeth ripped long tears in the beast’s heavier wings and its ice-tipped claws dug between the beast’s armor plates into soft tissue.

Howling the beast twisted sharply and slashed with his sword-length claws, scoring one of the dragon’s small wings.

The dragon screamed and looped around, swiftly wrapping its slippery body around the beast. It tightened, constricting, entangling the beast’s clawed arms and legs, and interfering with the beast’s wings.

Bound together, they crashed into a cliff side.

The beast grabbed onto the cliff, and twisted hard. It caught the dragon with its massive fangs and bit down with bone-crushing force. The fight ended and the fare proved to be finer than expected. The dragon’s soul was rich with power.

During its rest, the tears in the beast’s wings and the deep stabs from the dragon’s claws healed closed, but heat fired the beast’s blood. During the following night’s flight its heart began to labor and its joints began to ache. Flight proved difficult and tiring.

Vincent felt the heat running through the beast’s body and realized that the dragon’s claws had carried poison. He would live through it, poisons did little lasting harm, but he would need a safe place to sleep off the effects, and soon.

He continued his flight across the night sky, determined to reach his destination before the rising fever forced him from the sky.

-VV-

On a rocky outcropping, the beast panted in exhaustion while steam curled up from its black scaled armor. Nestled in the deep valley below was the dark and completely deserted town of Nibelheim.

The beast snorted in derision. The original town had been utterly destroyed along with the town’s reactor in a massive conflagration. Less than a year later, the town had been entirely reconstructed; stick by stick, a perfect replica. It was the largest cover-up operation ShinRa Corporation had ever done. They’d even employed actors to replace the missing citizens.

After the reactor’s final collapse, they hadn’t bothered to rebuild. The near destruction of the civilized world had erased the need for a false town.

Everyone was long gone and the entire town had fallen into utter ruin. The fabricated buildings, unlike the originals, had not been made to last. Many of them had collapsed completely revealing the cheaply-built plaster-board inner structures that had supported the false plaster-brick facades.

The beast lifted its horned head. The largest house at the far edge of town still stood, though it showed signs of wear as well. Apparently that house had not been made of cheap materials.

If the beast could have smiled with its long muzzle it would have. Of course the ancestral house of the ShinRas would not be made cheaply. Too many secrets still hid deep in its basements.

Among those secrets was the information Vincent was looking for. The information was probably badly out-dated, but that was perfectly fine. What he was looking for was far from current.

The most current files were all locked away neck-deep in code in the ShinRa mainframe back in Midgar. The computerized archive was sealed in the highly protected bomb-sheltered sub-basements of the mostly devastated ShinRa tower. Only the new ShinRa president could access that information.

However, the original paper files had all been stored here. Vincent was damned sure no one had ever moved the monstrous archive. The town’s second devastation had happened so fast, there had not been time to do more than flee with what one could carry. Jenova and the fate of the world had taken everyone’s interest after that.

Vincent wondered if Rufus ShinRa, the brand-new president even knew that this storehouse of information was here. The old president and the long since deceased original vice president, Rufus Alphonse ShinRa had known about this place, but this Rufus was very young. Most of his father’s deepest secrets had not yet been shared before the old president’s assassination – by the Jenova-possessed Sephiroth.

Vincent knew because this was where he had been assigned when he had still been a suit-wearing Turk for the ShinRa Power and Electric Company, a very long time ago.

Back then, the old president, Rufus’s father, had still been a young man and very new to his position. Rufus Alphonse had still been in college, though everyone knew it was inevitable he’d inherit the presidency from his father. Many had gone to Rufus Alphonse for jobs and favors. One of whom had been Lucrecia Crescent, Rufus Alphonse’s first cousin and Vincent’s first love.

Vincent heart twisted just a little. He looked away.

Off to the south-east and up on the cliff-heights, the pink of dawn tinted the jagged and blackened crater left from the destruction of the town’s energy reactor. Beneath the reactor had been the labs.

Vincent shuddered, and the beast shuddered with him. He had no interest in going anywhere near that.

The beast turned away from disintegrating town and climbed higher among the jagged cliffs. It had flown as far as its feverish body could. It was time to rest. All else would have to wait.

-VV-

Deep in a cave very close to the mountain’s summit, the beast slept but it did not rest. The air and land smelled too familiar, reminding it of the pain and grief that had accompanied its creation. Tormented by dreams, it writhed in distress, filling the cave with its feverish heat.

Day passed, night fell, and the fever still raged.

It groaned through dreams of raging fires and distant screams all colored by a red haze, as though it viewed the world through a thin layer of blood.

A whispered name slashed through the dreams, a summons that could not be denied.

The beast awoke. Clumsy with exhaustion, it left the cave and foundered into the blowing snow. A familiar scent on the wind led the beast upward to the mountain’s summit and the bright glow of the one who had called.

A star-bright hand caressed the beast’s over-warm brow. “Sleep. Sleep, my pet and let me have your other half.”

The beast groaned and complied, releasing the other half of its soul sealed within.

Vincent felt the beast give way, releasing him into his human shape. The change burned through him, taking the last of his strength. He groaned and dropped to his knees in the snow. Panting, he frowned up at the tall winged man with flowing silver hair. His long black leather coat flapped in the snowy wind. He blinked. “Sephiroth?”

Sephiroth’s silver brows furrowed and he frowned. “Vincent, you look like shit.”

