#already fed up with the fact he’s carrying the devil’s spawn

[simpfornegan]

since i’m riding the mpreg train heavily atm, do you guys think pre-temp v butcher, pregnant with homelander’s kid, would/could inherit some of the little demon spawn’s powers in the womb?🤔

[esmealux]

The Devil Doesn’t Do Children

Part: 1 / ?

Setting: About a year after 5a

Word count: 3.3K

Rating: T

Warnings: Mention of death/murder (and, quite indirectly, foeticide)

Summary: Chloe is sick and Lucifer puts two and two together (with a little help from Dan).

Author’s note: This is my longest work so far. It was meant to be one long piece, but it ended up being 10.8K (!), so I’ve cut it into three parts. And just because I can’t help myself, there’s already a fourth on the way. Enjoy!

Usually, Lucifer wakes up bathed in golden dawn light and wrapped in the warmth of Chloe’s naked body. If it’s not her raucous snoring or the demanding screeches of her alarm that rouse him from his sleep, it is the press of her soft lips against his neck (or somewhere more south, if he’s particularly lucky, and he often is). But not today. Today he wakes up surrounded by darkness in her much too cold bed, and it’s neither her snores nor her kisses which break off his slumber. It’s the sound of Chewbacca being strangled in her bathroom. 

Or, he realises upon fully awakening, Chloe throwing up.

Alarmed and slightly annoyed that vomit of all things is interrupting his peaceful rest, he sits up in bed and stretches his taut body. Grabbing the nearest phone, he checks the time and groans when it says 05.26. Somewhere in his half-asleep mind, he recalls the Danish saying ‘Før Fanden får sko på’—now officially a synonym for 05.26, he thinks as he gets up and walks to the bathroom door barefoot.

‘Detective?’ he asks in a gruff voice, knocking quietly.

‘Don’t come in,’ she commands before heaving again.

He flinches. ‘Believe me, love, I wasn’t planning on it.’

It’s mostly said in jest, because if she asked him, he would be there by her side in a heartbeat. They’ve been through far too much together to care about the other’s less appetising sides. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time he sees her ejecting her stomach contents, having once picked her up from an extraordinarily wild Tribe night. At least he won’t have to stick his fingers down her throat this time.

Eventually, there’s an intermission long enough for her to flush, put down the seat and open the door for him. He enters with reluctance, inspecting her warily as she sits on top of the toilet lid, her head in her hands. When she looks up at him, he gasps. ‘Oh, darling, you look positively terrible’—he leans a bit forward, assessing her ashen face—‘Abominable, really.’ Behind the thick mask of nausea and exhaustion, he thinks he sees her glare.

‘Fancy a toothbrush?’ he offers, already walking past her to find one by the sink. A hint of gratitude glints in her matte eyes as he hands it to her along with a glass of water. He smiles at her and leans against the door frame, eventually looking down to appreciate his pedicure as she rinses her mouth. ‘Is pwobably sumthin I ate,’ she mumbles around foam and toothbrush. He cocks his eye and looks up at her, scoffing. ‘You think?’ When he’d locked himself into her flat late last night after hosting an event at Lux, he’d been greeted by the sight of her and her spawn sleeping on the couch, remains of junk food cluttering up the coffee table before them. The logo on the Styrofoam had made him shake his head in disappointment and disgust. He’d cleaned it up and carried the ladies to their beds, but not before ripping one specific menu card off their fridge and tearing it to pieces. ‘I mean, it’s one thing you order garbage for yourself, but must you punish your offspring in the process? I may detest children, but even I think that’s no way to treat a child. Especially Beatrice. You do realise the men’s room at Lux are cleaner than that place, right?’

In response to his question, she pulls the toothbrush out of her mouth, lifts the lid of the toilet and, once again, disgorges her dinner.

‘My point exactly,’ he replies, before crouching down next to her to hold back her hair.

*

‘Lucifer! Did you make breakfast?!’ The doe-eyed creature shrieks as it appears from its nest, the brown, ungroomed mane falling messily around its head.

