#and the rolling ghosts gang is like ‘OH! oh they’re traumatized…’

[connorsnothereeither]

yippee :)

Do with this information as you will:

At the end of Rolling Ghosts, it’s established that the D&D party visit the abandoned house every year on Halloween.

It’s also now established that James said DAAS and the others could stay in the abandoned house.

Ergo… I think the two parties met and are friends and bond over spooky fucked up halloween trauma ✨

[jq37]

well. that was it.

**spoilers for prompocalypse  part 2**

Y'all this is it. The end-end. The last recap, at least for Fantasy High.

I honestly could have gotten this up yesterday but I wanted to give myself a hot sec before it was really over. 

But, no way out but through. Let’s get to it. 

We start back up right where we left off with no break in between. Cast still freaking, Brennan still gaping. 

“What the Fuck.” –Brennan 2019

Anyway, Kristen once again appears in corn heaven and she’s very not chill about it. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. On the plus side, she runs into Doreen in heaven who is young and hot again (which I’m sure Fig would appreciate knowing) and also apologizes for her traumatizing speech to Adaine during her death.

Helio playing beer pong. I wonder if that was always a facet of his personality or if Brennan just decided to yes-and all of Ally’s suggestions of him being a frat bro.

The angels being like, “Please be nice to God. He’s our dad,” was kinda adorable. 

“Why are you dressed like a weird stripper?”/“It’s too hot in here. He’s the sun!”

So while the gang has been living out Breakfast Club + Stranger Things, Aguefort has been Weekend and Bernie’s-ing Heaven apparently. I want to say wild, but tbh that’s pretty on brand for him. The wild part is that he was able to knock out GOD. Like, how even?

Aguefort tells Kristen that Sol is one god of many and she says, “Cool, I always thought that,” as if this is new information but, living in a D&D world, shouldn’t she definitively know that already? Like, the gods in fantasy worlds are pretty blatant about letting their presence be known and there are clerics/paladins who aren’t Heleoic but still have powers. 

OK I have a bone to pick with Ms. Kristen Applebees. You get a chance to talk to the primordial source of all divine power and magic and you (1) ask who you’re allowed to bone and (2) create a TERRIBLE god. Just truly TRASH. She created a reaction gif god. It’s not even a physical representation of the concept. Like, I thought she meant something like Yass from Wreck it Ralph 2 but no. Just a literal Yes! Like, you can trash talk Helio when you come up with something better, girl. Also, wild that you can just…walk into a room and do that. Like you have to knock out Sol first but still. Wild.

“You’ve created a new deity and already you’re fed up with it. I would say that’s par for the course.”

I low key thought Kristen was going to get the option to deify herself. I think because I had just rewatched The Gamers: Dorkness Rising and that figures in to the plot. But, thinking about it, she wouldn’t have gone for that I don’t think.

Aguefort flipping out at Kristen saying that friendship is the greatest magic of all, and rightfully so. That’s BS.

Since when does Kristen have dog tags?

Anyway, as we all suspected, the chronomancy line from episode 1 wasn’t a random line of dialogue, it was a chekhov’s gun. 

I mentioned this in an earlier post. Brennan didn’t seem too concerned that the party was wiping and I think this is why. I think he had two paths for this fight to take. In one, Riz successfully rolled for police and like 6 helpful NPCs plus his mom show up. That’s enough to beat the dragon without dying and Aguefort shows up having Die Hard-ed his way out of heaven. In the other, Kristen dies, goes to heaven, and basically that same series of events happens. Chronomancy saves the day. I think he was shocked because the roll dovetailed so perfectly with the story beat. 

“Is Arthur Aguefort black? Hell yes. My brotha.” Gonna be honest, I basically had that same reaction when they showed his character portrait in ep 1.

Kristen and Arthur jump back into the battle and Arthur gets possessed by Mr. Gibbons. I guess he’s just been hanging around as a ghost this whole time? Because this seems to lend credence to the theory that that’s who possessed Fig in the arcade but didn’t we see him go to the afterlife (which, I have a question about that too later). But I feel like that must have been Brennan’s way of sidelining him for the fight so they didn’t have like a level 20 wizard making it too easy.

“Oh, and Jawbone!” Murph loses it. 

Jawbone stuck in Goldenhoard’s mouth like that meme of the dog smiling, stuck in a fence.

Gorthalax is like, “I don’t feel great sleeping next to this dude.” Fig meanwhile is all, “I wanna sleep between his legs.” She says this at least twice. 

So everyone just have a freaking picnic and takes a nap in the middle of this fight. Can’t say I saw that coming exactly.

Fabian tries to stab Dayne, who is already dead, during the time stop.

“What the fuck do they teach you at this school?”

“Are you talking about the time thing or–”/“Yeah Gorgug! The time thing!.”

“We’re gonna kill this motherfucker, sweetie.”

I love Sklonda so much.

Jawbone is a salad guy.

OK so I know people were shipping Sklonda and Gilear and it was like, “But how would that work with the height difference?” so Brennan, the absolute madman, decides to pair her with the GIANT DEMON???

Adaine about Gilear: Cucked again.

Everyone treating the DRAGON like a JUNGLE GYM.

“It’s basically Jeb Bush’s Campaign.” Ally, with the fury of 1000 suns: EXCUSE ME?

“I bless, [Riz], your mom, and [Fabian.] Are you the only ones with vendettas?”

“I think we’re all pretty blessed.” Gorgug/Zac is so good.

Adaine, who has all the wisdom and intelligence points of the entire party at the moment: You need to stay safe because the reason that we died is that you died. 

The shot that shows everyone on the giant dragon and then the foreground fuzzes out and shows Adaine a safe distance away in the background is hilarious. 

Ice guitar pick. Sweet.

Yeah, Siobhan really shoulda got healing potions out of her jacket, not the freaking wand. Hilarious. The only thing helpful about that was it hinted he was vulnerable to frost damage which they could have guessed. 

I wonder what Brennan had in his notes about the freaking city in Adaine’s jacket. It’s wild they weren’t more curious about that.

I low key loved Emily buffing Murph the whole fight.

“Hell yes Sklonda!”

Ragh: Giving a gay pride speech./Adaine, who doesn’t want to get knocked out again: STAB HIM IN THE DICK DUDE.

And, speaking of, OWWW.

Fig shapeshifting to Dayne. The hell Emily!

And another eye gouging.

Fabian is incapable of doing a single thing without doing some ridiculous parkour stunt first. 

Kristen,not twenty minutes after Riz said it would be crazy to go inside the dragon: Can I climb inside the dragon’s mouth? (Adaine: KRISTEN!)

Gorgug saving Skonda and Riz going, “Thanks for saving my mom!” from across the room.

Brennan is narrating the epic final battle and what cool thing everyone is doing and Kristen is just being digested. 

Riz was my second choice for the coup de grace until it turned out that Kal ate his dad and then he was my first choice. Riz!!!!

What a badass moment for him. The image of him casting a shadow on the wall is super dope.

Everyone flipping off Kal as he dies.

Riz and Sklonda are making dragon casserole bay-bee! 

MURPH FAILS WITH BARDIC INSPIRATION AND BLESS AT A 12 DC.

Aguefort. What a chaos monster.

“I fucked that bird! It is my paramour!”

Hold up, hold up, hold up. Did Kristen’s freaking Yes god kick Sol out of his own freaking heaven? WHAT?

I love that what Adaine got out of this experience was, “Wait, so my powers are bullshit?”

“Everything in this world is bullshit, Ms. Abernant.” Preach.

“So is the sun just a yes now?”/“Maybe.”

Literally 6 cop NPCs. Like they all seem like they’re morons but I’m sure it would have helped!

“Fuck it dude, it’s worth asking.”

“Are you my dad?”/“I was about to ask you the very same thing.”/“What?”

“TAKE HIS EYE. CUT OUT HIS EYE. YOU WANT ME TO BITE IT OUT FOR YOU?”

Brennan really likes the word bud.

Freak the fuck out all the time and just fuck things up. 

They got their ice cream later! And Adaine says thank you to Basrar, even though he’s not even there.

Adaine as the 7 freed maidens (way to go Sandra-Lynn) are re-killing Goldenhoard: Us and them are the only good students.

Gorgug’s nat20! What a WILD time for the dice to give that to him.

“You gotta ask. I ask everyone if they’re my dad.”

Gorgug’s dad (Gorbag) has just as low an intelligence score as his son. It’s hilarious but also sweet.

THE VULTURE

I thought that Digby and WIlma just found Gorgug in the woods? Maybe I’m not remembering right. I would guess that was their version of the stork story but they straight up told him what docking was so…

“Do any other federal agents want to step to Arthur Aguefort on the grounds of his school?”

The Aguefort way!

I wonder what Sam has to say about her former BFF selling her out like that and also getting murdered.

It seems like Gorgug was put on the guest list for hell by accident (his relieved reaction was adorable) but I thought that was orc heaven?

Interesting Gorthalax still has pull in hell when he’s a high school coach now.

BILL BILL BILL BILL BILL BILL

How did he watch the fight? Do they have pay per view in hell?

“I doubt Cathilda will end up here.”

Bill is just such a maniac. I love him so much. I wanna say I can’t believe that killing the devil dril tweet was serious but I can. It’s Bill.

Bill and Fabian having a casual convo in HELL.

Oh my God, Fabian’s mom stabbed Bill’s eye out and he proposed on the spot. No wonder Fabian is so into Aelwen. It’s in his DNA.

What a dope ship.

I can’t believe Emily tricked me into thinking that her end speech wasn’t in service to some nonsense. She held it together for so long but I should have known bc it’s EMILY.

“Young lady, I have no idea who that is and I’m telling you right now yes. I will make whoever that person is vice principal.”

Adaine: Uhhhh….we should find Zayn.

Aww, Zayn’s parents were also terrible elves. 

Unwanted Wingwoman Kristen Applebees

lol at Adaine casting Ray of Sickness on everyone suggesting she date ghost Zayne. Great callbacks to the early eps all around. 

Don’t @ me, but Adaine w/ a ghost boyfriend who also had terrible elf parents might be kinda sick.

“Tomorrow, we’re gonna start training you on how to actually swordfight.” Uhhh, I kinda love Fabian’s mom now?

She literally hasn’t been sober in 15 years. Icon.

“I didn’t know you spoke Tornado.”

Siobhan’s late season tendency to just flip things/people off is hilarious.

Wild that Adaine’s parents just legit DITCHED her that hard and she was like, f ‘em. Clean break.

“She’s helping me spread something.”

Gorgug has so many friends now!!!!!

Lol, Fabian’s whole journey has just been about becoming captain of the Owlbears.

Riz got his PI License. 

Lou and Fabian immediately being so mad at the idea of his mom (Hallariel?) getting with Gilear. Emily/Fig having an equal but opposite reaction. 

“Mama, I will kill this man.”/“I’ll kill you first, it’s not up to you.”

Sandra-Lynn gets with Jawbone. Did Brennan just roll to pair up everyone?

Also, the group is almost all related or quasi-related now. Gorthalax got with Sklonda which makes Fig and Riz sorta siblings. Gilear got with Hallariel making Fig and Fabian sorta siblings. Jawbone sorta adopted Adaine and he got with Sandra-Lynn, again making Adaine kinda siblings with Fig. Plus Fig claimed Gorgug as a sibling a lot of eps ago and if Kristen sticks with Tracker then she’ll marry into this mess. Crazy!

Fabian totally dipping on the sequel hook because he’s gonna be busy trying to break Aelwen out of jail.

I’ve been keeping up with the fanart but there was some in here I hadn’t seen and it was super dope!

I’m so glad we had the after epilogue-epilogue. It was a very nice send-off.

Adaine using her oracle authority to get Zayn back into school! She’s so good. 

Lol and she helped Basrar so he can grant other wishes. I love that this is the NPC that she decided she was going all in for.

Riz and Adaine join AV club! Idk why I love that detail.

Riz cutting off Adaine’s very good question about her jacket w/ his PI talk.

“They’re our rivals.”/“Into it.”

“Is ‘The Ball’ not your real name?” I love Fabian so much.