Vincent very nearly smiled. “Thank you, I feel like shit.” He sighed and fell over into the nice soft snow right at the dark angel’s feet.

-VV-

The whisper of a page turning startled Vincent out of a deep sleep. The sound had been very close to his ear. That’s weird. Even more odd, was that he was curled up on his right side against something long and warm, and rather solid. The pillow under his right cheek was somewhat hard. He opened his eyes and discovered that his cheek was in fact resting on someone’s thigh. He could see a pair of leather-clad legs crossed at the ankles and stocking feet at the end of the bed.

Wait a minute…he was in a bed?

Vincent shoved up onto his elbows, only to collapse on his back under a wave of bone-weary exhaustion.

Sephiroth leaned over him. He wore a plain black turtleneck tucked into his black leather pants, and his silver hair was pulled back into a neat tail that draped over his far shoulder. A book was in his hand. His brows lifted. “Ah, you’re awake.”

Vincent frowned up at him. “Sephiroth?”

“You said that last time.” The dark angel snorted. “What a terrible memory you have.”

Vincent looked around the shadowed room and frowned. He didn’t recognize a single thing. Other than the bed he was on and the battered dresser partially draped with a gray sheet up against the opposite wall, the room was pretty much bare. The steeply pitched walls weren’t even finished, just bare wood struts. There wasn’t even a carpet.

On his left, the two floor-to-ceiling dormer windows were without curtains and showed blowing snow. On the right a glowing ball about the size of a man’s head floated about a foot from the floor radiated heat and soft yellow light. Beyond the glow was a plain wooden door. “I think I agree with you. I don’t remember being here at all.”

Sephiroth contemplated the book in his hand. “I don’t see why you would. You were unconscious when I brought you here.” He turned a page.

Vincent struggled to sit up. “And where is here?”

“One of the attic rooms of the ShinRa mansion.” Sephiroth shifted his legs, crossing his ankles the other way. “I simply could not find your campsite.”

Vincent groaned with effort but finally succeeded in sitting up against the bed’s headboard. “The beast doesn’t need a campsite. I was sleeping in a cave.” He noted his armor-less but gloved left hand, then noted that his gambeson and his shirt were also missing. Ah crap… He lifted the covers he’d been tucked under for confirmation. “I’m naked.”

Sephiroth rolled his eyes. “You have an entire house at your disposal and you fell asleep in a cave?”

Vincent dropped the covers and scowled. “An entire house rigged with Gaia only knows what kind of traps or electronic surveillance.” He crossed his arms. “Why am I naked?”

Sephiroth nodded absently. “Yes, I know all about the traps, which is why I entered by way of the roof, and why we are currently ensconced in the attic.” He turned a page.

Vincent scrubbed his hands down his face. “Okay fine, whatever…” He crossed his arms. “Now, would you kindly tell me why I’m naked?”

Sephiroth set the book down on his right side. “Because I was curious--” He leaned over and grabbed Vincent’s wrist, then pulled to stretch the arm out and expose the underside. The veins under Vincent’s pale skin showed clearly as a tracery of bright and angry red. “--As to how far the lines of your infection went.” He scowled ferociously. “Imagine my surprise--” He jerked the sheet down to Vincent’s lap, revealing the angry red lines that traced outward from his chest. “--When I discovered that it pretty much covered you, from throat to toe.”

Vincent sighed. Oh, that. “It’s just poison.”

Sephiroth curled his lip and bared his teeth. “Just poison.” His voice dropped to a deep bass growl. “Oh, is that all?” Black sarcasm dripped from every word.

“It’s from an ice dragon.” Vincent sighed and the sigh suddenly became a yawn. “I won’t die from it.” There really wasn’t much that could kill him. His eyes grew heavy and he eased back down among the pillows.

Sephiroth’s anger dissipated into a frown. “Are you thirsty or hungry?”

“Just…tired.” Vincent wilted further down among the blankets. “I don’t eat normal food.”

“What do you eat?”

The thought to keep his mouth shut crossed Vincent’s mind, but he was just too tired to worry about it. “Life-stream energy, magic, souls…”

Sephiroth’s eyes widened. “I knew you fed on life-stream flows, most magical creatures do, but souls sound difficult to obtain.”

Vincent shook his head, and his eyes drifted closed. “Nope. I can take the whole thing by killing, or just part of it through blood drinking, though the best is by sex.”

“You can drink a soul with sex?”

Vincent yawned hard enough to crack his jaw. “It’s only part of the soul, but it’s the good part, the best part. I get it when they climax.” Vincent had the vague feeling that he shouldn’t be telling Sephiroth any of this, but he was so tired of keeping it all to himself.

“Taking a part of a soul doesn’t kill them?”

“Nope, grows back in three days.” Vincent curled up against Sephiroth’s hard warmth. “Smell good…” Like warm leather.

“I smell good?” Sephiroth chuckled softly. “That’s nice to know.”

Had he said that out loud? Vincent struggled to open his eyes and looked up at the man leaning over him. “Hey, um…” His thoughts suddenly scattered. “Uh…”

“Hm?” Sephiroth’s brows lifted. “What?”

Vincent frowned trying to gather his thoughts again. “Am I passive-aggressive?” He was pretty sure that that wasn’t what he wanted to ask, but it was as good as anything else.

Sephiroth snorted. “You seem rather demonstratively aggressive to me.”

Vincent had to think that over before he could place what it meant. ”Oh.” He smiled and pressed his cheek up against Sephiroth’s leg. “Well, that’s okay.”

