#and THEN your boyfriend and his cousin who was only allowed out of prison to attend this dinner start having a screaming match?

[trevisos]

i can’t stop thinking about this actually. 1. i desperately want to see this for horny reasons (illario getting beat up is hot) 2. i can’t stop imagining the awkward silence while everyone watches them go at it. i assume neve is invited to this family dinner because that’s by far the funniest option and so you have her, magpie, two talons, and caterina just. what? sipping wine and watching them shout at each other until teia or viago gets fed up? does magpie try to stop them? does neve? honestly magpie is hotheaded and impulsive enough that she does probably try to insert herself into this argument (not entirely clear whose side she’s on lol) and someone (neve? viago? both as a form of weird bonding between new in-laws?) has to hold her back like a yappy little dog. she’s trying to turn this from a brotherly fistfight into an all out brawl

[halothenthehorns]

Chapter 10: I BREAK A FEW ROCKET SHIPS

Jeez, already half done and the quest only just now officially started. I can't get over how strangely short these books are.

PJOPJOPJO

"Zombies made you hungry?" Percy cracked a grin at her. "Really Rachel?"

"I've heard an awful lot about those magical fridges," she nodded seriously. "Show me around Perce?"

"There's not much to show," but he very reluctantly set the book back aside and agreed to show her out.

Thalia watched them go with a guilty sense of relief. She was well aware Annabeth used to be greatly jealous of Rachel, but they had recently made friends, and Percy had never looked twice at the frizzy redhead after he and Annabeth kissed under that lake.

No, it wasn't guilt her little sister's boyfriend was off smiling, reluctantly, but one that had been missing all morning with another girl.

It was guilty relief for Percy being gone for just a moment. Not pissed at her this time.

She didn't know what else she could do to help but hope Rachel eased the tension that hadn't left his face since he remembered Annabeth going over that cliff.

So distracted was she intently watching the door, ears trained for the slightest peep of unease that she might need to intervene if Percy lost it again and their Oracle needed a save, she didn't notice someone flopping down in Percy's abandoned seat until he spoke to her.

"You knew I didn't belong here too, didn't you?"

She dragged her eyes away from one pseudo pain in the butt little brother, to a blonde-haired, blue-eyed guy from California with a scar on his lip watching her with that same inquisitive face that asked every day why the sky was changing colors and when he could watch it happen again.

Halcyon Green was nuts, a mad old demigod out to torment them... She remembered how different her dad had been the second time he'd come around, more formal, and how Jason used Roman god's names so casually... it wasn't possible...

"Huh?" She asked, realizing he'd said something else.

"I asked if you were okay," he murmured gently. There was a wavering to the way he spoke now, his curiosity reigning in here most of the time, but occasionally like now still slipping into the stiff, confused tones of when he'd first come down here. He most definitely came across as a concerned leader asking after a prisoner of war right now.

"No," she admitted. "You're like a ghost to me," she put on a brave smile that didn't fool him one bit. "Don't worry about it. Yes, I suspected something was off about you, but it's so strange and unique. I can't fathom how you've survived so long on your own. Percy, well, the gods shouldn't have allowed you to be your age without you being at camp. It'll be explained later. Something about you is..." she couldn't finish, she didn't know how to articulate the insane possibility before her.

He looked disappointed, but not surprised.

"If Rachel has a gut feeling about you then I trust her," she waved vaguely to where Alex and Magnus were having another ASL study session. Annabeth's cousin whom she'd never mentioned, family whom she was never comfortable talking about. She was being foolish, Oceanus was to dense to have connected lost relatives together on anything more than an accident. "We'll figure out what your story is Jason, I promise the Hunters will search the corners of the globe to figure it out when we get out of here." Nobody should have to live like Percy was now.

"Thanks," he whispered, but there was no hint of relief in his troubled, stiff mouth. She swallowed as he kept watching her, as if still waiting for her to spill the rest of her secrets to this mirror of a stranger. 

It wasn't possible, it couldn't be possible. 

Beryl Grace had said he was dead...but she was a drunk who went crazy on her own beauty for catching the same god's attention twice...the very same god?

"You can stay," Thalia said firmly when Rachel and Percy came back eating ice cream cones. Will and Nico had gone back and forth too, though the Norse kids hadn't. They'd also been snacking the entire time they were here and hoarding food in all pockets of their clothes, so clearly that silent conversation had taken precedence this time. "Drag that beanbag over here, I don't bite."

Jason stalled, gave her a cautious smile, and then did exactly that as he dragged the woven cushion to her other side without unraveling a single seaweed from it.

Thalia's suspicions weren't soothed though, as something clicked into place when she turned a curious frown on the Son of Hades. 'You knew too'... Had Jason just been talking about Rachel? If Jason was the very same Jason back from the dead, could Nico have something to do with it? That boy was always off doing his own thing...if he knew something-

Alex laughed flamboyantly as always at the new chapter title Percy read. "One is never enough with you!"

"Break them how though?" Jason asked the real question while his scar wiggled at his twitching smile. "Over somebody's head? The security for yelling at you?"

"Can you set those on fire?" Magnus grinned along. "The one thing I would have thought would be safe from Percy's talent."

Thalia was to busy trying to muffle a laugh at the look on that Nemon Lion's face when Percy had thrown space food in its mouth to laugh along, but it wasn't exactly subtle. Nico wasn't going anywhere anymore than them, and Percy's distress was her priority right now.

"Oh, oo," Will started bouncing in his seat in excitement and Nico watched him with interest, "did you know Colin Cantwell designed the ships for both Star War's and A Space Odyssey! I hope they have a replica of one of his models in there!"

"They redid the Odyssey in space?" Nico asked blankly. Will's smile somehow got brighter every time he found out he got to show Nico something new.

"You see what I've had to go through," Percy waved at them while looking pleadingly at Rachel for some sanity to insist they don't linger on these silly things.

She merely smiled back, and said, "do you have any idea how expensive those are Percy? I'm so proud of you!"

"You're all hopeless," but he couldn't help laughing along too.

I tore across the Mall, not daring to look behind me. I burst into the Air and Space Museum and took off my invisibility cap once I was through the admissions area.

The main part of the museum was one huge room with rockets and airplanes hanging from the ceiling. Three levels of balconies curled around, so you could look at the exhibits from all different heights. The place wasn't crowded, just a few families and a couple of tour groups of kids, probably doing one of those holiday school trips. I wanted to yell at them all to leave, but I figured that would only get me arrested.

"Speaking from experience?" Rachel asked.

"I've never actually been arrested," Percy vaguely answered. Gabe had threatened to send him to juvie on more than one occasion, and that wasn't a threat he'd ever taken lightly.

 "You could have just pulled the fire alarm," Magnus reminded, "always a surefire way to get people to evacuate."

"I wanted all those people to flee the state, they would just huddle around the building and get more people there," Percy huffed.

I had to find Thalia and Grover and the Hunters. Any minute, the skeleton dudes were going to invade the museum, and I didn't think they would settle for an audio tour.

"Not everyone shares the same hobbies," Will nodded seriously.

"Someone needs to tell Oceanus that," Percy grumbled.

I ran into Thalia—literally. I was barreling up the ramp to the top-floor balcony and slammed into her, knocking her into an Apollo space capsule.

"I bet your dad has a piece of himself there every day and brags to all the other gods about it," Nico grinned.

"I'm pretty sure he claimed once at least half of NASA were descendants of his," Will agreed.

Grover yelped in surprise.

Before I could regain my balance, Zoe and Bianca had arrows notched, aimed at my chest. Their bows had just appeared out of nowhere.

When Zoe realized who I was, she didn't seem anxious to lower her bow. "You! How dare you show thy face here?"

"Never crossed her mind for a second he was innocently and conveniently on a field trip there?" Magnus smirked.

"No," Thalia rolled her eyes at being on the same page as Zoe, again.

"Percy!" Grover said. "Thank goodness."

Zoe glared at him, and he blushed. "I mean, um, gosh. You're not supposed to be here!"

"Geez, who knew you'd get the kid in the divorce," Percy told Thalia.

"You were saving that joke when he was held by Polyphemus, weren't you?" Thalia grinned.

"That's not the point," he scoffed.

"Luke," I said, trying to catch my breath. "He's here."

The anger in Thalia's eyes immediately melted. She put her hand on her silver bracelet.

"If anyone deserves to be bashed in the face with that shield, it's him," Alex nodded in savage agreement.

Thalia was doing so again in here, but Percy and Jason suspected that troubled look contained more hurt and memories than a bashing was forthcoming.

"Where?"

I told them about the Natural History Museum, Dr. Thorn, Luke, and the General.

"The General is here?" Zoe looked stunned. "That is impossible! You lie."

"Why would I lie?

Percy spoke in tandem with the book, and Thalia couldn't stop a laugh at the exact same level of indignation.

Jason gave a concerned whistle though. "Her mistrust of you runs deeper than I originally thought, I don't even know if it's safe for you to be on this quest. She might desert you at the first chance."

"Don't care," Percy said at once. If he had to dog, track, and hopscotch his way after their every move he would just to get one step closer to finding Annabeth.

Thalia frowned at Jason, wanting to defend Zoe, but knowing she couldn't yet. It wasn't a wrong assumption, just incomplete data of who her predecessor really was.

Look, there's no time. Skeleton warriors—"

"What?" Thalia demanded. "How many?"

"Twelve," I said. "And that's not all. That guy, the General, he said he was sending something, a 'playmate,' to distract you over here. A monster."

Thalia and Grover exchanged looks.

"We were following Artemis's trail," Grover said. "I was pretty sure it led here. Some powerful monster scent... She must've stopped here looking for the mystery monster. But we haven't found anything yet."

"Zoe," Bianca said nervously, "if it is the General—"

"It cannot be!" Zoe snapped. "Percy must have seen an Iris-message or some other illusion."

Jason felt a flicker of unease why Zoe seemed so adamant of where this guy should and shouldn't be. Was it all distrust of the boy being unreliable, or did she have some actual knowledge she was withholding?

"Illusions don't crack marble floors," I told her.

Zoe took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. I didn't know why she was taking it so personally, or how she knew this General guy, but I figured now wasn't the time to ask.

"For once I have to agree," Magnus gave a surly nod. The one time he understood why someone couldn't just spout the answer already.

Jason's unease only rose though what she wasn't saying about this guy, and hoped it hadn't gotten anybody killed.

"If Percy is telling the truth about the skeleton warriors," she said, "we have no time to argue. They are the worst, the most horrible... We must leave now."

"Good idea," I said.

"I was not including thee, boy," Zoe said. "You are not part of this quest."

Percy winced without surprise, he hadn't needed Jason to remind him he was unwanted, and Zoe wasn't going to make it easy on him. His conviction to gawk these Hunters like a satyr was as strong as ever.

"Hey, I'm trying to save your lives!"

"You shouldn't have come, Percy," Thalia said grimly. "But you're here now. Come on. Let's get back to the van."

"I accept that," Percy sighed with a reluctant smile at Thalia. At least she wasn't calling him a liar and telling him to leave too.

She gave him a much quicker smile back and let out another breath of ease. Percy had never been good at holding grudges against his friends.

"That is not thy decision!" Zoe snapped.

Thalia scowled at her. "You're not the boss here, Zoe. I don't care how old you are! You're still a conceited little brat!"

"You never had any wisdom when it came to boys," Zoe growled. "You never could leave them behind!"

Thalia looked like she was about to hit Zoe.

"That's not a match I want to see," Will winced. If Percy and Thalia had nearly destroyed their camp, those two probably would have leveled the state.

It would never come to that now, and Thalia swallowed old, bitter tears how much she still hated Zoe for being right about that. She wouldn't learn her lesson any time soon either, she wasn't leaving here without her friend.

Then everyone froze, I heard a growl so loud I thought one of the rocket engines was starting up.

Below us, a few adults screamed. A little kid's voice screeched with delight: "Kitty!"

"I'm guessing it's not the cute baby sabers back?" Magnus asked uneasily.

"What are the odds of Space Kitty on display?" Rachel sighed, knowing chances weren't in her favor.

Something enormous bounded up the ramp. It was the size of a pick-up truck, with silver claws and golden glittering fur. I'd seen this monster once before. Two years ago, I'd glimpsed it briefly from a train.

"Does everything in the past come to bite me in the ass?" Percy demanded.

Thalia didn't answer, which felt like an answer he didn't want to hear anyways.

Now, up close and personal, it looked even bigger.

"The Nemean Lion," Thalia said. "Don't move."

"It's not a t-rex!" Will yelped.

Nico let out an impressed whistle though and whispered the Nemean Lion's card stats, that had been the first rare card he ever got. "What's this have to do with dinosaurs?" He found himself being gratefully distracted from his past to ask. He wondered if Will heard the curiosity in his voice, he loved dinosaurs too and had slept in more than one museum in a spinosaurus exhibit.

Will gave him a promising smile and said, "it's another movie you have to watch."

He was clearly compiling a list in his head, and Nico couldn't think of a downside to that for a moment...right Tartarus.

The lion roared so loud it parted my hair. Its fangs gleamed like stainless steel.

Rachel's eyes widened in awe, and her hands spasmed in frustration she couldn't be reaching for something to sketch that image right now.

"What did his breath smell like?" Alex asked with interest.

Percy considered for a moment with a wrinkled nose. "Tires, catnip, and death."

"An extravagant new cologne I'm sure," Thalia snorted.

"Does he chase cars down the freeway?" Nico asked, keeping to himself how smug he used to be when he played a hellhound against this card as a sacrifice move to summon Cerberus, though he'd never do that to Mrs. O'Leary now. They might be terrifying playmates.

"I didn't ask," Percy snorted.

"Separate on my mark," Zoe said. "Try to keep it distracted."

"Until when?" Grover asked.

"Until I think of a way to kill it. Go!"

"That's a great answer," Jason begrudgingly approved.

I uncapped Riptide and rolled to the left. Arrows whistled past me, and Grover played a sharp tweet-tweet cadence on his reed pipes.

"Is he trying to distract him with bird calls?" Magnus yelped.

"Not a bad strategy," Nico smirked as he imagined a skeleton bird hopping around.

I turned and saw Zoe and Bianca climbing the Apollo capsule. They were firing arrows, one after another, all shattering harmlessly against the lions metallic fur. The lion swiped the capsule and tipped it on its side, spilling the Hunters off the back. Grover played a frantic, horrible tune, and the lion turned toward him, but Thalia stepped into its path, holding up Aegis, and the lion recoiled. "ROOOAAAR!"

"I don't need Grover's translation for that one," Will muttered.

"Hi-yah!" Thalia said. "Back!"

The lion growled and clawed the air, but it retreated as if the shield were a blazing fire.

For a second, I thought Thalia had it under control. Then I saw the lion crouching, its leg muscles tensing. I'd seen enough cat fights in the alleys around my apartment in New York. I knew the lion was going to pounce.

"Confirmed, Percy likes watching the kittens wiggle their tails," Thalia, as usual, seemed the least concerned about the whole impending doom of them all almost dying, especially herself.

"You've clearly never heard an actual cat fight," Percy shook his head with dread in his stomach. Those deep cat hisses with their fur on end that sent shivers up his spine, their claws ripping off chunks of ear and matting themselves in blood. It was brutal, and Thalia would have been a goner.

"Hey!" I yelled. I don't know what I was thinking, but I charged the beast.

"There's that phrase again," Jason said in exasperation. If this guy ever thought before he moved he might be unstoppable. Even as an impulsive lunatic he was pretty close.

Rachel looked at Percy in admiration his heroics were such an ingrained part of him and tried to map out a color wheel in her mind which would best be used to depict that.

I just wanted to get it away from my friends. I slashed with Riptide, a good strike to the flank that should've cut the monster into Meow Mix, but the blade just clanged against its fur in a burst of sparks.

"And dropping a rocket on its head will do the trick?" Alex asked, though she could now easily imagine why all the breaking came into play.

"Why was a Fury one of the easiest things to kill and she still terrified the piss out of me?" Magnus asked. He'd really like it if each of these things stopped having a gimmicky way they needed to die! Especially another magical beast...as he wondered about those wolves again- nope. One trauma at a time, and Alex was already studying him again for the new stress in his voice.

The lion raked me with its claws, ripping off a chunk of my coat. I backed against the railing. It sprang at me, one thousand pounds of monster, and I had no choice but to turn and jump.

"Plunge to the death the sequel?" Nico muttered. He was proud of himself though he was no longer sitting like a jaw-dropped idiot Percy hadn't managed to fell this beast in one swoop. It wasn't even because he was distracted wondering what his sister would have had to say about Percy being there before they were interrupted.

I landed on the wing of an old-fashioned silver airplane, which pitched and almost spilled me to the floor, three stories below.

An arrow whizzed past my head. The lion jumped onto the aircraft, and the cords holding the plane began to groan.

The lion swiped at me, and I dropped onto the next exhibit, a weird-looking spacecraft with blades like a helicopter. I looked up and saw the lion roar—inside its maw, a pink tongue and throat.

Its mouth, I thought. Its fur was completely invulnerable, but if I could strike it in the mouth...

"Throw your sword in there!" Jason and Alex yelled at once.

"Do I look like I do javelin events for fun?" Percy protested. "Then I'd be unarmed until it came back!"

"That's a really good idea though Percy," Thalia said with a brilliant smile. She didn't even sound insultingly surprised. Who knew looking into the maw of death could ever cause a good idea? "I promise I won't tell PETA on you."

"You're one to talk, Huntress," Percy chuckled along now.

The only problem was, the monster moved too quickly. Between its claws and fangs, I couldn't get close without getting sliced to pieces.

"Zoe!" I shouted. "Target the mouth!"

The monster lunged. An arrow zipped past it, missing completely, and I dropped from the spaceship onto the top of a floor exhibit, a huge model of the earth. I slid down Russia and dropped off the equator.

Thalia winced now though, at the casual reminder Percy had dropped off the face of the Earth and Annabeth was still out there losing her mind with worry.

The Nemean Lion growled and steadied itself on the spacecraft, but its weight was too much. One of the cords snapped. As the display swung down like a pendulum, the lion leaped off onto the model earth's North Pole.

"Grover!" I yelled. "Clear the area!"

Groups of kids were running around screaming. Grover tried to corral them away from the monster just as the other cord on the spaceship snapped and the exhibit crashed to the floor. Thalia dropped off the second-floor railing and landed across from me, on the other side of the globe.

Alex tried her hardest not to bust out laughing the two were the opposite of polar opposites of each other back then when they were after the same goal. The problem was they were too similar.

The lion regarded us both, trying to decide which of us to kill first.

Zoe and Bianca were above us, bows ready, but they kept having to move around to get a good angle.

"No clear shot!" Zoe yelled. "Get it to open its mouth more!"

The lion snarled from the top of the globe.

I looked around. Options. I needed...

The gift shop. I had a vague memory from my trip here as a little kid. Something I'd made my mom buy me, and I'd regretted it. If they still sold that stuff...

"Thalia," I said, "keep it occupied."

"Oh come on, now even you're doing it!" Magnus groaned. Annabeth wasn't even in danger and he was still on the edge of his seat, wide eyed to hear what was next. He hadn't even freaked out over a metal-coated lion being around, that much.

Alex was almost disappointed he finally seemed to be adapting to this world. She missed his dumbstruck face almost as much as she enjoyed watching him get invested in these.

She nodded grimly.

"Hi-yah!" She pointed her spear and a spidery arc of blue electricity shot out, zapping the lion in the tail.

"That is one way to keep it occupied," Rachel agreed proudly.

"And help it decide who to kill first," Jason said faintly.

"ROOOOOOOAR!" The lion turned and pounced. Thalia rolled out of its way, holding up Aegis to keep the monster at bay, and I ran for the gift shop.

"This is no time for souvenirs, boy!" Zoe yelled.

"I don't know what she's on about," Alex scoffed, "I would kill for a lion throw rug right now."

"I don't think The Air and Space Museum sells those," Magnus helpfully reminded. "Unless there really is a space kitty on display and we've been lied to about a lot more than aliens."

"I'm withholding judgment," Alex shrugged.

"Why is it every time I come up with a plan people are calling me crazy or think I'm fleeing?" Percy protested.

"No faith," Will agreed sympathetically. He didn't even know what Percy was up to and he knew it would help.

I dashed into the shop, knocking over rows of T-shirts, jumping over tables full of glowin-the-dark planets and space ooze. The sales lady didn't protest. She was too busy cowering behind her cash register.

There! On the far wall—glittery silver packets. Whole racks of them. I scooped up every kind I could find and ran out of the shop with an armful.

"That explained nothing!" Magnus groaned as he looked at Percy in betrayal.

For once though Percy wasn't disturbing the water or them with it as he read he was so invested in this, and his nose was still scrunched up like that cat breath lingered in memory, so Magnus wasn't too put out Percy wasn't trying to give them a play by play detail of how fast he'd been moving by launching them into the wall again.

Zoe and Bianca were still showering arrows on the monster, but it was no good. The lion seemed to know better than to open its mouth too much. It snapped at Thalia, slashing with its claws. It even kept its eyes narrowed to tiny slits.

Thalia jabbed at the monster and backed up. The lion pressed her.

"Percy," she called, "whatever you're going to do—"

The lion roared and swatted her like a cat toy, sending her flying into the side of a Titan rocket.

"Hopefully not ominous," Percy muttered as he glanced at her now, though she hardly looked winded at the old injury.

Her head hit the metal and she slid to the floor.

"Hey!" I yelled at the lion. I was too far away to strike, so I took a risk: I hurled Riptide like a throwing knife. It bounced off the lion's side, but that was enough to get the monster's attention. It turned toward me and snarled.

Percy swallowed and reminded himself not to clench his fists. "Are you two happy now, I threw the sword!"

"Yes, please continue taking my advice," Alex nodded sagely.

"No, because now you're right and you don't have a weapon and you're about to be Meow Mix," Jason sighed.

"There's no pleasing everybody," Will snorted.

There was only one way to get close enough. I charged, and as the lion leaped to intercept me, I chunked a space food pouch into its maw—a chunk of cellophane-wrapped, freeze-dried strawberry parfait.

"Everybody loves parfait," Percy proudly announced like that explained everything.

It did not, but Percy didn't give them the chance to argue the point as he kept reading in the same way.

The lion's eyes got wide and it gagged like a cat with a hairball.

"Naww," Magnus said with a genuine smile like he actually found that cute.

"You have clearly never heard a cat hack up a hairball," Percy shook his head. "It's disgusting, and I almost feel bad for doing that to him. I once was him."

I couldn't blame it. I remembered feeling the same way when I'd tried to eat space food as a kid. The stuff was just plain nasty.

"Fascinating," Alex declared, and then got up unprompted and left the room. There was a few beats of silence, the sound of gagging and then a toilet flushing, before Alex flopped back into her seat beside Magnus and assured, "and agreed, that stuff should burn. Continue."

Percy decided to take her advice again before anyone else got brave enough to subject themselves to that.

"Zoe, get ready!" I yelled.

Behind me, I could hear people screaming. Grover was playing another horrible song on his pipes.

"Remind me to record some of Grover's songs to add to my playlist," Rachel smiled his music would fit perfectly to how Percy kept describing her taste.

I scrambled away from the lion. It managed to choke down the space food packet and looked at me with pure hate.

"Snack time!" I yelled.

It made the mistake of roaring at me, and I got an ice-cream sandwich in its throat.

Fortunately, I had always been a pretty good pitcher, even though baseball wasn't my game.

"Basketball is throwing something into a hoop, same principle right?" Nico asked.

"Nico, you poor guy." Percy looked at him mortally offended now. "What planet are you from to think such a thing?"

Nico wasn't particularly offended, he was used to not getting the majority of what the other Camper's said, and for once it didn't sting like fresh scorpion pit venom to hear that coming from Percy. It still didn't feel great either.

Will smoothly intervened, "and you wouldn't know the horn from a stirrup in a saddle Percy, moving on."

The blank look on Percy's face proved Will's point enough he did as asked while Nico gave him a grateful smile. Will's heart skipped a beat, and for once he was grateful nobody had ever listened to him about putting saddles on those Pegasus when riding.

Before the lion could stop gagging, I shot in two more flavors of ice cream and a freeze-dried spaghetti dinner.

The lion's eyes bugged. It opened its mouth wide and reared up on its back paws, trying to get away from me.

"I have tamed the beast!" Percy cheered, fist-pumping the water with the book in hand and shooting up a geyser into the ceiling, creating another crack. It made dust dribble down on them for a moment, but Percy kept reading without concern.

Lucky him, he probably wouldn't die if this place collapsed. None of them were so sure if their protection would linger outside these walls.

"Now!" I yelled.

Immediately, arrows pierced the lion's maw—two, four, six. The lion thrashed wildly, turned, and fell backward. And then it was still.

Alarms wailed throughout the museum. People were flocking to the exits. Security guards were running around in a panic with no idea what was going on.

Grover knelt at Thalia's side and helped her up. She seemed okay, just a little dazed.

Zoe and Bianca dropped from the balcony and landed next to me.

Zoe eyed me cautiously. "That was... an interesting strategy."

"Hercules should be begging you for tips," Thalia proudly agreed, though she was grateful she'd kept the comment to herself back then. Percy smiled at her, when she wasn't so sure he would have back then.

Not to mention Zoe might have stabbed her on the spot.

"Hey, it worked."

She didn't argue.

The lion seemed to be melting, the way dead monsters do sometimes, until there was nothing left but its glittering fur coat, and even that seemed to be shrinking to the size of a normal lion's pelt.

"Take it," Zoe told me.

I stared at her. "What, the lion's fur? Isn't that, like, an animal rights violation or something?"

"Only if you don't use the whole animal," Magnus grinned, "the rest of the animal melted, don't let what's left go to waste Perce."

"Duly noted, especially if one of Artemis's girls are telling me," Percy chuckled.

"It is a spoil of war," she told me. "It is rightly thine."

"You killed it," I said.

She shook her head, almost smiling. "I think thy ice-cream sandwich did that.

"I would concur with Zoe," Thalia pretended to shiver in revulsion just to keep up a charade to Percy her old dislike. "I was concussed at the time and saw you poison that poor kitty."

"Payback for the time my mom once tried to take in a stray and it pissed on my bed," Percy said innocently, though in honesty he'd never held a grudge and had snuck it out scraps when Gabe kicked the animal out after it pissed on his pillow too.

Fair is fair, Percy Jackson. Take the fur."

I lifted it up; it was surprisingly light. The fur was smooth and soft. It didn't feel at all like something that could stop a blade. As I watched, the pelt shifted and changed into a coat—a full-length golden-brown duster.

"Howdy, howdy, howdy," Alex burst out laughing, she'd loved Toy Story as a kid.

"It's to bad you never got a hat to go with it," Thalia said with a strange smile, it almost looked forced. That getup had saved his life, and it made her sick to her stomach just thinking about mocking him for it now.

Nico gave Percy a forlorn smile as he said, "I can't imagine why you ever gave that up," though he was glad he had. As if this could get any more perfect, cowboys and pirates all bundled up into one Percy.

Percy gave him the same strange look as ever like he was speaking a different language. Nico flushed and looked away with guilt, he hadn't meant to provoke Percy's memories. Thankfully he didn't flip out, so it wasn't something else he was going to inevitably be blamed for.

"Not exactly my style," I murmured.

"We have to get out of here," Grover said. "The security guards won't stay confused for long."

I noticed for the first time how strange it was that the guards hadn't rushed forward to arrest us. They were scrambling in all directions except ours, like they were madly searching for something. A few were running into the walls or each other.

Will was the only one trying to suppress a smile at that, he felt bad for the mortals, but not bad enough he wanted Percy getting caught.

"Oh my gods!" Alex burst out laughing hardest of all. "I will pay that satyr to teach me that!"

"On yourself or innocent civilians?" Magnus asked sincerely.

"Why not both!" She beamed.

"I'm sure he'll get right on that," Percy agreed.

"You did that?" I asked Grover.

He nodded, looking a little embarrassed. "A minor confusion song. I played some Barry Manilow. It works every time. But it'll only last a few seconds."

"The security guards are not our biggest worry," Zoe said. "Look."

Through the glass walls of the museum, I could see a group of men walking across the lawn. Gray men in gray camouflage outfits. They were too far away for us to see their eyes, but I could feel their gaze aimed straight at me.

"To bad you couldn't feed them to the lion," Thalia scowled, she still remembered her heart skipping a beat every time those menaces showed up.

"Go," I said. "They'll be hunting me. I'll distract them."

"No," Zoe said. "We go together."

I stared at her. "But, you said—"

"You are part of this quest now," Zoe said grudgingly. "I do not like it, but there is no changing fate. You are the fifth quest member. And we are not leaving anyone behind."

"It only took you literally saving her life to admit it," Rachel chuckled as she offered to take the book from Percy.

He seemed reluctant to hand it over. He hadn't gotten any news about Annabeth in this one, what Luke was doing to her, how she was recovering. In this instance he didn't think no news would be good news. He'd figure out how to work a fax machine for a few letters again, take a pigeon message, anything!

If he started kicking up a fuss about wanting to read this though, he was worried he'd start losing it over everything again. He really was trying so hard to keep it together, so he passed the peeling, purple, battered, and bruised, key to his heart over to her.

[renatedagmarmilada]

YOU ARE OUR SACRIFICE SAID THE MINISTRIES - They are our sex buddies, --assurance for the St barths human research mental care assistants

re covert destruction program by remote over UK till 20 80--Quote we wanted to ensure you would never rise again--country wide, nation wide and world wide.

quote-Jen Howden. /one of the mental care assistants who sold your work, M&S Debenhams, Pine BHS and all UK high street outlets, part of extinction progr over UK paid for by Kissinger./

All sex buddies, pedophiles boyfriends families of lab sold your University work to media, big and small, From Guardian to Tatler to Women's mags to Cosmo. to cover lab staff taking it straight from the illegal monitor and Scanner at lab st barths even whilst Fekete sat in the classroom at Universities. ANNA prostitute of Peckham, /alias Jean Clark/ former prison inmate, thrown out of London hospital for tropical disorders, ordered that all Fekete's family everywhere be used for ANY PRACTICE by the lab and wiped out permanently from the face of the earth. so subsequent generations could not sue the lab assistants and their rabble. Canada and Australia owe allegiance to the Crown so family there were easy targets. USA was once independent, but their Human Research liked England as they get a free hand here. ST barth Human Research asked NEW YORK human research lab to get them out of trouble- hence USA Franklyn devised a destruction plan and program..

All and any crooked, stupid, impossible sadistic idea tried out- for the covert remote Destruction program over UK 2080 since 1983-- all 'techniques' used well before then, 70 yrs or more, but never acknowledge. Nothing recorded can never be proven.

