#and the same one for her antlers and teeth because bone. as well as my usual medium blend one for her skin. looks maybe a bit too smooth but

[cleocatrablossy]

Got around to finishing this, turns out using different blending brushes for different textures is fun! Just need some more practice when it comes to clothes

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: Mall Santa (Boomer/Mike and Brick/Blossom)

Summary: To earn a little extra cash over the holidays, Brick, Mike, and Boomer agree to help out their buddy Todd at a Mall Santa gig. Shenanigans ensue.

This one is for @snailbutters, @genovah, and @hanaokm. Merry Christmas and happy holidays! Enjoy some Boomike, Blossick, and Capri Sus on me. 

[Cross-posted to AO3]

xxx

There were a lot of things Todd needed: a haircut, for one. His black hair was getting too long for gel and it was really pushing the boundary between greaser sexy and sad trash hobo. Money, for another. But like any other 21-year-old townie with a high school education and two restaurant jobs, he always needed money.

A new best friend, for yet another.

“I’m not your best friend,” Brick snapped as he tied a black tie around his neck. He needed to leave in ten minutes if he was going to be early for his dinner meeting with Oliver Morbucks.

Todd put a hand over his heart like it might fall out of the wound Brick’s words had stabbed there. “Dude, of course you are. I’m totally sorry if I ever gave you the wrong idea.”

Brick grimaced so hard he was sure he’d end up constipated. “No, you idiot. I know you think I’m your best friend. You’ve never shut up about it, even after we graduated high school. I’m pretty sure the whole fucking Peninsula knows it the way you go around shouting it when you’re blasted.”

Todd looked like he’d just received news that his favorite nana wasn’t dying of cancer after all. “Oh, cool. For a second there I thought I really hurt your feelings. You know you’re kinda sensitive, right?”

Oh god.

“What do you want, Todd? I have a really important meeting and I’m not missing it for your bullshit.”

Brick checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror in his one-bedroom apartment in downtown Townsville. It was a shitty hole-in-the-wall kind of place, but Brick was used to squalor. His break was coming, he could feel it. If tonight’s meeting went over well, he’d have a more steady revenue stream and, more importantly, the connections and clout the Morbucks name brought to open doors. All the long days at Red’s Auto Shop saving and scraping by would finally pay off, and just in time for Blossom to graduate from college. It was perfectly planned, meticulously manipulated, all down to this last pivotal dinner.

“Cool, no big deal! I just need to know if you’re free this weekend.”

“Free to do what?” Brick indulged him, because Todd was one of the few people on this planet who wasn’t 100% intimidated by his very presence.

“To help me with this Mall Santa gig I got. Harry Pitt was supposed to be my number two elf, but he ate some bad prawns and they had to, like, airlift him to Citiesville General.”

Brick stopped everything he was doing and glared at his second-to-best friend, which was a key fact because second was not the same as first. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“I know, right?” Todd knew his way around Brick’s embarrassingly small bathroom, opened up the hair wax, and fixed Brick’s styling job. “Dude always had a weak stomach, you remember. But you don’t fuck with bad prawns. I mean, obviously.”

Brick swatted Todd’s hands away and checked his reflection. It was definitely an improvement. “Not that; the Mall Santa thing, obviously!”

“Oh, yeah. So you’ll help me out?”

“Fuck no.”

“Aw, Briiiiiiick,” Todd whined.

Brick grabbed his dinner jacket from the closet barely big enough to fit a small, starving child. Todd, who had latched onto Brick in the seventh grade like a goddamned barnacle and never let go no matter how hard Brick tried to push him away, followed. “Not if you paid me.”

“You’ll get paid! It’s $20 an hour!”

Brick hesitated over the threshold. “That’s higher than minimum wage.” It was higher than his hourly rate at the garage too.

“Seasonal gigs, man. That’s how you win.”

“It’s seriously fucking not.”

Todd, one of three people in the universe who actually cared about Brick on a personal level even though he wasn’t obligated by blood, made his blue eyes big and wide in a way that reminded Brick of Puss-n-Boots from Shrek, Todd’s favorite movie. “C’mon, bruh. Do your bestie a solid? Just this once? I really need the money and they won’t let me keep the gig without two elves to fill in. So please? Pleeeeeeease?”

And Brick, former scourge of Townsville, a Super with the power to literally raze the planet if it so much as tickled his fancy, and the dictionary definition of the boy every father dreads his perfect, pretty little girl falling for against her better judgment, cracked like an egg.

“For fuck’s sake,” he groused. “Just text me the time and place and get out of my face already.”

Todd punched the air with both fists. “Yes!! Oh, hell yes! I love you so much, dude.”

“Blow me.” Brick checked his watch. Shit, now he was merely on time.

“I’d consider it an honor,” Todd said, probably literally serious.

xxx

Boomer rolled glitter on his cheeks and around the edges of his dark blue eyes with the help of a compact as he huddled behind the North Pole set on the first floor of the Townsville Mall. When he was satisfied that he sparkled like the tinsel-festooned Christmas trees in Santa’s twelve-by-fifteen-foot “forest” themselves, he discreetly re-emerged just as the latest child slid off Santa’s lap.

“Merry Christmas, Dan!” bellowed a red and white-clad Todd behind an enormous, curly beard. “Remember to brush your teeth!”

The little boy ran back to his parents, who were having a word with the photographer about purchasing a picture of their son on Santa’s lap. Before Boomer could follow them, Brick was quick to cut him off.

“Where the hell were you?” he demanded. Sour as an un-sugared plum in his festive, candy-striped elf costume, Brick may have absolutely intimidated the seven-year-olds waiting in line with their parents for a turn on Santa’s lap, but Boomer only allowed him a bemused smile.

“Why, I was making toys for the good little boys and girls who came to visit us here at the North Pole,” Boomer said in a raised voice. He looped his arm through his brother’s and let his power surge with enough force to turn Brick around and face the crowd that was definitely within hearing range. “Isn’t that right, Elf Mursten?”

Brick pushed back with inhuman force, but Boomer held his ground with a smile as bright as the glitter on his cheeks as a little girl in overalls trotted forward.

She giggled. “I like your hat.”

“Thank you!” Boomer gushed, and he tipped his pom-pom-topped cap. “And what’s your name?”

The little girl giggled again. “My name’s Alynn.”

“Well, Alynn, why don’t you step right up and take a seat on Santa’s lap? I’m sure he has a great present for a cool girl like you. Right, Elf Mursten?”

Brick glared medieval torture at him, and he managed a smile that showed too many teeth to be anything other than life-threatening. “Of course, Elf Buller.”

Boomer’s smile tightened.

“Ho ho ho! Come on over, Santa doesn’t bite,” Todd said.

“What a psychotic reassurance,” Brick said soft enough for only the Super brothers to hear.

“Hey, Brick?” Boomer said, just as softly. “Cheer the fuck up.” He gave his brother a bone-crushing squeeze around the arm and broke from him. Brick could be a sourpuss when he wanted to be (all the time), but he wouldn’t mess up Todd’s Mall Santa gig when he’d bothered to show up and actually put in the effort at all. Complain as he might about Todd’s exuberance, Brick had always come through for his best friend since the seventh grade.

Boomer, on the other hand, had been very happy to accept Todd’s offer to work the two weeks leading up to Christmas. The hours were reasonable, the pay was good, and Boomer loved children. It was easy money in between local shows he and his garage band had booked over the holidays.

Plus, the photographer had a nice rack.

“Okay, Santa, Alynn. Look over here and say ‘jingle bells’!” A flash went off, and Mike Believe stood to his full height behind the tripod he’d set up for the day’s pictures. Even in reindeer antlers and a bright, red-painted nose, Mike filled out every fold of his brown Rudolph outfit almost to the point of popping a button. His broad chest puffed out when he put his strong hands on his hips and grinned brightly like he wouldn’t pick anywhere else to be right now.

Their eyes met, and Boomer flushed and smiled like a fool.

When Mike winked back at him coyly, his heart leaped into his throat. Mike had gotten home from college just two days ago, but the three weeks he had off for Winter Break would surely fly by like they did every year, and Boomer was determined to spend every moment together.

A tug on Boomer’s green tunic drew his attention. “Can I take a picture with you? Please?” the little girl asked.

Boomer beamed and scooped her up onto his hip. “Of course you can. Hey, Mike? Can you take one of us, please?”

“You bet! Get in close, now.” Mike readied his camera.

“Oh, wait a sec. Why don’t you take this too?” Boomer removed his festive hat and put it on Alynn’s head. It was big on her, but she laughed happily.

They posed for the picture, and Boomer hugged her cheek to cheek.

“Thanks!” The little girl tried to give him his hat back, but he pressed it to her chest.

“You keep it. Merry Christmas. Remember to be good, okay?”

Alynn’s father was waiting with a hand for her to take when she ran back to him, yammering about how she’d met Santa and his super cool elf friend, and Boomer watched them go.

“You know you’ll have to pay for that hat,” Brick said.

Boomer sighed and ran a hand through his cornflower hair. “You know I look better without it.”

Brick frowned deeply. “Uh-huh.”

“If you keep frowning, your face will stick like that.”

“Moron.”

He always had to have the last word. Brick went to stack the empty boxes wrapped in bright, shiny paper, which was probably more productive than blowing up the entire display. Boomer left him to it. It was time for their mid-morning break, anyway.

Todd got up to stretch. “Man, who knew sitting could be so tiring, huh? Whack.” His phone buzzed, and he grinned when he saw the caller ID.

Boomer, however, had eyes only for Mike as the latter turned off his camera and put a sheet over the tripod to protect it. “Working hard, I see.”

When Mike smiled, his dark eyes crinkled in the corners. He had a face made for smiling. “Oh, you know. Just helping out some friends.”

Like Brick, Todd had asked Mike to help out behind the camera for this gig. Mike didn’t exactly need the extra cash given his lacrosse scholarship that covered his college expenses, but the three of them had been as thick as thieves all through high school no matter what Brick said when he was annoyed. No way was Mike going to bail on the chance to help out a bro.

“This is cute,” Mike said, running a thumb over Boomer’s sparkly cheek.

“If only I could convince Brick to wear some,” Boomer said, lacing his fingers in Mike’s as they shuffled to the side of the exhibit behind a blinking Christmas tree for a bit of privacy.

Mike chuckled. “That’ll take a Christmas miracle. But anyway, I don’t want to talk about Brick right now.”

Their kiss was soft and mostly chaste, considering the venue, but Boomer didn’t mind at all. He rose up on his toes to lean into his boyfriend’s superior height and smiled into their kiss. Even in the middle of the Townsville Mall with shoppers mere yards away, for a few seconds Boomer got lost in the fantasy of the forest and the snow drifts, bright lights and magic that came around only once a year and had always touched his heart in a way nothing else quite could.

“Babe! You got here quick!” Todd’s excitement and a small commotion around Santa’s throne drew the lovers’ attention, and Boomer reluctantly broke the kiss. His Super hearing quickly picked up on what was going on.

“What is it?” Mike asked.

Boomer smiled wryly. “That Christmas miracle you wished for. Come on.” He took Mike’s larger hand in his and pulled him back toward the front of the display, where Todd had scooped up a very small, very fashionable Asian woman in his arms.

“Oh my god, don’t do shits in front of the innocent children, Toddy.” Hana patted her high bun and smoothed out her oversized black jacket once Todd released her.

“Hey, I just missed you is all,” Todd said with a genuine smile like he had really, truly missed his girlfriend since this morning when they had last seen each other.

“You guys are too cute,” said Bubbles with a giggle. As usual, she was adorable in blonde twin tails and a holiday-appropriate sweater dress. Shopping bags hung from both her arms, also as usual.

“Right?” Hana said, her deadpan façade melting completely as she beamed at her closest friend.

“No contest.” Bubbles set down her small nation of shopping bags. “Oh! Hi, Boomer!” She dashed to hug him in a flash of blue, and he caught her easily. “Oh my gosh, I love your glitter. You look like a supermodel!”

Boomer laughed and hugged her back. “Thanks for letting me borrow it. I really owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it. Oh, but you definitely need some touching up. Here, let me just…”

Mike had wandered over to Todd and Hana. “Hey, Hana. Are you staying for the holiday?”

Hana shrugged. “Yeah, my art show isn’t until after New Year’s. You know, I’m always looking for more models.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Mike laughed. “I’m honored, but I’m really nothing special, honestly. You might try Butch.”

Todd guffawed. “Oh man, Butch is, like, one of her top models! She painted him for what, six weeks last summer, babe?”

“Seven,” Hana said, dead serious.

Mike smiled nervously. “That’s a lot of inspiration.”

“He is very inspiring,” Hana said, deader and more serious.

“That dude is goals,” Todd said, totally unironically.

“I guess I can’t argue with that,” Mike said.

“Aaaaand done.” Bubbles stepped back to admire her handiwork. “Honestly? You’re the most beautiful elf the North Pole ever employed.”

Boomer snickered. “Don’t tell Brick that.”

“Don’t tell me what, now?” Brick emerged from his useless empty box stacking task, glitter-less and severely lacking in Christmas cheer.

Bubbles gasped, right on cue. “Brick! Where is your glitter? Get over here.”

Brick made a weird face. “What are you talk—hey!”

Bubbles all but accosted him with the glitter pen. Hana cheered and applauded, and Todd joined in because he liked to cheer and applaud in general.

“What are you—get off!” Brick shoved Bubbles hard, but a flash of pink caught her before she could crash into anything.

Blossom peered around her totally unfazed sister, a tray of lattes in one hand and her perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised. “Brick,” she said.

Brick swallowed. “Blossom.”

She looked nice in leggings and a sweater dress that matched Bubbles’ style, except where Bubbles’ was white, Blossom’s was a scarlet that rivaled the shade of Brick’s eyes.

“I brought you guys coffee,” Blossom said, her eyes trained on Brick even as she held out the tray.

Mike took the tray before it could become collateral damage in whatever was going on between the two of them.

“Here you go.” Mike offered one to Boomer, who gratefully accepted it.

“Thanks!”

“I thought you weren’t getting home until tomorrow,” Brick said, as if he and Blossom were the only two people there.

“Change of plans,” Blossom said. “Problem?”

Brick seemed to remember what he was wearing and snatched his elf hat from his head. He bunched it up between his hands like that would hide his imagined shame. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine, clearly. But it wasn’t Boomer’s place to intrude. He would have been extremely happy for it to end there, but sadly Blossom, like his brother, had a flair for the dramatic and an affinity for the center of attention.

She sauntered up to him and smeared the bit of glitter Bubbles had managed to draw on his cheek before he’d shoved her off. “Good,” she said, half an invitation and half a challenge.

Brick didn’t bend easily. Boomer knew his brother as well as he knew himself, and he knew Brick didn’t relent, never gave in unless he was well and truly beaten, which was rare. But he slackened now, lips parting and eyes falling. Even though his arms stayed stubbornly at his sides and he didn’t do something as scandalous as hold his girlfriend’s hand in public, he melted under her touch and attention.

“All right! Bloss, you’re back early! This is massive, like, supernova massive,” Todd said. “Hey, I know! Let’s throw a party at mine tonight! Brick said you weren’t coming back for another couple of days, so this is like a cool early Christmas present to all of us.”

Bubbles gasped. “Oh my gosh, yes! Let’s all go to Todd’s tonight, just like we used to. I’m calling Robin right now.”

“We can make it a real Christmas party,” Blossom said. Somehow, she’d gotten ahold of Bubbles’ glitter pen and now smeared a generous amount on Brick’s cheeks until he gleamed without suffering a nuclear meltdown. A Christmas miracle, indeed.

“You’ll wear the Santa suit,” Hana said. Demanded.

“Ho ho ho! You got it, babe.”

“That thing’s a rental,” Brick said. “And it’s, like, 75 degrees outside.”

“If he gets too hot, I’ll hose him down,” Hana said.

Brick smartly decided not to press her on that one.

“I like your elf costume, Brick,” Blossom teased. Maybe.

“I’m burning it as soon as I get paid,” Brick said.

“I thought it was a rental like Todd’s?”

He hesitated, trapped by his own logic, and she laughed softly and kissed the side of his mouth. Brick froze and played it off like it didn’t affect him, but his eyes were drawn to Blossom’s lips for the next six whole minutes. Boomer really didn’t get why he had to make everything so damn complicated.

“Hey, hombres, our break is up and I see a super cute kid waiting to sit on the softest lap in Townsville,” Todd said, sinking back onto his candy cane throne and patting his lap.

Brick visibly cringed.

“It could be worse,” Mike whispered to Brick. “At least this time we get to keep our shirts on.”

Boomer smiled at the memory of Todd’s last seasonal gig he’d roped Brick and Mike into over the summer. The shirtless carwash had admittedly been one of his more rewarding part-time jobs, and Boomer had the photo evidence to cherish the memory extremely fondly.

Blossom and Hana retreated behind Mike while Bubbles finished up her phone call with Robin and Brick admitted the next child on set.

“Welcome to the North Pole,” he said with all the cheer of an old tire. Nonetheless, his cheeks dazzled. “What’s your name, kid?”

She looked up at him but didn’t say anything. Boomer noticed her shyness and decided he better intervene.

“Hey there,” he said, taking a knee so he could be on her eye-level. “Merry Christmas.”

That alarmed her even more, and she hugged Brick’s leg.

“What the—” Brick put his hands up like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Great.”

The girl’s parents were busy talking to Mike about the picture packages and didn’t seem to notice what was going on.

“Uh,” Boomer said, ready to flag them down before the little girl got scared or started to cry. They’d been lucky this morning with only one child throwing a temper tantrum out of the tens they’d seen.

“All right, kid. I hope you have a good grip.” Brick floated off the ground with the little girl clinging to his leg and flew over to Todd’s throne.

Boomer was so flabbergasted by his brother’s gross disregard for this child’s safety in front of her parents that he was momentarily stunned where he kneeled. It was over in about two and a half seconds, with her parents none the wiser and the little girl still in one piece, miraculously. Brick peeled her off him and dropped her on Todd’s lap.

“Name,” Brick demanded. And then, reluctantly: “…To check you off the Nice List.”

The little girl looked up at him with wide-eyed wonderment, or maybe fear. “Morana.”

“Morana. Super. Tell Todd—I mean, Santa—what you want. And smile for the camera.”

Todd didn’t miss a beat and wrapped his arms loosely around her to hold her safely in place. “Morana, that’s a pretty name. Wanna tell me what you want for Christmas?”