Sephiroth picked up his book and patted Vincent on the head. “Sleep well.”

~ * ~

[clubofinfo]

Expert: Apparently there are seven things that piss off the Christian God more than anything else.  And, not surprisingly, those seven things are all common traits in both those who worship Him and in those of us who doubt or deny His existence.  Real or imaginary, you’ve gotta give the man upstairs credit for His sense of humor.  Too funny…incorporate faults and flaws into our DNA, and then punish us for them.  Even threats of Hellfire and damnation don’t seem to carry much weight in deterring good Christians from lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, or pride.  One would strongly suspect that a vast majority are CHRINOs (CHRistians In Name Only), smarter than they appear, and only in it for the sense of community, political correctness, and/or lucrative business contacts.  Some combination of those seven deadly sins plays a part in most forms of human bad behavior.  And in most instances, only extreme punishment (imminent death or lengthy incarceration) will deter any of us from being the nasty little lustful, gluttonous, greedy, slothful, wrathful, envious, and prideful monkeys we are. Lust The fake news consortium is awash with sordid tales of lustful, mostly powerful old men, who use their wealth and stature to justify sexual trespasses against mostly the young and vulnerable.  Lecherous, horny bastards from high levels of entertainment, politics, pro sports, and big business are taking the fall for letting the bad judgment of their genetilia guide their actions.  Sacrificial lambs in the Circus of Empire.  Charlie Rose was way overripe and due for replacement anyway.  It was no accident that lust is first on the list of sins.  It seems that there’s just no means of control over the basest of human activities. Although it ended abruptly about thirty years ago, I too fell victim to the advances of various sexual predators during my youth.  Ah yes, back before smooth skin, six-pack abs, a white smile, and a bushy head of hair gave way to blotchiness, wrinkles, flab, yellow teeth, and ears full of hair…I fell prey to quite a number of randy women, and a few men.  I simply rejected all the men, and even a few of the women.  Near as I can tell, I was not psychologically injured by any of these advances.  Being wanted and desired is complimentary.  Of course, old people preying on youngsters is deplorable, but the dance of life must go on.  Flirtations between adults should be expected and accepted by all.  Nobody really knows whether advances will be unwanted or not until contact is initiated. At the tender age of 22, I fell victim to one particularly insistent woman.  She forced herself upon me with great vigor, but it is impossible to rape a willing body, so I never complained.  In fact, she was 17 at the time, and in succumbing to her charms, I became the (statutory) rapist.  I did six years for my crime, as her husband and father to our daughter.  There’s a lot of gray area when it comes to lust, and the fake news loves anything that even smells racy.  Get over it!  Unless there is a small child, a corpse, a household pet, and/or violence involved, there’s nothing to get in a tizzy over.  It happens a billion times a day.  I’m ashamed to have wasted three paragraphs on the subject. Gluttony Back in the days when I was a young, careless glutton, I ate cows, pigs, fish, turkeys, and chickens with barely a thought to those billions of sentient creatures in brutal captivity.  I consumed the milk of cows, even as their young were denied the nourishment, and were being slaughtered for veal.  I deprived chickens of their progeny by devouring their eggs, while mixing their genetic material with flesh ripped from pigs, over a piping hot burner.  At a gut level, I knew I was being a thoughtless, brutal asshole.  But what’s a poor human to do, when all the best information is telling us that we NEED the protein.  We NEED the dead flesh of the designated sacrificial beings.  After all, who in his right mind would consider giving up In and Out Hamburgers? Selfishness may be the only reason most humans ever exhibit decent behavior.  In my case, I only gave up animal protein in favor of a plant-based diet because I became convinced that the gluttonous consumption of  dead animals is the major cause of cardiovascular disease, obesity, diabetes, Parkinson’s, and many cancers.  I did it for my own good.  I did it out of selfishness.  The decision had little to do with empathy or kindness.  Like all humans, I’m still an asshole, but now I’m an asshole who can look into a cow’s big brown eyes without guilt.  I can forget the sins of my past, and the cows will never be the wiser. Gluttony is second only to lust on Ye Shitlist o’ The Lord, and looking around, it appears that humans have not only overpopulated the earth with their lustful antics, they’ve filled it to overflowing with gluttonous, flabby, morbidly obese, thoughtless, brutal assholes.  Gotta blame much of this mess on God, Himself for telling His clueless minions that they should “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it; and rule over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky and over every living thing that moves on the earth.”  One of the best examples of The Lord’s dark sense of humor; with His blessings, the planet is overpopulated to bursting by gluttonous, fat-assed killers. Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, and Pride My country ’tis of thee, sweet land of greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride.  The other five deadly sins are the perfect ingredients for a country and its people, hooked on wars for profit.  