Zac doing Gorgug’s excited crack-y teenage voice when he’s just concentrating on that and not playing the game is so adorable. He’s just so sweet and enthusiastic and a good kid.

“Guess that tin flower worked, huh?” I cry.

I love that Gorgug’s happy ending is basically just that he has friends now. And that’s literally all he wanted starting out. 

“FIG! GO TO BARD CLASS!”

Aww, Ragh and Gorgug are friends now.

I knew it! I at some point pitched the idea of Ragh ending up with one of the AV guys so he would be w/ someone who had enough intelligence to keep him from dying and I’m 90% sure it’s somewhere on my blog but I can’t be bothered to find it right now. But anyway, he’s in the lgbt club w/ Ragh and Kristen so it’s def a possibility! 

“My bitch sister? Don’t you fucking dare.” (lol, if that happens then the group will be even more related)

Fabian considering recruiting the Cubbys for his rescue attempt of Aelwen.

“Gilear!” I love that Fig loves Gilear now but still calls him by his first name.

And that was Fantasy High! 

I have at least two more posts in the hopper: And epilogue retrospective type deal and also the official JQ37 ranking of all the adults in Fantasy High.

Thanks for sticking with me this far you guys. I can’t draw to save my life and I don’t really do fic so this is the one little way I can contribute to this thing I love so much. 

It’s been real and I’ll see you all soon for an epilogue because, no surprise, I have more things to say. 

[brightlycoloredteacups]

Simple Syrup

Series: A Season for Revenge

Warnings: general violent imagery. None for this Chapter

Tag list: @charliexowrite @curvybihufflepuff @salimahbicharara-comun @persephone-is-here-omg

*******************************************************************************************

INGREDIENTS

·         3 cups water

·         3 cups sugar

PREPARATION

·         Combine 3 cups water and 3 cups sugar in medium saucepan. Stir sugar and water over medium heat until sugar dissolves. Increase the heat and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium and simmer 3 minutes. Transfer syrup to bowl and chill thoroughly. DO AHEAD: Syrup can be made 2 weeks ahead. Cover and keep refrigerated.

 The twists and turns of the alleys are enough to lose the men trying to end Blaire’s life, but not enough to lose Bucky. Good. Blaire kind of liked the big buffoon. She slows in an empty alley and turns to him, gun pointed directly at his head. “What the fuck?” She says, voice steady. It isn’t that she hasn’t been shot at before, it’s that she’s never been an assassination target. To his credit, Bucky does look genuinely sorry. “I didn’t think they’d find me so fast.” He admits.

           Blaire growls. “But you did figure they’d find you?” He nods. Blair lets out a savage growl, kicking the dumpster. “Of course.” She grumbles, letting the gun down, scrubbing her face. “Blaire, if I had-”

“Don’t. I don’t wanna hear the bullshit.” She leans against the wall, muttering to herself. After a few moments she puts her gun in the band of her pants, then begins to rummage through her bag. “Look,” she says, frustrated. “I got a safe house,”

“A safe house?” Bucky asks, wondering what a child could want with a safe house. She glares at him, yanks what she wanted out of her bag, apparently granola bars, and begins to walk down the alley. Bucky follows her, not having a plan of his own.

           Despite her pace, it’s easy to keep up with Blaire. After nearly an hour of walking, she hasn’t even slowed. He’s impressed with her. She hands a bar to Bucky. He takes it, thankful. Bucky changes his assessment of Blaire. He’d figured she would be handy with a gun, but to have an entire safe house ready? Was being a drug peddler that dangerous? Was she involved in gangs and he didn’t know about it?

           He snorts, no. She wouldn’t just be involved in a gang, she’d be the leader. Yeah, he could see that. She was a smooth-talker. On top of people constantly underestimating her, it would be easy for her to get to the top. Harder to maintain control. If a gang war broke out, it stood to reason she’d play it smart and lay low, calling that shots from an undisclosed location.

           It takes another hour to get to a neighborhood that’s clearly got more empty houses than actual residents. Blaire lifts her hood up. Bucky follows her lead and keeps his head down, eyes slowly scanning the streets for any sign of trouble. Luck seems to be on their side for right now. They walk down the street without incident. Blaire stops in front of a building that’s clearly been condemned and abandoned long ago. The fence surrounding it alone is so rusted all she has to do is tap it with her foot before it falls over.

           She walks over the fallen fence and towards the front door, Bucky doesn’t hesitate, following her. She kneels and takes out a key ring. “You’re in my light,” she mutters. Bucky positions himself behind her, keeping careful watch as she picks the lock. She opens it with relative ease and both slip inside silently. He stands still as Blaire fumbles with her phone, turning on the flashlight. She leads him through to the back of the house, opening another door, this time without the help of her lock pick.

           Once they’re secure, she flips on a switch. When his eyes finally adjust to light, he’s surprised. The room looks clean and comfortable. A small desk with a computer, a couch, a mini-fridge, and a bed. “So,” Blaire says, placing her bag on the chair, throwing herself on the couch. “Want to tell me why the fuck I was almost killed?”

           Bucky presses his lips together. “How do you even know it has anything to do with me?”

“You tell me to get all the information I can on some fucking ghost story. I get it for you. Next thing I know, some motherfucker is aiming at me. It doesn’t take a fucking genius to put two and two together.” Bucky sighs sitting next to her on the sofa. “The Winter Soldier isn’t some ghost story.” He says. “He’s real.”

“You know for a fact it’s a ‘he’?” she asks, teasing a little. Bucky gives her a level look. It doesn’t take her long to put the dots together. “Oh Christ,” she whispers, standing up and backing away from him. “Oh fuck, oh Christ,”

“Look,” Bucky says, holding his hand out to her, trying to calm her down. “I’ll be gone in the morning, you won’t ever see me again. I swear it.”

“Fuck that noise, you’re taking me with you!” Bucky shakes his head. “Blaire-”

“Look, it wasn’t you they had the red dot trained on, it was me. I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to die yet. It’s simple, wherever you’re going, I’m going too.” Bucky sighs, resting his back on the couch. He tries to find a logical argument as to why he needs to leave her behind, but can’t find any. She obviously knows how to use a gun, she’s street smart, and, as much as he hated to admit it, she could be helpful.

“What are you trying to do anyway? If you were the Winter Soldier, why did you need all the information? Shouldn’t you have it already?”

“I can’t remember much,” Bucky admits. “What, like, you got repressed traumatic memories or some shit?”

“Or some shit.” Bucky mutters. Blaire sits next to him. “Some memories should stay forgotten.” She whispers. He rolls his head towards her. “I know, and I agree, but,” He trails off. “But what?”

“But I need these ones.” He mutters. Blaire doesn’t press the issue, instead, she draws her knees up to herself. They’re quiet for a long time, lost in their own thoughts. “You know, those files are incomplete.” She finally says

“What?” Bucky feels a flash of anger. She was supposed to get ALL of the files, not just some of them. Blaire launches into an explanation. Half of it is so complicated, he can barely keep up. In the end, he just sits there, looking at her in open mouthed wonder. She heaves a great sigh and tries again. “It’s like having an entire conversation in writing, but only having one half.”

“What would you need to get the other half?” Bucky asks, less annoyed with her now. Blaire shrugs. “These were all floating around on the internet. They were encrypted, I admit, but they were out there.”

“You’d need access to the source.” He mutters. She shrugs again. “We’ll worry about that later.” She says, getting up. “Right now, we sleep. Tomorrow, we move…to wherever we need to get to.”

“I need to look at the files.” Bucky tells her. He’d just managed to grab the drive she gave him when his apartment became flooded with men. “Computer on the desk is password free. They shouldn’t be able to track us, considering it’s just a flash drive.” She rolls down the covers of the bed. “There’s an extra blanket in the bathroom. Couch is a pullout. I’ll set the alarm.”

           As Blaire turns in for the night, falling asleep rather quickly despite the days events, Bucky goes through the files. It’s frustrating, not having the complete picture. But in the end, he at least has a place to start. He leans back, smiling to himself. This will be simple, he’s sure of it.

[itstimetowatch]

Extended Pilot

Cold opening is good. Veronica is (let’s say) appropriately cynical for this teenage noir story. Staking out a no-tell motel. But wait, is she an actual, licensed detective? It would seem like her dad wouldn’t want her out late on a school night? Does she live with Dad or only work for him? Is he a shitty dad, letting his daughter be out all night like this?

The biker from the box set cover appears just before a cutaway.

Dandy Warhols theme? Nice.

I’m not entirely sure how “a town without a middle class” would work economically since there are almost certainly nurses and mechanics and plumbers and loads of comfortably middle-class jobs in any city. Am I to take this as something less literal? Class warfare as a theme?

While a huge crowd of assholes stares on looking (and one dickhead even takes a selfie with the tormented kid), Veronica cuts a dude down off the flagpole. He is apparently thought to be a snitch, by the ink on his chest… Though he appears to lack any stitches that I can see, so his status as an actual snitch remains to in some doubt.

“Go, Pirates!” Veronica snarks… because of course, she’s snarky. She’s a teenage lead in a noir story. Oh well, noir is sort of all about how the whole world sucks aside from your lead.

Veronica knows the drug dog’s name and calls him off immediately. She is a friend to animals. Okay, I definitely like Veronica.

 Ditched by the boring looking white guy? Dodged a bullet there, Veronica.

 Oh, V, don’t be a dick to The Snitch! You were doing so well.

Okay, cool cool cool.

Biker dude is a wang, but Veronica either knows he’s full of shit or she’s suicidal.

The Snitch’s name is Wallace... good to know, I was having trouble continuing to call him The Snitch with his continued lack of stitches.

 Okay... forget what I said about Biker Dude. The Sherriff is a HUGE dick! Like in the Being a Dick Olympics, Sherriff Whatshisname is a medal contender, while Biker Dude is on the fucking JV team at his local high school.

Dog #2 loves his Veronica. He appears to actually be Veronica’s dog, which is great because that should mean that we see him a lot. (I’m a big fan of dogs in case you couldn’t tell.)

Boring Boy’s mom drives a Jag, douchebag iconography 101.

Apparently, Sleazy Lawyer Guy seems to imply that Veronica works her dad’s cases for him. Is she the brains behind his success? Because that might be more cutesy than I could stand.

Nope. Keith Mars is just busy as all hell… apparently. Private detective AND a bounty hunter, apparently? How does this not qualify him as middle class? Do they have some sort of financial debt?

Amanda Seyfried is the dead friend, Lily. If I’m not mistaken this actually pre-dates Big Love and was maybe right around the time of Mean Girls. Didn’t realize she was in this... one assumes she’s not in a lot of episodes since she’s, y’know, dead. Although, flashbacks seem to be prevalent. 

Boring Boy is maybe Mentally Traumatized Boy? Did he dump Veronica before or after Lily’s death? I mean it’s still shitty to ghost someone like that, but if he is/was spiraling after his sister’s death, then that’s at least somewhat understandable. What was his name? Duncan? Idk, I think Boring Boy sounds better.

Now we’re back to where we started.

DOG #2 IS NAMED BACK-UP! I AM ALIVE! BACK-UP IS MY FAVORITE CHARACTER SO FAR!

Veronica tasers Biker Number Two! Starting to lean more towards V being suicidal with regards to her going hard on this biker gang. Then again, maybe she just knows how to win their respect.

Biker Dude #1 is Weevil… one assumes that’s not the name his mother gave him.

HOLY SHIT! Veronica is a rape survivor! Damn, I knew this show went a lot harder than most, but between the giant gaping head wound on Lily and Veronica’s backstory, here, I was not prepared for it to come this hard this quickly! Okay, show.

Jesus! Veronica’s mom ditched them? It’s a wonder Veronica’s still here. Best/only friend brutally murdered, raped, abandoned by mother? RESPECT to V, for being stronger than steel.

Wallace is a stand-up dude, ignoring the things people say about V.

Keith gets $2,900 dollars catching someone skipping out on bail and they’re considered lower class? For ONE (1) day’s work? That’s as much money as I make in a month.  Where the FUCK is Neptune, California that life is so damned expensive?