‘Good morning to you too, urchin,’ he greets her, looking up from the pot he’s stirring in to give her a half-forced smile as she takes a seat by the counter. He feels a strange itch in his hands to pull out the bar stool for her and help her up (mostly because he can’t be bothered with her tedious jumping), but to his surprise, she climbs the stool with ease—or at least not ungracefully. It tugs at something in his chest the same way it does when he occasionally is compelled to spend time with his nephew, and the babe’s already crawling, or walking, or making sounds that somewhat resemble actual words. For unfathomable reasons, it makes him feel uneasy—but mostly pleased; the sooner they grow up, the sooner they’ll stop being such pains in the-

‘Oh my God, is that bacon? And eggs? And pancakes?!’

He sighs and looks up to chide her for her unjust invocation, but swallows it when he sees her hungry, gleeful eyes. ‘Yes, here. Have some actual food,’ he tells her, nudging the plate and some cutlery in her direction. And some wet wipes, because longer limbs or not, she’s still a sticky child.

‘It’s chocolate chip pancakes!’ she exclaims upon inspecting her breakfast further, as if he didn’t already know. ‘Thank you, Lucifer. You’re the best.’ She’s beaming brightly at him now, and he feels threatened, foreseeing that she, any second, will launch her small body at him and enclose his middle, ruining his Armani suit with her greasy fingers. But she doesn’t. She just sits there and stares at him, her eyes twinkling with an emotion that looks uncannily related to one he has only ever seen in her mother’s eyes.

‘Eh,’ he breathes, his throat tightening. He looks away from her unsettling smiley face and returns his attention to the pot on the stove. ‘Well, it was the least I could do after your supposed caregiver fed you literal poison last night.’

Suddenly reminded of the Detective and her progeny’s shared meal, he turns his head to search the adolescent’s face for any signs of sickness. But she doesn’t look remotely nauseous as she devours her feed like a starving hyena cub. He quirks an eyebrow. ‘I’m guessing from your lupine appetite that you haven’t been praying to the porcelain gods like your mother?’

Beatrice’s brows knit together, her fork pausing mid-air. She (fortunately) swallows her food before she speaks, all joy in her voice suddenly gone, ‘Mom’s sick?’

‘Well, yes, but I’m positive it’ll pass soon. She just needs to… get it out of her system,’ he quickly reassures her, offering her a soft smile. The discomforting concern in the big, brown eyes slowly disappears as absolute delight takes over.

‘Does that mean you’re taking me to school?’ She asks, her small corpus barely able to contain her joy. ‘In your car?!’

He scoffs, feeling attacked. ‘As if I’d ever voluntarily drive your mum’s mind-numbingly boring example of an automobile.’ She grins at that, making a comment about how his is ‘definitely a trazillion times cooler,’ and he smiles at her, smug and victorious. ‘Exactly, child! So, yes, naturally, I will be escorting you in the corvette. But now, march off and get yourself ready while I finish this…’ he pokes around the grey goo in the pot with the wooden spoon, trying not to grimace, ‘oatmeal, for your mother. According to our friend Alexa it’s good for nauseated humans, although I highly doubt it.’

The teenager simply shrugs at that, finishes her breakfast and retreats to her burrow to get dressed. Once the porridge is done, Lucifer pours it in a bowl, puts it on a tray along with a cool glass of coke (also Alexandra’s suggestion) and carries it up to the Detective’s bedroom. He opens the door slowly as to not wake her, but the stubbornest of women is sitting on the edge of the bed, using all strength left in her depleted body to pull on her skinny jeans. Putting down the tray on the nearest surface, he darts over to her with a ‘what in Dad’s name are you doing?!’ and tugs the trousers down her legs and off her. ‘We have to go to work, Lucifer,’ she objects rather weakly, not even trying to put her jeans back on. ‘I have to go to work,’ he corrects her, carefully laying her down once he’s freed both her feet. ‘You, Detective, need to stay here and rest until you can keep it all inside you.’ He senses she’s about to protest again, so he places a kiss on her forehead and assures her, ‘Trust me, dear, everything is taken care of.’ Even as nausea has tinted her face green, she manages to narrow her eyes at him in scepticism. ‘Just promise me you’ll behave,’ she eventually mutters as she gives up and nuzzles into the blankets.

He lightly strokes her shoulder with the back of his fingers and quietly walks out of the room, leaving her with a dramatic sigh and an ‘As you wish.’

