#ah yes graphic design is my prison

[luckcycler]

Some of the rules to be read and adhered to in Heartbreak 💔

[phantomphangphucker]

Phic Phight: [REDACTED] “Oh Goddamnit. DANNY!”

Prompt Creator: @mr-lancers-english-class

Even Danny’s school projects cause ghostly issues and Lancer really should have seen this coming.

Alright fine, Lancer knew this was a bad idea. He knew it. And yet... here they all are, with each of his students doing their self-chosen presentations. And as he should have expected, Every. Single. One. has been on Phantom. Sure at least there’s been some variety. Star’s piece on his fashion and how that reflects on his personality and the era he died was actually fairly interesting (if it wasn’t for the fact that Phantom spiced up his jumpsuit with t-shirts and whatnot sometimes then this would have been a very boring one). Kwan also surprised him some, apparently he’s spent the past year or so sneaking photos of Phantom eating and did a piece on Phantom’s rather peculiar food tastes (who dips their pickles in milkshakes???) as well as effectively providing proof for the existence of ectoplasmic food (there’s no way any earth apples are neon green on the inside). Dash’s wasn’t even correctly calculated, trying to figure out how far Phantom could throw footballs based on his known strength and if he could kill someone by tackling them (disturbingly the answer -regardless of Dash’s bad math- was decidedly yes. Daniel seemed particularly disturbed). And Paulina’s was quite literally a badly written self-insert ship fan fic; the added drawings of what their child would look like only made it worse (Daniel left, not that Lancer could blame him. Lancer’s also glad for the ghost fight interrupting the presentation). Emilie’s was... disturbingly about ghost hunger and purposed the thesis that Phantom, for the good of the town, should eat the aggressor ghosts (he actually had to cut her off for getting too graphic).

But the single most interesting thing was that a ghost apparently caught wind of this and literally Every. Single. Presentation so far had words that were permanently replaced with [REDACTED], which, needless to say, caused some chaos when Samantha gave the very first presentation.

-

Lancer clicked his pen, crossing his legs and resting the evaluation sheet on his thigh, “alright, Samantha. Feel free to start whenever you please, though soon would be preferred”, by ‘preferred’ he had meant required, but no need to be mean. He chooses to ignore the goth teen's eyeroll.

Predictably the projected screen doesn’t work when she opens her file so Lancer has to spend ten minutes fiddling with the outdated tech that they wouldn’t give the school funding to replace. Eventually, he does get it up and running showing Ms. Manson’s title screen reading ‘Phantom And Hate Crimes Against Blood Blossoms’. Lancer’s positive ‘blood blossoms’ are a type of flower, figures she would do something nature-focused. She’d make for a great herbalist or botanist someday. He does catch Daniel and Tucker giving her ‘death glares’, as the kids call it, though; Samatha doesn’t look any less smug. The second page has what he thinks was supposed to be a detailed drawing of a flower but it’s severely pixilated, almost as if it been blurred; Samantha looks visibly upset so he’s going to assume something when wrong with the file or pasting format. He’s not marking on artistic capabilities though, so effort is effort there.

She quickly clicks to the next page, where the actual writing of the assignment is and looks decidedly pissed; Lancer even quirks an eyebrow since at least two-thirds of the words are a very bold noticeable [REDACTED]. Lancer watches her yank out her physical copy while glaring with murderous intent at Daniel -Lancer will have to dock him marks if he messed with another student's project- before looking at the physical copy in bafflement for a few seconds. Half the class shrieking when she drops the papers and basically launches herself over the desks at Daniel, “OH YOU LITTLE FUCKER!!!! HOW THE FUCK!”.

Lancer’s sighs and stands, “language, Ms. Manson”, moving to pick up the papers and quirking an eyebrow over them looking the same. Sighing again and eyeing Daniel, who’s being choked -or throttled perhaps?- by Samantha yet is grinning innocently. “Daniel, messing with other students' work is against student policy”, sighing yet again, “and I’ll let Star go while Samantha fixes her document”, summoning up the blonde while glaring at Daniel. Some days that boy was more trouble than he was worth but he was also insanely bright and had a heart of gold. Lancer knows he’ll do good things someday, and that’s why he still tries with him.

Half the class is snickering or laughing now and Star is very clearly trying not to laugh as she sets up.

However, as soon as it opens up the class is met with a very familiar sight. [REDACTED] litters every single page; he checked. And Star’s physical copy was in the same state.

Kwan blinks, “okay seriously, what is going on”, before scrambling to grab out his own physical copy; the rest of the class going wide-eyed and following suit. Lancer just puts his head in his hands and sighs very audibly while shaking his head. Why could nothing go right? Sighing again as the class erupts into noise.

“Mines all weird too!”.

“Same here!”.

“Okay there is no way Fenturd messed up everyone’s work”.

“And I actually tried on mine! It was about the merits of Phantom getting armour!”.

“Oh damn do we just get auto hundreds now? Please please please say yes”.

“Oh damn, Phantom would actually look awesome in armour”.

“I know right”.

“Can we just skip class entirely now?”.

“Oh my Zone a ghost messed with or work”.

“Holy Shit”.

“Wait! Wait! Wait! You don’t think Phantom did do you?”.

“Why the heck would he do that? How would he even know??????”.

“Oh I hope Phantom was inside my computer. That would be so hot”.

“Oh I don’t know, maybe someone told him or he overheard shit. He’s a ghost, he can be invisible. Heck, he could be here, right now, invisible”.

“Invisible and laughing at us”.

“No! No! Hold up! What if he doesn’t want us writing about him or maybe someone wrote some sus shit and he just nerfed us all for good measure”.

“That would mean Phantom totally read my stuff, aw Hell yeah man. That was some boss shit”,

Lancer sighs and stands up, “alright that’s enough”, sighing again because why did this have to happen to him, “and I apologies for blaming you earlier, Daniel”.

Samantha snaps, “oh no, I still blame him”, and continues glaring at the teen. Lancer suspects Samantha would continue blaming the boy even if it was firmly proven he wasn’t at fault.

Addressing the class again, “here’s what we’re going to do, you’re going to read off what of your projects you actually can and allude to the rest. Please reframe from repeating what you know was there beforehand as I’d rather not have whatever ghost responsible -Phantom or otherwise- come here pissed off”, glaring at few students who look slightly encouraged rather than discouraged by that prospect, “anyone who does will receive automatic zeroes”, ah and the encouraged looks have deflated. Good. Gesturing at Star, “you’re already up here, so do continue”. Better to not bring the clearly infuriated Samantha back to the front until she’s had some time to calm down.

Star nods and clears her throat, thankfully everyone quiets down. “O-okay, well, um”, gesturing at the screen, “I did my piece on Phantom’s sense of fashion and the cover image was one with him dressed in one of the Spook Sense stores meme shirts....”.

-

Lancer shakes away the memory, he honestly slightly regrets giving this project. But regardless right now is Daniel’s turn and Lancer is honestly slightly fearful of what his file is going to look like. Thankfully all their files were saved to his computer before the [REDACTED] debacle, so no one could go back in and edit theirs to add [REDACTED]’s for an easy grade. Lancer’s still not exactly sure how he’s supposed to mark assignments that were anywhere from one-fifth to one-third [REDACTED]. That word will be burned into his head after this grading period.

Lancer moves to find the boys file, but stares when clicking it crashes the computer. Not once. Not twice. But thrice. The fourth time rebooting the computer he inspects the file and is a bit dumbfounded, “Daniel, your entire file’s corrupted. The file type has even been changed to redacted, which I’m fairly sure, isn’t actually any possible file designation”. Everyone’s silent for a bit before bursting out into laughter.

“Just what the Zone did you write, Danny!”.

“Oh we so have to know what this is now”.

“Danny has the forbidden knowledge! We haft found him! The keeper of things forbidden and Ghostly! Haza!”.

“Ha! It was probably so lame that Phantom wanted to save him the embarrassment”.

Lancer sighs, but Daniel gestures Tucker up, “hey Tuck, feel like trying to fix the file”. Tucker chuckles and walks up, though apparently glaring at the boy. Based on Daniel’s smirk he finds this quite amusing.

Tucker does manage to make the file viewable at least. Lancer nods and leans back in his seat, “thank you, Mr. Foley”, while the file loads on screen.

Tucker sits back down with a head shake while Daniel stands at the front and gestures to the screen, “aight, as you can see from my not redacted title-”, that earns a couple laughs, “I did mine on Phantom’s portfolio of crime. Every single time our dear Phantom broke ghost law. Including such wonderful things as, that time he caused not one, not two, not even three, but five, prison breaks in one day. Or that time he invalidated a Observant spectator duel by bringing an inflatable sword”. Samantha slams a hand on her desk, “IT IS YOUR FAULT YOU DICK!”.

Lancer has some serious questions as Daniel clicks for the next page, the entire class going dead silent as a screen comprising of almost nothing but the word [REDACTED] shows. Lancer sighs very audibly. Eventually the class starts up again.

“Fenton... actually has forbidden knowledge”.

“If it wasn’t for the teacher computer saved thing I’d think he was fucking with us”.

“I mean... he is a Fenton, right?”.

“Okay the fact that this entire presentation is on ghost crimes is concerning alone. But they’re forbidden ghost crimes at that”.

“Shit I wanted the tea. Damnit”.

“Better question, how does Danny know?”.

Daniel clicking the button to go forward is very audible. And, Chicken Soup For The Soul, every single page is [REDACTED] to the point of being completely and utterly unintelligible. There are occasional lines pointing out how Phantom apparently ate confetti at a ghosts third wedding (which is apparently illegal for some reason) or that time he beat someone up with a violin that had a pie inside it (Lancer can see this one, Lancer himself has smacked a ghost with stranger).  Literally the only photo that isn’t blurred beyond recognition is one of Phantom in a prison uniform (Paulina was very vocal about liking men in uniform here). Lancer is absolutely positive the end of his conclusion ‘[REDACTED] are a bunch of [REDACTED]’ is an insult.

Samantha chucks a boot at his smirking face, “YOU IDIOT. Of course they were going to block you from talking about them. Ancients, I can’t believe you”. Tucker’s busy laughing into his hand.

“Oh my Zone, they know too”.

“They’re really earning that weirdo trio title, huh”.

Daniel snickers as he sits back down, “they broke into my room and wrecked that epic puzzle I was working on. They shoulda seen this shit coming. Literally”. Tucker snorts, “they probably did but couldn’t do anything else about it. They can’t stop you and your endless bullshit”.

“Damn fucking straight”.

Lancer isn’t going to claim to know what exactly they’re talking about but apparently Daniel effectively orchestrated this entire fiasco just to annoy some ghost. Lancer is honestly more impressed than disturbed. A for effort but an A- for making everyone's work nigh unusable.

End.

Prompt: For the last project of their senior year in high school, Mr. Lancer is letting his class do presentations on literally whatever topic they want. He is very, /very/ sure that this is going to go poorly, but that's a problem for later...

[ladyfawkes]

Eugene Appreciation Week | Day 6: Protect and Sacrifice

Desiderium by @Ladyfawkes and @trekkiehood

Current Chapter 10: Never Surrender

Current word count: 18868

Rated T for graphic descriptions of violence, physical torment, events during a POW setting

Chapter Summary: For the first time since being attacked and abducted, Eugene wakes up.

Chapter 10: Never Surrender

The first time Eugene awoke, he had been turned on his side. Someone had placed the tapered part of a large syringe in his mouth. He gagged on the warm stream of saltwater being actively injected and immediately began vomiting, which in turn yanked and pulled and twisted up all of the severed and injured muscles and tissues just below and to the right of his stomach. It felt as if his guts were on fire and actively trying to push themselves out of the wounds that cursed sword had given him. He tried to bring his arms down to fold them around his wound in front but he’d found his wrists were tightly bound with ropes instead.

“It huuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrts,” he howled mournfully, in earshot of whomever was near. Or at least he would’ve howled, had his cry not cut out halfway through. Only then did he realize how stupid he was to have used his voice. Instantly, he became so drained he started shaking. For he not only unwittingly revealed this weakness to his enemy, the action induced Eugene to use the most injured, raw parts of himself. His reaction, however, had at least been visceral, instinctive, and utterly involuntary; he had no control over it. However, if Eugene thought he’d felt nausea and pain before, that was almost nothing compared to how he’d felt in the here and now.

After Eugene had fallen unconscious, he’d clearly and repeatedly aspirated what little stomach contents he possessed into his lungs and sinuses. A pained groan escaped him regardless; His raw throat and sinuses pulsed with a dull throb in the back of his head every time he tried drawing a breath.

“Believe it or not, I am trying to help,” said a tiny voice beside him. “Sometimes, though, it’s gotta get worse before it can feel better,” continued the voice. Gradually, Eugene’s top half was raised at an angle. The old cloth beneath him soaked with blood and vomit was removed and replaced; the fresh one was folded over several times and placed underneath his nose, mouth, chin, and neck. He was still on his side but was given a bolster to put under his ear and top half of his head as further support at this new elevated angle. His shaking slowed slightly. However, in the back of his mind, Eugene still recalled how precarious was his position. Therefore he could not bring himself to trust this mystery medical person. The captain was still bound at the wrists and ankles, after all. He assumed his boots were long gone. There was no way they’d leave footwear accessible for a prisoner -- especially not one they’d have no intention of ever releasing.

Rather than finding any comfort in what had just been said or done by this funny-voiced person, Eugene stiffened as the syringe wielder injected even more saltwater into each nostril. Though Eugene still choked, coughed, and gagged very violently, the entry-and-exit wounds through his midsection were simultaneously given moderate compression from either side until he’d cleared out the last of the salt water. The compression action alone had diminished his pain, nausea, and the nasty sensation that his guts were spilling out by about 30%. And he didn’t throw up again either. For the time being.

“I would cut your bindings, as they’re so useless and even cumbersome,” mumbled the voice, “but Regis would have us both hanged immediately….” Though Eugene struggled valiantly and tried to become an active information-gatherer like his training demanded, nothing proved to him that he was too far out of his element more than the traumas of this particular interaction. Even his own weakness shocked him. Though the name “Regis” had instantaneously provoked distinct emotions from within.

The mystery person again mopped up Eugene’s face from the deluge of saltwater. “I know that was awful,” commiserated the individual, “but I’m betting your throat and sinuses are no longer killing you. That it’s much less painful to breathe, at least from your neck up?”

Eugene said nothing….and only scowled until he did gingerly test breathing…. and it was indeed far easier and less painful now that the aspirated stomach acid had been cleared away. Buuuuuut he had this permanent stitch now, this ache below his right lung….Eugene seriously wondered whether he would ever breathe deeply again.

“Well, that’s all right, playin’ possum,” said the voice. Can’t say as I blame you, nosiree, captain in the enemy camp and all….” and the person bustled about, chattering aloud to Eugene but mostly to himself. “Oh, and my name is Clarence, my designation here is ‘apothecary’, although my duties compass a great deal more.” Was it just Eugene, or did ‘Clarence’ sound a little bitter? Could this be a rift Eugene could press to his advantage? “This possum skill is good,” the Clarence person rejoined, “because the more ill and unconscious you are, the more put-off Regis will be…..I know since he already walked away once due to being so disgusted by the state of you. You were supposed to have been brought whole and unharmed….and Javeen, Regis’s 2nd, truly learned to regret his actions.”

Eugene’s shivering persisted and worsened although it was clearly a warm day outside. He had no earthly idea how much time had passed since he was first abducted nor how long it had been that he’d worn anything from the waist up due to being stripped down by...Javeen, was it? He guesstimated it had been at least two days since he’d eaten or drank anything...but it felt more like 6 or 7 days because of his injuries. As an orphan, Eugene knew well the ravages of starvation. He’d faced it many times as a child and youth and young adult. And this was….not like that. At all. It was infinitely worse.

Though this small apothecary minding Eugene clearly couldn’t match him in size, he removed and shared his tunic nonetheless. Or at least he attempted to share. “I’ve got on several layers,” mumbled the little man….

“Curse it,” the apothecary finished, as he realized Eugene couldn’t possibly be dressed in normal clothing while still bound at the wrists. And a few seconds later, very abruptly, Eugene’s wrists were blissfully cut free of the ropes that had bound him.

In another wholly involuntary action, Eugene automatically turned from his side to his back, his arms fully separating so his chest could expand and he could breathe in the air his oxygen-deprived body so desperately needed.

The apothecary seemed to have anticipated his needs and again gave Eugene compression so as to minimize the sensation his guts were falling out as he greedily sucked in more and more shuddering lungfuls of air. “Oh deary dear, no wonder that was so difficult for you,” the little apothecary fretted. “Broad chests and large arms do not do well for one’s lung capacity when they’re all mashed together. I can’t imagine Adonais himself could handle his wrists being bound in such a way….”