USA men came here to mess ie destroying my 12 yr old son's genitalia and then leaving him strapped all his life, as they have capital punishment over there. UK is the only country with no laws and no punishment. PM Cameron was cued by lab St Barths human research to deplete POLICE FORCE to a minimum-- to save money he said...

MANY countries asked to join the program were told it was for their own protection and they would be helped and they were believed and paid - China and India ten million, Russia two million, even Spain half a million-- money from USA and more Anna lab corruption, she transferred 6 million State funds from Slovakia for which the President Kovacs was battered and blamed by the then communist Party, he did not take it, it was Human Research UK- hence slovakians are permitted to settle here, much more including the Lords, who were Anna's sex buddies and told She would make Britain GREAT AGAIN--if they permitted. The lab members made themselves very, very rich, all multi-millionaires and Anna died two weeks ago, thanks be to God, tried to give them status by having paid thieves rob all my work from Art Colleges and Universities, as well as private creative work printing it as their own. If they had stayed within the bounds of reason, it could have worked, but they got greedy.. and as for Arthur Smith civil servant of the Health Ministry and Denis-- well, sharing government business with an uneducated prostitute just because she allows them sex?? The list goes on and on.

ALL THE GOVERNMENT CABINET WERE ON THE LAB MACHINE TO BE WATCHED AND MANIPULATED once they signed, every secret that country possessed appeared on St barths Human research monitor. God alone knows what lies they told the Queen, and Prince Charles to get their written signature. Later they told them THEY the lab would sort it all out!!

quote -The rats which ate the body of your six month pregnant cousin from Fremantle Helen Smith /Schmidt/ Research doctor, Flying to Canada for a super Research job now given to an American jewess.. were the work of lab assistant Driscoll, who has since been put into the room with dozens of others of St barths human Research staff, as no longer useful. /He had her plane crash over Iceland, and the rescue party left her trapped under a cabin to freeze, she died in five hours. Driscol summoned the rats. They ate all but her shoes.

BLOAT FEKETE AGAIN to make her ill../it is done from a machine, even if you eat nothing..it can still bloat ../

[alarawriting]

52 Project #42: Lineage

The air outside Jiangpao International Airport was hot and humid. Karula had always found her home too cold except in midsummer, so it felt good to her, the hot air against her skin making her finally feel almost warm enough. Taxi drivers called out to her urgently, aggressively marketing their services.

“Lady! I can take you to Jiangpao, very cheaply! I have the best rates of anyone here!”

“Younger sister, I’ve got a luxury car! I can take you to Jiangpao in the greatest comfort! You want to hire me!”

“My car’s the fastest, lady!”

One of the taxi drivers – a young man, maybe her own age, maybe even younger – with a mop of unruly black hair, slightly overlong for Senchai men’s fashion, came over to her and gestured at her large, heavy suitcase. “Elder sister, can I take your bag? All these drivers yelling at you probably don’t realize you want some peace and quiet after your long flight.”

Karula smiled. “I’m not going to Jiangpao, though. I’m headed to Nandijao.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I can take you there, sure,” he said. “My rates are very good.”

“Well, you’re the only one who decided not to yell at me from your car, so sure. Take my bag.”

“Your Senchai’sho is very good,” he said as he loaded the suitcase in the trunk of his taxi. “I can barely tell you have an accent. Where are you from?”

“Foirais,” Karula said, “but both my mother and father came from here.”

“Ah. I think everyone seeing a woman who looks Senchai’in, dressed in Southern clothing and too young to be a business executive, probably assumed you were from the South; that’s why they were yelling. But most of them probably thought you were one of the Given-Away Girls, not your mother.”

“Is that what you’re calling them over here?” She dug the disused seat belt out of the crevice of the taxi’s seat. “Given-Away Girls?”

“Well, they were given away,” the taxi driver said apologetically. “It’s not a slur or anything like that.”

He pulled out of the taxi roundabout and gently followed the flow of traffic toward the highway. “So what brings you to Senchai?”

“I’m researching my past, and I’m an anthropology student doing graduate work on Senchai’a folklore,” she said. “So I’ll be going to the Great Library.”

“Oh!” The taxi driver glanced back at her, sounding genuinely impressed. “You got your approval papers? They don’t usually let foreigners into the Great Library.”

“Of course.” She’d hardly have flown all the way from Foirais if she didn’t have all her permits in order to do what she’d come to do. “My cousin is a physics professor at Nandijao University, so she pulled some strings.”

“But you said you were researching your past?”

“My mother’s heritage,” Karula said. “My father—” was a philosophy student at the University who became a dissident, and had to flee to Foirais to stay out of prison—“grew up in Nandijao. But my mother was, as you say, a Given-Away Girl, so we don’t have any idea who her relatives are. All we know is what town she was born in.”

“Well, if it’s a small town and you know her birthdate, the records at the Great Library might help you narrow it down, but I don’t envy you. It’s got to be like looking for a single worm in an entire barrel of rice.”

It would be. The Given-Away Girls – she’d never heard the term before, but it seemed so perfect, she wondered why not – had birth certificates that showed their actual town of birth and birth date, but their parents’ names had been replaced by their adoptive parents. Girls had traditionally been seen as a burden in Senchai – parents had to raise a dowry for them, and then the girls ended up caring for their in-laws once they were elderly, not their own parents. When demographics in the wealthy nations of the South, like Foirais, had shifted so that there were far fewer children available for adoption, parents in Senchai had learned that if they gave away their daughters at birth, they would receive large sums of money.

Fueled by the promise of riches and the desire to send their daughters to a place where girls were valuable enough that adoptive parents would pay large sums to have a daughter, a place where their girls might grow up to be wealthy and secure, many, many parents gave up their daughters for adoption… to the point where the female population dropped low enough that the government of Senchai outlawed dowry, and made such adoptions require permits that were rarely given. But by the time the government took action, over a hundred thousand daughters of Senchai had been adopted out to other nations, the history of the families they came from lost to them forever.

With a father who had family back in Senchai, Karula Lefaire – her mother’s name, which was traditional in Foirais for women – had more resources to research the issue than most of the Given-Away Girls or their children did. And she also had more reason to.

“It’ll be difficult, but I’ll enjoy the challenge,” Karula said. “And it gives me a good excuse to do research for my thesis.”

***

From Jiangpao International Airport, it was an hour and a half to her cousin Ren Seiri’s house. Small talk with the taxi driver passed some of the time, but Karula was very relieved when she arrived. She was by nature too solitary to truly enjoy being locked in a small metal box with another person for an hour unless they were a good friend.

Ren Seiri greeted her at the door. “Younger cousin!  Come in, come in! I’ll have my son take your bag—”

“Don’t trouble him, I can carry it. I’m stronger than I look.”

“Nonsense, you’re a guest and you’re family from a long way away. Jai! Come help our cousin with her bag!”

Jai, who more or less bounced into the room, turned out to be around 14, taller than Karula but skinnier, and she was herself a thin woman. “Elder cousin, no, don’t burden your son! I can carry it!”

“No, no, elder cousin!” Jai said. “I’ve been lifting weights! Look!” He grunted as he lifted the suitcase over his head. It had wheels, but plainly he didn’t want to use them on the lacquered bamboo floor.

“Oh, well, that is impressive,” Karula said.

“Let me show you to your room, and then you must come have some tea. Perhaps some sweet bean buns. Or some real food. I have barbeque pork rolls and cold eel dumplings.” Seiri’s doctorate and professorship apparently didn’t stop her from behaving exactly like any stereotypical Senchai’in mother.

Ren Seiri was the daughter of Karula’s father’s significantly older brother. She was not quite twice Karula’s age, but she was plainly getting there. She was wearing a dress of Southern styling, but beautiful silk dyed in a very Senchai’a pattern, and elegant soft house slippers. Karula replaced her own shoes with house slippers before following Seiri and her son.

She finally got some time to herself by insisting she needed a shower and a change of clothes. It was an excuse, but a good one. Most people would, in fact, need a shower and change of clothes after so much time in the Senchai’a heat. Karula, unlike most people, hadn’t sweated into her clothes at all, and she found the air conditioning oppressive enough that she turned it off in her bedroom and then opened all the windows, letting the heat in. She ran her shower as hot as she could stand it, and pinned her long hair up while it was still fairly wet because the wet hair was chilly on her neck. The traditional Senchai’a gown and robe she dressed in were silk, but heavy enough to keep the heat in… not generally something a Senchai’in, or in fact anybody, would wear in high summer, but it would keep the bugs off, and it looked lighter and cooler than it was.

After her shower, her cousin insisted on feeding her tea, hot pork buns, cold eel dumplings, and pastries full of warm bean custard, plainly purchased fresh at a bakery less than an hour ago. Seiri had probably ordered them while Karula was in the shower. Karula didn’t eat the dumplings. Seiri said that it made sense that a woman raised in Foirais wouldn’t have a taste for eel, and Karula didn’t correct her.

Then Seiri bustled around the kitchen, making dinner, continuing to bring Karula cups of tea and prattle on about family members Karula had obviously never met, telling stories about Karula’s father’s childhood that she’d heard from her own grandparents. Karula appreciated the hospitality but this was driving her insane. This was much too much social interaction, but she couldn’t politely extricate herself from it.  She eventually managed to turn the conversation to teaching Jai some Foiraisse and telling him about the city she grew up in.

Dinner was Seiri, Jai, Seiri’s husband Shaon, Seiri’s sister Leirin, and Leirin’s boyfriend, who was apparently only allowed to see Leirin when Leirin was at Seiri’s house because their parents disapproved of him and it would be absolutely scandalous for her to be alone with her boyfriend without being chaperoned by family.  Seiri assured Karula that she would be meeting her grandparents tomorrow, but they had to travel from Jiangpao. She said this in a slightly derisive tone, not the mockery of a person looking down on a lower status person, but the mockery of a person who believes someone of the same status is putting on airs. So apparently living in Jiangpao was considered higher status, at least for well-to-do people, than living in a college town, and Seiri disapproved of this. Then they all spent the entire meal continuing to tell Karula all about the lives of people she’d never met.

Afterward Seiri showed Karula the photo album. She was very interested in the pictures her father had sent back to his family of himself, his wife and daughter; Karula had almost no pictures of her mother as an adult, as everything her parents had owned when her mother had been alive had burned in the fire.  It was astonishing how much her mother had looked like her.  They could be twins, if they hadn’t been a generation apart.  But then Seiri insisted on showing her all the other pictures, of the cousins, and the cousins’ cousins, and the great-grandparents, and everyone’s in-laws, and by the time she was done with just one photo album Karula’s eyes were glazed over and she had to plead exhaustion in order to escape to her room.

Karula’s long-lost family were so friendly, so welcoming. Such nice people.

She was so looking forward to spending tomorrow in the Great Library’s archive, not talking to anyone at all.

***

Senchai was famous – or perhaps infamous – for its bureaucracy and record-keeping. The country had started keeping detailed records of its citizens on papyrus, nearly three thousand years ago, when the country had only been the city of Jiangpao and the immediate province around it. Twenty-four hundred years ago, the empire had expanded to the point where local provinces were storing all of their own records. Emperor Nan had decreed that every record should have two copies made, and the second copy should be stored in an archive in the newly founded city of Nandijao, “Nan’s Treasure”.

Since then, through dynasties, foreign occupations, and revolutions, through the expansion and contraction of Senchai as wars moved the borders this way and that, every citizen of Senchai had had all of their important records – birth, marriage, any certificates they’d earned for the right to practice certain professions like medicine or accounting, and death – stored as copies in the Archives. The Great Library of Nandijao had grown up around the Archives, and the University of Nandijao, Senchai’s greatest and most nationally renowned university, had been founded there for proximity to the Great Library.

A famous story was told of conquerors who’d come in and tried to burn the Archives, who had been driven back by librarians, professors, and students from the University, wielding nothing but sticks and their own belts with rocks or heavy bars of soap tied to the end.  This story was held in some skepticism by many scholars, since the only records of the incident were held in the Archives, and the librarians were no more immune than anyone else to self-aggrandizing stories. On the other hand, it was also true that, had it happened, it wasn’t likely that records about it would have gone anywhere but the Archives. It was, after all, where copies of all records in the nation ended up; it sent records nowhere itself.  

There was currently a major project underway to digitize the Archives. The digitization had gotten back only two hundred fifty years so far, but that was probably far enough for Karula’s needs. Probably. So she didn’t spend any time sifting through papers centuries old; she spent the day scrolling through digitized documents.  It was still as quiet and undisturbed as she’d hoped. If only she could do this outside where it was warm, rather than in the air conditioning, it would be ideal.

It was lengthy work. There was a difference between a record of birth and a birth certificate. The record of birth stated that a certain mother had given live birth within a certain week, and the gender of the baby, but the father’s name and the child’s name were not recorded.  It was done for the census, not to track the lives of citizens. The birth certificates were amended on adoption, and if the original certificate still existed in the Archives anywhere, it was probably in a file cabinet for inactive documents, older documents that had revised versions.  So there was no record of Karula’s mother, specifically, but there were records of all the women who had given birth in the city of Chofu, in that week. Unfortunately, Chofu, while nowhere near the size of Jiangpao or even Nandijao, was still large enough to support thirty-one births of girls in the week of Karula’s mother’s birthday. And Chofu, being a port town, had been a major destination for pregnant women who planned to sell any daughter they might have to pale-skinned Southerners. Ten of the women who were recorded as giving birth that week did not appear on any birth certificates, and ten of the birth certificates were girls with Southerner names for parents.

This meant Karula had to trace back the family histories and origin provinces of ten women, any of whom might have been her grandmother. And then track back their families, though thankfully that went back to before the era of Given-Away Girls. And then compare to records of birth to make sure no daughters were adopted out to other families, because the fact that they’d have names in Senchai’sho would make it non-obvious that an adoption had happened. And then cross correlate that to whatever news had made it on paper to the Archives… because news was not a governmental record and there was no guarantee a newspaper would have been sent to the Archives in the first place.

She’d spend the first half of her days doing her genealogical research in the Archives, and the other half in the Library proper, reading folklore accounts, particularly the stories told in various regions. During the Revolution at the beginning of the century, the new leadership of Senchai had decided that folklore was ancient superstition that needed to be discarded as Senchai entered the New Century, but fortunately that had only lasted until the original dictator had died. The new government had decided instead that folklore was part of the rich cultural history of Senchai and should definitely be preserved, and they’d even sent people around to record the stories the locals would tell, and then take them back to the Library. It had been a spasm of nationalism that had resulted in Senchai joining in on the wrong side of a terrible war, but the effect, the attempt to preserve Senchai’s ancient culture, had continued onward even after the war.

After her work, she’d go walking in Nandijao. Senchai was the first place she’d ever been where everyone looked like her. In Foirais, where most of the citizens were pale people with round eyes and a wild variety of hair colors, Karula had had very few people she could look to who were similar to her.  Here in Senchai, her accent made her an outsider, but she at least looked like the folks here.  Mostly. There was the fact that they all had black or brown eyes, and hers were only brown at a distance; when she looked closely in a mirror, they appeared a tawny amber.  But since she hadn’t run around looking deep into most people’s eyes here in Senchai, she assumed it was a normal variation.

It was a little bit sad that no matter where she went, she was an outsider. In Foirais, her eyes and skin marked her as “not Foiraise” to many of her fellow citizens even though she’d grown up there. In Senchai, she looked like the people, but the moment she opened her mouth, she revealed herself as foreign. So she tried to get by in talking as little as possible. It felt better, somehow, to be thought of a mute or selectively non-verbal Senchai’in than a foreigner. She explored the city, bought food, newspapers, occasionally tiny memorabilia – nothing large enough that it wouldn’t fit in her suitcase.

And then she’d go to her aunt’s house and spend the evening having to listen to her cousin and her husband talk, endlessly.  At one point she’d gotten her cousin onto the topic of physics, in desperation. Cousin Seiri had been happy to talk about her own research, but then had drifted into the topic of her own doctorate, and then her college days, and then she’d monopolized the conversation talking about her youth for an hour. Finally, Karula had taken to cultivating a relationship with Jai, in self defense. He let her get a word in edgewise sometimes, and Cousin Seiri wouldn’t interrupt Karula and tell her about people she had never met and never would.

He was a good kid. Karula had always had a soft spot for kids. He liked playing football – the challenge of never using your hands, the excitement of making your body into the thing to hit the ball with rather than a stick or the parts of your body designed to hit things with – and he enjoyed making and flying kites. His father, also a physics professor, had taught him about aerodynamics when he was young, and they used to make kites together.  He was also willing to talk for long periods of time about his favorite comic books, and science fiction, and he thought her researches into folklore were cool. Especially the part about creatures who appeared in many, many different countries’ legends. Dragons, phoenixes, the qilin and its resemblance to Southern unicorns, the different types of undead around the world.

She tried to pull her own weight by helping around the house – sweeping, washing dishes, cleaning the kitchen counter. At first Seiri insisted that she shouldn’t do any such thing, because she was a guest, but Karula had responded by pointing out that she was family, and she wanted to feel like family. After that, Seiri let her do chores… as long as they didn’t involve going near the burner on the stove.

The first time she’d done that, and the only, had been when she’d tried to put on hot water for tea. At home in Foirais, she’d had an electric stove, and in her dorm at university, there had been no stove at all – you used the cafeteria, or you heated food in a microwave.  Cousin Seiri’s stove had a gas range. Karula had turned on the burner… and then stared, mesmerized, at the flames, the tea kettle still in her hand. Slowly she’d reached toward the flame with her free hand.

Seiri had seen her do it and pulled her away as she was about to touch the beautiful flame. “Oh, no, no! You can’t be doing things with fire!” She’d put the kettle on the burner herself and then pulled Karula away from the stove entirely by both hands, walking backwards, pulling Karula toward the family dining table.  “I’m so sorry. After what happened to your mother…! I didn’t even think! Of course you shouldn’t have to do anything with fire!”

That night Karula dreamed. In real life, Father had held her, both of them screaming, begging for Mother to stop, as Mother had run back into their burning house, and Karula had struggled in Father’s arms to follow her, to pull her back. In the dream, Father wasn’t even there, and Karula ran through the burning hallways, opening doors into rooms her house had not actually had, looking for Mother. And then she’d found her, wreathed in fire, her eyes golden and glowing… and Karula had walked toward the fire, intent on immolating herself as well.

She didn’t normally remember her dreams, but she woke the moment she touched the flame, shaken, tears on her face.

***

After twenty-three days of running into the dead end of “there are no records of this at the Archives”, Karula decided to go to Chofu for herself.

“You make sure to get a good hotel,” Cousin Seiri insisted. “If I were you I’d get a Southern-style hotel. I know there’s a Hillain and a Morenta in Chofu, and they get good reviews.”

“I can stay in a Southern-style hotel anywhere near home,” Karula said. “I’m looking for something Senchai’a, but nice. Do you know any?”

“Oh, of course! But the truth is, Chofu’s just a small town in comparison to Nandijao, so I don’t know how many options you’ll have.”

The truth was, Cousin Seiri had never been to Chofu and needed time to contact her network of friends and family to find out what was good there. Karula trusted Cousin Seiri’s network better than she trusted official reviews, so she waited, and eventually booked a room in a Chofu inn called the Soaring Fish.  It was a traditional inn, so a dinner buffet was served nightly, large platters of fried rice and stir-fried meats in various sauces, and the guests were expected to take whatever portions they wanted.  Karula, arriving on a late train, was grateful. It was the first time she had stayed at a traditional Senchai’a inn; she’d stayed in many Southern-style hotels with restaurants attached, and in many of them the hotel served breakfast, but she’d never before been somewhere that the hotel itself served dinner.  She was always happy to warm up with a hot meal.

The next day she went to Chofu’s Children’s Peace and Health Center… a euphemism for the place where parents could abandon children, no questions asked.  Since the revolution Senchai had been torn between the modern ways they wanted to adopt and the traditional mores most of the country held. In past times, the traditions demanded total obedience from children to their parents, but nowadays children had rights, and parents had obligations to them.  It was also a tradition for parents in dire poverty to sell their daughters as servants, but nowadays that meant the sex trade, so it was extremely illegal. The society’s safety valve was the Children’s Peace and Health Center, where runaways would be sheltered, and children even as old as adolescents could be dropped off by parents.

Orphans were sent there as well. Some of those were adopted out quickly; the Children’s Peace and Health Centers mediated almost all the adoptions in Senchai. Those who weren’t ended up in orphanages, but the Peace and Health Center that had brought them in would continue to look for adoptive or foster parents for them.

Karula had visited the center in Nandijao; it was elaborately hidden. A shrubbery maze, a basement level of tunnels, and a network of walkways above formed a labyrinth with many, many exits – at a park for children, at an office building for doctors, at a shopping center… and the Children’s Peace and Health Center. This ensured that it was almost impossible to tell whether a given person with a child was taking the child to the Center, or to a doctor’s appointment, or a play date.

Chofu wasn’t nearly so wealthy a city, nor nearly as invested in appearances. The Children’s Peace and Health Center was simply there, on a street near one of the bus stops. It was a Southern-style rectangular blocky building, built back when Senchai perceived the South as more medically advanced and progressive. Thus it was out of place, and very ugly. On her way to the front door, Karula passed a strange version of a revolving door. It was only half a person’s height, and instead of being a glass door, it was a crib and an opaque partition. Experimentally, Karula pushed the empty crib slightly, noting where it would enter the building.

It was at this Center that her mother had been presented to her future parents, had been adopted and taken away from her homeland. Had her biological grandmother laid her mother down in that crib and spun it to push her baby into the Center, to be taken by employees, never to be seen by Karula’s grandmother anymore?

Inside, it looked just like a Southern-style medical office, with a receptionist behind a clear partition. “Hello!” the receptionist said. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to research my mother’s history.”

“Oh, well, you must understand that we keep very little information on birth parents.”

“That’s all right,” Karula said. “I’ll take what I can get. How would I look her up?”

“Do you have the names of your open-hearted grandparents?”

Karula blinked. “Open-hearted?”

“Oh, we don’t like to use the term ‘adoptive parent’ here. It sounds like they’re lesser than birth parents somehow. Anyone who’d take a child into their heart and adopt them is open-hearted and generous, so we call them ‘open-hearted parents’.”

Ah. A euphemism. “I do. My mother’s mother was Charlée Lefaire, and her husband was Gantoise Lefaire.”

“And your name is?”

“Karula Lefaire.”

The receptionist’s eyebrow went up. “Your mother didn’t marry?”

“In Foirais, children take the mother’s family name, not the father’s.”

“Oh! Of course! Pardon me for prying, I’ve never met anyone from Foirais before.  Most of the Given-Away Girls or their families come from Anacrisia or Southland.”

“Well, I’ve never been to Senchai before, so now we’re matched.” Karula smiled at her. “Do you have any record of either of my open-hearted grandparents?”

The receptionist typed, her long lacquered nails clacking against her keyboard. “Yes. Charlée Lefaire, and there’s Gantoise Lefaire.  Oh, interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

“Your mother would have been Jirène Lefaire?”

“Yes.  Do you have any record of her birth name?”

“No, we don’t keep that. But she was adopted at 16 months, not infancy.  And this says she entered the center only two weeks before her adoption. So she wasn’t an infant surrender.” More clacking. “I might be able to get some more detail.  Prospective parents like to know if there was any family history of violence or drug abuse or anything like that which they might need to know about their new child.”

Karula suspected that children with problems like that in their past were probably the last to be adopted. Or second last, after disabled children. “So what kind of information would be kept?”

“It’ll tell me if she was a legal surrender – meaning, she was taken away from incompetent birth parents for legal reasons – or… oh. Oh, that’s different. I don’t see that often.”

“What are you seeing?”

“She was surrendered by the fire department.  That only happens if the child is rescued from a fire and the parents are dead or can’t be found, usually. Fire department personnel do general rescues, so it could have been a flood or an earthquake…”

“No,” Karula said. “Fire does sound likely.”

“Did she have burn scars?”

“Nothing like that, but she had a… strange relationship with fire.”  She didn’t want to talk about that. “The birth date on her birth certificate is 13 Sanwa. Is that the birth date you have also?”

“Yes. That’s correct.”

“But you don’t have her birth name?”

“No. As I said, we don’t keep that.”

What she’d said was that information wasn’t kept on the birth parents, but Karula said nothing. “Do you have her adoption date?”

“22 Ren.”

“That gives me a lot to go on. Thanks.”

***

The Archives back in Nandijao didn’t have perfect records of newspapers… but the Library itself kept copies of newspapers going back sixty years, all the way back to the Revolution. Karula’s mother would have been 45 now, and Chofu was a large enough city that newspapers would probably be kept from it.

On 4 Ren that year, a house fire claimed the lives of Bai Ji-Wen, 25 years old, and her husband, Bai Sanli, 30.  They were survived by their infant child, who wasn’t named, but Karula could guess. Named after her mother, perhaps, Ji-Wen, or maybe Ji-Len. “Songbird”, and if it had changed to Ji-Len, “Little Bird.” Ji-Wen or Ji-Len becoming the Foiraise name Jirène made perfect sense.

Bai Sanli, born 30 years earlier, had married Tenra Ji-Wen when he was 26, whereupon she’d taken his family name. Tenra Ji-Wen, who’d have been 21 at the time, had been born in a fishing town thirty kilometers up the coast from Chofu, called Bangji. That was Karula’s next destination.

“Where are you going to stay?”  Cousin Seiri was, in Karula’s opinion, overly worried about this. “That’s so far away! You’ll be out in the middle of nowhere!”

“It’s all right,” Karula reassured her. “I’m good at finding my own way.”

“But you’ll be a young woman all alone! Don’t you know what can happen to young women in the forest when nobody’s around?”

“I’ll be fine, Elder Cousin,” Karula said. “I’ll call and let you know how I’m doing.”

“But will they even have service out there?”

Karula raised an eyebrow. “Elder Cousin… the entire country was wired for land lines a generation ago. If I have no cell signal, I’ll just call from one of those.”

In addition to landlines and electricity, the government a generation ago had made certain there were train lines all over Senchai, so Karula didn’t have too much difficulty getting to Bangji.  Once she got there, there was exactly one taxi at the train station, and the very bored taxi driver seemed very surprised to see her. “Oh! You’re a visitor!”

“I guess you don’t get many in Bangji?”

“I come out here every day and wait at the train station,” the old man said. “I’m supposed to be retired, but who can live off the government stipend? So I drive my taxi. But only two or three times a week am I needed, and usually it’s university students coming home to visit. Who are you here to see?”

“I’m a researcher from Foirais,” Karula said. “I’m here to collect stories from people. Is there anywhere I can stay?”

“Well, the Wangs run a bed and breakfast, but I don’t know if their room is available. I haven’t picked anyone up at the train station, though, so… probably.”

***

Mrs. Wang was also elderly, a small woman whose white hair was collected in a traditional Senchai’a bun. Karula had wondered how Bangji could support even one bed and breakfast, if they had so few visitors. Presumably the Wangs were also on retirement stipend. Strictly speaking, retirees on the stipend weren’t supposed to work; in theory, the government could reduce their stipend by the amount they made from side jobs. In practice, the government might possibly care about people in a retirement community, or in some areas of big cities where a lot of government ministers lived, but no one was ever going to come to Bangji and find out that old people had side businesses.

“Mr. Jo tells me you’re looking for a place to stay?” Mrs. Wang had come out to speak to the taxi driver, and then went around to the passenger side to talk to Karula. “I do have a room if you’d like!”

“That would be wonderful,” Karula said.

The room turned out to be small but very clean, decorated with rustic wooden sculptures of sea dragons, turtles whose shells glittered with stars, and giant fish-birds. This was perfect. It was legends of creatures like that that had brought Karula to Senchai, and out here to Bangji.  A mandala made of sea shells decorated the wall above the bed, which was a mattress on the floor, covered in sheets in the traditional dark blues and purples of the squid ink the locals harvested and sold for textile pigment.  A feather-filled silk comforter in a paler blue color was folded at the foot of the bed. The walls were thin bamboo, but solid enough for her purposes. There was one long, low piece of furniture with drawers running alongside one wall.

“This is beautiful. I would be pleased to rent from you.”

Mrs. Wang nodded. “We make our own breakfast at 6 am, but if you come down to the kitchen before 9 am, I’ll make you something. Typically our breakfast is rice porridge with smoked fish and fried dough twists, but if there’s something specific you want, I could make you anything. I used to be a cook at a local restaurant, before I retired.”

“Whatever you’re making for yourself is fine, as long as it’s hot. I can come down early.” Karula usually woke at sunrise, or just before it, the imminent appearance of the sun filling her with restless energy.

“Early is best,” Mrs. Wang agreed. “Our daughter sleeps late, and it’s best not to be at breakfast at the same time she is. So much energy!” She smiled.

“I don’t mind children, or their energy, but if you prefer that I avoid your daughter—”

“No, no! If she approaches you, feel free to be Elder Sister or Auntie, as you please.  There aren’t a lot of children in Bangji… not anymore, anyway.”

“Because most of the town has become venerable, I imagine?”

“That, yes, but… well, there have been some tragedies. Several children have disappeared.  The police weren’t able to find any common factor, and every home here’s been searched thoroughly, and there are no strangers in Bangji most of the time.  So we think perhaps they were taken by wild animals, but no one’s found animal spoor, either.”

“That’s terrible!”

“We try to watch over Lai-Mei all the time, but she’s so young and energetic, and she behaves as if there’s no danger at all. We try to tell her, but she doesn’t always listen.”

“Well, if I run into her, I will surely try to caution her. Perhaps I can use my youth and energy to counter hers, and keep her safe.”

***

Mr. Wang was equally friendly and equally garrulous, talking to Karula about his garden, which was indeed beautiful.

“In my younger days I traveled all over Senchai,” he said. “I gathered up plants from all sorts of places. Back then we didn’t really think about things like invasive species.” He smiled wryly.  “Nowadays I try to grow local plants only, but some of these are just too beautiful to do without even if they came from halfway across the country.  Like these.” He showed her flowers with purple and pink bells. Another had clusters of tiny orange and red flowers making patterns that looked like larger flowers.

“You’ve lived here a long time,” Karula said. “I’m trying to track down my mother’s family.  Do you remember anything about a family named Tenra?”

“Tenra? Can’t say I do. Mrs. Wang might know, though. As I said, I traveled, but she’s lived here her whole life.”

***

Karula spent the day gathering stories from people about legends in the area.  People in Bangji were full of such stories, and they all claimed that this had really happened, to a friend of a friend. Stories of dragons who almost managed to barbeque the friend of a friend. Stories of the great bird-fish surfacing less than an hour’s sail away from the shore. Qilin in the forest at the base of the mountain to the west of Bangji. Malevolent demons. Witches who had certainly cast baleful spells and hexes on innocent people, oh, around 30 years ago.