*

Daniel is already at the crime scene when Lucifer arrives after depositing the urchin. He’d thought he’d have to go through an entire day of purgatory—or paperwork, as the Detective pronounces it—and it was only worsened by the fact that he wouldn’t have his partner by his side. If she had been there, he could at least have distracted them both with some suggestive looks here, some subtle touches there, and—when he’d worked her into a frenzy of desire—a coffee break or two in the parking garage. Instead, he’d have to endure the agonising tedium on his own, even as there were, at a minimum, three hell loops he’d rather spend his time in than do paperwork at the precinct all day. But then Miss Lopez had called and informed him they’d got a new case. He’d been absolutely delighted (as delighted as it is allowed when someone has dropped dead), but only until he’d made the mistake of telling her that the Detective was home sick, and she’d said that she would ‘call Espinoza ASAP’ and tell him to meet them at the scene. If he had just kept his mouth shut, he could have got the case all to himself, instead of having Detective Douche tag along.

Taking a deep breath, he checks his cuffs and takes his time approaching the douche in question. ‘Sorry I’m late. Your spawn spent quite some time choosing the right attire,’ Lucifer offers in greeting. Daniel looks him up and down with raised eyebrows, his eyes landing on the perfectly folded crimson pocket square. ‘For a normal school day? Wonder who inspired that kind of vanity in her.’

‘Well, it certainly wasn’t her father,’ Lucifer deadpans and nods towards Daniel’s hoodie/jacket/jeans-combination.

With a humourless laugh and a shake of his head, Dan stuffs his hands in his pockets and turns on his heels to walk up the stairs and into the residential building. After bringing out his flask and taking a long swig, Lucifer follows him.

When they enter the flat, Miss Lopez is leaning over the body with her camera. The sight is oddly welcoming. Comfortably familiar. She’d only come back a week ago after being away for a little over a month, on a much-deserved vacation in New Zealand, and Lucifer had missed her cheerful spirit and their crime scene banter terribly. The latter is, much to Lucifer’s annoyance, cut short today by Daniel ‘Buzz-Kill’ Espinoza’s ‘So, Ella, what can you tell us about the vic?’

It’s a rather uninteresting case; a woman, Laura Greene, 26, has been murdered in her home. Stabbed with a kitchen knife, first in the abdomen, then the chest. No signs of B&E, no signs of struggle. A swift and impulsive act—no doubt a crime of passion according to Ella. The most obvious culprit would be an angered partner, but the roommate, who found the body, tells them the victim wasn’t in a relationship and rarely went on dates or brought anyone home. On top of that, Roomie can’t think of anyone who would hurt dear Laura. And the neighbours are just as useless; one is a deaf elder lady, and the others were chasing the dragon at the time of death. The rest of the floor haven’t heard or noticed anything either. Consequently, they have absolutely nothing once they get to the precinct. Ella goes through evidence and Daniel through piles and piles of papers, leaving Lucifer to stand awkwardly in the corner of Ella’s lab, with no desires to unveil or miscreants to threaten.

As to not die of boredom, he zooms out and lets his mind wander. He’s in the middle of designing a strategy for how to make Chloe finally agree to try the deliciously sinful position he considers one of his favourites when Ella’s frustrated sigh interrupts his planning.

‘Something troubling you, Miss Lopez?’ he asks her, pulling out his flask.

She tells him she has nothing. No match on the fingerprints from the murder weapon, no useful surveillance tapes, no clues at the scene that can tell her the gender, age, or occupation of the murderer. Nada. Just the fact that it was done in a moment of heat.

Before Lucifer can answer, Dan walks in with a puzzled look on his ill-favoured face, his arms filled with highlighted printouts. ‘Could she’ve been pregnant?’

Ella tilts her head. ‘I mean, it’s not impossible, but based on what her roommate told us, I wouldn’t bet my money on it. You know, because our girl Laura had no boy toyz.’

Lucifer can’t hold back a snort. ‘Please, Miss Lopez, all it takes is a boy toy, singular, ten minutes in a bathroom stall and the absence of contraceptives.’

Dan looks at him with disgust and horror before shaking his head and returning his attention to Ella. ‘Well, no,’ he answers her, ignoring Lucifer’s comment entirely, ‘but then I thought about the other thing her roommate said, about Laura throwing up during the past weeks, and I thought-’

‘But Michelle said she thought it was an eating disorder, like Laura’d had before,’ Ella interrupts him, looking to Lucifer for support. He just purses his lips and looks back. Truth be told, when they’d been talking to the roommate, the mentioning of vomit had reminded him of his feeble Detective at home and he’d excused himself to send her a text. He therefore hadn’t heard whatever explanation the woman had offered (nor her arguments for why the victim’s sickness would be relevant to them). Fortunately, Dan answers.