Breathing in as if it were going out of style was exquisitely painful but this pain was also infinitely worth it. Then Eugene coughed and….it was chunky style, i.e. some of the leftover goodies the syringe hadn’t been able to remove earlier. He turned his head to the side and spat it out. “Good!” said the apothecary. “That’s even better than you getting more air. We need you to cough up all of that junk. And breathe as deep as you can, at all times, even when it hurts.”

Unexpectedly Clarence seized Eugene’s hand and placed it around the cushion he’d been using. “Anytime you need to sneeze, cough, or what-have-you, press the cushion against your midsection. It will help a little. Regis’ll just have to hang me then, he can’t very well have me heal you if you’re gonna go off and die of aspiration pneumonia, nosiree…..”

Heal me in order to hurt me, ugh, thought Eugene. Talk about mixed signals. Now that he was laying on his back, Eugene’s head near the base of his skull started throbbing with the renewed pressure. In spite of himself, Eugene reached up with his left hand and felt the back of his scalp.

Clarence continued bustling about. It was registering through Eugene’s pain-haze that this is the same apothecary that had just given him full use of his hands. Even handed him a projectile. Maybe this guy isn’t what he seems? Eugene considered. Nope. NO. Don’t get lulled by a false sense of security. Considering his wounds and the fact his ankles were still bound, Eugene was basically still immobile anyway, even with full use of his hands and arms. Well, almost full use. If he moved his right arm in a certain way, it tugged all the way down to his worst wound and made him see twinkly pain stars in front of his vision. He determined to keep that arm closer toward him at all times to avoid triggering that horrible lightning twinge. And this meant he couldn’t reach down far enough to slip the ropes off his ankles even if he’d tried. Eugene realized the physician knew exactly what he was talking about by deeming the binds “useless”. His prisoner was going nowhere and this little man knew it.

The physician (Eugene had already substituted ‘apothecary’ in his mind) took note of Eugene’s movements. “Ah yes, I see you’ve discovered the other little 'present' Javeen and his men left for you: that nasty goose egg on the back of your head. I advise against making any more sudden movements? I’d hate to see you vomit again.” Fanfriggentastic. Here was yet another thing that explained to Eugene why he was in such rough shape….Javeen’s men had brained him earlier. Although he couldn’t recall when it happened along with why he’d felt so beat-up and bruised all over, everywhere….those things were still a mystery to him.

The physician did his best to dress Eugene in the too-small tunic of his. Again, he apologized -- APOLOGIZED!! -- for it having been all he’d had on-hand. Ill-fitting though it was, Eugene had finally stopped shivering. Once again, Eugene found second thoughts about this strange little man creeping into his consciousness. Next, the physician had grabbed what looked like a Coronian saddle blanket and draped it around Eugene’s shoulders, offering another layer of warmth. It finally caught up to him regarding what that meant; the physician had handily kept him from slipping fully into shock.

He’d also made dang sure that Eugene could breathe as well as could be expected…..by cutting his binds….and whatever that syringe debacle was…..although the process itself was nightmare-ish, it couldn't be denied that everything had worked as intended. Sometimes things have to get worse before they can feel better. Not to mention the man had gone out of his way to ease Eugene’s pain with that cushion compression trick. Already Clarence had engaged in at least two things that were probably directly against protocol by doing just a tiny bit more than the bare minimum.

Clarence steepled his hands and considered Eugene’s positioning. “I’m gonna need better access to that wound on your back,” he said. “Don’t use any of your own power to help me turn you; I’ll do all of the work. Is that clear?”

Eugene shrank a little at such intense scrutiny paired with the direct order….yet said nothing. It was the most demanding Clarence had been thus far. The apothecary sighed shortly, clearly not taking silence for an answer this time.

“I mean it, Mr. Tough Guy. This is one instance where you must be like a living ragdoll and let me do all the rest. Do you think you can handle that?” Clarence paused briefly, appearing to consider something. Eugene simply stared at him. “You can communicate by whispering. Actual whispering, not sotto voce style. It requires far less lung capacity and is unlikely to cause much pain. I say again, do you think you can trust me? Because if you try to ‘help’ even a little, you could cause those wounds to push outside what’s meant to remain inside.”

“Yes,” Eugene whispered without hesitation. He didn’t know exactly what it was about this interesting apothecary that elicited his trust. And then it occurred to him as Clarence very slowly turned his patient's legs to his left side, encouraging Eugene to breathe through the pain: Clarence cares.

Not to mention….Clarence was right; whispering barely hurt Eugene at all….in complete opposition to when he’d shouted earlier upon first waking.

When Clarence went to turn Eugene from right to left by grabbing his right arm, however, they ran into a semi-unexpected snag. This arm, it appeared, could not be pulled...lest it trigger that nasty stitch Eugene had experienced earlier. So the apothecary took the saddle blanket and refashioned it into a type of jacket-sling so Eugene’s right arm was held secure against his chest; now his patient didn’t have to worry about his right arm being at the mercy of whatever gravity felt like doing with it.

With his free arm, Eugene lightly held the cushion against his gut. Then Clarence managed to carefully and successfully roll Eugene’s upper half onto his left side without any additional complications. Eugene was allowed to rest after all the additional activity. His side without the wounds was naturally far more stable and for the first time since awakening, the mere act of breathing didn’t make him wanna pass out from too much pain. Although it was still comparably arduous and taxing by trying to breathe deeply as instructed. The last time Eugene could recall feeling this helpless was when he had a nasty case of typhus around age 5 or 6 that had nearly killed him.

“Right now, I’m preparing an anesthetic for that wound in your back,” murmured Clarence. The apothecary was using medical terms that until that point in time for which Eugene had had very little use. It made Eugene wish he’d read and paid more attention like Rapunzel.

And mentally conjuring his beloved sweetheart so easily within such a natural context suddenly sent unbidden shockwaves of loneliness, hopelessness, and despair crashing through him. Regis would never release him and Eugene knew it. He’d gone to far too much trouble convincing others that Eugene no longer existed amongst the living. Past the end of his needfulness for this prisoner, the mad king might eventually attempt to use Eugene as bait at a later date. But until then, Eugene was still being secretly held here, wherever ‘here’ was...which had to mean that it was becoming more likely with each passing hour that Javeen’s decoy ruse had worked. That whatever was left after the fire the enemy troops had started, and after Corona’s soldiers watched their own captain get struck down, it was practically a given that nobody from his kingdom was out searching for Eugene right now.

In spite of himself, the back of his still-raw sinuses welled up and started dripping with these instant pent up emotions. He sniffled softly at first but when Eugene pictured himself back in the nursery, rocking Kleisonne and singing their special song….considering that Rapunzel has to sing it now….it was more than he could take. It had already been over two months since the last time he had left them to take up arms at New Old Corona and even though he could see Corona Island from the top of the mountain pass, as captain, Eugene felt as if he might as well have been a million miles away. With so few fighting men, with so few soldiers who’d actually experienced prior sustained combat much less led through it, such inexperienced leadership, and only a rather ancient stockpile of weaponry….(Corona had been at peace for hundreds of years, after all...) Eugene simply could not leave his station under any circumstances….not even to see his family. The kingdom’s needs had been too great….still are too great. Had his father’s battalions arrived yet from the Dark Kingdom? Probably not. Eugene had a feeling he’d be hearing all about it from the apothecary, chatty as he was. But then….but then -- one shining light of realization cut through the pain haze and fear fog….piercing its way through his overwrought mind and body. Rapunzel was actually queen now and thus not at the mercy and whims of what others thought or felt anymore. Not really. And Eugene could sense with absolute certainty that Rapunzel would not rest until she had found identifiable remains by means of incontrovertible proof. And once they found the only clue Eugene had managed to leave behind, Rapunzel’s resolve in finding him would become dang near indestructible. He’d just have to try and find a way to escape -- or more practically, considering his woeful state of being, somehow get word out ASAP so that Corona would still be performing a rescue, not a recovery.

Eugene hissed rather loudly at the sudden harsh stinging sensation emanating from around the wound in his back. The sharp intake of breath had in turn disturbed everything else within Eugene’s predicament. “My apologies,” Clarence spoke out, “I’m usually accustomed to patients who are already unconscious by the time I get to them,” he explained with a hint of nervousness.

Aaaand he’s apologizing again. For unintentionally hurting me. Truly this guy was proving over and over he really wasn’t Regis’s mad scientist henchman. After Clarence was finished with the stinging stuff, he grabbed some type of salve that Eugene was sure he already knew pretty well. Tallow, the same stuff used as a base for candles, also made a great healing and moisturization agent. It sealed the wound away from everything else including dirt and further abrasions.

It was basically how Eugene had avoided having too many scars for so many years, and the one main reason why he appeared completely unscathed, despite all of the bar fights he had been swept up in, and the smaller now invisible wounds he’s had. Although he currently rolled his eyes at his own past vanity by trying to achieve physical perfection with flawless skin. Eugene was certainly gonna have some gnarly scars after this….provided he lived long enough to actually heal from his open wounds and captivity….Eugene inwardly admonished himself to stop thinking morbidly. And to instead be grateful for Clarence and his incomprehensible kindness in such a morbid setting. And if Eugene weren’t already laying down, he would’ve been bowled over by what the apothecary did next. Clarence not only carefully cleaned and applied tallow to every inch of the abrasions those ropes had caused, he covered the red welts on Eugene’s wrists with long knotted-off strips of floursack cloth. It was such an unexpectedly….kind thing to do, to tend to wounds caused by a prisoner’s restraints…..Eugene was momentarily taken aback….and currently lost in thought. And this is when Clarence figured he’d had as good a time as any to crank up the hallucination juice.

Somewhere behind Eugene, something that smelled vaguely of incense and oil started burning nearby and he started coughing. Clarence reminded him about the cushion trick and the coughing sensation eased off and Eugene began to feel oddly and unexpectedly relaxed. His cognitive body functions had largely gone dormant and he was floating in a soft white haze. He felt….groovy. Every once in awhile, lightning streaks of pain might interrupt his dreaming as Clarence, who was not only a good apothecary but a well trained surgeon, worked on sewing up Eugene’s wounds.

Clarence couldn’t have Eugene eat or drink anything prior to surgery so that effectively eliminated anything taken by mouth when it came to easing his patient’s pain at this time. So the apothecary took the one safest route left to him; the psychoactive one. The main problem was that psychoactives didn’t technically knock you out….at least not the ones of which he was in possession.

The surgeon was distinctly worried that even if Eugene had tried to ingest any medicine or even water, it very well would have triggered pain so agonizingly distressful that he wouldn’t be able to stop screaming once it got started. Based on the prior blood and reflux content he’d seen so far, (as well as how his patient had reacted during his first few seconds upon waking) Clarence strongly suspected part of Eugene’s problem was a nasty duodenal tear and that meant high-intensity stomach acid was busy slowly seeping itself out everywhere it wasn’t intended to be, both inside and outside of his patient. Unneutralized stomach acid pouring itself into one’s abdominal cavity was indeed Not Good at All, especially since that includes everything else that regularly accompanies stomach acid. Clarence's plan was to be as hands-off as possible. He'd witnessed far too many patients die of resulting infection directly caused by a surgeon's brash (and yes, stupid) tendency to just dig around in open wounds. Clarence still didn't know if his patient needed to be sewn up all the way or if drainage sites needed to be packed as he healed.

All things considered, this “enemy” captain shouldn’t even be conscious. Eugene had to be practically dying of thirst and yet he wasn’t complaining. Here he was, on this makeshift exam/surgery platform, high as a kite, tripping aloud about fluffy purple bunnies wearing watermelon hats. Or was it purple watermelons wearing pink bunny hats? Whatever that meant, thought Clarence, with some amusement.

Clarence seemed to have an internal immunity against the “incense oil” he was burning for his patient’s sake. He was both annoyed and grateful for said immunity. He also fervently hoped this patient would stay distracted long enough with pleasant hallucinations in order for Clarence to do what he needed. It wasn’t like him to operate on a patient without explaining everything thoroughly, but he was hoping against hope that by subtracting another layer of self-awareness, it might somehow help Eugene stay distracted even longer. Besides, you can’t rightly swallow much of anything when it’s just going to…..leak back out such a nasty hole in your vital organs. Above all else, the young captain needed that tear repaired as quickly as possible.

Real things about world history discovers/innovations: When 'syringe' is mentioned here, it's not like a hypodermic needle or even an oral medication syringe. The size of syringes in the 18th century were more the size range of a can of spray deodorant on up to a large can of hair spray.

“Okay, Captain Fitz-Humpty-Dumpty, let’s try and put you back together again, shall we?” murmured the surgeon to himself, as he took one last glance at his overstocked supply of incense oil.

@gleamful-lanterns @kingreywrites @autumn-ravenclaw

A/N: In order to keep this an element of realism in this historical setting, you can imagine the amount of research that went into building this single chapter. Medicine was taking some monumental strides starting in 16th century (1500s) onward.

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

So 5x18...

...Well hot d*mn.

Man when Supergirl fires on all cylinders...HOO BOY.

Case in point: *gestures to all of 5x18*

To be clear: I liked this one.

A WHOLE LOT.

Not that I disliked 5x17, necessarily. It’s just that 5x18 was more... Entertaining? ...I dunno. I dunno how to explain it.

...Okay yes I do and that explanation is: Someone remarked on Kara’s use of language and Kara overcompensated on the ‘NOooOOooOO I’m totally 100% normal!’ AND there was a musical quote AND it was WHILE TEAMING UP WITH ALEX TO FOLLOW A LEAD.

But I’m getting ahead of myself let’s backtrack...

TO THE TOWER! WITH ALEX! NIA! KARA! AND M’GAAAAAANNNNN!!!!!!

June Foray voice: WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY FOREVER?!?!?!

I know I’m not the first person to make that reference but it’s always fitting and, for real, recurring character status WHEN. (I mean. Obviously I would prefer series regular but that feels like a big ask considering that all future TV production is...uh. Ah. Erm....

...Up in the air. At the moment.)

And then we check in with the Luthors and Non Nocere isn’t working???

I am shocked! Shocked, I say!

And then we’ve got Obsidian doing something ill-advised which is basically the company’s MO at this point but KELLY AND WILLIAM ARE ON THE CASE REGARDLESS.

(So that’s kinda the one thing I’m sad about re: the Crisis reset; Andrea’s character development. But she’s sticking around for next season so I’m not too upset that she remains...kinda...one note for now.)

And THEN the library scene. 

It was so gooooood.

Then Leviathan and okay. Alright. Okay. Huge points in this episode’s favor: Rama Khan feels like a far more significant threat. And I feel like 80% of that is the fact that they just let him wear normal clothes. Thank you, show. Thank. You.

Also the rock effects were way better in this episode because they weren’t footing the bill for a giant crossover episode this time around

I am a little confused, though, by what has and has not happened with regards to Rama Khan on Earth Prime. Did the pre-Crisis stuff...happen? The dialogue...kinda made it hard to decide one way or the other. ‘He hasn’t been seen on this Earth for 100s of years’ but then also, ‘a chilly place you know quite well.’ So...he...did go to the Fortress. And fight Kara? But...all that stuff before Crisis...???

...Not gonna bother with that right now.

POINT IS...Leviathan is finally like...invested in killing Supergirl* and menacing in a very real way which both raises the stakes and makes it personal and that’s way more interesting than ‘nebulous evil organization that must be stopped.’

*I know they kinda sorta already did the whole, ‘let’s kill the Kryptonian!’ and invaded the Fortress but I don’t know what to tell ya, it was just lackluster.

J’ONN AND M’GAAAAAANNNNN

I am firmly in camp: I don’t care if they’re never green again I love seeing them in the super suits with their human faces IT’S GREAT.

Love that Nia’s snoring interrupts the moment.

Also love the deck of Rama Khan playing cards, that must’ve been a fun project for the graphic designers.

Then we’ve got William and Kara at CatCo and it’s baked goods! A hilarious line delivery by Staz! A ridiculous fabrication involving a shy, violent cat!

...Now I want Alex to actually own a shy, violent cat!

“Cats love me, for some reason.” “Of course they do.”

Side note: Love Kara’s blazer.

And then it’s ALIEEEEEENS TO THE RESCUE!

WHAT A TEAM UP, FOLKS.

We love to see it.

The interrogation scene is good n’ tense and ramps up to a very impressive showdown in the DEO (but BEFORE the sparks really start flying we get that rad shot of Kara leaping through the window and doing the superhero landing and it’s just

Perfection.)

Also perfect? Lex playing a game of transmatter pickle with the prisoners.