She asked several people about the Tenra family. No one remembered them. This seemed strange to Karula; Tenra Ji-Wen had married at the age of 21, 50 years ago. Had she had no family by then? Had her family been transplants from somewhere else? Had they moved on? Surely one of the elderly residents of Bangji would remember. But none did.

When she returned to the Wangs’ bed and breakfast, she almost tripped over a little girl, perhaps 9 or so.  “Well, hello.”

The girl looked her up and down, an almost insolent expression on her face.  “Where did you come from?”

“Foirais, but my mother was born in Chofu, and her mother was born in Bangji, according to the records.  Are you Wang Lai-Mei?”

“That isn’t a real person,” the girl said. “I’m Lun Lai-Mei.”

A child old enough to keep her original family name when she was adopted was probably one of the Thrown-Away Girls, a darker and sadder term for the abandoned girls who were surrendered to the Children’s Center as toddlers or older.  “Ah. Well, Lun Lai-Mei, I’m Karula Lefaire.”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Lai-Mei said. “I’ll just call you Elder Sister anyway.”

“Yes, but it’s polite to share my name with you, since you shared yours. I’m staying with your parents while I research my family.”

“I figured that. You definitely aren’t from Senchai, so why would you be here unless you’re a guest?”

“My accent makes it that obvious?”

“I could just look at your face, Elder Sister. You don’t look Senchai’in.”

Karula blinked.  Both her parents were Senchai’in born in Senchai; how could she look anything else? “Why not?”

Lai-Mei smiled. “You’re too tall.”

Karula was a little on the tall side for a Senchai’in woman, but not to the point where she stood out. “I’ve met many Senchai’in women who are taller than me.”

“Well, it’s something,” Lai-Mei said. “I don’t know what.”

Lai-Mei herself didn’t quite look fully Senchai’in. She was beautiful, tiny for her apparent age, long straight hair pinned up with hairpins in the back that had seashells on them. In all respects but one she was the perfect picture of a Senchai’in girl… but her eyes were bright, vivid green. Perhaps her mother had had an affair with a foreigner, and that was why she’d been given away. Or perhaps it was a natural variation. Karula hadn’t met any Senchai’in with eye colors other than black or brown, aside from herself… and her own eye color was subtle enough that neither Cousin Seiri, nor Jai, nor anyone else who’d seen her up close in good lighting had remarked on it. But there were a billion people in Senchai, and many distinct ethnic groups, so perhaps green eyes was a rare but known phenomenon. Like red-haired people in Foirais.

“Lai-Mei!” Mrs. Wang called from the door. “Don’t bother the honored guest!”

“She’s not bothering me!” Karula called back. To Lai-Mei she said, “I might see you tomorrow if I’m not too tired when I come home.”

“This isn’t home for you, though, Elder Sister,” Lai-Mei said.

“This is my current base of operations, and that’s good enough.”

By Senchai’a standards, the child was extremely rude, but Karula found it a refreshing change, actually. All the children she’d met so far had had mostly perfect manners – Seiri might think Jai’s desire to monopolize a conversation talking about his interests was a flaw, but Karula, here to learn from Senchai’in people, didn’t see it that way. Lai-Mei was blunt. By Foiraise standards, she was actually fairly normal. Children were children all around the world, after all.

***

Elderly Mrs. Jin, 98 years old, was mentioned in a discussion in town of who might remember the Tenra family.  So Karula went to her house.  It was in better repair than she expected for a 98-year-old woman, and Karula could see why; two shirtless young men were working on the property, one clipping the hedges and one repairing a shutter.

“Is Mrs. Jin home?” she asked one of them.

The young man laughed. “Grandmother never goes anywhere anymore. What you want to ask is, is Mrs. Jin awake, and the answer is, probably not but she loves visitors, so go in and wake her up if you like.”

Inside, a middle-aged woman was pureeing rice and some sort of vegetable in a blender. “Hello! Are you here to see Grandmother?”

The term was a generic one of respect for the elderly, but Karula thought perhaps this woman was really Mrs. Jin’s granddaughter. “I’m doing some research to track down my mother’s family,” she said, “and Mrs. Jin was referred to me as someone who might remember my grandmother here as a child.”

“Oh, she loves it when people want to ask her about the past! Let me go see if she wants to wake up to see you.”

She ducked behind a sliding bamboo partition, and was gone for a couple of minutes. When she returned she said, “Come this way. Grandmother would be happy to talk with you!”

The old woman was reclining on a couch that was absolutely drowning in pillows. “This is the guest, Grandmother!” the woman yelled.  “She’s staying at the Wangs’ bed and breakfast!”

“Glad to see they’ve got some custom,” Mrs. Jin said in a surprisingly strong voice for such an old woman. She was very small, with gray hair cropped in a modern short haircut, and Karula would have guessed her to be in her 70’s or 80’s. Then again, Karula had hardly met enough nonagenarians to have any idea how to tell a 90-something from a younger but still elderly person. “Come close, girl, and sit down on these floor pillows. Neither my eyesight nor my hearing’s the best anymore.”

“We keep trying to get her to go to the doctor to be fitted for hearing aids,” the middle-aged woman said.

“And I keep saying no! Because at my age, why should I travel? If the doctor wants my money, he should come here.”

“The national health ministry would pay the doctor, not you,” the woman sighed.

Karula took the offered seat, right in front of the old woman. “My mother was a Given-Away girl, but I managed to track down the identity of her mother. A woman named Tenra Ji-Wen was born here… maybe around 70 years ago?”

“Oh.  Oh, I remember that. The Tenra family. Such a shame what happened to them.”

“What happened to them?”

“The father was in logging, if I remember right. Cut down trees, bring them to the city to sell to the middlemen who make logs into wood for carpenters.  There’s a lot of forest around here, but in those days there was almost nothing else; you could barely get to Bangji except by water.  There was a road, but it was packed dirt and full of ruts from the carts.  Well, you know how it is.  Every time it rained the whole thing turned into mud and we were trapped here.” Mrs. Jin nodded slightly to herself, her eyes – focused and bright a moment ago, unfocusing. Karula wondered if she was falling asleep, but it seemed she was just collecting her thoughts.

“I think it was… 40 years ago they paved the road? They were having a revolution, outside of Bangji, but it never came here. They came from the government to tell us how to run our lives, and we smiled and nodded and did just what we pleased as soon as they were gone. Found out later, they’d never returned! Bandits or wild animals or something. They disappeared without a trace.  We didn’t learn until two or three groups from the government came through and then left.  They were all vanishing. So the soldiers came, you know, because they thought we were killing these people, but we told them our protector spirit must be getting overly aggressive, and we hadn’t known it was killing. We laid down a lovely large tuna at the shrine and prayed for the protector not to kill the government workers anymore, and that did the trick. Soldiers were still suspicious, though. They quartered here for a few years, but eventually they realized, Bangji may hold to a lot of the old ways, but a lot of the newfangled stuff they wanted to bring in? We were already doing it.”

This was fascinating but had nothing to do with the Tenra family that Karula could see. For a moment impatience warred with her scholar’s curiosity. The scholar won. “Your protector spirit? Can you tell me about that?”

“No one who has ill intent toward Bangji can come here, and anyone who develops ill intent while they’re here, they never leave. The government people wanted to take away everyone’s land and make it the property of the state and then give it back to us to work on it. Well, that’s just stupid. We already live as a community; everyone takes care of everyone else. You know, everyone in the town calls me Grandmother and they all come by to take care of me, feed me, help me to the bathroom… I can’t walk on my own anymore. It bothered me at first, that everyone came, because I always used to do for myself. I took care of my kids and all their friends, and all my grandkids, and all their friends, and I was the one who did for people, and it was hard to get my head around being the one they were doing for, but you know what? I thought about it, and I earned it. I worked hard to take care of all those kids and now they all take care of me, and that’s the way life’s supposed to be, right?”

“What is the protector spirit?” Karula asked again.

Mrs. Jin cackled. “A dragon, of course! A sea dragon, what else would a fishing town have? We’re not large enough for the fish-bird to honor us with its presence, nor holy enough for qilins, but there’s so many dragons. The sea is full of them. The land too.” Her eyes went unfocused again.  “It’s the land dragons you have to watch out for. So many of them died in the purges out there. So many. The children don’t even know who they are.”

“What’s the difference between a land dragon and a sea dragon?”

“Well, what do you think? One lives on the earth and one lives in the water!  Land dragons have earth and fire and air in their souls.  A lot of them breathe fire like the Southern ones. Sea dragons have water and air, no fire or earth, but they’re more magical.”

“And what is the protector spirit?”

Mrs. Jin went unfocused again.  “I wish I knew anymore, young lady.  Back in those days the protector was definitely a sea dragon, but the soldiers… I worry about the soldiers.  For a while it was gone. Then it came back, but I’ve never seen it, so I don’t know if it’s the same one. I don’t know if the price is worth paying anymore.”

“Why wouldn’t the price be worth paying?”

Mrs. Jin shrugged. “You didn’t come here to listen to me ramble about everything and anything, though. You said Tenra Ji-Wen?”

“Yes.”

“I could tell,” Mrs. Jin nodded. “You look exactly like her. Exactly. We weren’t close; I didn’t have kids yet when she was born. She must have left, what, maybe she was seventeen? eighteen? How old are you, granddaughter?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Close enough. I knew her but we were out of sync; she was too young to be my playmate and too old to be my kids’ friend. But we all knew her. So hard she worked, since she was so small. She couldn’t even go to school. Someone had to take care of her father. She cooked and cleaned for him.”

“Wait, what happened to her mother?”

“Oh, I didn’t say? Such a tragedy, she burned.  Whole house went up in flames when Ji-Wen was little. 2, 3? Something like that. The father was out, he was a logger. I mentioned that, right?”

Karula held herself very still, showing nothing of her reaction on her face. “You certainly did, Grandmother.”

“It was a miracle. Something preserved that little girl. They found her in the ashes, crying.  Her mother must have gotten her into a cellar or something so the fire wouldn’t get her.”

“She didn’t have any siblings?”

“No, she was her mother’s first, and her poor mother never lived long enough to have another.  The father didn’t even remarry until she was, I don’t know, 14 or 15?  And the stepmother was respectful to the daughter, of course, we wouldn’t have stood for it otherwise, but Ji-Wen wanted to get away anyway. I think she probably wanted to get away the whole time, but she needed to take care of her father. So she left, a few years later. We never saw her again. Whatever did happen to her?”

“I’m not sure,” Karula lied. “I need to do some more research.  I believe she’s dead, but the details…?” She shrugged.  “It’ll come together from my research, eventually. Do you know where her mother came from? The one who died?”

“No. Sad to say I wasn’t the gossip back then that I became! Oh, I cared so much about what the kids my own age were doing, but nothing about the old people. That’s the problem with humans, you know. The young ones don’t think the old ones are people.”

“I certainly think older people are people,” Karula said, startled.

“I don’t exactly mean that. Like… we’re just here. We have our own lives, but the kids don’t care. Whereas we care about the kids, because we remember being them, but they don’t remember us unless they can remember past lives!” She chuckled. “You’re different, though. Most people who come to me with a question, they don’t have any patience for how my mind wanders. It’s been doing that since my 50’s, you know. Amazing when you think about it, I’ve been old for almost as long as I was young. If you count 50 as old. Most of the 50 year olds don’t, but the young ones like you do.”

“Your stories are fascinating. But I’m a student of folklore, and to a lesser extent history, and it amazes me to talk to someone as venerable as you, Grandmother. To be alive from before the revolution! The things you must have seen… Is there anyone coming to you to write down these stories?”

“Write them down?”

“Someone should, if no one is. Would you mind if scholars from Nandijao came here to write down the story of your life? You could tell them anything you’d like. Grandmother, you are living history and we should all learn from you.” Karula stood up. “I must go now, if there’s nothing you’d like me to do for you, but I would love to come back soon.”

“Yes, you do that! I’ll have Izhen make you tea.  We still do it the old way, you know. I’ve got one of those new-fangled gas stoves for heating water, but we do it in the fireplace, just like when I was a girl.” She gestured at the fireplace, which, thankfully, was dark at the moment.

Karula bowed hastily, dragging her eyes away. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be back!”

Her hands didn’t shake until she was back in her room, safe from anyone’s eyes.  The Wangs’ house also had a fireplace. But they hadn’t lit it since she’d arrived. It was summertime; they didn’t need to.

Karula had planned to take this trip on summer break because it made the most sense with her schedule. She was beginning to realize there was another reason why it had been a very good idea to do it now, as well.

***

No one but Mrs. Jin even remembered the Tenra family… which made sense, if they’d kept to themselves after tragedy struck. Mrs. Jin would have been a young woman when it had happened, but most of the town elderly were in their 70’s or 80’s; they’d have been children. It didn’t seem that there was anyone as old as Mrs. Jin, or even close.

If she wanted more detail on Ji-Wen’s mother and father—particularly mother – she’d have to go back to the Archives.  But she wasn’t lying to flatter the old woman; Mrs. Jin’s stories were a national treasure and should be preserved at all cost.  She wanted to stay here and listen to more of them. And she wanted to know more about this protector spirit. Would she be able to find independent corroboration in the death records of the government agents disappearing? That too was a question for the Archives, but to ask it, Karula needed more of the details.

***

Mrs. Wang wasn’t originally from Bangji, and Mr. Wang waxed garrulous about all the things he’d seen in his travels, but wasn’t nearly as talkative about anything local.  It took conversing with six retired people before she found someone who could give her more information about the protector spirit.

Mr. Sho was in his 70’s, but still quite vigorous. “It’s all the fish!” he boasted.  “Here in Bangji, we eat nothing but fish, and it keeps us healthy and strong!”

“I can see that,” Karula said. “I’m surprised no one but Mrs. Wang seems to be in their 90’s. All of you retired people seem so healthy!”

“Good health is a treasure,” Mr. Sho agreed. “But we do our duty. Jin Tai-Lee is the town grandmother, you know. We all love her.”

“Yes, she seems so.”

“So we don’t let her go to the temple. Better we go, before our health starts to fail us.”

Karula blinked. When had they gotten onto the subject of attending the temple? “Which temple?”

“There’s only one,” Mr. Sho said. “The shrine of the protector spirit. Where we sacrifice part of what we catch. Large fish, when we bring them in. Many fish, when we can’t get a big one. One time we gave a bucket of crabs!” He laughed.  

“And the elder people in the village do this?”

Mr. Sho nodded. “Sometimes the protector doesn’t like the offering. Well, gods and spirits and demons, they all must get bored with the same food every day.”

“What happens if the protector doesn’t like the offering?”

Mr. Sho leaned forward, his expression very serious. “It’s absolutely vital to do, you know. No one comes to Bangji anymore. There used to be bandits and pirates, and the protector spirit would save us. Then there were people from the government, who wanted us to live the way they were trying to force the rest of the country. But nowadays there’s nobody. We drive trucks full of fish down the road, now it’s paved, and we drive on back. No one for the spirit to protect us from.”

“So without anyone for the spirit to protect you from, I guess you’re afraid it’ll be angry and bored if you don’t give it good offerings?”

“If it doesn’t like the offering… it would be very bad for it to come back to the village to find one it prefers,” Mr. Sho said somberly. “So we old people bring it, and that way, if it doesn’t like the offering we provided, well…”

“Wait. Are you telling me the protector spirit – the protector spirit takes elderly people as a sacrifice?”

Mr. Sho nodded. Karula couldn’t see any sign on his face or in his voice that he was joking.  

“Is there a specific time it’s done? Would it be safe for me to go up to the shrine, or would the spirit assume I’m a sacrifice?”

“Nobody knows anymore,” Mr. Sho said, sadly. “We do what we can, but the spirit… well, we don’t speak ill of it. It might be listening.”

“It’s not protecting you?”

“We don’t know if it is or not,” Mr. Sho said. “All we know is what we have lost.”

***

“I’m probably going to return to the Archives for a while,” Karula said, as Mrs. Wang served dinner. It was a bed-and-breakfast, not a bed-and-breakfast-and-dinner, but Mrs. Wang was treating Karula more like an actual houseguest than a paying guest. “But I’ll be back.”

“I wanted you to play with me!” Lai-Mei said angrily.  “You’ve only been here a few days!”

Karula smiled indulgently. “Maybe I could find time to play with you tomorrow. My train won’t leave until afternoon.”

“Lai-Mei, this is a guest. Behave yourself!” Mrs. Wang scolded.

“It’s all right,” Karula said.

“There aren’t any children around here for her to play with,” Mr. Wang said apologetically.

Karula remembered Mrs. Wang telling her that there weren’t many children here because some of them had disappeared, possibly taken by wild animals.  She’d wondered, then, why the police hadn’t been called, why there hadn’t been extensive searches. Yes, this was far out into the countryside, but how could anyone do nothing when children were disappearing?

But Mr. Sho had implied, very strongly, that the protector spirit needed to be appeased with the lives of the elderly citizens who brought the sacrifices, from time to time. And that if they didn’t, the spirit would come to the village to find something to take.

Modern Senchai’a scholarship followed the same line as the South. There was no such thing as spirits. Nothing supernatural in the world. No dragons, no fish-birds, no qilin. Everything could be explained as fossils that ancient people had found and speculated on, or mistakes humans had made long in the past that had been carried forward in legend. Karula hadn’t truly expected to find any evidence that any of the stories she collected had any reality to them.

And yet… it didn’t surprise her. Somehow.  She considered it a genuinely reasonable theory that a protector spirit turned malevolent might have taken children – to eat? What did the protector spirit do with the sacrifices? – because it wasn’t pleased with the quality of what had been provided to it.

Was she being too credulous? Probably. Was this most likely the nonsense of peasants without any modern education? That could well be. But what if it was real?

She needed to see the death certificates. She needed to see how many children had been born here, and how many had died. She needed to return to the Archives.

But first, she wanted to see the shrine.

***

The sun had just come up the next morning when, fortified with one of Mrs. Wang’s hot breakfasts, Karula headed for the cliff where the shrine to the protector was.

Bangji was a tiny bump of a peninsula, bounded on one side by the start of the Mingshen Mountains and on the other side by thick forest, which climbed up the mountains to the extent that it could. The shrine looked out over the cliffside that faced the ocean, looking toward the east and the sunrise.  There was a winding path up the side of the cliff, with steps.

It took her an hour to make it all the way up. She was young and healthy, her legs strong; she wondered how long it took elderly people to get up here, carrying a big fish. How did they get a tuna up these steps? A large tuna would need two people to carry it at the best of times. She tried to imagine two old men, trying to tandem-carry a gigantic slippery fish, up a mountainside staircase that took a young healthy person an hour. Then she imagined that those two old men knew that if their protector spirit didn’t like the tuna, they themselves might be eaten.

After all that, the shrine itself was an anticlimax. Throughout most of Senchai, temples were large, elaborate things, or at least as large and elaborate as poverty-stricken locals had been able to build. During the revolution many of them had been destroyed, but when the new leadership came in after the revolutionary leader had died, their push to restore Senchai’s lost traditions in the name of nationalism had gotten most of those rebuilt with modern materials and architecture.  They were also, generally, shrines to ancestors. The spirit worship thing was more like you’d find in Niyong, to the east. Which was not that shocking; much of Senchai’s eastern coast had a lot of Niyong’s culture, customs and food intermixed with their own. And with Bangji being relatively isolated from the mainland, it was even more likely.

But Karula had never seen any evidence that Niyong’s spirits were real, let alone that they’d travel to Senchai for worship.

An actual Niyong shrine would generally be made of wood. Bangji’s was made of stone instead; there was plenty of easily accessible stone nearby, as the cliff face was a plateau, with another cliff a short distance inland, on top of it. It was a simple rectangular building with terra cotta tiles for a roof and white and gray stones mortared together for its walls. Inside, a candle burned in front of a tapestry showing Bangji, from the perspective of the shrine on the cliff, so the individual buildings were embroidered too small to make out much detail about them. There was no representation of the protector spirit itself anywhere, but there were some smashed pieces of terra cotta that might have once been statues.

Outside, facing the ocean, there was a very large stone circle with a very small stone wall ringed around it, and a pedestal about twice as high as the tiny wall in its center. Stains on the pedestal and a slightly fishy smell suggested that here was the place they sacrificed to their protector.

There was no evidence of a real protector spirit here. There was no evidence of human blood, but there was probably a lot more fish sacrificed than people, so that proved little. None of it told Karula anything except that Bangji had borrowed some customs from Niyong, which was hardly a surprise.

Two-thirds of the way down the steps, she was met by Lai-Mei. “Elder Sister! I thought you’d gone back to Nandijao and forgotten your promise!” the little girl said indignantly.

There was either a protector spirit, a wild animal, or an evil human being taking children from the town and killing or kidnapping them. Karula felt cold. Had the Wangs never told Lai-Mei the danger, or was she just that headstrong and self-confident?  “Why aren’t you home? Don’t you know it’s dangerous out here?”

“I wanted to find you. I was afraid you left.”

“I told you I wasn’t leaving until afternoon, and it’s dangerous out here. Lai-Mei, the reason you don’t have playmates your own age is that children have died. Or vanished. It’s not safe for you.”

“But it’s safe for you?”

“I haven’t heard of young adults disappearing.”

“It happens sometimes,” Lai-Mei said vaguely. “But we can be careful. I want to play a game of hide and seek with you!”

“I was going to go back to the house and change clothes. I’ve been up the mountain and I’m all sweaty.”

“What’s the point to that? If you play with me you’ll just get sweaty again, right?”

The child had a fair point. “…all right.  But why don’t we go down to the base of the cliff?  I don’t feel like this is a safe place for hide-and-seek.”

“Okay!” Lai-Mei began skipping down the stairs. Even with longer legs, Karula had to rush to keep up. She smiled indulgently.  She could see where the Wangs’ complaint about Lai-Mei’s energy levels came from.

The base of the staircase was an area Karula had explored fairly extensively since coming to Bangji, though obviously she couldn’t know it as well as a child who’d lived here for years.  Lai-Mei turned and looked up at her as Karula stepped off the stairs. "Now let’s play Hide-and-Seek,"  she said, a bright smile on her face.  "And if I find you and catch you, I'll turn into a dragon and eat you up."

Karula grinned. Children's sense of the fantastic always delighted her.  "And after you eat me up, then I'll chase you?"

She laughed. "You won't be doing anything. You'll be eaten."

"Oh, of course," Karula said, still smiling. "All right, I'll go and hide, and you count to a hundred."

"To ten."

"Oh, no, it has to be a hundred.  I'm a stranger to this area-- you need to give me time to find a good hiding spot." Karula took games very seriously, and had no intention of losing to Lai-Mei.  She thought it was wrong, in general, to throw competitions to make kids feel better; adults who deliberately lost to children gave them an inflated sense of their own ability.  And in some senses, her mother’s death by fire when she was a young child had aged her, made her too burdened to easily make friends with the carefree innocents most children were.  She had missed out on a lot of this kind of simple play when she’d been a child herself. Maybe she was enough of a child to want to win the game for its own sake.  

"That's fair.  To a hundred, then."  Her smile showed tiny white teeth.

Lai-Mei covered her face with her hands to count. Karula ran through the woods.  She could think of several places she’d found in her explorations that would make good hiding places.  

It was a forest. At the base of a cliff. There were plenty of large rocks jutting out of the ground, and plenty of tree coverage and brush. Karula found a spot behind one of the large rocks, where a scrubby bush had grown because a tree couldn’t take root near such a large rock. She was able to climb over the rock and carefully lower herself into the spot where the bush met the rock, shoving parts of it out of the way. Lai-Mei would be too short to see that the top had been disturbed, and from the front of the bush, there’d be no disturbance visible.

She was alone with her breathing for all of two minutes.  Then a shriek split the air. “Found you!”

Karula looked up, expecting to congratulate the girl on her expert finding skills.

Lai-Mei was standing on the rock… looming. There was no other way to describe it. Like a tiny nine-year-old girl suddenly had enormous invisible mass, ready to reach down and crush. And her pupils had turned to slits, like a cat’s.

"I see you," Lai-Mei caroled.  "And now I'm going to eat you up."

It made no sense why Karula suddenly felt fear. This was still a nine year old girl. Lai-Mei’s smile was full of sharp teeth now, tearing carnivore teeth, and her pupils were slits, but she was a child. Still, Karula rolled herself sideways along the rock to get out of the brush, and started running as soon as she was out.

Lai-Mei leapt down from the rock, over the bush, which should not have been possible for a child her age, and landed. Karula knew this, not because she was watching – her eyes were focused in front because she was running – but because she heard the thump of the child’s landing, a short distance behind her, and no sound of rustling branches or leaves.  She glanced behind herself, once, very quickly. Lai-Mei was there, grinning hugely now, her mouth all teeth, and her skin had started to take on the mottled pattern of scales.

Karula kept running.

Around trees, rocks, bushes. Through all kinds of cover. Dodging this way and that.  And behind her, Lai-Mei never faltered, never stumbled. She laughed, the high-pitched laugh of a little girl playing a fun game, as she chased after Karula, and the sound of the laughter was never cut off by heavy breathing. This was easy for her. Fun. She was playing cat and mouse, dragging out the game.

“Do the Wangs know?” Karula screamed back over her shoulder when Lai-Mei was entirely too close.

That sobered the girl slightly. She stopped shrieking and giggling.  “No, they don’t, and I don’t want them to. They’re my parents! I’m here to keep them safe.”  Then she giggled again. “I get really hungry, though…”

Karula was rapidly running out of breath herself. She used her adult height to grab a tree branch that was too tall for Lai-Mei – too tall for herself, really, but amazing how high a person can jump when their life depends on it – and pulled herself, with arm strength and then support from her legs walking up the tree, onto the branch. Lai-Mei looked up at her.  “Do you think that’s going to stop me?” she giggled.

“I want to know why,” Karula said.  “Why me?”

“You’re an outsider. I can’t eat any more children. People with children are moving out of the town.  They’ve been here, their families, for hundreds of years and they’re running away because of me. I have to protect Bangji, and that means I can’t have people just running away and moving out. If they keep doing that there won’t be a town.”

“Have you considered maybe eating the fish they bring you?”

Lai-Mei made a face. “I ate fish. I ate a lot of fish. Fish is boring all the time!  And the old people who bring it are crunchy, like I burned them. They don’t taste burnt, but they haven’t got any more juice in them than if I did. I want prey who’ll run away from me and get their blood pumping, and I don’t want it to be anyone who lives in Bangji. That means you.”

“You’re not the original protector spirit, are you. What happened to it?” The longer she could keep the girl talking, the more of her breath and strength she could get back. Also, the scholar in her wanted to know, even if she was about to die.

Lai-Mei shrugged. “Dunno. Probably got killed in the revolution or the purges or something. A lot of dragons died that way. My parents probably did too. I didn’t even know I was a dragon until I came here and went to school and then I saw pictures.”

“You’re a fire-breather? So, a land dragon?”

“I don’t know. I just told you, all I know about dragons is what I’ve read! It’s not like anyone ever came along to take me to dragon school or something.”

Dragons taking human form. The massive upheavals of the revolution, and the rebellions, the counter-revolutions, the purges. A quarter century or more of violence. Things in Senchai were peaceful now, but hadn’t been as little as ten years ago. Nandijao and Jiangpao had been peaceful enough, civilized, calm, but her father had had to flee or else he’d have been taken in the night like his friends were, and out in the countryside, government officials had still been bringing down soldiers on the heads of small towns like Bangji, because they weren’t “modernizing” fast enough. Maybe they still were.

Karula thought of a dragon in human form killed by gunfire, or a bomb, a level of violence that even a fantastic, magical creature had never evolved to deal with.  She thought of an egg left behind, of a baby born able to shapeshift, and humans taking in a wandering child.  Senchai’a dragons were supposed to be ancient and wise, but how would you ever get to be ancient and wise if you were young, and untaught by any of your own kind? “Why do you have a last name, then?”

Lai-Mei giggled. “Haven’t you figured it out?” She traced a character in the air with her finger. “Lun!” And the character she traced, the word she spoke, was the word they’d both just been using. Dragon.

“The Children’s Center taught me how to read and write when I was very little, and I learned to hide myself. I could only eat the other children if it was safe to. I wanted to go someplace where there would be more to eat, so I ran away and I found the Wangs, and Bangji. I found that they feed dragons here, as long as the dragon protects them. So I told them my name was Lun Lai-Mei. But I never told them the characters.” She sketched her true name in the air. Dragon Pursue Fierce.

“You have the order wrong,” Karula said. “You should have been Lun Mei-Lai. ‘The fierce dragon is coming?’ The way you have it, it sounds like ‘the dragon pursues ferocity’.”

“I’m going to kill and eat you, and you’re correcting my grammar? I was three! Or four, I don’t remember exactly.”

She changed, unfolding from a girl-child to a small dragon.  A land dragon, with the serpentine body of a Senchai’a dragon, and wings, and nostrils that snorted puffs of sulfur. She was no bigger than a minivan and no longer than a hearse, and her head was just slightly larger than an adult’s proportions would be, but she was definitely a dragon.

"You see, Elder Sister?"  she laughed. "I've caught you now, and become a dragon.  And now I'll eat you up."

I’m going to die here, Karula thought. She could jump out of the tree and keep running, but she had no advantages against Lai-Mei anymore; the dragon was bigger than her, and could fly, and her serpentine body could probably twist through the trees. There was no way she was going to get out of this one.

Not like this. Not without… not without the fire.

It had started when she was a teenager. A candle, a gas burner, a fireplace… any fire mesmerized her, and she’d had intrusive thoughts about self-immolation. Like her mother, who’d run back into their burning home. As she’d gotten older it had only gotten worse. Her food had to be hot, but she couldn’t cook it herself if there was a flame involved, or she’d put her hand in it, try to immolate herself.  She’d come here hoping to find out why, if there was a connection of some kind between the things she felt and the way her mother had died… and she’d found evidence that her grandmother and her great-grandmother had died the same way.

She’d wanted to find something to save herself.  But if she was going to die anyway… she wanted to taste the fire.

“Are you sure you’re a dragon there?” Karula taunted her. “You look to me more like a big dog.”

“…What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me.” Karula grinned, as insolently as she could manage.  “You call yourself a dragon? Maybe a lion.”

Lai-Mei lunged at her with a shriek, but Karula dropped to the ground, dodging the large mouth. “Oh, yes, use your teeth!” she yelled mockingly. “Dragons are supposed to be ancient and wise, not brute beasts! But sure, you’re totally a dragon!”

“Nothing you say will matter when I tear you apart!” Lai-Mei growled.

“Oh, but you’ll remember it. You want to think of yourself as a big strong dragon because you managed to terrorize some children and some superstitious old people, but I know the truth! If you were a dragon, you’d be able to flame me to death, but you haven’t even tried! You don’t even have any flame!”