‘Yeah, I know, I thought that too, but then I saw she paid a bill to an OB-GYN earlier this month, and it could just be a gynaecological check-up or something, but then I remembered how badly Chloe suffered from morning sickness when she was pregnant with Trixie, so I…’

Lucifer stops listening as Daniel’s words—one in particular—suddenly whirl around him, loud and ominous. His heart starts pounding faster and his throat goes dry. He instinctively grips the edge of the lab table.

‘Surely there could be other explanations,’ he manages to get out, interrupting his co-workers’ discussion. ‘Food poisoning, for instance.’

Dan and Ella look at him with equally sceptical looks. ‘Not for ten days straight,’ Ella argues.

‘But there is a myriad of reasons for a woman to throw up,’ he defends as he starts frantically googling. ‘Indigestion, stomach bug, chemotherapy, motion sickness… aha, migraine!’

When Lucifer looks up from his phone, Daniel is looking at him like he’s questioning his sanity. Miss Lopez seems concerned too, but more in an ‘dude, you okay?’-way than anything else.

Ella slowly takes her eyes off Lucifer’s face and eyes Dan shortly. ‘Well, we can’t know for sure before we get the final results from the autopsy, but from what Dan has found, she could quite possibly be pregnant.’

‘But,’ Lucifer objects, barely audibly, like someone has knocked the wind out of him, ‘she can’t be.’ He’s staring out into empty air, unwelcome images suddenly flooding his mind, as Daniel and Miss Lopez continue talking. He’s on the verge of what he thinks might be a panic attack when a voice, her voice, drags him out of his own head.

‘Hey guys,’ she greets them. She’s hoarse and looks a little tired, but the green tinge is gone.

‘Detective,’ is what he manages to say back. She looks at him with soft eyes and it’s enough for him to come back to his senses for a moment. Surprised by her presence, he begins to ask, ‘Are you done-’

He was going to say ‘puking your guts out’ but she widens her eyes at him and cuts him off, ‘Having a bad headache? Yes, thank you, Lucifer. I just needed some rest.’

‘Right,’ he mumbles, giving her one slow nod. She walks over to stand close beside him and brushes her fingers against the back of his hand, somehow sensing that he’s tense. 

‘Okay, what have we got?’ She looks to Dan and Ella and lets go of Lucifer’s hand. He instantly misses her touch.

They fill Chloe in, telling her about everything from the lack of leads to small, seemingly insignificant details. When she’s completely up to date, she has that look on her face, eyes slightly narrowed, like she has a (historically, clever) theory.

‘Well,’ she begins, still visibly thinking, ‘it does take two to tango.’ She side-eyes Lucifer, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips. It’s clear she expects a remark or a praising grin in return, and he tries, but it comes out as a grimace and a strained ‘eh’. She gives him a funny look before continuing her theory, ‘What I mean is, boyfriend or not, there’s still a father out there. Maybe he found out and couldn’t handle the news? Maybe he was married to someone else? Or… he just didn’t want to be a dad?’

Lucifer feels his heartbeat speed up once again. An odd emotion he can’t quite name spreads in his chest. It feels like a disease.

‘Sure seems like motive, but how are we gonna find him?’ Dan asks. Not one second later, Miss Lopez’ ‘found him!’ sounds from where she’s leaning over her computer. ‘Tech just got access to her photos —kinda tricky since she had this super secure lock-’

‘Who is he, Ella?’ Chloe demands.

Ella clicks on the screen and turns the computer around so they can see. ‘The guy’s everywhere in her camera roll. I don’t know, he seems kinda familiar, but-’

‘That’s Max Steinfeld!’ Dan exclaims when he sees the photo. It’s taken in bed, post-orgasm Lucifer would say, judging from the blissful aura. Laura’s got a hand on the man’s chest who, indeed, is the chap who starred on that horrible teenage comedy show and today is trying to redeem himself by doing mediocre action movies and… settling down with Hollywood’s sweetheart. 