Morana pointed at Brick. “That one.”

Brick turned as red as his messy man bun. Todd wheezed.

“Oh, yeah? Well, that one’s taken, but I bet I can get you a picture together. How ‘bout it?” Todd asked.

Boomer was up and moving in a blue flash. “That can be arranged.” He shoved his brother with a healthy burst of Super strength, and Brick all but fell on his knee next to Todd’s throne. Boomer waved back at Mike for the picture.

“Big smile now!” Mike said cheerfully, and snapped the picture.

“What the hell is up with these kids?” Brick asked when Morana skipped back to her parents and started chattering at them in a language Boomer didn’t recognize but assumed must be all good things from the way she grinned from ear to ear. “They get bolder every year.”

“Or you’re just getting softer,” Boomer teased.

“Yeah, right.”

Blossom laughed at something Hana said on a nearby bench, drawing both their eyes.

“Whatever you say, man,” Boomer said.

xxx

Todd’s party was a nostalgic and long-overdue affair later that evening. Unlike Boomer, who had to make do in a small studio apartment on the outskirts of Citiesville where the rent was more manageable and his commute didn’t matter when flying anywhere took only minutes, Todd lived in a big house he took care of for his often absent, globe-trotting parents. Blossom, Bubbles, and Robin had taken the initiative and strung up Christmas lights, while Boomer created and managed the playlist for the night. They had a good crowd with old friends from high school and new ones from work and college gathered for no excuse other than to have a good time.

Butch, Buttercup, Mike, and Todd had set up beer pong in the basement, where most of the festivities were taking place. As usual, the shit talking and macho bravado had soared to ludicrous heights.

“Come on, BC,” Todd goaded. “Money shot, right here.” He fluffed his Santa beard, the ends of which were damp with beer. Buttercup had one cup left to hit.

“I’m about to straight-up tea bag you with this ping pong ball, Todd, I swear to god.” Buttercup tried to focus on her aim after too many beers and the distraction of Todd’s stupid Santa beard.

“Do it, fucking do it,” Butch said, bobbing on the balls of his feet and slightly manic with the competition and holiday cheer, probably.

“I’m gonna fucking do it!”

“I don’t think you can fucking do it,” Mike said.

“Ohhhhh!” Butch hollered when Buttercup lost her temper and threw the ball too hard. It bounced off Todd’s beard and fell on the floor, leaving the last cup untouched.

“Mike, you cheater!” Buttercup shouted.

Mike burst out laughing.

“All riiiiight, the Toddster’s final shot. You filming, babe?” Todd asked.

Hana, across the table from Boomer, had her phone out and poised. “Kick their asses, Toddy.”

“Yeah, bring it on, Toddy,” Butch jeered.

“Oh, it’s about to be brought.”

“Oh god, please, you peaked in high school,” Buttercup said.

“Hey, he plateaued,” Mike said. “There’s a difference.”

“Just take the damn shot!”

Todd shot, hit the rim of the solo cup, and missed. Buttercup and Butch threw up their hands and whooped. They were still in the game, and the stakes were even higher now.

Boomer squeezed Mike’s arm in a silent excuse and went to change the music…only to find Brick and Blossom making out in the hallway like it was their last night on Earth.

The music was fine, he decided. No need to interrupt Brick and Blossom trying to fuse with the wall and face his brother’s cock blocked wrath. Discreetly, Boomer snapped a picture on his phone and texted it to Bubbles.

[Boomer: Shooketh]

Bubbles’ reply was lightning fast.

[Bubbles: More like shattered!!]

[Bubbles: Better get out of there before they catch you lol 💀]

After another hour (and Brick and Blossom’s reemergence from the wall in one piece with not a hair out of place because god forbid), Boomer and Mike decided to head out early. They went back to Boomer’s apartment, where a very excited Pomeranian welcomed them home.

“Hi, Pumpkin!” Mike brightened like the sun and scooped up his favorite girl, left in Boomer’s care while he was away at college. “Who’s ready for a walk?”

They walked Pumpkin and let her tire herself out running around the suburban neighborhood where it was too late at night for any cars to be out. A half hour later, they were curled up on the loveseat with Pumpkin snoozing in her fuzzy bed at their feet and an old black-and-white Christmas movie playing on low volume on the television.

“Hey,” Boomer said, lifting his head from Mike’s chest to look at him properly.

Mike set aside the hot chocolate he’d been drinking and pulled Boomer up by his waist. “Hey, you. What is it?”

Boomer smiled. It was silly, really. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh?” Mike returned his smile and leaned closer. He smelled like soap, a hint of chocolate, and something else that made Boomer want to bury his face in his neck.

“Just happy,” Boomer said.

“Really? I can’t tell.”

Boomer sat up a little higher. The neck of Mike’s old lacrosse jersey he wore dipped down his shoulder, too big on him and softer than a cloud. He pressed a chaste kiss to the underside of Mike’s jaw. “How about now?”

“Hm, nope, I don’t think I quite got that.”

Boomer threaded his fingers though Mike’s short, dark hair at the nape of his neck. Feeling coquettish, he gave his ear a nip. “How about now?”

Mike shifted on the couch and pulled Boomer’s bent legs onto his lap. His voice was as warm as the hot chocolate he’d been drinking. “I think I’m starting to get a vague understanding.”

Boomer laughed and painted a trail of kisses along Mike’s jaw, up his chin. He pressed a strong hand to his chest and put a little power behind it. Centimeters apart, he could taste the lingering heat of the hot chocolate on Mike’s breath. “And now?”

Mike’s eyes drooped and darkened. His hands slipped around Boomer’s waist, under the jersey, a silent entreaty. “I think you can do a little better than that, Angel.”

The secret nickname broke Boomer’s resolve, and he kissed his boyfriend full on the mouth with all the confidence and shamelessness he couldn’t give him that morning at the mall surrounded by children and their parents. Mike’s shirt soon found its way to the floor along with Boomer’s borrowed jersey. The loveseat was too short to accommodate Mike’s height comfortably, and after a few moments Boomer held him close and flew them to the bed in a flash.

“I’ll never get over how hot that is,” Mike said, breathless.

Boomer blushed, unable to help it. He was careful with his strength around Mike, but sometimes the X bonded to his bones pushed him to the raw, carnal boundaries of humanity. Mike’s hand on his cheek drew him out of those spiraling thoughts.

“I mean it,” Mike said. “I love that part of you. And I trust you completely.”

Words did not come easily, nor did they seem appropriate in that moment. Boomer bent to kiss Mike again and pull him as close as he could get. Wrapped up in the warm sheets and each other, Boomer’s silly little thought that he had never been happier grew and swelled to heights he never could have imagined before Mike. They lay there together, lazy and sleepy, as the credits of their forgotten holiday movie played on the television.

“One more semester,” Mike said, “and then I graduate.”

“I can’t believe you’re almost a college graduate,” Boomer said. “It feels like you left ages ago.”

“Four years is a long time, but it’s not forever. And you should get ready.”

Boomer looked up at him. “Ready for what?”

“To move, of course.”

“Move?”

“Hey, I love how cozy your apartment is, but I’m pretty sure Pumpkin would appreciate her own room once we’re living together full time.”

Boomer sat up properly. “You… You want to move in together? With me?”

“Of course! The only question is, where do you want to go?”

Boomer covered his mouth. Of course he had thought about getting a place with Mike, but that always seemed like the distant future. What if they didn’t stay together? What if the long distance was too hard? What if Mike met someone else at college? Brick didn’t talk about it much, but after a few too many drinks one night the year Blossom and Mike both left for college, he’d confessed how afraid he was that he would lose her forever. How can the old be exciting and fun compared to the amazing, new adventures she would be having?

But from the way Boomer had caught them all but absorbing each other at Todd’s tonight, Blossom seemed perfectly happy to keep him. And Mike…

“You’re serious,” Boomer said.

“I’ve never been more serious.” Mike took his hand and kissed his knuckles carefully. “I can’t wait to start our lives together.”

Boomer could have cried. He almost did. Life was hard, even for a Super like him. With endless bills to pay and the occasional monster to dispose of, sometimes he felt like he was being pulled in too many directions without anyone there to help pick up the slack. But this… This was his.

“Me too,” Boomer said. “And I don’t care where we go, as long as it’s together.”

“Well, cool. In that case, if you’re not opposed to it, was thinking farther north, like Metroville. There are some great photography jobs there that I want to apply for, and the music scene is bigger than it is here—”

“Yes! A hundred percent yes, let’s do it. When do we leave?”

Mike laughed. “June 1st, as soon as they hand me my diploma.”

Six months. It had a date now. Unthinking, Boomer threw his arms around Mike’s broad shoulders and hugged him tight. “I’ll mark my calendar.”

“It’s a date.”

Incidentally, they did not get much sleep the rest of that night.

xxx

I told myself I wasn’t going to do a ton of fluff, but damnit all, Boomike is SUPER CUTE and I couldn’t help myself. Let them have the happy ending they deserve. Thanks for reading!

[inspiringmelodrama]

Yo no creo en brujas, pero que las hay, las hay

Part 3

Warnings: death of animals, spiders, curses, injuries, blood.

Beta read by the amazing @hnt-escape

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*

The beast laid still in the middle of the clearing, its elegant body sprawled in a way that hid the harm done by Tovar’s blades. Vines curled around the big head, almost caressing it. The place looked sacred, holy.

No church had ever made him feel small or impure, but that clearing somewhere in the middle of nowhere did. The trees seemed to sway and a gust of wind swept through the space, causing leaves to spin.A distant howling sound sent a clear message for him: something treasured had been destroyed.

The idea of carrying some type of proof of the beast’s death had gone through his mind, only to be dismissed immediately.

He would end up dead on the forest floor if he tried to drag the heavy body with him.

The antlers or the fur could be removed with relative ease, but the thought made his guts wrench.

He had done enough to the being.

If the villagers didn’t believe his word, or his injuries, they could enter that wretched forest and see it for themselves.

With a last glance, Pero turned around towards where he thought he’d come from. Death heavy on his shoulders.

**

The trek back to the village seemed endless.

Tovar dragged himself, leaving a trail of blood from his various wounds. The creature’s antlers had speared clear through his right arm and he wheezed with every step feeling his ribs shift, courtesy of when the beast knocked him down.

The sun had passed the center of the sky when the foliage started to thin and Tovar found himself in one of the pathways leading to the edge of the village.

With a huff he climbed over a tree root that most definitely wasn’t there this morning and came face to face with the old woman from before.

She stood hunched over her cane, a beautiful piece of carved wood resembling entwined vines, her eyes crinkled when she looked up at him and that hissing cat voice was back when she proclaimed “The beast was slayed then.

Tovar assented, expecting she would say something else on the matter.

But the old woman kept looking at him, a flash of sadness on her wrinkled face.

When it became clear neither of them had anything to add, Tovar grunted and made to walk past her, only to be stopped by said cane planted firmly against his front.

“You’re hurt, Tovar. Come to my cottage and I’ll bandage that arm of yours.”

There was no question in her tone, but no order either. It was simply an invitation, a kindness offered to someone who had risked his life for her people. Accepting or not was entirely on him.

A friendly grunt and a nod was all they exchanged before she turned and went her way, Pero on her heels, hoping it wasn’t far.

**

Turns out nothing was far in that village and after a couple of minutes they stood in front of a small but well tended garden leading to an equally small and well tended cottage.

The door was low and Tovar had to bend down so he wouldn’t hit his head. Inside the ceiling was higher and bunches of drying plants hung from the wood beams.

The place was cozy, with embers heating a pot over on the hearth. It was one room with a big, sturdy table in the center filled with glass jars, a pestle and mortar and other strange items.

Fur pelts and candles, jars and what Pero presumed were cooking utensils finished the decorations.

And there were plants.

Everywhere.

Coming in through the sole window, hanging upside down from the ceiling, strewn around the table. Giving the room a heady smell of damp soil and green things he didn’t know the name of.

It’s all very witch-like, Tovar thought, or perhaps she is a healer.

Both healing and witchcraft were strangely similar. How did one know what was wrong in a place they could not see if not by some touch of magic?

One gnarled finger pointed to a chair by the table and Tovar followed with his eyes, still by the door. It was only when he saw the woman turn with her arms full of odds and ends that he moved his body and settled down on the chair.

She approached and started organizing the items she carried on the table top, murmuring for him to take the clothes off his torso.

“Let me see the injuries, Spaniard.” This time her tone was commanding and without thinking he started to undo the armour, disposing of the chainmail and other layers until he was left in his tattered and bloodied undershirt.

Her knowing gaze assessed the ragged edges, the trickle of blood running down from where the beast had stabbed him with its antlers. With quick movements the woman took hold of a soft looking cloth and dabbed it in a bottle with clear liquid, Tovar learned what was the purpose of it approximately 5 seconds later.

At once she pressed it against the wound, holding firm when Tovar thrashed against the intense burn and let out a yelp, sounding like a wounded animal.

Tovar let out a string of curses behind clenched teeth and braced himself for whatever else the old crone had in store for him.

The healer paid him no mind and after what seemed an eternity, but in reality was no more than a minute or two, she removed the cloth and he watched, astonished, as the wound started to foam and dirt bubble out.

Tovar realized 3 things at the exact same time:

1.She was definitely a witch.

2. She meant no harm, for now.

3. He was too tired to care either way.

**

It was time for the last part of his hurried treatment. The woman had cleaned other scratches, tied his ribs and applied a poultice to the many bruises he sported; the only thing left now, according to her, was sewing the skin together.

Pero would have no problem with it if she wanted to use normal thread, but no, the old crone wanted to irk him.

The old witch had to know, because she turned around with yet another jar. What this one contained though...

Few things in this life scared Tovar, and 8 legged creatures were one of them.

Inside the glass jar in the woman’s hand there was a stick filled with a white gray thin substance resembling thousands of fine threads tied together. In the bottom, a brown spider worked on even more of the weird thing.

A shiver ran up his spine, Pero could swear he felt eight legs and a fuzzy body making its way up his bare back.

The old witch, for in his mind he was certain now of what she was, could do anything she wished to his wounds. Anything except that.

“Absolutely not, witch!” He growled, one arm shooting up to hold her needle and thread away from him, the other took hold of his dagger that rested on his belt.

The woman’s nose wrinkled at the sight of the blade, “That,” she said pointing, “smells of death.”

“You figured me out then” the woman let out a sigh, and dropped the needle.

“You didn’t make it hard; with your weird jars and cobwebs you want to use on guests.”

“You are a very rude guest, Tovar.”

“Not letting you sew me with cobwebs doesn’t make me rude. I want answers.Now.”

They faced each other in a battle of wills; Tovar ended up winning.

She harrumphed and let go of the spidery thread, only to pick another spool, green thread this time. Raising it to his face, she only started stitching when he nodded and then they talked.

**

“Why get me to kill your own beast?”

It was the only thing he still didn’t understand.

“Do you think me the mother of that monster? Is there only one Spaniard on this earth?”

Foolish of him to think he wouldn’t end up in a village with not only one, but two witches.

The woman let out a breath and her body seemed to sag with it; that was the moment Pero truly saw the age in her bones, the tiredness in her eyes.

“I’ve been on this earth far longer than you could even imagine and there’s nothing in this world that I haven’t known, Tovar. I’ve seen it all, including what power can do,” she continued. “I chose this place as my home centuries ago and I come and go, watching children be born and grow and I cannot let them suffer any longer.”

“If you have seen so much, why not kill the beast yourself then? Why get me to do your bidding?”

“Because, Pero Tovar,” she said, taking hold of his hand and tracing with the point of her fingers the lines and scars intertwining in his palm, “you needed to come here, you’re meant to a place I haven’t seen yet. And sometimes one needs steel, not herbs and spells.”

“Dine with me, Pero Tovar and I’ll mend your clothes, as a favor. It won’t be long now.”

She sounded ominous. His mind paused at it but his stomach growled and between the two, his stomach usually won.

So he stayed.

**

He should leave. Grab his armour, go to the tavern, demand his payment and leave this place, let the only reminder be the dust on his soles and the scars he bears.

But he couldn’t.

The witch’s home was warm and inviting; the food was delicious and most important of all, she seemed happy to talk to him. To listen to his stories and animatedly tell her own.

He was in the middle of a tale about William and some ducks in Wales when a rush of cold air came and a strange woman entered the cottage.

**

Pero shot to his feet, his left hand wielding the same dagger he used to end the creature in the woods, the strange woman stood before him with fire in her eyes.

“I suppose no one would invite a mother to feast with her child’s murderer,” was said to him in a voice reminiscent of a hissing cat.

Fuck

Fuck

Fuck

“It was no child, Ethânis. It was a monster and had to be stopped.” The older witch sounded calm, too calm.

The witch’s forehead, Ethânis, blazed with a series of marks; the same ones he saw on the beast’s head, her eyes focused on the dagger on Tovar’s hand and he felt the steel grow hot in his grip.

“I haven’t finished with you, old hag,” Ethânis’ voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

“And you, you heartless bastard, with your precious blade; I know just what to do. A soul for the spilled blood.”

The dagger shone the same marks, the heat on the hilt became too much even for Pero’s calloused skin; he realized with horror that he could not let go of it.

The dagger and his skin were as one.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” was the only thing he could mutter.

The witch raged on, a storm let loose in an enclosed space; the old witch, Tovar realized in that moment he didn’t know what else to call her, laid frozen on the floor.

Everything stopped and the hissing voice came again, in whispers against his ears,

Place of the first strike cursed blade shall find; Wielded by friend or foe you shall never know; For millennia the will wander, only to alone fall in a strange land.

Her eyes kept blazing and winds erupted from the doors, sweeping around and raising leaves and fur pelts.When it was over Ethânis had disappeared.

**

Pero Tovar believed in witches. A lot.

He was stunned. What does one do when cursed?

Tovar refused to cry. He was a man of actions, and crying wouldn’t help.

What would help was getting rid of the curse. And that’s exactly what he set out to do.

The old witch was still on the floor and Tovar shook her none too gently until the old witch came back to her senses.

“Wielded by friend or foe”

“Wander for millennia”

The words kept twirling in his mind, spreading and infecting every thought.

God, he’d spent a life fighting; was it all he would ever know?

Would he truly spend a thousand years drifting only to end up forgotten and alone?

He didn’t want that.

He didn’t want any of that.