“I’ll show you flame!” Lai-Mei snarled, and breathed a blast at Karula.

Karula screamed.

It burned, it was agony, but it was a cleansing agony, like the feeling of ripping off a scab or drenching a cut in rubbing alcohol, times a thousand. It was agony, but it felt right, it felt like she had been waiting for this all her life. She fell backward into light so blinding and red it was the same as darkness, as her flesh charred away. But her scream never stopped, growing higher in pitch and harsher, more tinny, and wings unfolded from somewhere as their prison of human flesh burned away, and her scream was the shriek of a giant bird. And her eyes opened.

Lai-Mei slithered backward a few steps and reared her head back, startled. “What—”

And Karula knew, now.

The memories of her mother, her grandmother, her great-grandmother, ancestor after ancestor going back thousands of years. Give birth to an egg and set yourself aflame so the baby bird will carry all your memories, all that you are. Learn to take human form. Branch out, have more children. Boys who will carry the trait into the human population, so there will be more of your kind, eventually, more lineages. Girls who will become you as soon as they die in fire.  

Karula was the Phoenix, and had always been, as her mother before her, and her mother’s mother, and backward to the dawn of time. And the Phoenix didn’t die in the flames. The flames burned and purified, took away the human shell if the Phoenix was born in one.  The ancients had had it wrong. There was more than one Phoenix and there had been for thousands of years, but within a single lineage, the daughters all carried the memories of the mothers and all the ancestors backward through time.

She spread her wings and shrieked again.

Lai-Mei screamed. "What-- what are you? You-- you were human--!!"

"No more human than you, little dragon,"  Karula called to her, with a voice that was the song of a bird.  "I am the Phoenix.  I was your guest, and you tried to kill me."

She rose into the air, wings flapping, and then dove at the dragon with a predatory screech. Lai-Mei breathed another blast of fire at Karula, but the flames that seared her strengthened her, so soon after her rebirth. She raked at the dragon’s eyes with her talons.  

Screaming, Lai-Mei took wing herself, flying like an awkward chick.  She wasn’t used to flight, not combat flight, not against an equal opponent. Karula was smaller than the dragon, but not by much; the part of her that was still Karula the human scholar wondered how she could possibly be flying at the size she was, and how Lai-Mei could possibly be flying, when both of them were far too large for their wingspans.  The part of her that was the immortal Phoenix knew that the physics of the human world didn’t apply here. Karula flew ahead of her, almost effortlessly, still mocking her.  She had never flown before, but she was the Phoenix and had flown a thousand thousand times, and in that she had far more experience than the nine-year-old dragon.

Though Lai-Mei ripped at Karula and blasted flame, the bird’s greater knowledge of flight made her more maneuverable. She dodged each time, easily, taunting the dragon-child with challenges that were fierce bird cries. Karula’s beak and talons were less deadly-- she scored the dragon many times, drawing blood, but there was no hope of defeating her that way.  Instead, she maddened the child, so that when Karula winged away from her, Lai-Mei followed, coming after her as the name she’d chosen suggested.

Karula flew and flew, and Lai-Mei followed and followed, always to the east. They closed with each other more than once, Lai-Mei’s teeth closing on fiery feathers, Karula’s talons slicing a leathery wing – but Karula would always break free, climb and head east, and Lai-Mei followed in her rage. And thenthey were over the deep ocean.  

Karula climbed steeply, straight toward the sun.  As the sunbird, the Phoenix, the bird of fire, she could look straight into the sun without penalty.  It was not the same for the dragon.  Land dragons were creatures of caves and mountains, with no more resistance to the light of the sun than a human would have.  Lai-Mei tried to pursue upward, but was blinded.  She leveled off, looking around herself for the phoenix, glancing upward sometimes… but never far enough upward. It wasn’t noon yet, but it was close enough that aiming straight at the sun brought Karula almost directly to the top of the sky.  

She dove then, landing hard at the scruff of the dragon’s neck, and dug in with her talons, pinching off the nerves to the wings and paralyzing them, as her weight drove them both downward.  Lai-Mei screamed and struggled, her wings beating feebly and erratically.  The pressure points to fully paralyze her wings weren’t accessible to a phoenix’s talons, but near-paralysis and weakness would do the job as well.  She twisted her serpentine body and tried to bite Karula, but the bird was in exactly the position that the dragon couldn’t reach her from, and Karula’s enormous wings drove both of them down toward the ocean.

When Lai-Mei hit the ocean, she sizzled and steamed.  The sea dragon who’d been Bangji’s protector spirit, long before Lai-Mei’s birth, would have thrived in the ocean… but that dragon wouldn’t have breathed fire.  And wouldn’t have eaten the children in the town she was supposedly protecting.

Karula took care not to touch the water herself as she submerged the thrashing baby dragon, and with the power of her wings she held her there, Lai-Mei’s head thrust down by the bite of Karula’s talons in just the right places, until her struggles weakened.

She turned into a human girl again, causing Karula to reflexively let go of her as the feeling of thick scale under her talons changed to soft human flesh. Lai-Mei bobbed to the surface, gasping, and looked up at Karula pleadingly through the waves. "I'll be good!"  she wheezed, struggling to stay afloat and to get enough air.  "Please, let me go, Karula! I'll never hurt anyone ever again!"

Karula hesitated.  Could the little dragon truly be blamed for knowing nothing of what it meant to be a dragon, of having the morality of a beast, when she had lost her dragon parents and mentors before she even hatched?  And it would break the Wangs’ heart when Lai-Mei never returned.

As it had broken the hearts of the parents of Bangji when their own children had never come home.

There was no blame here. No moral culpability. Lai-Mei had become a monster. It didn’t matter whose fault it was that she had done so.  It was tragic how the dragons had failed her, how the people of Senchai and their violence had failed the dragons.  But she had eaten human flesh.  The human Karula Lefaire might have wanted to take pity on a little girl… but the Phoenix knew that, to protect the dragons and the phoenixes, all the wild magical creatures of the world, and to protect the humans as well, a magical beast who’d eaten human flesh couldn’t be allowed to live.

She landed on the child, letting her weight push the girl underwater. Lai-Mei thrashed and struggled, and tried to pull Karula down into the water with her, where her own magic would fizzle and be extinguished.  But Karula had wings, and they were stronger than anything a human child’s strength could bring to bear.

In the water, a human could live longer than a land dragon, whose fire was part of their life force. But humans couldn’t breathe water either. Karula held Lai-Mei under until she stopped moving and air stopped bubbling out of her mouth.

The “protector” of Bangji was dead.  She had never been an adequate protector – the price she’d taken from the village for her protection had been far, far too high. But the village expected a protector, and in a nation where bureaucratic zeal was fond of stomping out dissidence, variance, and any deviance from the One True Approved Way, a tiny village that held to the old ways in so many things was in danger, without a protector.

Karula climbed toward the sun again, and then banked, turning toward the village. Someday perhaps she would be human again; someday she might bear a daughter to be the Phoenix after her.  And having already undergone her transformation and mastered her relationship with fire, she wouldn’t be compelled to immolate herself before the daughter was old enough to understand. She’d be able to teach her child before once again becoming the bird of fire. Someday. Perhaps.

But right now, there was a village whose only protection from a harsh central government that demanded obedience and order… was floating dead in the waves, with the marks of Karula’s talons in her flesh.  And that meant Karula had an obligation.

She swept over the town, once, her fiery wings making a contrail in the air as she passed.  The villagers looked up at her in amazement. And then she turned, and climbed again, and landed at the shrine.

On the land she could hunt for herself, but she could not dive into the sea to catch fish.  There were no large wild animals around here, and people needed their goats and pigs to survive. She would not take from humans what they needed to live any more than she would take their lives.  

But she hoped they would bring the next offering soon.  She was hungry.  And she hoped it would be hot.

***

Sorry, apparently 11 am on Monday is the new best time for posting my 52 Project fics? Still gonna try to get the next one out by Friday, though.

[mystical-flute]

Uncharted Waters (ch 4)

AO3 || Ko-Fi

She wasn’t brought to the dining room the next morning. Instead, Croquet brought her breakfast in her room.

And the uncomfortable knot in her stomach she’d fallen asleep with only tightened.

As soon as the lock clicked shut again, she glanced over. “Azila?”

“I’m here.”

The ghost - guardian - whatever she was - materialized next to her, floating gently above the ground.

“Were you there last night when Pegasus and I were watching my cousin duel?”

“I was. Why?”

Reika wrapped her fingers around the mug of coffee, trying to get the chill of dread out of her system. “I noticed something odd. Yugi seemed… almost taller. Not actually taller but… he was carrying himself with his poster completely straight. He seemed… confident in himself. I love him, but that’s not exactly what he’s been like.”

“The spirit of the puzzle…” Azila said softly. “I’ll tell you what I know about him.”

She set the coffee mug down and nodded, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“But I caution you, it is not much.”

“How come?”

Azila gazed out the window. “My husband was asked by him to erase all memory of his identity. I was told by Osiris to help guide him to the truth whenever the puzzle was solved, but he did not restore my memories.”

“Well… what is it? Why was he erased from history?”

“There was a war, back when I was alive. He sacrificed himself to save Egypt from destruction. I admit, we destroyed much about the war itself too, so I cannot recall the details, in order to protect ourselves,” Azila looked a little lost in her memories.

Reika frowned a little. “So he’s, what, some ancient Egyptian wizard, or something?”

“He was a noble. High-ranking, if I recall. He and my husband were best friends. It broke his heart to have to erase him from history.”

“Your husband?”

“Yes, Pharaoh Seto.”

The sound of footsteps distracted them, Azila vanishing from view for a moment as the door opened, revealing Kemo with another food cart.

He gave her a delight smirk as he approached, putting the empty plate on the bottom shelf.

“Miss Muto. I’m sorry we didn’t get the chance to talk last night,” he said as he set her food on the table next to her. “I’ve been quite busy with the tournament.”

“Yes, I’m sure kidnapping twelve-year-olds keeps you extremely busy,” she bit out. She ignored the food, taking the glass of wine into her hands. “What are you even doing here? I thought you worked for KaibaCorp.”

“What can I say? Mr. Pegasus has a better healthcare plan.”

“Bullshit.”

Kemo shrugged. “I prefer the new vision for KaibaCorp than the current one. I think that’s fair after working for a kid for three years.”

“You’re a traitor no matter how you try to justify it.”

“And what does it matter to you? You’re just some brat that was lucky to catch Alden’s attention. If it weren’t for him, you would have been thrown out of The Young Five when your mother disappeared,” Kemo sneered.

She tried not to let his words get to her, but she couldn’t stop the tears that sprung to her eyes and the knot that formed in the pit of her stomach.

It was enough for Kemo, who laughed. “But don’t worry, maybe you’ll get another lucky break once Master Pegasus gets his way.”

With that, Kemo swept from the room, the door locking behind him.

Reika set the wine glass back on the table with a shaking hand and lifted the lid of the tray, although she wasn’t very hungry.

“That man was quite cruel…” Azila’s soft voice said from next to her.

“It’s fine,” Reika replied, pushing the salad around her bowl with a fork. “He’s right. I did get lucky. It’s because Mr. Leichter picked me for the Young Five program that I was even able to meet Seto and Mokuba.”

“Who are they?”

“You’ve been talking inside my head for a year and you haven’t seen my memories?”

“I’m merely a guide. I figured it was better to not intrude on your memories.”

Reika looked at her, considering. Yes, it would be easy to agree and block Azila from her mind, but… maybe it’d be easier to just allow the spirit to see who she was. It was easier than saying it out loud, at least.

“It’s okay. If you want to go into my head you can. Seto is my boyfriend. Mokuba is his younger brother. Mokuba is the kid that was dragged in by Kemo last night when Croquet was dragging me back here,” she explained softly. “Seto took over a company from his adoptive father. They make games for children.”

“I assume this ‘takeover’ was not peaceful?”

“His stepfather jumped out the window after he lost. The company originally built tools made for war. Seto hated it and changed it, and it caused a bit of an uproar with some of the employees.”

“Do the rulers not make their own tools for war anymore?” Azila questioned. Her tone seemed annoyed, more than anything.

“Everything is made everywhere, it seems. Some parts are made in Japan, some in the United States,” Reika said, pausing when the ghost seemed confused. “Never mind. My parents wouldn’t tell me much anyway, since I was a kid, and then Leichter shielded me from most of it after they disappeared, and when Seto took over the company… I didn’t bother to ask.”

Azila tilted her head. “Were there other children at this KaibaCorp?”

She paused, setting her empty bowl down on the table. “Each of Gozaburo’s top executives had a child they brought around once in a while. It was called the Young Five Program. We learned about business under them, and Gozaburo was kind enough to pay for dance lessons and music lessons for us.”

“Was this Gozaburo some sort of king?”

Reika snorted, although there was little humor in it. “If anything, he likened himself to a sort of god.”

Azila’s eyes widened. “He wielded such power?”

“Gozaburo was a cowardly fool who liked to talk big,” Reika spat, glancing over at the spirit. “He only thought he had that sort of power, until he was outsmarted at his own game, and erased from this world, like he never existed at all…” she trailed off, suddenly lost in her own memories.

“I feel like you are no longer talking about Gozaburo.”

Her eyes glazed over briefly as she looked at the trees beyond her window. “It’s nothing.”

They were cut off at the sound of footsteps again, Azila disappearing just as Croquet unlocked and opened the door.

“Master Pegasus would like to see you now.”

“What’s with the prisoner treatment, Croquet? I was told I was getting a VIP experience,” she said dryly, following the man back to the too-large room.

“They were Master Pegasus’ orders,” he said simply. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Lots of people just ‘do their jobs’. Doesn’t mean it’s a good thing,” she spat before entering the room and staring down Pegasus, who was looking at her with a smug grin that had her dread returning as she took a seat.

“I hope you slept well, Reika-girl,” he began, sipping at a glass of wine.

“I slept as well as anyone could, given the whole blackmail thing,” she replied.

Pegasus’ face screwed into a pout that seemed unbecoming of a CEO of a multi-billion dollar company. “You and Kaiba-boy have such a flare for the dramatics. It really is no wonder you two are together, and trust me, I could be making your little stay here so much worse . But… you and I are friends now, right?”

“Friends don’t blackmail their friends into telling them their deepest, darkest secrets,” she spat. “We aren’t friends.”

“We just got off on the wrong foot is all.”

She reached for the wine glass in front of her. If she could get a bit of a buzz, it might ease her tension. “I have to say, I don’t exactly feel like a VIP… what with being locked in my room all day.”

“I do apologize for that. I had some business to take care of. I believe you’ll be quite interested in what I have to show you.”

Reika quirked a brow, but turned her attention to the screen in front of her, the calm demeanor vanishing instantly.

Her boyfriend and her cousin, already locked in a duel.

“Why are they dueling?”

“The only way into my castle is to win ten star chips. As Kaiba-boy has none, he needed to get some in a hurry. Your cousin was the easiest target,” Pegasus said with a shrug.

There was the sinister tone again, and Reika watched the duel with dread, downing another large gulp of wine.

“If Kaiba-boy wins this duel, he’ll be playing the hero instead of the villain. Aren’t you proud of him?” Pegasus asked.

“Let me guess, the villain is you?” she asked dryly.

“If that’s how you want to look at it, yes. Kaiba-boy certainly seems to think so.”

“With good reason, seeing as you’re helping to stage a coup at his company. Surely, there was a better way to handle this?” she hadn’t exactly taken to the business life Leichter had been trying to teach her about, but hostile takeovers and kidnapping didn’t seem to be the best route.

“What can I say? I love the drama of it all.”

Reika’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t dare say anything further. He still had her grandfather, after all.

“When did Seto get here?” she finally asked quietly.

“Last night.”

More questions filled her head. Did Seto know she was here? Had Yugi told him? Had they managed to come up with a plan to beat Pegasus at his own game?

But no, as the duel continued, it was increasingly clear that there was no secret agreement between them, no master plan to stop Pegasus. Which was probably for the best - Pegasus could read minds, after all.

Except for hers.

If she got the chance to see Yugi or Seto, she knew she’d have to be careful with what she told him. If he faced off against Pegasus, she didn’t want to run the risk of him seeing something he shouldn’t.

Her hands curled into fists on her lap as the duel continued, afraid she would shatter something if she held onto anything.

And then, she watched in horror as Seto backed up to the ledge of the castle, taunting Yugi about the shockwaves that could push him off and into the forest below.

Bile rose in her throat.

There would be no winner of this duel.

She watched Yugi suddenly return to normal, calling off the attack right before it was too late, forfeiting the duel. She wasn’t mad at either of them - she couldn’t be. They were both pawns in a twisted game.

“Well, that was quite an exciting duel, wouldn’t you agree, Reika-girl?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” she rasped. She couldn’t muster the energy for anger at this point.

“Mm, well, all the same. I think it’s time we congratulate the winner before the next duel starts, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Pegasus grinned as he rose to his feet. “Why, I’ll be dueling Kaiba-boy next, of course. And it wouldn’t be right of me to not allow you to see him after so long. Consider it a gift from a friend.”

“Allowing me to see my boyfriend. You must be the best friend I’ve never had,” she spat, standing on weak legs and following Pegasus out of the room.

Seto stood at the beginning of a long hallway, a sign pointing toward a duel arena just behind his shoulder. His face was twisted into one of pure loathing, which turned into confusion as he spotted her.

“Kaiba-boy, what a match! I knew that fire was still in you!” Pegasus said, pointedly ignoring Reika’s presence.

“Let’s just get this over with. I have a brother and a company to save,” Seto’s voice was nothing but venom.

Pegasus rolled his eyes. “You and your dramatics. I know our deal. I’ll be dueling you soon enough, but there are some things I need to prepare in the arena first. I’ll give you time to get reacquainted with Reika-girl, hmm?”

He sauntered off, leaving the two alone.

She closed the gap between them, wrapping her arms tight around him. For a second, it was like nothing was wrong, that they were just hugging each other because it had been a year since she’d been in his arms. But that bliss didn’t last when she realized she was shaking.

“Reika… what are you doing here?”

“He invited me to be a VIP, but Seto, he’s got my grandfather hostage, and… he knows about us.”

“Wh - you mean about us dating?”

She nodded. “He read Mokuba’s mind,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You’ve known me for six years. You think I’d lie about something like that?” she scoffed, pulling back.

“I think he’s just messing with your head. Trust me, it’s what he does,” Seto said, cupping her cheek. His eyes were a brilliant shade of blue that showed his ire toward Pegasus, and yet a flicker of fear just beneath the surface. “I’m going to beat him.”

She wanted to scream that there was a very, very high chance that he would not , but she didn’t have the energy to argue, instead she nodded in agreement. “I know.”

Lie.

Seto’s thumb stroked her cheek gently, before he bent to kiss her. As soon as his lips met hers, she melted into the touch, gripping his jacket tight in her fists. It was a kiss of passion, of everything she wished she could say but couldn’t.

“Oh, young love is such a beautiful thing.”

They broke apart, but Seto’s grip tightened against her back, pulling her closer against his chest as he stared coldly at Pegasus. “Are we dueling or not?”

Pegasus smirked, watching them with a critical gaze. “Of course we are. You can head to the arena whenever you’re ready. Croquet, please escort Reika-girl to the balcony so she can watch the duel.”

It felt like she was walking to a funeral.

“Reika!” Yugi called.

She forced a smile, forced her face to be calm, and prayed her eyes weren’t giving her away. “Hey Yugi,” she said, glancing over at the trio of not-duelists. “I thought you told me your friends weren’t allowed to come?”

“Pegasus made an exception,” Tristan said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

Reika quirked a brow. “You snuck on the boat, didn’t you?”

Tristan pulled a face. “What? No don’t be ridiculous Reika! We’re VIP’s, just like you!”

She deadpanned. “Uh-huh. Well, far be it from me to tell you off for sneaking in somewhere.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged casually, leaning against the railing. “My friend Sanji and I snuck into a 21-and-over casino when I was still in the States.”

“You did what?!” Yugi snapped.

“It was fine, Yugi, don’t worry about it,” she said dismissively.

Lie.

It had been an infiltration mission. She had mingled on the casino floor to get intel while Sanji had gone deep underground to find their friends that had been taken hostage. She had gotten into an altercation with Miss All-Sunday of Baroque Works, and the night had ended with Luffy nearly being buried alive in the Alabastan desert.

Yugi gave her a look that said he didn’t quite believe her, but didn’t push the subject further. Instead, he turned toward the tall blonde woman that had come in with them. “Reika, this is Mai Valentine. She’s one of the competitors here and she helped us out a lot!”

Reika smiled. “Hey, nice to meet you. I’m Reika Muto, Yugi’s cousin.”

“So you’re the famous Reika I’ve heard so much about this weekend. It’s nice to meet you,” Mai replied with a smile, shaking her hand.

“Attention: The exhibition match between Seto Kaiba and Maximillion Pegasus is about to begin,” Croquet’s voice suddenly cut through.

“Who are we supposed to root for?” Joey muttered.

Tristan frowned. “Can they just destroy each other?”

“Tristan, that’d mean we lose the one chance we have of saving Mr. Muto!” Bakura’s voice was nothing short of horrified. “I think all we can do is pray Pegasus doesn’t make any dirty tricks like he did with Yugi…”

“That might be wishful thinking…” Téa said quietly as Pegasus entered the arena and began making a fuss about the disks Seto had brought with him. When he called out for Mokuba, Reika’s heart stopped.

He’d gotten to Mokuba too.

She knew the duel was over before it even started.

“This is so messed up…” Téa whispered, Mokuba led away. “Why would he do something like this?”

“Because he has no soul,” Reika muttered. “This is going to be a disaster.”

The duel - if it could even be called that after one duelist read the others’ mind until they ran out of moves - was a bloodbath, and Seto ran out of cards in only a few turns.

“Well Kaiba-boy, it looks like I’ve won the duel and your company. But don’t worry, you’ll see your brother again,” Pegasus pulled an empty card out of his jacket pocket, and she had to force herself not to jump across the chasm, Croquet’s gun be damned.

Seto’s eyes flickered up at her a second before they became dull and listless. Hollow.

“Teach him to wash dishes or something!” Pegasus sneered as guards came to lead Seto away.

She hung her head, swallowing back the bile that kept threatening to overtake her. It wouldn’t be that hard to get to Pegasus. With Yugi and the others now in the castle, she doubted she would be watched and locked away like a prisoner. Surely, she could leave her room whenever she wanted and follow Pegasus wherever he was going. She could use force to get what she wanted.

She’d done it before.

“All he wanted to do was save his little brother… and all I want to do is save Grandpa. This isn’t fair…” Yugi murmured. “Reika…”

“What?” She couldn’t stop her voice from cracking.

“Are you okay?”

It was then she felt six pairs of eyes on her, reality came back into focus, and she stared at them.

Even if she wanted to lie, she knew she couldn’t - she could feel the exhaustion deep in her bones and knew it was probably clear on her face. “No. I’m not okay.”

“You’re upset about Kaiba? Why? He’s - ”

“My friend,” she snapped, staring at Joey with narrowed eyes. “He’s my friend, okay?”

“Kaiba has friends? After everything he’s done?”

Her eyebrow twitched in frustration. “Big talk for someone who bullied my cousin.”

“Wh - ”

“You think I don’t know what you did to Yugi before you magically became his friend?”

Yugi’s eyes widened in confusion. “I - I never told you that, Reika…”

“You didn’t have to. Your classmate Miho is my friend’s little sister. He’s the one that told me,” she explained. “So tell me, Joey, if you can have a friend - especially my cousin - why can’t Seto Kaiba?”

Joey opened his mouth, ready to retort, but Croquet’s gravelly voice cut him off.

“Dinner is served. Please follow me to the dining room.”

“That was an impressive show,” Mai said, slinging her arm around Reika’s shoulders. “But I guess that’s to be expected from anyone who can be friendly with someone like Kaiba.”

A small, genuine laugh managed to escape her. “You just have to know how to deal with him. It’s not that impressive when you’ve been doing it so long. But as for Joey, well…” she shrugged casually, watching the group with Yugi, Joey’s loud voice echoing through the hall. “He’s just lucky I wasn’t there before his transformation from bully to friend.”

“Feisty. I like you. I think we could be good friends.”

“I would like that, Mai,” she said as they took their seats at the long dining table.

Dinner was a blur, and as they were led to the rooms, Yugi followed her straight to hers.

“Reika… can we talk?”

She gave him a tired smile. “Always.”

“I’m scared about tomorrow,” Yugi admitted, sitting on the loveseat. “You know how we talked about our items having ghosts in them?”

She nodded.

“Mine… he… he can do magic. He keeps doing magic. I don’t know how! But the worst part was when he didn’t even flinch at the thought of Kaiba being knocked off a tower during our duel tonight.”

Reika pressed her lips together. “Have you… talked to him?”

“I’m scared to. What if he tries to hurt me?”

She sighed. “Yugi…”

“I’m serious! Dueling can kill people, especially with him around!”

“So don’t wear the puzzle when you duel.”

Yugi looked as if she’d slapped him. “I can’t not wear it! I… feel a bond with it. I don’t know what would happen if I didn’t.”

“Okay, then talk to him.”

“But…”

Reika frowned. “You don’t have many options here, Yugi, especially if you want to be at the top of your game.”

He sighed. “I know… I’m just afraid that dueling is only going to cause more trouble.”

That sparked an idea, and she rose to her feet, going to her bag. “Dueling, huh? Do you have your deck on you?”

“Yeah, why?”

She returned to her chair, setting her own deck on the table between them. “Practice on me. I’m not afraid of you, or the spirit in your puzzle.”

Yugi looked hesitant, but swallowed thickly and pulled out his deck. “A-alright… let’s duel.”

He started off hesitant, but slowly, he came into his own once again, and by the time he’d beaten her, the spirit was smiling, relaxed.

“You see?” she said, taking her cards and shuffling them again. “All you need to do is work together, and you’ll be just fine tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Reika. Goodnight.”

She collapsed onto the bed, her mind whirling

“It’s up to you now, Yugi,” she whispered into the darkness.

[sebastianshaw]