‘But he’s dating Simone Riley,’ Lucifer enlightens his colleagues upon his revelation. ‘They’re tying the knot this spring.’

Chloe shoots him a questioning look, and he tells her he got a mani-pedi the other day. She nods her head in understanding.

‘Well, if he’s engaged, he probably wasn’t ecstatic when Laura told him she was pregnant with his baby.’

As she asks Dan to get the actor’s current location all Lucifer can do is stand there and stare at her, as if he might find the answers to the thousands of questions in his head written on the side of her face. But he doesn’t. He only finds the familiar beauty mark, a perfectly pointed eyebrow, and the smooth, marble-like skin of the woman he loves. And it makes him yearn for those answers even more.

Part II  |  Part III  | Part IV (coming soon)

[scarletgardensrpg]

UNDEAD ♦ THIRTY-SEVEN ♦ ASCENDANCY

CECILE BUCHANAN is the Resurrector of the Ascendancy and second-in-command to De Dominee. Killed and resurrected by Nikolaas in the Red Room, Cecile is the first recorded Undead to walk the Earth. The circumstances of her death and revival are peculiar and scientifically unreplicable thus far—the product of extensive experimentation prior to her exposure to the 197th iteration of PM-GRNT, her body reacted to the chemical abnormally by simultaneously killing, then reviving her as a semi-conscious rotbeest following consumption of Nikolaas' blood. This genetic anonmaly, wherein she never developed a true rotbeest state, enables her to survive without PM-GRNT 197. She and her brother, Evander, are responsible for the initial Scarlet Death.

BIOGRAPHY

tw: gore, implied animal cruelty

At fifteen, she was already vicious. The dog's fucking dead, what am I supposed to do about it? Revive it? She was still in her Sunday clothes: Valentino kitten heels and a jumpsuit the color of wet ink. Six rubies and a rosario dangled from her ears. By the quiet, seething look in Julian's eyes, she knew it was taking everything in his power not to rip them out. They stood opposite of one another in the foyer, six unbreachable feet between sister and brother. Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan were God knows where. Evander was drinking on the beach. And the Dobermann was dead. Don't be a baby, Jules, Cecile said, and turned to go, pleasure heavy in her gut. You have others. She'd do anything to hurt Julian, if it meant that pretty expression would bloom on his face: wrath, spreading like blood in water.

- ❀ -

It came down to three things: she was a bastard, she was a girl, and she was second-born. Senator Buchanan made his preferences clear, and that preference burned through every designer dress, every blank check, every Maserati and summer house in the Hamptons. What good was it to look good, live well, when every nice thing felt like an IOU to Julian? Why pander to her older half-brother when he already looked at her with cold, patronizing eyes, as if she were a particularly troublesome dog to keep on a tight leash? Maybe Evander could live like that, hanging onto his every word and lolling after him mindlessly—but Cecile could not swallow the indignity of it. Her girlhood was one turbulence after another: the burn of her cheek where her stepmother struck it, the noxious silence of every family dinner, the freezing bath tile against her knees when she would bite down on her knuckle to keep from screaming. She would grow into a cruel, mean girl. A bitch. She would prowl boarding school halls at midnight with predatory calm, one hand gripping a bucket of gasoline; the other a lighter and match. You're making it worse for yourself, Evander said, after the third expulsion. Is getting kicked out for arson your grand strategy for earning Papa's approval? But by then, she was just angry. She was just trying to kick hard before going under. Fuck Papa's approval, Cecile said, and rolled herself another joint.

Eventually, Papa ran out of ideas. He met with doctors, businessmen, then a scientist and lawyer, both young. Harvard brats, Cecile learned, one ear pressed to the mahogany door of her father's study, who were working on something that was sure to intrigue you, sir, and certainly Julian. Because, of course, Julian had a place in this room of important silhouettes; he'd soon become one himself. Cecile's twenty-first birthday present was a swig of vodka and a biochemical test subject consent form. Evander had looked so terrible, signing his own set of paperwork while Julian simply watched them from the other side of the desk, Papa's hand on his shoulder. See? Cecile leaned over in her seat to poke Evander in the cheek with a single manicured nail. We're the same in this family's eyes. Disposable vermin. Terrible, harsh silence. She was looking at Julian, and found all of it unspeakably funny. Twenty-one years of Cecile's best efforts at nightmarish behavior—and here he was, winning in a landslide. Even she couldn't have dreamed up something so cruel. She was drunk on rage. She was dizzy with fury. And yet, when she addressed him, her voice was soft as a lily. You know, Jules, I really should've killed the other two dogs.