Wall Street, the politicians it owns, and the military/intelligence divisions it controls are infinitely greedy for the resources of other lands.  Too slothful to find wealth by less violent means, their wrath is unleashed upon every country in possession of assets they envy.  And being the Exceptional Nation, the U.S.A. has no problem with stirring up a noxious soup of national pride, waving flags, and public support for its endless procession of wars.  Of thee I sing. Fifty years ago, I had a choice:  1. Stay in college and keep the 2S Deferment, which would keep me out of The Vietnam Fiasco for a while.  2. Drop out of college and head for safety in Canada.  3. Drop out of college and take my chances with the draft board.  or 4. Drop out of college and join the U.S. Navy, in order to avoid being drafted into the U.S. Army, and possibly becoming fertilizer for rice paddies in Vietnam.  I hated college, so choice #1 was out.  Number 4 was a possibility for a while, but the more I learned about military matters, the more I became convinced that I just wouldn’t fit into any of their uniforms.  So when it came down to a choice between possible prison time, and maybe never again seeing friends and family, I chose to stand my ground on U.S. soil.  My number came up, and I refused induction into the freaking Army.  Twice. Of course, I knew that war was wrong in every conceivable way.  Even as a young child, I wondered what made the mass-murder of warfare okay, when murder on a personal basis was illegal.  I’d sure like to be able to say that my anti-war stance was firmly rooted in empathy and compassion for all mankind, and to a great extent it was.  But to an even greater extent, I did it out of selfishness.  I did it to save my own ass from a kill or be killed scenario. After doing time for my crime, I found out that in virtually every war waged by my country of birth, the blood of young men was shed for the benefit of the already wealthy profiteers at the top of the economic ladder.  I learned that the U.S.A. grew out of the deaths of millions of Native Americans, and that the sweat of enslaved Africans greased the wheels of capitalism.  I found out about Manifest Destiny, the theft of the northern half of Mexico, the overthrow of the Hawaiian Monarchy, and a string of sordid wars across the globe, spanning two centuries.  It was a surprise to discover that the U.S.A. was behind Hitler’s rise to power, and largely responsible for 80 million deaths in World War II, and an even bigger surprise to find out about the Pentagon’s post-war plan to drop 204 atomic bombs on 66 Russian cities, and “Wipe The Soviet Union off the map.”  What a disappointment it must have been for our fighting forces when the world’s greatest fireworks show was not approved.  Since it is military policy to avoid counting the dead bodies, it is impossible to know the extent of American mayhem since WWII.  But according to James A. Lucas, my country is responsible for at least 20 million deaths in 37 countries since the end of the second war to end all wars. Just as summer must succumb to autumn, and autumn to dead, cold winter, all things must pass.  Cradles to graves, empires to dust.  I’ve never even fired a gun, and know nothing about weapons systems.  But fortunately The Saker does, and if he’s right, the bloody dance of the American Empire may be coming to an end.  It appears that while required reading at The Pentagon has been “The Power of Positive Thinking”, the Russian Military has been absorbed in “The Art of War”.  And while bloviating American politicians have been blathering about their country’s greatness, exceptionalism, and invulnerability, their Russian counterparts have been quietly building earth’s most formidable military arsenal.  Without going into detail (link to The Saker’s article), it now appears that The U.S. Empire is no longer militarily superior, nor invulnerable.  If this is correct, the long-standing nuclear standoff has tilted in extreme favor of the Russkies, and the United States now finds itself wielding a knife at a gunfight. Fortunately for those of us who live under the Stars and Stripes, who value and enjoy our allotted time to breathe, eat, procreate, and recreate, Vladimir Putin’s Russia represents a threat to no other country.  President Putin is apparently a wise man.  He understands human nature.  He knows that, as I stated above, selfishness may be the only reason most humans ever exhibit decent behavior.  He knows that capitalism has inadvertently castrated the U.S. Military Machine, and that The Pentagon must be aware that it is now in possession of simply second rate hardware.  Yes, America…the profits of Boeing, Northrop Grumman, and Raytheon are, and have always been, more important than the quality of their products.  Russian jets, missiles, and bombs cost much less, but pack unparalleled punch.  Thou art no longer exceptional, America.  Thou art second rate when it comes to weaponry, and had better start considering standing down.  Reconsider thy threatening stance, and understand that thy choice now involves simply life or death.  Maintain thy stance, and prepare to meet thy Maker, or do what is right and take thy place righteously in the world community. If there happens to be a just God or, much more likely, if we’re just lucky, The U.S. Empire will follow my fine example from the Vietnam era, and decide strongly against participation in World War III.  Whether righteous or selfish:  A sound decision is a sound decision.  Worst case scenario:  He’s watching from the clouds, pulling all the strings, waiting for the final fireworks show, and preparing for the biggest and best laugh He ever had. http://clubof.info/