I'M HERE TO YELL ABOUT THE WEREMOLES AGAIN THEY'RE REALLY AMAZING AND INTERESTING AND UNIQUE AND I LOVE THEM

-While a lot of the other Changing Breeds all dislike each other for one reason or another, or at best just don't interact, the moldwarps actually had it in their laws to aid their cousins in their respective duties for which Gaia created each of them, but -- "Killing Sceatha with the Garou, allowing Ratkin to travel to Run’s End, or showing the Moldwarp Burrows to other Breeds’ Kinfolk all fall outside of the realms of acceptable aid." CLEARLY THE RATKIN DID SOMETHING LIKE I HAVE NO DOUBT THERE IS GOOD REASON FOR THAT RULE (the wererats are chaos incarnate and I love them) -k so there is basically a trinity of spirits in this setting, the Triat---the Wyld, the Weaver, the Wyrm. Generally speaking, everyone is fighting the Wyrm and sometimes also the Weaver. But the moldwarps seek true balance between all three. And there's a small group of them called Apes Redeemers who want to basically exorcise the Weaver AND Wyrm out of human beings--- "Redeemers take humans in direct service to the Weaver, or with strong behavioural traits in its favour, and attempt to cleanse them through a mixture of psychological abuse, isolation, and repurposed rites. Freethinking Moldwarps shun this Hill’s ideals as quite beyond the pale, but Redeemers hold up examples of humans who have been forced into bestial states of primitive regression, the Weaver’s hold utterly stripped away, as evidence that their methods are in fact effective." (The Weaver is like...organization, society, technology, tools, etc. Normal humans are very much Weaver creatures.) - AW BUT THERE ARE ALSO PLAGUE DOCTOR MOLDWARPS WHO GO TO DISEASE RIDDEN AREAS TO TREAT PEOPLE - In addition to being the jailers of Gaia, they are also the undertakers, burying the dead of other creatures - There are different “Warrens” or types of weremole, based on their role in weremole society and the jobs they have. Most notable to me are the Cleansers and the Wardens. Cleansers “strive to emulate the motherly aspect of Gaia in all that they do. Calm and considerate, their lot is to cure the fallen, correcting their spiritual bearing and keeping them healthy during their stay in the Den. Sadly, despite their caring natures, Cleansers make for arguably the worst weremoles to act as the face of a Sett while interacting with other Fera. Speaking of tainted beings as patients needing treatment wins few friends in the wider shapeshifter community, and Cleansers find it difficult to adjust to the more punitive mindset broadly shared by most Fera.” “ They act as their communities’ confidants and carers, conduits for the worries, stresses, and strains which would otherwise hinder important work” “ Passionate and creative both in conflict and at peace, Cleansers tend to the Burrows’ feeding, nursing, and childrearing tasks outside of their main duties” “ Most Cleansers adopt a calm and measured persona following their Vision Crawl, and are incredibly difficult to infuriate.” Whereas the Wardens are “the closest thing a Burrow has to a standing force of warriors” and “the least empathic of all Warrens. Where Cleansers are the good cops, the Wardens are their counterparts, expected to keep Sceatha in line by any means necessary for them to be successfully rehabilitated. They embody force, conviction, and authority, and are granted Gifts which reflect such qualities in order to contain and recover the corrupted.” “ these Moles are tough, courageous, and stoic. These qualities are much called upon, for it is their burden to contain, monitor, and protect Sceatha held in captivity” “ Wardens embody intimidation, conviction, and authority in every action they take. This can sometimes be expressed with the exciting encouragement of an elder sibling, the sternness of a loving parent, or the detached professional attitudes of their human namesakes.” There are others, like Trackers and Diggers and Architects, but those are more concerned with burrowing tunnels or simply finding/retrieving Sceatha (Wyrm-tainted or otherwise corrupt creatures in need of healing/rehabilitation) rather than actually guarding and treating them, so they’re of less interest to me. The Diggers do also make tunnels in the Umbra, which is the spirit world, which is a pretty cool concept. - Their Homid (human) forms are as wonderfully unglamorous as moles themselves-- “ usually naturally heavy, with excessive body hair and poor eyesight. Their hands and feet are often disproportionately large compared to their small stature and otherwise short limbs, but for these physical shortfalls they make up with greater levels of strength, health, smell, hearing, and directional coordination” A far cry from the ridiculously sexy werewolf boyfriends of paranormal romance fiction. Love it. They also typically have jobs in sanitation or rehabilitation-- “ These individuals find employment as city planners, prison guards and wardens, subway and sewer maintenance operatives, and similar jobs focused around organisation, rehabilitation, and the conservation of resources both material and human. It’s a rare occurrence that an up-and-coming track athlete or singer enters the Vision Crawl.” Again, love it. - Their Crinos form (the hybrid form or “war form”) is HORRIFYING-- “ a large amalgamation of mole and human standing at 7 feet tall and over 80 stone in weight, a hunched monster which could never exist in the natural order of the surface world [. . .] twisted faces and sightless eyes [. . .] Knife-like teeth protrude along the length of their muzzles and shovelling claws grow from each clubbed hand” - Most wereanimals are weak to silver. Some varieties are weak to gold. But weremoles are weak to obsidian and other black gems. - Unlike most wereanimals, moldwarps can become vampires, and these unfortunate creatures are called The Baogane, also known as Bugbears. They are the saddest things I have ever heard of. “ The existence of a Baogane poses burning questions to her Sett. Should she receive an honourable Final Death and be given over to Gaia? Should she be put through arduous cleansing in the small hope it works? Or, more dubiously, should she be allowed to serve the Burrow eternally? Setts who are unfortunate enough to lose one of their own to a Leech make their own decisions on what to do with their fallen kin.” “ Baoganes look similar to how they did in life, save for their fangs being unnaturally long even for vampires. In Crinos form, these fangs splay out either side of their face to resemble the curved tusks of a boar, and sometimes punch through the flesh of their gums and lips. The fur of all forms - even Homid hair - becomes permanently sharp, coarse, and patchy, again similar to that of a boar.” “ Soil does not merely cling to the fur and skin of a Bugbear as it would to any other subterranean creature, but latches on with supernatural power, reflecting the earth’s desire to see such a monster dead and buried. Over the space of but a few nights, the Moldwarp may become so covered in filth and earthen debris that her size and shape cannot be discerned.” “ Baoganes often spend their unlives trapped within cleansing chambers, awaiting rehabilitation that may never come without their much-sought-after destruction. Many are granted the Thing of Salvation, though some willing penitents are denied even that.” The “Thing of Salvation” of course, is final death. The weremoles call very important ceremonies or celebrations, Things. Thing of Deliverance, Thing of the Hill, etc. - I honestly can’t overstate how new and crazy it is they wish to rehabilitate the Wyrm-tainted and save the Wyrm itself. For DECADES the entire point of this game has been FUCK UP THE WYRM’S SHIT. The Wyrm has always been the ultimate evil, even more so than the Weaver who is technically the one at fault for it going crazy, and EVERY wereanimal has had “destroy the Wyrm’s servants” in their own laws. And yet in the weremole’s laws, you’re NOT allowed to kill Sceatha unless your own life is threatened---” Sceatha are not of sound mind and so do not deserve unnecessary harm, irrespective of their most vile actions; only once they are cured are they to be judged as independent beings by the rest of the world. If that judgment is death, then they must be returned to Gaia without delay. Destroying befouled artefacts out of hand, meanwhile, is wasteful and disrespectful of their already-violated spirits.” Like this is just...so out of line from EVERY OTHER WERECREATURE it’s WILD, and it’s no wonder all the other critters are distrustful of them AT BEST. - So, Run’s End, that place they don’t ever let the Ratkin go? It sounds AMAZING, like so beautiful and spooky. It’s this realm “where death and decay occur, but peacefully and purely. This peace, however, is maintained only by the avid cleansing of its space by high-ranking Moldwarps, making it a nigh-impenetrable refuge of solemn deathliness suspended between zones of total corruption. Only by travelling along the Run, or traversing the turbulent dimensions held up by Run’s End to eventually find a border between worlds, may a being enter this place of pure, tranquil death. All is not quite as it should be, of course, for vicious battles constantly rage at the borders of Run’s End” “ The geography of Run’s End is reminiscent of an ancient Mayan jungle, at the heart of which stands a colossal obsidian temple to the Balance Wyrm, the structure in which the Lord of the Run resides beside his High Scrivein, Sanctus, and Thegn. This temple, the Body of Death, plays host to any great debate waged by high-Ranking Moldwarps, including each and every Althing. Around the Body of Death stretches the Fungal Forest, with mycelial growths a hundred metres tall stretching as far as the eye can see, generating natural luminescences of deep purple, dark red, and ochre green. From the unseen roof of the realm slowly descend all manner of remains - of humans, animals, plants, and even concepts, hopes, and dreams long forgotten - like snowflakes, landing gently atop the fungal canopy to be slowly digested. A fine film of red, brown, and green covers the undergrowth, having seeped down from the mushroom caps high above. Amongst these fungi are found equally decomposed but animate carrion beasts of all varieties lapping up the rotting fluids: insects, corvids, and Consumer Worms as long and thick as oak trunks winding amongst the mushroom stumps, soaking in the decay Despite its dire aspect, the fear of death for any being present in the Fungal Forest is simply absent; the fact that death comes for all is readily apparent, but comes as a comfort. Though not part of the Underworld proper, the Forest is a manifestation of final rest. From the gentle dripping of corpse-fluid to the slow undulation of the Consumer Worms, there is no violation or undue destruction in this Forest, only the equalising end of all things. Indeed, all beings who enter Run’s End begin decaying almost immediately; only those with some form of supernatural regeneration, or whose protection has been specifically petitioned for, may withstand it. Equally, the Body of Death allows only full-blooded Moldwarps to enter, with instant death and rapid decomposition coming to all others. At the Obsidian Reach, young and old Moldwarps alike dig to find something that they believe will bring them renown and acclaim, with no actual promise that anything lies beneath. The Obsidian Reach was actually discovered by the Gazers of the Deep during their very first visit. The Reach is infinitely high and wide and consists of solid obsidian, which naturally is almost unbreakable by Moldwarp standards. The stone itself bears the scratch marks and gouges of generations of claws trying to breach its shell. Beyond the stone’s infinite blackness, it has been told, are beings swept up in a storm mocking those who try to reach them, lands of shining cyclopean architecture, and even the resting bodies of mighty but unborn giants. Such claims are overlooked by all but the Gazers, but this does not prevent adventurers from ceaselessly trying to breach this inky vault.” LIKE THIS IS SO EERIE AND UNNERVING AND YET STRANGELY LOVELY AND SOOTHING TO ME? I AM REALLY LOVING MOLDWARP LORE

[omnivorousshipper]

Hi, I saw you were taking requests and I've always loved your writing! If it's aright, can I ask for a sweet Hattie and Deckard sibling bonding story? In H&S before the Somoa battle, Hattie said something like, after they get home she'll get to know her brother again, maybe something along those lines (doesn't have to, whatever you have inspiration for)? Thanks!

Hi! Thanks for the request friend! I am so sorry this took so long to get out. After my state was put into lockdown, I’ve been bogged down with work and school even worse than before the virus hit the US. Sorry this isn’t much, but I hope you enjoy it!

Hattie bit her lip as she stood in front of the door. It was a perfectly normal door, no discernible features that would make it stand out in a crowd of doors. But, the door meant so much. Behind that door, was her brother. The one she had thought had betrayed not only his team, but his country and everything it stood for. The brother she thought had betrayed her. The one she had made sure not to contact for years, the one she had ignored, even when she had heard rumors that he had gone to prison. She had made sure any news surrounding him and the rest of her family would never reach her. 

Taking a shaky breath, Hattie gripped the handles of the cloth bag she was holding. When they had gotten back to London and parted ways, Deckard had given her a small smile, his eyes softening around the edges, and had offered to cook her anything she wanted, as long as she brought the ingredients. When he had offered, Hattie felt her heart soar; it had been so long since she had been able to have his cooking. 

When she had been a kid, just coming home from primary school, she would always run into the kitchen and right into Deckard. Their mother was usually out of the country, doing something to further her little criminal empire, while their father was either off at work or the pub. Which left Deckard to take over the kitchen and make sure his siblings had something to eat. 

She could still vividly remember the smells of fresh bread, fatty roasts, and just baked cookies wafting through the air as she stepped through the door of their house. Even the sound of Deckard laughing as she and Owen fought over the last dinner roll was crystal clear. It seemed as if half of her childhood was spent in that kitchen. From studying for all her exams at the dining table and listening to Deckard moving around the kitchen, to sitting on the kitchen floor and crying, eating ice cream straight from the tub, while Deckard told her her ex-boyfriend didn’t deserve her. 

Now, here she was again, just about  to walk through another door and into the kitchen Deckard no doubt was already prepping. 

But, it felt as if something was keeping her rooted to the floor and making her arms feel full of lead and unable to knock on the door in front of her. 

What if Deckard saw her and decided he actually didn’t want to make up with her? What if she had truly severed their relationship and nothing was salvageable? 

Similar thoughts flew through Hattie’s mind, making a lump form in her throat. It would take severe torture for her to admit it, but she had missed her family desperately. Through the long years of not talking to him, there were many times she wanted to pick up the phone and hear her brother’s voice. But, she had stayed strong and instead threw herself into her work to distract herself. Now, she knew that it was all for naught. If she had had picked up the phone, maybe she would have listened, maybe she wouldn’t be standing outside of Deckard’s door, eight years later, unable to simply knock. 

No, I wouldn’t have, Hattie thought sadly. She knew herself too well; there was no way she would have forgiven Deckard back then. It wasn’t until she was betrayed herself that she finally saw reason. 

Letting out a long breath, Hattie shifted the weight of her purse on shoulder, trying to ignore what was inside. She was not anxious just to have dinner with Deckard, but to show him the documents she had on her as well. They were papers that would allow Deckard to come back to MI6, no questions asked.

Hattie had fought tooth and nail to make the higher ups to evaluate Deckard’s case and admit they had been wrong about him. And it wasn’t too hard afterwards to suggest that they bring him back, after all, what’s better than having one Shaw? Two.

And maybe three, if Oh ever picks up the damn phone, Hattie huffed to herself. Owen would always be a stubborn arse, but she was sure she could win him over eventually. He was an adrenaline junky and she knew he would love doing spy work, outsmarting criminals, other spys, and whoever was considered a threat by the British government.

But.

It was Deckard she was concerned about. He seemed content to live peacefully, a few jobs here and there to keep him active, but for the most part, he preferred to stay in London and enjoy life. Hattie had no idea if he would actually want to come back to the people who had thrown him out and hunted like a dog for years. 

Hattie just hoped that being able to work with her would be enough to convince him to come back. 

With that last thought, Hattie squared her shoulders and finally knocked on the door in front of her. It took a few moments, but it finally opened, revealing a smiling Deckard. He was wearing sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt that hung loosely on his frame. 

“Hey, Hatts,” he greeted softly and moved aside to let her in. “What did ya bring?”

“Ingredients for shepherd’s pie,” she said sheepishly. It wasn’t sophisticated or anything, but it would always be one of her favorite dishes. Stepping past Deckard, she kicked her shoes off. She felt fingers brush hers as Deckard took the cloth bag and started to look through it. Hattie had to stifle a laugh as he pulled out the box of Jaffa Cakes she had hidden at the bottom of the bag. 

“Really, Hatts?” Deckard asked, raising an eyebrow, but she could see his eyes dancing with humor. “Did you really think I didn’t have my own?”

“You can never have enough,” she shrugged, a smirk playing on her face. 

“Damn right,” Deckard smiled back. He put the bag down, and opened his arms for Hattie. Without even thinking, she rushed into him with enough force to make him let out a small wheeze, but she didn’t care as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She felt him wrap his own arms around her as she leaned her forehead against his. 

They simply stayed like that for a long minute, enjoying being close to each other again, knowing that the other was finally there.

Hattie didn’t care that her bag was digging into her shoulder, or that several of the ingredients she had brought would need to be refrigerated. The only thing that mattered in that moment was Deckard. The way his arms grounded her, made her feel as if she was finally home after years of being lost. She could feel tears pooling behind her closed eyelids as she felt Deckard tighten his grip.

“It’s nice to have you back, Hatts,” Deckard whispered.

Hattie could only nod, too scared to say anything in fear of letting out the sob she could feel trapped in her throat. 

After a few moments, Hattie felt Deckard’s arm loosen and let her go. Hattie had to stop herself from jerking forward and grabbing him, not wanting to let him go. But she knew that she needed to. After all, they wouldn’t want the ingredients to go to waste.

“Come on,” Deckard said, picking the bag. “Promised you a dinner, didn’t I?”“That you did,” Hattie nodded and watched Deckard turn and walk deeper into the house. When he turned his back on her, she quickly scrubbed at her eyes, hoping he hadn’t seen the tears there. Readjusting her purse, Hattie followed after Deckard and was finally able to see where he had been living for the past few years. 

The living room and connected kitchen space was very modern, with grey and white undertones with the many windows letting the space feel larger than it was. Hattie wasn’t surprised to see that Deckard’s kitchen was so spacious. He had always complained that their family home’s kitchen was too small, especially when he had to deal with Hattie and Owen always running around in it. 

“Make yourself at home,” Deckard called out to her as he started to unpack her bag and move around the kitchen, grabbing everything he would need for their meal. Hattie felt a corner of her mouth twitch involuntarily, turning into the beginnings of a smile. It was nice to see him so relaxed and doing something he loved.

Sitting down at the kitchen island, Hattie set her bag down on the stool next to her. She eyed it, wondering when she would bring up the papers she had. Knowing Deckard, his mood would immediately sour when she said anything even hinting at him and MI6. Deciding to let the issue rest until dinner was over, Hattie turned her attention back to Deckard. His hands were already peeling potatoes, moving so quickly Hattie could barely keep track of the movement.

“So,” Hattie started, getting Deckard’s attention. “What have you been up to lately?”

“Nothin’ much,” he grunted. “Took a local job, but it wasn’t too exciting. Just keeping an eye on an expensive painting and taking down any thieves trying to get their grubby hands on it.”

“You’re really selling yourself out as a paint watcher?” Hattie couldn’t keep the hint of a sneer off her face as she asked. She expected better of Deckard. 

“Oi, don’t go knockin’ me,” Deckard said, pointing the peeler at her. “I did it as a favor to our cousin Jamie.”

“Of course it was for him.” Hattie rolled her eyes. Their cousin was a driving force in the black market of expensive paintings. But then something occurred to her. “Wait. I thought he was working with Interpol now?”

Deckard let out a snort of amusement.

“As if that would stop him from making forgeries and selling them to rich folks. Him joining Interpol just means he gets to screw over his competitors.”

“That definitely sounds like the guy who took us on our first bank heists.”

Deckard rolled his eyes as Hattie smiled at him. “I wish he had waited to take you on yours. Seven year olds should not be robbing banks.”

“But you were six when he took you on your’s,” Hattie shot back.

“And knew how to pick locks better than both of you and Oh combined.”

“Hey!” Hattie pouted. “I was pretty good!”

Deckard raised an eyebrow, a smirk growing on his face.

“You sure about that?”

“Yes!”

“Then why do I remember having to get a pair of handcuffs off you when you were nine?”

“It was a fluke. They had come off hundreds times before,” Hattie huffed. “They just refused to come off that one time.”

“Mmhm.”

Hattie might have been pouting, but on the inside, she couldn’t have been happier. It felt so nice to hear Deckard joking around and teasing her again.

“At least I knew how to lock things,” Hattie casually said, and felt a small thrill at seeing Deckard’s head whip up from where he was cutting up carrots to give her a sharp look. “If I remember right, it was you who let a seagull into the house because you refused to lock the windows.”

“How was I supposed to know it would come in?” Deckard grumbled, and Hattie’s nose wrinkled in delight as she saw a small blush of embarrassment on Deckard’s cheeks. It was always satisfying when she could tease him right back.

“And ruin Mum’s house party?” She added. 

That comment earned her a glare and a piece of carrot thrown at her head. She let out a laugh as she batted the piece away from her face. It felt freeing to tease someone who knew when she was teasing and not have people getting offended. Even if they hadn’t talked in years, it seemed as if Deckard still knew everything about her, down to her tone. 

Picking up the piece of carrot, Hattie lobbed it at Deckard’s head in return. Unfortunately, it didn’t hit, but it was still wonderful to hear Deckard laugh as he dodged it. 

“Oi! Don’t go throwing things in my kitchen!”

“You started it!”

Both siblings fell into a fit of laughter, the noise expanding and seemed to fill the whole room. Smiles never left their faces as they chatted, teased, and threw a few more vegetables at each other. Hattie watched as Deckard effortlessly moved around his kitchen, handled every utensil with ease, and made, in Hattie’s opinion, the perfect shepherd’s pie. As he slid the dish into the oven to cook, Hattie looked around the place again, and a hallway leading further into the house caught her attention.

Getting up from her stool, Hattie padded her way over to what caught her eye. Hanging in the hallway was a large framed picture of the queen. However, Hattie had never seen the queen like this: the monarch had her eyes closed. 

“Deck,” Hattie called out. “Is this real?”

She couldn’t take her eyes off the picture. It was all in pink shades and seemed surreal as it perfectly showed the queen with her eyes shut. So few pictures like it exist; probably only ten exist, if Hattie remember correctly.

“Oh, that? It’s real. Owen found it somehow and for some reason thought it would be a good purchase.” And even though Hattie wasn’t looking at him, she could hear the eye roll in his voice. 

“And he just thought to give it to you and not keep it for himself?” She asked and finally tore her eyes away from the picture and walked back into the kitchen. 

“Well, he can see it whenever he wants here.”

“He visits that much?”

Hattie had guessed that Owen and Deckard had continued to be close to each other, but Owen wasn’t the one to visit others frequently. 

“Well,” Deckard started and didn’t meet her eyes. “He lives here, more like.”

“Really?” Hattie swore her eyebrows were in her hairline. “Owen is living with you? Why? Can’t he find his own place?”

“We both know he could easily find his own place,” Deckard admitted. 

“But, he’s just a lazy bastard,” Hattie finished. Deckard gave her a half smile, not verbally agreeing, but the look in his eyes confirmed it.

At least it’ll be easy to find him, Hattie thought to herself. She had worried that when she did try to find him and talk to him, that she would have to travel halfway across the world to do so. The thought had her looking back at her purse, the papers once again invading her mind. After dinner. I’ll show them to Deck then.

“The pie is going to take some time to cook, you want to watch something while we wait?”

Deckard’s voice brought Hattie out of her thoughts. Glancing at him, he was drying his hands on a dish towel, his head cocked to the side, waiting for her response. 

“Sure, what did you have in mind?”

“I have the first few seasons of the Crystal Maze.”

“Really!” Hattie nearly shouted in glee. When she had been in secondary school, she and her brothers would squeeze together on the small couch in their living room, all three excitedly watching the show. Their shouts of frustrations at the contestants’ stupidity could be heard from all over the house, and sometimes from the neighbors next door, as they loved to complain to the siblings’ mother.

Deckard chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Really.”

Hattie excitedly followed him over to the couch and threw herself down right next to him. She folded her legs under her and cuddled up to Deckard’s side, watching the TV intently as he finally got the show on screen. 

It felt almost like she had been transported to the past as the theme song came on, making Hattie feel as if the last few years hadn’t happened and she was once again a happy and go lucky child who could always go to her big brother for help. Sneaking a glance at him, Hattie knew that that had never changed. Even though she hadn’t believed him and cut him out of her life, Deckard had still been there to help her survive Eteon. He had still been a big brother and helped her in every single way he could. 

Turning her attention back to the show, Hattie laid her head on Deckard’s shoulder and felt him lay his head on top of her’s. Every anxiety she had about coming here tonight was gone as she felt a calm she hadn’t felt in years come over her. Letting out a content sigh, Hattie decided not to bring up the papers that night. She didn’t want to spoil such a nice reunion. 

[msjr0119]

The Greatest Show

Never Enough - Part 1

A new series- all chapters are based on each song from ‘The Greatest Showman’

Characters belong to Pixelberry except MC - Amber Smith-Beaumont

Warnings: Swearing, sarcasm 😉, smut

Tags - using combined tagged list, if you want to be removed please let me know 👍🏼

@annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @yukinagato2012 @dcbbw @qammh-blog @nz1091 @beardedoafdonutwagon @cordonianroyalty @custaroonie @indiacater @seriouslybadchoices @rainbowsinthestorm @princess-geek @jared2612 @desiree-0816

******

“Hi Brett.” Maxwell could tell she was nervous, hoping that she was strong enough to stand her ground and dump the man that had made her life miserable. No one should have to go through what she had been through. She was petrified of the man- afraid to leave him incase he actually killed her next time. Thinking back to the last incident- he had wished that himself and Bertrand had just dragged her out of the States.

Arriving at the hospital, the two brothers had heard from their cousins friend Daniel - a concerned phone call made them immediately catch a flight to New York. Keeping Amber’s identity hidden from those in Cordonia- it didn’t help them at all. If they had informed the royal family about their family member needing their support they had hoped that they would have allowed them to use the royal jet in these types of circumstances. However they chose not to.

“Hey Daniel, thanks for letting us know? Where is she? Is she okay? Where’s that arsehole?”

“Maxwell calm down. Speaking like that isn’t going to help the situation.” Bertrand was furious- but knew how to keep an stoic expression.

“He became jealous, and broke her arm. Left her in the street- witnesses said she screamed ‘you’ve broken my arm- I need to get to hospital.’ He apparently called her stupid- and that she was attention seeking. The two women who brought her in stayed with her and contacted me. When I arrived the staff said that she was shaken up- petrified, they tried to fix her arm by forcing it back into place but it wouldn’t work. She had surgery immediately and it’s fine.”

“Well it’s not too bad then.”

“Bertrand are you fucking crazy? That bastard broke her arm!”

“What I meant to say, it’s not as bad as it was the last time we was here when she was admitted with a traumatic brain injury. It could have been worse. He could have potentially killed her. What have the police said?”

“That’s the bad news. She is refusing to press charges. He has this hold over her, it’s so frustrating. No one can get through to her. We’ve all tried.” Daniel explained sadly, the two brothers knew Amber’s friends were all trying their best to keep her safe. Walking into her room, she looked as if she had seen two ghosts.

“Wh-What are you doing here? I’m fine!”

“Of course you are Amber. When are you going to wake up? He’s dangerous. You need to come back with us.”

“I... I can’t. He said if I ever left him....”

“If you left him what? He should be in prison. Why the fuck aren’t you pressing charges?”

“He said if I ever left him he would hurt those close to me. I’m scared Max, I’m so scared. But I’ve made my bed- I’ve forgiven him time after time.”

“Cut with the crap! You leave him, stay with us at Ramsford- your friends can get an injunction put out against him. We can look after you. You need to think about yourself- who knows you may find someone else who will love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

“I’m collateral damage. Who the fuck would touch me? I always choose arseholes, I think I’m just destined to live that way.”

Overhearing Brett shouting down the phone, Maxwell snatched the phone off her- putting it on loudspeaker, forgetting about the other people in the cabin.

“What is your issue you arsehole? Think you’re all big and hard talking to a lady like that?”

“Who the fuck is this?”

“This is your worse nightmare buddy! Amber just wants to say au reviour, adios, ciao. Come near her again and I’ll break your fucking neck!”

“Amber are you fucking this douche behind my back?”

“No he’s my fucking cousin! You and I are over Brett. I’ve forgiven you so many times, all the promises about changing, loving me. They were all lies.”

“Amber baby.”

“Don’t Amber baby me. You had your chance and you blew it.”

“No one splits up with Brett Parker! Get your fat ugly body back to New York now! Or I’ll come and collect you myself.”

“She is not fucking fat nor ugly you dipshit. She is beautiful. You just couldn’t see that you had a fucking diamond in front of you. Someone else will grab her with both hands and treat her like the fucking god damn goddess she is!”

“Who the fuck do you think you are! No one talks to me like that!”

“Goodbye wanker.”

“Amber, I know where you are. Watch your back! You are mine.”

“No. I am my own person, I don’t belong to anyone. Go and search the whole of Canada for me then. You are in my past, and I am looking forward to my future without you in it! You thought you could really make me moan, I had better sex all alone. See, I don't know why I liked you so much. I gave you all, of my trust. I told you, I loved you, now that's all down the drain. You put me through pain, I want to let you know how I feel. Fuck you, I don’t want you back.” Abruptly hanging up the call, Amber was surprised with herself- feeling relieved. Maxwell whispered I’m so proud of you- you are a true Beaumont. ‘High fiving’ her he held her tight comforting her.

*****

Olivia overheard the phone call, gesturing for the others to become mute- they all listened gobsmacked. Mainly due to the anger that Maxwell had released, he was always the happy lord, the dopey one- they had never heard him react this way before never mind hearing him swear so much without breathing for air.

“Shit! Who is she on the phone to?”

“Her boyfriend!”

“She has a boyfriend?” Leo asked surprised.

“Not anymore by the sounds of it. Shh. Act normal!” Olivia suggested, wanting more gossip from Amber- she knew she would have to wait as it could be raw. Focusing her gaze towards Drake, she raised her eyebrow. Noticing the look, he wanted to know what was going through the duchesses mind.

“Just spit it out Liv, I know you’re wanting to say something.”

“Funny. She kisses you. Then she dumps her mystery boyfriend. Are you a home wrecker Walker? Are you going to swoop her into your arms now she’s free and single?”

“No I am not going to do that. He’s a wanker towards her. She doesn’t deserve that!”

“Okay, whatever. Keep that denial inside that commoner heart of yours. What are the sleeping arrangements anyway?”

“Well I thought you and Amber share my bed, Liam and Leo take the spare bed and myself and Maxwell will share the sofa. I’ve drawn the short straw so you should all be grateful.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I shall be sleeping with Liam in the spare bed. Whilst we are behind closed doors away from the other bitches I shall be taking this opportunity to stay with Liam. You guys decide what you are doing between you all.”

“Well I agree with you Liv. But I also vote that I share the sofa with Maxwell, ohhh that leaves Drake and Amber in his bed. Great plan guys.” Olivia and Liam spat their drinks out, laughing at Drakes reaction to Leo’s suggestion. No need to thank me Walker, Leo said whilst winking.

*****

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me you’re family. I love you. And right now I am so fucking proud of you! We need to celebrate with the others.”

“First things first.” Maxwell looked confused at Amber, before watching her remove the SIM card, snapping it in half- and throwing it away in the trash bin. “Now I’m ready to celebrate.” Kissing her on the forehead, he now knew her future was bright and she could come alive. Walking back into the room, Amber and Maxwell witnessed Drake and Leo sat down covering their ears.

“HEY! WHY ARE YOU GUYS DOING THAT?” Maxwell shouted.

“LIAM AND OLIVIA THEY’VE ONLY BEEN UPSTAIRS TWO MINUTES.” Amber burst out laughing, ignoring the two love birds she blanked the repetitive moans that echoed through the walls. Eventually there was silence.

“Guys, you can remove your hands. I think there will be a new crown prince or princess on their way sooner rather than later.”

“Thank fuck for that. At least when we are in Lythikos tomorrow their rooms will be miles away from ours. Max I’m started to feel tired, what about you?”

“I’m fine me buddy. I’ve had an unexpected adrenaline rush!”

“Really you look tired?” Maxwell looked confused before seeing Leo tilt his head towards Drake then to Amber. Ohhh he’s trying to set them two up- good thinking playboy.

“Oh actually I am feeling tired. What’s the sleeping arrangements?”

“Drake and Amber are taking his bed.”

“No we aren’t. Amber is taking my bed. I am staying with you two.” Amber began to feel awkward, mainly due to Drake giving up his bed for her- but also due to tweedle Dee and tweedle dum setting them up.

“What do you think about this Amber?”

“Erm... I’ll sleep on the sofa... with Max... it’ll be like good old days. You and Drake share his bed.”

“No thank you. I’d rather sleep in the lake.”

“See ya then.” Drake smirked, knowing matchmaker Leo wouldn’t succeed with his plan.

“Amber just take my bed. To shut them up. Please. I’ll bring your bag up for you.” Not wanting to argue, she just nodded. Walking up to the bed room, she smelt Drakes scent- immediately feeling intoxicated. Shortly after Drake arrived with her bag.

“Are you okay? We overheard your conversation on the phone. I’m not being nosey, I just want to know that you are okay?”

“I’m fine. Better than fine. I feel relieved and free.” She sighed. “I’m going to go back to New York once the social season has ended, get my belongings and move into Ramsford.”

“Erm, why did you split up with him? Liv blamed me. I don’t want you getting hurt because of me. It was just a kiss.” Just a kiss, he regrets it.

“I’ve wanted to split up with him for years, just never had the guts to do it. It was just a kiss?” The last sentence she questioned, as a rhetorical question- not really wanting to know the answer.

“You deserve so much better, I’m glad Maxwell had your back. It was just a kiss, I shouldn’t have allowed you to kiss me.”

“I know I do- I was just blind to see it before. That kiss meant something to me, even if it didn’t to you. I can’t stop thinking about you- maybe you was part of the reason for me splitting up with him. I now understand how much of an idiot I’ve been.” Shit, she wanted that kiss as much as I did.

“Do you mean that? You are not an idiot- don’t think like that.”

“I meant every word.” Closing the distance, Brett was already forgotten- she desperately wanted Drake in her arms. Drake cupped her cheeks, resting his forehead against hers. Feeling his hot whiskey breath linger against her, she felt as if her heart was skipping beats. Drake had decided to make the first move this time, placing his lips onto hers- the kiss was gentle and loving. Wrapping her arms around his bare skin- she was lost in his soft touch. Breaking the kiss, they held onto each other- fixating their eyes on each other’s.

“Just another kiss huh?” Amber asked in a sarcastic manner.

“Another fantastic kiss, from a beautiful girl.”

“Another fantastic kiss, from a handsome commoner.”

“This ‘handsome’ commoner, must leave the sleeping beauty to gain her beauty sleep.”

“Why?”

“Because, Leo’s suggestion would become a reality. I don’t think I could stop myself from touching you- hugging you, kissing you.”

“What’s so wrong about that?”

“Amber.... you’ve just split up with your boyfriend.”

“He doesn’t deserve that title. It’s fine Drake. I’ll just go to sleep. Goodnight.”

*****

The morning after, Liam and Olivia headed downstairs- she needed to make her way over to Lythikos before all her guests arrived. Leo was sat drowning black coffee to keep him awake- he could kill his little brother for keeping them awake.

“Where’s Walker? Amber?”

“They went for a walk before. Drake slept with us- the couch was already crowded enough. I swear I could hear you two up all night fucking each other in my subconscious.”

“It must have been your subconscious, because we only had sex once we had gone upstairs. Little Liam became too tired much to my disappointment and wouldn’t cooperate.” They all looked at each other- all wondering the same. Drake and Amber returned from their walk to a silent welcoming.

“Shouldn’t you be in Lythikos?” Drake questioned.

“Did you enjoy sleeping on the couch Drake?”

“It was very uncomfortable.”

“Hmm, you see Leo believes that myself and Liam was having sex but it wasn’t us. Do you have ghosts in this cabin or could you provide us with an answer for that?”

Amber and Drake looked at each other, that look provided the friends with the answer that they were all impatiently waiting for.

“He doesn’t deserve that title. It’s fine Drake. I’ll just go to sleep. Goodnight.”