Later, they would call her helpless. A young, naive woman, dragged kicking and screaming into the Red Room, terrified for her life. As if Cecile has not spent every waking moment raising hell and terrorizing others. They would forgive all her sins, it seemed, so as to make room for the greater one: for what was a wealthy Senator's troubled, bastard daughter to two people in pursuit of divinity? One was inappropriate; another was utterly sacrilegious. Cecile supposed it was the easier narrative to tell; Eve, tricked by the devil to bite the fruit, could still claim some morsel of innocence at the trial of God. But, of course, the truth was, Cecile had never once been interested in innocence. She would always go after what she wanted with teeth and nails. She would always worship herself before all others. Nothing frightened her anymore. Whatever elixir they were perfecting for Julian, she would taste it first. Chemicals, poisons, pain—all of it was but a symptom of eventual power. And, ah, in her did power rise. Whatever she had become under Nikolaas' guileful hand, it was heady and powerful and utterly inimitable. Half-beast and half-woman, waist-deep in death: was Cecile not single-handedly responsible for ending a world? Did she not raise rotbeest after rotbeest, and let the ones she adored most feast upon her own flesh until they were returned to consciousness? Later, they would call her helpless—and perhaps, in comparison, the spiteful little girl of her past was helpless. But not anymore. Divinity lived within her now. She had swallowed God whole.

CONNECTIONS

NIKOLAAS – LOVE DESTROYED, TOO. Is she in love? Not with him. With his jungle garden of a mind? Maybe. Maybe it's psychological delusion, wired into her for survival's sake in the Red Room. Maybe it's a product of dying and living again by his hand, of having known what his blood tasted like in her mouth. Maybe it is simply true, unadulterated friendship, forged on strange foundations. I'm your one and only? She teases him, and licks the rim of her champagne flute. He is, whether aware of it or not, afraid of her. Or, more accurately: afraid of what he is capable of creating. After all, she has him to thank for a number of things—her untempered darkness, her gift for passing that same darkness to whomever she pleases with a single bite, her freedom from a past life that would have chained her to Julian. But, in spite of the wondrous creature he has forged from blood and science, Nikolaas refuses to spawn another like her; perhaps because he can't stomach the flesh it requires, or perhaps because he sees what she is capable of. Cecile doesn't mind—she's rather possessive of him, and dislikes the idea of sharing. She has followed him to Amsterdam, as she is sure she would follow him anywhere—to hell, to the ends of the earth, to heaven with a torch. They've made something beautiful since then: an ascending legion of the restless Undead, fed on a new drug that will carry them to dizzying heights. Cecile plans to rule someday with Nikolaas by her side. I'm your one and only, she says again, and this time, it's not a question.  

BLUE, DIMITRI, & JACQUES – BLOOD HOUNDS. They carry within each of them a vicious appetite for disaster—her appetite, dark and divine enough to swallow a city whole. They are perfectly cruel, unrivaled in beauty, unmatched in prowess—and of the hundreds of Undead who call her Mother, Blue, Dimitri, and Jacques remain her undisputed favorites, all raised on her blood. They are the three she looks upon with cold pride and infinite expectation; the standard by which all her other creations are measured. Do they share Blue's labyrinthine mind, her measured capacity for torment? Can they wear violence with grace and allure, as Dimitri does? Does Jacques' bizarre madness gleam in their eyes? The collective name Cecile gives them is fitting: for they are her dogs, her beasts, her children. She commands: Kill for me. Die for me. Live for me. And like good pets, they always oblige. She does not need their love, and shows them very little of her own—but still she demands their loyalty, their fear-tinged worship, and a promise to accompany her to the ends of the world. As their Resurrector, this is an eternal debt they owe to her. 