**

The old witch was up and running around the cottage and at this moment Pero didn’t care about names anymore.

He cared about being cursed.

About being alone.

About being owed a debt; he said so to the witch.

“I know, Spaniard. The debt the villagers owed is now mine.” She kept rummaging in her things, looking for something in various pouches.

The witch finally produced a single coin out of one of those pouches; it was beautiful,capturing the firelight and gleaming like pure, polished silver.

She offered it to him and Pero snapped.

“I don’t care about money,” he roared, “I want the curse gone.”

She shoved the coin in his hands and “There’s no way of undoing a curse after its cast, Pero Tovar,” she continued, a look of sympathy on her face, “the only thing I can do is lessen it someway.”

Shit

“Then do it! I don’t care how. Lessen the curse and I will consider your debt paid.”

“Then a debt shall it be.”

The old witch grabbed her cane, and started hitting it against the floor. A steady thump, thump, thump creating a thrum in Tovar’s ears.

The hissing voice was gone and now she sounded like water. The noise of gurgling springs and waterfalls, the eternal rivers running towards the sea. Powerful and mysterious, not to be played with.

You shall sleep, not wander.

When there’s fire in the sky and ice on the ground, a tender heart shall come and with frigid fingers touch you. She’ll guide you, where you have never been before, through earth, sky and sea.

With the last word the thumping also stopped and her voice returned to what Pero believed to be normal.

“It’s done,” was all she said.

This one wasn’t much better than the last.

“Yours didn’t rhyme.”

The look of sympathy was substituted by one of annoyance. “It doesn’t have to rhyme. Not all of us have the penchant for dramatics that Ethânis

possesses.”

Pero grunted in concordance.

He still held the gleaming coin tightly on a fist and when he let go there was a perfect imprint of it on his palm.

“And this? Shall I acquire another debt with you?”

“That is a favor, mercenary. You may need me once more.”

“What of Ethânis’ curse then? I just wait to be stabbed?”

“You can always take your destiny in your hands, Tovar. You can live in fear of it, or you can end it now.”

“What do you mean?” he was suspicious now.

“Easy. Let me stab you.”

**

Let me stab you.

She just said it. As if being stabbed was something he wanted for himself.

The worst of it was that he was actually considering.

“Strike me then, witch.” the words coming out of his mouth surprised even him.

Pero got to his feet unsheathing the cursed dagger from his belt.

His skin felt clammy as he extended his arm.

He felt shivers as he left his side unprotected and pointed to where the blade had first drawn blood from the creature.

He didn’t need to bother though, the moment the woman took hold of the hilt it felt like there was a string tying the tip of the blade and the place on his ribs together.

Guiding one towards the other.

Before she could strike, Tovar held her other hand, small and feeble under his strong ones, her skin thin and dry.

“Are you…” Pero cleared his throat before continuing, “are you friend or foe?”

Her old eyes held such sympathy for him that he knew the answer before she even opened her mouth.

“I would like to think ‘friend,’ Pero.”

He nodded, he would like to think that too.

She swung her arm in a wide arch, the dagger coming straight to the place it was supposed to hit, no changes in its trajectory.

He felt the blade pierce his skin, felt the tip scrape at bone. It burned more than anything he had ever felt. A fire within he thought never would seize.

He heard the words of the second curse again, then everything went to black.

[freefallingup13]

Kicked (Jaren’s Puppy)

This one has some more descriptions of where Toni and Jaren live, and the coven they live with. There’s some pretty vulgar stuff going on, you’ve been warned. Jaren is not a nice man.

Taglist: @emreads

Summary: Jaren, the leader of a wild, warmongering vampire coven, likes to keep a few werewolves as attack dogs. Some of the  werewolves the coven keeps - like his favorite “Puppy” Toni - are his personal pets.

CW: This is a pet whump/slavery fic, if I continue to post more of this story there will be dubcon. This piece in particular has non-con touching (non-sexual), implied non-con, implied murder, blood mention, alcohol mention, fire mention, human trafficking (as livestock) mention, dehumanization, head injury, Whumpee is a girl, and the Whumper is called “Master”. (Also for anybody squicked by this specific trope, a second lady whumpee is held in a man’s lap as he taunts her and eventually injures her as he throws her away.)

The party was loud, as they always were. Toni focused on trying to keep her eyes closed, trying to ignore the whooping and hollering. The smell of alcohol was overwhelming.

On the bright side, she could focus on the smells more than the screams.

Beyond the stairs she laid herself on was a large dirt clearing in the middle of camp. All around were tents, ramshackle huts of leather and stone, cages made from tied-together dungeon doors. The other wolves were restless, pacing back and forth. Some of them were half-shifted, stuck in between human and wolf form; most of them preferred to be in their wolf form. It was easier to take the abuse that way. 

The huts belonged to the troops. Most of them were empty, thanks to the celebration. The half-open huts near the clearing seemed to be the only ones that were occupied. (She tried to forget that the outer huts would have people within.) The vampires screamed into the night like wild animals as blood and alcohol dribbled down from their chins. Well - “dribbled” was a polite way of saying how messy they were.

In the clearing was a large bonfire, towering to the sky. The ground below it was always charred to black, even on a normal day. Some of the younger vampires were being dared to jump over it, to run through the flames. Some of them took up the dare, coming out with sooty marks and charred clothes. They would throw their fists in the air with a cry of victory before being swept away in the cheering crowd.

They were all so immature. They were out of control.

But that was the way Master liked it.

Morale was high, there was a feast to be had. The coven whose territory they had taken over this week had hidden a town, hidden a quiet trade of prey. Of course Master had opened it up to his troops once the health of the humans had been verified.

She scrunched her eyes tightly. That was as far as she would think about it. Humans were only livestock here. Nothing else. There was no need to think any further - there was no need to listen.

A frustrated shout to her side made her whimper, cowering onto the stone steps. At the end of the clearing, on top of a hill covered with stolen stone steps, was her Master’s throne. A mishmash of leather, stone, antler and bone, it was an intimidating, chaotic sight. He sat on it now, on layers of animal hides, with another girl in his lap.

“Come on,” Jaren cooed as he wrenched her hands away from him. “Don’t you think it’s nice? Everyone’s happy.”

“No!” the girl shrieked, struggling to get away from him. He only had one arm around her waist, but as a human against a vampire, she had no chance of getting away. “You’re killing them, you’re killing us-!”

“Oh, I’m not doing a thing,” Jaren laughed, grabbing her face roughly. He turned her gaze to the crowd by the fire, the writhing and screams that were a mix of torture and excitement. “You think they didn’t do that to you? You think that family didn’t have their fun, with every single one of you that disappeared?”

The girl hissed, shutting her eyes to avoid the sight, squirming to cover her ears. Jaren wouldn’t let her - he knew her wrists were starting to bruise in his hand, the way she yanked at them so hard. “The Calates protected us!” she yelled. “They kept us safe! The sacrifices were for all our good!”

Jaren couldn’t help but throw his head back and laugh, crossing one ankle to his knee and pulling the girl closer. “That’s so fucking cute,” he chuckled as he grabbed her hair, pulling her face close to his. “You meant nothing to them. You were just food. Compliant food, at that. Your village made it so easy for them…”

The girl tried to hide it, but it was overwhelming. The frustrated shriek that broke through her clenched teeth as she tried to hit him only made him grin.

Toni winced, curling up to the side of her Master’s throne. She tried to keep her eye on the fire, fire was nice. Fire flickered, always changed. It would eat everything weak that it was given, then sputter out when there was nothing left to consume. She watched now as pieces of the Calate estate were thrown in. They’d looted paintings, furniture, architecture. The sight of wardrobes full of clothes being emptied onto the fire made her look away.

She didn’t want any reminders that people had been living. They were gone now. They were all dead. They didn’t matter.

A sigh escaped her as she tried to rub at her eyes. It was too much. She’d been good, staying chained up next to Master the entire night so far. This, though, she couldn’t take any more of it. The screaming, the burning, the blood. Worst of all was knowing what people were doing to their prey in the huts on the outside of camp, trying to get their privacy as they-

She shook her head roughly. Don’t think of the dead. They would all be dead, they didn’t matter.

Toni just wanted to go to bed.

Suppressing a whine, she got to her knees, peeking over the armrest of his throne. “M… Master?”

“Huh?” He’d been in the middle of taunting, his hands steadfast on the girl’s hands. Those hands were surely broken by now, with how purpled they were from bruising. “What is it, Pup?”

“Can- Can I-”

She didn’t get to finish.

In one, desperate lash, the girl kicked out while Jaren was distracted, trying to twist away. She was on his lap, it wasn’t her fault that she was lined up so perfectly. Her slippered foot hit Toni in the head with all the girl’s strength in her fight for freedom, all her fear.

The explosion of pain made Toni cry out, though she wasn’t sure if she could hear it or not. All she knew was there was some thud, her head shook, everything was falling. She was falling, rolling down the steps until the chain around her neck tugged taut. Her yelping was cut off with a choke as she was forced to a stop, and she gasped for air. 

Somewhere she heard shouting as she tried to claw at the chain around her neck. A distant scream, closer than the others. She saw a blurry shape through her tears, vaguely human, blood and deep wounds covering the front as it was thrown down the steps to the fire.

Cold hands cupped her face, made her look up. There was something warm and sticky on one of them. It felt comforting to feel something warm. She tried to open her eyes, but she shut them again with a long whine. Everything was too bright, too much.

“Fucking christ, get the vet!” Master. That was Master. He sounded like he was shouting, but everything sounded so quiet and foggy. 

The chain was unwrapped from her neck, and she took as many deep breaths as she could. Somebody was holding her close, keeping her head still with one hand - she could tell the familiar smell of her Master anywhere. She tried to bury her face into his shirt, tried to beg for comfort. Speaking was impossible, with the thud echoing in her head.

There was a commotion of voices around her, though it was only her and her Master there. No- a third hand, turning her face away from her Master. This hand was gentle, opened her eyes with their fingers, patted her cheek when she whined. She was the one who was in Master’s lap now, getting checked by a doctor-

No, no. A veterinarian. Vampires didn’t need doctors. Pets and humans did. 

“She’s a little out of it, it’s possible she’s gotten a concussion,” the voice was saying, much clearer to her Master than to her. “She’s going to need rest, plenty of water. Give her more meat and fish with her meals, it’ll take a little over a week for her to get better - she’ll be pretty confused for a while.”

“That dumb human bitch,” Jaren seethed under his breath, holding Toni tighter to him. “Not a single mark on my Puppy, and one fucking human comes around trying to kill her like an animal.”

“Well, she’ll get bruises from the chain, too, from the looks of it,” the “vet” said, pointing at her neck. Pale blond hair fell over carefully cleaned clothes as she leaned closer to the pair. “I can already see the marks. She fell pretty hard?”

“The little bitch kicked her as hard as she could,” Jaren snarled, starting to stand up. “Rest and more food, you said?”

“Yes. She might have trouble with lights and sounds, as well. And like I said, she’ll be rather-”

“She’ll be confused for days, I know,” Jaren groaned, propping Toni up so her head rested against his chest. “I’ll be taking extra good care of my Puppy, then.”

“Nothing too rough. Preferably, nothing at all.”

“Are you joking?” Jaren scoffed, turning to look at the girl in front of him. “She’s perfect as she is, you think I want her to go mad and ruin it all? I don’t want her head hurt. Of course I won’t do anything.”

Bored red eyes stared back at him as the girl brushed her hair behind her ears, then crossed her arms. “Agreed, Sire,” she said simply. “Go on, I’ll make sure the party doesn’t wear anyone out too much.”

“You play second-in-command too often, Cora,” Jaren growled as he turned to his home, an abandoned castle, repurposed for the wild coven he ran. “Let them have their fun. Why don’t you do the same?”

“Because your drunk troops get my doctors drunk, too. And they attack the dogs,” Cora said, her chin tilting up. “If I didn’t stay sober, there’d be no one to treat them.”

Rolling his eyes, Jaren began walking to the castle doors. “Whatever you say, you boring girl,” he called over his shoulder. “Lighten up a little.”

“You brought me to the darkness yourself, Sire,” Cora called back as she headed back down to the steps. “So you’re stuck with me there as it is.”

[intricate-oeuvre]

On how to be deadly || Geralt of Rivia || part I

A/N: Hey! I finally, kind of, did it! xD Based on lot of things, the Netflix series, the books and the games. Just so I can do background check. Let me know if you wanna be tagged in the future chapters. P.S. the tittle might change, not sure about this one atm.

Word count: 1k+

Summary: Axelia is Witcher experiment herself and has gone through same harsh Trials as Geralt, but she wasn’t so lucky with the outcome. Her vision didn’t become better. Therefore, she was rendered blind in the end. And because of that, she solely uses her Witcher senses to make her ways. Only potions can give her false sense of sight for limited time.Somewhere along the way she meets the Rivian. Who’s interested to know how she’s been killing monsters and hasn’t been killed herself yet.

Warnings: Nothing. Not for the first chapter.

part I || part II || part III || part IV || part V || part VI || part VII || part VIII || part IX || part X || part XI || part XII || part XIII | Epilogue

Everyone had heard about Geralt of Rivia. About Witchers and their wickedly good senses. The ways they fought monsters. About the ruins of Kaer Morhen huddled against the stone precipices- the partially demolished trapezium of the defensive wall, the remains of the barbican and gate, the thick, blunt column of the donjon.

The ruins that once stood tall and intimidating. Where in older times, witchers trained and underwent mutations. And to become one, you had to go through several gruelling stages or the witcher trials. First there is The Choice, which involves dietary changes and immense physical training.

Then there is the Trial of the Grasses, in which the young soon to be witchers, if lucky, consumed various alchemical ingredients which affected the nervous system. The Trial of the Dreams involves mutation of the eyes, bone marrow and hormones. And the Trial of the Mountains. Sometimes these processes where were enchanted from time to time, as a test of new elixirs and mutagens. Typically, this meant even more pain, vomit, or worse. Geralt emerged from these experiments with a lifetime of foul memories and the loss of pigment in his hair.

The Trial of Grasses was designed to work on boys and men, because women have different hormonal composition than men. Therefore, they were required to do new research. That’s why a girl from the same kingdom where the school was located, had been delivered on the doorstep of Kaer Morhen. As a test subject. It is known pretty well that females how lower survival chances when it comes to the Trials of Grasses.

Through screams, pain, vomit and shit, Axelia of Kaedwen managed to survive the Trials. But unlike any other witcher before her, she wasn’t so lucky when it came to obtaining cat like vision. In the end all that it led to was a blind witcheress.

Most of her life she lived in the witcher school. Unsure where such hexer could be of use.

It had turned into a gloomy day. The sun couldn’t be seen no where near the sky. It was the most ashen weather. But at the same time, it was dry, didn’t feel humid. Her head was bent down, as if she was carefully looking down where she was placing her feet. One in front of the other. But the black till like material type of blindfold was across her eyes. What point of the eyes if you don’t see? She was walking through a field filled with dry, white-ish grass, that somehow resembled her white hair. Her right palm was constantly dragging atop of the tall grass, as if she was feeling her surroundings. At the edge of the field stood pine trees. At start they seemed placed randomly, far from each other, but the more one stared, the thicker and deeper they went, turning into black endless mush. Wind blew peacefully, gently moving the ends of her hair and moving grass all around. As if someone had told her to stand still, girl abruptly stopped at the edge of the woods. With exhale she lifted her hands and untied the transparent blindfold and secured it at her hip. Looking in to the deepness of the trees, a gust of wind blew her hair behind her, deep growling sound coming from somewhere deep with-in. Reaching for a Cat potion at her belt, she took a swing and shivered. Her milky eyes gaining only cat-like black slits. She looked behind herself, where she had come from. Nothing but fields of grass and hills and mountains in the distance. Little to the left was small grove and behind that was hidden small village, only smoke from the chimneys could be seen above the trees. Turning back to the dark forest in front of her Axelia stretched her left hand to the closest tree. Her fingertips expertly scanning over the bark and caught on the ridges that were left there.

“Bear. Or wildcat. Wouldn’t leave marks like theses with-out a reason. Nor as deep.”  She whispered to herself. Remembering what villagers had said to her: that lone wanderers had been lost, never coming back and a lot of dead dears around. Rolling her neck, she reached for the silver blade on her back and with wicked smirk on her lips she walked into the dark forest.

What she didn’t know that while standing at that field, was the fact that she wasn’t the only witcher in the village.

One problem with the same monster, two people willing to pay to get rid of it.

As Geralt was about to step inside of the forest, leaving Roach in the field where she with-out worry fed on the grass, he was hit with a familiar smell, that he couldn’t pin point at the moment. Velvet rose and sandalwood. And the deeper he went into the woods, the strong the smell got. And it was accompanied with sound sword cutting through flesh, screams and groans and yells and hisses. With his silver sword in his hands he slowly made his way towards the source of the sound.

With an agonizing scream which didn’t sound human like, silence took over the dark forest. Now only using smell as his guide, Geralt made his way towards the war zone.

Finding now dead leshen. A woodland spirit that only lives to kill. The one that was responsible for the dead wanderers in the woods. Some fire was still flaming in the patches of grass and branches, which indicated the use of Igni. Everything of its body seemed to be laying somewhere around. There was one hand, there was a leg. But the deer scull head with antlers seemed to be missing.

“Here to steal my coin.” A female voice said behind the witcher. But he had felt her approach her before she had even opened her mouth. With elegant spin, Geralt had grabbed her sword that had been pointed at his back and turning both of the around, held its sharp edge against her throat.

And suddenly that smell of velvet rose and sandalwood seemed stronger than ever.

“Axelia of Kaedwen.” He stated, his brows furrowed. Her being the last person  he thought that could be here.