“Amber, I’ll make a deal with you.”

“Go on...”

“I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

“I’d like that. I feel safe with you.” Drake smiled, knowing he wanted to hold her- call her his, he would have to compromise and resist temptation. Drake led her to the bed, sliding into it- she soon joined him. It wasn’t the first time for either of them- but the silence between them showed that they were both nervous sharing a bed. Both laying down facing each other, locking eyes with each other for a slight moment- both feeling content. Amber snuggled into his embrace- placing one hand on his bare chest. Her eyes gave him permission to wrap his arms around her holding her protectively as their skin touched.

“Thank you Drake, goodnight.”

“What for?”

“For being you.” Shaking his head he laughed, kissing her on the forehead he had hoped that she would fall asleep soon as his cock wouldn’t control itself. Believing that she looked sexy even in his shirt- he couldn’t quite believe that a girl like her was in his bed.

“Night.” Pulling him towards her, she decided to kiss him- he was her drug and she was intoxicated. Unlike the previous kisses, this kiss began gentle but soon turned demanding- their tongues entwined in a kiss. Breaking the kiss, Amber rolled on top him- both breathing fast their heartbeat increasing with every movement. Drake reached up, running his fingers through her loose curls. Pulling her down onto him, he crashed his lips back on to hers- natural instinct led his hands touching her back under the shirt.

“You are beautiful... Amber...” Rolling her to the side, he hovered over her as her head sunk into the pillow- hearing her moan made him want her more and more.

“Drake... I....”

“What?”

“I’m falling for you. When the ladies were talking about you at the Derby I felt jealous- I don’t know why? Ever since I met you, I wanted to kiss you. To feel you. To be in your arms. I know I was with Brett- but he isn’t like you. You’re amazing. I’m so lucky to have met you. I crave more of you every time I’m with you. I’ve always thought I was collateral damage because of him- that I’d never move on and love anyone.” Sighing, she wasn’t sure if he wanted this. Sure he had kissed her, but was it just heat of the moment. “What I’m saying is, I want you to touch me- if you don’t want that.. I’d rather know now so I don’t make a huge fool of myself.” Caressing her cheeks, he smiled at her softly.

“You are not collateral damage! He was the one with the issue- he is a jerk. I was jealous when Liam kissed you at the lawn party. Do you want to know something else? It’s pretty embarrassing.” Amber nodded, not knowing what he was going to say. “The first night we met... I was thinking about you whilst wanking.”

“What was you thinking about?” She asked seductively. Drake thought she would kill him for admitting that- laying next to her, facing her- he took a deep breath.

“I was thinking about how beautiful you are, picturing that gorgeous smile of yours. Imagining what you looked like naked even though you gave me a preview, imagining my hands cupping your breasts- kissing your whole body. Believing that it was your hands on my cock.”

“Like this?” Rubbing his bulge- he moaned as it became more erect. Smirking at him, she sat up and removed her shirt discarding it onto the floor. Guiding his hands towards her bra- he gulped.

“Is it what you imagined?” She had always felt low self esteem regarding her body due to Brett.

“No better. You are so beautiful. I’m falling for you too. You are too damn irresistible.”

“Don’t resist then. I want to feel loved. I want you Drake.” Without responding to her, he kissed her neck tentatively- removing her bra, kissing every inch of her breasts before sucking her nipples.

“Remove your trousers Walker.”

“Yes ma’am. Only if you remove those panties.” Standing up, she bit her lip as he did what she had commanded. Standing up- before they knew it they were both naked admiring each other’s bodies. Jumping into his arms, he caught her holding her tight- not breaking the kiss, he carried her over to the desk sitting her on the edge. His hand roamed up her thigh- before his thumb circled her clit in a tantalising rhythm, making her become instantly damp. “Drake...” she moaned, smirking he slipped two fingers inside her- beginning slow, his speed soon increased. Feeling already weak at her knees, she hadn’t felt this way in years- reminding herself to thank her cousins in the morning for bringing her here. Feeling her juices leak onto his fingers- he decided to replace his newly coated fingers with his tongue. “Holy shit. Drake! That feels.... so..... good.” After plunging his tongue in deep, he came back to her level- licking his lips. “You tasted so good baby.” He whispered in her ear. “Is little walker ready for a treat?”

“Damn right he is, but you don’t have to.”

“Oh I remember you have two hands right?” Winking at him, she didn’t give him the opportunity to respond. Slowly rubbing his hard cock, she was impressed with his package. Wrapping her fingers around his shaft- she rubbed up and down. Changing the rhythm every so often, he moaned her name, coming out of his trance- Amber removed herself off the desk. Kneeling on the floor, she decided to suck and lick his testicles before moving towards the tip of his cock, she used her tongue and deepthroated him, his cock was now all wet and slippery. Increasing her speed, she felt him pulsate inside her mouth- knowing she was pleasing him as he did her, she didn’t want anyone else in her life.

“That feels amazing. Amber...get on the bed. I can’t keep this in any longer.” Standing up, he carried her over to the bed- laying her down gently, he admired her.

“Do you want me to get a condom?”

“I’m on the pill.” Searching her eyes for reassurance- she guided him towards her entrance. Rubbing his manhood gently against it- he eventually entered her slowly. Holding his position, allowing her to time to get used to him, their eyes fixated on each other.

“Oh Drake.” Slowly thrusting in and out of her, he wanted to make her feel loved. Arching her back, he increased the speed- neither of them able to contain the pleasure and moans.

“Amber, you feel so good. Damn, you’re incredible. I don’t know how long I’ll last.”

“I don’t care, I’m about to cum.” Ambers body began to jerk, shudder in response to her climax- making Drake feel close himself. Feeling the rush of his sperm racing through him- he growled holding her as he released. As Amber felt the warmth of his seed, she softly smiled at him as he collapsed next to her. He turned around to her as they laid next to each other panting- both attempting to catch their breath. Pulling her on to his chest, he kissed her on the forehead.

“Amber..”

“Yes.” She looked up towards him as she fluttered her eyelashes.

“That was... wow. Incredible. I’m so glad Max and Bertrand brought you here.”

“I’m glad too.” Sharing another kiss they both feel asleep- content in each other’s arm.

“So you slept together then? I heard you two? That’s a relief, I thought I was going crazy!” Drake pulled Amber into his embrace, looking at her adorably. He couldn’t foresee what his future would look like- but this girl had given him hope.

“What you see in him Amber I will never understand. Has he got a big cock or something?”

“That is something that only I will know Duchess. I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Liv, I don’t know what Liam sees in you. But hey, I never questioned it.”

“Touché Walker. Amber do you want to come to Lythikos with me? Leave these lot alone.” Amber looked at Maxwell, who nodded.

“I’ll explain to B. Don’t worry. We’ll see you up there. Liv take her to the boutique when you arrive.” Drake escorted her to the bedroom, he wanted to give her a goodbye kiss away from prying eyes.

“I guess I’ll see you at the ice queens duchy then.”

“Damn right you will.” Kissing her on the lips, he left it lingering- wanting to saviour every second.

“So erm... I’ve been thinking... once the social season is up. How would you feel about going on a date?”

“You want to date me? Let’s avoid fishing though.”

“I Lo- I like you a lot Amber. Deal, no fishing.” Feeling herself blush, she needed to meet Olivia- not that she wanted to after their night together.

“I like you too Drake Walker. See you soon. Don’t keep me waiting.”

******

Continue here

[idealuk]

Reaction to one of my own posts (and 10x02) that unraveled in to a mini fan-fiction script:

[The post in question] ... or not, because they both did stab Chester (multiple times in Mickey’s case), yet that’s okay because he’s asked for it and has done this before (white privilege any one?), and I know nothing (“wise” my very own white ass - the joke’s on me - on the prison era, any way, the rest has ironically been more legitimately spoiled, thank you, camera phones), but I still feel inspired ...

Ian: I’m not going any where.

Mickey: This isn’t going to work, Firecr--Galla--fuck, man, look, if you hadn’t noticed, I’m with some one (he gestures to who Ian would describe as a ‘nondescript redhead at best,’ if Ian’s being generous, which he’s not), and you didn’t want to be with me, any way. I’ve got a new boyfriend now (he meagerly swings an arm around the guy and finishes it with what Ian would proclaim as an ‘Iconic Milkovich eyebrow raise’ in a last-ditch attempt of confidence).

Ian: (tossing his crutches to the sidewalk with a series of clanks and awkwardly lowers himself to a kneel on his booted leg) Yeah, looks like one of my weird brother-cousins that I could not give a fuck about, and I don’t just want to be with you, or for you to be my boyfriend again, I want to be your husband! (He pulls out a ring box from his good-side pants pocket, having now gone to both knees for comfort, and to display his true intentions - begging - opens the box so that the dull Chicago sunlight can bounce off of the two matching pieces of silver metal insight just enough that Mickey’s eyes can get glued to them, waiting a minute for Mickey to have some sort of response, and his face breaks out in to a shit-eating grin as he realizes that his plan might have been a little too successful with its shock value) ... And I’ll use only Grade-A lube in your sweet ass from now on up until we die of old age. The kind that you have to get off the internet. (He ends the promise with a knowing tone and a smile to match)

Mickey: (he flings himself at the man he loves in exacerbation, knees scraping on the pavement through his pants as they skid, and allows his lips, teeth, and tongue to do the thing that they’ve always wanted to do since he met the man when they were both kids that he’d denied them of when they first started this years ago, the thing that they had gotten really good at over the years, and had recently been denied of doing again ... when both men finally do pull back from the kiss, they’re giggling with tears in their eyes too much to speak, so Mickey just determinately pulls the narrower ring from the box in the other’s left hand, taking the box with him in his other hand as he turns the now empty hand over with his spare fingers, pushes the ring on to it’s place with all of the possessiveness he’s been known to exhibit over the individual before him, and watches on as Ian does the same to him with the other ring and with the exact same energy) ... Uh, ... (he hesitates to look away from one redhead to look back at the other so much lesser redhead as he sees Ian put the now profoundly empty box back in the pocket that it came out of a few moments ago in the corner of his eyes) Jacob, I think our date is over. (He looks back at Ian who’s been clinging to him, and vise versa, since their hands were free) I’ve been in love with this fuckhead since I was sixteen and it looks like that shit’s never going away.

Jacob: (just has no words as the two men have returned to giggle crying in their own little world, so he just watches as Mickey helps Ian up, Mickey picking up Ian’s crutches and handing them to him, how they haven’t seemed to register that he hasn’t reacted to them in any way at all, and he leaves)

Ian: (does a double-take of Jacob while he still can as he and Mickey begin to walk/hobble in the opposite direction) Hey! That is my brother-cousin!

Mickey: So I have a type (he barks as he lights a cigarette).

Ian: You’re a fuckin’ freak!

Mickey: You love it.

Ian: Yeah ... I do.

[The one wherein Mickey was the one who proposed.]

[emma-nation]

Thinking Of You (Mona x MC Fanfiction) - Chapter 6

You said move on Where do I go? I guess second best Is all I will know

Summary: Years later, Allison has everything she wants, a brand-new internship as a doctor, a handsome boyfriend… but her first nightshift won’t go as expected…

Genre: Romance, Angst

Tag list: @zoe6111, @simsvetements, @mvrinettes, @whoinvitedalx, @scarlet-letter-a0114, @abunchofbadchoices, @kamilahmademedoit, @janurary, @talkinlikeateen, @eagle-one-1, @andreear17, @tia-bi, @monagf, @monahott, @fal-carrington, @crazzyplays, @honorablebicycle​ (let me know if you want to be tagged!)

Notes:

- English is not my first language, forgive me for any mistakes.

- Things will start to get really wild next chapter. Stay tuned! 😜

"I've said no," Mona said, once again, placing her very few clothes inside a bag.

"After all you've done against the police, it's the least you can do!" Detective Wheeler insisted.

"I got locked up for eight years, I owe you nothing anymore."

"Well, I have something that may give you some motivation."

Mona was determined to go back to New York. Nothing else was holding her in Los Angeles anymore. She didn’t have any attachments, she didn’t owe anything to anyone, and Allison would be getting married really soon. Though she'd never admit, it was killing her inside. She spoke to her mom, who was more than relieved to have her around again. She even managed to buy a house, for the two of them to start a new life.

Detective Wheeler came back to the bedroom, tossing her a keychain.

"What? Are you bribing me with a car, Pops?" She chuckled. "I'm not allowed to drive remember?"

"If you accept the mission, you are," he affirmed. "And it's not any car..."

She followed him to the garage to find her 2008 Yottsume Halberdier.

"My car!"

The painting was conserved, intact. Impressed, Mona carefully examined every detail of the engine, concluding that whoever had been keeping her car did an impressive job.

"I missed you, baby," she sat down at the driver's seat, remembering the good old days. "Where did you find her, Pops?"

"It was out of radar for a while, then a couple years ago the police found it in a dealership and took for possible evidence, to track the rest of your... friends."

The word 'dealership’ caught her attention. She had a bad feeling about it, related to someone from her past. When she opened the glove compartment, her suspicions were only confirmed by a small handwritten note. He had been keeping her car, for all these years. She scowled in rage.

"I don't want it anymore," she threw the keys back to Detective Wheeler. "Sorry Pops, find somebody else for you investigation."

----------

"Griffin, I have to tell you something," Allison was sitting down in front of her laptop, getting ready to tell her fiancé she wanted to take a break. She had invented a perfect excuse, about this stressful moment of her life and how she wasn't ready for marriage.

“What is it, Allison?” He asked from the other side of the screen. “Is it about our future house? Didn’t you like it?”

“No, actually it’s about...”

The door opened in a slam and an angry Mona stomped inside. She was never in a good mood, but something had seriously upset her that morning.

“Could please stop with this kinkiness and come to the living room?” She angered. “It’s important.”

After convincing Griffin it was only her cousin who was spending a few days at their house, Allison went to the living room, where a heated argument between her dad and Mona was taking place. Which she found strange, considering Mr. Wheeler had been treating Mona surprisingly well in the last few days. Too well to be true.

"You're bribing me!" Mona yelled. "Into a suicidal mission."

"Oh please, what can be worse than allying yourself with the Brotherhood?" Mr. Wheeler argued.

"Act as a bait for a serial killer?"

"Guys," Allison shouted. "Can somebody tell me what the hell is going on here?"

Detective Wheeler explained his plan. Mona would be infiltrated in an university as a new student, where she’d socialize and find out who was selling a dangerous synthetic drug.

“With her reputation, these tattoos and the tough girl attitude... she’s perfect for the job,” he finished.

“Then you could lock me up again for buying drugs?” Mona asked.

“The police and the university will be aware of your disguise! We're even offering you a reward.”

“Whoever is developing this drug is too big and powerful, I’m not willing to get shot a second time.”

Allison completely understood Mona's point of view. It was risky and she was just recovering from a surgery. If she wasn’t careful enough, the lesion could return and become something more serious.

“Dad,” she spoke. “It’s up to Mona to decide. If she doesn’t want it, I'm sure you can find someone else.”

“Thank you, Allison,” Mona had some sarcasm in her voice. “At least for once you stood by my side.”

She knew exactly what she meant. Mona was attacking her for the possibility she’d go away to New Zealand, after confessing her feelings.

She scowled at both of them and grabbed her car keys that were lying on the coffee table.

"I'm going out for a while. I have something else to solve."

Before Mr. Wheeler could protest or reinforce the fact she wasn't allowed to drive, unless she accepted the task, she was already gone. Allison took a concerned and weary sigh, wondering how or when she’d find a quiet moment of peace.

"I'll see what I can do," Mr. Wheeler shook his head and left for work.

Alone, Allison sat down at the couch. She reflected and somehow her mind clicked. Without even knowing, she had just found the most perfect solution for all her issues. A sly smile appeared on her lips.

----------

Mona entered the dealership in her best bad girl attitude. She was sure that most of the employees there had heard about her at least once, through the old 'wanted' posters that could be found all over LA and the internet.

She confirmed the dealership’s owner was indeed living in Los Angeles for the last couple years. Lying she needed an exclusive model of car, she demanded to speak directly to him.

She waited a few minutes inside his office, kicking her feet up on his desk. She examined the surroundings, if it wasn’t for that security camera pointed at her, she’d take one of those expensive pens as souvenir. The door opened and a tall, black haired man wearing a fancy suit, came inside.

"Hello! How can I help you, miss..." that annoying, usual smirk he usually had on pictures and outdoors suddenly faded from his face. "Y-You... What..."

"Hello, David. Long time no see."

Uncomfortable, he sat down in front of her, almost panicking.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, in a low tone, making sure no one was listening. "I thought you were still in prison."

"I came to return the car," she told. "Since you've laid your dirty hands on her, I don't want it anymore."

David handed her back the keychain. His fingers slightly brushing her hand.

"What's the problem with a father taking care of his daughter's most prized possession while she's in jail, huh?" He looked her straight in the eyes, trying to intimidate her with his words. "I even made improvements for you! You should be more grateful."

"I'll never be grateful for anything you do!" She stared even deeper, showing she wasn’t feeling threatened. "You abandoned us when I was two. We went through hell because of you!"

"Let me tell you something. A few years ago, I was watching some videos online and I was fascinated by Mercy Park Crew's skills. Especially one particular driver, the one behind the Yottsume. Can you imagine my surprise when I found out it was my own daughter? The one who fled from New York after a mysterious man bailed her out of jail. Oh, sugar. We have more in common than you think.”

Mona clenched her fists in rage. She knew what awaited for her when she decided to meet that man. He was extremely manipulative and sadistic, but that was too much to listen.

"I'm not even a single bit like..." she interrupted.

"Let me finish,” he silenced her. “I've met Kaneko, I worked for his dad when I was a kid. He taught us everything we knew about cars. He even hooked us up in some of his... jobs. Then when the police was hunting for our heads, that was when I went to hide in my grandparents' house in Lebanon, where I met your mom."

"You?!" Mona let out a laugh, pointing to the portrait on his desk, with his current wife and step-daughters. "The perfect family man used to steal cars?!"

"Like you, I was fascinated by that life. The adrenaline, the speed, the expensive cars, the easy money... but all of us have to grow up at some point," he told, in a cold and insensitive tone. "Don't get me wrong, I loved you and your mom, I truly did, but my job as real estate agent didn't pay enough. I wanted more. I wanted to be near these beautiful speedy machines somehow again..."

"Then you met her. Your rich wife, who has helped you to build all your empire."

"Exactly, I was only seeking for my best interests. Sorta like you, when you joined the Brotherhood. You could've escaped along with your friends, but you were aiming higher. You wanted more."

"Wrong," Mona smirked. "I was saving my life, and my girl's too. They were going to kill us both."

"And there you made a mistake, putting somebody's life above yours. You could've died, besides wasting almost a decade of your life in prison."

"I'm not like you or I'll ever be. I don't know what you want, but stay away from me. You never wanted to be part of my life, so screw off!"

Mona stood up, throwing the car keys on her father's desk again.

"Take it, it should be enough to pay the costs you had, hiring me one of the best lawyers in the country. What was your intention, huh? Was it to torture my mom? Show her you're in control?"

"What are you talking about? I never hired you a lawyer. I could've gotten you out of prison immediately if I wanted, with my powers and contacts. But like I said, you needed to grow up. Otherwise, right now you'd be still acting like a stupid kid, stealing cars in some other state. God knows if you'd even be alive."

"As if you care."

It was useless to keep arguing with that man. He was a sociopath. She was only putting herself under unnecessary stress. His presence in Los Angeles had now became the main reason why she should return to her mother's home. She had no idea of what he was planning, but it shouldn't be good. Nothing good ever came from that man.

She decided to keep her car. She still could sell it and use to money to rebuild her life from zero in New York.

----------

“I’m sorry, Dr. Carlson,” Allison said, inside her father-in-law’s office. “I can’t go to New Zealand right now.”

“Why not, my darling?” His eyes widened in shock. “It’s a lifetime opportunity. There’s so many doors it will open for your future…”

“Actually, I’m quitting my internship too. Temporarily.”

“What?!”

“I'm enrolling myself in a six-month course in university. I’m feeling kinda lost, so I'm searching for an specialization, as Griffin suggested.”

The mention of his son’s name should be enough to not upset the man too much. In the end, after speaking to Griffin, he was convinced it was really the best for Allison at the moment. She left his office feeling accomplished and victorious. Part of her problem had been solved.

Back to her house, Mr. Wheeler wasn’t home. She knew he wouldn’t be thrilled with the news, but when she told her real purposes, he’d eventually forgive her.

She went to her bedroom, where Mona was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to some music on her cellphone.

"Hiya, gorgeous," Allison grinned ear-to-ear.

She looked at her, rolled her eyes and unplugged the earphones.

“What are you doing home so early? And why do you look so happy?"

“I’ve quit it, Mona,” she bit her lower lip mischievously. “I’ve quit my internship and I’m not going to New Zealand either.”

“What?!” Mona stood up. “But good. It was about time, considering how miserable you were looking. What about Gavin?”

“Griffin is supporting me,” she told. “But he doesn’t know my real purposes, of course. I’m enrolling myself in this six-month course to play the role my dad needs to catch these criminals.”

“It’s stupid and dangerous. Besides, your father will freak out and blame it on me. I’m not letting you do this.”

"Then stop me,” Allison challenged, “or... there’s another option.”

Only a couple of hours later, they were both inside Mona's car. They had just left the University, where Allison enrolled herself in the course and Mona filled the papers she needed, to be play spy for the police.

“Whoa, your car is looking great. The dealership did a great job on it.”

“I’d have done better myself.”

She noticed Mona was quiet and tense. She thought the news and her company in university would make her feel better, but her behavior barely changed.

After buying burgers and milkshakes, they were at home eating. Mona was still looking angry and very anxious.

"So, will you tell me what's bothering you?” Allison finally asked. “I mean, you don't have to be part of this job, if you don't want to."

"It's not that," Mona answered. "It's a personal issue. Someone from my past. He's living in LA and I'm sure his intentions aren't any good."

"Who is this? If you don’t mind me asking."

"No one important."

Allison knew that was all she'd get from Mona, so she decided to change the subject. She burst into laughs.

"Can you just imagine? You and me, in college together?"

Mona gave in, laughing too.

"Yeah, babe. We're going to burn down that place!”

[sirius-whoisleft]

GENERAL INFORMATION ➤

Full Legal Name: Sirius Orion Black III Nickname(s): Padfoot Age: 18 Gender & Pronouns: cisgender male; he/him Sexuality: Initially, I began writing him as a demiromantic pansexual. However, I am pleased to announce that with each day I write him? He not only gets gayer, but his capacity to love and crush and pine grows threefold. 

Date of Birth: November 3rd Horoscope: Scorpio, baby!!!!! Hogwarts House: Gryffindor, though and through Nationality: French by way of London  Occupation:

Sirius is currently a seventh year Gryffindor student at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry which is, all things considered, a pretty sweet gig. He’s preparing for NEWTS! He’s living off the trust fund provided for him by his dearly departed Uncle Alphard! He hasn’t been kicked out yet! He’s snogging his boyfriend in the library every chance he gets!

And, improbably, Sirius Black is preparing for his future. 

Recently, Sirius had been admitted to the competitive and prestigious Gringott’s cursebreaking training program. After graduation, he’ll make that five-times-a-week trek down to Diagon Alley and immerse himself in ancient societies, runes, translations, curse-handling, history, desert magic and...yes...wait for it...copious paperwork! Upon graduation from the program, Sirius will emerge a newly minted and proud Cursebreaker, working at the bank’s back office most days, doing research and translations and the like, but also getting his hands dirty on trips. The pyramids of Egypt and the tombs of China will call to him, and he can’t wait to see them all!

Unfortunately, his time with the cursebreakers will be cut short, and he’ll hurl himself headlong into his Order of the Phoenix membership under Alastor Moody’s dark influence...but that’s a story for another day.

Summarized in One Word: Bombastic!

APPEARANCE ➤

Faceclaim: Ben Barnes Height: Just as with the sexuality question, Sirius gets both gayer AND SHORTER the longer I write him. Currently he’s hovering around 5′7″ by accurate standards, but in my mind he’s a tiny little pocket bastard. Hair Color: Black Eye Color: Grey Noticeable Features: Devastating good looks. Emphasis on the devastating due to the strong Black family resemblance. A growing collection of tattoos. Long hair that he’s wont to elegantly flick away from his eyes. Perpetual haughty looks off into the distance. 

Typical Outfit or General Fashion Sense: Sirius dresses simply, but well. How well depends on the occasion and your personal opinion, but it can’t be argued that he looks good doing it. His typical layabout clothes consist of either a band-tee or button-down with a pair of trousers or muggle jeans (the magic of which Remus Lupin introduced him to); for formal affairs, he still remembers how to walk the walk and can pull off a suit and tie with uncomfortable ease. 

Truth be told, Sirius is still figuring out his fashion sense! He went from his clothing being dictated by his family to skating by on a Hogwarts uniform for several years. He’ll come into his own slowly and with purpose – the first step being an overindexing on punky, black leather jackets. 

HISTORY ➤

Hometown: London Financial Status: Trust fund bastard! After being cut off by the House of Black, Sirius coasted by broke and on the basis of favors from the Potter family for over a year before his Uncle Alphard passed away and left him a hefty little nest egg with which to make his way in the world. For all his talk about wanting to be of the common people and despising the wealthy and all they stand for, Sirius was raised with the safety net of exorbitant wealth and still defaults to many of those old habits and assumptions.  Spoken Languages: French was his first language, followed by English and then Latin. He’s deeply interested in dead languages and the study of runes.  Dream Job: Cursebreaker!  Bad Habits: Biting the inside of his cheek. Lashing out at those that care about him most. Pushing friends and concern away. Refusing to apply himself lest he try and fail. Squandering his education. Cocaine, alcohol, and other substances; his general proneness to addition. Recklessness and adrenaline-highs. Stealing the covers at night. Joking to cover up his real feelings. A proclivity for dark magic. Singing in the shower. 

FAMILY BACKGROUND ➤

Mother: Walburga Black (neé Black), estranged. Father: Orion Black, estranged.  Sibling(s): Regulus Black, estranged.  Pet(s): n/a Cousin(s): Bellatrix Black. Andromeda Black. Narcissa Black. Evan Rosier.

MAGICAL ABILITIES ➤

Wand: Reed, dragon heartstring, 10 ½ inches, rigid

Patronus (and which memory they’re currently using to cast a patronus if they can, or which one they’d use if they could): Like his Animagus form, Sirius’s patronus takes the shape of a large dog. He’s able to cast it with highly varying levels of success lately; while he has a good tutor in Remus and a willingness to try, Sirius’s magic has always been affected by his mood swings and he just...has too many of those to predict. His most successful attempts have been driven by days of rare concentration and memories colored by the other Marauders. Currently, were he to try and produce one, Sirius would think about the day that Remus kissed him in their dormitory following The Prank fallout – giving him affection and forgiveness and a second chance.

Boggart: The House of Black version of himself - the one that might have happened if he hadn’t been able to break away from his family in time.

OWLS: Ancient Runes, History of Magic, Astronomy, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, Arithmancy NEWTS: Ancient Runes (O), History of Magic (A), Astronomy (O), Charms (O), Defense Against the Dark Arts (O), Transfiguration (E), Potions (O), Arithmancy (O)

What Kind of Magic do They Excel at: 

Sirius’s best subject is Defense Against the Dark Arts. He is handy with a wand, knows his own power, and is unafraid to act in the heat of the moment – perhaps a bit recklessly, but there’s nothing life-or-death about the inside of the classroom, and so he simply manages to come off looking talented. 

The most important reason behind him succeeding in that class is the simple fact that he believes it to be useful; it’s going to Mean Something in the Real World, and so it’s one of the few school subjects that commands his attention and respect in equal measure. 

He also has a talent for Ancient Runes that’s finally being appreciated—now that he’s allowing people to appreciate it, and owning his deep interest in the subject openly—and, unfortunately, for the complexities of Dark Magic. 

PSYCHOLOGY ➤

MB Type: The Campaigner

Few personality types are as creative and charismatic as Campaigners. Known for their idealism and enthusiasm, Campaigners are good at dealing with unexpected challenges and brightening the lives of those around them. Campaigners’ imagination is invaluable in many areas, including their own personal growth.

Yet Campaigners can be easily tripped up in areas where idealism and kindness are more of a liability than an asset. Whether it is finding (or keeping) a partner, staying calm under pressure, reaching dazzling heights on the career ladder or making difficult decisions, Campaigners need to put in a conscious effort to develop their weaker traits and additional skills.

Enneagram: ENFP [read more]

Excellent communicators. ENFPs have outstanding communication skills and they know how to use them. They will engage anyone in conversation at the drop of a hat, and they know how to draw others out in a way that keeps the discussion flowing. Whether casually shooting the breeze or collaborating in the workplace, ENFPs provide the horsepower that keeps the engine of conversation humming along.

Imaginative. ENFPs are imaginative problem solvers and reject the idea that traditional ways are always the best. In every situation they believe an original approach is possible—and desirable—and they refuse to become prisoners of habit or routine. They see roadblocks as opportunities, and they confront every challenge they face with fresh eyes and no preconceived notions.

Natural leaders. ENFPs step forward to assume positions of leadership readily and instinctively. They are confident in their ability to handle demanding responsibilities many people find scary or intimidating. ENFP leaders are consensus builders who work hard to gain the trust of their associates, patiently listening to their ideas and reacting enthusiastically to their good suggestions. Their assertive, “can-do” attitude inspires others and motivates them to action.

Strong social conscience. Often active in social movements, ENFPs stand up for what they believe in without apology. Some people talk the compassion game but don’t follow through with meaningful action, but ENFPs believe it is vitally important to back up caring words with good deeds. Despite their friendly nature, an ENFP will go supernova with righteous anger when they are exposed to suffering and injustice. They can get quite loud and assertive, if that’s what it takes to get their opinions heard.

Hypersensitivity. ENFPs sometimes let their imaginations run wild and often perceive bad intentions that don’t really exist. Being hyper-alert and aware helps ENFPs improve their social comprehension, but reading between the lines only works when something is actually hidden there. If it isn’t, misunderstandings can occur and hurt feelings can damage good relationships.

Lack of focus and follow through. ENFPs are endlessly creative, capable of filling a thousand days with a thousand bold ideas. But they don’t always follow through on their inspirations, and if others are not brought on board to handle the details, their best ideas may never be put into practice. ENFPs rely on their initial excitement and passion too much and don’t always show the discipline necessary to translate their ideas into real-world production. They have a tendency to start new projects before the last ones are finished, and failing to see things through is where ENFPs sometimes come up short. 