[muinaru-novel-blog]

Chapter Ten - Prisoner

Erik awoke in a cold room, lit only by moonlight that streamed in through a wall of bars on the far side of the room. Slowly, he sat up from his wooden bench upon which he laid. The bench was old; the thick wood was marked with mysterious dark stains and had begun to crack and splinter. The walls were made from large bricks of stone, which were incredibly cold to the touch. Erik stood and listened; it was quiet, the only sound came from the occasional eerie howl of wind and the tap, tap, tap of dripping water.

Erik moved towards the bars that blocked the exit. The bars were old and rusty but, still, they were very thick; sturdy enough to keep someone detained. Outside of the bars was an arena of barred rooms, with a large tower erected in the centre. The arena stood several floors high but had no roof to protect it. Erik presided on the third floor up, which appeared mostly intact.

The floors were connected by two dilapidated stone staircases that were missing many steps, which must have had crumbled at some point. The stairs wound up the sides of the arena, climbing all the way up to the top. However, the very top floor had fallen apart; the tops of the walls were crumpling, many of bars had broken away from the cells walls, and the stairs to this floor now required some hefty long jumps to get there. The floors below were a little more intact, however, stone bricks and debris, which had fallen from above, littered the walkways around the barred rooms.

Slowly, Erik turned away into the room; his hands were quivering as he unclasped the bars. Then, suddenly, he froze as his gaze had landed upon two green eyes that sat in a dark corner, glistening in the moonlight. The owner of the eyes was cast in shadow; only their general size could be made out, which appeared far greater than Erik’s own stature.

Erik continued to freeze whilst the eyes remained fixed upon him. The eyes didn’t blink neither did the owner of them move a muscle; the figure simply remained concealed in the shadows, sitting stiff like a statue.

Cautiously, Erik retreated to his bench and the green eyes followed him. He sat down and still the green eyes followed. He dropped his gaze and muttered to himself, “It’s a dream, a very intense dream.”

A deep voice grumbled from the dark, “This place is no dream.” The green eyes rose and a tall man walked out from the shadows. He was lean and broad. His shoulders were dressed in a thick cape that reached down to his knees. Under the cape he wore a thick coat that stopped at his waist, which was made from a tightly knitted fabric and was kept closed using large toggles made from large animal teeth. Around his waist was a fur cloth, which was kept in place by a strong leather belt. The fur cloth overlapped the brim of his thick trousers, which tucked into the top of his large boots that were heavily scratched and scuffed.

The man further added to his initial comment, “Though, this place maybe be a nightmare.” and walked further into the moonlight, revealing his peculiar face. His ears were thrice the size of a normal man’s and his nose twice if not thrice the size too, (depending upon the man). His skin was tanned to a dark shade of caramel and his hair was jet black. His hairstyle wasn’t traditional; it was kept long just a few centimetres above the top of his ears, and was tied around at the back into a small bun, whilst the back and sides were shaven very short, leaving only a shadow of his hair visible. Upon the left side of his face, his shaven hair was split by three parallel scares, like claw marks.

The man sat beside Erik and looked out of the bars. He inhaled and remarked, “You’re not from around here, are you?” Erik kept silent. The man then leant in and enquired more sternly, “You’re an earthling, aren’t you?”

Erik timidly replied, “Human, yes.”

The man smiled and proclaimed, “I knew it. You can tell the difference by the hair.”

“The hair?”

“It’s a bit thinner and the colour of it has no purply gleamier.” Suddenly the man snorted and remarked, “But you’re not very tall. I thought ‘humans’ were taller.” The man waved his hand over the boy’s head and added, “Are you eating enough?”

Erik smirked, “I’m only fourteen … I still have a lot of growing to do.”

“Oh, right.” The man then asked sympathetically, “First time in prison?”

Erik replied solemnly, “Yes.”

“First time in Kotala?”

“Urm, I guess so.”

“What do you mean, you guess so?”

Erik shrugged, “I don’t really know where Kotala is.”

The man smiled, “You don’t know where you are? You’re in Mylox, my world. You, earthlings, are from Earth. How could you end up here and not know that?”

“Well, I didn’t plan on being here.”

The man chuckled, “You’ve been unfortunate then.” The man held out his grubby hand and explained, “The name is Herax.” Erik reached out hesitantly but Herax quickly clasped Erik’s forearm firmly, pulling him forward and gave his arm a good shake.

Erik replied in turn, “The name is Erik.”

As Herax dropped the boy’s hand, he frowned and explained, “I was farmer once but my farm is gone now. Those shades saw to that. But it has given me the chance to lead a brigade against the shades. You’ve always got to look on the bright side. Been doing it for seven years now.” Quickly he smiled and asked, “What about you earthling boy? What do you do?”

Erik replied, “Well, nothing, I’m err… still in school.”

Herax grunted, “School, I see.”

“I’ve done some paper rounds.”

“What’s that?”

“Delivering newspapers.”

“Right.” Herax nodded.

Erik timidly asked, “What exactly are the shades?”

Herax looked shocked and scorned, “You don’t know much, do you?”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Not a thing.”

“Well, a few things.”

“What are these things?”

“I know about a strange lake.”

Herax nodded, “And that’s how you got here.”

“I know of those creatures that grabbed me are called ‘shades’.”

Herax frowned, “You’re lucky those shades didn’t turn you.” His face stiffened and his brow crumpled as he explained, “Shades are a plague across this territory. They drain the living beings of their spirit until they become nothing but shadows like them. Their lives become one of hunger, never able to satiate their desire for food and water. They can feed indefinitely and never be full.”

Erik asked, “What are the larger ones?”

“The larger ones are still shades, but they have fed excessively. You see, shades can never us energy, they merely consume it; drain it from the living. The more they consume the bigger they get and the worse they smell.”

Erik gulped, “Where did they come from.”

Herax shook his head, “It’s not really known, but they arrived less than a decade ago, when great tragedy struck a frontier city.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a city that borders the belt of lands with no civilisation, or at least, any known civilisation. Anyway, technology brought in by an earthling was used to destroy the city. A bomb of destructive power.”

Erik uttered the only sound that came to his head, “Oh.”

“Sometime after that day these shades began to appear, they spread and now they are everywhere in Kotala. But the Sun keeps them from spreading any farther out of Kotala.”

“Why’s that?”

“Intense levels of energy destroys them, but they’re not stupid. They stay well away from the sunlight.”

“So, who did the bombing?”

“That’s a great mystery. Many suspect the wargos, but they haven’t been found guilty.” Before Erik could ask he explained, “Wargos are a being of this world.”

“Oh, do you believe they did it.”

Herax shook his head, “Nah, they’re not intelligent enough to have done it.”