“Geralt of Rivia.” Axelia gritted through her teeth and elbowed witcher in the ribs.

~~~

part I || part II || part III || part IV || part V || part VI || part VII || part VIII || part IX || part X || part XI || part XII || part XIII | Epilogue

tags: @901seconds​

[ameth18blog]

Unexpected Encounters. Chapter 10: The Search (Part 3)

Washimi and Gori were in the east of the city, they had just left Gori's apartment. The two friends reflected calm in their faces and ways of walking as when they were at work. They passed everywhere with their eyes fixed ahead.

"How long do you think it will take us to find them?" Gori asked.

"I ignore it. This city is very big, so they could be anywhere. We could take hours on this," Washimi replied.

"Well, if that's the case, then I think we should start there" said the gorilla pointing to the park, which was the same one they had visited the day before.

"And why there?" asked the eagle.

"If that was where Koka and Hana found the emeralds, perhaps we could find some clue of the others who came to this dimension because of them" said Gori.

Well, not a bad idea. Then let's go" said Washimi.

Both friends came to the park. It was not as crowded as the day before, and more considering what had happened the day before. It was noticeable that for that reason there were not many children, but there were few. Although it was noted that they were being cautious for some situation that seems suspicious that put them in danger.

"Washimi I have thought something" said the gorilla.

Her friend watched her without saying anything.

"Maybe those beings if they want to use my App when they find out about it."

"Don't tell me you've been thinking about that since yesterday."

"Of course, after years ago the app said that Haida and Retsuko were soul mates and it was 100 percent correct. And since it has come to unite other couples, I thought it could be extended to beings from other universes".

"Perhaps you think that the beings who are lost in this universe are at this time more interested in finding a partner than in going home."

"Of course there is, there is always time to find love and be happy with that other person."

"You never change".

Washimi lowered her head when she suddenly noticed that her communicator and Gori's were blinking.

"Gori, our communicators" said the eagle as she and the gorilla looked at her arms.

"That means they are close. I'm going to show you my application".

"Concentrate."

She could see those who were in the park were a lot of parents with their children, but she could see that some of them had unusual coat colors. They thought it must be them, so they calmly approached. There were a total of 5 families and each of them had children.

The first was a family of two male spouses who had two sons:

One was an orange bear and afro hair with dark orange sideburns. He wore a yellow disco shirt and pants and cream and orange platform shoes.

The other was also a bear, but he was cream-colored, wearing a red hat, a red robe, red pants, and red slippers.

One of the children was a cream-colored bear like the second adult bear. He wore a small yellow and red cap with a propeller on top, a long-sleeved yellow shirt, red pants, red and yellow shoes.

The other child was also a cream colored bear like the second adult bear and the other little one, although unlike the other bear this was a baby, it also had orange hair like the first adult bear, only this baby had curly hair and it was not an afro. He wore a long-sleeved red button-down shirt, yellow pants, and red and yellow shoes.

The second family if it was of two male and female spouses who had a son:

One was a green bear. He wore a green beret with a colored logo of varying shades of orange. He wore a button-down shirt and green military pants, black shoes, and a gray identification tag. On his shirt were orange stripes on his shoulders denoting his rank as a sergeant.

The other was a red porcupine, his quills were a darker red color which were full of flake-like dander. He wore a pink shirt and skirt and light blue shoes.

The boy was a red bear, which had a green abdomen. He wore a green beret with a colored logo of different shades of orange like his father's. He wore a white shirt, black pants and shoes, and a blue jacket.

The third was another family of two male spouses who had a daughter and a son:

The first was a green chameleon with three dark green lines between its eyes, above and below them. He wore a green beret with a colored logo of varying shades of orange. He wore a green military button-down shirt and cream pants, black shoes, and a gray identification tag.

The second was a cream-colored mouse with black ears, they had a stereotypical French-style mustache and black eyebrows. He wore a green beret with a colored logo of varying shades of orange. He wore a green military button-down shirt and cream pants, black shoes, and a gray identification tag. His ears were wrapped in white bandages.

The girl was a dark purple cat, she wore an orange long-sleeved shirt, a green skirt, pink socks and black shoes.

The boy was a green mouse with three cream-colored lines between his eyes and black ears, although unlike the girl, the boy was a baby. He wore a long-sleeved green shirt, blue pants, and black shoes.

The fourth family was another of two male and female spouses who had a daughter:

The first was a sky-blue boar, which had black hooves instead of hands and feet. He wore a dark blue sailor suit with white, including a white hat with a pink stripe, and black shoes.

The other was a purple sheep, with some white woolly hair on its head. She wore a white wool sweater, pants, and white shoes. She wore a purple bow on her head.

The girl was a hybrid, her fur was purple, she inherited her mother's nose, shaggy hair, hands and feet, while she inherited her father's ears, tail, and fangs. . She wore a dark blue dress, with a white ribbon at the waist, and black shoes.

The girl carried in one of her arms a green pickle that had arms, legs, eyes, a mouth and a stereotypical French-style mustache. She also wore a black top hat with a blue stripe. At first glance the pickle looked like a toy.

The fifth and final was another family of two male spouses who had a son

The first was a sea-water-colored sea otter, which had three whiskers on either side of its head. This otter was missing his right hand, instead he used a hook. Both legs were missing and instead had wooden legs. He was missing his right eye and instead had an eye patch. He was wearing a red and white striped shirt, which was ripped at the sleeves and bottom. She is wearing black pants and a black pirate hat with the design of a skull with white crossbones.

The second was a purple deer, whose antlers were pink. He wore white mime makeup, his cheeks were pink, over his eyes he had dark purple makeup. He wore a purple and white striped long-sleeved shirt, black pants, and purple shoes.

The boy was a hybrid, his coat was aquamarine, his cheeks were pink, he had a deer tail, but it was aquamarine on top and purple on the bottom. He had small horns that were beginning to grow on the top of his head and three whiskers on either side of his head. He wore a torn red and purple shirt on the arms and bottom, black pants, purple shoes and a black pirate hat, but without the skull and bones design. This child was a baby.

Something that all these families had in common was that most had rabbit teeth that protruded from their mouths, with the exception of the chameleon, the wild boar, and the hybrid between wild boar and sheep. They all had heart-shaped pink noses, except the chameleon and the boar. The irises in everyone's eyes were shaped like a pacman, except for the chameleon, the two mice, and the cat.

Just when they were about to reach the families, four of the children began to run in various directions while playing, while the three babies stayed playing with their respective parents watching the other children.

"Remember, you have to speak calmly with them, maybe they are still not used to being in this place" said Washimi.

"I understand" Gori said with all seriousness.

They both approached the adults. When they noticed their presence they were watching.

"Good morning" said the eagle.

"Good morning" all the adults replied.

"You come from another dimension and have been trapped in this universe for 3 months, right?" the gorilla said suddenly.

"Gori, I told you that we had to talk things calmly" said Washimi.

"Umm, excuse me. You know what that white light was that brought us here" asked the green bear.

"Yes, those who sent us to look for them explained it to us" replied the eagle.

"Well, before you explain it to us, wait a moment," said the aquamarine sea otter and then called the children who were playing.

When they heard them, they approached.

"Something happens?" asked the little cream-colored bear.

"These ladies are going to explain how we got here" replied the cream-colored mouse.

Really?" said the 4 children sitting on the laps of their respective parents.

Gori and Washimi told everything they knew to the 5 families in front of them.

"So we have to wait for the missing emeralds to be found?" asked the green chameleon.

"Yes, at the moment those who sent us to look for them have 3 in their possession" replied the eagle.

"Well, now that you know everything, you could tell us their names," said the gorilla.

"I'm Disco Bear and this is my Pop husband" said the orange bear with orange afro hair.

"Pleasure. And they are our two sons: Cub and Rory" said the cream bear, pointing first to the little cream bear with a hat on his head and then to the cream baby bear with orange hair.

"I'm Flippy and this is my wife Flaky" said the green bear.

"And this is our son Fluffy" said the red porcupine pointing to the bear with red color and green abdomen.

"I'm Sneaky and this is my husband Mouse Ka-Boom" said the green chameleon.

"This is our adopted daughter Denisse and our son Bomb" said the cream colored mouse pointing first to the dark purple cat and then to the baby green mouse.

"I'm Truffles and this is my wife Lammy" said the sky blue boar.

"This is our daughter Bella and this is Mr. Pickles" said the purple sheep pointing to the purple hybrid and the pickle.

"I'm Russell and this is my mate Mime. And this is our son Robby" said the aquamarine sea otter pointing to the purple deer and the aquamarine hybrid.

The purple deer didn't speak as it was a mime, but still he greeted them with a hand gesture.

After Washimi and Gori introduced themselves. They didn't find it strange to meet same-sex couples and with children, since they already knew several such families.

Then they asked how they got to that universe.

"Well, most of us had gone to pick up the children from school after classes finished, everything was normal. We are all neighbors, so we would go home together," said Lammy.

"Along the way they met Mime and me who were walking Robby and were on our way home. Everything was normal like any other day" said Russell.

"But when we were in front of our house, that strange light appeared that enveloped us all in less than 10 seconds" said Flaky.

"When we woke up, although we were separated, fortunately the children were not left alone, since Flaky and Lammy were with them when they got here," said Pop.

"It took us about two days to meet again, and since we got here we have stayed in a hotel with the money we have gotten by finding certain jobs that we can do," said Sneaky.

"Well, at least we know they haven't had a difficult time here," Washimi said.

At that moment Gori's communicator began to ring therefore he answered.

"Hi. Oh, it's your Retsuko. Yes, we have already found them. And you? How good! They left? Oh I see. Well, if we can meet there. Goodbye" said Gori after finishing the call.

"What was Retsuko saying?" asked the eagle.

"She said that she, Fenneko and Judy already found a group. She also said that they contacted Haida, Ookami and Nick and also found another group. I told them that we too" said the gorilla.

"That is a relief."

"But she told me that Sonic and his friends left, and Jack went with them. It seems they found the location of the master emerald and went looking for it before Eggman finds it."

"I hope they can find it in time."

"I hope so too. He told me that in the meantime we can go to my apartment to meet with the others".

They both turned to the 5 families.

"And what do you say?" Washimi asked.

"Do you want to come with us?" Gori asked.

They all looked at each other and agreed with a nod. The group left the park with Washimi and Gori in front, while behind them were the 5 families carrying their respective children in their arms.

"It's a shame" Gori said.

"What thing?" Washimi asked.

"That all of them are happily united, and they don't need my app and that the children are too young to use it."

"I think you need a new hobby."

After that they continued walking back towards Gori's apartment.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Deathly Fun || Morgan & Dakota

TIMING: Recent, before New Year’s Eve

PARTIES: @dakotasgrant & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Just gals being pals

CONTAINS: mild gore, brief medical blood talk

Nine times out of ten, Dakota would have said no. To be more blunt, she would have said absolutely fucking not when Morgan invited her over… But wallowing in her own self-pity was just more fuel to her flames, and if she let that fire grow any bigger or brighter, she’d burn the whole damn town to the ground. So hanging out it was, apparently. And shit, if she were being honest… Bone carving actually did pique her interest, as much as she hated to admit it. So when Morgan invited her over, and Dakota found herself parked in her driveway, she figured it was worth a shot to try, even if getting her into the house was like pulling teeth. Just don’t be a dick. Make a friend. What’s the worst that could happen? They could get to know you. After fifteen or so minutes of just sitting in her jeep debating on pulling out and speeding off, she finally hopped out and made her way to the door, knocking three times… and praying that Morgan didn’t answer.

Morgan laid on the floor in her new studio, trying to remember breathing, or at least the way it had connected her to the world’s energy. Her chest rose and fell, the floor pressed against her back, the air circled around the ceiling fan and teased the fringe on her rug. She was here. She was whole. Each of these tiny perceptions was a cord binding her to this place, cocooning her against all odds in comfort. She was here. She was okay…

Knock, knock, knock.

She was late for meeting with Dakota. Morgan shot to her feet and stumbled to the door, smiling bright when she opened. “Oh, good! I was worried you wouldn’t be able to find me. This building is a little hidden from the driveway. But uh, come on and make yourself cozy? I actually have a lot of craft stuff you can play with and works in progress. I’ve got way too many pillows over there--” she pointed, “--but my table is in the sort-of-kitchen area. Do you need anything to drink? Snacks? I’ve got some pretty quality basics for guests.” Morgan sat down at her craft table and propped her legs up on one of the spare chairs, nudging one out for Dakota to take, smiling brightly. “You can say if that was a lot. I can mostly assure you the evening will be much more chill. It’s just, you know, a very long winded way of saying ‘make yourself at home.’”

As soon as the door swung open, it was like being blasted with a very small—but very real—beam of pure energy. The only way Dakota could truly and accurately describe it was as if Jessica Day and Arizona Robbins came together and created the woman that was standing before her—Morgan. Morgan… Something. The thing was, she probably would have been just as taken aback as she was even if she wasn’t hungover, but… Well, that was besides the point. Stop thinking about it.

The main objective was to get in and get out in under an hour, and if it took being an asshole to do it, well… Rest In Peace, Morgan. “Yeah, you just said more words than I’ve said in the past 24 hours,” she stated, shrugging off her coat and taking the seat she’d nudged out for her. If Dakota was anything, which… she was a lot of things… but if she was absolutely anything, it would be awkward. Hands folded in her lap, she looked around the room, taking in the decor as best as she could. Crafting wasn’t her thing, but bones? Bones were cool. She tuned back in when Morgan mentioned something about making herself at home. Honey, I’ve never felt “at home” in my entire life, she wanted to say. But she’d save that tid-bit for her friends Jack and Daniels back at her cabin.

“Uh, I’m fine, thanks. Also, I’m not a very ‘crafty’ person… So if you want to just skip to the part where we talk about death and I get to see some carcasses, that’d be great.”

Morgan scrunched up her face, amused and confused in equal measure. She got up and went over to the small fridge, blocking the view of the brain slices safely tucked away in their novelty pyrex containers as she took out what drinks she had available. “Do you want to talk about whatever’s behind all of this--?” She gestured vaguely to Dakota, slumped by the craft table. “I don’t know you well enough to judge you.” She brought the bottles over along with a water pitcher and a glass and set them down in front of the woman. “As for the carcasses…” She laughed dryly, swallowing the urge to say, well, you’re looking right at one if you feel like playing medical examiner. She climbed up her stepladder and retrieved Ratty and Squirrely from their shelf and brought them down. She brushed and dusted them regularly now, too fond of how helpful they’d been when she’d first died to let them gather dust. “There’s these little guys. And…” She untied a large velvet pouch from the table and carefully poured out a collection of bones. “These came from a raccoon, and these bad boys came from a buck.” She gestured to the antler pieces stacked neatly at the edge of the table. “What is it you like about death anyway?”

Dakota could have crawled out of her skin just at the words “do you want to talk,” period. Why the fuck would she want to talk to a complete stranger about her issues? If she wanted to do that, she would have gotten a therapist by now. But you do, don’t you? You’re dying for someone to listen. Why else would you be here? Why are you here? “What exactly is ‘this?’” she asked, helping herself to the bottle set in front of her. “Because I was under the impression that I was here to craft and maybe talk about murder, not open up about my feelings.” There was a beat of silence, mainly because she was taking a look at the animals she’d retrieved, and then her attention had shifted to the contents of the velvet pouch that was dumped onto the table. Dakota had no problem picking them up, examining them carefully. A female rib, part of a male radius… Multiple vertebrae, an antler. “I don’t like it,” she said, though it was a lie she didn’t know she was telling. “I’m intrigued by it. The intricacies of it. The decay of it. The symbolism of it… The way people who are living experience it all the time, even if no physical death has actually occurred.” she paused. Was she still talking? “What about you? Why do you collect all this stuff?”

“You’re not exactly being subtle about how upset you are right now, but somehow you’re still here,” Morgan beamed, pouring a glass of water for herself. “I’ve been on the wrong-ass side of depressed when you’d rather drop dead than show anyone you’re not okay. And I’ve been like this too.” She twirled her finger in Dakota’s direction, especially around the wrinkle in her forehead. “But we can wait, or just not. I just figured I’d ask.” She listened to Dakota’s vague answers as she started sorting through the bones on her table. A beaded bracelet might be interesting to make. Maybe a little time intensive, but it would look like some of the crystal beads she’d once made when she was done. The antler tips would be good for that too, but other parts would become pendants, or some kind of add ons to a sculpture. She’d save those for when she had a clearer idea. Morgan took up a delicate looking raccoon limb bone and started cutting it down to size. “Oh, no, you’re not getting away with something that vague,” she said, laughing softly. “It sounds like you like it. What do you think it symbolizes anyway? And what do you mean ‘experience it all the time.’” She took out a little drill and started evening out the hollow within the bone. “My girlfriend got me into them at first. But I feel an affinity with them now. Like we’re on the same frequency, and they understand something about me.” Being dead would do that. “I like repurposing them, letting them transform into beautiful things, or compost and nourish the earth, or simply decay and feed the crows and the bugs. It gives me hope.”

Oh, no. Dakota wasn’t going there. She wasn’t depressed, and if she was, she sure as hell wouldn’t be talking about it with Miss Sunshine over here. Just.. Focus the conversation on a morbid reality and maybe she’ll kick you out herself. “Death is all around us. It’s in my sentences, in yours… The things we do, what we eat. Our thoughts, our emotions, this conversation. A few hours from now when the sun sets. A relationship, a friendship. Ourselves. Death is really just the ending of something. Everything, actually, when you get down to it.” She said, still examining the bones before her. Dakota didn’t know why she kept humoring Morgan with her answers, but it was better than finishing the bottle at home. “I guess it depends on who you ask and what you read. It can symbolize renewal, rebirth, cleansing. Transition, opportunity, possibility…” she trailed off. There was a bout of silence that swelled between them, but only for a moment. Dakota didn’t know why she felt compelled to keep talking. “I think life is really just death in disguise because no matter what you’re doing or who you’re with, it ends up ending. I’ve felt that way since I was a kid. I don’t know why I feel that way.”