Overthink things. ENFPs have a tendency to perceive slights, resentments or hostility where none actually exist, and their habit of overanalyzing other people’s behavior can lead to unnecessary anger and conflict. If ENFPs aren’t receiving as many compliments as they expect from their significant others, their insecurities can be activated and they may start to feel unappreciated and unloved. 

Overemotional and approval-seeking. While emotional expression is a core part of the ENFP's identity, they can come on too strong. The bubbly, energetic style of ENFPs doesn’t mesh well with every partner and introverts, in particular, can sometimes feel steamrolled in their presence. ENFPs are also approval-seekers, and in their desire to receive praise and acknowledgment they may try a little too hard to make a good impression, talking too much and listening too little in the process. 

Moral Alignment: Chaotic Good

Archetype:

55% Rebel - The Rebel is comfortable throwing caution to the wind—and bucking the system...if that means getting their point across.

25% Advocate - The Advocate is the one everyone wants on their side. In the name of justice, they are not afraid to challenge authority or speak up for others.

20% Caregiver - Friendly, sincere, and compassionate, the Caregiver finds their reward in helping others. No one could ask for a better best friend.

Temperament: Sanguine

[sawyerhaddox]

「 luca hollestelle. cis female. 」have you seen sawyer haddox around yet? i hear she decided to be in PEREGRINIS for their SOPHOMORE year as an ART HISTORY major. the 21 year old SHEEP is known to be independent, creative, solitary and morbid. ➨ the muse is written by alli. she is 20, in the cst.

spent a little too long developing miss sawyer so i’m very excited to present her to you all. i pity you already for having to write with her. thats just how it be !! HER PINTEREST IS HERE !! 

trigger warnings: age gap relationships tw, drugs tw, abuse tw, sex work tw, violence tw

I. BIOGRAPHY

born to margery haddox, a struggling woman whose profession lied in sex work, and a man whose name she never even knew, sawyer didn’t have the easiest life cut out for her.

all her life she’d heard rumors that her father was a traveling con artist, a serial killer, a famous musician, a foreign spy. she knows the truth is likely far less glamorous and extravagant than any of the stories her aunts have told her. she pictures him to be a sleazy middle class businessman with a wife and family of his own. 

her mother transferred custody of the child to sawyer’s grandparents, nana and papa haddox, when she was still a baby. she saw her mom whenever she would find time to stop by the house growing up, but very rarely as of late. this doesn’t bother her. very little bothers her, as has always been the case.

nana and papa also had custody of several of her half siblings, some older and some younger. she has four half siblings in total. ( piper, her eldest sister. jonah, her eldest brother. noah, her older brother, lives with his father. autumn, her youngest sister ) 

nana and papa had many children, some of whom live with them from time to time in between homes. as residents of an affluent rochester neighborhood, living in a house that had belonged to the haddox family for as long as anyone could remember, the grandparents enjoyed having their children stay with them if they were struggling. there’s more than enough room seemed to be the family creed. they only wished margery would have chosen to do the same. sawyer’s mother was always the one too wild to tame.

from the time she was young it was clear sawyer was the designated black sheep of the family. living in a home as eccentric as the haddox’s, her solitary and downtrodden attitude stuck out like a sore thumb. it was a house of love, of laughter. filled with the sounds of children playing, the smells of fresh baked pies. warm rugs and bright wallpaper. sawyer hated it all. 

she fought often and she fought hard with her siblings and cousins. she was the toughest of the bunch, the most likely to start a fight and to end it. none of the other haddox children were ever particularly fond of her. she didn’t hate them, though. she couldn’t have cared less about them, but the sounds of their snoring she could do without. 

at school she was in trouble often. nana and papa were called in more times than they could count for parent teacher conferences. she knew the principal far too well, spent more time in the counselor’s office than in class. everyone knew sawyer didn’t care to be present at school, that there was no one she would listen to. they only hoped they could keep her out of trouble for her grandparents’ sake. 

AGE GAP TW.  she began dating older boys before most of her classmates had even had their first kiss. she entered and exited relationships quickly, never capable of being tied to anything. she wasn’t involved in anything at school, but she truly thought she should be allowed to put detention as an extracurricular for her scholarship applications. 

she mostly dated people who hung out at the skatepark despite the fact that she didn’t skate herself. a few guys and girls in local bands. people she met hanging out in parking lots. if it was a bad idea, sawyer clung to it for a bit, just long enough to get what she wanted, before leaving. 

one of her boyfriends was a particularly terrible idea. fresh out of prison, a cashier at the local walmart whom she met purchasing condoms just to gauge his reaction. a love story to sing about! he ended up robbing her family’s house and she swore off relationships with recent ex cons for the sake of her own pride. she wasn’t upset about the stolen television. 

DRUGS TW.  she didn’t get invited to parties -- naturally -- but she showed up anyway. loves being high. her favorite drug is a difficult toss up between cocaine and lsd. alcohol is fine but she’s not in a committed relationship to it. cigarettes on the other hand are her only soulmate in this cold cruel world. 

she would never admit it but she’s always been in love with art. it’s a stark contrast to her personality, to love something that could be considered so beautiful, but she has a gift. when her grandparents forced her to attend lockwood ( the line that worked best was “you’re so much like your mother.” ) her only consolation was that she would be an art major. everything she creates is very abstract. most of it is unpleasant to look at. she doesn’t care. 

bringer of mayhem. everything she touches dies. very likely one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. 

ABUSE TW. her freshman year at lockwood she was involved in an emotionally abusive relationship with another student. it was the first time she had ever felt weak. she’s even more independent now. far more solitary. it didn’t disrupt much of her usual routine but she hates a lot harder now, as compared to the general apathy she presented before. 

has been uninspired ever since the relationship ended. feels her love affair with art might have come to an unfortunate end. she’s actively looking to enroll in a new major, but nothing sparks any interest in her. 

aware of the app and hates it, though she participates just like everyone else. she didn’t sign up to be a shepherd because the idea of paying for a membership to anything seems like a rip off to her, but she does try and get close to shepherds for free access to the app. she almost always has an ulterior motive. 

II. PERSONALITY

negative: uninspired. morbid. dark. grimey. rude. solitary. temperamental. stubborn. hateful. lazy.

positive: tough. strong. care free. reckless. creative. independent. secretive. mysterious. intelligent.

III. WANTED CONNECTIONS 

the aforementioned ex if your character is a bit of an asshole. sawyer is too. makes sense that they got together. enemies, frenemies, people who look down on her or think she’s the worst. people who know her family and hate her, people who hate her family but like her. fellow art students who don’t understand her pieces. someone that feels they do understand her pieces. past hook ups, friends from high school who either hate her now or still like her. a friend group of other misfits. skaters at the skate park she frequents. members of local bands she listens to ( both could also double as ex/hook up ). other prominent rochester families. someone sawyer has done wrong. someone in love with her but she has.. zero interest buddy. vice versa. roommates that somehow put up with her, or roommates that can’t stand her. any other ideas or wc’s she could fill?? brainstorming session youtuber vc hit the like button !!

[complicatedandstained]

The Other Day at Hot Topic: Xigbar

There’s nothing Xigbar wouldn’t do for his cousin, Saïx, and his punk, pretty boy boyfriend, but sometimes they test his limits.

Thursday, and Axel texts him at five o’clock in the morning with a ‘pick me up and take me to work.’ No explanation. No please. No heart emojis. Nada.

And it’s Thursday, so there’re no appointments booked, so it’s not even like it’s work that’ll help Xigbar keep the lights on. It’s Axel’s stupid side gig at the mall that he got so Xigbar’s cousin and Axel could keep tabs on each other. Which come to think had probably set Saïx’s therapy sessions back several years. Yeah, better not to think about that at all.

Pulling up to their place, Xigbar dials—speed dial, and Axel must just be loafing in the AC waiting for him, because he picks up damn near instantly.

“Get your tail out here,” Xigbar barks, heat prickling under his collar, and he must sound as grumpy and half asleep as he feels because laughter answers him. Maybe this is why Axel and Saïx call him “Gramps” when Xigbar’s only got a few years on them. Xigbar clicks off the phone before the snarky retorts come in and rolls down his window.

After a few flicks of the butt of Xigbar’s cigarette against the ashtray, Saïx and Axel step onto the porch of their modest condo and into the warm morning air and aren’t they a pretty picture? Towers of muscle, crowned with take no prisoner attitudes, the light settling in their hair to highlight sky blue and sunset red, clutching at each other’s arms in damning insecurity.   

With a final salute of his water bottle to Saïx, Axel sets off down the stone path of their condo, past a pair of paopu trees, out to the curb.

Axel’s metallic gold jeans catch the light and about near blind half the cul-de-sac.

Jesus. As if the guy doesn’t stand out enough already. Saïx must have done something to really tick him off this morning, for him to put on something so attention grabbing.

But hey, Xigbar can help with that. Leaning an arm out the window, he smirks, wolf whistles, growls out, “There’s my sexy future brother-in-law.”

Axel beams back, smug, and tries hard not to look over his shoulder. Is not successful.

Xigbar doesn’t bother. He knows his cousin, practically his brother, and of course Saïx is glaring daggers, fists clenched, jaw stiff. Nobody particularly wants to see a brawny biker/tattoo artist hitting on their boyfriend. That’s pretty much the point.  

Xigbar curls a finger toward Axel before he can climb in the passenger seat. “Travel tax.”

Axel rolls his eyes as saunters up, but he leans in, letting Xigbar kiss his cheek, his fingertips brushing lightly against the redhead’s sharp jaw.

“Missed you too, boss,” Axel teases, meeting his eye, and then straightening up.

It’s been less than twenty-four hours since they’ve last seen each other.  

“Don’t gimme that ‘boss’ crap,” Xigbar counters, knuckles colliding with Axel’s bony shoulder, “it’s supposed to be my day off, and here I am carting you around like we’re friends or something.”

Boy’s damn lucky I’ve got a soft spot for him.

Axel grins. He knows he’s Xigbar’s closest friend by a mile. Even if Demyx insists otherwise. There are more fun words for what he’s got going on with Demyx.

“Yeah, well, car’s in the shop again, and his highness over there has a meeting with the sexiest man alive.” Axel waves off over his shoulder.

“I heard that,” Saïx teases, probably from the porch swing, probably pausing to appease his phone.

Xigbar freezes, processing this, rubbing at his forehead with a palm. “Axel, for God’s sake buy a new fugging…”

Xigbar cuts himself off, wonders if Axel can even afford it. Definitely could if he worked at Never, their boardwalk tattoo and piercing parlor, full time. But, of course, he isn’t allowed. Saïx doesn’t want him to spend all his time with Xigbar, and Axel doesn’t want Saïx to have to go all week without him.

Totally normal. Obviously.

Saïx has probably spontaneously combusted by this point. Xigbar likes to remind him what he’s got to lose. If he doesn’t start treating Axel right, somebody else is gonna do it. Hell, if Saïx weren’t his cousin, maybe Xigbar would do it.

See, Saïx’s discomfort is not altogether unprecedented.

Once upon a time, Xigbar didn’t think anyone could look at a man who’d had his face carved up like a Friday the Thirteenth movie and see anything but the scar—the threat.

Once upon a time, a motorcycle accident left Xigbar with three casts, seven stitches across his cheek, and an eyepatch to boot, and he’d said the hell good bye to the idea of a relationship.

His cousin had flown in to help get him back on his feet. The pair of them had always been close, grew up on the same street, dealing with bastard fathers and empty fridges. When it had gone south with Saïx’s father, he moved in to Xigbar’s house. The young men bonded over a mutual love of kickboxing in high school and, after graduation, when the secrets started spilling, a mutual love of men.

They began to go their separate ways when Xigbar dropped out of his art program and Saïx started getting serious about his classes and counseling. Then Saïx had stayed in Hollow Bastion for work and Xigbar had moved to get away from “work.”

Ridiculous that it was a motorcycle accident that got him and not his previous occupation—security at a bar where everything got shadier with every passing day. Xigbar’s boyfriend hadn’t even believed him when he messaged him what happened. That had been it for them, really.

The accident brought Saïx and Xigbar back together. Somehow, between helping Xigbar deal with torn muscles in his legs that left him with a permanent swagger, and stitches in his face that made it hard to chew, Saïx found time to let the island sun soak into his skin and mellow his thoughts and moods. He called his boyfriend often and, hearing the smile in his voice, the guy agreed that a move to the islands might be exactly the fresh start they needed.  

Then Saïx had brought home Axel. Axel, their childhood friend, who not only accepted Saïx’s scars (and the hefty stick up his rear), but saw the beauty and good humor beyond them. And at a time when everyone else backed up two steps at the sight of Xigbar, Ax’d run at him with open arms, a cocky smile, and a Chicks dig scars, y’know.  

So, horrible human being that he was, after Saïx had gone to all the trouble of nursing him back to health, Xigbar had fallen for his cousin’s boyfriend hard.

Cheesy as hell, yeah, but Axel had given Xigbar hope. He hadn’t thought it was possible for either of ‘em to find somebody, scarred as they were, inside, outside. Let alone someone stunning, strong, intelligent…

‘Course, it had also made him jealous. Because he and Axel got on like fire and paper, and if Xigbar had met him first… 

Well, Xigbar had his vices, but he wouldn’t flip every time Axel smiled at a waiter the wrong way. Hell, if Demyx hadn’t stumbled his way into the picture, Xigbar’s not sure what he’d’ve done.

Presently, Xigbar unlocks the passenger side of his ancient convertible, and as Axel makes his way over, Xigbar salutes his cousin, who, miraculously, remains in one piece.

“Mornin’, Sai.”

But Saïx is blood, his cousin and his friend, and losing Axel would wreck him, pure and simple. And after the hell that was their childhood, Saïx deserves to be happy now. Just, not at Axel’s expense, right.

So Xigbar flirts relentlessly. Treats Axel like a fricking princess. And Saïx is perfectly aware of his crush, less convinced than Axel is that it ended when Demyx came into the picture. (Though it more or less had, except in off moments like these when Axel shines like a goddamn sun.)

But thanks to Demyx, Saïx has no grounds to gripe at him for it. And thanks to the tattoo parlor, Saïx can’t fire him for it. So Xigbar takes a certain pride in getting away with everything, horrible human being that he is.

“Morning.” Saïx’s response is cold, brief, detached. Narrowed blue eyes command him to keep his hands to himself. Not ideal, but better than explosive, Xigbar supposes.

Realizing this is all the conversation he’ll get from the man at this point, Xigbar rolls up his window and pulls lazily away from the curb.

“He let you leave the house in that, huh?” Xigbar’s eye skims the golden denim hugging at Axel’s muscles a final time as they roll out and a knowing smirk lights his lips. “That’s progress.”

“Oh?” Axel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is it?”

Xigbar cringes at the unexpected dose of bitterness. He glances over, seeing the man has strapped himself in, crossed his arms, and dedicated himself to staring out the opposite side window, probably watching Saïx climbing into his sensible, sleek black sedan, off to metaphorically solicit himself out to corporate executives.

“No,” Xigbar sobers, reaching across the narrow space to squeeze Axel’s shoulder. “Sorry, snookums. Guess not.”

“One of these days, though,” fingers comb through burnt red hair, jade eyes painfully hopeful, “right?”

Xigbar can’t meet Axel’s gaze for longer than a second. “He loves you, kid.”

[ghostiedoesherbest]

Patches - III

It didn’t take long for news of Lotor’s sudden freedom to reach Allura and she wasn’t pleased to say the least. The first person that she began to look for was Shiro, who had been resigned for this coming conversation. He silently prayed to whatever deities that were listening that he would get through this conversation with the rest of his limbs in tact when the Altean princess stormed into the control room. “Shiro, please explain to me why Lotor is not in his prison cell?” Shiro took a deep breath, hoping that Mateo was having a much better time than he was.

_______________________________________________

As it turns out, Shiro was right. Lotor and Mateo were sitting in the recreational room. The silver haired prince was completely puzzled by the simple technology of the game system. “What is its purpose?” he’d asked.

Mateo tilted his head, “It’s for entertainment. You take a game disk, put it in the console, and you can play a game with these remotes. You wanna try it out?”

“Fascinating. I’ve heard of these games but I’ve never been allowed to play one,” Lotor said as he turned the remote control over in his hands, his fingers itching to take it apart so he could see how it worked. 

“Didn’t you try one out when you were exiled?” Mateo inquired. 

Lotor shook his head, “I focused most of my time on survival and gathering support.”

Mateo noticed that there wasn’t an ounce of regret in Lotor’s voice but there was a longing there that made his heart clench in pity. He forced a bright smile onto his face and slid a simple game into the game console. “Well, better late than never, right?” Mateo went about showing Lotor how the game worked. It was a game called Castle Crashers. They both picked the colors of their characters with Mateo choosing the happy looking pink character and Lotor deciding to use the very aggressive looking purple character. 

It was a simple hack and slash game that was rather easy to learn. Although, Mateo quickly learned that Lotor was a little shit. “Why do you keep taking all of the gold?!”

“Because you keep stealing my kills,” the prince retorted with a haughty snort. 

“I’m trying to help you! We’re a team remember!” That was said right before the killed the first boss. Then, came the battle for the princess’s favor in which Mateo was decimating Lotor.

“What happened to the team, Mateo?” Lotor cried in indignation as he tried to help his character fend for itself. 

“That was then and this is now,” Mateo laughed as his character killed Lotor’s character. The prince pouted as Mateo’s character was kissed by the princess. 

“She’s not even your type!”

“Which is?” Mateo asked, humoring the pouting prince. 

“I think the blonde one is more your speed.”

Mateo opened his mouth to retort but he quickly thought back on all of his previous boyfriends and realized that most of them just so happened to be blonde. Perhaps he did have a type. “You’re not wrong.” He just doesn’t know that Mateo bats for a different team. Lotor gave him a pointed look and the brunette rolled his eyes but let the Galra have that victory. 

Lotor chuckled to himself, “If I had known that these video games were as fun as this one, I would have invested a portion of my time into it. It has been a long time since I have enjoyed myself so much!” 

Mateo was about to respond when the door slid open to reveal a very unhappy Allura and an exasperated Shiro. The pair stood to greet them but Allura completely ignored Lotor in favor of glaring at Mateo. "What do you think you are doing?"

Mateo coolly regarded the white haired princess, "I'm playing video games with Prince Lotor."

"Now is not the time for smart remarks Mateo! Do you not care that his father is responsible for the complete subjugation and slavery of the entire known universe?!" she snapped. The older McClain cousin noticed the way the prince flinched out of the corner of his eye.

"Allura who is the person standing beside me?"

"Do you think I'm blind?! Anyone with eyes can see that he's the heir to the most blood thirsty race in the universe!"

"I think you need to have your eyes reevaluated Princess," Mateo said. Shiro could feel the temperature drop at his cold and clinical tone. It was almost as if he was back in training under Iverson. "His name is Prince Lotor, Son of Zarkon. Son. He is not Zarkon -"

"I am well aware!"

"I don't think you are," Mateo folded his arms behind his back and began to circle around Allura like a predator. He wasn't about to back down from this. "You are holding an entire race responsible for the actions of a man who holds power over them. You look at Lotor and you see Zarkon but Zarkon wouldn't be sitting here trying to help us end this war. That is the plan, correct?"

Allura's face grew red with frustration, "Yes! That has never changed!"

"So tell me what was your plan upon defeating Zarkon?" Mateo asked as he came to a stop to stare directly into Allura’s eyes, his voice barely above a whisper but he could have shouted for all its effect on Allura who reeled back as though she'd been slapped.

Mateo had grown wary of Allura after experiencing the alternate reality where the Alteans were the dominating force of the universe. Where Allura allowed for other races to be practically lobotomized in order to serve the Alteans as subservient slaves. What disturbed him the most is that this reality’s Allura had seen nothing wrong with the practice because it was "more peaceful." That wasn't peace, it was slavery but Allura could see no wrong in it because the Alteans did it so there must have been a logical reason for it, right?

However, if the Galra had taken up the practice she would have been horrified and called them monsters. That double standard was why Mateo had become a lot more hesitant with his interactions with Allura. He hadn't been her biggest fan before but he could trust her to have his back. Now he wasn't so sure. If she found out about his heritage would she be okay with it or would she immediately turn on him?

Allura had yet to answer his question so Mateo put pressure on her, taking a step forward. Immediately she took one back. "What is your plan for the Galra left without an emperor to lead them? Were you planning on wiping them out like Zarkon did to your people? Or were you just going to sit by, not knowing the Galra's customs for choosing their leader, and possibly allowing someone worse to take the throne? What is the plan Allura because the way I see it you're blinded by revenge and have no plan beyond hurting the person who hurt you." With each question Mateo took a step forward and Allura would take one back until she was backed against a wall staring into Mateo's dark brown eyes that seemed like an empty abyss in this situation. "What was your plan for Lotor when he ran out of information to give?"

Allura floundered for an answer but she couldn't bring herself to say what had been on her mind. Mateo could see it in her eyes though as he backed away from her with a disgusted sneer. "It seems that you have more in common with Zarkon, Princess."

That seemed to make something in her snap as she used her shapeshifting ability to grow taller so that she could tower over Mateo. Lotor was growing a little nervous at the tension that had been growing in the room. It wasn’t like with Hunk where he knew that it wasn’t serious. This was serious and Lotor didn’t know who he should defend in this situation. “Stand down, Mateo,” she warned. 

“I won’t,” Mateo stated glaring directly into her eyes. “I know damn well that you can kick my ass up and down these halls but I’m still gonna tell you the truth Allura. Now are you done puffing yourself up or is your head still so far up your own ass that you don’t want to hear reason.”

Allura’s gaze wavered before averting them from the brunette. “If he turns on us then it will be your fault,” she grumbled, hoping to make Mateo waver.

“I’ll take that chance.”

"If it's all the same to you, I have more information that may be beneficial for you all," Lotor interjected, feeling as though he wasn't supposed to witness what he'd just seen. Although, he was grateful that Mateo was willing to stick his neck out for him, so he felt as though he should prove himself worthy of that chance. “All of the information after this point will be more perilous in nature.”

Allura turned her sharp gaze onto Lotor, “I’m listening.” 

“This information is something that I believe you would consider important on a more personal level,” Lotor continued with his shoulder’s rolled back, feeling a little emboldened by Mateo’s presence in the room. Mateo listened intently as Lotor relayed the possible location of Pidge’s father. He was relieved that the younger girl’s father was confirmed to be alive and only in need of rescue. However, he knew the moment that Allura would relay the information to the Green Paladin that she wouldn’t wait for back up.

She did exactly that, pleasantly surprising Mateo when she at least took her brother and the former bounty hunters that almost stole Blue. Lotor observed the exasperated exchange between Shiro and Mateo as they practically rag dolled onto the couch when Allura left them. “At least she’s not by herself,” Mateo sighed.

“Did you see how mad Allura was? Do you know how much my ears were ringing from how much she was yelling at me for letting you talk me into letting Lotor go?” Shiro chuckled as he rubbed his neck. “She looked like she was about to kick your ass.”

Mateo lifted his head to look at the Black Paladin, “You know she could probably wipe the floor with me.”

“Then why did you do that for me?” Lotor asked, reminding Shiro of his presence. 

Mateo looked at the Galra prince and gave him a soft smile, “I’m a firm believer in second chances. Plus, I’m pretty sure you’re our only hope for peace.”

“We have Voltron,” Shiro retorted, sounding slightly offended.

Mateo rolled his eyes, “Voltron is a giant sentient super weapon. Being chosen to pilot it doesn’t automatically make everything you do right. Sure, the Galra will back down after you blow up a bunch of their ships, but who’s to say that they won’t come back later looking for revenge.”

Lotor followed his train of thought, “So your plan is to get them on your side. If you get your enemy to stop perceiving you as their enemy then there is no war to be fought.” The prince was honestly impressed by this since he had much similar ideals. He did not want to subjugate but to have peaceful cohabitation.

Mateo shot him finger guns, “That’s the plan, Princey.” Lotor settled on a free portion of the couch next to Mateo’s head with his arms resting on his legs and his hands clasped together. Mateo tilted his head back and his eyes widened. “Whoa! Your hands are huge, man!” He reached out a hand to examine it but stopped short, unsure if Lotor wanted to be touched. 

Said prince stared at Mateo for a few moments before hesitantly placing his hand in Mateo’s despite every aspect of himself screaming for him not to trust it. Mateo turned Lotor’s gloved hand over in his own palm, sending pleasant tingles up his arm. He gently brushed his fingers over the palm and frozen when he noticed something interesting. “You have beans!” he said breathlessly as rubbed at the pads of the prince’s hands. 

“What?” 

“Shiro come check this out!” Mateo called to the older man as he continued to rub Lotor’s palm without answering his question, increasing the tingles felt by the prince. He tried not to show how much it affected him as the Black Paladin leaned over Mateo’s shoulder to see what he was so excited about. Mateo excited waved his hand for Shiro to pay attention as he gently pressed down on Lotor’s palm and watched as his once normal nails elongated but there they were blunted. 

“You clip your nails?” Mateo asked, looking up at Lotor who had turned his head away to hide his blush. 

“Yes, I found that my claws were rather annoying. They tend to get caught in my clothes,” he cleared his throat and raised his other hand to cover his mouth. Was he really that touch starved? Sure Lotor was well aware of his need for positive attention but he didn’t think that a pretty human caressing his hand would feel as pleasurable as it is. 

Mateo tilted his head, wondering if he should do the same about his own since they always get caught in his sweaters and blankets. He had a hard time explaining to his grandma why the blanket she’d made for him was ripped up after a particularly bad transformation. He had to make her believe that he’d taken in an injured feral cat. 

“You have some pretty big hands yourself, Mateo,” Shiro pointed out.

Mateo blinked owlishly at the Black Paladin, “Really?” He sat up properly and lined his hand up with Lotor’s. His hand was slightly smaller than Lotor’s but they were considered pretty big by normal standards. He tilted his head in thought, “Huh, I guess they are.” 

“Are all human hands so soft?” Lotor asked curiously, hoping to get the attention off of him. 

Mateo barked a laugh at his question, “Only the humans who have a relative like Lance. He absolutely refuses to be associated with me unless I moisturize twice a day.” He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially to the prince, “Between you and me, I think he just likes to dote on people, but you didn’t hear it from me.” 

Lotor found himself chuckling in amusement. Mateo hadn’t been nearly this nice while he was imprisoned. He was not unkind or cruel, and yet never completely friendly. Lotor was kept at an arm’s length, as he should have been. However, he also didn’t expect for the human to befriend him as quickly as he did. HIs presence made him feel safe and protected, which is ridiculous because he was pretty sure he could bench press the shorter human. 

Mateo McClain was an interesting conundrum that Lotor is determined to understand. 

Tag List: @starfaring-princelotor @motheroflittlelions @fandomsoffeelings@done-with-your-shit-shirogane @kirahhhh @legendofcarl @lotor-for-emperor@marvelheaux @yanderemommabean @lotorrential @planet-jumping-warrior

[knives-out20]

Inglourious Boyfriends - Part 2

Fandom: Inglourious Basterds (2009)

Pairing: Joshua Margolis (OC) x Lt. Aldo Raine

Word Count: 2504

Warnings: Spoilers For Inglourious Basterds,

Note: Here’s Part 2 Of Inglourious Boyfriends, 3.0 UGHHHHH. Josh Is Good At Using Guns And Bombs, And His Nickname Is The Pineapple Bomb. Because He Knows How To Use Bombs/Explosives/Grenades, And Looks Good While Doing It.

Aldo stood with Joshua at his side, the two of them looking over their little army of (some Jewish-)American soldiers scalping the dead Nazis, PFC Hirschberg standing guard behind three survivors."Beautiful bunch, aren't they?" Aldo muttered, glancing at the Basterds who were standing guard on the hills.

"Quite" Joshua nodded, as Aldo planted his ‘INGLORIOUS BASTERDS'-engraved rifle in the ground, walking over to Hirschberg.

"Hey, Hirschberg. Send that Kraut sarge over" he ordered, taking off his satchel and tossing it aside.

"You, go" Hirschberg directed, watching as the Nazi Sergeant slowly walked over to Aldo, who sat down cross-legged.

The Sergeant looked around at all the eyes on him, making his way to stand in front of Aldo. He saluted, "Sergeant Werner Rachtman" the Nazi introduced.

"Lieutenant Aldo Raine, pleased to meet you" Aldo respectfully lied, looking the Sergeant up and down."You know what 'sit down' means, Werner?" He asked, hearing Joshua get on his knees behind him.

Joshua glared daggers up at Werner, somehow intimidatingly starting to massage Aldo's shoulders, who allowed it.

Werner avoided eye contact with Joshua, nodding in reply to Aldo's question."Yes".

"Then sit down." Aldo instructed softly, Werner quickly complying."How's yer English, Werner? Because if need be, we got a couple fellers who can translate. Joshua".

Joshua nodded, continuing to massage Aldo's shoulders."Ah, W-Wicki here, an Austrian-Jew. Got the fuck out of Munich while the gettin' was good. Became American, got drafted, come back to give y'all what for" he started, Aldo silently pointing up at Wicki."Uh, a-another one up there you might be familiar with".

"Sergeant Hugo Stiglitz" Aldo introduced, everyone turning to look up at Hugo."Heard of him?".

"Everybody in the German army has heard of Hugo Stiglitz" Werner scowled, making Joshua and the Basterds laugh, including Hugo himself.

"And?" Aldo asked, looking up at Joshua, a smile gracing his lips every time he did.

"Uh, I- I grew up in a family fortunate enough t'learn any language on the face of the earth. German, Hebrew, French, anythin’ yer pea-sized, smooth brain can think of" Joshua finished, staring into Werner's non-existent soul.

Aldo's smile vanished when he turned back to Werner."Can we assume you know who we are?" Aldo asked.

Werner nodded."You're Aldo the Apache, and Joshua Margolis, the Pineapple Bomb" he answered, Joshua and the Basterds whooping afterwards. Rachtman turned to look up at Joshua."Your family made headlines in the thirties. Shame for you to think anyone would believe your little made up story about what your father's friend did to you" he ridiculed."It made the news, but I doubt it even happened, you-".

"Alright, Werner, enough" Aldo held up a hand, glancing up at Joshua to see if he was okay.

Joshua grit his teeth, taking deep breaths as he stared straight ahead.

Aldo caught the look of pain in Joshua's eyes, nonetheless."Well, Werner, if y’heard of us, you probably heard we ain't in the prisoner-takin’ business. We in the killin’-Nazi business, and cousin, business is a-boomin'" Aldo explained, Hirschberg cackling and adding "oh, yea". He smiled, "that leaves two ways we can play this out; either kill you, or let you go. Whether or not yer goin' to leave this ditch alive depends entirely on you" Aldo told, leaning back and slowly adjusting his position so that he was crouching on his feet, now. He nudged Joshua, who pulled his arms away on cue, automatically. Aldo glanced up at Joshua, then playfully turning back to Werner."Up the road a piece, there's an orchard. And I'd like to safely make it to the orchard so I can reward Joshua 'n' the rest of my men with some freshly-picked apples".