“Oh,” Erik responded before asking, “So, why do you think the shades imprisoned us?”

“I’ve never heard of a shade imprisoning anything. This is an old prison built by beings before my time. Typically, they use it to hide themselves from the sun, or hoard shiny red objects.” Herax hummed and added, “Maybe they’re becoming organised. Maybe they’re now gathering beings to be consumed at a regular rate.”

Erik gulped, “Consumed?”

“You know, drained, like I was talking about earlier.”

Erik stuttered, “But, we …  we can break out of here, r-right?”

Herax lamented, “This prison was built to detain some of the cruellest and cunningest of criminals, so I wouldn’t entertain any ideas of hope, boy. The bars are thick, the guards are many, and ... well … hmm … I started that believing there would be a third thing, but I suppose that’s pretty much sums up a prison; bars and guards.”

Erik added, “Walls?”

“Of course. The bars are thick, the guards are many and the walls are … hmm … I can’t say thick again.”

“high.”

“Of course. The bars are …”

“Do you really have to say it? I know what you going to say.”

“Alright, no need to be so miserable. Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh yes. We’re stuck in here and eventually we’re going die a horrible death and become a shade. Yes.” He paused, gazed sternly upon Eric, leaned in and whispered intensely, “We will never, ever, ever, escape this hell.” Suddenly, Herax stopped and rose up. He smiled and chirped, “Oh wait, the gate is open. Never mind, follow me boy.”

“Huh?”

“The gate, its open, we can leave, let’s go.” Herax walked up to the bars and pushed opened gate to the prison cell. “Come on, let’s go Erik.”

Erik sneered and his brow crossed. He asked, “the gate was just open?” He stood and walked over to the gate, adding as he reached Herax’s side, “You just noticed it was open?”

Herax grinned, “Sure. But, keep low and quiet as we leave. Also, follow me, don’t go off on you own.”

The two left the prison cell, crouching low to the floor, and scuttled along the walkway, clambering over fallen rumble. After a several metres they stopped in front of another man who looked much like Herax; large nose and ears. Herax introduced, “Erik this is Skrik.” He then said more seriously to Skrik, “Where are the others.”

Skrik replied, keeping his gaze fixed up Erik, “They’re just waiting farther up,” he then enquired, “Where’d the boy come from?”

Herax shrugged, “I just saw him sleeping in a cell. Apparently, he was detained by shades, so he says.”

Skrik grimaced, “What? I’ve never heard them do that. Sounds fishy to me. He’s probably a spy.”

Herax shook his head, “He’s an earthling.”

Skrik’s eyebrows nearly rose of his head as he asked, “What’s an earthling doing here.”

Herax shrugged, “We’ll find I guess, but now is not the time.”

Erik demanded in a low voice, “What are you talking about? What’s going on? Were you not a prisoner?”

Herax smirked, “Nope, but shades are very much real and are crawling all over this place. Oh, and we are of course going to escape, I was just screwing with you.”

Skrik quickly interposed, “Herax, we really must go.’

Herax affirmed, “Yes.” He grabbed Erik by the shoulder and explained firmly, “We need to leave this place, so keep quiet, only speak when necessary and when spoken too. No pointless questions, got it?” Erik nodded. “Follow me and keep close.”

They moved on through the rumble, keeping low to the ground as they went, until they reached a stone bridge. The bridge was damaged and had started to break apart. Sections of the banister hand broken away and a few holes had been chipped away around the edges.

Herax stopped at the beginning of the bridge and looked over to the tower in the centre, as did Erik. At the top of the tower, scuttling back and forth, were dozens of shades. The silhouette of their thin, frail bodies could be seen against the moonlight gleaming over the tip over the tower.

Erik pinched Herax’s shirt and asked, “Won’t we be seen?” pointing to the shades.

Herax snapped, “What did I say about questions? We’ll be fine, just keep low.”

Skrik went first across the bridge. He dropped down to his stomach and army crawled across to the other side. “Okay,” Herax began, “You’re next, boy. Keep low to the ground and don’t get up until you’re off the bridge.” Erik dropped and crawled across. Herax wasted no time and followed close behind. Once they reach the end, they reverted to their crouch position and continued along the walkway, with Skrik leading the way.

Eventually, they met a woman, a female of Herax’s kind. Her nose and ears were a little smaller, but her cheek bones were larger. She explained as Herax came near, “The explosives are in place and the crew is waiting by the exit.”

Herax unpinned his cape, unveiling the plates of leather armour on shoulders and the unusual gun affixed his hip. He unlatched the gun, which was imprinted with a symbol of an electric bolt upon the handle, and handed to the woman. The woman in turn passed to Herax a long, curved sword. The handle was unusually bulky and, again, an electric bolt symbol was imprinted upon the handle.

Erik asked cautiously, “What’s that?”

Herax replied, “Protection ─”

The woman abruptly asked, as she concealed the gun handed to her, “Where’s the boy come from?”

Herax smiled, “Sorry, Erik this is Freta.” He looked at Freta and explained, “I found the boy in one of the cells. He’s an earthling who claims he was arrested by the shades, but I don’t know why shades would do that.”

Freta threw forward a coat and asked, “Is this the boy’s?”

Erik smiled, “That’s my coat.”

Freta smirked and held up a little book, “It had this inside.”

The corners of Erik’s mouth dropped and he muttered, “That’s mine too.”