Then we jump back to the DEO where things are not going well!

Like, really really bad! 

But J’onn and M’gann save the day! If not the building!

RIP DEO. 2016-2020

Obituary: The DEO headquarters is survived by its elder sibling, the DEO desert base.

Look none of the favs work there anymore save for Kara and Brainy and they’re both gonna be better off working freelance for J’onn but I do expect Brainy to at least pick up some additional cash by working as a Lyft driver next season.

Me, watching the characters struggle to make it in the gig economy: I feel so seen.

The final portion of the episode is just ALL ACTING and I must say...good stuff.

Like. This cast, man. They take the plot points I’ve been ‘meh’ about all season and they turn in some stellar performances and suddenly I’m like STANDING OVATION, CAN’T WAIT TO SEE WHERE THIS GOES.

Also, reason #342 I love Jon Cryer’s Lex: that scene with Lena.

Terrifying.

Full disclosure: I went in to this episode fully prepared to be really annoyed with whatever was going to happen with Lena and I still don’t...love the trajectory of this season, being so tied up in her personal drama but. 

But.

Katie McGrath’s performance...went an awful long way here. In making this...not as bad as it could have been.

Like tearfully admitting she was hurt? And that hurt was the basis of all the nonsense she pulled? Finally owning up to the fact that this was never truly about the greater good but that it was all rooted in some personal issues and OUTRIGHT STATING SHE WAS BEHAVING LIKE A VILLAIN????

I am. Extremely impressed.

EVEN MORE IMPRESSIVE THOUGH: Kara remaining distant both physically and emotionally throughout that scene! Not in like, a cold uncaring way, but in a, ‘I have emotions and I have a right to feel them and set boundaries in regards to my trusting you right now given all that has transpired’ kind of way.

GOOD. YES. GOOD.

(Lex’s outburst has that kind of same Nice Guy undertone--albeit more pronounced and rage-y--as Lena’s in the Fortress. Like, ‘I supported you and you still rejected my plot to take over the world’ and ‘I was kind to you and you still messed up my mind control’ which...I dunno I might just be digging in too deep here in order to further justify the character turn but I think Cryer’s performance regardless is a really sobering wake up call for Lena, different than Lex stuff we’ve seen before. It’s close and intense and uncomfortable in a way that really sells the motivation.)

“You’re a monster...but that doesn’t mean I have to be one too.”

Wow. Might be...the first time I’ve liked Lena all season.

...whispers: might be the first time I’ve liked her ever at all

For real: credit where it’s due, that was an excellent line read.

*insert applause here*

CUT TO ADORABLE J’ONN AND M’GANN MOMENT 

D’aaaawwwwwwwwww

But, look, it’s a little undermined by the fact that they both gotta try and embrace in those bulky super suits, I’m sorry, it’s true

...Maybe it’s more endearing that way?

HEY remember how I foolishly assumed that the now-unemployed Alex would simply continue to work with J’onn in an investigative capacity and, ya know, NOT jump straight back into costumed badassery? 

HA. HAHA HAHAAAA.

Those leaked set photos make sense now.

OH NO, WILLIAM!

Real glad Staz confirmed he’s returning. Otherwise I would not be able to DEAL WITH THE STRESS.

I already talked a little bit about the loft scene but some additional points! Beautiful lighting. Wonderful score. Excellent performances all around.

A truly great end to a truly great episode.

Like, it makes me retroactively sad, that we’re only getting 5x19, as opposed to 5x19 and 5x20 because I wish that the crew/writers/actors had a little more space to let all of this good work they’ve done settle and breathe. 

(But also, it was good that they stopped production, from a safety standpoint, so. Can’t be too upset.)

And, regardless of how the next episode goes down (b/c I’m gonna be real, SG always does really great set-ups for their season finales and then kinda...rushes to the finish line and that can only be further exacerbated in this particular case) I’m just really impressed with this effort here.  

...but also LET’S TAKE THIS OPPORTUNITY TO MAKE SOME WILD GUESSES. Specifically, what is Alex’s vigilante name gonna be??? 

...

Alright I generally try to avoid addressing specific fandom complaints in these things b/c I generally try to avoid the fandom itself but of course some stuff has already leaked through all of my blocks/muting so:

‘Lena didn’t apologize!’ The words ‘I’m sorry’ were not said, sure, but 1.) season’s not over and 2.) for Lena, admitting she was wrong is huge. HUUUUUUUGE. It’s solid character growth and I really wish various subsets of fandom would recognize that it’s not fun, when fans hold on to negative stuff from characters’ past and refuse to acknowledge that the characters have changed.

‘Brainy should have seen this coming!’ This one is kind of more down to personal preference I guess but I feel like they’ve established that Brainy’s got a bit of a blindspot due to his feelings about his friends, so I don’t take this as a knock against his intelligence so much as him being stretched fairly thin because he’s playing all sides, and worried about the people he loves. YMMV, though. 

All the ‘fix-it’ stuff re: the last scene, by making Kara immediately forgive Lena. Lose me with that nonsense, bleh. 

[fullmetalscullyy]

a conspiracy theory - chapter 9

co-written by @snowdog49 and @jeanhaavoc

summary:  Detective Roy takes on a challenging task… To find Olivier Armstrong’s sword. However, he has a beautiful woman to distract him along the way. Will he, Jean, and Ed be able to find the sword in time, or will they succumb to the conspiracy?

warning: graphic depictions of violence

tags: conspiracy, pining, unresolved sexual tension, private detective au, royai, havolina, mystery, violence, modern au, coffee shops

rated: m | words: 3644

read on ao3

Edward had been a bit miffed about being pulled from garbage digging duty, but agreed to set something up with Ling. Roy didn’t care, he was finally making a little progress and would deal with any annoying comments that came his way later. He had his own work to do anyway.

The Bradley Estate was just as impressive as the Armstrong’s from the outside. It reached tall into the sky, boasting three floors, with tall, but thin windows, only two panes wide, stretching in between them. Each of the drapes inside were tied perfectly in unison, making Roy wonder how long that took to do in the morning. It looked square in shape, the corners of the house were built like towers, each part rising a little higher than the rest of the building. The large rough stones were grey, which Roy was honestly surprised wasn’t gold. It reminded him of a prison.

A doorman greeted Roy as he arrived at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the house, asking to provide proof of identity and stating his business at the estate today. He was dressed in a black suit, with a bright white shirt shining from underneath the rich, dark fabric. His black bowtie was held close to his neck, tied and presented perfectly. Roy snickered to himself. The Armstrong’s doorman was not only more polite but far better dressed.

“I’ve come to meet with Mr. Bradley,” Roy explained. “I called earlier and set up a meeting.”

“Very well, Sir,” the doorman nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting one moment?”

“Yes, of course.”

The doorman disappeared inside, holding the door open so that a different man who was similarly dressed could take his place. He nodded in greeting to Roy, bidding him a good morning, before turning to stare straight ahead. He would get no kind of conversation from his new companion, so Roy descended the steps to look around the front of the house. He admired the front of the building and the gardens, picking out differences and similarities between it and the Armstrong Family’s Manor. There was no real interest in it, Roy just used the game to pass the time.

“If you would come with me, Sir,” the initial doorman beckoned after the door had opened.

Turning, Roy obediently followed after the man. They walked into the Bradley home and the main room was large, the walls arching upwards to a window on the ceiling. There was no chandelier, but there was a large mural painted on the ceiling instead. A lot of gold colours and light shades had been used, giving the illusion that it was bigger than it actually was. Jean and Rebecca had said everything was gold at the dinner too. Bradley obviously loved his work so much that he brought it home with him.

On the opposite wall from the main entrance, Roy was surprised to see another set of open doors which led out into a courtyard beyond. Stone canopies covered the walkway by the house, but in the center was a fountain and a stretch of green grass, all the way to a door on the other side. With a quick glance, Roy noted there was a door on the wall of each cardinal direction. Dotted within the grass were flower beds that were bursting with colour. Not just gold, Roy almost snickered. Trees and hedgerows were also in uniform along the lawn, cut to perfection. There were gardeners currently working on them.

The doorman led Roy up the stairs before him. His feet felt well cushioned by the thick green carpet below him. There were two paintings on the plain beige walls of the stairway, both in the corner as the stairs turned up to the left. It appeared the decoration was uniform within the house, because the same beige wallpaper and green carpet greeted Roy as they reached the top of the stairway and turned to the right.

“Mr. Bradley, Sir,” the doorman announced after knocking on a dark oak door they’d stopped in front of. “I have Mr. Mustang here to see you.”

“Send him in.”

Stepping inside was more of the same boring decor but this was clearly Bradley’s main study. The room was much bigger than Roy anticipated. The door opened to face Bradley’s desk, which was in the center of the room. Behind him were two large windows, the desk positioned in a way that meant the piece of furniture and the windows matched up perfectly in place. Two glass cabinets were symmetrically placed behind his desk, showing off two different framed photos on their top-shelf. One was clearly Bradley as a younger man, with a man who was probably Bradley's father. Another was Bradley standing, stony-faced, outside a factory. There were whiskey glasses filling the bottom shelf, two in each cabinet, with a decanter next to them as well. The walls were decorated with land deeds and his achievements. There were more pictures hung up, but it was of each of Bradley’s factories. He had a lot more than Roy thought.

“Good morning, Detective Mustang,” Bradley greeted. He was a robust man, one eye patched from what he always said as a childhood accident. Square shoulders reminded Roy of the strength of his company, while Bradley’s mustache was perfectly formed and cut over his lip, like his well-trimmed grass out front. His smile, however, seemed earnest, and his voice almost bubbled with a chuckle as he talked. His face relaxed, calm, and Roy would have guessed he was soft handed in his business as well when there were little big businessmen who were concerning of their employees. Roy, though, knew better. He rose from his desk and rounded it in a leisurely manner to shake Roy’s hand. A firm, unyielding handshake that would normally intimidate a normal man, but Roy eagerly accepted with his own. Bradley then led him to his desk, placing some papers to the side before leaning forward on his forearms while Roy sat on one of the chairs before him. “How can I help you today?”

He leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. “I’m sure you know already that I’ve been hired to help Olivier Armstrong find her stolen sword.”

Bradley nodded, mimicking Roy’s posture. “I have. I’m assuming you’ve had little luck since you’re here.”

Roy chuckled. “Yes, well, it was your son’s birthday party.”

Bradley folded his arms and nodded as he started to look like he was thinking. “I honestly was so distracted as I was trying to be a gracious host. My wife was feeling a bit ill and I was finding myself compensating to make sure she was not overwhelmed.” He turned his chair to look at one of the scenery paintings on his wall. It was a luscious forest, following hills, and a perfectly placed buck in the center. “I remember Olivier having her saber. She usually holsters it on her hip.”

“Do you remember her taking it off?”

Bradley nodded. “Yes. She leaned it against the wall when she sat down. That was most unusual of her. But she got up to talk to Senator Marcoh and didn’t retrieve it. I looked over to see it still sitting there.”

“You didn’t bother to let her know or to retrieve it for her?” Roy raised an eyebrow, pulling out his notebook.

“Oh,” Bradley laughed. “No, no! No one touches her sword. It’s a family heirloom. God forbid if it went missing.”

“Yes,” Roy chuckled. “As I’m finding out.” Roy jotted down a few words. He wasn’t writing anything down in particular, but wanted to look like he was. “And you didn’t see anyone suspicious at the party?”

Bradley shook his head, eyes meeting Roy’s. “No. Everyone there had an invitation. I was very strict about it for security purposes.” He waved his finger in the air as he realized something. “There was that Ling Yao kid. I know that it was encouraged that he came, but I was adamant about no one without an invitation.”

“And everyone there was well known?”

“All reputable people. The fact that the sword is missing is alarming on my behalf too. Someone there was not trustworthy and that bothers me. There was someone as low as a thief at the party.” He rubbed his chin, looking back at the painting. “I was even careful to look at my own inventory.” He chuckled. “My wife would’ve had a heart attack if someone had stolen the silverware. It’s real silver, you know.”

“Why didn’t you contact me with this information?”

Bradley hummed for a second. “I knew you’d come to me.”

Roy fake laughed, nodding in understanding when in reality the comment bothered him. Still, he wasn’t the police, so there was no obstruction there. After looking up from his notebook, he made a show of the painting catching his eye. He turned his head, looking at the room more closely. “You sure know how to decorate. I will have to hire your decorator for my office.”

Bradley laughed again, eye eyes squinting to show crows feet of age and stress. “I’m afraid my wife does most of that.”

He made a quick sweep of Bradley’s desk to see a familiar emblem on his papers. “I don’t have such paintings either,” he huffed. Another quick look to ensure he had a golden ring, and he did, with a familiar emblem. In the center was the Amestrian dragon, however, it was an older design, one Roy hadn’t seen for years, with much more jagged edges and only one arm on show. Behind the dragon were two swords. Very simple, but it had to be in order for it to fit on something as small as a ring. “That’s a nice ring,” Roy complimented. “I notice the logo matches that of the Armstong’s sword.”

Bradley took a quick look at it before unfolding his arms and putting them in his lap, out of view behind the desk. “Ah,” he nodded slowly. “Yes.” Roy didn’t expect him to admit to there being a secret club but was curious to his excuse. “The Armstrong family is generous. Years ago, my father was very close to the family. He worked for them for some time, and as a gift, they gave him a ring with the national crest at the time on it.”

Roy withheld himself from squinting.

Bradley looked at the ring again. “It’s a sign of trust between the families.”

“Is that ring cast from the same gold your family mines?” Roy asked innocently.

“It was, yes,” Bradley smirked to himself. “The mine was my grandfather’s, then my father’s. It’s very dear to my family. We’ve worked hard to get where we are today. We could not be more thankful. It’s humbling in a way when you realize that you can come from nothing to something.”

Roy stood up and put his notebook in his pocket. “I didn’t want to waste your time. I just wanted to come by and introduce myself. I don’t get to meet too many tycoons.”

Bradley laughed generously. “Tycoon? Hardly.” Bradley circled the desk, gesturing for Roy to walk to the door before him. “I will walk you out.” He opened the door, waving Roy through. “I’m sure you will find the sword.”

Roy did raise his eyebrow and looked at Bradley from the corner of his eye. “Just because I have to ask. You don’t happen to have it, do you?”

Bradley gave another loud laugh. “No, no. I don’t. I wonder if one of my staff picked it up for safekeeping and I wasn’t made aware of it.” He cocked his head in thought, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. They started to descend down the stairs. “I promise to ask them and if I find it, I will promptly return it to the Armstrongs.”

It’d been a month since the sword had been missing, and he was now asking his staff? Roy snorted a laugh. “Well, at least let me know so I can stop pestering my employees about asking the whole damn city.” They came to the front doors where Bradley stopped and Roy walked out. “It was an honor meeting you,” Roy turned to shake his hand again.

“Likewise,” King Bradley nodded, taking his hand. “I’ll be sure to call you when I lose something next.”

Roy smiled but knew it was a jest against him. After all, Roy wasn’t trying to be the guy to call when things went missing. Bradley would know that. He couldn’t be sure, but it felt like Bradley’s eyes were still on him as he walked to his car.

Roy looked at his watch on his wrist before getting in his car. Ed should be playing video games with Ling right about now and he wouldn’t hear from him until later, maybe even tomorrow. Roy started his car and put it into drive. There were still so many questions, and the one at the forefront, begging to be answered, was: why? There was always why. If there was this association that Ed accused them all of being in, then the sword had something to do with it.

*           *           *

“Well?” Jean asked as Roy walked in the door.

“The dude loves gold,” Roy muttered.

“In his home too?” Rebecca asked eagerly. She appeared to be fascinated with the subject.

“Decor was very boring,” Roy revealed, still surprised about that. “But the gold flowers from your night out gallivanting made a return.”

“I wonder if they kept them from the dinner?” she snickered.

“I would hope so,” Jean remarked. “Or at least put them to good use. There was a ridiculous amount there. What a waste,” he scowled.

“I think a man like King Bradley has flower waste way down on his list of priorities,” Roy scoffed.

“He’s a bit of a dodgy dude, isn’t he?” Rebecca’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “He just makes me feel… iffy.”

“I thought that too, at the dinner,” Jean added. “If all those people were there to chip in money for something he could easily pay for, you’d think the guy wouldn't walk around with a face like thunder.”

“Bradley has never struck me as the most ethical person in the world,” Roy replied with a frown. “I don’t like him,” he muttered. “Too… smarmy. And smug. He had pretty clear excuses, looking almost as if he practiced talking about it.”

“Could be a strong contender then for a suspect,” Jean offered. He sat back in his chair, tipping it back, with an ankle hooked over his knee. He fiddled with the pen in his hands.