Is Keith being weird about Jake Kane? Or is just that getting involved in that family’s business has already thrown his world into disarray once?

NOPE! It’s because his ex-wife is the one at the motel! Fuck! What a goddamned life Veronica has right now.

Okay, so no doubt at all that the Sherriff deserved that… hell, he deserves to be beaten with a barbed wire baseball bat and left to lay in a big pile of salt… but again, are these guys all just complete fangless losers or does Veronica have some sort of death wish? Like she’s maybe made things square with the bikers but now she’s pissed off the Sherriff’s department?

Logan makes a Beach Boys reference? So he is not Boring Boy #2, then.

“Be cool, Soda Pop.”

“Can I have the video back, now?” “Nope.” Oh, Wallace, I love you. You’re number three. Veronica is number two. Back-up is still number one.

Keith is still investigating Lily’s murder too. Interesting.

“Veronica Mars… she’s a marshmallow.” Somehow I feel that if Tumblr had existed in 2004 we’d all be calling ourselves marshmallows instead of cinnamon rolls.

[thepathsofdestiny]

Trail of Embers, Ch. 4 - Eyes in the Dark

~*~ Glory, Marta, and David have had a long week. As they head out onto the road and put Halcyon City behind them, the trio takes a moment a breathe, rest, and (re)discover each other- three wandering souls, out in the wild. Read it on AO3 here.  ~*~ Marta dreams. She is sitting on a cliff, gazing out at the sea. Her legs dangle over the ledge and she kicks them, like a child. Her mother is with her, a smudged blur in her peripheral vision, robed in midnight blue- a memory from too long ago, coalescing from fog. She stands, and finds herself in a copse of trees- smoothly, seamlessly, as is the flow of dreams. There is a man sitting cross-legged on the grass before her. His head was a stag’s skull, crowned with antlers, lit from within by a gentle sapphire light. Vines spill out the back of his skull and lie draped across his shoulders, his arms, in a semblance of long hair. He smells like the land; of honeysuckle and tilled soil. Thunder rumbles in the distance. Marta lifts her head, sees the glint of red and gold, tastes the tang of smoke in the air. He is coming. The stag-headed man fixes Marta with his empty gaze, blue fire in an antlered skull. His voice comes out like gravel, like crumbling stone. Do not let him in. ~*~ 