“You’re starting to sound like a real woo-woo mystic gal,” Morgan said, smiling wider. “But you know, I think everyone has their own relationship to death. Even if it’s pure avoidance or denial or something more thoughtful. I’d like to know what it symbolizes to you, if that’s not too weird or personal. At least recently. I appreciate that these relationships evolve, they die and rise again differently, like all relationships. They evolve. I used to be afraid of it, honestly. I lost so many people, watched some of them die, watched their caskets go into the ground, it just seemed so horrible to me. But then I had this uuhh…” How to put this delicately? “Really bad accident. And now it’s different. A lot of things are but that especially.” She took up a new section of bone and drilled through that one too, snowing thin spirals of bone onto the table in fluffy stacks. “You should get to know my girlfriend. She makes death sound like something beautiful when she talks about it.” Which wasn’t too often these days, but still dear to Morgan. When she finished with the second bead, she held up the pair for Dakota to examine. “What do you think? I need like, thirty more, but not too shabby side-by-side, right?”

Woo-woo mystic gal? So much for saying anything she actually thought, literally ever again. Dakota let Morgan talk—not really listening, of course, because now all she really wanted to do was get the hell outta dodge and probably never see again. That would really be the icing on the shit-cake that was her life. Sooner or later, Morgan held up a pair of the bones she’d turned into beads, and even her cynical ass had to admit that she’d done a good job. Part of her almost felt inspired to take up crafting in her spare time, but that fleeting moment of inspiration was quickly squashed—not for any particular reason, but it often took her several years to try anything new. Hence breaking off an engagement, moving half-way across the country, and sleeping with just about every single woman she could find that seemed desperate or hopeless enough to come back to her place… Or reckless enough to invite Dakota to hers. Out of all of the things Morgan had said, including something about how she wanted to know what death symbolized to Dakota personally, her interest was piqued at the mention of Morgan having a girlfriend. She thought she’d heard it earlier, but she couldn’t brush it off a second time. Fuck it, she thought. She called you woo-woo mystical. Ask her a question. “—Who’s your girlfriend?” Please don’t say Marley…

Morgan’s brow furrowed. Clearly her own brand of self-deprecation was lost on Dakota by her stiff silence. Maybe she didn’t know enough about the tarot cards on her bookshelves or the sigils on some of her book spines to know that she was as woo-woo as they came. But Dakota’s question puzzled her even more. It wasn’t exactly what she assumed the takeaway would be. “Uh...her name is Deirdre,” Morgan said. “She’s a life actuary, like a death accountant. She has a whole room dedicated to bones in the house. For her birthday, among other things, we articulated a deer skeleton together and went for a cemetery walk. Hambry is really beautiful right now, with all the snow on the ground. Have you been?”

That was true—Dakota was lost on anyone else’s self depreciation because she was so entombed in her own bullshit to care about anything anyone else said about themselves. Selfish bastard. But she hadn’t quite realized that yet...Or, if she had, she was ignoring it for as long as she possibly could, because she had an amazing track record in that department. Above all things, she was just glad Marley’s name hadn’t come out of Morgan’s mouth, ‘cause if it had, there would have been a Dakota-shaped hole through her front door. “Sounds nice,” she murmured. “I’ve never been, no. Never even heard of Hambry, actually.” Wow, you’re an amazing conversationalist. A beat or two of silence passed before she shot in the dark. She’d always been the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ sorta person. Except now she was asking questions first and thinking about it after the fact. “This is going to sound like the dumbest question in the world, but… When did you know? I mean—you know what I mean. That you’d rather date a woman than a man. Or.. That you were at least okay with dating a woman. When did you know that?” Okay, you’re officially never speaking to this person ever again.

Morgan set down her tools and took a moment to really look at Dakota. She had known from the start there was something apprehensive in her, but she hadn’t guessed the depth of her fear. Morgan’s fingers twitched, wanting to take her hand. “First of all, it’s not dumb. Secondly, It took me a while,” she admitted. “I had this best friend, Karen, and she had this amazing two storey house and thick plush carpet in her room, and a pool. I told myself I liked being over at her place as many days as I could get away with because of that stuff. But I also liked it when she played with my hair, when our legs would brush together in the pool, and when she held my hand or my arm in the school hallways I just felt so special…” Morgan sighed. “We were friends for about a year and I didn’t figure out a thing. But then she was kissing this guy in the hall and I was so furious and hurt and awful and didn’t tell her about any of it. And then I had a dream about kissing her, which was a big ol’ flag I couldn’t avoid. And...I mean, it was the 90s and I had these weird special circumstances that made me worry that...what if this is why bad luck seemed to follow my family all around? What if all those awful protest signs and President Regan were onto something and I was some kind of blight on the family. And then things got weird and we didn’t visit or talk so much and I worried she could smell the lesbian on me or something, but then one day we’re in the girl’s bathroom and I start to beg her to talk to me and then--we were kissing. And it was weird and awkward, you know, on a tactile level, but inside, all those dopey romantic things fell into the right key and made sense. I couldn’t un-know after that.” She searched for Dakota’s eyes and held her gaze, waiting for some piece of her own story to set itself free. Was that part of why she bristled so easily? Why she was so desperate to hide herself? Was it just too much of a habit by now,or did Dakota still feel the ghost of that old fear haunting her? “It didn’t end so great about two minutes after we got started, and I didn’t come out to my mom for another three years, because of all that fear. And didn’t date, not really, until after I got out of college. And Deirdre is my first really serious ‘we-moved-in-together and lasted-longer-than-six-months’ relationship ever. It’s been it’s own weird time and process. As far as I know everyone like us has their own weird and different time too. We’re just special like that, temporally clusterfucked.” She paused a moment and looked thoughtfully out the window: evening was coming, the sky turned all the grass blue, and Anya stalked the dead flower beds. “When did you know, Dakota? Is that something I can ask?”

Dakota listened, which in and of itself was a miracle, because she wasn’t just listening for answers to process and remember for as long as she needed them and then do away with them whenever she was done—she was actually just listening for truth, and that was something you don’t just do away with. And Dakota hated eye-contact more than anything, but she didn’t really care at the moment, because as annoying as it was, she had to hand it to her... Morgan didn’t pry. And that was nice. Because everyone always prys. When she looked out the window, Dakota’s gaze followed suit, and she realized she’d been there for a lot longer than she’d planned already. What the hell happened to that ‘one hour only?’ But, as conversations normally go, it was Dakota’s turn to share… If she wanted to, of course. And the thing was, she actually did kind of want to. “Two years ago,” she began, sort of straightening up in her chair. Old habits die hard, so maybe that’s why her gaze fell to the table and her hands fidgeted with the bones laid out on it. “That’s a lie. I knew when I was fourteen. I took my best friend to go see a movie, and I remember being so fucking nervous—I mean, I didn’t think my palms could get any sweatier, especially not in the middle of December. Detroit’s a big town, you know, but.. All those little neighborhoods that make up that city? They’re all like small towns, and everybody knows everybody. So it didn’t matter how bad I wanted to hold her stupid hand, because Michael and Tom from third period were two seats over, and I knew she liked Michael, and.. Well, the point is that it didn’t matter how bad I wanted to hold her hand, because I couldn’t. And I didn’t. And I pushed that so far back in my memory that when I met my ex at 25, I thought.. You know, just.. Run with it, ‘cause it’s the only fuckin’ chance you’re ever gonna see.” Dakota paused, then, because this was the part of the story she hated telling. She wished she could just avoid it all together, but… “Flashforward, we’d been together ten years on and off. He wanted to get married so bad, and I kept telling him I wanted to wait, and I wanted to be established in my career, and I wanted to do all of these things and.. And then, you know, I did them. I was established, and I was the investigative lead, and I was a mentor, and.. Well, to make a long story short, he took me to a restaurant and his dumbass got down on one knee, right there, in the middle of the restaurant, in front of everyone—you know, total strangers just.. Gawking and looking at me and waiting for me to say yes. And I should have. I should have just worked it out, and said yes. But I didn’t. I, uh. Stood up from the table, and I closed the stupid ring box thing that rings come in—why do they come in those stupid boxes?—and I just.. Left him there. At the restaurant. In front of everyone. And he had to stand up, get up off the floor, pay for a meal neither of us ate.. By the time he got home I was already in a studio apartment above a Chinese take-out place across town. So..” she trailed off, then let the silence swell, as she normally did. It felt like forever. “Yeah, I’d say fourteen.”

Morgan waited a little while, in case Dakota wanted to sit with her words, say something else, or just collect herself. When she was sure, she said, “It’s not your fault, you know. Knowing and admitting and being able to do something about realizing you’re gay are all really hard, different steps. It takes as long as it takes. And it’s not wrong or cruel to do what’s best for you, for both of you, really. I mean, if he was so great, he deserves someone who can love him enthusiastically the way he wants, right? And so do you. Going into that kind of lie just to spare his feelings in a moment would’ve just harmed you both, deeply, maybe irrevocably. Not that this doesn’t hurt either, I’m not saying that, but… I think you did the kindest thing you possibly could. Even if that’s not how you felt in the moment, that’s what you did.” She leaned in, knowing just enough from Dakota’s body language that she shouldn’t reach for her, not yet. “I am sorry, though. I know something about how carrying that knowledge around can hurt. How it can feel like the scariest or most impossible, awful, stupid thing. I mean, no one dreams of having their first serious relationship at forty, that’s for sure. But can I ask-- where are you now? With--this. Is it still on you, that guilt, that fear?”

Dakota scoffed—not meanly, not because she was upset, but because the question was almost funny. “Uh, yeah.” She shifted in her chair, clearing her throat a bit. “I’ve been screwing just about anyone stupid enough to say yes for weeks. Waitresses, bartenders.. I just fucked a coworker last night. Not just a cop, dude—a fucking detective. I mean, it was great and all, except for how we left things. And also how she left, actually. And then the fucking shitstorm I caused afterwards.” Dakota sighed, leaning her elbows on the table and rubbing her hands over her face. “Annnnd then I called in sick. So, yeah. I feel guilty. And I feel.. Just this raw fucking shame, all the time. And I feel fucking stupid because, you know, for maybe half a second, I wondered.. You know, what if we did it again? What if it could.. Turn into something? What if I finally just get what I’ve always wanted and what if it just.. Get to hold the girl’s hand? And.. and what if it just works, y’know?” Why the fuck are you sharing all of this? “But, you know, she kind of reminded me that that’s impossible. I mean, it’s not impossible for people like you and Deirdre and her and whoever she decided to run to after she left. Yeah, all that “hope” shit went right out the window because not two minutes after we were done she called it a mistake and high-tailed it out of there.” A beat. “But, you know, I’m meeting another chick at Dell’s later tonight, so. Anita something, I think?”

Morgan moved her chair closer, practically leaning against Dakota. “You know you’re allowed to put some of that shame down, right?” She asked. “And it’s not really impossible so much as it’s just...not right, not yet. If you’re really, really lucky, one time it will just work, and all the stress and the angst and the bullshit that comes after you get to hold the girl’s hand and kiss her goodnight will feel worth it.” Carefully, she brushed back Dakota’s hair from her eyes. Under other circumstances, or with a less strictly monogamous girlfriend, she’d try to ease Dakota’s hurt here and now. She hadn’t let herself alone long enough to figure out what kind of person she really wanted to be, but Morgan couldn’t help but feel like that would-be person was probably kind, or could be without too much struggle. “Be careful with Anita. She’s a friend of mine, and a lot of fun, but I have it on good authority that she’s still hung up on someone. But you didn’t hear that from me.” She wondered how Dakota felt about corpses and their startlingly cold temperatures, if she would be horrified, or stay still long enough to realize Morgan’s chest didn’t rise or fall and her pulse was silent. “I have a very weird question to ask you,” she said with a sheepish grin. “Is it okay if I touch you--very affectionately but sans romantic agenda? I feel very endeared to you right now and I'd like to be closer than we are right now. We can also, you know, go straight back to the dead things, or talking about literally any other thing…”

Part of her really wanted to be annoyed, or to ruin whatever the hell was going on by being an asshole somehow—it’s what she did best. Or, well, so she believed. Regardless, it was the best way Dakota could maintain her distance from people, maintain her invulnerability, keep the walls built up as high as she could, with the strongest bricks and the strongest cement binding them together so that way nobody gets in. But it gets so lonely in here sometimes. “Uh..” she began, not knowing how to respond. Maybe it was the fact that Morgan already took the liberty of brushing some hair from her face, and maybe it was because nobody’s done that to her in a while… And maybe this was the first time she’d been semi-vulnerable around anyone, so.. Did she really have anything else to lose? Her dignity, maybe… “Sure…?”

Morgan beamed, her whole face brightening up. “Thank you,” she said softly. She brushed back the rest of the young woman’s hair with a careful, tender touch, and scooted close enough to wrap her arms around her in a hug. “You’re still worthy of love, Dakota, even just like this,” she whispered in her ear. “And it’s all shitty and painful and unfair right now, and there’s no guarantee about any of it, but you’re not unworthy or broken just because things have been hard, okay?” She rose half out of her seat and pressed a fleeting kiss to the top of her head. “Now! Why don’t I show you some of the deathly craft work you actually came here for, at least for a hot sec, huh?” Her arms were still draped around Dakota and she reached over the woman for her carving knives rather than unfurl herself.

Dakota was torn—she enjoyed the physical touch, because damn, she hadn’t felt much of anything gentle in a while. It was sweet in a very genuine, kind way. Morgan was just.. Kind, so she guessed. But still, she was torn between just enjoying the small moment between them and questioning why the hell she was so cold. In fact, it was almost hard to enjoy the interaction because… Well, one of the reasons humans enjoyed physical touch so dearly was because sharing body heat was primal. But as soon as Morgan wrapped arms around her body, it was noticeable. Why the hell wasn’t her hug warm? Or even the kiss she’d pressed on the top of her head… I mean, she’s freezing. Before she really had time to process this, Morgan had already reached across her person to grab her carving knives. “Do you have circulation issues?” she asked, probably a touch offhand. “Or, like, low iron or something?”

Morgan laughed and snapped off a chunk of antler with one hand, too distracted to think of how weird that would look for a woman as small as she was. “That is probably the nicest way anyone has ever asked about my body temperature,” she said. “I can stop, if you want. I know it’s startling and unusual and not everyone wants to be close to an ice queen. But uh--yeah, circulation issue about covers it.” Being dead was kind of a circulation issue, right? She guided Dakota’s hands onto the table, careful to touch her sweater more than her skin. “I was thinking some of this would make a really cool pendant, but I think some designs would be better. So--” She snapped off another piece so they each had one. “You can sketch on the bone with a pencil, if you want, I’ve got plenty right here. Or if you already have and idea, you can just score lightly on the surface with this tool, before you start cutting deeper with this one ....” The larger blade was a little farther from her reach than she wanted, and as Morgan strained, the sharp edge sliced into the side of her finger, carving out a gash that did not bleed, but showed dark, liquid matter resting tepid beneath her skin. “O-oh shit! Uh--ow! Yikes, Sorry…” She pressed down on the wound, knowing it would heal soon, but the pressure of her fingers squeezed out more of her dark, dead blood onto her fingers, impossible to miss until she could wash them clean.

Despite the fact that Morgan just so happened to be unusually cold—more so to the point that Dakota was genuinely concerned for her health, to be honest—it was still nice to feel close to someone. Finally tucking away the emotions she’d let bubble to the surface, though, she truly was ready to let Morgan teach her a few things about bone carving. She was talented, to say the least, and Dakota thought it would be fun to just be creative with it. God, when was the last time she was creative with anything? Her attention was already drawn to the bone she had in her hand, and she had already started to think up a design she wanted to score into the surface, but everything came to a screeching halt when Morgan had reached for the larger blade. Almost immediately, mainly by instinct, Dakota jumped up to search for a rag or something to put pressure on the cut, but she’d only gotten halfway out of her chair before she was absolutely stunned by what she’d seen. “Jesus, Morgan! Did you—” she almost said hit an artery, but she’d seen too much blood in her life to know that whatever was coming out of her body wasn’t healthy. It sure as fuck wasn’t normal. She sat for a moment, clearly stupefied. All the science she’d studied was swirling around in her brain. Extremely low hemoglobin could be a possibility, but she’d never seen it so… No, that couldn’t be it. Early menopause affects menstrual blood, but even then… Well, that just didn’t make sense. Polycythemia vera..? No, it was too.. “What the fu— We should take you to the emergency room!” she exclaimed, finally snapping out of the shock she was in and grabbing the nearest dish towel she could find, running it under some warm water and bringing it back to Morgan, leaving the sink running in her haste. “Why aren’t you..? C’mon, dude, we need to go!”

“No, it’s fine! It’s fine! I just need to wash it off and uuh…” Morgan scrubbed her hand with the towel Dakota gave her, focusing more on the zombie blood stains on her hand than the cut. She ran to the sink and fumbled with the soap, hoping that maybe Dakota would think she was using disinfectant or something else human. Her skin had just started to stitch together and after a quick wipedown with her dish towel, it was good as new again. Morgan whirled around quickly and held up her finger. “See! Look, it’s not even that deep! You can’t even see it anymore!” Then, realizing she looked like she was flipping off her new friend, Morgan scurried over and showed her the proof. With the stains gone, you couldn’t even tell anything had ever been wrong. “It’s just a...uh...thing that happens to me sometimes. Everything looks way worse than it really is with me. I really uh….bounce back easy. I’m sorry to worry you, but look, it’s fine! See!”