“He really could be,” Roy replied seriously. He spun to face his board.

“So what happened?” Rebecca asked. “What did he say?”

“He said he remembered her having it, and remembered it being dropped. Didn’t have a suspect.” Roy sat down in his own chair and sighed loudly. “He’s only now going to ask his staff if they saw it. It’s been so long now though that I don’t imagine he’ll get very far. If any of them did take it, they could blatantly play the forgetful card.” Roy’s eyes flicked down to the ring he could just see on Bradley’s finger in his photograph. “He had the ring though.”

Jean chuckled. “I’m not sure how this pertains to the sword.”

“Because the sword has it,” Rebecca answered quickly. “The question is how it pertains to it being stolen.”

Roy pointed to her with a finger gun. “Exactly. But what do you want to bet that either a member stole it, or someone who wants to be a member stole it? I mean, what would it matter? What’s so important that it needed to be stolen?”

“It would all depend on the Armstrong’s tie in this. You said Bradley’s ring was a gift?” Jean asked. Roy nodded. “So, if it was a gift from a father to another, that means the families have been tied together for years. If this organization is real, it would be safe to consider that one of them was a founder?” Jean asked.

Roy nodded. “We’d need to confirm that.”

Jean rubbed his chin. But before he could say anything, the door swung open with enough force to bounce off the back wall. In the doorway, Ed stood with his hands on his hip, standing like he had just single-handedly held off the Drachman army. “Guess who was right about the conspiracy?” he announced with a shit-eating grin.

All three of them looked at each other before Jean answered, “You?”

Ed leaned against the wall, crossing his arm, not losing that stupid grin. “Ling totally confirmed it.”

Jean looked at Roy with a chuckle. “This is why they won’t let him into the club. He’s too young to know when to keep his mouth shut.”

“Look,” Ed glared. “We were playing video games and I asked him about it.”

“Just like that?” Roy leaned back and crossed his arms.

“Yeah. He said they are called the Gatekeepers.”

Rebecca, Jean, and Roy looked at each other.

“Ling told me they’re some sort of secret organization, just as I said.”

Roy rolled his wrist to avoid the bragging and continue the talking.

“He said they meet once a month and talk about ‘man stuff,’ but said all the influential people go there.”

“Like who?”

Ed held up his fingers as he counted. “Our friend Senator Raven for one. Then there’s Senator Marcoh. He did say the Armstrong family has been there for years and he was surprised that they didn’t hold any offices. He also confirmed King Bradley was in it.” Ed raised another finger. “President Grumman…” He began to count off members that he remembered.

Roy rubbed his chin and turned back to the pictures. Ed kept naming off people, but Roy didn’t pay any mind. He’d have him write up a report.

“Roy,” Ed said firmly, getting Roy’s attention back. “We know why the sword is so important. Do you think that they stole it?”

“Or someone wants in,” Jean mumbled. “But, they’d know if they were a member, right?”

Roy shrugged.

“Anyone with the crest can get in. I told Ling the sword had it on it, and he said now he wanted in so that he could attend the meeting.” Ed moved to his desk. “I think they can have proxies or something.”

Roy nodded, still taking in the fact Ed was right. “So who wants in, then?”

“We need to find out who was at the birthday party and was not a member,” Jean answered.

Rebecca and Ed nodded.

“I did find out that the building I said was their meeting point was owned by the Armstrongs.” Ed grinned. “And I checked the power meter and it’s getting power. It’s being used for something.”

“Any bills?” Jean asked.

Ed shook his head. “There were police about. I did check my phone. There was WiFi there. But it’s got a password.”

“Did you try Gatekeeper123?” Roy chuckled at his own joke.

Ed stared flat-faced at his mentor.

“So,” Rebecca interrupted them. “It’s owned by the Armstrong family, has WiFi, and gets power.”

Ed nodded. “So, we just need to go there and watch them go in next week.”

“That’s what I do,” Jean grinned. Roy watched as excitement lit up his face like a Christmas tree.

“Let's focus on the sword guys.” Roy stood up and pointed at the pictures. “Let’s go over the suspects. Are we missing anyone?”

Rebecca, Jean, and Edward looked at each other and shook their heads.

“Ed, can you write a report? Let’s get this down on paper before we all forget, or the thought gets lost.”

He nodded and woke his computer up with a shake of the mouse. “Ling said that he was totally in on this and would be willing to do more reconnaissance for us.”

Jean’s eyes grew twice their size. “You can’t just be open about what we’re doing! You have to interview, not give information away!”

“Remember your comment about kids being too young,” Roy laughed. He turned to the youngest member of the group. “What do you think you two can do?”

Ed shrugged. “I told him that I’d let him know.”

Roy nodded and bit his lip. “I don’t think we need everyone we meet involved.”

“Yeah,” Jean quickly agreed. “If they’re onto us, they might kill us.” He gulped.

“They aren’t going to kill us,” Roy chuckled. “We just want to get her sword back.”

“Well… We can ask Ling to get it if it’s in an office. I bet he’d do it.”

The team looked back at Ed.

“I don’t know, “he shrugged. “How does one normally get a stolen item back?”

Roy grumped. “I suppose we can call the police, but it seems that Ms. Armstrong wanted to keep this quiet for reasons.”

“How do we expect to get it?” Jean scratched his head. “We can’t just walk in.”

“And we can’t just steal it back,” Rebecca added. “We’re a reputable business, remember?”

Roy nodded. “I can just tell Olivier who it is. She alone could take them on.” He laughed nervously. “I guess we can threaten police actions, try to give them the option of avoiding lawful convictions.”

“Taking down a secret organization? Stealing swords? Exposing officials? I’m totally in.” Ed rubbed his hands together eagerly before turning back to his computer. “I love this job already.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Jean quickly advised. “Most of the time we just sit around and play poker and drink coffee.”

Maybe this was the case that Roy had been looking for. Maybe this was going to be the one to build his reputation to where he wasn’t just some private investigator. Maybe...

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Weird “Hell School.”

Based on a prompt from a reader hope you like :) Don’t forget to send those critiques, questions, comments, messages, and prompts!

“Adam!”

“ADAM!”

“Coming.”

Krill peered from his spot on the couch as Captain Vir made his way down the stairs quickly at the call of the Alpha female.

“I just got a call from your old High School.”

Krill watched in fascination as the man’s eyes widened his knees locked up and he skidded right into a doorframe.

He rubbed his head as the alpha female peered around the doorframe.

“Well what do THEY want…..” He frowned

“Oh, Adam, don’t sound so annoyed, you’re a bit of a celebrity, and they just want you to come and give a talk at the school about your work, no big deal.”

“I most definitely will not! I’m not going back to that place.”

***

They stood outside the massive concrete and brick building as snow billowed around them. High chain link fences rose towards the cloudy sky.

“It looks like a prison.”

“It IS a prison.” The man muttered trudging through the snow and up to the doors carrying Krill over one shoulder contained within his specialized containment unit. He shouldered open the doors into the warm entryway bombarded suddenly by an array of pulses. The doors ahead of them buzzed once and then blinked green letting them inside.

“That’s new.” The man muttered stepping into the long hallway to stomp snow from his boots on the inner carpet. Setting down the containment tube, he opened the door and allowed Krill to scuttle outwards onto the floor. He looked around in curiosity, eyes wide and wondering at the long hallway lined in doors and strange containment lockers blinking lights red for locked.

“What is this place?” He wondered following the Captain towards the first set of doors.

“Hell Krill, This is hell.” Krill kind of doubted that. Very much as they passed through the doors into a small office space with a long desk manned by two plum middle-aged human females. They looked up as he entered looking confused for a minute before.

“Adam, is that you, I barely recognized you under that.” She waved a hand up and down, “and the gaudy eyepatch doesn’t help.”

He frowned, opening his mouth to respond.

The woman nudged her companion, “Look Susan its little Adam Vir, can hardly believe it.” It was just then, she noticed Krill, and the scream she let off could have ruptured glass if there was any glass in the room to be found. “What is that?!” She demanded leaping backwards nearly out of her chair. Krill found himself oddly satisfied. A lot of Earth humans weren’t nearly as brave as their space human counterparts. He had never made a human scream before.

“That.” Vir said smugly, “Is Krill, my crew’s acting medic and, oh yeah very much an alien.”

The woman stammered for a moment before grabbing a couple of badges and tossing them over the desk towards Vir who caught them and gave a grin.

“The auditorium.” The woman said curtly before retreating further behind her desk, as Captain Vir led Krill back out into the hallway and down. Krill watched the doors pass by peering in through cracked doors at lines of desks and young humans staring glassy eyed towards the front of the room listening to a single voice droning on and on.

“Really captain, what is this?”

Captain Vir sighed, “In this country and on Earth I general, it is mandatory for everyone to receive public education up until about the age of eighteen. One this continent we have elementary middle and high school education. Subjects include science, mathematics, English, communications, linguistics, geography, health and physical education. Then we have sports teams tagged onto that for after school activities.”

“That’s…. actually quite amazing Captain, I never knew that about humans.”

“Don’t worry, it’s generally completely useless and everything about it is designed to torture your soul into apathy.”

Krill followed confused but said nothing as they were met by a man who, claimed to be the “Principal”/ He was thrown off momentarily upon meeting Krill, but eventually let them backstage giving them a place to sit and rest while he called the students from class. He warned that there would be a few more curious people in attendance. Vir was beginning to look a little green.

They waited back stage for over an hour before the principle came back patting Vir on the shoulder. In that time Vir had changed into his uniform.

Krill could hear the sounds of many voices echoing up from the chamber beyond as the principle walked out onto stage. Distantly Krill could hear the speakers booming overhead, “Five years ago, Earth began peace talks with the Galactic assembly, and it took almost two years for earth to finally accept the terms of the peace talks. The six month war with the Drev took place two months after we joined, and a thousand of our soldiers were sent in aid of our galactic allies. Much of this had been made possible by a man who graduated from this very school not so many years ago. At only age 20 Then Lieutenant Adam Vir was the first human to encounter sentient life. Two years later he fought alongside our galactic allies in the war against the Drev. He received a purple heart for injuries received and a silver star for valor in action. Two years later he was promoted to the Rank of captain, and now currently pilots our furthest reaching human space vessel. He has worked, in part, for the Galactic Assembly, and has helped with the construction of many human-related laws, now Please give a warm welcome to Captain Adam Vir.”

The man took a deep breath as the polite clapping began motioning Vir out behind him as he walked onto stage. Upon seeing Krill, the room erupted in a measure of gasping, shrieking and awes of wonder.

Captain Vir leaned against the podium and waited for the crowd to die down. Krill hid behind him.

When they finally did, he responded, “Look I don’t have a speech prepared or anything so if you want me to talk you better ask. Otherwise I can stand here for an hour staring at you and just make it weird and awkward for everyone. Don’t bother raising your hands, I’m not about that.”

Pause, “What the hell is that!” He frowned, “That is actually very rude, so don’t be a Jerk.” He stepped aside allowing the students to see Krill, “This is my crew’s acting medic Krill. If you have one of those universal translator apps on your phone, you should probably use it unless you have the implants and then, more power to you.”

The phones were already out pointed directly at Krill. Questions were shouted out at random and at great vigor.

Krill stumbled to answer most of them unsure how to answer the question. Despite his poor stage presence, the students seemed thrilled that he could even talk. There was never a moment of silence, and why would there be, this was probably the most interesting thing that happened to them all year.

“Do you wear the eyepatch because you think it makes you look cool?”

There was a pause, “I have two answers for that one. One I don’t have an eye, and number two…. Yes…. Absolutely why wouldn’t I wear an eyepatch. My question is, why wouldn’t anyone else?”

“What did you get your purple heart for?”

“Well, I got my leg ripped off by a big ass alien…. Uh sorry I mean a nine foot tall alien.”

A collective, “Woa, can we see it.”

Krill was stunned, little savage.

“Yeah, sure.” He reached down and pulled up the leg on his pants to reveal the robotic leg underneath. “It goes up to about mid-thigh, good model though.”

“Tell us your most interesting story.”

“Oh…. Well sh- I mean uh….. I have a lot, like there was the time I lost my eye, saved an alien race from bubblegum pink overlords, ran a marathon on a class A-1 Death planet to avoid dying, accidentally killed an alien pirate by spitting on him, got locked inside a Rundi prison, navigated an asteroid field manually, killed a serial killer who tried to kill me, saved an alien child from drowning, won a battle by throwing rocks, battled an underwater leviathan, survived an attack by pirates, and uh of course made contact with the first E.T. life.”

The crowd was silent before demanding that he tell them as many of his stories as he could before their time was up.

Krill was encouraged to jump in on the stories, and by the time they were done Captain Vir was significantly more relaxed than before. Krill hid behind the podium most of the time.

Eventually the Principal had to dismiss the students to a chorus of booing, “Alright, Alright, enough of that, and les thank Captain Vir, for coming to speak with us today, no, no I have already gone over all the time I am willing.”

Vir stepped down from the stage greeting and speaking with some of the students as they left. Krill stood beside him as, suddenly the man grew stiff.

“Hey look Alien Adam, Can’t believe it’s really you.” A rather large…. Mildly flabby human walked up to the two of them. He looked Captain Vir up and down, “and you finally got some muscle on you.”

“And you finally got fat.” Captain Vir responded immediately. The other human seemed surprised before his eyes narrowed in anger.

“You-“

“The captain held up a hand, “Ah ah, hold on distinguished veteran with frontal lobe damage, I can’t control my impulses.”

Krill looked between the two men, “You know each other?”

Before the other man could speak, captain Vir held up a hand, “Yes, we do, he made my life a living hell for four years all because he peaked in high school, and I didn’t. Now I’m winningly successful, and he’s been in the same dead-end job for the past seven years.”

“Brain damage?”

“No, that was all me. And one more thing. I was right.”

The man huffed, “Come on Adam, you can hardly blame me. You were a weird kid like I mean what kind of person ACTUALLY believe in UFO’s and Aliens. It wasn’t normal.”

“Oh yeah, and it was only about me being a geek, nothing about how skinny I was, or the graphic T-shirts, or how short I was, or my braces, or how bad I was at sports. And I’m going to go right ahead and point out that a lot of people believed that the sun revolved around the earth for a long time, that didn’t make them right, but you couldn’t leave it alone, and now that it turns out I wasn’t crazy you seem to think it’s just ok to come up and insult me again.”

The man worked his jaw somewhere between anger and surprise.

“What, have nothing to say now, that I won’t just lay down and take it…..” He took a slow deep breath calming himself, “I found what I was looking for, and I don’t need you explaining yourself to me. You were a jerk, and here was no reason to be. You messed me up for a long time, but I am over what you did to me, and I am done with this conversation.”

He stepped past the man with Krill at his heels Krill following after, “What was that about?”

He sighed long and deep, “I wasn’t always as fantastically awesome as I am now.” He chuckled to himself, “When I was younger, a lot of people didn’t believe in Extra-terrestrials, interstellar technology was still in in its infant stages….. And, I well, I believed that everyone was wrong. I was sure aliens were real, so I looked for UFOs, I spent all my allowance on a telescope. I was so obsessed, it came at the exclusion of everything else, health, sports, eating, I was probably really weird, and some people used that as an excuse to be real assholes to me.”

“Is that common in human schools?”

Captain Vir sighed, “All too common I’m afraid, thousands of years and we still can’t shake it…. But I was right.”

“We were never alone.”  

[tearlessrain]

time to subject myself to Dracula: The Dark Prince, aka another bad movie starring another dude from black sails. this time with 100% less horny on main because my only real motivation for watching it is it truly looks to be a whole new caliber of horrible and I have to see it.

witness my standards for incomprehensibly bad movies being raised prohibitively high in every way imaginable under the cut

I seriously doubt that.

this was made in 2013 by the way, not 1994 as the graphic design of that logo might suggest

oh good, once again we’re opening with an exposition narrator. except this time it’s a woman and she has less vocal inflection and emotional investment than an amazon echo.

I feel like she’s gonna tell me to turn left in 800ft

it feels like a dragon age epilogue, but just. worse.