Marta woke with a soft gasp, her cheek resting on smooth fabric. She instinctively nuzzled the cloth before she caught a flash of black and red and remembered where she was. She snapped awake, jerking back and banging her head on the low ceiling of David’s sedan. She mewled in pain, the beginnings of a blush coloring her cheeks. “I am… so… sorry,” Marta eked out, wincing. Glory stared at her, her dark eyes rimmed with red. Unnerving as Glory’s piercing, unblinking gaze was, there was a hint of mirth buried beneath the ice. Glory’s smiles rarely made it all the way to her lips, but they always started in her eyes. “It’s okay,” Glory said. “How did you sleep?” “Okay,” Marta shrugged. “Weird dreams. You?” “I didn’t sleep,” Glory said flatly. “And I don’t dream.” “Oh.” Marta looked past Glory and out her window. They were at a fueling station, framed by trees, fog, and a cloudy sky, with the dim yellow lights of a mini-mart only barely cutting through the gloom. “Come on,” Glory said, tipping her head towards the window. “I was just going to ask if you wanted anything.” ~*~ “Good lord, David, you’re still driving that hunk of junk? It’s so old it still runs on gas.” “Yeah, and you still sell it, so what does that say about you?” The shopkeeper grinned. He was an older man, in a denim vest over a white T-shirt, with a gray beard and a trucker’s cap. Steve Wilk, owner of Wilk’s Fuel Station and Auto Shop (and Mini-Mart), the last little island of civilization before trees and fog took over. “You going on some kinda trip?” Wilk asked, amused, as he scanned and bagged a veritable mountain of protein bars, energy drinks, string cheese and soy jerky. “It’s for a job,” David explained, a growing number of shopping bags hanging from his arms. “I’m going to be out of the city for awhile.” Glory appeared, silent and inscrutable. She dropped another pile of goods on the counter just as Wilk had finished bagging the first- aspirin, rolls of gauze, bottles of quick-sealing trauma spray. Marta followed behind, adding a number of boxes to the pile- tampons, teabags, chemical hand warmers. She glanced up at David. “...I get cold,” Marta said, sheepish. David reached into the pile and picked up a bottle of trauma spray. “‘For the instant sealing of open wounds’,” David read. “‘Like stitches in a bottle.’ ...Y’know, don’t all three of us have some form of healing magic?” “Say you’ve just received a traumatic, painful, bloody wound,” Glory said, tone flat as always. “What would be easier: concentrating on a healing spell, or shaking a spray can and pressing a button?” “Point,” David admitted. Wilk stared at the trio. “Just what kind of trouble do y’all think you’re gonna run into?” “Bears,” Glory said, deadpan. She took an armful of shopping bags and left, Marta following close behind. Wilk watched them go, shaking his head. “There’s an interesting girl,” Wilk muttered. “She’s my boss,” David cut in. “And she’s paying for all this, so-” “Easy, boy. Meant no offense.” David mumbled a non-response, handing over his credstick. Wilk scanned it and handed it back, along with the rest of the crew’s supplies. “Did you hear about the fire?” Wilk asked. David hesitated. “Which one?” “South side. Took out a church, a homeless shelter…” David’s expression darkened. “Yeah. That was a shame.” “There was another one, up at the docks. Some chemical fire. But this one, they’re saying, this one was the gangs. Bunch of thugs bombed the place. Can you believe that?” Shadows flashed across David’s eyelids. The Branded. The mob. The sorceress. The fight in a burning church. The daemon seizing his skin, fighting him for control. David sucked in a breath. “I really can’t,” he muttered. “Nasty. Nasty stuff. It’s shit like this that makes me want to get out of this city, myself.” Wilk smiled. “...Can’t, though.” “Why’s that?” “Come on, kid. I can’t skip town. I gotta wait for everyone else to do it, so I can fuel ‘em up on their way out. You think I’d miss out on all that business? I’d make a fortune.” David chuckled. Grinned. “It was nice seeing you, Mr. Wilk. I gotta go. Say hi to the dogs for me, would you?” “When was the last time you saw ‘em, huh? They’re gettin’ big. Real big. They’ve been dying to see you again.” Mr. Wilk reached out and gave David’s hand a firm shake. “You take care on your little road trip, son.” “Thanks, Mr. Wilk.” “Oh, and David?” Wilk called, with David halfway out the door. “The next time you want to buy me out of jerky and string cheese, you call ahead, first!” ~*~ Scarcely an hour out of Halcyon City, and already the urban sprawl gives way to one-lane roads, thick woods and log cabins. The sky remained gray and gloomy, and fog seemed to follow them wherever they went. It was as if the Nameless Queen’s ghost had risen from the burning ruin of her church, and had come to haunt their steps. Everywhere they looked, it was gray, gray, gray. It was gray in the misted woods closing in around them, and it was just as gray in the shifting shadows of astral space, where David now lurked. In astral space, the light of life blazes like stars. But as David scanned the lodge, he saw only the faintest traces of memory, echoes of its previous inhabitants, glimmering like moonlight through the trees. David blinked, and the faint glow of astral space receded back into the darkness of reality. He eased open the door, pistol drawn. He crouched in the shadows, reaching up to key in his comm. “All clear,” he whispered. The lights came on, and David practically jumped out of his skin- only to feel Glory’s hands on his shoulders in an act of questionable reassurance. “You’re okay,” Glory said tonelessly. Marta stood behind, smiling sheepishly beside the light switch. David exhaled, holstering his pistol. This lodge wasn’t quite like the one David was working at four days ago, when Glory charged in, killed all his coworkers, and only spared him because, he was forced to assume, he asked nicely. That lodge had two storeys, couches, and bedrooms on the second floor. This place, meanwhile, could charitably be called a lodge, when in reality it was more of a ‘shack’. That being said, it was still roomier than David’s car, so nobody was really complaining. “Nice place,” Marta said, glancing up at the lumen strips incongruously set into the walls. “Electric lighting kinda ruins the look, but- Oh! A fireplace!” “Let’s start a fire, then,” Glory said. “I don’t want anyone coming by and wondering why the lights are on in the middle of spring, with hunting season months away. Do we have any firewood?” David poked his head out the back door. “Hopper’s empty.” “I’ll go find some, then,” Glory said. “Do you have a hatchet?” Marta asked. Glory extended her hand razors with a click of metal. “I’ll manage.” She waggled her clawed fingers at Marta, a playful smile in her eyes, before stepping out. “Keeping the lights off is one thing,” David said, “but what about the car?” “I can take care of that,” Marta offered. “Come on. I’ll show you something cool.” Outside, David shut the trunk with a thud, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and stepping back. “Okay,” Marta said, cracking her fingers. “Watch this.” David watched, fascinated, as the tips of Marta’s hair began to shine like hot coals. Traceries of blue light flowed down her arms and gathered at her fingertips in a coruscating cloud of energy. Marta blew a kiss across her palm. The spell dusted across her hands and coiled around the car like wisps of smoke. David’s vision shifted and blurred, like heat haze, and just like that, his car had vanished. David reached out, groping for his car in the seemingly empty air. He could feel it beneath his touch, and could hear himself tapping on the roof. He blinked and slipped into astral space. There he could see it, tinged with the lingering traces of their auras- Marta’s in blue, David’s own in gold, with a shadow where Glory’s should have been- but to his eyes in realspace, his car was as good as gone. David whistled, impressed. “Whoa,” he breathed. Marta beamed. “It’s- It’s, y’know, not perfect. The illusion only works if it’s not moving, so no taking it with us on the go. We can run or hide, not both.” “Still. That’s a hell of a trick,” David said. He looked up at Marta, suddenly sheepish. “But, uh. You can make it visible again, right? All our food’s still in the trunk, and uh… I can’t see where to put the key.” ~*~ Glory returned from her firewood-hunt soon after with an apology and an armful of moist wood. (“It rained last night, remember?”) Fortunately, Marta then used her magic to draw the water out of the wood, making them properly dry and oh-so-flammable, and a spark from Glory snapping her mechanical fingers took care of the rest. Their little fire crackled in the hearth, borrowed, like so many other things- shelter, stillness, time. Who knew how long this safety would last? But despite everything, a moment of calm managed to settle over the trio- a trio who met under decidedly un-calm circumstances. Marta took a deep breath and sighed, savoring the moment’s peace. The three of them were assembled on the floor around a collapsible cot they were all using as a table in the sparsely furnished lodge. To her left was David, gnawing on a piece of soy jerky. He was fiddling with his PDA, putting together a playlist to sync to his comm. Marta could hear the first few muffled seconds of each track as he considered it; plaintive strings, melancholy piano, blaring synth and everything in between. To her right was Glory, also studying her PDA, her eyes fixed in her characteristic intense, unblinking stare. Glory wasn’t too close, but neither was she too far away. Marta was between them, facing the fireplace. She sat in the shifting firelight, their little borrowed hearth so unlike the blaze that had consumed her church. Scarcely a day ago, she’d been a nun, living a life of charity and piety in the service of the Nameless Queen. Now, look at her. She’d fought daemons and sorceresses, pulled people out of burning buildings… She’d stepped out of her life of quiet devotion for all of 24 hours, and now here she was, on the run, with friends old and new, both of whom had already saved her life at least once before. How much difference a day makes. Unlike David and Glory, Marta wasn’t looking at her PDA. She was shuffling her deck of Tarot cards, handmade and hand-painted. They had been a gift from Sister Shelley, long ago, when she’d first joined the abbey. ‘They’ll tell your fortune’, Shelley’d told her, ‘and if you don’t care for what they tell you, you can use just them like regular playing cards.’ Honestly, Marta wasn’t really looking at her cards, either. She was just shuffling them so she had something to do with her hands. It was Glory who really held her attention. Glory, who sacrificed herself, body and soul, to break free of Harrow and The Horned King. Glory, who literally carries the weight of that sacrifice everywhere she goes. Glory, who, even after escaping The Horned King’s grasp, dove right back into Hell to pull Marta and the other kids out. Glory, who, years ago, caught first Marta’s eyes, then her heart. Glory, who, even now, clung to Marta’s thoughts and wouldn’t let go. “Marta?” “Huh? What?” Marta blinked. “You’re staring,” Glory said, peering over the top of her PDA. “Do I have something on my face?” Glory’s eyes glinted in the firelight. Marta sucked in a breath. “Um. Yes, actually. D’you mind if I…?” Glory nodded her assent, leaning closer. Marta reached out with a tissue and dabbed at a few rust-red flecks on Glory’s cheek. In the firelight, one could almost believe they were freckles. Marta pulled away, trying not to dwell on how warm Glory had been beneath her hand. “Blood,” she said, simply. “Don’t worry,” Glory said. “It usually isn’t mine.” “Usually,” Marta echoed, watching the shadows flicker across Glory’s face. “Thanks,” Glory said lightly, returning to her work, while Marta gathered the willpower to finally wrench her gaze away. Marta fixed her eyes forward, embarrassed and annoyed at her own feelings. It had been years since she and Glory had been together. Even then, it was as part of Harrow’s Apostles, his inner circle of wives and, frankly, accomplices. They were just teenagers, then. Just kids. Marta could barely remember it all, through the intoxicating haze of The Horned King’s influence. Then Glory snapped. The Horned King pushed her too far- deceived her into killing her own mother. That moment of grief yanked her out of the fog, and she disappeared. She got the surgery that gutted her magical potential and cut her off from The Horned King, and vanished into the shadows, beyond Harrow’s reach. Then she came back, years later. She rescued Marta, rescued Harrow’s acolytes, and purified the Heart of Feuerstelle, the fragment of The Horned King that Harrow was using to force their obedience when words alone were no longer enough. Their reunion was short-lived. Marta left to rediscover herself, now that she was cut free from Harrow’s poisonous influence. And she promised she’d get back in touch once she’d figured things out again. Well, here she was, and Marta did not, in fact, have everything figured out. She didn’t have all the answers. But she sure kept the feelings- even after all this time, it was like riding a bike. You never really forget. Marta heaved a weary sigh, fanning her cards out on the cot. She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and drew a card, holding it up to the firelight. A woman, robed in blue, seated between two pillars- the darkness and the light- with a banner or veil stretched behind her, separating the conscious from the unconscious. The High Priestess. Patience. Insight. Intuition. The unknown. Marta made a face. “You think that’s funny?” Marta muttered, and shuffled it back into the deck. ~*~ Marta dreams. She half-expects to see someone berating her for still carrying a torch for Glory. Maybe she’d be on a stage, under a spotlight, in front of a leering, laughing crowd. Maybe there’d be someone looming above her, mocking her. Maybe it’d be her parents. Or Harrow. Maybe even The Horned King himself. Marta doesn’t dream of any of these things. Instead, she is back in the Wood. The Heart of Feuerstelle sits before her, his antlered skull of a head lit from within by a tranquil blue light. He sits, serene, even as fires burn in the distance. Smoke drifts into Marta’s face and stings her eyes. One by one, torches appear in the clearing- rising up out of the ground in an eerie imitation of trees taking root. Six. The Heart’s voice rumbles through Marta’s head like a tremor in the earth. Six jewels in the crown of the Horned King. Six torches ring the clearing, but only four are ablaze. Two of them stand unlit, weeping black smoke into the air. The Heart leans forward. He sighs. Smiles, if a skull could be said to smile. A cool breeze passes over Marta, ruffling her hair and whistling through the trees, smelling of honeysuckle and tilled earth. The Heart speaks, his voice like thunder. You’re almost halfway there. ~*~ Daylight came- technically, if not literally. The weather stayed gloomy as ever, with clouds overhead and fog blanketing the road. The loamy earth and sweet honeysuckle of Marta’s dream gave way to wooden floorboards, charcoal, and a sizzling skillet. “I’m sorry about this, boss,” she heard David saying. “I’m, uh, not really a cook.” “That’s fine. These aren’t really ingredients.” “That’s the last time I go grocery shopping at a gas station,” David muttered. “But I meant more along the lines of, ‘this is my first time cooking in a fireplace’.” Marta blinked herself awake, her vision settling into place. She pushed off of her bedroll, sitting up. David was kneeling by the fireplace, Glory sitting nearby. He had propped a grate over the coals, and was tending to a small pan, the smoke making his eyes water. “I feel like I’m doing this wrong,” David grumbled. “I’m getting smoke all up in my face.” “Is there anything I can do to help?” Glory offered. “Yeah, actually. Would you mind chopping up some potatoes?” “Alright. Do you have a knife?” “Just use your claw-thingies.” “You want me to use my hand razors? Do you have any idea where those have been?” Glory turned, and caught Marta’s gaze. She smiled at her- figuratively, as Glory’s smiles so rarely made it to her mouth- and in the dim morning light her eyes glinted like lit coals. “Good morning,” Glory murmured, the warmth in her voice pricking Marta’s heart like a fishhook. “G- Good morning,” Marta returned. The flush across her cheeks was twofold; first, from the blissful thought of simply waking up to Glory, and second, from the embarrassment of such a little thing getting her so flustered. Glory held Marta’s gaze for a long moment. Their eyes glinted in the firelight, brown and amber edged with red, the mark of the Horned King’s influence lingering on them both. Marta swallowed. Even before the surgery, Glory had a habit of staring right through her... “Mornin’,” David chimed in, oblivious, and Marta exhaled, quietly grateful. “Good morning, David,” Marta smiled. She lifted her pendant, the icon of Venus, and slipped it around her neck. “What are we having?” “Breakfast! ...Sort of!” David announced, with something almost, but not quite, resembling pride. “We’ve got eggs, sort of, and uh, sausage, sort of. And potatoes. Those are real. I’m like… ninety percent sure.” “I don’t know if I like