Herax took the book and examined it. He looked at Freta and compressed his lips as he frowned. He turned sharply and asked, “Who gave you this book?”

Erik replied expediently, “I found it.”

“Where?”

“It was in the fireplace at an old house.”

“Whose house?”

“I don’t know. I think it was some guy called Kingdom.”

Herax sighed, “Fool!” He slipped the book inside his coat and explained, “We don’t have time for this. We need to move.” Herax threw back the coat to Erik and added, “I’ll be keeping the book.”

As Herax turned away, Eric Immediately began searching the pockets, checking for the pocket watch. It was still there, along with the scrap of folded paper he’d found.

Herax whispered loudly, “Come on you stupid boy. Let’s go.”

Eric enquired, “Where are we going?”

Herax snubbed, “What did I say about questions.”

The continued down to a crew waiting by a large hole in the wall, with an equally large round grill sitting by against the wall close by. The hole in the wall oozed a green sludge, which poured out from the bottom and pooled onto the floor. It was smeared and covered in recent footprints.

Erik rhetorically asked with disgust in his tone, “You came through the sewers?”

Herax scowled, “Oh, I’m sorry, maybe we should have knocked on the front door and asked the shades whether it would be convenient for them if a little princess, such as yourself, could just walk in and have a look around?”

Erik frowned and kept quiet

Herax turned back to the crew and began, “Okay, Tyru.” He looked at a man about the same age as himself and with similar features, big nose and ears. Tyru was missing his right hand little-finger and the rest of his hand was visibly scared by burns. His hair was shaven short all over but he wasn’t bald, in fact his hair line moved in close on the temple of his forehead. His cloths were much like Herax’s, however, his coat was kept closed with the use of typical buttons. Herax commanded, “You lead the crew out, I’ll be right behind. Once we’re out, push through forest, then we’ll detonate charges just as the sun rises. Any questions?”

A younger man, again with big ears and nose, raised his hand. His hair was cut short, the sides were pattern with diagonal strips, whilst the top was merely trimmed short. Wrapped around his shoulder was a large gun, with several warning signs of possible death by electric shock plastered across the barrel. The young man snarked as he pointed at Erik, “When did we get a little apprentice?”

Herax rolled his eyes, he looked at Erik and explained, “This is Muran the moron.” He gazed around the crew and announced, “I’ll explain at the airship, right now we need to move.”

Tyru stepped into the sewer pipe and, quickly, the rest of the crew followed, climbing inside one by one. Herax helped Erik up by interlocking his fingers to create a step and hoisting Erik inside. Although the sewer was no longer in use, it still smelt rancid. Many different creatures had died and decayed in the pipe, which had created a cesspit of unwelcoming smells.

As they crawled Muran kept up the morale with terrible jokes all the way through pipe, “This was a crap plan.”, “I wonder if this leads to the poop deck.”, “I hope we’re the only one’s evacuating into the sewer.”, “Smells like that curry place back home.”

[brooke--myers18-blog]