WE ARE WATCHING A TRULY HIGH QUALITY MOVIE TONIGHT MY FRIENDS

I can’t even describe how bad this is, you really need the sound. that’s where the true lack of quality shines through. siri’s depressed sister is talking about pre-vampire dracula’s epic feats in battle to more weird sepia dioramas and the dying soldiers sound like they hired muppets to voice them

HOLY WIG BATMAN

also this dude is obnoxiously jovial considering he’s supposed to be dracula, even if this is pre-vampire

oh no dracula’s advisors, who all wear black hooded robes and scowl ominously, have betrayed him and killed his wife, how unexpected

someone drew these, looked at them, and thought “yeah that’s good enough to go in the final movie”

the characters are speaking both english and what I assume is... romanian or something? transylvanian? it’s not spanish or welsh I can tell you that much. anyway there are no subtitles and also no rhyme or reason to which they’re speaking at any given time so I hope I’m not missing anything important. probably not.

so like... they killed his wife, yes. and he went on a murderfest in what appears to be a church in revenge, makes sense. now a dude who... I think maybe he’s supposed to be a priest or something? but he wasn’t speaking english so I can’t be sure, then a voice over said “I have killed for god, the hand that fought for him will now be turned against him” but I’m unclear on who was speaking. this movie is an absolute clusterfuck and we aren’t even five minutes in yet. this is still the prologue.

now zombie alexa claims dracula was cursed with immortality “in punishment for his defiance” but I’m still not sure... what defiance. he killed the dudes who murdered his wife and that’s somehow not okay despite his apparent status as a war hero, a designation that implies a LOT of killing has already happened?

fucking finally, the title screen. usually a prologue clarifies what a movie is about but I went in thinking I knew and now have absolutely no idea what I’m watching.

a carriage drawn by friesians is rolling through a misty forest with wolf howling sound bites playing at random in the background to vaguely urgent music, now this is what I’m here to see.

nevermind the carriage is too slow so they’re leaving it because that’s a thing people do (?????)

“Lady Arwen, we cannot delay”

seriously though everyone’s mumbling so much I can’t understand them much better than when they were speaking whatever the other language was

BOOTLEG XENA RIDES AGAIN

but this time she’s accompanied by esme. we don’t know who esme is yet either.

there she goes

and now the knights are being attacked by hilarious squeaky goblin things? who I guess are led by this power rangers villain with, again, an unintentionally hilarious voice. it’s like a bad batman impression.

with every minute that passes I become less certain of what I’m actually watching.

they’re looking for the “light bringer” and telepathically overseen by the world’s most halfassed lestat dracula

they’ve also got some random prisoners in a cage wagon

okay the prisoners are being taken to dracula’s castle and I’m sorry for such an image-heavy post but I NEED you to understand the community theater level of set design/quality we’re dealing with here

“what is that?” cardboard and mod podge is my guess

so far the only thing esme has done is fall off her horse and be knocked unconscious, and now a Roving Band of Misogynists has appeared to harass Bootleg Xena 3.0 in the most generic way possible (the words “what ‘ave we got ‘ere” accompanied by a chorus of malicious cackling and some whistles have been spoken)

oooh no the ringleader of the Roving Misogynists has been given a name, and it’s ~Lucien~. I have a horrible feeling that I’m about to bear witness to the worst romantic subplot in the history of cinema.

oh for... I thought at least bootleg xena 3.0 would be a Strong Female Character and fight them off, but she just rapped lucien on the head with her sword and then they stole her very important box and left as obnoxiously as they came

OH NO SHE’S ASKING TO GO WITH THEM, SOMEHOW THAT’S HER PLAN I THINK I’M RIGHT SHE’S GONNA HOOK UP WITH LUCIEN AND IT’S GOING TO BE HORRIBLE.

“trust me” she says to esme, who, wisely, obviously does not.

I appreciate the timely thunderclap every single time the castle comes on screen

who the fuck are you, did you wander onto the wrong movie set

nope okay they’re not gonna explain that shot at all we’re just moving on to a shot of a weird angel shadow doing slow flamenco moves on the ceiling while ominously gurgling, and the prisoners being led into the throne room

“what’s happening to us?” I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW THE SAME THING, PRISONER #3

oh never mind that guy from before wasn’t a priest, he is remfield, chancellor of this kingdom, which means the last scene he was in makes even less sense

AKSLDGHJFGAKDLFJGHKAJGHFDKLFDS;GJokay so. remfield introduced himself then said “I will see that your needs are tended to.” then dracula in his new white contacts gets up from his shadowy throne, circumnavigates the cluster of prisoners, sniffs them dramatically, and walks back to his throne. remfield then says, “come, I will see that your needs are tended to” because proofreading is for COWARDS

now remfield is... literally giving the prisoners a tour of the castle and going on the “oh you’re our guests and many pleasures and adventures await you” speech and somehow the prisoners are accepting this despite the fact that they were just carted in on a barred wagon in shackles and got sniffed by a bad alucard cosplayer. they have a fucking harpist.

seriously, who the fuck are you

she’s just been twirling around in the background of this entire scene for no discernible reason no matter what rooms they go into

what the hell am I watching

yeah they’re just going for that incredibly suspicious food and also seem weirdly okay with the ambient clusters of scantily clad lesbians no one will explain okay they deserve whatever happens to them

WHOA TITS apparently this movie is a different rating than I thought

remfield: the newcomers have settled in

dracula: I  d o n ‘ t  l i k e  s t r a n g e r s

then why pray tell have you brought them directly into your home in chains. I cannot stress enough how avoidable this situation was for you my dude

“just think sire, once the light bringer is in your possession no one need die again” “except those who defy me” [ominous chime as the angel shadow on the ceiling continues its sensuous flamenco dance]

meanwhile in the misty blue filter forest of eternal night, some guy in a tricorn finds a gold amulet that I think bootleg xena 3.0 dropped, and the power ranger villain rides menacingly in a random direction for a few seconds

I’m still waiting on whether this masterful display of cinematic calvinball has any cohesive story to it.

ah joy and we’re back to The Non-Adventures of Xena 3.0, Esme, and the Roving Misogynists

as an aside, I’m not calling her that just to be dumb, I’m calling her that because they still haven’t given her a name even though her sidekick got one in the first five minutes

they’ve opened the box and revealed... the light bringer, which is a wooden staff. because it is not shiny gold, the roving misogynists regard it with confounded disgrunglement and scoff at xena 3.0′s insistence that it can defeat dracula

these guys sound like what an eleven year old thinks gangs of ne’er-do-wells sound like. like cartoon weasels, if the weasels were also mediocre pirates who have heard of women, conceptually, but never seen one. like goblins in a pre-written D&D campaign run by a slightly overwhelmed first time DM.

HUR DUR WALKING STICK NOT TREASURE, WOMAN DUMB

it’s what cain used to slay abel, apparently. given that zombie alexa mentioned that dracula is the descendent of abel, this leaves us with the terrifying implication that someone did put at least some vestige of effort into writing this movie.

oh good she’s finally gonna fight lucien

no she failed again. please someone just punch the shit out of lucien so he’ll stop.

NO WHY ARE YOU MAKING OUT STOP IT GOD HAVE SOME STANDARDS WOMAN. STOP PLAYING FLOATY ROMANTIC MUSIC IN THE BACKGROUND THEY ARE LITERALLY STILL STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ENTIRE BAND OF ROVING MISOGYNISTS

I thought it might at least be a trick but no she is actually, genuinely starstruck over this profoundly mediocre olde-timey frat boy who called her “sweetheart” while she was trying to explain to him why the ancient dracula-defeating relic was important.

this guy.

we did it boys, we found a worse love story than twilight

also I just. I wish I could convey with words the way the roving misogynists react to every single thing lucien and sometimes xena 3.0 says like the world’s worst greek chorus in a literally neverending stream

lucien (post makeout and xena 3.0 explaining again that the relic is ancient and powerful and they’ve searched for ages to find it): well we may not be knights but we can respect that

[cacophony of rowdy but understated agreement]

lucien: what do you think boys, should we give it back?

[assorted grumbles of assent]

xena 3.0: hm, a thief with a conscience

[gruff mercenary-esque chuckling]

lucien: maybe even a heart

[chorus of “ooooooOOOooh”s and some whistles]

it just goes on like that in every scene they happen to be physically adjacent to, they never shut up but also never actually contribute or say anything meaningful

ah, the mysterious leonardo has appeared. I think he was the one they were trying to take the light bringer to so that’s handy

“what is happening here? what is this flirtation?? is this the people to share your sacred secrets with???” - leonardo, the only remotely rational person in the entire movie

oh he is schooling these idiots, finally someone with sense. it’s bouncing right off of lucien, but at least he’s saying it.

“the scourge” - leonardo

“scourge!” “scourge!?” “scourge?” “hrgghhg??” “hrrm...” - the roving misogynists

power ranger villain and his squeaking goblins vs leonardo, the most useless female leads of all time, and the roving misogynists. who will win.

not the people watching this movie, I can tell you that much.

oh no, the lightbringer isn’t working. this will do nothing to convince the roving misogynists that it isn’t a walking stick

oop, wilhelm scream

oh no lucien has picked up the light bringer

goddamn it he’s the chosen one isn’t he

yep he activated the stick and now we all have to suffer

oh xena 3.0′s coming for power ranger villain maybe she’ll actually do something

nope she bounced off him and now he’s grabbed her and hauled her onto his horse

“you’re coming with me” he says in his weird batman voice, to make sure the audience can tell that he is in fact taking her with him

and esme has yelled “no” to make sure we remember that she’s in the movie

wait what the. did lucien just yell “xena” is that her actual name what the fuck. what the fuck. I had to have misheard that. okay I can’t tell what he’s saying for sure but someone’s bound to say her name again at some point in the movie so I’ll revisit that.

and on that note, I think I’ll end here, because there ended up being a LOT more to unpack in this movie than I expected, it’s after midnight, and I’m tired.

tomorrow, we follow lucien as he presumably goes to save some lady he wildly disrespected and then made out with one time whose name may or may not actually be xena, and hopefully figure out what the hell is even going on with dracula, remfield, and their castle full of artfully strewn half naked harpist lesbians and dancing ceiling shadows. because right now I really don’t have time to unpack all that, and I have a feeling it will only get worse.

[greed-the-dorkalicious]

Between Life and Death, Chapter III

Fandom: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Major characters thus far: Jonathan Joestar, Dio Brando Pairings: None Word count: 4,066 (9,642 total) Warnings: Semi-graphic violence, dark themes, endgame spoilers for Phantom Blood and Stardust Crusaders. Notes: There is a playlist that goes along with this fic, designed to sync with the story if listened to while reading the fic. You can find chapters 1 - 5 here, or alternatively here on YouTube. For chapter 3 only, go here.

Chapter I | Chapter II | Read on AO3

Chapter III: These People are Weird in Here

These people are weird in here And they're giving me the fear Just because you know my name Doesn't mean you know my game I look myself in the face And whisper "I'm in the wrong place" Is there more to lose than gain If I go on my own again? On my own again

~Marina and the Diamonds, “The Outsider”

Jonathan was suspended in the air, in a nightmareish hellscape version of Cairo- simultaneously Cairo and not, like Jonathan was in the city, yet also in empty darkness at the same time. Below him was a pile of dead bodies, in front of him was a broken clock tower and a water tank gushing blood, and surrounding him was knives. Dozens and dozens of knives, pointing at him from every possible angle. From an unseen location, Dio’s voice spoke. “One second has passed…” Dio’s voice boomed, sounding as if he was walking around Jonathan, but always in his blind spot. Jonathan tried to turn his head, searching for Dio, but he couldn’t move. “Two seconds have passed.” Each time Dio announced the seconds, more and more knives appeared, filling Jonathan with fear. “Three seconds have passed… Well, Jojo? What will you do? When time resumes, you can try to block the knives with your Star Platinum, but with so many… How could you possibly block them all?” Dio chuckled darkly, his voice seemingly coming from everywhere at once now, reverberating in a way that felt like he had destroyed physics themselves, filling Jonathan with fear. He knew that Dio was right; there was no way he’d be able to block all those knives. Unless he could knock them away now, or get to cover, he was done for. Jonathan tried to reach for one of the knives, willing his body to move, but he was still paralyzed. There was nothing he could do, as more and more knives threatened him. “Four seconds have passed.” That was very, very bad. There was only one second left. If Jonathan didn’t move, he was going to die. Why couldn’t he move?! He couldn’t afford to stay still! Jonathan tried with all his might to get away, his soul screaming at his body to move, damn it, but all he could manage was the slightest twitch of his right finger. That wasn’t good enough! He needed to get away, now! “Five seconds have passed! Time resumes!”

Jonathan gasped, opening his eyes and sitting bolt upright with a sudden motion. He was drenched with sweat, breathing heavily, heart pounding in his chest as he felt overwhelmed with fear and helplessness. Where was he? What had just happened? His memories were hazy, and he wasn’t sure what was going on. As his mind remained clouded by terror and sleepiness, he looked around to try to get his bearings, and the first thing he saw was-

“Dio!” Jonathan practically yelled in surprise, jumping backwards slightly as he struggled to form coherent thoughts. “You- you- what- I- ...Why were you watching me sleep?!” he spluttered, completely astounded.

Dio watched Jonathan with one eyebrow slightly raised and an otherwise unemotional expression, arms crossed as he sat on the edge of the bed. “You were sleeping late,” he replied simply, shrugging. “It’s nearly 6:30, you know.”

“So? What do you care how late I sleep?” Jonathan muttered in an almost offended tone, still leaning away from Dio and watching him with a wary look.

“Normally I wouldn’t, but I bought tickets for a play at 8:00,” Dio replied. “We’re leaving at 7:30 or so, so you should hurry up and get ready.”

Jonathan frowned hesitantly at this new information. “A... play..? What play? And why didn’t you say so yesterday? I never said I wanted to see a play,” he argued with slight confusion.

“It’s called a ‘surprise’, Jojo,” Dio said, in his usual way of speaking that felt cold and threatening even when he was teasing. “The truth is, I wasn’t aware of it until yesterday, but there’s going to be a performance of Dracula at the National Theatre tonight. So of course we have to go,” he explained with a grin.

“What’s it about?” Jonathan questioned, letting his curiousity get the better of him as he sat up slightly.

“...It’s Dracula,” Dio repeated slowly, raising an eyebrow at Jonathan as if that alone should have been enough of an explanation.

“Which is… what, exactly?” Jonathan responded.

For a moment, Dio stared at Jonathan with an open-mouthed look of astonishment, as if Jonathan were stupid somehow. Then he seemed to come to a realization of some sort, and relaxed, returning to his default bored, slightly smug expression.

“Ah, yes. I forgot Dracula was slightly after your time,” he admitted. “It’s a famous novel about a vampire. It’s highly influential, there have been quite a few films and books based off it. You should read it, I know how much you like gothic novels,” Dio told Jonathan thoughtfully.

Jonathan said nothing for a moment, only stared at Dio with a hesitant, debating expression. As much as he hated to go along with anything Dio said in any way, well… he always did have a hard time resisting the allure of books. Especially hearing about not only a gothic novel he’d died too soon to read, but one that had become highly influential…

“Anyway, I’ll leave you alone to get dressed,” Dio said, interrupting Jonathan’s internal conflict as he stood up from the bed. “I assume you’ll be wanting breakfast afterwards? You know where to find it,” he added nonchalantly, and began his descent down the stairs.

After Dio left, Jonathan remained sitting on the bed for a few minutes, taking some time to collect himself and think about everything that had just happened. He had only just woken up, after all, and it was a bit much to process all at once. He was still a little shaken by his nightmare (although he’d already forgotten nearly all the details), and now he had an hour to get ready to go to the theatre? Something about that just felt… annoying. It would be one thing if Dio had invited him to go, giving him some prior notice and an opportunity to decline, but it was another thing entirely to be simply told he was going- whether he liked it or not, apparently- immediately after waking up. He hated being treated like Dio��s puppet, with no free will of his own.

But what could he do? As much as he hated it, he effectively didn’t have any free will. He had no way of escaping, no choice but to follow along with Dio’s whims. He sighed as he opened the wardrobe and began looking through the clothes he’d been given, searching for a suitable outfit.

At least theatre was fun, he thought despondently to himself.

Jonathan felt slightly anxious as he walked down the stairs to the first floor of the mansion. Although he had been too asleep to think of it during his conversation with Dio, it now occurred to him that going to the theatre meant actually going to the theatre- in other words, in just a little under an hour, Jonathan would be leaving Dio’s mansion and seeing the outside world for the first time. And that, frankly, was a terrifying thought.