those odds,” Marta teased. David made a face. He held out the skillet and Glory dropped in a handful of chopped potatoes, hissing as they hit the pan. “Come on,” David protested. “Doesn’t that just smell delicious?” “Well. I mean...” “It certainly smells.” “Thank you, Glory. That’s… that’s real helpful.” ~*~ For all their needling, in the end, David really could make a halfway decent batch of skillet potatoes. Although, next time, he’d prop up the grate a little higher for better temperature control… and maybe put the potatoes in first, so they have time to get tender before the eggs start to burn. It was still miles better than soy jerky and string cheese, although, admittedly, that wasn’t a very high bar. Marta sat back and sighed, satisfyingly full. Glory and David were both poking at their PDAs; Glory, studying her screen and scribbling notes into a pocket notebook; David, his eyes darting quizzically between his PDA, the still-warm skillet on his lap, a spatula, and a little box of coarse salt. For one reason or another, Marta found herself smiling. It had been a hectic few days. To simply enjoy a meal with friends, old and new, felt comfortingly domestic and mundane. That is, until David snapped to attention. He jumped up and pressed his ear against the wall, the skillet falling off his lap and hitting the floor with a thud. “What-” Glory began. “Get down,” David hissed. Marta dropped flat, her pendant clanging against the floorboards. Glory followed suit. David crouched by the wall, his hand hovering over his thigh holster. Marta felt the rumbling along the ground. She exhaled, sliding into astral space. She saw Glory beside her, a shadow threaded with green, and David by the door, his aura glimmering gold, urgent, attentive. She saw them- a cluster of glowing red, ambling past like a meteor in slow motion. She felt the weight of their tires on the pavement, the rumble of engines. Marta exhaled, vision snapping back to reality. “Two vehicles,” David reported, peering out the window. “Red pickup, then a big white van. Probably driving slow ‘cuz of the fog. Gone now.” David exhaled, returning to his spot at the folding camp bed they were all using as a table. “Sorry, guys,” David said. “False alarm. Probably.” “Better safe,” Glory shrugged, returning to her notes. David glanced at Marta and Glory, looking up from his PDA’s extranet article on how to clean a cast iron skillet when you don’t have access to running water. “You know,” he began, shaking some coarse salt onto the pan and starting to scrape, “I’d meant to ask this earlier, before the, y’know, stuck-in-a-burning-building thing. But how did you two meet?” Marta and Glory shared a look. “It’s a long story,” Marta offered. “We’ve got time,” David said. “We met through Harrow,” Glory said. Her eyes were flinty and hard. “That’s all you need to know.” David withered under Glory’s stare. Eventually, Glory exhaled, tucking her PDA into a coat pocket and rising to her feet. “I’m taking a walk,” she announced icily, slipping out the back door. An uncomfortable quiet settled between them. Marta cleared her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said. “No, I’m sorry,” David muttered. He set the pan aside, half-finished. “It’s a touchy subject. I probably shouldn’t pry.” “That ‘touchy subject’ is the foundation of this whole trip,” Marta said. “I’m just a bodyguard,” David shrugged. “...Who, admittedly, just let his primary walk off into the woods without him. But still. Glory doesn’t have to answer my questions.” “No,” Marta pressed. “If you’re going to help Glory in this hunt- if you’re going to follow her into Hell- then you deserve to know exactly who you’re after and what you’re getting into.” David considered that. Swallowed. Nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Fair enough. So… how did you two meet?” Marta let out a long, tired sigh. “It feels like a lifetime ago…” ~*~ Marta told David everything. Haltingly at first, then all at once, like a handful of misplaced pebbles triggering a landslide. How she first joined the cult as a teenager, sucked in by Harrow’s looks, his charm, his bright lure of freedom, the promise of independence from an unjust, uncaring society. How he put her to work, combing the streets for kids who’d be open to what Harrow had to say- and how, over time, they’d hang on to his every word. She told him about how they touched up an abandoned hunting lodge in the Schonbuch Forest and transformed it into Der Feuerstelle, The Fireplace, Harrow’s compound and castle. She told him about what she became: a face of the cult, recruiter, kidnapper, a den mother to the acolytes, a wife to Harrow himself. Harrow made her dye her hair fire-red, as a symbol of her status. She was favored among the cult; Harrow’s queen and right hand. All this time, Harrow hadn’t resorted to using dark magic to control his followers. He lured them and kept them, with words alone. Harrow’s poisonous charisma was enough to utterly consume Marta’s thoughts. She was obsessed. Poisoned by his words. Addicted to his body. And then, on a routine scouting sweep for potential recruits, Marta found Glory. Glory was homeless. Penniless. Young. Vulnerable. Beautiful. That’s what Marta thought. She couldn’t let someone so beautiful simply starve on the street. So Marta reached out her hand… and Der Feuerstelle swallowed Glory up. Over time, the influence of The Horned King began to grow. Little changes piled up over time, little things that went unnoticed in the haze of Harrow’s worship. His iconography spread throughout the house, in etchings, wood carvings, decorations on the shelves, the walls, the mantelpiece in the lounge. Antlers everywhere. Antlers and flames. Der Feuerstelle might have been Harrow’s house, but it was The Horned King who truly reigned. The daemon’s presence was intoxicating. Harrow’s followers hung on his every word, and leapt at the chance to please him, no matter what his demands. Petty theft. Robbery. Arson. Kidnapping. Assault. It didn’t matter. Harrow spoke, and his disciples obeyed. He was the king of Der Feuerstelle. A narcissistic criminal whose pockets swelled with blood money while lovestruck addicts clawed at his feet. And Marta was the one who gave Glory the invitation. Marta was Glory’s gateway drug. Glory was special. She climbed the ranks much as Marta did, and soon found herself counted among Harrow’s inner circle. Glory commanded respect from the acolytes, and soon became charged with carrying out Harrow’s will on expeditions outside the lodge. If Marta was the matriarch, then Glory was the muscle. Together, they formed the pillars of the household. But then something went wrong. Glory went out on an expedition and never came back. And with Glory missing, Harrow’s influence began to crack. No one knew why Glory had suddenly disappeared; or if they did, no one was saying anything. Some of Harrow’s followers proposed that they search for Glory, Marta foremost among them. But there was no search. Harrow set aside a room of the lodge, placed a shining stone on an altar and declared the room off-limits. And, just like that, the whispers of dissent grew silent. “I don’t remember much after that,” Marta said, her expression clouded. “There’s just a heat, and this stinging feeling, like smoke getting into your eyes. Anyway. A year ago, Glory returned to Feuerstelle with a shadowrunner named Poplar. They purified the spirit that Harrow had press-ganged. That snapped me out of my… trance, I guess. They broke us out; me and the kids that were still around. Glory went back to Berlin. I went to join the Sisters. And, well. You know the rest.” David sat, pensive, his fingers steepled. Marta watched him, wary. She was waiting for the judgment; waiting for the surprise, the outrage, anything. She was waiting, anxiously, for David to react to the years of messy, damning history she’d all-but-vomited onto his lap. She was waiting for him to berate her; to call her stupid, gullible, desperate, foolish. He didn’t say any of that. He didn’t say anything; only met Marta’s eyes in the dark, and kept his maddening quiet. David opened his mouth, as if to say something. Marta leaned forward, expectant. David slumped in his seat. He closed his mouth and heaved a sigh. “Man…” David’s caught Marta’s gaze. “That’s some fucked up shit.” Marta barked a laugh, despite everything. “...Yeah. I’m- I’m sorry to just dump that on you all at once. I just thought you needed to know.” David smiled. “It’s fine. For your part, I think you needed to tell it.” Marta grinned in return. David was right. In her time at the abbey, she’d only divulged her checkered past as a cult matriarch in bits and pieces, hiding behind imperfect memory and ambiguity. There was something truly refreshing about being able to lay the truth bare. She’d known David for scarcely a day, but Marta thought he could be a friend. He made for a decent enough confessor, at any rate. Marta shivered. Marta wasn’t sure what she’d expected David to say, but he’d taken her impromptu honesty hour completely in stride. Her anxiety left her in sighs, in smiles, only lingering in the tips of her fingers. “What about you?” Marta asked, shuffling her Tarot deck if only to occupy her restless hands. “What’s your story?” “Well, shit,” David shrugged. “I don’t have anything like all that. Honestly, I’m kinda boring. Even my aura’s boring. You can read me, if you want.” “Can I, really?” “Yeah. No skin off my nose.” Marta exhaled, sliding into astral space. David’s aura unfurled before her, a pale, smoky gray, threaded with luminescent gold. His magical potential coiled around him like smoke, only coalescing into two distinct spells: the ability to heal minor wounds, and the ability to sharpen one’s aim. Even these two spells didn’t crystallize in his aura like they would a professional, textbook mage. Self-taught, then. Intuitive. Adaptive. He could be an Air magus in the making, if he could get the proper training. “I’m nothing special,” David was saying, as Marta returned to realspace. “I’ve got a few drops of magic in me, but that’s never paid my bills. I never had any real aptitude for book learning, but I’m in decent shape, and I’ve got decent aim, so I went for a career in CorpSec. I was there almost ten years. I was even on track for a position at Knight Errant. But…” “But?” David let out a breath. “...I quit.” Marta blinked. “Why?” “I don’t know,” David shrugged. “It just sort of… happened. That’s when I went freelance, and moved to Halcyon City. I packed up my gear, my coat, my car, and tried to make it on my own.” David smiled, rueful. “It didn’t work out as well as I hoped. I was broke for a while. But there weren’t so many contracts, and there wasn’t as much fine print and corporate PR to sift through. So that was a plus. And, well… I got by. More or less.” Marta nodded. “So how did you meet Glory?” “Glory saved my life,” David said softly. He broke into a grin. “Well, more like she spared my life. I was on a job, guarding some little cabin in the woods. Easy money, standing on a porch and taking in the air. Turns out I should’ve looked into my client more carefully. They were there laying the groundwork for a Firepact cell.” Marta cringed. “...Yikes.” “Yeah, ‘yikes’,” David snorted. “So imagine my surprise when Glory charges out of the woods to kick our goddamn teeth in. Blows out a guy’s chest with a high caliber revolver round. Uses her claws to tear two other guys to shreds. Only spared me, I can imagine, because I asked nicely- in other words, begging and damn near pissing myself. I still wound up getting kicked into a tree because I said something stupid. Blacked out for a bit. When I came to, she was gone.” David shook his head. “Just left bodies behind.” “I’m sorry,” Marta said. “Don’t be too sorry,” David said. “Sergeant Castor was alright, but the other two guys were dicks. Besides, we were rent-a-cops. Mercenaries. Mercs who make it to retirement are one in a million.” Marta nodded. She shuffled her Tarot deck, somber. “Anyway,” David said, breezing past. “I ran into Glory again on another job. That night, if you can believe it. Long story short: she saved my life for real, that time. And then she offered me a job. As her bodyguard, which, y’know, only gets more laughable the more I see her fight.” “Still,” Marta smiled in gratitude. “I’m glad you were with her, even for a little bit. With how much danger she’s been in, with who knows many people coming after her… I hate the thought of Glory facing that alone.” “But she’s not alone, is she?” David asked. “She has you.” Marta’s Tarot deck slipped from her fingers. Her cards scattered across the floor, a flush coloring her cheeks. “That’s…” Marta bristled, crossing her arms across her chest. “...I don’t know what you mean by that.” “Oh boy,” David sighed. He started gathering up the fallen cards. “Look. I’m sorry. I know it’s none of my business. But, if you’d like my unsolicited opinion-” “Which I don’t.” “-I think you should tell her.” Marta’s expression softened. She sighed, picking cards up off the floor. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Marta murmured. “I think you two are adults,” David said, “and it’s better to have stuff like this out in the open instead of letting it keep you in knots.” David handed her his pile of cards. Marta took them, muttering muted thanks. David sighed. He reached out, snagging one last card that had slipped under the cot they were using as a table. “Why did you go with Glory?” Marta asked. “Honestly? A job is a job,” David admitted. “Nothing personal. But it’s personal for you, and for Glory, too. I don’t know this Harrow guy, but he sounds like a real scumbag. He sounds like he deserves every bit of karma coming his way. So if I can help you guys make that happen, I will. In the meantime, I’ll be happy just getting by.” “That’s all?” Marta wondered. “If you just wanted to make a living, you could have stayed in CorpSec. I’m sure that’d be a more comfortable life. If you stay here, you’ll be a fugitive. Is that what you want?” David shrugged. “You could’ve stayed with the Sisters, helped Sister Shelley rebuild the church. The Firepact’s gunning for Glory. Once she left the city, you’d have been safe- now you’re a fugitive, too. Why did you stay?” “Glory’s my-” Marta bit her lip. “...friend. I couldn’t let her do this alone. But you don’t know her, David. The Firepact is dangerous. What if you get hurt? What if you get killed? You don’t owe her anything.” “Yes, I do,” David said. “She saved my life, remember?” “I just…” Marta sighed. “I just don’t want you to die for her.” “Wouldn’t you?” Marta paused. She looked at the floor, shuffling her Tarot deck. “I’m a mercenary, Marta,” David said softly. “I know the numbers. Chances are I won’t retire. I could die working in CorpSec, or for Knight Errant, or as a freelancer. I could die, no matter who my boss is. But what Glory’s trying to do… I don’t know. I want to do this. This feels like something big. Something important. I haven’t known her as long as you have, but I know she’s someone worth following. Even into Hell.” Marta nodded. David handed her the card that had fallen under the table. She held it up to the light- an eight-spoked wheel, so like a compass, with no mortal hand to guide it. The Wheel of Fortune. Circumstance. Change. The hands of fate, spinning out of mortal control. “I don’t think Glory needs a bodyguard,” David said. “But I think she needs you.” Marta took a deep breath. She swallowed. Nodded. “Thank you,” she breathed. “I’ll-” Marta paused as a strong breeze buffeted the cabin, carrying the scent of coming rain. The back door swayed open. A figure slipped inside before the door closed again, a shadow in the dim light. Glory. “You’re back,” Marta blinked. “Where did you go?” Glory decided not to disclose that she had briefly stepped outside to escape bad memories, and then been promptly preoccupied by a stray cat that was wandering through the undergrowth. “I got distracted,” Glory said flatly. “Now’s not the time. Get down. Mr. Wen, the road.” Marta tucked away her Tarot deck and fell flat onto her stomach. David crept up to the window and peeked outside. They could hear it; the sound of engines, of tires creaking over pavement. The sound grew louder, got closer, before it faded into the distance. “Damn it,” David muttered. “Two vehicles. Red pickup. White van. Damn well the same ones from before.” “Pack your things,” Glory ordered. “We’ve stayed here too long.” ~*~ The rain came, haltingly at first, then all at once. It came down in fat, wet drops, turning the ground into mire in a matter of minutes. Marta, for her part, was untouched by rain. Since abandoning the Horned King as the source of her magic, her affinity for water meant she didn’t have to worry about getting wet. A bubble of Marta’s magic kept the driving rain at bay. David and Glory were grateful; but they still weren’t too comfortable, perched as they were in the boughs of a tree. “Four guys on foot,” David reported, squinting through his rifle scope. “Hunting dogs. Five, maybe six. There’s something up with their eyes. A glow, like fire. So, I’m guessing hellhounds.” “Fun,” Glory muttered. “The rain will cover our sound and our scent,” Marta chimed in. “It’s not too late for us to just give them the slip. We can circle behind them, get back to the car, and get out of here before they make it back to their