Dakota never showed her true feelings, but she couldn’t not gasp when she saw Morgan’s finger. One moment it looked like motor oil was spilling out of her goddamn hand and the next, it was…? Her fucking finger was healed. Completely mended, as if nothing had happened, as if seconds ago she hadn’t needed to go to the emergency room. Given years of training herself to bite her tongue, Dakota still hadn’t mastered her facial expressions. She may as well just have said: what the ever living fuck? But instead, she started to back away, grabbing her coat from off the back of the chair she had just been sitting in, bumping into the table as she did. “I’m—Sorry, I just remembered, I.. Have a thing.” Seconds later, she was out the door, nearly ramming down the mailbox as she pulled out of the driveway like a bat out of hell.

“It’s really fine, you don’t have to go,” Morgan protested. She followed Dakota to the door, feeling helpless as she fled into the night. “You can stay, really, Dakota--Dakota?” But the woman was gone, and all the hope Morgan had built up for her vanished into the dark as well.

[teenyfish]

Marine Biology Story of the Day #13: The Collection

Hey everybody, long time no see—we’ve been dealing with hurricanes and vacations and I’ve been extremely worn down from work so I have not posted anything in the last two weeks.

But, since it’s early spooky season and I’ve finally had a chance to sit down, we are going to do a special post today and go over my collection.

My collection of “dead things”, as my husband likes to describe it.

I like to describe it as my natural history collection. It’s a collection I’ve been curating since I got go college, and I have either collected and cleaned them myself, or received them as gifts from others who share my strange hobby.  I have not personally killed any of these animals, however I’m sure some were road kill or were killed by barotrauma (if they were fish).  Also, these are not all from dead animals, I have a large collection of molts and shells as well.  For me, these are found objects, and I am giving them life again in my house.  If you are uncomfortable with the idea of animal bone collection and processing, I suggest you stop here.

If you have a morbid curiosity like I do, welcome.

Lets start with the bones.  On the first row we have what I think is a squirrel skull that I found on a beach (I’m not 100% sure because I don’t have any teeth from it) and a cormorant skull I found completely bleached and cleaned on a dock.  On the second row we have a pair of deer antlers I spent $2 on at an antique fair, we have an otter that I cleaned for my university that I was allowed to keep, we have rocky the raccoon, also from my university, a cat skull I found on a washed up beach (there were no tags attached, no tissue left, it could have been a pet or a stray, but considering we were in the middle of nowhere, there was no way to tell), and a Atlantic sharpnose shark jaw I cleaned while on a NOAA trip.  The back row we have a blacktip reef shark jaw from the same trip, and a red drum skull collected from a beach.  

Now, rocky is one of my favorites—we have a long relationship.  When I was in college, I took a mammalogy class and one of our assignments was to go find a dead animal and bring it in, dissect it, and clean it.  Like for a grade.  Our professor had tenure and was pretty eccentric, so he got away with it much to the chagrin of the president.  I found rocky on the side of a highway, while I was driving home to my parents’ house for fall break, and he looked pretty freshly dead, so I thought that would be the best way to go.  It didn’t stop him from stinking up my car though, and my mom was not pleased that I stuffed him in the basement freezer.  He made it back to school in a Styrofoam cooler, and I got an A on that assignment, and then we put all of our skulls in the “beetle tank” so that they could finish cleaning the skulls for us.  I forgot about it.  Fast forward to two years later, I was working for the graduate department while getting my graduate degree, and we were asked to clean out the “bone room” and process the skulls, and I found him, a tag with my name on it attached.  He came home to live me ever since.

Next we have the molts, all of which, with the exception of the sea urchin, all came from live animals that continued on living after they had shed their shells. On the bottom left we have my horseshoe crab molts, the larger one was collected on a fisheries survey I was on, the little one I found at a hotel beach in Florida.  Just above the horseshoe crabs, we have an urchin that I found in Maine—this one was likely smashed against the rocks by a seagull, because when an urchin dies, it usually doesn’t leave behind it’s spines. Next to it is the large, American Lobster, which came from the lobster at the aquarium I used to work at!! And then, in the bottom right is a spiny lobster molt.  Spiny lobsters come from the south eastern united states, but our aquarium collected a spiny lobster in North Carolina.  She was one of my favorite animals I worked with in the aquarium.

Then we have the full bodied organisms that were preserved fully.  We have European hornets pinned in the bottom block, which are from a small project I worked on as an undergrad.  These are invasive to the states.  The large blue jar contains a baby sandbar shark. My friend (who is also a biology nerd) found this one for me at a thrift store, so WHO KNOWS how it got there originally—but I gave her a new home none the less.  The last three small jars are fish and invertebrates that were collected on my trip studying marine plastics in the Pacific.  In one is a Velula velula, or a by-the-wind sailor, which is a small siphonophore (similar to a jelly fish, or like a small man-o-war) that “sails” on the surface of the water with it’s little biological sail!  The next one is a myctophid, which I’ve covered in previous posts, but it’s a small, very numerous deep sea fish with bioluminescent photophores on it’s belly.  The last is a dragonfish or a viperfish, which is another deep see fish similar to an angler fish, but it’s bioluminescent lure is on it’s chin.  

I’ve been putting this collection together for almost 10 years now, and they all have their little spots on my shelves at my home.  I just find these pieces of biology so beautiful, and I want to give these animals a second life.  I’m not just into dead animals, I have a 55 gallon saltwater tank and a sweet baby puppy as well, but I just love natural specimens--it is just so cool to be able to reach up on your book shelf and be able to study anatomy from the real thing. 

Now, there are a myriad of methods required for preserving biological samples, many of which you can do at home with your own materials.  Cleaning a skull successfully also depends on the condition that the remains are found in.  I rarely do a skull that has a lot of tissue still on it, it’s a lot of work. I do stress though, unless you want to get into some really nasty stuff, it is not for the faint of heart (or people who are easily nauseated).  If you want any information on how to clean skulls, both from mammals and from fish, please feel free to contact me in the notes or in the asks.

That being said, as a reminder, there are some legal issues regarding many species.  Marine Mammals and endangered species are a no go, even if you find the animal already dead.  Make sure to be aware of that when you go out in the field looking for bones.  It is also is typically illegal to collect things from state and national parks in the U.S., and I don’t have all the rules for other countries, so just educate yourself before you head out.

As always, if you have any questions or comments PLEASE do not be afraid to ask!  

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

What if the Animorphs could use magic-like, in addition to the morphing?

All her life, Cassie’s dad has treated raccoons and ferrets, the occasional goose or hawk.  And for as long as she can remember, he’s treated other things too.  There was the pine marten with tiny horns that the long-fingered man with the scars on his face brought from under his coat.  There’s the seahorse that buzzes up to their door on the regular, gossamer fins beating hummingbird-fast at the air as it hovers five feet off the ground.  There are winged foxes and antlered rabbits and animals for which Cassie has no comparison.

Walter never comments on them directly.  Instead he skids the Venetian blinds closed and pulls out his other kit — the one with bone needles and spools of spider silk and not a trace of metal throughout — and gets to work.  Cassie can’t remember how she learned never to comment directly on these night customers.  But she knows.  She does not mention them aloud.  Most of all, she does not thank them or ask for favors.

They never pay in coin, these visitors that step over the back threshold and never come when there is road salt on the ground.  It doesn’t matter.  Every stock share Walter and Michelle buy proves to be lucky; every item they store in the downstairs refrigerator never spoils.  Michelle can heal animals at the Gardens that no one else can save.  Cassie’s parents are careful never to ask for these gifts, or indeed express any opinion on them at all.  Their night visitors bargain exactingly, mercilessly, without quarter.  The only recourse is not to bargain with them at all.

Tobias doesn’t believe he’s a changeling.  Not really.  He’s pretty sure that’s just something his aunt says to excuse how little she cares about him.  That doesn’t stop him from leaving a capful of her Rodda’s clotted cream on his windowsill every night, especially because he wakes every morning to find the cream gone.  Just in case, he tells himself.  Just in case his real family is out there somewhere, keeping an eye on him.

Jake has no thoughts on magic or fae.  If asked he’d shrug and casually disbelieve.  But he listened all the same when his Grandpa G whispered the secret to controlling a golem, to making life of clay.  To destroying that life with a press of the thumb.

Marco learned not to count anything out he hasn’t seen disproven with his own eyes.  Eva lit candles for the Virgin Mother and for the ancestors, for Rihannon and Guabancex and the Holy Ghost.  Marco doesn’t always honor the old rituals, but he also doesn’t cross still waters or take favors from strangers.  He always cleans spilled salt and keeps a tiny iron knife tucked into one pocket.  He wears his underwear inside out and spits on the floor after wishing good luck.  He hedges his bets.

Rachel’s heard of the old gods, of course she has.  They were the fascination of her entire primary school year for a full week, just after unicorns and slightly before everyone became silly amateur witches.

Andalite culture frowns on superstition, and so Ax does as well.  Outwardly, at least.  That means not telling anyone how thoroughly, how casually, Elfangor has always believed in magic.  It means not thinking of the still pool of water, the silver knife, the other scrying tools from eldritch andalite culture… and the way his brother would, just sometimes, know things it was surely impossible for anyone to have seen.

“I put no faith in magic,” Marco says, when Cassie tells them about her dreams.  “I don’t trust it, and neither should you.”

«Fine, then.»  Tobias glares at him.  «Explain how we had the same dream, about the same voice, every single night.  Go ahead.  We’re waiting.»

Andalite magic isn’t like Earth magic, they’ll come to learn.  And sometimes the magic and technology are hard to tell apart at a glance.

It was just a long-distance call, Ax insists when they find him.  He doesn’t know how they talked to a whale.  He can’t explain why Tobias, but not any of the others, would have received that call.  Surely it doesn’t mean anything.  Technology only looks like magic, when viewed from a distance.

Tobias sees the rabbit disappear when it enters the unnaturally round circle of mushrooms.  But he’s hungry, and he’s tired, and the rabbit is fat and white and moving slow.  He doesn’t pull up from the dive in time.  Instead he follows it inside—

And hits the ground on two stubby-toed feet, strong human arms thrown out for balance.  He’s naked, but that seems incidental.  He’s human.  He hasn’t been human for almost six months.

Mostly human.  There are feathers on his arms and along his back.  He sees through hawk eyes and hears with hawk ears, a raptor’s head on top of a human body.  He thinks of ancient Egypt, of that god with the ankh, when he imagines how he must look.

And then he staggers back several steps, all the way to the edge of the suddenly-vast circle of mushrooms, at the sight of the beings who approach.  Their leader is a tall man made even taller by the enormous antlers that sprout from his head.  Behind him walk trees who are also teenage girls, goats upright on two legs, an entire court of half-human half-other beings.

Tobias’s whole body is cold with fear.  He tries to fly, but his wings cannot lift heavy human bones.  Tries to speak, and a hawk’s harsh cry comes out of his mouth.

“Come, little hunter,” the king who is both stag and man says.  “Dance with us.”

«What will you give me if I do?» Tobias asks, finding a different voice.  A stupid and brave thing to say.

The king smiles.  “An answer to one question.”

Tobias doesn’t ask what’ll happen if he refuses.  He’s no fool.  So when they start to dance, he joins the flow of their bodies.

His body moves with grace and speed impossible to him.  There is no music, other than the endless eerie wails of the other dancers.  The dance rages around him, drags him down into dizzy undertow.  He can either keep up, or he can be crushed underfoot.  Those are the only options.  He dances.

It’s been no time at all.  It’s been years.  Exhaustion sets in.  Hunger.  Thirst.

But Tobias is no fool.  He refuses their cordials and fruits, their temptations of hide and bone.  The glistening pomegranates and airy cakes are easy to ignore.  The fresh-killed snake, the blood-warm fox… Those are much harder.

Once, they bring before him a plump, struggling rabbit.  It’s enormous, fat and juicy and still kicking, and he feels himself weaken.  But just before he swings his enormous beak forward to rip at the flesh, he catches a hint of its true reflection in the eyes of the river-maiden who holds it.

It’s not a rabbit.  It has the seeming of a rabbit, but even now he can hear its cries.  Close to rabbit cries, close… but not quite.

Tobias rears back.  He doesn’t see what happens to the not-a-rabbit, because he chooses not to.  And it’s easier after that, so much easier, to refuse the haunches and marrows that they try to pass his way.

Maybe that’s why they throw the net over him.  Darkness and pain cage him in.  His inner hawk panics, screaming and breaking bones against its sides.  But a half-remembered bit of lore surges to the front of his human mind.

He morphs.  Speed is of the essence, and he twists down to the shape of a garter snake he has never acquired.  The net tightens, so he grows large.  Becomes one of the hork-bajir that haunt his nightmares, with blades to slash the net.  So it becomes sticky and dense, and he becomes a spider who can scuttle along its lines.  It grows heavy enough to crush him, so he surges upward and out as a stegosaurus.  It ensnares him with clever knots, and he grows human fingers that he might untie them.  It weights him down, so he goes hawk to fly free.  It becomes fibers that abrade and embed, so he takes on andalite shape to slash the bindings to pieces.

After that, the net falls away.  He stares around the clearing in all four directions at once, seeing them now for what they really are.  His chest is heaving, his tail blade trembling.  He’s desperately tired, but here is no place to sleep.

The woman whose hair drags clear the ground steps forward.  She presses a hand against his cheek, and just like that he’s the human-hawk again.  Only the andalite stalk eyes remain, along with the taloned feet of a hork-bajir.  The world around him remains vicious and savage and beautiful.

“You have entertained us well, little changeling,” she says.  “You may go now.”

«Wait—»  Tobias knows it’s stupid to argue, but he also knows it’s even stupider to leave here with a bargain unresolved.  «My question.»  He takes a breath, filling human lungs nestled between andalite hearts.  «What am I?»

The woman laughs, a tinkling sound that fills the clearing.  “My dear boy, there’s no need to ask us directly, not after we just spent all evening answering you.”

And just like that, Tobias is a hawk.  Or something with the seeming of a hawk.  He sits on the ground just outside an ordinary circle of mushrooms, the rabbit he followed mere inches away.

He watches it leave.  He’s not hungry for rabbit anymore, and suspects he might never be again.

Little changeling, she called him.  And he cannot help but wonder what might’ve become of the boy he replaced, remembering the not-a-rabbit’s helpless cries.

“Fuck it,” Marco says.  Only it comes out like “f-f-f-f-f-fuck i-t-t-t-t” because his teeth are chattering so hard.  They ended up somewhere covered with ice and snow and devoid of life except for polar bears.  No.  Scratch that.  They’re nowhere.  This place might as well be the surface of the fucking moon.

Which is why he’s gone just crazy enough through some combination of hypothermia and desperation to be trying this now.  His fingertips and toes are already grey-white with frostbite at the edges.  Ax is upright for now, but has already collapsed twice.  They’re fucked.  Utterly and completely fucked.

Unless, of course, Marco can coax fire from ice.

The theory behind it is perfectly sound.  Take a beam of sunlight, direct it through a curved lens — in this case a chunk of ice floe that Ax carved with his tail and Marco shaped with what little heat is left in his hands — and that’ll generate heat.  Generate enough heat, and the kindling should ignite.

Only, if you stop to think about it for half a second, that’ll never work in an environment as cold as this one.  If Marco stops to think, he’ll remember that the tiny pile of kindling will burn up in an instant if it even combusts at all.

The kindling is a pile of hair, blond and brown, black and blue.  And a single crumpled feather, striped in brown and gold.  A small, sad pile.  But also: A sacrifice.  An evocation.

It shouldn’t work.  It shouldn’t.

Cassie is murmuring something that Marco elects to ignore.  Because Marco doesn’t believe in astrotheology.  He doesn’t believe in pyromancy.  He just needs to believe in reality.

The sun’s own light casts through the fragment of glacier in his hand.  The concentrated seed of its power rests squarely in that nest of hair.  Don’t move, Marco wills his aching, cold-numb hands.  Don’t move.  Focus.  Breathe.  Don’t move.  Believe.

Smoke curls.  Jake makes a noise, cutting himself off.  Marco imagines his own mind, focusing in a beam just like that weak Arctic sunlight.  Imagines it bending into a pure, strong core with the power of that ice.  The world fades away.  The cold recedes, or maybe that’s just the final stages of hypothermia setting in.

The hair puts up a tiny curl of flame.  The flame gutters and grows.  It races along strand after strand.  The smell is something animal and awful, but the fire is growing.  It’s becoming red at the edge and blue at its core, hotter than the meager fuel should allow.  Marco’s teeth are clenched so hard they cannot chatter, his whole body clenched around where the dying skin of his hands presses with unforgiving power against the ice that kills it.

The flame grows.  It grows.  It’s not possible, and that very fact seems to add strength to its stubbornness.

It’s candle-sized by now.  It could illuminate a lantern.  It’s throwing shadows and glow onto Cassie’s face where she crouches across from him, still chanting.  It’s a fistful of flame.  It’s a campfire.

The hair is gone by now.  Even the ice is melting away, every drop of water that hits the flames becoming like oil in its power.

Marco sits down, hard, on the now-slushy ice.  Jake is leaning forward, laughing, crying, tears frozen to his face.  Rachel thrusts both hands at the flames, fingers starting to unfurl from their painful permanent clench.  Even the frostbite on Cassie’s nose and Ax’s stalk-eyes is visibly healing, another impossibility even with the hearthfire now flowing strong between them.

“This,” Marco whispers, sunning himself in the heat of cannot-be, “is insane.”

Cassie steps out into the daylight beyond the barn, half-startled as always by the shock of its heat.  She isn’t like Marco; she doesn’t need explanations or words.  Her father has always just focused on using whatever works, without trying to apply her mother’s formal empiricism.  Sometimes the creatures bring themselves in for healing, and usually when they do they don’t look like any animal that has ever appeared in one of Michelle’s zoology textbooks.

Sometimes Walter sits out all night with a deer’s head cradled in his lap, a snake wound through both his hands, or one of the beings who is neither mammal nor reptile sheltered by the curve of his body.  He wills, on those nights, and sometimes a broken-legged deer will run free or a fatally ill snake will roll healthy from his palms when he’s done.  Whenever that happens, whenever the will succeeds, he’ll come inside with a few more white hairs, slightly more of a limp in the creeping arthritis of his knee.  That’s the reason Cassie isn’t allowed to join her father on those nights, isn’t allowed to help beyond her mother’s methods: needles full of cortisone, needles trailing twine.