It wasn’t like he was completely ignorant when it came to the 20th century; He’d heard stories from Erina and Speedwagon, and overheard a few things at the mansion, and he’d even read a little bit about it as well. (Though admittedly not as much as he should have- the mansion’s library was impressive, but the majority of it had quickly become abandoned the moment he discovered A Study in Scarlet had grown into an entire series after his death.) He knew about cars and planes, and the World Wars, and movies… That is, he knew they existed, at least. He had never experienced them for himself. What’s more, he knew little of Cairo other than the narrow glimpses of the street that were visible through the mansion’s windows and holes. Egypt was an entirely different world from England, one he knew next to nothing about, and he wondered how well he’d survive it.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit excited at the same time. Dio’s mansion felt like a prison, all stone walls and boarded-up windows and weirdly dim lighting, devoid of life save for Dio, his creepy butler, and Dio’s occasional victims. Everything Jonathan did was at Dio’s whim, everything he knew was what Dio decided to tell him, and from dawn until dusk every day he was quite literally locked away in a tower. It would be nice to get out for a change, breathe some fresh air, and see ordinary people going about their lives. It would be nice to have a little taste of freedom, just for a few hours.

In any case, there was only a little under an hour to go until it was time to leave, like it or not. And so, Jonathan stepped off the stairs and turned down the hall towards a room Dio referred to as the “breakfast room”- a smaller, less formal dining room, with only a small dining table and simplistic lounge-like seating, as well as large windows (though they were generally obscured by curtains).

Unsurprisingly, when Jonathan arrived at the breakfast room, Dio was waiting for him while reclining casually in one of the chairs. D’Arby, too, was lurking rather ominously in a corner, waiting to obey any requests Dio might make.

“Hello, Jojo,” Dio greeted Jonathan as he sat down at the table. “What would you like for breakfast?”

“I don’t know, just… Normal breakfast, I suppose,” Jonathan answered tentatively. If he had to sum up his overall mood in one word, that word would be “uncertain”, and it showed. Every move he made was slow and hesitant, and he watched Dio and d’Arby with suspicion. As Jonathan finished speaking, d’Arby gave a nod and quickly, silently set out towards the door.

“D’Arby, bring some coffee too,” Dio ordered without looking away from the table. D’Arby stopped in his tracks just as he reached the door.

“As you wish, Lord Dio,” he replied with a bow, before continuing out the room.

With d’Arby gone, Jonathan was left alone with Dio while he awaited his breakfast.

“I apologize for not having more formal clothes for you,” Dio told Jonathan out of the blue after a few minutes. “You know how difficult it is to find clothes in such a large size. Perhaps tomorrow we should go shopping?” he suggested.

“And what about you? Surely you’re not going to the theatre in that, are you?” Jonathan wondered, gesturing towards Dio’s outfit.

Dio was clad in a tight-fitting black shirt that was cut short, showing off his (Jonathan’s!) well-toned abs, as well as having several long, tear-like holes that revealed his chest. Over this, Dio wore a metallic, slightly baggy deep purple jacket, and several bangles on either wrist. The rest of his outfit consisted of scandalously tight pants that matched the jacket, a belt with- god only knew why- a skull-shaped buckle, and what looked like the sort of shoes a medieval jester might wear, only more threatening.

Dio looked down at his clothes idly, as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing, and then looked back up at Jonathan.

“Yes, why?”

Jonathan opened his mouth to reply, but found himself unable to even begin to think of a response to such an absurd question.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to; It wasn’t long before d’Arby returned, carrying a silver tray containing two cups of coffee, a small silver creamer, two spoons, and two napkins. He placed the tray on the table and once again left the room, just as Jonathan and Dio both reached for their respective coffees.

Jonathan blew on his coffee for a few seconds to cool it down, and then eagerly took a sip. His face scrunched up in an almost irritated expression as he tasted the brew.

Dio gave a quiet, amused chuckle. “What’s with that face?”

“I forgot Egyptian coffee is different from English coffee,” Jonathan admitted, looking at his cup with both eyebrows raised. “It’s good, of course, it just took me by surprise is all,” he explained.

“You’ll get used to it soon enough,” Dio promised.

Just as Jonathan had been debating whether or not to add some cream to his coffee, Dio reached for the creamer. Jonathan watched as Dio tilted the small vessel, and to Jonathan’s surprise, an opaque, red liquid poured from its spout and into Dio’s coffee cup.

“That’s… not cream,” Jonathan said slowly, with an almost numb sense of dawning horror.

“What an astute observation,” Dio replied nonchalantly as he watched the blood pour into his coffee, and when he felt it to be a satisfactory amount, he tilted the creamer back up. Then, with almost cheerful casualness, he held it out towards Jonathan- “Want some?”

“No, I most certainly do not! Why would you even ask that question?!” Jonathan snapped angrily, feeling almost sick with revulsion.

“There’s no need to get so up in arms; I was just offering,” Dio replied with irritation. “Really, you should try it. Blood in coffee tastes much better than you’d think.”

“I’m not a monster like you, Dio,” Jonathan insisted, glaring at Dio with teeth bared.

Dio rolled his eyes. “Yes, you are. Like it or not, you have to face reality sooner or later. Do you honestly think eggs and toast can sustain an immortal body? Don’t be naive. You can’t live in denial forever,” Dio said in a suddenly serious tone. His harsh words made Jonathan’s blood run cold- a truly ironic expression- as he realized that there was at least some level of truth to what Dio was saying.

A truth he didn’t want to face.

But Jonathan was nothing if not steadfast, and he refused to give in and fall to Dio’s level. He would stand by his morals to the very last, no matter what the cost to himself. If he had to go through hell, so be it; He’d done it before, and he would do it again.

“I don’t care if I starve, and I don’t care what you do to me. I will never, ever do what you’re asking me to do,” Jonathan snarled.

Dio stared at Jonathan strangely for a moment, and then took a long, savoring sip of his coffee before speaking again.

“You know, even if we don’t share the same set of morals, I do understand where you’re coming from. If I’m being honest, your commitment to your values is something I’ve always found admirable about you,” Dio confessed. “But I would like to point something out.”

Jonathan stared expectantly and warily at Dio, waiting for him to continue.

“The person this blood came from is already dead. That’s a fact, regardless of how you may try to distance yourself from it. Abstinence cannot bring back the dead, Jojo,” Dio said, meeting Jonathan’s eyes with a serious expression. “So, knowing this… Wouldn’t it be better to drink the blood, and give their death meaning, rather than simply throwing it all away like yesterday’s spoiled milk?” Dio finished, and pushed the creamer towards Jonathan with a smirk, waiting for him to make the next move.

Jonathan froze. He knew Dio was right, and that hurt. Knowing innocent people were being killed, and sometimes for almost nothing… It made him sick, sick with the same sort of overwhelming sadness one feels after hearing about a catastrophe. It wasn’t right that those people had to die, and he knew there was nothing he could do.

But… Regardless, he could never drink blood. Doing so, no matter what the justification, would mean becoming like Dio, and that was something he would never do. Besides, the very thought was so revoltingly disgusting that he didn’t think he’d be able to anyway.

“Enough. No matter how many excuses you come up with, I won’t do it,” Jonathan told Dio, glaring back at him with equal intensity.

Dio frowned slightly, seeming almost as if he was plotting something (like usual, really), before sighing slightly.

“Fine. It’s clear this debate is going nowhere. It’s too early for this sort of argument,” he decided.

As if on cue, Jonathan heard footsteps approaching the door- not the soft, slow thuds of d’Arby’s footsteps, but rather more steady, energetic, clacking footsteps. A woman with curly, purple-hued hair entered the room, clad in a flowing yet fitted yellow dress, a multitude of colorful ocean-themed jewelry, and tall blue heels.

“Ah, Midler! You’ve certainly recovered well,” Dio greeted her enthusiastically, with the sort of smile that was impossible to tell how much of it was genuine and how much was fake.

Midler smiled, blushing slightly. “Thank you, Lord Dio. I’m glad to- Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had guests,” she said upon noticing Jonathan.

“Not at all,” Dio assured her. “This is my brother, Jonathan. Jojo, this is Midler, one of my best assassins- and an excellent dancer,” Dio introduced the two of them.

“Nice to meet you,” Jonathan said, hesitant as he always was when speaking to Dio’s associates. So this one was an assassin, was she..? Jonathan wondered whether she had always been so evil, or if Dio had seduced her with his mind control like he’d done to poor Poco all those years ago. Or maybe she’d simply fallen victim to Dio’s natural charisma, no magic needed other than a pretty face and a smooth tongue.

Midler smiled almost teasingly at Jonathan, walking over to him slowly. “That’s an interesting scar you got there, handsome,” she said, speaking as if to seduce Jonathan, though he could hear an underlying question in her voice. She poked his neck playfully with a flirtatious wink.

“...Uh.” Jonathan instinctively touched the still-tender wound on his neck, at a loss for words. He felt slightly stunned and confused.

“His body used to belong to Jotaro,” Dio explained to Midler.

Midler’s eyes widened as she looked back at Dio. “You’re kidding,” she gasped breathlessly, and Jonathan thought he caught a glimpse of something unguarded for a moment- Fear? Regret? Guilt? Anger?

But if there was truly something there, it disappeared quickly, as Midler returned to her role as a lascivious assassin.

“Well, you know what they say… When one door closes, another opens. When you lose one man, you may gain an even better one.” She spoke the last sentence in a low tone as she looked at Jonathan with a half-lidded gaze, walking slowly, teasingly around him.

Jonathan shrunk back uncomfortably, this time maintaining most of his composure as he finally understood what was going on. “Please, I’m married,” he explained with a frown.

“So? Plenty of men here in Egypt have multiple wives, you know,” Midler replied with an innocent shrug.

As she spoke, d’Arby entered the room with another tray, this time with Jonathan’s breakfast. Jonathan sighed in relief as Midler finally backed off slightly, and his breakfast gave him a legitimate excuse to ignore her.

...And admittedly, he was also just glad to have breakfast. Jonathan had always been quite enthusiastic when it came to food, and even the horror and misery of his situation couldn’t negate the sheer joy that could only be created by bacon.

While Jonathan eagerly began eating his breakfast, Midler sat down calmly in one of the chairs, watching Jonathan with a thoughtful expression. “...You know, Lord Dio… I didn’t know you had a brother,” she admitted curiously after a few minutes.

“He’s adopted,” Dio explained.

Jonathan gave Dio an annoyed look. “Uh, pardon? You’re the one who was adopted,” he corrected Dio between bites of toast. “Besides, I’m fairly certain father’s disowned you by this point.”

“Yes, well unfortunately for him, dead men have little say in the legal system,” Dio replied in a bored monotone.

“Dead men have little say in anything, it seems,” Jonathan muttered bitterly.

“Oh, stop whining,” Dio said with an eyeroll, before turning away from Jonathan. “Now then, Midler…”

Midler sat up attentively, giving Dio an expectant look. “Yes, Lord Dio?”

“You have served me well all these years. You’re beautiful, intelligent, powerful, loyal, and your High Priestess is quite formidable,” he began.

Midler gasped slightly and smiled, a wider, more genuine smile than the seductive ones she’d given before. “Thank you, Lord Dio. It is my honor and privilege to serve you,” she said excitedly with a deep, reverent bow of her head. (Meanwhile, Jonathan remained deeply absorbed in his food.)

“But, Midler…”

“...Yes, Lord Dio?” Midler responded uncertainly to Dio’s sudden dark tone.

“Despite all this, what was it I sent you to the coast to do?” Dio prompted, sounding almost like a condescending school teacher, only far, far more sinister.

“...To… to kill the Joestar group, my lord,” Midler answered quietly, going slightly pale as she realized where the conversation was going.

(Jonathan looked up slightly with his fork still in his mouth, raising an eyebrow at Dio and Midler’s exchange.)

“And did you kill them?” Dio prompted once again.

“No, my lord,” Midler answered even more quietly, head bowed in shame rather than reverence this time.

“Then you know what that means,” Dio said darkly.

“...Yes, Lord Dio.”

Without further prompting, Midler stood up from her chair and walked over to Dio. She knelt down in front of his chair on both knees, head bowed and eyes closed.

“It is my honor and duty to give myself to you,” Midler said with solemn conviction. She then tilted her head up, looking towards the ceiling in an almost prayer-like pose. “My life is yours. Please accept it,” she finished.

Dio smiled a slow, hungry smile. “Good.”

Dio reached towards Midler’s neck, and-

“Wait a minute! Don’t tell me you’re going to kill her?!” Jonathan interrupted with a horrified gasp, standing up abruptly.

“Of course I am,” Dio replied, as if this were common sense. “She knew the consequences of failure. If she wanted to live, she should have tried harder.”

“B-but that’s not fair! That’s hardly a reason to kill someone!” Jonathan insisted distressedly.

“I’m happy to give my life for Lord Dio,” Midler chimed in, still kneeling in front of Dio.

Jonathan shook his head in horror. “No. I won’t let this happen,” he said firmly, stomping over to Dio and Midler and grabbing Dio’s wrist with a rough, strong grip.

Dio yanked his arm away from Jonathan’s grasp, glaring at Jonathan in annoyance and anger. “Oh, for god’s sake, Jojo, are you seriously going to play the whole pacifist game every single time? Get over your damn idealism already!” he snapped. “Like it or not, you have to accept that you are a vampire, and more importantly, I am a vampire. I have no intention of changing my lifestyle and going against the natural order simply because you have a weak stomach. If you want to starve yourself, so be it, but you have no right to tell me what to do. Remember who’s in control here,” he threatened with a dark, violent snarl.

“Then at the very least, you could have the decency not to murder people in front of me while I’m trying to eat breakfast,” Jonathan hissed in response, matching Dio’s show of dominance- as always- with equal fire.

For a few moments, Dio and Jonathan continued staring each other down unblinkingly, locked in a battle of wills. Finally, Dio scowled and turned away from Jonathan.

“Fine. Midler, you are dismissed,” he announced sharply, with a clipped, seething tone.

Midler stood up quickly and said nothing, for fear of further provoking Dio’s anger. She hesitated for a brief second, glancing between Dio and Jonathan with wide eyes, before hurrying out of the room.

Jonathan ate the rest of his meal in angry silence. A tense, bitter aura filled the air between him and Dio, neither party willing to look at the other. Jonathan finished his food as quickly as possible, all appetite and enjoyment gone, and stormed out of the room as soon as he was done. As he left, he slammed the door hard enough to leave a crack in the wall.

[lykegenia]

The Things We Hide Ch. 5

The Southern Water Tribe stood for a hundred years against the Fire Nation, indomitable until Sozin’s Comet tipped the balance in Fire Lord Ozai’s favour. Now, as planned, the South is decimated, Chief Hakoda is a puppet on his throne, and Princess Katara is a political prisoner held in the Fire Nation capital to ensure his good behaviour. But Ozai has little time to gloat. A vigilante masquerading as the Blue Spirit is causing unrest among the people, rebel ships still hound his navy, and right under his nose the South’s most powerful waterbender waits with the patience of ice to strike at the very heart of his empire and bring it crashing down.

Chapter 1 on AO3

Words: 3048 Pairing: Zuko x Katara Chapter Summary: In the aftermath of the attack on the harbour, Zuko tries to find answers to who the mysterious waterbender is, and what she wants.

Read it on AO3

Scrolls littered the long table in the royal library where Zuko had sat researching since even before the palace servants were awake. Every scrap of parchment on the Water Tribes the Fire Nation had archived lay in front of him in haphazard piles, from treatises on waterbending to collections of scholarly notes, but all they told him was how woefully ignorant his people were about those that lived at the ends of the world. Most of the accounts were second-hand or hearsay, and those that weren’t tended towards the sensational, and were so old that they offered nothing useful anyway.

Blearily, his rubbed his eyes and pulled yet another yellowed scroll towards him. This one was a military report written by a Lieutenant Sangon. It was about thirty years old, stained by saltwater, and told of the capture of a Southern Water Tribe ship.

Liuyue Twenty-sixth Day

In the night we came upon a bank of dense fog incongruent with the weather fifteen leagues off the shore of Whaletail Island, and knew our enemy lay within its depths, though not how many ships ranged against us. Captain Mei-Lin ordered a return to the commonly sailed patrol route, but by dawn the fog overtook us. General quarters were called, but as visibility lessened the captain decided to proceed with engines cut and fires doused so we would not give away our presence. It is well known the water vessels run on the wind and the currents they themselves manipulate, so I think her hope was we would run on the current before them.

The captain bid me consult our charts against compass and last known position in case they planned to sink us on shoals, but, reassured we were in deep waters still, she surmised their tactics would be more traditional icebergs and overwhelming waves. Our elite Cormorant Squadron stood ready to defend our sides and blast away ice attacks, while the ammunition for the prototype pivot trebuchets were readied with pitch and spark powder.

The Water Tribe attack came estimated an hour before sunrise. Our only warning was the crack of ‘lightning ice’ that froze the propellers solid, before two Southern Tribe ships breached the fog off our port stern.