vans.” “No,” Glory shook her head. “We slip away now, they’ll just be back on us later. We stop this tonight.” Glory turned, her eyes glinting in the dim light. “Marta, can you shroud this location?” “Yes,” Marta nodded, “but the dogs are magically active. They’ll sense us hiding, even if they can’t see us.” “The shroud will still keep the hunters from getting a shot off,” Glory said. She dropped to the ground with a splash, flicking out her hand razors. “Stay here,” Glory said, glancing up at Marta. “Stay safe. This shouldn’t take long.” “But-” “Don’t worry about me,” Glory smiled in her eyes, not quite reaching her mouth. “Just stay close to David until we get this over with.” Marta opened her mouth, then closed it again. She sighed. “...Alright.” “Mr. Wen? The dogs, if you please.” “You got it, boss.” Marta took a deep breath and sighed. Pale blue power gathered at her fingertips and coalesced in a glyph around the base of their tree, hiding them from view. David shouldered his rifle and swept his aim, while Glory turned, coat-tails flaring in the wind, and strode out into the storm… ~*~ Two hunters picked their way through the mud and the muck, rifles tucked under their arms, cheap plastic ponchos flapping in the wind. Their pack of hunting dogs had vanished ahead of them into the woods. With the fog, and the pounding rain, if not for their incessant barking, they would’ve lost track of them already. “Shitty day for a hunt,” one of them muttered, boots sloshing through the sodden undergrowth. “Pay’s gonna be worth it,” his partner replied. “The boys are gonna have steak tomorrow.” “Yeah, and if the fuckin’ dogs are having steak, imagine what we’ll have,” the first hunter grinned. “We’ll have some fancy shit wrapped in gold foil. Whassat called? Pheasant.” “Man, there ain’t no pheasant ‘round here. They’re in, like, China.” “We’ll import it, then. We’ll have the money-” An explosion rocked the woods, and the two hunters snapped to attention, their rifles shouldered, peering through their scopes and into the dark. The edges of a red-hot fireball curled into the air, rising above the trees. Seconds later, it happened again: a sharp bang, like a grenade going off, and a curl of flame and smoke. “D’you see ‘em?” the hunter hissed, urgent. “Man, I don’t see a damn thing.” And he really couldn’t. In the dark, and the fog, and the rain, there was nothing in those woods but the glow of distant fires and the shadow in the trees. Movement. Splashing footsteps, flashing steel- The hunter went rigid, reaching for his throat, fingertips hooked and numb. His blood fountained into the air in a ghastly mist, damped down by the rain. His partner swiveled and took his shot. Strong hands jerked his rifle up, and he fired over the phantom’s shoulder. The butt of his rifle slammed back into his sternum, the impact jarring it from his grip. It swung up and cracked him in the chin. He fell to one knee, and had his neck broken by a home-run swing. Glory dropped the rifle in the mud and kept on running. ~*~ The hellhound was huge, by dog standards. It was an English mastiff before its Awakening, already one of the biggest dog breeds out there. But when its spark ignited, its dormant magic transformed it into a beast- a three-foot tall battering ram, corded with muscle, glowing with magma beneath its skin. In realspace, it was a shadow through the trees, only given away by its eyes, smoldering like hot coals. In astral space, its aura, fire-red, blazed like a torch. Three rifle rounds punched into its body and cut its thread, its aura going dark. In realspace, its body did the opposite- it exploded in a huge, bright ball of fire and cooked meat, its volatile metabolism erupting in some catastrophic, arcane reaction. David exhaled, adjusting his scope. He slid back into astral space, hunting for targets, seeking the bright lights in the charcoal dark. “Is it always like this?” Marta asked from her perch, while David fired another aimed burst that set a hellhound off like a bomb. “You watching from a distance, while Glory’s out there, in the thick of things?” “In theory,” David said. He dropped another distant hellhound, its dying explosion throwing up mud and steam. “I mean, I’ve only been working for her for, like, four days. But that’s the plan. More or less.” “I see.” David glanced back at her, his vision sliding back into realspace. Marta was a shadow beside him, stricken and pale in the dim, misted light. “...Hey. She’s gonna be fine,” David said gently. He clicked out his empty rifle magazine, reaching into his coat for a fresh one. “You’ve seen Glory fight, haven’t you? She’s a monster. She can take care of herself.” “I know,” Marta murmured. “I just… wish she didn’t have to.” Marta suddenly grabbed David’s arm. He looked up, sliding a new magazine into his rifle. “What is it?” David wondered. Marta didn’t know. But she could feel it. A tremor at the edge of her aura. A distortion. A whistling- Marta kicked off the branch she was standing on and shoved David off his perch. Three magical bolts slammed into her and exploded in a plume of flame. ~*~ Glory ducked behind a tree an instant before a high-powered round tore a chunk out of the wood. She drew her revolver and coiled out of cover, firing into the dark. Two shots blew out chips of tree bark. The third yanked the hunter off his feet like a bad actor being pulled off stage. A bolt of magic exploded against the tree beside her, gutting its trunk in a burst of flame. The tree toppled over in a cloud of sparks and splinters, nearly severed at the waist. Glory ducked out of the path of the falling tree, only to spot a hellhound bearing down on her, charging through the mud. Fire gathered in its mouth, trailing embers in its wake. Glory spun around the bolt of magic the hellhound vomited in her direction. It seared past the small of her back and exploded against a tree behind her. The hound leapt at her, and Glory followed through with a spinning kick that pancaked the beast against a tree trunk. Glory shot it in the chest. It exploded against the tree, its arcane metabolism igniting like a firework. Glory jerked to the side, spun by torque. A hellhound’s jaws clamped around her wrist. Its weight and momentum wrenched her arm around, the heavy impact forcing her to the ground. Glory cried out in pain as she hit the muddy ground. She rolled to her feet, shaking her arm, but the beast had sunk its teeth into her augmetic musculature and would not let go. Glory grimaced and plunged her claws into its heart. The beast glowed white, and then exploded in her face. Glory dragged herself up out of the mud, dizzy with pain and fatigue. She clutched her stricken arm to her chest, the augmetics straining. An organic arm, she knew, would have been broken and dislocated, or worse. In the distance, Glory heard the frenzied barking of more hellhounds. Just how many of these damn things were there? “David, I need you to take care of these dogs,” Glory said into her comm. Glory coughed, gagging on soot. She tapped her commlink. “David?” ~*~ David hit the ground with a splash, his ears ringing. He should’ve known. The first rule of astral space is if you can see them, they can see you. And Marta was a Mage, more powerful than he was by a country mile. No wonder they’d be drawn to- “Marta,” David breathed, falling to his knees beside her. Marta was sprawled on the muddy ground, haloed by the burning skeleton of the tree beside them. For someone caught in an explosion, she was remarkably, surprisingly intact. Marta coughed, and blinked, her vision settling. She sat up in David’s grasp, the shimmering traces of a pale blue barrier lingering in the air around them. Her fingertips brushed against the icon of Venus hanging from her neck. “Thank you, Hecate,” Marta smiled. David blinked. “Who?” Marta abruptly pulled David behind her, her fingertips shining blue. A dozen bolts of fire sailed through the air towards them. At Marta’s command, a wall of water rose up to meet them. They struck the barrier and exploded into wisps of steam. Through the swirling water of Marta’s barrier, they could see the pack approaching: another half dozen hellhounds, their handlers undoubtedly close behind. The pickup truck and the white van from before. The ones that had passed their cabin twice. It hadn’t been the same ones, after all; there were two teams. Two hunting parties. And just because they managed to get the drop on the first one didn’t mean they were ready for the second. David swore under his breath. He shouldered his waterlogged rifle, misfired, and swore again. “Marta,” David began, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. The pack was closing in. “Can you gather all the water on the ground into one big puddle, deep enough that the hellhounds can’t just run through it? And can you do that while making sure the two of us stay totally dry?” Marta swallowed. Nodded. “I think so. Why?” David drew his pistol and racked the slide, a soft blue glow coming from the base of the grip. “No reason.” Glyphs traced themselves in the air around Marta’s hands. Magic thrummed in the air, the rain and water around them standing to attention, heeding her silent voice. Six hellhounds broke through the treeline. They charged forward in a frenzy, jaws trailing spittle and embers, scenting Marta’s magic in the air like blood in water. Marta’s wave surged around their feet. Their charge slowed to a trot, then a crawl, and finally, a paddle, as the water rose around them and they couldn’t simply run on through. The wave held them, halted in their tracks. In a circle around David and Marta’s feet, the soil became parched and pale. David fired. The gel-tipped phasic rounds burst as they struck the surface of Marta’s wave. Azure lightning cascaded through the pool, surging into the pack of hunting dogs. They shivered, convulsed, and went still, weeping smoke and steam from their singed bodies. Marta exhaled, and released her hold on the wave. The water receded back into the muddy earth, and for a moment, the only sound was the patter of rain. David turned to her and grinned. The rifle round punched through his chest in a spray of red. David staggered took two halting steps forward. Marta caught him in her arms, fear rooting her in place. She stared down at the ragged hole in the back of his coat, looked up and saw the shadow in the trees. The spent shell fell by the hunter’s foot. He slid the bolt back in place, took aim- His shot exploded off of Glory’s shoulder in a burst of chipped ceramite and sparking metal. She let the force of the shot spin her around. She drew her revolver, took aim, and fired. ~*~ Their healing power merged together, the scent of honeysuckle and tilled earth mingling with that of seafoam and rain. David gasped awake, coughing. He sat up too fast, clutching his head when the dizziness hit him. He groaned, prodding at the frayed hole in his shirt and the unbroken skin beneath. “Oh, man,” David muttered. “If I had a nickel…” “You’d have two nickels,” Glory said. “Three if you count the stun round,” David smiled, despite everything. Glory helped David to his feet with her good arm, clutching the other to her chest. Already, the soft green glow of the Heart’s healing power was coiling like climbing ivy around the damaged limb. He glanced behind her, to where Marta was lingering close at hand. “Everyone alright?” David asked. “Compared to you?” Marta asked. “Fair.” David shrugged. “Come on,” Glory said. “There’s something you should see.” David made his way over to the last of the fallen hunters, leaning on Marta for support. The hunter was lying in a puddle, bleeding out from a shot to his stomach courtesy of Glory. Blood darkened the mud around him. The man lifted his head and glowered at the trio. David’s lips curled in disgust. “You shot my dogs, boy,” Mr. Wilk spat. “Well, you shot me,” David grumbled. “So I guess we’re even.” David searched for the tell-tale glint of fire in Mr. Wilk’s eyes, but found nothing. He exhaled. “He wasn’t enthralled,” Glory said flatly. “None of them were. If they were, the Rose Compass would have sensed something, before.” David gritted his teeth. “Every man has his price,” David said, his voice cold. “Don’t you judge me, boy,” Mr. Wilk said, pulling himself up to his elbows. “I’m just a man trying to make a living. To provide for his family. You’re a mercenary too, boy, or did you forget? A job is a job. You would’ve done the same.” “Would I?” David asked. He reached into the mud and pulled out Mr. Wilk’s hunting rifle. He examined the scope, drew back the bolt, then slid it back into place. For a moment, Marta thought David might shoot him. Instead, David simply slipped the rifle into a canvas sleeve on his back and walked away. “...Little vulture,” Mr. Wilk spat, indignant. “Business expense,” Glory shrugged. She turned and left him there in the mud, Marta following at her heels.   ~*~ The rain cleared, but the mood stayed sour. They drove just long enough to put their encounter with the hunting party behind them, before they stopped and found somewhere to make camp. David, normally the most talkative of the three, was quiet the whole way. When they stopped to make camp, he disappeared into the tent and fell asleep almost immediately. Driving must have worn him out, Marta thought. That, or being shot in the back just a few hours before. Marta sat on an uncomfortably moist log, shuffling her Tarot deck to steady her fingers. Briefly, she considered using her magic to dry it out. But after summoning that wave against the charge of hellhounds, re-casting the concealment spell on David’s car, and, most importantly, subconsciously shielding herself from that explosion… Marta sighed. She was spent; magically, physically, mentally. But when Glory took a seat beside her, her heart still skipped a beat. “I can keep watch,” Glory said, flexing her still-recovering arm. “You should get some rest. That tent is really only big enough for two, anyway.” “I’m okay,” Marta said. “Suit yourself.” Marta exhaled, gazing up at the sky. The clouds were clearing, and the moon was shining through. “So this is what you do?” Marta asked quietly. “This is what you’ve been doing, for all this time?” “Yeah. More or less.” Marta shuffled her Tarot deck, her fingers still trembling. “All this… danger. All this fear, and bloodshed. And for what? Nothing. Nothing but your own survival.” “Sometimes surviving is the best you can do,” Glory said, her eyes distant. “I can’t believe this,” Marta said. “All this time, while I’ve been at the abbey growing tomatoes and ladling out soup for the homeless, you’ve been fighting. You’ve been getting back at the Firepact, punishing them for what they did to you. For what…” Marta swallowed hard. “...for what I did to you.” Glory shook her head. “It wasn’t you. It was the daemon.” “Not in the beginning,” Marta pressed. “I fell for Harrow. No magic involved. I ate up his lies. And then I turned around and did the same thing to you.” Glory exhaled through her nose, staring blankly ahead. Her silence was agonizing. “Glory,” Marta asked, her throat tight. “Do you… hate me?” Glory took a deep breath. “A little,” Glory admitted. The words turned Marta’s insides to ice. “If you had never found me on the street, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I wouldn’t be hunting Harrow down, fighting off Firepact assassins at every step. I wouldn’t even have these,” Glory said, holding up her cyber-arms. “...So… yes. Part of me hates you. A small part. I can’t not, after everything that’s happened.” Marta’s voice was tight. “...I understand.” “But,” Glory continued, “I’m glad you’re safe. I’m glad you’re here with me, Marta. And I’m glad you got out.” “You got me out,” Marta whispered. “You broke me free of Harrow’s control. You saved those kids. You saved me. I…” Marta hesitated. “...I love you for that.” Glory stiffened. She fixed her gaze straight ahead, letting out a sigh. “...I think…” Glory said, choosing each word carefully. “...you may be confusing adrenaline for some other emotion.” She reached out, placing a hand over Marta’s. Beneath her cool touch, Marta’s shaking hands stilled. She exhaled, idly drawing the card from the top of the stack. A woman, bearing a sword in one hand and a set of scales in another, a blindfold around her eyes. Justice is blind. But so is love. It was the sign she needed. The courage she couldn’t find. “I love you, Glory,” Marta breathed. “I love you now, and I loved you then.” “What we had with Harrow was not love,” Glory warned. “I know,” Marta said. “He got in our heads, poisoned us to worship him- but what we had was real. What we had was not the daemon’s doing. We’re not the same people we were before. We can try again.” Glory heaved a sigh, squeezing Marta’s hand in hers. “Do you really believe that, Marta?” Their eyes met in the dark- brown and amber, ringed with red- both of them touched by fire, but neither one consumed. There was still some blood flecked on Glory's cheek, light enough that one might hope they were freckles. Marta didn't care. None of that mattered right now. Marta summoned the last of her courage. She traced a fingertip down Glory’s cheek and curled her hand beneath her chin. “Believe this,” Marta whispered. They were so close. They were haloed in moonlight; wreathed in rain. All that lay between them was just an inch of indecision. And very soon after, not even that. ~*~