It’s also the reason she doesn’t know how this works.  She suspects that her father doesn’t know either — Walter’s the type to shrug and say they can either explain the molecular structure of water or they can fill this water trough that’s empty now, and only one will ensure the horses remain healthy on a day this warm.  So maybe not knowing isn’t a hindrance, not when it comes to willing wellness to travel from her body into another.

The being she holds in her hands has certainly never appeared in any of Michelle’s books.  Which is part of the reason that Earth’s weak yellow sun, giver of both cancer and trees, can do nothing for her.

Aftran needs kandrona, needs the rich light of her homeworld.  Cassie has no kandrona to give.

“Please,” Cassie whispers.  She holds the fragile little body toward the sky, an offering to Sol.  “Please, just hold on for a little while longer.”

Aftran doesn’t answer.  Aftran cannot hear her, cannot see the brilliant star that warms them both.

Cassie can feel the weakness inside of Aftran, the hunger.  Tonight they’ll take her to the sea.  Tonight they’ll give her whale DNA, and a new chance at life.  She only has to make it that long.

She’s not sure when the trance begins, or how long it lasts.  Later, she’ll have no memory of her knees giving out and her shins hitting the dirt, or of the hours she spends with her hands raised toward the sky in supplication.

It’s Aftran who wakes her.  Aftran who sends a jolt of something through the connection they’ve shared ever since their minds were briefly one.  It jars Cassie and causes her to topple over.

Aftran is strong, scrunching and stretching fins as she basks in the glow of a sun she shouldn’t even be able to see or feel.  Cassie is weak, joint-aching and head-pounding as she fights unconsciousness.  The feeling is so overpowering, so painful and unlike anything she’s experienced before, that it takes Cassie several seconds of lying on her side fighting even to breathe to recognize this as hunger.

Not hunger, famine.  The dangerous kind that leaves her body screaming for sustenance, devouring its own fats and muscles in its desperation to find more fuel for the fire that keeps her alive.  Cassie has grown up secure, with a full refrigerator and loving parents.  This ravening full-body ache brings to mind her great-grandmother’s stories of sharecroppers so desperate as to devour earthworms and hay seeds.

But Cassie has it easy.  She is on her own planet, and she is a child of plenty.  All she needs to do is crawl the ten feet to her parents’ vegetable patch.  To rip the first of the row of carrots from the ground, rolling the dirt off between her palms before she eats it.  Stealing the sun’s sustenance from this plant that has worked so hard to store it.

She is human.  She cannot make her own energy from suns’ light like Aftran.  To be human is to murder and devour just to stay alive.  But to be human is to choose, at times like these, to share the plenty that surrounds her.

Aftran rests on the back of Cassie’s wrist now.  Stronger than she has any right to be.  Cassie rips the life from another carrot, and stops for a moment of gratitude before she begins to devour.

Rachel takes time to gather the supplies.  A mason jar emptied of jam.  Nails and tacks and razor blades, sharp nasty iron and steel to keep evil at bay.  Sea salt and rosemary to purify and protect, layered inside the jar overtop.  And then, last of all, several ounces of her own urine.  To mark it as hers, old-school the way that wolves do.  The lid sealed with wax from a black-tallow candle, wrapped with red ribbon to keep the magic inside.  She buries it at the edge of her yard, whispering invocations to Aphrodite and Ares as she does.

She can’t take it with her, especially not when she morphs, but she can create a bubble the length and width of the property.  She can carve out a space for herself and her mom, Sara and Jordan, that no yeerk can enter.  She has power.

She tests it one time, calling Mr. Chapman to come pick up Melissa at her place.  Smiling, lips pulled tight with glee and anger, she watches him get to the edge of the property line and… stop.  

Watches as his head shakes, his body shifts, and he comes no further.  The spell holds.  The yeerk leaves.

And then comes the day when Melissa herself freezes at the edge of the yard, an expression of confusion on her face.  She leaves, after a while.  Only it’s not really her leaving.  Not anymore.

Rachel doesn’t feel so smug about the spell, after that.

«Please be quiet,» Ax says, after the fourth or fifth time Jake asks Cassie in an undertone how much longer this is going to take.  «I am not confident in this process, and cannot do with distractions.»

They stand at the edge of a waterfall deep in the California woods.  It’s not much, less than ten feet tall, but that’s not what’s important.  What’s important is the place, and the harmony of that place.

What’s important, Ax knows, is the entropy.  Water eroding rocks, breaking down walls.  Trees broken apart by murmurations of termites and fractals of rot.  Nature building and pulling down, creating and destroying, allowing no rest but in rhythmical motion, chasing everything out of one beautiful form into another.

Entropy is a release of cosmic energy.  That’s what Elfangor taught him, anyway.  And if he does it right, if he feels this place — water in his hooves, wind in his fur, seeing and feeling and becoming a part of that steady joyous death — he can harness and direct some small fraction of that energy.

The energy flows out of him, and down the bond.  He thinks he can feel it.  His strength becoming Tobias’s, Tobias’s pain becoming his.

“Is it working?”  Jake loses patience again.

«I believe it might be,» Ax says.  He reaches out, all four eyes closed, and takes Jake’s hand in his.  A second human hand, strong and blunt and warm, wraps around his other wrist, as Cassie takes hold.

His shorm is not here.  His only family on this planet is in the yeerks’ hands.  They are hurting Tobias right now.

Rachel and Marco are on a rescue mission.  Jake and Cassie and Ax are here, having walked for hours in the wrong direction, standing by a destructive stream.  Keeping Tobias alive.

Jake sinks to his knees, gasping hard.  Cassie is making a small noise in the back of her throat, one that has no words.  Their strength flows through Ax, and away.  The power in their joints, the sight in their eyes and the succor in their limbs, drains away.  Every heartbeat, every breath, leaves them and does not return.

No one asks if it’s working now.  There are tears running down Jake’s face, his hand trembling in Ax’s as it squeezes hard enough to grind bones.  But they don’t let go, and they don’t end the spell.  They send strength down the bloodline, down the lines more powerful than blood, until one by one they fall into the icy current when they have nothing left to give.

“I don’t believe in magic,” Marco says, but he uses the same tone as when he says “I don’t believe in aliens.”

Cassie asks her father, her grandmother, and her mother’s grandmother more questions.  She pretends it’s idle curiosity, any time her father asks.

Rachel finds that coven she once thought so silly.  They teach her to write names on willow-pulp paper and freeze them underwater, to drag minds away from the forces that might otherwise take hold.  “Melissa,” she whispers, “Melissa Andrea Chapman,” and she prays it will work this time around.

Anyway, they kind of win.

The first person to appear to him is an unfamiliar woman with rough-cropped hair.  No one Jake knows, or no one he remembers, anyway.  But she wasn’t on the dead, drifting hulk of the Rachel a second ago, and now here she stands.  So the ritual must have worked.

“I’m sorry to disturb your rest,” Jake tells the ghost.  “I just…”  He looks down at the drying clay still smeared across his hands, the familiar characters in cascading rows across his arms and across the metal of the deck.  It’s earth, farther from the Earth than any precious quantity of dirt has ever been.  Just like him.

“I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t choose it.”  She crouches in front of him, placing an inexplicably warm hand over his.  “I’m Jondrette.  You saved my life at the battle under the garment factory.  You should’ve killed us.  Instead you called off your forces, told us to run.”

“You died anyway,” Jake says sadly.  “You owe me nothing.”

“Not before I returned the favor.”  She smirks, proud of herself.  “Visser Three would’ve killed you in that hospital garage, had we not shot him from behind.  I owe you nothing,” she agrees.  “Because you’re going to die anyway.”

“I’m scared,” he confesses.

The Blade Ship, and the thing it became, are gone.  He rammed it.  Shattered shrapnel floats past through the Rachel’s failing gravity.  He won, and all it cost was everything.

“I don’t think I want to die anymore, but…”  Jake laughs, harsher than expected.  There’s no one to lead here, no one to impress.  “It’s a little late for that now, huh?”

«It’s all right to be scared,» Elfangor says, when he appears.  «You’ve done well.»  He looks andalite and human, standing guard over Jake’s death as Jake once did for him.

Jake nods, and Elfangor returns it as a bow.

«You’ve honored us all, and it was an honor to serve with you, my prince.»

This new ghost causes Jake to surge several inches off the deck in horror before he falls back, lacking the strength to stand even in this reduced gravity.  “Ax,” Jake gasps.  “Ax… No.  You?”

«It’s all right,» Ax says.  «You killed it.  You honored me.  The ritual of mourning is complete.»

“I wanted to save you,” Jake whispers.

«And you did.  Rest, Prince Jake.»

«You were feared by your enemies, beloved by your cousins.  No higher praise can be spoken of any warrior.»  Arbron, when he appears, is the same strange duality as Elfangor: all andalite and all taxxon, all at once.

Jake wonders if it’s a nothlit thing, if Tobias…

No.  Tobias and Marco, Jeanne and Menderash and Santorelli, all made the escape pod in time before the collision.  Jake has to believe that.  He has to.

«Rest,» Ax says again.  «It’s time.»

“He’s right, you know,” a new voice says, and for the first time Jake feels his eyes prick with tears.  “It’s the easiest thing in the world, once you let yourself go.”

A familiar arm slips around him, and Jake lets himself lean against his brother’s shoulder.  “You’ll stay with me?” Jake asks, hating the weakness in his own voice.  “You’ll stay?”  He doesn’t know how long he can keep up the ritual.

“‘Course,” Tom says.  “No getting rid of me now.”

The specter shapes crowd the room by now, crouching close or standing by.  All here, if Jondrette is to be believed, because they chose to be.

It’s harder to breathe, now.  Harder to see, darkness blurring his vision.  Tom is warm against his side, but Jake is bitterly cold.

“I don’t want it to end,” Jake slurs.  Falling asleep never hurt this much, and the dreams that awaited him on the other side were rarely kind.

“It doesn’t.”  She’s already grinning when she appears in front of him, like this is the greatest daredevil stunt ever pulled.  “We go on.”  Rachel gestures around to the crowd on the bridge.  “Aren’t all of us proof of that?  Nothing is ever lost.”

“Go on to where?” Jake can’t help asking.

At that she laughs.  “Like I’d spoil the surprise.  C’mon, I’ll show you.  Let’s do it.”

She grabs his hand and yanks him forward.  Or maybe that’s Tom, shoving him from behind.  Or Ax’s smile, eyes only, pulling him in.

A small strand of space-time goes dark and coils into nothingness.

[roman-writing]

you search the mountain (2/4)

Fandom: World of Warcraft

Pairing: Jaina Proudmore / Sylvanas Windrunner

Rating: M

Wordcount: 20,005

Summary: The borders of Kul Tiras are closed to all outsiders. Sylvanas, Banshee Queen, hopes to use the impending civil war in Boralus to her advantage, and thereby lure Kul Tiras to the side of the Horde. A Drust AU

Content Advisory: horror, blood, gore, typical Drustvar spooky deer shit

read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3

Notes: I swear this was supposed to be a horror story and not a comedy

--

The sun was beginning to set in earnest. It slanted through the vasty boughs of Gol Inath. Everything was cast in a fading lavender hue, which slowly slipped to something darker. The runes carved into the archway seemed to come alive in the gathering shadows. Overhead, a few ravens wheeled in circles, while others still perched in watchful silence. The eyes of nocturnal animals lurked through the underbrush along the outskirts of the clearing, and though she and the High Thornspeaker were the only two people present, Sylvanas could not help but feel that they were not alone. 

“You’re Jaina Proudmoore?” Sylvanas could not keep the disbelief from her tone. 

Rather than be muffled by the skull, the sound of Jaina's voice seemed to reverberate from within a cave of hollow bone. “I don’t recall telling you my family name. That and the fact you thought I was Ulfar means I’m obviously the one you’re looking for. Why?”

Sylvanas let her gaze rove across Jaina. She had been expecting a slip of a girl. Maybe twenty years old. But while Sylvanas could not see Jaina’s face, her hair was mostly white, streaked with gold, and pulled into a braid over one shoulder. “You’re older than I thought you’d be.” 

“An intruder and a flatterer. Will wonders never cease?” There was a surprising flair of dry humour in Jaina’s words. “Now, I am even more puzzled. Did I kill you?”

At that, Sylvanas let loose a snort of laughter. “No.”

“Well, that’s good. Otherwise this would be awkward. Or -- well -- more awkward, anyway,” said Jaina. When she shifted her weight, Sylvanas glanced down. It was then she realised that Jaina’s bare feet, like her hands, seemed to be carved from the same wood as her staff. “Were you hoping I could reverse your…” she waved a clawed and wood-gnarled hand towards Sylvanas. “...unique condition?” 

It was so reminiscent of Katherine -- the movements, the phrasing, the timbre of her voice, the overall mannerisms -- that Sylvanas no longer harboured any doubts that this was, in fact, Jaina Proudmoore. Or at least someone very closely related to the Lord Admiral. Good enough. 

Shaking her head, Sylvanas said again, “No.”  

“That's a relief. Because it would be nearly impossible.”

Sylvanas stared at her. “Nearly?” she repeated, incredulous.  

“There are some rare exceptions to the rule. I can’t recommend it, to be honest.” Jaina made a dismissive little gesture, as if she couldn’t be troubled with complex explanations of death magic. “If I didn’t kill you, and you don’t want me to fix your Undeath, then why are you looking for me?”

It was tempting to drag the conversation back towards those ‘rare exceptions’ spoken of, but Sylvanas resisted the curiosity gnawing at the base of her neck. She realised she was biting the inside of her cheek with a thoughtful narrowing of her eyes, and put a stop to it. Lifting her chin, she nodded towards Jaina. “Everyone thinks you died.”

“Who’s saying they’re wrong?”

Sylvanas scowled. Not for the first time, she wanted Jaina to remove that damnable skull so she could see her face. “You look very alive to me.”

The curved end of the staff tilted towards Sylvanas in an all encompassing gesture. “I could say the same of you. Appearances can be deceiving, as we both know.” The skull lifted slightly, drawing closer as though Jaina were sniffing the air. “When did you die? Four years ago? Five?”

Shooting her an ugly look, Sylvanas said, “Over a decade ago.”

“Well, that can’t be right. The grave smells more recent on you.” 

“I think I would remember my own death,” Sylvanas said dryly. Then she added with a sneer, “Not that it’s any of your business.” 

Shrugging, Jaina lowered her grip upon the staff so that her stance appeared more relaxed. “I have as much a right to ask you a few personal questions, as you do to barge into my home with drawn weapons.”

Sylvanas pointed to the tree and their surroundings. “Your forest is a nightmare. I was simply prepared for the worst. And besides,” she shrugged at the bow over her shoulder. “I did not shoot you.”

“Your restraint is admirable.”

Sylvanas nodded. “Mmm. Yes. I thought so, too.”

“And after I’ve been so rude to a guest, as well,” Jaina drawled. “However shall I repay you?”

“A formal introduction might be a good start.” 

“It seems you don’t need one. You already know my name. I’m the only one here still in the dark.”

Lifting her open hand, Sylvanas placed it over her own heart. It was an elvish military salute, and something she had never been able to rid herself of no matter how many years had passed. “Sylvanas Windrunner.” 

Jaina did not return the gesture in any regard. "So, Sylvanas Windrunner. You’ve found me. Now, what do you want?”

“Your mother sent me.” 

The lie came easily to Sylvanas’ lips. Jaina’s head jerked as though she had been struck. Her grip upon the staff tightened once more, and Sylvanas swore she saw a glint of eyes through the skull’s sockets, like the glimmer of cold and distant starlight.

“An intruder. A flatterer. And now a liar, too.” The darkness of Gol Inath’s hollow seemed to gather at Jaina’s back, like a protective shroud or a display of something else. Impatience, perhaps. Or a growing ire. “I am seriously beginning to reconsider my decision to not kill you. For good, this time.” 

In response, Sylvanas lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. “Then I count myself fortunate to have such a merciful hostess.” 

Slowly, Jaina moved forward, close enough that their shoulders brushed. The shadows clung to her as she moved. She was tall without the antlers, but with them she seemed that much more imposing. Her face remained hidden behind the mask, but the skull followed Sylvanas with an unblinking stare. And then Jaina had stepped past her. She looked out at the waterfalls plunging over the roots of Gol Inath. "Even if you weren't lying -- which you clearly are -- why would my mother send an undead elf runt to find me?"

Sylvanas bristled, but refused to rise to the bait. Still, she moved forward to stand at Jaina’s side. "The Lord Admiral’s political rivals circle over her. Civil war is coming to Kul Tiras."

"That doesn't sound like my problem."

"I should think civil war affects all Kul Tiran citizens. That includes the Drust."

Jaina continued to face the water, refusing to acknowledge that Sylvanas had moved at all, as though utterly unconcerned with her guest's presence. "A key prerequisite of being a Kul Tiran citizen is having the ability to own land. The Drust haven't been allowed to own land for nearly three hundred years."

"You would let Drustvar fall into the hands of a rival House on a technicality?"

"I have no intention of letting Drustvar fall into anyone's hands but my own."

This was not how the conversation was supposed to go. Jaina was supposed to be young, naive, optimistic, easy to manipulate. She was not supposed to be...whatever this woman was. Calm. Confident. Bored. 

That last one in particular stung. Sylvanas was used to people finding her many things, but boring was not one of them. 

Sylvanas crossed her arms and glowered out at the waterfalls sending up the thick preternatural mist that slunk through the Crimson Forest. "Last I checked, the region was ruled by Lucille Waycrest. Not you."

"What was that about technicalities again?" Now, Jaina just sounded amused. "Lucille and I have an understanding. She may live in Waycrest Manor with her Tides-given titles, but we all know who really controls Drustvar."

"You think Lord Stormsong and Lady Ashvane care about your little arrangement? All they see is a target." Sylvanas pointed to the skull, drawing a circle in the air with her finger as though painting a bull’s eye. Jaina did not move in the slightest despite this intrusion. "Your position is weak. Lucille will be toppled, and your 'understanding' will be in shreds within a few years."

"Let them come."

This air of calm self-assurance was starting to grow tiresome. Mostly because Sylvanas half-believed what Jaina said to be true. Almost. That was by far the most irritating thing. 

She launched her next words like a barb. "Your mother is dying."

Whatever reaction she had been expecting, it wasn’t for Jaina to nod solemnly. "Yes. I imagine she is,” she mused, looking out over the water. “Everybody dies. I didn't think I would need to lecture a corpse about that."

Sylvanas had to stop herself from grinding her teeth. She could feel the muscles in her jaw bunch together regardless. "She needs you. Kul Tiras needs you."

Jaina snorted and shook her head in a rustle of bone and leaves. "My mother sent me away when I was twelve years old. My father refused to speak my name after I’d left until the day he died. And Kul Tiras would never accept me given my background. I am too much like the thing they fear, now. They do not want me."

"I never said Kul Tiras wanted you. I said they needed you. They need an Heir to House Proudmoore."

"Then they should have thought of that before they let my father send my brother to the gallows in Unity Square. Tandred was the last Heir to House Proudmoore. Not me."

"Do you really want the Navy to be commanded by the likes of Lady Ashvane? Or Lord Stormsong?" Sylvanas snapped.

"Hang the Navy."

It was the first time a hint of a growl entered Jaina’s words. The sound was low and rumbling and far too animalistic to have been made by the human voice. Sylvanas’ ears pricked up slightly. She straightened her shoulders, her eyes coal-bright and curious. Finally. An opening. Something she could use. 