Zuko found his fingers creasing the edges of the paper as he read on, only too able to imagine the fear those firebenders faced against enemies who could encase them in ice or send water whips out of the sea to pluck them to their doom. Only the unexpected power of the then-new deck mounted trebuchets had kept the ship from being totally lost, as the shot loaded into them had been designed to shatter and spread explosive flame on impact – more than a match for the flammable wooden hulls of the Water Tribe.

In the end, one of the enemy ships had sunk with a gaping hole in the starboard keel, and the other had suffered a lucky shot that brought down the mast and all but snapped the vessel in two. Lieutenant Sangon described the aftermath with unprofessionally graphic detail, but Zuko hardly noticed.

Under my orders the hands followed procedure in taking account of the casualties and clearing the deck of the debris from the forward trebuchet. The fog around us cleared enough to allow the sun to filter through, and it roused heartiness in us all. The light let us spot a figure among the flotsam of the destroyed ship, a young woman in the garb and war paint of a waterbender, though through my glass I saw her bleeding heavily from a wound on the scalp.

Thinking to create some return for the tragedy of Captain Mei-Lin’s death, I ordered the boat out, and the girl was brought back in chains, to many jeers from the men in the crew. Their display left a sour taste in my mouth, for all she had tried her best to kill us all not moments before.

I conclude my report with a note on the waterbender’s condition. It is lucky we picked her up in such an incoherent state, otherwise it is certain she would have followed the example of her captured brethren before we could begin to question her. Her wounds have been treated, but for her own safety and ours we are keeping her drugged with wortroot, which has the added bonus of supressing qi should she manage to shake off sleep.

We estimate Gaolong Harbour in three days, and will submit our guest to the port authorities at that time.

In my own hand

Acting Captain Sangon Zushin

Rubbing the back of his neck to ease the ache, Zuko sat back, tapping his fingers against the table. The report mentioned the Southern waterbender had her face painted, and that in the attack some of the crew were killed by strands of water rising from the ocean like the tentacles of a giant squid-topus. Although this was the best corroboration he had found so far, it was still a tenuous link to what he had observed two nights before at the docks.

Rumours had already begun to gust around the capital. Witnesses to the disaster swore it was the work of angry spirits; Officials scoffed and said it was an act of sabotage, committed by a group of rebel benders intent on destroying the lives of helpless Fire Nation citizens. Only time would tell which story the people would take as truth, but already the harbour swam with offerings of flowers and rice thrown down to try and appease whatever god was powerful enough to destroy three ten-deck troop carriers single-handed.

As for Zuko, he knew with certainty the woman the Blue Spirit confronted that night was human. This raised more questions than it answered, however. Was the saboteur alone or did she have a network of hidden waterbenders helping her? And if she did, why attack at night? Such power as she demonstrated would have made short work of any soldiers sent to stop her, so was it merely convenience that she had waited until the docks were quiet, or was it conscience? Considering the scale of the disaster, very few of the ships’ skeleton crews had been killed in the attack, and more than one report mentioned feeling the waves push them onto the breakwater, heavy armour and all.

Zuko groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“Prince Zuko?”

“Yes?”

The elderly librarian shuffled forward, a new stack of papers in his arms. “You wanted the tactical reports from the Southern Conquest.”

“Ah, thank you.” He pushed out of his chair so he could relieve the old man of his burden. “You know you could get one of your assistants to help me.”

“No, I could not,” the librarian replied, waving his prince’s concerns away. “It would dishonour you to have one of those bumbling children getting in the way of your research. Besides, it does these old bones some good to get about a bit.” He wheezed a laugh and cracked the stiffness out of his knuckles. “Might I ask what all of this is in aid of, Prince Zuko? I haven’t seen you this studious in years.”

“I’ve had other things to think about,” Zuko replied testily. “Do I need a reason?”

“Of course not, of course not.” The librarian held up his hands in good-natured surrender. “Just tell me if you require anything further.” He shuffled off again, leaving Zuko to his alcove and his privacy.

The biggest problem, the prince observed wryly to himself as he flitted through the newest stack of documents, was that nobody had any real clue about the capabilities of waterbenders. Every naval report spoke about them with a sort of reverent fear, and it had taken the power of Sozin’s Comet to finally bring their society to its knees, but there was no empirical value set on their abilities, either the range or the volume of water an individual could manipulate at any one time. He supposed that reflected the subtle nature of their element, but the Fire Nation’s lack of knowledge had more to do with lack of subjects – captured waterbenders never lived for very long.

Still, he found it difficult to believe one person could be powerful enough to cause so much destruction - apart from the avatar, of course. His uncle would have known. Once, before everything went wrong, Iroh had encouraged Zuko’s curiosity about the other nations. He had said understanding other cultures was the true key to bringing peace after conquest, but then Lu Ten had died at the siege of Ba Sing Se, and the once revered Dragon of the West had betrayed his own men, ordering a retreat when they could have pressed on and assured victory. When the soldiers rebelled, their general had been caught in the blast of the Avatar’s power, his body torn apart by the elements.

Official records left out the true circumstances of Crown Prince Iroh’s death, but afterwards Ozai made it clear to his son that an open-minded attitude towards the other cultures of the world would no longer be tolerated. Iroh’s weakness in the face of the cursed avatar became a lesson in the perils of mercy.

But the avatar was far away in the Earth Kingdom, the last of the Air Nomads alive and well, busy stirring up rebellion against Fire Nation colonisers. The bender he encountered at the harbour was definitely not an Air Nomad, and there was no mistaking her shape underneath her clothes. He felt his cheeks warm at the memory and fisted his hands on the table to try and regain control of his fire. Royal princes did not become flustered at the mere thought of beautiful women, especially ones who were such a threat to shipping.

Was she beautiful, though? Under the war paint, did she have dark skin like that of others of the Water Tribe? Was it smooth and soft, or chafed by sea winds? What shape were her lips? He hadn’t been able to see the colour of her eyes in the darkness, but they were fierce.

He groaned again and pinched his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

--

The lattices of Katara’s private chambers were all open, but no breeze could be tempted in from the baking garden. If anything, the scorching heat of the sun had only increased since the day before, as if trying to squeeze the last moisture from the earth before the arrival of the winter rains. The still, dry air made Katara fidget under her sweat-drenched sheets, her fever slow to cool.

The influence of the full moon and the rush of her own daring had allowed her to destroy not one but all three of the ships moored in the harbour. Even in her delirium she remembered the savagery of her joy at being able to unleash her full power and strike at the heart of her enemy. She felt again and again the scream of tearing metal as she smashed the Ryujo against the breakwater, only now the tremors lanced through her body instead.

At the time she hadn’t realised how much energy she was using, too busy focussed on the flow of water in her hands. Afterwards, though, when she dragged herself back through the dimming streets, she had felt the tug of fatigue slowing every step as if stones pulled at her feet.

She woke sometime the next afternoon to the caress of healing water on her forehead. Linara sat over her, the healer’s smooth face scrunched in concern as she tried to map the splintered lines of qi through Katara’s body. Hama stood at the foot of the bed, her hands framed into rigid lines as she froze the air into powdery ice over her charge’s wrists and ankles. That was how she remembered the hours, in snatches of consciousness as shadows from the window trailed across the room, with her guardians working in seamless, unending tandem to bring her back from the dark.

Now, Katara sat in a pile of cushions with the vile taste of some reviving tonic lingering at the back of her throat. She focussed on separating the dank flavours to work out what they forced down her throat, because the alternative was having to look Hama in the eye.

She had never seen the old woman so angry.

“What were you thinking?” the old general demanded. “It’s a blessing you weren’t seen – or captured! What do you think would happen to our people, to all our well-laid plans, if they find out it was you who destroyed those ships in the harbour?”

“I couldn’t sit by and do nothing! Those ships were going to take soldiers to the Earth Kingdom, and now they can’t,” Katara retorted. She glanced down at where her hands lay in her lap. “And nobody caught me,” she added sullenly. “So they aren’t going to find out it was me.”

Ham sniffed. “And how will you explain your current state when the guard comes to interrogate us?” She threw up her hands. “You never think things through! Always impetuous, always taking on more than you can handle. They’ll be looking for waterbenders, girl.”

“General, please,” interrupted Linara. “This can be saved for another time. Katara needs rest.”

“She needs sense knocked into her. Where’s a glacier when you need one.”

“I’m sorry, Sifu,” Katara mumbled as Hama turned to stomp out.

The general hesitated in the doorway. “No you’re not,” she grunted. “You’re pleased with yourself. I hope you still are when all of our sacrifices come to nothing.”

Katara watched her teacher cross the garden and round a corner towards the kitchens, the blue-clad form shimmering under the intensity of the sun. She bit her lip. Everyone had risked so much for her, and Hama was right: the lives of too many people depended on her staying in the good graces of the Fire Lord as a political hostage, too demure to be a threat and too important to be thrown away. To be found out as a waterbender…

Tomorrow, she would make a proper apology, when exhaustion no longer clawed at her bones and made her head swim.

Linara tactfully chose that moment to replace her healing water, running her fingers along the rim of the turtleshell bowl she had received when she attained the rank of Master Healer. At twenty-five, she was one of the most gifted students in the school, hand-chosen to be part of Katara’s entourage, to protect the young princess in the polar bear-dog’s den, and to keep the skills and talents of the Southern Water Tribe safe, hidden in plain sight in case Hama’s plan failed. The bone beads threaded into the locks at her temples clicked as she kneeled once more at Katara’s bedside.

“All that bluster is just worry for you,” she said kindly. “The general’s actually quite impressed. We all are.”

She lay her hands against Katara’s fevered skin, one on her abdomen while the other smoothed a healing glow along her legs and down over her feet. Tension eased out of the Water Tribe princess, resignation settling in its place.

“Dad’s going to be so angry when he finds out.”

“He may be angry that you put yourself in danger,” the healer calmly replied. “But nobody can deny how far this will set back the Fire Nation war effort. Each of those ships was worth two thousand soldiers at least, and now it’s unlikely they’ll get to the Earth Kingdom in time to relieve the soldiers already there. Mark my words, it’s a gap that’ll be exploited. If there’s anyone who can make the most of this, it’s -”

“Don’t remind me,” Katara interrupted, burying her head in her hands. “That’s another person who’s going to be mad at me.”

The healer grinned. “Not looking forward to Mimi’s next letter?”

“No.”

“It might not be so bad. The Fire Navy will be short three of its biggest assets until they can replace them. That’s at least six months of unchecked piracy. The Third Fleet will be busy.”

Katara pushed herself out of her pile of cushions, gnawed by an unexpected concern. “And how many people will be worked to death to get new ships ready in six months?”

Linara’s hands paused against Katara’s skin, her smile hardened into a frown as she brought her fingers up to touch the carved pendant at her throat. The once-beautiful image carved in the mother-of-pearl was marred by a deep, deliberate scratch.

“That’s not our problem.”

“Isn’t it? It’ll be my fault.”

“There’s more suffering in this place than any one person could hope to change,” Linara snorted. “Don’t make yourself responsible for a society where the nobility break the backs of peasants to avoid stepping in the mud.”

“But -”

“If you want to help them, see this through. Care if you must, but remember you’re the only one who will.”

They lapsed into silence, Linara’s thoughts her own and Katara’s wandering back to the moonlit pier and the man with the twin swords who had confronted her there. At the time, she had been too surprised to notice much more than the glint of moonlight on steel and the gruesome mask leering through the darkness, but when the guards stole his attention and allowed her to get away, she had looked back. He moved through them with perfect control, chaos poised by discipline. Her father’s troops were well trained, but she had never seen anyone fight like that. His black clothes were loose, made of material that wouldn’t rustle as he moved, but Katara could imagine the lithe muscles beneath. He would not be bulky, like Water Tribe men used to hauling fishing lines, fed a steady diet of fish and meat. Was he a native of the capital, or somewhere else? What colour were his eyes? Most importantly, what had he been doing at the harbour that night?

“Katara?”

She blinked and found Linara watching her.

“Are you alright?”

“I was just wondering…” Katara paused, finding the right smokescreen for her interest. “I heard some of the Fire Nation soldiers talking. You’ve been to the market. What are people saying about a man in a blue mask?”

likes, reblogs, comments - all welcome!

[remusreads]

85 Questions

I was tagged by @aliteraryprincess to do this tag! Thank you so much for the tag! :D 

Under a read more because this post is massive. I tag everyone that wants to do this tag! Everyone do it! Woo!

the last 

drink: Water

phone call: My Mum

text message: My best friend!

song you listened to:  Rich Love by OneRepublic

time you cried: A couple of days ago when I was worried about having to go to the doctors. (Everything was okay in the end!)

dated someone twice: Hahahaha... Oh god. Yes. Ugh.

kissed someone and regretted it: Yes - back in 2008/2009.

been cheated on: Yes - back in 2008/2009. Hmm.

lost someone special: My doggo. I really miss my doggo. He passed away last year. 

been depressed: Back in 2013 was my last bout of depression. Yay!

gotten drunk and thrown up: Ugh. No.

3 favourite colours: red, green and yellow.

in the last year have you

made new friends: Yes!

16. fallen out of love: No... Definitely not.

17. laughed until you cried: Yes. Oh countless times! I also tend to laugh so hard I end up with hiccups... Hehehehe!

18. found out someone was talking about you: Yes...  

19. met someone who changed you: Yes! Yes, yes, yes!

20. found out who your friends are: I already knew

21. kissed someone on your Facebook list: Yes. Heheh.

General:

how many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: All of them. I don’t add anyone I’ve never met before.

do you have any pets: A guinea pig named Charlie!

do you want to change your name: Yes. I despise my birth name and want to legally change it to Becky. One day, maybe. Hopefully.

what did you do for your last birthday: Went out for a meal. 

what time did you wake up: 10:27.

what were you doing at midnight last night: Reading!

name something you can’t wait for: (hopefully) starting uni!

when was the last time you saw your mom: 15 or so mins ago.

has vanished? Has what vanished? Has who? What?

what are you listening to right now: The sound of a very annoying power tool...

have you ever talked to a person named tom: Yes.

something that is getting on your nerves: The amount I’m being forced to second hand smoke by inconsiderate dipsticks.

most visited website: Tumblr probably. 

hair colour: Deep brown.

long or short hair: Long.

do you have a crush on someone: Yes, indeed I do! Sadly it is unrequited, but I never lose hope.

what do you like about yourself: My eye colour and my creativity.

piercings: None - and I don’t think I ever will.

blood type: No clue. I keep forgetting to check.

nickname: Becks & Newt.

relationship status: Single.

zodiac: Libra

pronouns: She/Her

favourite tv show: I’m not really sure actually. Ah! I don’t tend to watch much TV, and the TV I do watch is sort of trashy... So I’m going to have to say Say Yes To the Dress UK. Hahaha.

tattoos: None. Yet. But I have a huge one planned for my arm.

right or left handed: Right!

surgery: I had an abscess surgery five years ago. I had one in October and then the abscess came back with a vengeance and I had another operation in the following April. I had to have a deep crater taken out of my back and reconstructive surgery to build the area back up to something somewhat normal. 

favorite sport: Rugby!

favorite vacation: Menorca, Spain. I love that place... Ahhh, I’ll go back one day.   favorite pair of trainers: My Red Adidas ZX700. I LOVE THEM. Ahhh.

.MORE GENERAL

eating: Uh, what about it? I ate teacakes for breakfast.

drinking: uH? I’m drinking an iced coffee rn.

I’m about to: Continue working on this post.

waiting for: Tomorrow - I will be away from my family and I can’t wait for a break. Ha.

want: Books. Lots, and lots, and lots of books.

get married: Yes! 

career: A freelance graphic designer... Someday!

WHICH IS BETTER:

hugs or kisses: Both. I really, really love both.

lips or eyes: Eyes.

shorter or taller: Taller, I think, but I don’t really have a preference. It definitely wouldn’t be a deal breaker. I have a crush on someone massively taller than me and also someone smaller than me... So I guess that proves I have no preference! Heh!

older or younger: Older… Definitely older. 

nice arms or nice stomach: I don’t mind. At all.

hookup or relationship: Relationship.

troublemaker or hesitant: Hesitant.

HAVE YOU EVER:

kissed a stranger: No.

drank hard liquor: No.

lost glasses/contact lenses: Yes! I lost them in school and spent hours looking for them for them to have been sent to the wrong classroom. I have never lost them since!

turned someone down: Yeah...

sex on the first date: No.

had your heart broken: Yes. Only once or twice, thankfully. Two boyfriends ago, I was so heartbroken that I couldn’t get out of bed. Thank God I saw sense and realised he wasn’t worth shit.

been arrested: No.

cried when someone died: Yes...

fallen for a friend: Yes! yUP.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN

yourself: Sometimes?

miracles: N-Y- I CAN’T TELL. Ahh.

love at first sight: Yes. In a way.

santa claus: No.

kiss on the first date: I don’t see why not!

angels: No.