[necro-romantic]

sooo i wrote a fan ep of it’s always sunny where the gang gets trapped in dee’s apartment building with a killer but they keep taking themselves out by being dumb bitches before the killer can even find them it’s here if u want to read it 

Title: The Gang Gets Murdered

Characters: Charlie, Dee, Mac, Dennis, Frank

Warnings: Violence, swearing

INT. LATE EVENING, DEE’S APARTMENT

The gang is sitting on various pieces of furniture, all pulled into a semi-circle around the TV. The floor is covered in empty food containers, ripped popcorn bags, and crushed cans of beer. The end credits of “American Psycho” are playing on the TV screen, which dimly lights the dark living room in flickering bursts of illumination.

DENNIS

I’m just saying, I think it’s a little weird that the killer never gets away with it on TV. It’s an art- there’s so much, finesse, skill- serial killers are brilliant, they’re gifted. And they never get away with it- look, I’m not defending murder, I’m not, it’s just weird is all I’m saying. Inaccurate. Frankly, I’d be offended, if I was a serial killer.

CHARLIE

But you’re not, right, so- (he shrugs) it’s like- it

doesn’t really matter.

DENNIS

(Exasperated, one hand on his face, gesturing with the other)

No, I know it doesn’t matter I’m just saying-

MAC scoots across the floor and pops open the DVD player, holding the disc in his hand and glancing back at DENNIS.

MAC

It’s my turn to pick the movie next, right?

DENNIS

(Motioning towards the now black screen)

C’mon man, the credits weren’t even over, what, you didn’t like my pick?

MAC

Little creepy man, too many prostitutes anyways. Boobs all up in- I mean- I like boobs I’m just saying, fake ones are, they’re, ya know-

DENNIS

Creepy? “American Psycho” is a classic, Mac. A classic.

MAC

(Shrugging)

I never saw it before. Can’t be that much of a classic.

DENNIS

That’s because you have shit taste, dude. Shit taste.

DEE

Mm, I’m with Mac on this one. A little creepy. Also I’m pretty sure you got off during that scene with the axe, and I’m just glad I was on the other side of the couch.

DENNIS

Alright, well, you’re a stupid bitch. What about you Frank. You’re with me, right? It’s a classic.

FRANK

Yeah- yeah, sure, I wanna go back to the tits though, (he turns to look at MAC) because a fake tit is still a good tit. I’ll stand by that, feel the same in your hand. Feel real enough to me.

DENNIS

(Groaning)

I don’t know why I bother to share my movies with you when none of you ever never appreciate them, the nuances in dialogue, the filming, the development of- uncultured. You’re all uncultured. Absolutely-

He’s interrupted by a shrill scream from above them.

DENNIS

(Angrily banging on the ceiling with his palm)

Hey! Excuse me! I am talking!

There’s a loud crash and the ceiling crumbles, spilling drywall across the carpet, and dumping a body- along with a shattered chandelier- into the center of the living room.

ALL

Shit.

MAIN TITLES

Title: “It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia”

Title: “Episode ?????”

Title: “The Gang Gets Murdered”

FADE IN: INT. STILL DEE’S APARTMENT, MOMENTS LATER

DEE

Is she-

DENNIS

(Interrupting sarcastically and rolling his eyes)

No, she’s just asleep Dee, God, use your head for once you dumb bitch.

DEE

Oh, I’m sorry. This is just a little traumatic, you know.

DENNIS

You’re such a bitch. Like you’ve never seen a dead body before.

DEE

Are you saying you have?

DENNIS

C’mon, we gotta get out of here, the killer’s probably still nearby. I don’t want him catching me near the body.

DEE

Shouldn’t we call the police?

DENNIS

Yeah, Dee, let’s do that. Let’s just get all up in this mess, let’s just, involve ourselves. God, you’re such an amatuer. I’m not getting messed up in another man’s business. (He puts his hands up) I’m out of here. He takes care of the body, I take care of my own shit.

DEE

I live here. My carpet is covered in blood.

DENNIS

You think that asshole’s leaving any evidence here? We’re out for the night, we come back to a scrubbed carpet, fixed ceiling, no sign of body fluids. Free cleaning, Dee. Free cleaning. You think the cops are paying for this damage? Your landlord? You want to pay for a new ceiling, huh?

CHARLIE

I’m with Dennis, I wanna get outta here.

DEE

Fine, fine, we’ll go. Just let me get my purse.

FRANK pulls the door open and stands there stiffly, eyes wide.

CHARLIE

Hey, get outta the way man, what’re you-

FRANK leans in close to CHARLIE’S ear.

FRANK

Charlie.

CHARLIE

Dude- your breath smells like-

FRANK

Charlie he’s out there.

CHARLIE

What the fuck are you-

FRANK

He’s out there.

CHARLIE

Who? The mailman, the fucking pizza guy, I don’t-

FRANK

The killer, Charlie. The killer.

CHARLIE

Aw, shit. Close the door, maybe he won’t come in.

DENNIS

(Aggravated, motioning towards the dead woman lying on the floor)

The body’s in here Charlie, of course he’s coming in here!

CHARLIE

Oh yeah.

DENNIS

How do you know he’s the killer anyways, Frank?

FRANK

Sketchy looking dude.

DENNIS

(Peeking around the corner)

Oh my god he’s black. Are you saying he looks sketchy because he’s black? You can’t say that, Frank.

FRANK

Nah- nah- he’s not sketchy because he’s black, he’s just sketchy and black.

DENNIS

Well, we have no solid evidence it’s him, so I say we just go. We start walking, calm- calm. Bitch was poisoned anyways. Killer could be anywhere in the building.

DEE

Poisoned? How do you know that?

DENNIS

Oh, come on, no sign of physical injury besides the head wound from the chandelier that broke the floor- terrible floors by the way, Dee, I’d complain about that- the cord was in her hand, so she most likely did that herself, accidentally pulled it down on top of her in a panic- bright red blood, and she reeked of almonds. Cyanide.

DEE

Alright, so, sketchy black guy in the hall, sketchy white guy in the room with us- I’m taking my risks with hall guy.

She pushes past the others and out into the hall.

CHARLIE

Yeah, hall guy.

DENNIS

(Only one left in the room, shouting out into the hallway, motioning dramatically)

C’mon guys, plenty of people know- it’s not that weird to- (He lets out a disgruntled noise and let his arms drop back to his side.) Wait for me!

INT. THE HALL. IT’S DIMLY LIT, AND APPEARS ALMOST MENACING

They walk stiffly down the hallway and huddle together in the elevator.

INT. THE ELEVATOR

CHARLIE

Man, why do ya think he killed her?

MAC

(Shrugging)

She was probably being a bitch. I bet she deserved it.

DEE

She was kind of annoying. She tried to talk to me while we were doing laundry, I mean, who does that?

CHARLIE

Yeah, and she always talks real loud in her sleep when I come over, that’s annoying.

DENNIS

Charlie, you do know that’s not what- she’s having sex. She’s having sex Charlie.

CHARLIE

Oh. Yeah that makes a lot more sense I guess.

DEE

Y’know, I wanna talk about the fact that during that awful laundry conversation, she told me her boyfriend’s name was John, but, (she turns to DENNIS) I heard her screaming your name an awful lot.

DENNIS

(Shrugging)

She was hot. Insecure. Her boyfriend really did a number on her self-esteem, made it incredibly easy for me to get whatever I wanted from her. Not an ounce of self respect. Almost too easy, really. Mmm, but she sure knew how to-

DEE

(Visibly disgusted)

Alright- shutting that conversation down. Alright, so she was an annoying, bitchy slut.

CHARLIE

(Looking at the buttons on the elevator pad)

Hey, any of you guys noticed that we aren’t moving down anymore?

MAC

Yeah, I was thinking that. It’s been on “3” for a while now.

FRANK

Aw shit, we pissed off her ghost.

DENNIS

Ghosts aren’t real, Frank.

CHARLIE

Nah, they definitely are, there’s one at our apartment, we call him “Soft Tom”, he knocks shit over, and sometimes you feel him brush against you and he’s real soft and all.

DENNIS

That’s a cat, Charlie. Not a ghost, a cat.

CHARLIE

(Defensively)

Could be a ghost cat.

DENNIS

(Sighing)

Alright, well, whatever the reason, we’re stuck in this elevator. So let’s just remain calm and-

FRANK

C’mon Charlie- let’s climb out through the shaft.

CHARLIE

I don’t know Frank that seems a little-

FRANK

It’ll be just like all your vents Charlie, c’mon.

CHARLIE

(Apprehensive)

Alright, yeah, I guess.

FRANK

Get on my shoulders, yep- right, now, pull me up-

CHARLIE

Dude, you weigh like, a thousand pounds, I can’t-

FRANK

Mac- Mac- hoist me up.

MAC

Shit man, you really are heavy-

FRANK

Alright, alright, I’m up, here Mac, give me your hand and I’ll pull you up.

DENNIS

(Annoyed)

Are you guys idiots? You think you’re gonna make it up the shaft? The elevator’s gonna get fixed, and-

CHARLIE (O.S)

How long’s the shaft?

FRANK (O.S)

Don’t know- shouldn’t have to go too far along the shaft though, just to the next floor.

MAC (O.S)

Can you guys stop saying shaft?

DENNIS

(Exasperated)

And, they’re gone.

DEE

Dumbasses.

DENNIS

I know! God- there’s a corpse in this building and they’re crawling around in the elevator shaft- and they thought hall guy was shady. Amateurs. Goddamn amateurs.

DEE

Mm, see, but the more you say “amateurs”, the shadier you sound.

DENNIS

(Ignoring her)

Oh- and we’re moving again. If those assholes had waited just thirty more seconds they wouldn’t have had to crawl up to the fourth floor.

INT. FIRST FLOOR, RIGHT OUTSIDE THE ELEVATOR

DEE

(Stepping out of the elevator)

Should we wait for them?

DENNIS

Nah- let’s just go.

There’s a cacophony of noise and MAC comes rushing down the stairs, covered in dust and oil.

MAC

Guys- guys! You’ll never guess what we found in the elevator shaft!

FRANK shows up, panting, hunched over.

FRANK

Another dead body!

DENNIS

(Dismissively)

That’s impossible. It never would have fit in-

CHARLIE cuts in, and DENNIS’ jaw visibly tightens.

CHARLIE

Nah- man, it was pretty squished, like- real flat. Probably been there a day or two.

DEE

Great, so we’re dealing with a serial killer.

DENNIS

Well- not technically. Three murders makes a serial killer. Not two, and besides- we don’t even know if it was the same killer.

FRANK

I’m not taking any chances. (He pushes past everyone and walks towards the door.) Can’t run fast as I used to, getting outta this bitch before things get any worse

He tugs on the handles. Then pushes. Nothing happens.

FRANK, (CONT’D)

Alright. Charlie- c’mon, we’re hiding in the broom closet.

Mac grabs the handles and tugs.

MAC

Man- they’re really locked. Bet I could break the glass though.

DENNIS

Don’t-

MAC backs up and runs full force forward, slamming himself against the door. He staggers backwards, slightly stunned, wincing and rubbing his sore shoulder.

MAC

Must be, some kinda real, police grade glass. Otherwise I’d be able to break it.

DENNIS

(Sighs and gently places a hand on MAC’S shoulder)

Alright, well, it looks like we’re stuck here. We stay together, we wait it out. Got it? Someone’s bound to call the police, and we’ll be in the clear.