JULIAN & EVANDER – BLOOD IS BLOOD. The funny thing is, Cecile loves them. She loves them as all families are condemned to love one another, from birth to death to beyond that, too. One simply cannot discard of convenants made in blood—as much as she wishes she could. Julian, princely and immaculate, has always inspired murderous pursuits within Cecile: some ugly roiling mix of jealousy and resentment for her older half-brother that has seized her since girlhood. He has never taken her seriously. Instead, he insists on taking care of her, on filing away her teeth so she will stop biting his hand; not understanding Cecile can never be the sort of girl to accept condescension for benevolence. Now, stronger and standing on a level playing field with him at last, she finds herself continuing to provoke him, even word from her mouth a harsh lashing she hopes will make him flinch. If she is yearning unconsciously for the nod of respect she never once received while alive, Cecile will never say it out loud.

As for the youngest Buchanan, Cecile regards her little half-brother with less hostility—but contempt nonetheless. Brilliant, handsome Evander, who could aspire to great heights, if he didn't have such an inferiority complex when it came to Julian. She had hoped to make him into someone worthier when she killed him—but if he'd rather sulk uselessly in the cementary, fine. The fact that her brothers get along with one another just fine, even now, is a source of confused frustration for Cecile—and if she must be honest, once an injury to her feelings as well. They have always seemed to get along better with one another than with her—and being the bastard daughter, Cecile used to find it hard not to feel bothered. Of course, many years have passed since then. In death, Cecile is calm and calculative, unfazed and secure in her own power. She harbors some resentment against Julian for his complicity in selling her and Evander to the Red Room—but the satisfaction in having come on top regardless outweighs it. The matter of her killing Evander is also...well. Her baby brother was not appreciative of that gesture, possibly. All in all, she wouldn't say she's on good terms with either one of her siblings—but alas, blood is blood. For all their complicated histories and intertwined grievances, Cecile suspects they will always be apart of each other, for better or—more likely—for worse.  

OPEN ♦ FC: OLIVIA MUNN

[doctor-roman]

Faces in the Background - Shadows Over Innistrad & Eldritch Moon - Part 3

Rem Karolus

Rem Karolus is one of the most quoted characters from Innistrad, second only to Hal and Alena’s combined count of 12 and surpassing them when counted individually.

Rem is another character who has held many titles throughout his life, from “Blade of the Inquisitors”, to “Slayer of Angels”, until finally settling on “Slayer of Eldrazi”, with the list succinctly describing Innistrad’s history.

In the original Innistrad block, Rem was known to travel alone, save for his old horse Jedda, and carrying his signature rapier and poniard with a bastard sword slung on his back. And that was all he needed to become the most revered member of the Thraben inquisitors, and the most feared human among Innistrad’s monsters. Despite his fame, Rem hardly ever went where the church told him to go, preferring to simply wander and deal with crises as he encountered them.

Upon Avacyn’s downward spiral into madness, Rem took his skills as a slayer of monsters and turned them against the very angels he had served throughout his entire life.

This took a severe emotional toll on him.

While he had always been known to be a grim and grizzled individual, his demeanor became even more sour, with Thalia suspecting that Rem’s faith and soul had died the moment he was forced to kill an angel for the first time.

It was Rem that found Avacyn’s spear and is assumed to be the first to find Avacyn’s ashes after her confrontation with Sorin, Jace, and Tamiyo. After going in circles just to pick up the spear (which was too powerful to be held bare handed by any one human), he carried it to Thalia to be used in the fight against Brisela and the Flight of Nightmares.

After this fight, it’s unknown what happened exactly to Rem, or for that matter, Thalia, Sigarda, and Grete, as shortly after Brisela’s defeat at the hands of Thalia, Emrakul arrived, and with her, a new wave of Eldrazi monsters.

Rem is quoted in 8 other cards:

Clear Shot (EMN) "What worked to bring down angels will do the same for these horrors."

Demolish (AVR) "To truly defeat a skaberen, you must destroy not the monster but the lab."

Gloomwidow (SOI) “An unexpected ally."

Guise of Fire (AVR) "Fire will eventually destroy a zombie, but a fiery zombie destroys a lot of other things first."

Hellrider (DKA) "Behind every devil's mayhem lurks a demon's scheme."

Lambholt Elder (DKA) "Be wary of the seemingly gentle souls. The weak here were slaughtered long ago."

Shattered Perception (DKA) "You must shatter the fetters of the past. Only then can you truly act."

Slayer’s Cleaver (EMN) "Don't stop chopping until the pieces stop wiggling."