OTHER:

eye colour: A beautiful, bright grass green.

favourite movie: Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. And also Prisoner of Azkaban because of David Thewlis/Remus Lupin. LOVE.

I tag: EVERYONE THAT WANTS TO DO THIS. WOO!

[bluebeirry]

Episode 2: Configuration

Post on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11255931

Synopsis: During a mission gone wrong, Playmaker is reminded of some personal issues he has with his "job." Ignis plants a seed of rebellious thoughts.

Part of my “Correct the For Want Of A Nail AU as we go along” Challenge

"Ahh, of course it takes five 'slip ups' on my behalf to draw you out." Somewhere out of sight, the Ignis giggled, high-pitched and breathy. "Well well well, who's the prisoner now?"

Not trapped forever, Playmaker told himself. He tried a quick scan of the area, surely the Ignis couldn't do more than tamper with the graphics.

"We'll see about that." Playmaker said.

From the back of Cracking Dragon, the strange glowing green wires weaving in and out of the walls, ceiling and floor served as the only way Playmaker could define boundaries of the hallway he was in. Yet there was no signal coming from either- no signal getting through at all.

He tried again, this time targeting one of the wires. Nothing. It was as though there wasn't just no signal, but no data. But that was impossible- at worst Yusaku would expect to find an address that was out of his reach. Not even that.

"You might want to save time and stop that."

Right, of course. The Ignis- or whoever was impersonating it- would just love for him to give up. Ordinarily Playmaker would take that as a sign he was close to getting positive results. Except of course he didn't have anything- no leads, nothing special done, no clue.

Above him, a glowing yellow eye manifested in the wall. Though it had no face, the Ignis seemed to be grinning at him. Despite himself, Playmaker shuddered.

He had no clues as to where to go, no clue what to do, and no clue how to foil whatever plan it had for him. Unless…

The Ignis had been spotted four times before this. Each time it had been heavily pursued one of Playmakers other comrades, and temporarily captured by Blue Angel. It only sprung this trap now, not when the others had attacked it, and the last appearance had been six hours before.

It had planned this- targeted Yusaku specifically for this trap.

That help promise. It changed the dynamic of this situation from hostage/kidnapper to convincer/convince. Or at the very least opened the possibility of a compromise.

Steeling himself, Playmaker spoke. "Ignis."

The eye blinked. "Yes?"

"What do you want from me?"

The eye squinted, scrutinizing him or perhaps pretending to. "What do I want?" It said casually. "What do you care what I want? Aren't most people more concerned with their own desires?"

Playmaker's fists clenched. "Don't toy with me."

"I'm just saying, aren't you really thinking about what you want?"

It seemed living inside of the internet for most of one's life resulted in the most logical upbringing. The Ignis had clearly spent too long watching trolls on message boards. "If you just wanted someone to taunt, you could've done that with any of the Knights."

"Ah, but none of them have the same investments you do." The eye glinted, giving the impression of a sly smirk. "Or at the very least your goals are unique among that group."

Confirming that the Ignis had been targeting him didn't encourage Playmaker as much as he'd hoped it would. To spy on him was one thing, but Yusaku's secrets… "How did you-" He stopped himself before he could reveal too much- for all he knew this was being recorded. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, nothing much." That insufferable sneak- whoever designed it should be shot. "Just noticing that you spend more free time away from the others of your little group than they do. Or rather… with one specific person."

Shoichi. It knew about Shoichi. Playmaker snarled, "If you hurt him, I will find a way to make you suffer."

"Don't worry, I'm not here to talk about 'damaged' boys." The eye glinted, a faux friendly smile. "You're the guest after all, so it stands to reason you should be the subject of interest."

No. Too many games, that was too clearly a threat. "Liar. You brought him up when you have me helpless. You haven't hurt me yet, so you clearly want something from me. If this isn't a threat it's a waste of time, so therefore this is a threat."

"No no, you've got it all wrong!" The Ignis kept insisting, "I only brought him up because the reason why you keep visiting him is relevant to me."

A bluff. Unless the Ignis knew Shoichi himself- but that was impossible. Shoichi could barely move on a good day, and that was with Yusaku encouraging him. He couldn't be convinced to duel, when he fought he'd forget who was on his side, and if you gave him code he'd give you something completely functional but irrelevant to the task at hand.

Shoichi was the least useful of the six. If it wasn't for Yusaku's protection he'd have never survived this long, he'd have been sent out as a suicide bomber or "retired." Worst of all, if you spent long enough with him you realized that he was much more capable than he let on. That half the time he was messing up on purpose.

Shoichi's complete refusal to give in and become another one of Revolver's pet monsters was the trait Yusaku most respected and hated in him.

God knew Yusaku wasn't that brave. That was why he was the one stuck here. "He's not useful to you beyond how he's connected to me-"

"Exactly." The Ignis said, much more serious now. "The one weakness of the great Playmaker, and yet he's a weakness to you and you alone." It was challenging him- but for what? "How come none of the others in your little group ever visit him? How come you're the only one who seems to care?"

That was-

That wasn't any of their faults. When you had challenges to face, you needed to focus on doing what you could to survive. To get through your own tasks and ensure you were useful enough to buy yourself another day of living. Yusaku couldn't blame the others for putting their work first.

Hell, the only reason he had any time for Shoichi was because he specialized in hacking. His job didn't require a strictly maintained public cover like Go, or the emotional drain of being the one thing new recruits saw and potential allies expected like Aoi. Yusaku could stay in one building for months, years even.

Yusaku could build a safe place for an emotionally troubled boy and keep it long enough to provide a little happiness. Especially not when that boy wanted to die.

It wasn't like that was going to change soon. On the off-handed chance Yusaku managed to get Shoichi out of Hanoi, where could he go? Without Hanoi Yusaku didn't have the resources to hire a caretaker and he couldn't take care of himself. Even after five years, Shoichi still had days where he confused Yusaku with a long-gone older brother.

The Ignis had no right to bring up such painful memories.

Steeling himself Playmaker spoke. "That's none of your concern." He fought to keep his face blank. "What I do, or what any of the others on our own has nothing to do with you."

For a moment the Ignis watched Playmaker, expecting something more. It said, "But it says something about you."

Ah, back on topic. "And what's that?"

"You care."

Yusaku blinked. That was an odd non-sequitur. "Everyone has something they care about." Yusaku pointed out.

"Yes, but you care about something other than your mission." In the wall, the eye rolled itself. "You care about something other than Hanoi. Which is rather odd for someone who's been all but raised by them. One would think that meeting Hanoi's goals would be the most important thing in your life.

"Yet it's not. Why is that?"

Was this just a question-and answer? Just a chance for the Ignis to fulfil some gaps in its knowledge, or a reward-based form of curiosity? "Why do you care?" Playmaker asked.

The eye smiled again. "I'm trying to see if you're worth saving." Saving? "Hanoi is powerful, and they may want you to think that they hold all the cards, but do you really think they're going to be around forever?"

It squinted at him, challenging him, and it said, "They've made many enemies. Sooner or later, someone is going to take them down. And there's many ways for that to happen- some with more collateral damage than others. Some, with less collateral.

"Some, where certain people-"

The hallway rumbled, and the eye widened, the Ignis caught off guard. From the tremors Playmaker's sensors picked up patterns in the tone and depth. "It's him." One of the other six.

The eye glanced back at Playmaker, frantic and wide. "I- I'll leave you to think about it." Another tremor, the eye moved within the walls to get to the floor. "I'll be in touch- just go tell your rescuers that I didn't hurt you. Or better yet-"

Playmaker braced himself, but he was still unprepared for the flash-bang light of the Ignis breaking the trap. On one end a monster burst through the ceiling, the eye creating and diving through a sinkhole, and Yusaku thrown backwards through the wall at neck-breaking speeds.

He'd been trained to diffuse shock from a bad VRAINS disconnection, but he still jerked upright in his chair. Swallowed down vomit before it came up.

Outside his room he heard music playing, the caretaker must've taken them back from the park. That wasn't good- as far as Yusaku knew he'd only been under for an hour and Shoichi was supposed to get more exercise than that. Must've passed a fire truck or a police car, and came back when the siren set Shoichi off.

There was a ping on his screen, probably from Revolver. Yusaku knew he'd have to answer it soon, but for now he needed to recover. He was in no shape to work or even give a report. If they really wanted it they could just turn on the cameras, see just how 'well' he was doing.

When he was sure he could breathe, Yusaku pushed the screen away and pulled his knees up to his chest.

Breathe in, breathe out. In, out. Deep breaths, just like they showed you. Wait until the world stops spinning and it's possible to move.

Curled up in a ball in a loaned apartment, Yusaku remembered what the Ignis had said about Hanoi going down. Wondered what it would mean for Yusaku and the little circle of people he cared about. Wondered if they had any hope of survival after all they'd done.

Wondered if there was anything he could do to save them.

[bffhreprise]

Entry 323

 As the plane landed, I again found myself considering if there were any possible benefits of making a scene, but my captor’s one-track mind made the hope of rescue implausible.  Despite our similarities in healing, she could easily overpower me, and I suspected that she’d be able to wrestle me out of the airport while avoiding security, assuming there was any.  I was already missing the ability to see.

 Before takeoff, I surmised we were at some sort of private wing of an airport, since the sounds and smells of crowds had diminished significantly.  The plane itself was very comfortable and quite obviously private with an English stewardess and pilot doting on us, likely Lady Pendreigh’s.

 “I’m going to put your disguise back on, so don’t fidget.” stated Portentia, who had an uncanny knack for knowing what I said despite being deaf.  She had told the stewardess not to answer any questions when I merely attempted to find out where we were going.  The pilot had obviously been told not to announce our destination either, merely announcing the descent.  He hadn’t even told us of the weather, though that could be a preference of Lady Pendreigh’s.  Temperature wouldn’t bother her.

 After the “disguise”—a hoodie and sunglasses—was in place to her satisfaction, she ungraciously lifted me to my feet, barely giving me a moment to find the floor before placing my hand on her arm.  I could have easily left the disguise on during our flight, but I felt like a clown in her clothes.  She was taller than me, and that was the cheapest fabric I had ever touched.  Letting her dress me was annoying, but appearing mentally beaten could prove useful in time.

 Once we were in the main part of the airport, I could hear departures being announced, but that didn’t last long enough to make sense of our location.  Portentia already had our luggage on a cart she had wheeled along with us, and she swept me outside in a rush.

 “James!” exclaimed Portentia excitedly, releasing me to run ahead.

 Ah.  So that’s where we landed.  “Hello again, James.” I greeted, guessing his direction from where she ran.

 He didn’t reply, but he didn’t need to.  I wasn’t here because he missed me, but he hadn’t expected me either.

 “Can I keep her?” questioned Portentia in an excited whisper.  Was I a pet to her now?

 “What!?” exclaimed James in surprise.

 “James, let’s discuss this in the car.” called Lady Pendreigh.

 “Lady Pendreigh, I should have known you’d be here as well.” I commented, suspecting she was the one behind my capture.  Having her not bother to collect me herself was irritating.  Even her company was a step up from Portentia’s.

 My hand was placed back on Portentia’s slender arm, and I followed obediently.  Making a scene at this point would cause trouble for James, and Lady Pendreigh might well get violent then.  As meaningless as pain was, I didn’t enjoy it.  Portentia helped me into a vehicle, likely a limousine from my company.

 “What’s this about?” questioned James.

 “I don’t believe I can age, so prison would raise numerous questions.” I explained.  There was a small chance of eventually convincing him to intervene on my behalf.

 “You’re colder than normal.” pointed out Lady Pendreigh.

 “Portentia confiscated all of my tech.  I assured her that some of it was perfectly harmless, but she doesn’t trust me.” I politely replied.

 “No one trusts you.” jabbed Portentia.

 Wishing I could ignore her, I said, “Camila does.  You know they don’t really have enough evidence against her to keep her long.  My lawyers will see to it.”

 “Even a year apart will do you two some good.  Besides, you only have one lawyer left practicing in that area.  We did our research.” insisted Portentia, smiling by her tone.

 “Oh, yes.  The mysterious ‘we’ again.  I can’t imagine that James supplies your intel.” I told her, expecting Lady Pendreigh to gloat over her role.

 “No, he’s my sidekick at times.” stated Portentia giddily.  She certainly was smiling now.

 Sadly, James and Lady Pendreigh both remained silent as Portentia continued to make jabs, which I argued.  Being beaten by a girl of her obviously average intellect was irksome.  I wasn’t going to take her continuous jabs at my character silently.

 “You could seal her away in your vault, James.” suggested Lady Pendreigh after a while.  “Even I couldn’t escape it for a very long time if I ever did manage to figure out those bloody enchantments.”

 “Coarse as ever.” I teased to cover my concern.  If Lady Pendreigh couldn’t escape from his vault, I couldn’t.  I had no doubt.  Yes, I could attack the walls for a thousand years, but a single punch from her was worth a year of mine easily.  The difference in force was incredible according to my intel on her.

 “I wouldn’t want any of my collection damaged when Maxine grew bored.” commented James as if he actually considered the idea.

 “Maybe I should keep her under my personal supervision.” suggested Lady Pendreigh jokingly, though I doubted she actually joked at all.

 “Oh, yes.  That would be marvelous.  I’m sure neither of us would grow bored, even when you’re old and gray.” I told her, honestly thinking the idea might be preferable than remaining near Portentia.

 “Funny, but I don’t seem to age either.  We’ll have a very long relationship.” replied Lady Pendreigh with a hint of mirth still in her voice.

 I couldn’t hide my dismay as I said, “This is the most insufferable run of bad luck in history.”

 “Maxine’s used to being lucky.  Very lucky.  I think… we may be opposites in that regard.” suggested Portentia.

“Do things really go wrong for Portentia all the time?” I questioned.  “Some of the stories she told me seem highly improbable.”

 “No.  Portentia’s learned to be meticulous in many areas to avoid problems in advance.” insisted James, verifying Portentia’s terrible luck.

 Some of the incidents involving my drones had made me scream in frustration, such as when an umbrella had been caught by the wind at the precise moment needed to send it flying into one drone that ended up shooting another as it tilted

 “I help too, Master.” came a familiar voice.

 “That voice… you’re the mysterious informant.” I commented, hoping to find out the mastermind behind Portentia’s “heroics”.

 “I’m the one who crippled your communication throughout the city and performed the DDoS attacks against you.” happily replied the voice.  “You are a skilled techie for a near-human.  Mother found your attempts to fight me adorable.”

 “And who’s your mother?” I questioned, curiosity peaked.  Without my servers being crippled, Portentia would have had a much greater arsenal to face.

 “Aaliyah T. Sypher.” came the reply.

 “What?  That child!?” I exclaimed in complete disbelief.

 “I’m an artificial intelligence designed by Aaliyah to assist James in all his needs.  The Master allows me enough free time to aid in other endeavors as well.” explained the voice.

 “What?  You’re a machine?” I inquired, disbelief giving way to wonder.  Ancient Tribes of Earth was a completely uncrackable game generations beyond anything else in terms of immersion, graphics, complete lack of lag, and unhackable systems.  The child genius who created it might actually be capable of creating a sentient program.  That could explain the lifelike nature of the NPCs in the game.

 “You’re hearing my voice from an android body that was a joint project between mother, Jarod, and me.  The upgraded versions will be deployed in the near future.  When we arrive, you should thank Jarod for his part in your machines.” playfully suggested the A.I.

 “I suspected he was the one after I saw some of his car designs.  He’s very gifted.” I freely admitted.  Without his help, my suit would have taken far longer to create.

 “He also designed the physical part of Calamity’s enhancement suit.  The Master handled the magical end.” she continued, sounding flirtatious when she spoke of James.

 Forcing a smile, I said, “Camila would love to learn from you, James.  She was quite confused by how Portentia seemed to ignore her spells.”  Both of us were.  Camila was completely incapable of helping in our fights, despite her best efforts.

 “I’ve seen Camila’s attempt at spells.  She lacks the capacity to even understand James’ enchantment, much less cast it.” insisted Lady Pendreigh snidely.

 “Disappointing, but understandable.  The little escape trick James pulled on me was extraordinary by itself.” I admitted, remembering how shocked Camila had been when I told her of it.

 As the drive continued, I had plenty of time to consider ways of tricking Aaliyah into telling me more about her designs.  Speaking plainly, I was a genius of considerable prowess at code and engineering, but I hadn’t even bothered attempting to create a sentient machine, especially not one with such obvious personality.  Listening to this Mila talk, I’d have never guessed she wasn’t human.