CHARLIE

(Raises his hand)

Why can’t we call the police again?

DENNIS

(Points at him and raises his brows)

Good question, and- Because I say so, and because I know what I’m doing. Alright- let’s go hide out in the gym locker-room. Plenty of places to hide, plenty of potential weapons if we need them.

FRANK

Nah- I’m sticking with the closet idea, Charlie, you in?

CHARLIE

Sure man, ‘course I am.

DENNIS

Yes- split up! Fine- goddamnit- (He gestures angrily) That’s what every killer wants! (He turns back to the others, exasperated) Are you guys with me?

DEE

(Shrugs)

Yeah, sure, why not.

INT. THE MEN’S LOCKER ROOM IN THE GYM

MAC, DENNIS, and DEE are standing near the entrance.

DENNIS

Alright. Mac- you stay near the door, keep guard, Dee- into one of these lockers. I’ll climb up into the rafters and maintain the element of surprise if necessary. Got it?

INT. THE DARK INTERIOR OF A CLOSET IN WHAT’S PRESUMABLY THE BOILER ROOM

CHARLIE is looking out through the slits in the door, lined shadows playing upon his face. He crinkles up his nose.

CHARLIE

Frank what's that smell, did you- shit your pants what the fuck, Frank, aw it stinks in here.

FRANK

Charlie- charlie, get your hand off me it feels like a goddamn ice cube.

CHARLIE

Dude- I’m not touching you.

FRANK

Aw fuck it's another dead one isn't it, goddamnit I knew it. Alright, get in 'is pockets Charlie, we gotta get outta here, but get his cash first, leave the card or the cops’ll get suspicious when they find him.

CHARLIE

(Shoving the wad of cash into his pocket as FRANK pries open the closet door)

Alright- well, now where do we go?

FRANK

(Shrugs)

Might’as well go meet up with the others.

INT. THE MEN’S LOCKER ROOM IN THE GYM AGAIN

MAC is gripping the corner of the wall, peering around it.

MAC

Yo- Dennis- someone’s coming.  

He glances up at Dennis, who is perched precariously on a thin piece of wood, white knuckles wrapped around another inch thick piece of the rafters. He is uncomfortable, but trying very hard to look as if he is not.

DENNIS

Yeah? What do they look like?

MAC

(Peeking back around the corner)

Not sure yet.

DEE (O.S, FROM INSIDE THE LOCKER)

Well get back in here, don’t let them see you. If they come in here we’ll deal with them then.

MAC shrugs and obliges, sliding into one of the lockers.

DENNIS

(Quietly)

Alright. When you see them, I want you to scream, and I’ll jump down and surprise them. Then jump out of the lockers and ambush them. Got it?

Before MAC or DEE can agree, FRANK enters the room, and MAC lets out a high pitched scream. DENNIS attempts to make a badass leap down from the rafters, but only succeeds in clumsily falling down and landing on top of FRANK. DEE and MAC race out of the lockers, screaming, and pile on top of CHARLIE as he enters. CHARLIE and FRANK, thinking that the other three are the murderers continue to fight back until they finally realize that they’re just beating each other up. Everything goes quiet for a moment and they all freeze mid-fight.

Cut to:

INT. THE MEN’S LOCKER ROOM IN THE GYM, A COUPLE MINUTES LATER  

The gang is sitting in front of the lockers, covered in bruises, scratches, etc. DEE is holding a wet paper-towel over a cut on her forehead. DENNIS is holding up a hand mirror and lamenting over his bruised, swollen left eye. MAC is eating a granola bar and staring vacantly at the wall in front of them. CHARLIE is picking at one of the scratches on his arm. FRANK is bleeding profusely from a large cut on his neck. This doesn’t seem to phase him. The scene is silent for a moment. Finally, DENNIS speaks up.

DENNIS

Well that went poorly.

DEE

Yep.

MAC

Absolutely.

CHARLIE

It was bad.

DENNIS

But you know what- us thinking that each other were the murderers- it got me thinking- what if one of us is the killer?

CHARLIE

Yeah- me and Frank already did that when we were in the closet. But we decided that if it was any of us, it was you.

DEE

Yeah, I agree.

DENNIS

What? Me? Why me?

They shrug.

CHARLIE

You got that- that weird eye thing going on. (He pries open his eyes with his fingers to demonstrate)

DEE

Yeah- yeah. The serial killer eyes. Ever since we were kids.

DENNIS

Oh, screw you guys. If I had done this, I’d have killed all of you assholes first. And besides, I would never be this sloppy. This is just embarrassing. What the- the body in the elevator shaft, the closet- I mean, really, as if those weren’t going to get found. It’s all been done without any- care, any concern for the art.

DEE

See, it’s this kind of weird psycho talk that makes us think you’re the killer.

DENNIS

Shut up, bird.

CHARLIE

Ahhaha she is a bird!

DEE

Oh goddamnit!

CHARLIE, who is sitting beside FRANK, notices that his eyes are closed, and that he didn’t laugh at the bird thing. Strange.

CHARLIE

Frank. Hey- wake up. You missed a funny joke.

FRANK doesn’t respond, and has presumably passed out from blood loss.

DENNIS

Alright, well, we can’t carry him around with us, so. Leave him?

Everyone agrees. They walk out of the locker room but the camera remains focused on FRANK’S unconscious body, slowly zooming in.

Cut to:

INT. A HALLWAY ON THE SECOND FLOOR

DENNIS

Alright, so, our best bet is, again- to stay together. I vote we just keep walking around casually, so if the killer does see us, he won’t know we know, and he’ll leave us alone.

CHARLIE

I don’t know man- we aren’t really sure why he’s killing people. I mean, there hasn’t been any connection that we know of between these people. Maybe he just likes killing.

DENNIS

Oh, so you’re an expert now.

CHARLIE

I just think-

DENNIS

You know what- I don’t care. Get killed all of you, just. Go get killed. Doesn’t matter to me. I’m sticking to the plan. You assholes can do whatever the fuck you want.

He throws his hands up and walks away. MAC, CHARLIE, and DEE walk in the other direction.

MAC

Dude- I think we should just call the police.

CHARLIE

Yeah. I left my phone in Dee’s apartment though.

MAC

Me too. You think we could sneak in and get them?

CHARLIE

Probably.

INT. DEE’S APARTMENT

MAC and CHARLIE are rooting around in the piles of junk on the floor looking for their phones.

MAC

Man, why is this place always such a mess.

DEE

Because you and Dennis trash it all the time.

MAC

You should really keep it cleaner, I mean, don’t you have any feminine- sensibilities or whatever? Isn’t that a thing women do, clean?

DEE

Alright, asshole, I’m going to ignore that. I’m heading to the bathroom. I ate some weird egg salad earlier, and it is not staying down. (She burps as if to prove her point)

MAC

Ew, gross. Did not need to know that. Whatever. Just spray the febreze when you’re done puking or whatever.

MAC and CHARLIE continue tossing trash around, the dead body casually lying in the background. Suddenly a loud crash is heard from the bathroom.

CHARLIE

What was that?

MAC

Sounded like it came from the bathroom.

CHARLIE

You think Dee’s okay?

MAC

How the hell would I know? You wanna check?

MAC keeps looking for their phones. CHARLIE opens up the bathroom door.

CHARLIE

Aw, shit. The toilet seat fell on her head. Dude- dude she’s out cold. Shit.

MAC

Well- I found your phone. You wanna just leave her there till the police come?

CHARLIE

Yeah, I guess. Shit man.

INT. A HALLWAY ON THE FIRST FLOOR

MAC and CHARLIE are leaning against the wall.

CHARLIE

How long until the police come do you think?

MAC

Who knows man, they said like, ten minutes, but like- that’s what the pizza place says and they don’t get here for like, thirty-five.

CHARLIE

Man. Don’t talk about pizza, you’re making me hungry.

MAC

There’s a vending machine on Dee’s floor. You wanna go back up?

CHARLIE

Hell yeah.

INT. A HALLWAY ON THE SECOND FLOOR

A tiny vending machine sits lonesome in a dimly lit cove in the wall. MAC points to it.

MAC

See, right there.

CHARLIE

Aw, sweet.

He begins walking towards it, but before he can get more than a few steps forward, MAC interrupts.

MAC

(Cautiously, voice almost a whisper)

Wait- doesn’t that look like exactly the sort of place a killer would be waiting out? Hang on- let me go check it out, make sure it’s safe, you know.

MAC creeps over towards the machine, trying to be stealthy, but managing to make himself look like a complete ass. He’s about halfway to the machine when he hears a cough from down the hallway and, in a panic, runs towards the window, screaming.

MAC

It’s the killer, save yourself Charlie!

He leaps out the window, glass shattering all across the hallway. CHARLIE runs over to the window and glances down. MAC is unconscious on the ground, legs in a position that legs should never be in.

CHARLIE

AW, shit.

DENNIS, the source of the cough, walks up behind him.

DENNIS

What the hell was that about?

CHARLIE

(Startled)

Shit- goddamnit man- you scared the shit out of both of us.

DENNIS

Apparently.

CHARLIE

You think he’s okay?

DENNIS

(Shrugs)

I’ve seen him recover from worse.

CHARLIE

Aw, phew. Man, he looks bad though.

DENNIS

Nah, he’ll be fine.

CHARLIE walks back over to the vending machine and slips a dollar in.

CHARLIE

It’s just you and me now man. Everyone else is out cold.

DENNIS

What happened to Dee?

CHARLIE

Toilet seat fell on her head.

DENNIS

(Laughs)

That goddamn bitch. Aw. Man, that’s hilarious.

CHARLIE

(Laughing)

Yeah, it was pretty funny.

CHARLIE reaches into the bottom of the vending machine and we see him struggle for a minute before he pulls out what appears to be a human hand.

DENNIS

Is that… a hand?

CHARLIE

Yeah, you know what, I think it is. That’s weird. I’m pretty sure I pressed the button for a bag of chips but-

DENNIS

I bet there’s a whole body in there. Hey, Charlie, reach up in and see if you can pull anything else out.

CHARLIE

Alright.

CHARLIE leans down and starts rooting around in the machine, until he’s all but inside of it. He starts tugging at the severed arm, and the machine starts rocking back and forth.

DENNIS

You should probably be a little more careful. You’re gonna pull the whole thing down.

CHARLIE

Nah man, it’s cool. I almost got it.

That sentence is followed by an immediate crash as the vending machine topples down on top of him. DENNIS sighs.

DENNIS

Just me now. Idiots. Goddamn idiots. (He spins around and raises his voice) Alright! Four murders! I’m impressed. Sloppy, sure, but hey. We’ve all got our own methods. I’m impressed, really, I could never do it. (He begins clapping) Come on out now, game’s over.

A figure in a black mask steps out of the shadows across the hall.

DENNIS

There we go. Yes. Come on over here.

The figure stops right in front of him and takes off the mask, letting her long, brunette hair fall down her back. She smiles at him.

DENNIS

Oh. You’re- a- a woman.

MURDER WOMAN

Absolutely. I’m a woman, and you’re a very handsome man-

She runs her fingers through his hair and leans in, her plump, red lips, inches from his. He-

Mac’s voice suddenly entered the shot,and it began to dissolve, fading to the five of them sitting in Dee’s apartment.

“Now hold on- I was willing to play along with some of that other bullshit, I mean, I never would’ve jumped out the window over a little cough, but this is-”

Dee rolled her eyes. “Look, when you invited everyone to movie night tonight, we were hoping for an actual movie, not one you wrote.”

Frank nodded. “Yeah- the bitch is right for once.”

“It was full of plot holes,” Dee said, shaking her head.

“Totally out of character,” Mac chimed in.

“You know- I didn’t ask for criticism,” Dennis said defensively, holding the script to his chest.

“What’re you gonna do? Kill us?” Dee laughs.

The others join in.

Dennis sits silently, jaw taut, eyes narrowed.

Laughter can still be heard as the screen begins to fade, the camera zooms in on Dennis’ face. “Hip To Be Square” plays.

FADE OUT:

END