Joshua smiled down at Aldo as he stood at attention; one thing anyone could figure out about Joshua is his love for apples.

"Besides you, we know there's another Kraut patrol fuckin' around here, somewhere. If that patrol were to have any crack pots, that orchard would be a goddamn snipers dee-light" Aldo put into picture, unfolding a map and placing it between the Sergeant and him."So, if ya ever want to eat another sauerkraut sannich again, y'gotta show me on this here map where they are".

Werner leaned in to overlook the map, Joshua tensing and ready to attack.

"You gotta tell me how many there are, and you gotta tell me what kinda artillery they're carryin’ with 'em".

Werner scoffed, meeting Aldo's blue eyes."You can't expect me to divulge information that would put German lives in danger" he told in a raspy voice, going back to sitting up straight.

"Sir?" Joshua asked, ready to blow Werner's sorry little stupid brains out.

Aldo raised a hand, holding Joshua back without even touching him."Negative, Joshy" he shook his head, taking off his flat cap and tossing it over his satchel, followed by running his fingers through his slicked-back hair."Well, now, Werner, that's where yer wrong, because that's exactly what I expect. I need to know about Germans hidin’ in trees, and you need to tell me, and you need to tell me right now. Now, just take that finger of yer's and point out on this here map where this party is bein’ held, how many is comin’, and what they brought to play with".

Werner grinned. He raised a hand, slowly putting it over his chest."I respectfully refuse, sir".

Just then, the echo of a bat tapping some railing could be heard from inside the tunnel behind Joshua and Aldo.

"Oh, I'll respectfully refuse this b-bullet right up your-" Joshua growled, stepping forward. But, he let Aldo hold him back with the light weight of only his hand.

"Hold back, Margolis. I hear 'im comin’" Aldo gleefully told, maintaining eye contact with Werner."Hear that?" He asked, pointing a thumb down to the tunnel, as the bat-tapping continued.

Werner nodded, "Yes."

"That's Sergeant Donny Donowitz" Aldo whispered huskily."You might know ‘im better by his nickname, The Bear Jew. Now, if you've heard of Aldo the Apache and Joshua the Pineapple Bomb, you got to have heard about The Bear Jew".

"I've heard of The Bear Jew" Werner quietly verified, nodding.

"What did’ja hear?" Aldo asked, awaiting an answer.

"Beats German soldiers with a club".

"He bashes their brains in with a baseball bat, that's what he does. And Werner, I'm gonna ask you one last goddamn time, and if you still respectfully refuse, I'm callin’ The Bear Jew over" Aldo explained, as the tapping stopped."He's goin’ to take that big bat of his, and he's gonna beat yer ass to death with it" he explained, pausing for suspense."Now take yer wiener-schnitzel-lickin’ finger, and point out on this map what I wanna know" Aldo pointed down at the map, watching Werner stare at the map in thought.

Werner looked back up at Aldo, who took a deep breath, knowing what that meant."Fuck you. And your Jew dogs".

"Oh, y-you lil' piece of-" Joshua spat, as the Basterds laughed at Werner.

"Hold back, Margolis" Aldo ordered, silencing the Basterds immediately.

"B-But, Aldo-" Joshua complained, blue eyes sparked with the fire of malice on Werner.

"I said hold back!" Aldo barked, looked up at Joshua.

Joshua looked down at Aldo, jaw clenched shut as he then stared straight ahead, nodding strictly."Apologies, Aldo".

"Apologies accepted, Joshua. Anyways," Aldo scoffed, turning back to Werner."Actually, Werner, we're all tickled to hear you say that" he started, folding the map back up."Quite frankly, watchin’ Donny beat Nazis to death is the closest we ever get to goin’ to the movies- Donny!" Aldo called, standing up and pulling Joshua close to his side, grip around his waist tighter than usual.

"Yea?" Donny called back, the dark tunnel echoing his voice.

"Got us a German here who wants to die for country" Aldo sat down by his hat and satchel, Joshua following suit."Oblige him".

Donny started the bat-tapping again, the ringing sound growing louder as he got closer to the entrance, Werner staring straight into the abyss.

"What in the hell were ya thinkin', Margolis?" Aldo whispered, coming out as a grumble into Joshua's ear.

Joshua kissed his teeth, tearing his gaze from the tunnel to Aldo."But he said-".

"I know what he goddamn said, Joshua. Don't make me drag ya in that there deep, dark tunnel after all this 'n' teach y'how t'be quiet, alright?" Aldo growled, making Joshua close his eyes and nod obediently.

"Yes, sir" he whined, leaning into Aldo's touch when he teased his fingers through Josh's brown hair.

Aldo pulled out a sandwich to eat as he looked around, waiting patiently for Donny to come out. He even offered Joshua a piece, who hesitantly accepted it."Sure does like makin’ an entrance, don't he?".

"Ugh, d-don't we all?" Joshua mumbled, delicately holding the sandwich piece in his hands. He scarfed it down quickly, turning back to the tunnel entrance as Aldo put an arm around his shoulders protectively.

Once Donny emerged from the shadows, Joshua and the Basterds all whooped and cheered, clapping as Aldo held his sandwich between his teeth to clap along. Donny used his bat to tap the badge on Werner's chest."Did you get that for killing Jews?" He asked, murder in his big, dark eyes.

"Bravery." Werner responded, riling Donny up.

Donny panted, nodding as he tapped his bat against Werner's temple.

"Oh, g-good fuckin' luck tryin' t'find any brains to bash out, Donny, I don't believe it has any!" Joshua called, getting Aldo and the Basterds to laugh. He grinned triumphantly, the grin growing when Aldo softly kissed his temple.

"Good one, Joshy. I love you".

"I love you too, Aldo".

Donny nodded again, pulling his bat back. In one fair swoop, he knocked the side of Werner's head, sending him to the ground. 

Joshua jumped, huddling closer to Aldo. He leaned onto Aldo and put a hand on his chest, as Josh's best friend did what he does best; mercilessly beat a Nazi to death, and look good while doing it.

Aldo chuckled, glancing down at Joshua and pulling him closer. He fixed his eyes on Josh, sighing quietly.

Once Donny finished, he spread his arms, screeching at his fellow Basterds."Teddy fucking Williams knocks it out of the park!" He pranced around."Fenway Park is on its feet for Teddy fucking Ballgame! He went yard on that one, onto fucking Lansdowne Street! You!" Donny pointed at a blond Nazi in front of Hirschberg, who got up and ran, but Hirschberg shot him, falling to the ground.

"Ugh, d-damn it, Hirschberg!" Joshua cursed, turning to Donny, unaware of Aldo looking at him."Donny, bring that other one over here- alive!". 

"Get the fuck up!" Donny shoved the last Nazi, who got up and ran to Aldo and Joshua."You're on deck! Two hits; I hit you, you hit the ground" he said, the Nazi on his knees across from Aldo, Donny behind him with his bat ready.

"English?" Aldo asked, the Nazi shaking his head."Margolis?".

"Yea, o-on it" Joshua nodded, pulling away from Aldo and scooting closer to the Nazi.

"Ask him if he wants to live" Aldo instructed, taking a sip of water.

Joshua crouched like Aldo had earlier, asking the Nazi in German, if he wanted to live. He watched the Nazi nod, replying with a 'yes' in German.

"Tell him to point out on this map the German position" Aldo told, looking at Joshua with nothing but adoration in his eyes.

Joshua nodded, inspecting the Nazi as he asked. He laughed with the Basterds as the scared Nazi wasted no time following the instruction.

"Ask him how many Germans" Aldo sighed.

Joshua nodded again, gaze fixed on the Nazi as he spoke in German."Uhm, a-around about twelve".

"What kind of artillery?".

Joshua translated to the Nazi, continuing to do so for a couple more questions.

"Good, good job, Joshy" Aldo praised, as he sat the empty space beside himself, Joshua nodding and going back to sit there, but that didn’t make Aldo take his eyes off of him.

"Thank you, Lieutenant".

Aldo turned his gaze to the Nazi, all the love vanishing."Now, when you report what happened here, ya can't tell that you told us what y’told us, they'll shoot ya. They're gonna wanna know why you so special, we let y’live. So tell them, we let you live so you could spread the word through the ranks, whats goin' to happen to every Nazi we find" he explained, Joshua smoothly translating. Aldo folded the map back up again, putting it inside his coat.

"Now that you've survived the war, when you get home, what you gon' do?" He asked, Joshua asking in German.

"He's, uh, g-gonna hug his mother" Joshua answered.

"Well, ain't that nice?" Aldo teased, quickly snuffing some tobacco."Ask him if he's gonna take off his uniform".

Joshua nodded, obliging."He's gonna burn it". He took the box from Aldo, quickly snuffing some tobacco of his own.

"Yea, that's what we thought. We don't like that" Aldo shook his head, tucking the box of tobacco snuff away once Joshua gave it back."See, we like our Nazis in uniforms" he explained, standing up, Joshua doing the same."That way you can spot 'em, just like that" he snapped his fingers, Joshua translating and snapping his fingers as well. Aldo pointed at him, "but if you take off that uniform, ain't nobody gonna know you's a Nazi, and that don't sit well with us, does it, Joshy?". He just caught himself gazing at Joshua again, and hurriedly tore his gaze away, over to the Nazi.

"Uhm, no, n-not at all, sir" Joshua shook his head, translating it all to the Nazi.

"That's right" Aldo sniffed, walking over to the Nazi and pulling it his own, long knife."So I'm gonna give you a lil' somethin' you can't take off" he smirked playfully, pointing the tip of his knife at the Nazi's face, a look in his eyes that sent shivers up Joshua's spine.

Joshua's grip on his gun tightened, jaw clenching as he closed his eyes, quickly calming down. He opened his eyes and caught Aldo glancing at him, so he gave the Lieutenant a sheepish smile.

Aldo quickly looked back to the Nazi, nodding at Donny.

Donny nodded back, harshly pulling the Nazi to lie on his back, holding him down as Aldo efficiently used his knife to carve a swastika into his forehead. Donny looked down at the Nazi, crouching over him with Aldo and Joshua."You know, Lieutenant, you're getting pretty good at that" he complimented, Joshua nodding in agreement.

"You know how you get to Carnegie Hall, don't ya?" Aldo asked in return."Practice".

[hvckleberried]

yeah, he’s smoking inside. fucking sue him. miles leans back against the countertop and watches these idiots actually work. he takes a long drag. blinks. are you gonna, like, help at all, man? his exhale’s elongated; he watches his own breath fade into the rafters. 

“ oh, does this bother you ? ” he asks, feigning concern. even cocks his head to the side for good measure. he lifts the cigarette in question to confirm their distaste. the other boy nods. miles’s forefinger taps against the cig and flicks ash onto his stupid west ham high shirt. and there it is. the smirk.

 “ my. bad. ”  

or, alternatively : ‘tis i, linc, with *dj khaled voice* anotha one !!  greetings & salutations to huckleberry jeremiah vernon. call him MILES or he actually might kill you. 

[   m   i    l    e    s        v    e    r     n     o     n      ––    OPEN   FLAME .

✔  oc + wc┊❝ ( aria shahghasemi. he/him &. cismale ) eighteen year old huckleberry jeremiah vernon was listening to "paint it, black” by the rolling stones when the field trip buses turned around. rumor has it he spent two years in juvie & is the unbeknownst father of becca’s child, but who knows if that’s true? what we do know is that their friends describe them as alluring & deft, even if they’re known to be a little anarchic & noxious from time to time.

( &&. general information )

full name: huckleberry jeremiah miles vernon

nickname(s) or alias: miles, vernon, fuckleberry finn ( west ham football team, freshman year ), that asshole, the scary one, the kid ( his foster parents )

preferred name: miles. call him anything else and it’s your funeral, fuckface.

current age: eighteen

astrological sign: scorpio

gender: cismale

preferred pronouns: he/him

sexual preference: bisexual

romantic preference: biromantic

home environment: the kiersney household. a manor-like three-story at the edge of west ham’s easternmost woods. it looks like ikea ate pier 1 imports and fucking barfed up its bones the next day. statement walls. matching furniture. modern art on the walls. his foster parents have a motherfucking sculpture in the front foyer. it’s sickening. suburban. tame. tidy.

current occupation: student. delinquent.

language(s) spoken: english. i’ll-wring-your-neck-with-just-my-eyes. spanish, barely.

native language: english.

current relationship status: his knuckles kissing your face.

( &&. background )

reason behind name: huckleberry jeremiah vernon won his name in the lottery of misfortune: at least, that’s what his aunt used to say to the young boy. he doesn’t know a lot about his parents. enough to know they were royal fuck-ups, crackheads with nothing better to do than fuck and get high and have an accidental kid. they thought it’d be a hilarious form of payback: this monster takes nine months of their precious time, so they’d make his life hell. simple. so when his parents died when he was just an infant, his aunt had the opportunity to change his name. shift the tide. but she couldn’t bring herself to go against her dead sister’s wishes, however fucking twisted up she got because of her bad-news boyfriend. she took huckleberry in and insisted on calling him by his birth name until, at three years old, he was sent home from school with a drawing of his aunt with x’s for eyes. “ my auntie if she keeps saying it ”. from that day forward, he was jeremiah. then miles. only miles.

birth order:  first and only for his biological family. the second-youngest of his cousins, when he lived with his aunt. they had a massive falling out after he returned from juvie. she chucked him out like he was rotten meat. the oldest ( or perhaps same age ) as his current foster brother.

ethnicity: what’s it to you. iranian-american

nationality: american.

religion ( tw: death, acts of violence ): fuck that shit. there’s no god. if there were a god, it’d be fucking him. this wasn’t always miles’s view; it started when he was 4, and accidentally killed his aunt’s cat in front of his cousins. they always hit people when they were doing something wrong in cartons! the cat was trying to steal his cheese stick. so... he hit it with a book. his aunt she made him go to bible camp that summer, where he was vilified for his name. “huckleberry’s a dingleberry! hahaha! where’s tom sawyer, huh?” whatever god there was wouldn’t let him have this name. or this life. he wouldn’t have let his parents die: huckleberry would later find the news clipping. “ bronx couple found shot dead in stolen vehicle, ruled double-suicide. ”  religion’s the opiate of the masses. it’s how pansy people sleep at night. young huckleberry wasn’t allowed back at church after he dropped one of those big candles and watched the altar go up in flames. fine by him. he started playing with fire. messing with the wrong people. getting wrapped up in sketchy city boy shit. any shred of faith left in his body was torn away when he and his older buds planned to rob a bank: miles was 12; his cohorts ( ty & presley ) were 18. miles did most of the electronic work: hacking the cloud, derailing the security system. they stormed the fucking bank of america. one of them whipped out a gun. miles... stabbed somebody in the shoulder, to get them off of ty. he watched that security guard die, that day. but not before his bullet ripped through ty’s head. juvie happened. two years. aggravated manslaughter. he got off easy, as a minor. presley’s still behind bars. so, yeah. there’s no motherfuckin’ god out there. and if there is? he can kindly suck miles’s dick.

political views: politics. are. bullshit. go cry to somebody else about your opinions. there’s 7 fuckin’ billion people on this planet and you think your thoughts on zoning laws and gun control matter? cry him a fucking river.

financial status: he’s secure, because of his foster parents. he keeps testing ‘em, to see if they’ll fuckin’ send him back. broken merchandise; we want a refund. but they don’t, so he... just keeps taking. stealing money from their wallets. selling expensive shit from the house to buy good shit. pocket knives. lighters. alcohol. a gun. 

hometown: bronx, new york city, new york. now it’s west ham. fuck that.

level of education: high school junior. because of his time in juvie, he entered school in west ham as a freshman at 15. he’ll turn nineteen before his senior year. not that it matters. he’s already planning his escape. he’s lifted enough money to skip town soon, go back to new york. avenge ty’s death. he’s got the other security guard’s details, from that day. it pays to be skilled with a keyboard. he’s brilliant, when he wants to be. sharp-witted. his idea of a prank last year was sending an anonymous tip in to the school saying the whole place might blow. hacking the database to make it look like it was sent from a real address. he’s still surprised people aren’t more fucking grateful. he secured them a stupid day off. he’s also known to hack into the cloud to get test answers, and sell ‘em to people that don’t completely make him want to punch them.

( &&. physical appearance )

looks like (or face claim, if applicable): aria shahghasemi. he’s got these midnight black curls. piercing gray eyes. 

height: 5′10. but don’t let that get your guard down.

figure/build:  lean and muscular. won’t be caught dead in west ham’s stupid gym, but he’s fit. his foster parents put in a whole boxing studio in their basement just for him. he’s been known to get into fights, throw punches. it was their way to kind of, like... get his anger out. joke’s on them; he’s not giving it up. that shit’s his. 

hair colour: black.

hair length: mid-length. curly, so it looks shorter than it actually is.

eye colour:  gray.

glasses?:  no. just shades.

skin tone: olive. smooth.

tattoos:  he got one in juvie, on the side of his right wrist. a cross. makes him laugh. irony. he’s in the process of self-tattooing fuck between his left forefinger and thumb, but only the jagged f is there right now. it’s a process. he can’t stomach the needle.

piercings: one diamond stud in his left ear. it’s about the side of a pencil eraser. stolen.

birthmarks/scars/distinguishing marks: a few faded cross-hatches near his hairline, from fights that resulted in stitches. a six-inch line across his chest. knife. a few patches of scar tissue from burns on his palms. all juvie.

dominant hand: left-handed. you can tell because that’s the hand he always uses to flick his lighter on and off, on and off. he’s always playing with that damned thing.

if painted, what color are their nails?: who do you think he is, fuckin’ bowie? jesus.

usual style of clothing: black on black on black. did i mention black? black t-shirts, leather jackets, denim jackets, dark jeans, boots. wouldn’t be caught dead in fuckin’ sneakers. failed gym because he wasn’t about to put on dowdy shorts and t-shirts just to run around a glorified prison for 30 minutes every day. oh, there’s a pep rally? we’re supposed to wear centurion colors? fuck you.

frequently worn jewelry:  he wears a thin gold chain around his neck every day. sometimes he’s got rings.

describe their voice, what accent?:  his voice is very punchy, low. cat-like. glimmers of some new york peppered in here and there.

what is their speaking style (fast, monotone, loquacious)?:  clipped. acidic.

describe their scent: amber. tobacco. smoky.

describe their posture:  he stands tall, defiant, aloof. chin always tipped up in the face of oncoming threats. his whole body’s a proverbial middle finger to the world: yeah, i’m here. bite me.

( &&. legal information )

any speeding tickets?:  yep. went 80 in a 25 zone.

have they ever been arrested?:  yes. at this point, the west ham police force is really tired of his shit.

do they have a criminal record?:  absolutely. various misdemeanors. cybercrimes. property damage, breaking & entering. shoplifting. aggravated assault. 

have they committed any violent crimes?:  hAs He CoMiTtEd AnY vIoLeNt cRiMeS ??? ( he’s laughing. )

property crimes?: affirmative.

traffic crimes?: should be the least of your concern.

other crimes?: don’t even get me started. the moral compass on this kid is... nonexistent. the answer to the world’s problems is fuck ‘em. anarchy.

( &&. medical information )

blood type: o negative.

date/time of birth: december 3rd. 3:32am. witching hour. ha.

place of birth: shitty hole-in-the-wall crackhouse. his parents dropped him at his aunt’s before freewheeling.

vaginal birth or cesauren section?: vaginal birth.

sex: male.

smoker? / drinker? / drug user?:  yes / yes / yes. what can he say? he’s an equal-opportunity employer.

allergies: grizz visser. fuckin’ ass. nosy people. pop music.

ever broken a bone?: his nose in second grade: the other kid got it worse. his hand in fifth grade. worth it. couple ribs in juvie. his arm, when he was a baby. his parents wanted to see if gravity was, like. real.

any physical ailments/illnesses/disabilities: nah. not that he’d tell you anyway.

any medication regularly taken: nyquil, sometimes. helps him sleep.

( &&. personality )

direct quote from them:  *blinks at you like you’re speaking swahili* 

positive traits: alluring, deft, crafty with computers. sly.

negative traits: anarchic, acerbic, explosive. heedless. noxious. 

likes: the flick of the flame. beat poetry. darkroom photography. scared glances. messing with the system. sidestepping boundaries. wintergreen lifesavers. blueberry slushies. ac/dc, the stones, lynyrd skynyrd, sting, the offspring, kansas. buttered toast. milk duds. history. cigarettes: he’s always got one tucked behind his ear.

dislikes: fucking football team. working on yearbook ( detention punishment ). catch him taking photos of those morons with his middle finger in frame. his roots. his aunt, for casting him out. his foster family, for giving him so many chances. he doesn’t deserve them. his name. bright sunlight, hurts his eyes. pistachios. remembering. weak alcohol. fraternizing with the idiots of west ham.

strengths: he’ll figure out your nervous ticks within two minutes of talking to you. he can go hours watching someone ramble and not say a thing, and not break his expression. making others feel small. digging his fingers into your dirt. finding back doors, loopholes, and getting through cybersecurity like a hot knife through butter. baking – but tell anybody and he’ll end you. tying cherry stems with his tongue. making sense of ginsberg. remembering stupid historical facts. pope gregory ix executed cats and that allowed rats to spread the bubonic plague in masses. still fuckin’ like your religion, asshole?

weaknesses: vengeful. his definition of justice is very much based in vigilante action; an eye for an eye. he’s got an aloof disposition, but his past wounds are still seething. empathy. expressing emotions other than anger. patience. impulse control. he can’t hide that you’re pissing him the hell off. swears in front of kids, often. probably slept with your aunt two towns over. can’t lose an argument, ever. even with authority figures.

insecurities:  what if he... caused ty’s death? what if that’s on him? is he worth shit? he’ll make himself worth something. he’ll get them back. all of ‘em. he’ll make ‘em pay.

fears/phobias:  hates needles. but fucks with ‘em anyway. fears oblivion, but puts up a front like he’s chill with it. fears he’ll never muster up... a purpose. or whatever the fuck people call it. fears this is all he’ll ever be: an eighteen-year-old fuckup with a record, hands that itch to fight, to crush, to destroy. 

habits:  playing with his lighter. chewing on toothpicks. popping milk duds like pills. glaring at everyone, no one, nothing. everything. laughing in the face of authority. making unprecedented digs at people, just because he can. propping his feet up on the desk in front of him when his teachers ask him to answer questions, twirling a pencil in his hands like he’s god. grabbing a slushie from 7/11 just to have something to do with his hands. messing with the popular kids’ social medias, just for fun. hacking the online lunch menu to see his classmates get fuckin’ pissed when mozzarella sticks are served on friday, not today, sorry. driving to neighboring towns’ parties and hooking up with chicks there. masquerading as a man with a reason. hitting up college parties often. lingering in shadow. living in gray areas. writing his own notes in the front of library books, on the title page, in sharpie. “ fuck you ten thousand ”  on the school’s copy of pride & prejudice. “ kindly die, thanks ” in gone with the wind. “ congrats, you’re literate ” in the front of catcher in the rye.

quirks: always sits in the back left corner of the room, near the window. he literally jumped out, sophomore year, when the school security officer tried to bust him for selling pills to a freshman in the hall earlier that day. popping his earbuds in during lectures. maintaining unbroken eye contact with teachers as he does so. getting ~very close~ and speaking ~very low~. purring threats. can never drink lightly. skipping school often, fabricating online attendance to avoid suspension. barely eating the food his foster parents prepare. leaving the table early, unexcused. digging into the leftovers after everyone’s gone to bed. severing ties. if he’s lucky, never makin’ ‘em in the first place. his new yorkisms come out when he’s drunk, or high, or tired.

hobbies: darkroom photography. reading poetry. burning shit. smoking. walking around the mini mart like he’s a hunter in the wild, just to make the clerks uncomfortable.   

guilty pleasure:  he listens to “lore” and “my favorite murder”. but he disguises that shit, saving the album covers of the podcasts as seether.

desires: to avenge ty’s death. get the fuck outta west ham. to find a reason to be here. a reason why.

wishes: his parents didn’t kill themselves. cowards. they deserved to deal with him. they deserved to be tortured, for doing this to him. he wishes he hadn’t pulled that knife on his aunt. then at least he’d still be in new york city, instead of here, with this stupid fuckin’ foster family that just won’t let him go.

secrets: killed a guy. the reason for his juvie sentence is redacted on his public record. he’s lonely, a lot of the time. and, oh yeah: he’s becca’s baby daddy.

turn ons:  no bullshit. sarcasm. intellect. no strings.

turn offs:  sentimentality. smileyness. too much perfume. caring.

lucky number: 1. he’s all he’s got.

pet peeves:  chewing gum: fucking pellegrino and his damned bubbles. bubbly people. cassandra pressman and the tree-sized stick up her ass. foot tapping. prying. school involvement. slow drivers. slow walkers. slow thinkers.

their motto:  “ fuck you very much. ”

( &&. favourites )

food: falafel. shut up.

drink: he brought vodka to school in a water bottle once. diet coke.

fast food restaurant:  wendy’s. he likes the chocolate frosties.

flavour: chocolate. 

word: fuck. for a vast array of reasons.

colour:  black.

clothing: his most worn leather jacket. touch it and he’ll end you.

accessory: the gold chain ‘round his neck. it was ty’s.

candle scent: smoke. tobacco. whatever that shit is, patchouli.

game: fuck games. fuck fugitive. leave him alone.

animal:  he has such a soft spot for caterpillars.

holiday: christmas. he likes baking shit. but if that ever gets out, he’ll flip.

weather: pouring rain, with patches of sun in between. it’s rare, but damn. it’s kind of beautiful.

season: summer. fast drives, windows down. no school. no bullshit.

book: on the road, jack kerouac.

artist: aerosmith.

band/group: ac/dc, kiss, guns ‘n roses, van halen, def leppard.

song: we’re not gonna take it, twisted sister.

movie/film:  star wars. fuck off, it’s good.

tv show:  history docs. he likes those decade pieces on the history channel.

sport: boxing.

possession:  his lighter.

number: 1.

person:  that’s the dumbest question he’s ever heard. himself. he’s lying.

( &&. skills )

talents: hacking. lying. breaking rules. testing limits. photography. playing people.

ability to drive a car?:  yes. recklessly.

can they ride a bike?:  yes, chooses not to.

do they play any sports?:  tonsil hockey. heartbreaking. boxing.

anything they’re bad at?:  empathizing. serenity.

do they have any combat training? why?:  yep. his friends in grade school. juvie.

( &&. firsts )

childhood memory: crushing a handful of cheerios in his tiny hands and feeling... powerful.

crush: ava watson. she said she liked his eyes.

email address: jinxyouoweme@aim.com

job: reception at a local gym in west ham. lasted a day; he punched a guy.

phone: flip-phone. now he’s got an iphone.

kiss: hanna parler. 6th grade. said she’d miss him before he left for juvie.

love:  HA. nice try, dick.

sexual experience: josie thwaites. 6th grade. they didn’t know what the fuck they were doing.

( &&. childhood )

best childhood memory?:  try again.

worst childhood memory?:  seeing ty’s eyes go dim.

what were they like as a child?:  angry. electric. not easily tamed.

any crushes growing up?:  some. he doesn’t do that now. crushing.

( &&. this or that )

expensive or inexpensive tastes?:  expensive.

hygienic or unhygienic?: hygienic.

open-minded or close-minded?: close-minded. his way or bust.

introvert or extrovert?: introvert. buzz off.

optimistic or pessimistic?: pessimistic. optimism’s dead.

daredevil or cautious?:  daredevil. caution’s an early grave.

logical or emotional?:  emotional.

generous or stingy?:  stingy.

polite or rude?:  rude. so rude.

book smart or street smart?:  both.

popular or loner?:  loner. notorious, though. everyone knows who he is. wonders what his deal is. he’s got this... dark magnetism. if you’re smart, you’ll stay away.

leader or follower?:  leader. follows his own path. likes disrupting order.

day or night person?:  night.

cat or dog person?:  cat. despite what his childhood mistakes might lead you to believe.

closet door open or closed while sleeping?:  open. come get him.

( &&. social media )

do they have a facebook? twitter? instagram? vine? snapchat? tinder/grindr? tumblr? youtube? yes to facebook and instagram. no twitter, no vine. has a snapchat, rarely uses it. yes to tinder.

if so; name on facebook: miles vernon.

instagram user: milesvernon.

snapchat user: milesvernon.

( &&. musical tastes )

theme song: paint it, black –– the rolling stones. 

makes them sad:  anything by the beatles. makes him think of his aunt’s apartment. and then he gets angry.

makes them dance:   nope. he wouldn’t be caught dead dancing in front of the likes of you. when he’s drunk, anything with a decent beat will make him sway his hips a little.

( &&. miscellaneous )

do they have a fake i.d.?:  hell yeah. a couple.

are they a virgin?:  ha. no.

describe their signature:  chaos. barely legible.

how long would they survive in a zombie apocalypse?:  he’d bite a zombie’s fuckin’ head off, if that answers your question.

do they travel?: nah.

one place they would like to live:  anywhere but here.

one place they would like to visit:  anywhere but here.

celebrity crush:  camila mendes. tell anybody and he’ll hunt you down.

what can you find in their pockets/wallet/purse: cigs. lighter. some form of tic tac. 

place(s) your character can always be found:  in the shadows. on rooftops. places he shouldn’t be.

when does your character like to wake up?:  7:03am. he doesn’t like rounded numbers.

how does your character spend their free days?:  reading. burning some stuff. driving out to other towns to do reckless shit.

what’s your character’s bedtime routine?:  read some poems. have a cigarette. knock out.

what does your character wear to bed?:  boxers, no shirt.

if your character can’t fall asleep, what are they thinking about?:  ty’s brains. that knife. juvie. getting back. making them pay.

what is their idea of perfect happiness?:  revenge.

on what occasions do they lie?:  on what occasions don’t they lie ?

most marked characteristic: his ghost-gray eyes. his smirk. his hair.

what is one thing they’d most like to change about themselves?:  only one?

how would they like to die?:  in a blaze of fucking glory.

do they snore? no.

can they curl their tongue?: yes.

can they whistle?:  yep. he likes doing that yoo-hoo kind of whistle. makes people uncomfortable.

do they believe in the supernatural?:  nope. bullshit.

has anyone ever broken their heart?:  no.

have they ever broken anyone’s heart?:  yes. on purpose.

are they squeamish?:  not at all.  

have they ever seen anyone die? what happened?:  see above: ty. that security guard. he’s sure they won’t be the last.

are they a lightweight?:  not at all.