Renna

On Innistrad, alchemy is not the protoscience that we know it as where people try to turn lead into gold. Instead, alchemy on Innistrad is the science of creating life from dead bodies, using various processes to do so. The most common way to do this, it seems, is by harvesting lightning for later use - most likely in an effort to shock life back into whatever’s being created ala Frankenstein (the process of which is already captured on a card).

This all probably sounds familiar with the fact that skaberen (people who stitch dead bodies together) exist, but it’s a bit more complicated than that.

From what I can tell, stitchers are only a type of necro-alchemist, with others practicing the craft in other ways. For instance, Hadaken of Nephalia uses geist-fueled engines to animate their skaabs, while Geralf uses lightning directly from storms.

I believe Renna here is of the latter school of thought, and primarily uses lightning for her experiments just like Geralf does. We know that she bottles the lightning she collects, as shown in the other card she’s quoted in, but how she uses it from that point is a mystery.

Living in Selhoff, Renna has no shortage of materials needed for their practice, as Selhoff is located in Nephalia - a province known for its black market of body trafficking.

Renna is quoted in one other card:

Vessel of Volatility (SOI) "To be honest, I'm not quite sure what's going to happen."

Runo Stromkirk

Unlike the other vampiric families, the Stromkirk line dwell in the province of Nephalia - away from the other families in Stensia. Their progenitor, Runo Stromkirk, was a high priest in life who worshipped a pre-Avacynian god of the sea and storms. It is unknown what shape or form this supposed “god” took, but it has been a question among the fandom since this aspect of Runo was first discovered.

Using his massive fortune, he supported and fostered a culture of fine woodwork among the human populace of Nephalia. Everything in Nephalia is built out of wood, from its buildings to its ships. But this was by no means an accident. To support this boon of wood carving, the humans of Nephalia cut down many of the forests in the province, which left fewer sources of wood to make into wooden stakes - one of a vampire’s few weaknesses.

Unlike the other vampire families, Runo has made sure that the Stromkirk line takes special care of the humans under his family’s control. Humans with especially tasty blood are kept in lavish areas of the Stromkirk manor in pampered bondage, kept alive just enough to be fed on throughout the course of their lives. However, because of this, some argue that they are safer than others against the rest of Innistrad’s monsters. With the Stromkirk line known for their talent in the art of fencing, one can see how.

In Eldritch Moon, the members of the Stromkirk family that gave themselves over to the Nephalian coastal cults - likely due to the Stromkirk family’s connection to the coast - were the first of Innistrad’s denizens to be transformed into Eldrazi spawn.

Based on other pieces of flavor text that are soon to follow, we learn that Runo himself became a worshipper of Emrakul. How far along he has been warped into an Eldrazi monster is a question that still demands answering.

Stromkirk Captain (DKA) "No longer can we allow our human populations to be mindlessly slaughtered by ghouls. Slay all who trespass."

Stromkirk Condemned (EMN) "Blood from the vein is the finest vintage to accompany a feast of the mind."

Weirded Vampire (EMN) "Emrakul makes apparent those whom she has favored."

Vallon

Vallon is an inspector. They go out and inspect things. Like murder scenes, and strange sightings of eldritch growth.

Inspectors on Innistrad are a relatively new thing that are closely associated with The Order of Saint Traft. You can see this in the art for Thraben Inspector: the character in question has the symbol of the organization - a golden gryff - on the shoulder piece of their armor. 

The inspectors came about in response to the newfound mysteries plaguing Innistrad in the days of Avacyn’s madness in an attempt to solve and fix the problems the humans were facing.

And then Emrakul just sorta popped out of the ocean. Not much of a mystery when the culprit jumps up and says “Hi, it’s me!”

They also worked on various murder scenes when the need demanded it, but that took a backseat due to the fact that there were more pressing concerns at the time. Now that Emrakul is sealed away, I imagine this will change and inspectors like Vallon will be reassigned to other, more manageable mysteries.

Vallon is quoted in two other cards:

Throttle (SOI) "Victim discovered at dawn with mouth agape and eyes bulging. No evidence of blood loss or dismemberment. Severe bruising around the neck."

Vessel of Paramnesia (SOI) "Write everything down. Trust me."

And that officially wraps up Innistrad. Feels weird leaving it a second time, but as Standard moves forward, so will we. Until then, I’ll see you all week after next.