What is happy? "Everything you are could be everything you were. As I exhaled a rush came over me that I had never imagined. No longer did I taste the recycled air jumping in and out of my lungs. this breath belonged to me for the first time. I could feel the links of every chain that tied me down to reality being broken one by one. This isnt the kind of freedom my president speaks about. This is real. The exhilaration of this foreign feeling had made me utterly oblivious to the fact that my eyelashes had become hundred pound barbells, determined to deal my eyelids shut. I struggled to form a sentence as the words " I'm good" dripped out of my mouth, barely making it past my teeth. Had I known this was my last statement, I would have attempted to put it more eloquently. The world as I knew it slowly faded to black as I fell into an infinite slumber. Welcome to the dream. The second you turn that last page is the beginning of your new life. You're just taking your first breath. These are your first thoughts. Congratulations, you've successfully completed the first portion of being you. This is where the fun starts. As of right now, you officially have no past. Everything prior to this moment will no longer be affecting your present in any way. You are now everything you want to pursue. You are every personality trait you admired, and most importantly, you are in charge. I strongly encourage you to act, thing, speak, and participate like never before. However, there are some key ingredients to ensure the success of this new life. You must know what you want. You must believe without a doubt you will obtain it. I understand this can sound somewhat intimidating and I know some people have no idea what they want right now. Well I'm here to let you know that the sooner you figure it out, the better. This includes relationships, occupation, happiness, Heath, financial well-being, and everything in between. You can always add more to the list as you go along, but consider the things you enjoy in life most, and focus on those. Start thinking. You can literally get anything you want if every thought is paired with a sense of affirmation. For example, instead of saying " I want to be happy", say " I am happy". It's all about the act of doing and being in pursuit. It's time to look in the mirror and see everything you desire. It will take imagination and self-control, but we have all been given both those things for free. Let's start the dream. One of my favourite pieces of advice is: If you want a new car, go test drive it. See what it's like to get behind the wheel of your dream car. The smell of the leather, grip of the tires and purr of the engine. Hold these things very close to you. Think about them. The power of new environment. This tool is the compas on the journey to finding yourself. Do new things and go to new places. As a touring musician, I wake up in a new state everyday for months at a time. People who've never seen my face, or heard my me speak constantly surround me. I'm free to allow my chameleon-like soul to take on any desired personality trait. We have no past to those we haven't met. When people don't have a preconceived idea of who we are, we can let go of what we don't want to be and become whomever we intend on being. Sometimes it may become necessary to leave behind people or things that are holding us back from the destiny we are creating. Meeting new people is like a slingshot thrusting you towards this new you. duce yourself. Just simply say hello. Not too long ago, I redesigned every aspect of my existence. I decided I was going to be the most enjoyable person possible for people to be around. That's where it all started. It was simple. All I had to do was be fun. I'd walk into every room and introduce myself to everyone in it. I'd deliver every handshake with a smile. No matter what, I was going to leave that room with a bunch of new friends. After a very short time doing this, I began to see its effects. People started to tell me how much more enjoyable life was and how much better they felt with me in the same room. My happiness was not only doing wonders for me, but for everyone around me as well. We are all here to be happy. At that exact moment, I was reborn. I realised how simple it was for everything you are to become everything you were. We are extremely powerful, and control everything about ourselves. You have the ability to shed unwanted layers of skin, and become brand new, right now. Chapter 2- Bright Side of a Dark Moment The power of positivity. Have you ever wondered why right now is called the present? It's because it's the greatest gift anyone could receive. You're alive. You woke up this morning and that's a reason to celebrate. I credit all my happiness and successes to the power of the mind. Saying it's powerful is somewhat of an understatement. We were once prehistoric, un-evolved creatures who knew absolutely nothing. Then one day we discovered fire and everything changed. Then another day we invented the wheel and everything changed again. Before you knew it, we developed and entire civilisation and here we are. That's powerful, but what we're about to discuss goes far deeper than those layers of the mind. The brain is a muscle, and like a bicep the more you use it, the stronger it gets. It contains so much infinite ability and power we can't even understand how to acces its entirety. Everything that happens in your life was born first within your mind. You may not know it, but you're creating your own identity right this very second. Every thought that enters your head also leaves it. The universe is taking orders from your mind 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. You're solely responsible for everything great in your life. You're also responsible for everything you wish didn't happen as well. The universe is always listening, and it's time to take advantage of that. You don't have to be careful what you wish for, but you should be full of care. Do not be weary or neglect your thoughts. Think all the time, just make sure you want what you're thinking about. What first turned me on to this way of thinking and living is the law of attraction. This law simply states your mentality is your reality. No matter who you are, your mind has a direct connection to the universe, and as individuals we personally choose how to embrace that. Now, the next thing I share with you will prove to be a turning point in the creation of the rest of your life: The universe is completely unbiased. Let's say someone is speeding down the highway in a car and suddenly sees red and blue lights flashing in the rear view mirror. They pull off to the side of the road and get issued a speeding ticket. " I hate speeding tickets!", the driver reacts. " I never want another speeding ticket again." It appears that the driver just expressed a dislike for speeding tickets, but it's actually quite the contrary. The only thing the universe heard is the driver say "speeding ticket" two times. The universe is unbiased and doesn't pay attention to words like "want" or "don't want". All it hears is the focus of your words and thoughts. The universe believes we want everything we think about, so think about what you want. I receive messages daily from people telling me that they were the law of attraction for a couple weeks and it was working really well, but then suddenly the bad days took over again. I tell everyone the exact same thing; the challenge is the best part. Every challenge is the universe's way of letting you know you're on the right track. The universe is a teacher, and as we learned in school, to reach the next level you must pass the test. You must prove that when faced with rain, you can still shine bright. Once you pass the test, you move on to the next level of your relationship with the universe. Eventually, after successfully enduring these challenges, the universe begins to hand you nothing but good fortune. Have you ever heard the saying "its always darkest before dawn"? This is true, though there's more to it than that. You will be challenged, but once your sun comes up, it doesn't ever have to go back down. Those bad days are actually prepelling you towards a series of never ending good ones. That is, if you deal with them correctly. Prove to the universe you can stand up to any unfortunate event. Be thankful when the unexpected happens, because now you have the chance to exercise the ability to shine. Even a situation as devastating as someone's death has a light of positivity. Of course we miss them dearly, but they were here, and we were fortunate enough to share moments with them. Our memories made, and memories left will live on forever. Not only is the universe always listening, it's watching too. Simple good deeds like picking up trash or helping an elderly woman cross the street don't go unnoticed. Personally, I accept all organised relations as possibilities, but choose not to conform to any. I do however exercise a form of karma daily. I like to call it "the circle". Every action we make is a single dot that will eventually connect itself and form a circle. Each good decision will be reintroduced to another good decision somewhere down the line. That also means each bad decision will reappear as well. There are so many opportunities to earn an extra credit in this world. Most of these opportunities will involve the way you interact with other people. Each one of us shares this planet with nearly 7 billion other human beings. Although I'd live for everyone to think the same way I do about positivity, I just can't expect for it to be that way all the time. The world is built off of interactions with others, and quite honestly, if everyone were the same there would be no need for any of us. It's very important to realise that if the opposite of what you believe in didn't exist, you'd have nothing to believe in. *Without bad, we wouldn't know what to call good. Without lies, we wouldn't know what truth is. Always be accepting. We need the opposite, and it needs us. Thinking positive will always lead to a better outcome. A great example is by simply looking up. Literally. Walk outside, and look up. The sky is endless and filled with possibility. Now look down. No matter where you are, you will see an ending below. You decide whether or not to look up or down at every situation that occurs. Let unexpected incidents roll off you like rain drops dancing down your bedroom window. Now, if a negative thought pops into your head head that doesn't mean you're doing something wrong. Negative thoughts may happen, but it's all about how you deal with them."

Modsun