“Ah, yes. I’d heard about your brother.” Sylvanas tapped at her chin. “Something about helping the Horde, wasn’t it? Such a shame that your father did not look kindly upon acts of philanthropy to those in need.”

At last, Jaina turned her head to look at her, and it felt like a victory just to have her attention. “Are you in need of my ‘philanthropy’?” she sounded incredulous. 

It was Sylvanas’ turn to pretend to be aloof. “No. But as the Warchief of the Horde, I am always seeking alliances that will make us stronger.”

Jaina twitched in surprise, and the skull tilted to one side as though she were studying Sylvanas with far more interest. "You're no orc."

"I see Kul Tiras really has been living under a rock for the last decade,” said Sylvanas with a huff of wry laughter. “The Horde is far more than a gaggle of mindless orcs these days."

Now, Jaina had turned fully towards her. More progress. "And yet you died over a decade ago, you said? Which implies you are a product of the Scourge.” 

The empty space within the crook of her sickle staff burned with a bluish light, and the air suddenly reeked with the smell of arcane magics. Sylvanas tensed. Her hand made an abortive jerk towards her bow, but then the brief crackle of energy died away.

Jaina hummed a thoughtful note. “I don't sense anything demonic about you."

Still tense -- wary and ready to act upon a moment’s notice -- Sylvanas lowered her arm. "I make a point of not sharing my head with anyone. Especially where demons or liches are concerned."

"Finally, something we can agree on." Gesturing between the two of them, Jaina asked, "And what exactly would you get out of this proposed alliance?"

Sylvanas flashed a grin. "A friend."

At that, Jaina grunted. Silence descended as she chewed over the idea. "You're charming…"

Sylvanas' grin widened slightly.

"...but not that charming." Jaina straightened to her full height, which was fiendishly tall. Far too tall for Sylvanas’ tastes. Humans had no right being able to loom like that. "What do you really get out of this? And don't give me that bullshit about friendship."

The grin slipped from Sylvanas’ face, replaced instead by an expression that was more exasperated than anything else. "You really are your mother's daughter, aren’t you?” When Jaina’s only reply was to quietly glare at her, Sylvanas relented. "I want Kul Tiras to open its borders to the Horde."

“And is that all?” Jaina pressed.

“Would I lie to you?”

“You already have. Several times, I might add.” Jaina tapped her thumb against her staff. The motion rattled a cluster of crows’ skulls at her waist. “How do I know you're not working with Ashvane and Stormsong already?"

Baring her teeth, Sylvanas said, "Because if I were, I wouldn't have approached your sacred tree alone. I would have come with an army to burn it to the ground."

“You really do have a way of endearing people, don’t you?” Jaina said, not the least bit impressed. “No wonder my mother threw you out on your ass. That is what happened when you approached her with this proposition, I assume?”

Sylvanas glowered, but said nothing. It was answer enough.

“Of course, it is.” Jaina’s laugh was a low chuckle of amusement. “Why would I help you?”

“The goodness of your heart,” said Sylvanas, unable to keep the sarcasm from her tone. 

Jaina scoffed. “You’re not a shipwrecked orc in need of hull repairs. You’re a war profiteer.”  

“I had hoped you would be swayed by some manner of loyalty to your dying mother,” said Sylvanas, but the low blow did very little it seemed.  

“Don’t pretend to care about my mother, Warchief Windrunner.”

“Pretend?” Sylvanas repeated, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know, she invited me to the Keep for a cup of tea. If she were in better health, we could have reached an understanding.”

“If she were in better health, she would have shot you,” Jaina said dully.  

“Whatever helps the negotiation process,” Sylvanas drawled with a wave of her hand. Then she leaned a little closer, trying to peer past the impenetrable shadows of the skull’s eye sockets, searching for any hint of Jaina’s face. “Haven’t you thought about what you could do as the Lord Admiral?”

Most people would have leaned away or taken a step back upon being in such close proximity with a walking corpse. Jaina on the other hand remained perfectly still. “I am happy where I am now.”

“Are you?” Sylvanas stepped forward. They were close enough to touch, but Sylvanas stopped just before that point. The skull tilted slightly, as though Jaina were having to lower her chin to continue looking at her. “If you became the Lord Admiral, you could change the laws of Kul Tiras. No more raids. No more witch burnings. No more unfair press into the Navy’s service. You could give back lands to the Drust that were confiscated when your very own ancestors arrived here in the first place. Think of it as -” she shrugged, “- reparations. Making amends. Setting things right once and for all.” 

There. A pause. A hesitation. The smallest gap in Jaina’s proverbial armour. If Sylvanas did not have such acute hearing, she would have missed the slight hitched breath beneath that mask. 

“Hmm,” said Jaina. This close, Sylvanas could hear Jaina’s exhalation brush against the plate of bone in front of her face. It was barely audible over the rush of water and the slough of a breeze through the surrounding foliage. “I still don’t trust you.”

Placing her open hand back over her chest, Sylvanas tried for an air of sincerity without appearing mocking. “Then allow me to prove my good intentions, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina made a noise as though she had just bitten into something sour or rotten. “Don’t call me that. I’m not that old.”

“High Thornspeaker is a bit of a mouthful.”

“They have the same number of syllables,” Jaina pointed out, but she sighed nonetheless. “Jaina, then. If you must.” 

“Very well, Jaina,” Sylvanas let the name linger on her tongue. “Give me a small temporary outpost in Drustvar, and I promise to be nothing but the most humble and respectful of guests. At any time, you may call upon me as needed, or send me away. Whichever you prefer.”

For a long while, Jaina said nothing. As their conversation had progressed, the air around them had grown dark. The moon was a sliver of liquid gold upon the horizon, peeking over the wild canopy. The ground here was littered with small bioluminescent flowers, which gathered closest around the great tree, glowing softly in time with the runes over the arch and those carved into the mask’s antlers, as though they were all connected by a single woven thread. When Jaina took a step back and turned away, the ground lit up at her feet. The small bioluminescent petals clustered within her footsteps so that she seemed to leave a trail of pale fire that faded in her wake. 

She did not go very far, only striding a few paces off to sit upon one of the stones half-buried in the ground at the base of the tree. The moment she touched the stone, the marks etched into its surface lit up like a lantern. Jaina paid them no heed. She sat. She rested her staff on the ground beside her. She crossed her legs and idly bounced her foot up and down as though deep in thought. 

One of the ravens swooped down from its branch to land on Jaina’s shoulder, and she waved it away. “Not now, Adalyn,” she admonished under her breath.

The raven cawed a loud complaint, but it flapped away again. Except this time it landed on a lower branch nearer Jaina, and fixed a beady black eye upon Sylvanas. 

Finally, Jaina turned her attention back on Sylvanas. “No hunting,” she said, holding up her hand to tick items off on her wooden fingers. “No fishing. No mining. No forestry. You will have a minimal presence. All civilian. No military. And you will stock no arms or ammunition either on shore or within twenty leagues of it.” 

“Agreed,” Sylvanas said without any hesitation.

“I will speak with Lucille. You’ll have your outpost within the fortnight. Though,” Jaina added, “you might consider keeping your head down. If my mother gets wind that you’ve established a presence here behind her back, there will be hell to pay.”

“I will be meek as a field mouse,” Sylvanas swore. 

Though Sylvanas could not see it, she had no doubt Jaina just rolled her eyes. “Somehow I don’t believe you.” Her foot continued to bob as she spoke. "Arthur will escort you back to Arom's Stand. It will be quicker with him showing you the way."

Sylvanas looked around the empty clearing. "Who?"

As if in answer, one of the smaller ravens wheeled down from the branches of Gol Inath. It landed on the ground a few paces away from Sylvanas. And then it shuffled its feathers, and began to grow. There followed a series of unpleasant snaps and groans, as though a tree were being felled, and then a deer was standing in the raven's place. Except it was like no deer Sylvanas had ever seen before. It appeared to be made partly of plant, and partly of bone and flesh. Its legs were clawed twisted trunks, and the collar of fur around its neck was a ruff of leaves. Sylvanas could see glimpses of pale ribs through its sunken skin, and glowing glyphs were tattooed into its flank. 

"Hi!" the deer said. "It's me. I'm Arthur. Nice to meet you."

The voice was most definitely coming from the deer, though its mouth did not move in any way. Its eyes were filmed over with the pale blue of death, but the deer flicked its tufted tail in a very lively manner. 

Slowly, Sylvanas looked up at the trees, at the numerous ravens eyeing her from their perches. Even at the gazes of nocturnal creatures that blinked owlishly at her through the underbrush. She tried counting them all, but soon lost track. Suddenly, Jaina's earlier threats about putting Sylvanas in the ground for good did not seem so empty. 

"I wasn't aware we had an audience." Sylvanas nodded to the trees. "You might have told me."

"To be honest, you came right in the middle of a lesson. One which I'm keen to get back to. You have very bad timing." Jaina shooed her away. "I will check in on you in a few months. And if you don't keep up your end of the bargain: I'll know."

"What if I want to speak with you sooner?"

"You still have my token. It will guide you safely through the forest just as it did before."

With a sour grunt, Sylvanas' hand drifted to the pouch where she kept the scrimshaw fang. She thought on wicker men and bad dreams. Perhaps instead, next time she would just go to the forest's edge and talk to the ravens until they fetched Jaina for her. 

Plastering on a false smile, Sylvanas bowed low at the waist. "The hospitality of the Drust is as infamous as they say. Thank you, High Thornspeaker. This meeting has been enlightening."

"Next time, let me know you’re coming, and I'll be sure to put on a pot of tea," Jaina said dryly. 

The raven from before, the one called Adalyn, had hopped down to a branch closer to Jaina, glaring over the High Thornspeaker's shoulder like a dour little body guard. Sylvanas was sure she had seen the same expression on Nathanos' face. 

Syvlanas turned towards Arthur. The deer was pawing at the ground with one clawed and cloven hoof. 

"Hop on up," Arthur's voice said. 

Sylvanas' brows furrowed. His back looked very spiny and not at all comfortable. "I don't suppose I can get a saddle?"

"I mean -?" Arthur started to say, glancing over at Jaina.

"Don't demean yourself Arthur," Jaina said. 

Arthur stamped his back hoof, and said to Sylvanas. "Sorry. No can do."

Muttering under her breath, Sylvanas hoisted herself easily onto his back. She shifted atop him, but couldn't find a good seat no matter what she did. 

"Ready?" he asked.

Before she could answer he started off on a bouncing trot away from Gol Inath. Behind them, Sylvanas could have sworn she heard laughter chasing after her, but perhaps that was simply the cry of the ravens. 

As Arthur picked up the pace, he said, "You might want to hold on."

"To what?" Sylvanas growled. 

He tossed his head, and she grabbed onto a tine of his antlers. Soon, his steps turned into leaps and bounds. He was sure-footed and swift, easily traversing the forest. Even so, Sylvanas was forced to hunker down low on his back to save herself from getting whipped by the passing branches. 

She missed her skeletal horses. They may not have been as fast, but at least they had saddles and didn't talk. And Arthur talked. Arthur talked a lot. 

"This is so exciting," he said as they raced along. "We haven't had outsiders at Gol Inath in -- well -- forever! And now all this talk about the Admiralty and invasion? Do you think we're going to have a big fight?"

A branch sailed right for Sylvanas' face. She ducked. "That depends," she said through grit teeth. 

"I've never been in a battle before.” He sounded excited at the idea, proving just how young he really was. “Killing constructs and undead at Gol Koval doesn't count."

His accent lacked the burr that other Drustvar inhabitants had. Sylvanas tightened her grip upon his antlers. "You don't sound like you're from Drustvar. How long have you been training as a druid?"

"Oh, I'm from a fishing village in southern Tiragarde Sound," he replied. "I joined the Drust a few years ago. My parents found me in the garden one winter. We didn't have enough food, so I'd made the squash patch grow right through the snow. For people like me, options are limited. You can go to the Monastery or join the Navy. Except Tidesages don't really do nature magic like that, you know? And life at sea isn't really for me. So, here I am."

Sylvanas mused over that for a moment. The silence did not last long however. Soon, Arthur was yammering away again. Some incessant drivel about how much he liked being with the Drust. How the change in his life had been dramatic but ultimately fruitful. 

Sylvanas made non-committal noises as he talked. Then, she interrupted, "How long has Jaina been High Thornspeaker?" 

"Four years, I think? Three? By the time I came around, she was already Ulfar's star pupil."

"And he chose her as his successor?"

"Oh, no. Not really. It just sort of happened during the fight with Gorak Tul. They went to Thros and -" Abruptly, Arthur cut himself off. His bounding gait slowed to a canter. "I'm not really supposed to talk about that."

"You can tell me,” she crooned sweetly. “We're allies now, aren't we?"

"I don’t know,” Arthur said, his tone uncertain. “Jaina would be mad at me."

"Does she get mad at you often?"

"Oh, no. She's very patient with me. Way more patient than my parents, or that recruiting Lieutenant from Boralus. I hated that guy.” Arthur slowed to a stop. “Hey, can you do me a favour?”

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. "What kind of favour?"

When Arthur tossed his head, she was forced to let go of his antlers. "There's this -" He twisted his head around, his ears flicking back. "- really itchy spot on my neck."

Glowering, she hissed, "I am not your scratching post."

"Oh, come on. Please?" 

"I don't know why Jaina bothers with talk of demeaning yourself. Look at you."

He had twisted around, head lowered, so that he could scratch at his neck with one of his back hooves, like a dog trying to scratch behind its ear. Sylvanas had to cling to his back to keep from falling off and onto the ground. Briefly, she wondered how mad Jaina would be if she killed him, and then decided that it wasn't worth the trouble. 

"I will walk the rest of the way," she grumbled, but before she could slide from his back, he sighed.

"Okay. Got it." He straightened, and then shook his head with a huff of irritation. "Thanks for nothing. Geesh." 

Sylvanas' gaze burned scarlet as she glared at him. However, Arthur was either immune to the sense of immediate danger, or he really was that oblivious, for he continued on his way, chatting happily. This time, Sylvanas did not offer any noises to indicate that she was listening. She seethed in silence. 

The forest around them looked exactly the same as it had when she had first entered it. Thankfully, they did not pass the burnt ash tree and the wicker man, though Sylvanas watched for it, as though fully expecting to be dropped back into the nightmare loop that had been her life for the last three days. Arthur probably would have answered any other questions she posed, but she did not want to encourage him. Not that he needed it. 

Finally, after the longest few hours of her undeath, they reached the edge of the Crimson Forest. Dawn was a sliver cresting over the hills, painting the sky a pale pink. The moon still hung like a pendant at the throat of the world over the sea to the south west. Sylvanas lifted her head to peer up the cliffs directly ahead of them to the east. From here, she could just see a glimmer of lantern light from Arom's Stand high on the saddle of the mountain pass. 

Arthur slowed his pace, but continued trotting onto the road, clearly intending to carry her all the way back up to Arom's Stand as per his instructions. But Sylvanas leapt nimbly from his back. Her boots squelched in the mud of the road. 

Prancing around her, Arthur said, "Something wrong? If you needed to stretch your legs, you could've just said something."

Sylvanas bit back the urge to say something scathing. Instead, she began to stride along the road. "I will make my way from here. Thank you, Mr...?"

"Tradewind," he replied.

"Thank you, Mr. Tradewind."

"Don’t worry about it. You can call me Arthur.” He stopped in front of her, blocking her path. “And are you sure? I don't mind, and that hill is steep."

Teeth clenched, Sylvanas walked around him. She waved him away. "I am fine."

“Suit yourself.” 

She did not hear him bound away. There was a rustle behind her, the strident cawing of a raven, and he was gone in a flap of wings. 

It did not take long to climb the slope to Arom's Stand. The snows had melted slightly in her absence, though the further up the mountains she went, the deeper it became. The sun rose in time with her own movements up the hill. Soon she was bathed in the golden glow of daylight. The sun was a mixed blessing. The season was warming, but with it came the sludge of snowmelt mingling with the mud of the road. 

A falcon wheeled overhead. She paid it no heed, until it started circling her position. Then, she frowned up at it. When it circled lower until it was just a few meters above her head, Sylvanas sighed.

"You didn't have to send anyone else after me," she said to the sky. "I've left your damned forest."

"Are you talking to a bird?"

Sylvanas blinked. She turned to find Nathanos striding towards her from off the road. Of course. There were few people who could sneak up on her. Nathanos and her dark rangers were among them. 

As he approached, Nathanos put away his bow. "I am glad to see you unharmed. I shall have to tell Anya her coup is a no go."

"Very funny," Sylvanas growled. 

No sooner had he spoken Anya's name, than she and Velonara appeared on the nearby crest of the hill. They were followed by Notley from the Order of Embers. A furrow creased Sylvanas' brows when she saw that they flanked Notley as though he were a prisoner.

"Trouble?" she asked Nathanos. 

Nathanos seemed unrepentant. "We were worried for your safety, my Queen. Notley is a falconer, and we merely -" he trailed off for a moment, then shrugged, "- requested his immediate services."

Tilting her head back, Sylvanas looked incredulously between him and the falcon. The falcon itself was swooping back towards its master, who lifted his arm clad in a thick leather glove up to the elbow. Anya and Velonara were lengthening their strides now, leaving Notley behind so they could reach their Dark Lady's side. 

"I was only gone three days, Nathanos," Sylvanas admonished, as Anya and Velonara drew close enough to hear. "You panicked like a bunch of old hens."

"Three?" Velonara repeated.

"You were gone nine days," said Anya. 

Staring at them, Sylvanas shifted her gaze to Nathanos. He nodded. "When you did not arrive at the tavern in Arom's Stand on the seventh day, we tried to go into the forest after you."

"And how did that go for you?" Sylvanas asked.

"Not well," said Anya with a tone as dark as her expression. 

Trudging towards their little group, falcon on his arm, Notley said, "I told them not to. But they refused to listen. Said they were going to gut me like a fish if I got in their way."

Neither of the rangers nor Nathanos gave any indication that this was true. Then again, they did not deny it either. 

Sylvanas tsked in faux admonishment. “That’s no way to treat our newest allies.”

Of the four, the one who looked most surprised at this declaration was Notley. “You -?” he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as though the forest below would eavesdrop. “You found the High Thornspeaker?” 

A silent meaningful glance was shared between Sylvanas and Nathanos. She smiled, baring a hint of fangs. “I did.’

--

True to her word, Jaina had arranged an outpost for the Horde within two weeks. During that time, Sylvanas and her rangers stayed in Corlain rather than suffer the indignity of the tavern at Arom's Stand for a moment longer. 

Not that Corlain was much better. It was the kind of town where the sad grey market every weekend was considered the height of culture by the locals. Sylvanas had seen less grim affairs in the sewers of the Undercity. The people of Drustvar were as accommodating as those in Boralus, which was to say: reticent to outsiders. Still, they did not chase the undead away with torches and pitchforks, which was an improvement on some of the places Sylvanas had visited in her lifetime. 

After thirteen days however, Sylvanas was stirred from her chair at the local inn by a rapping on the rain-lashed glass. When she went to open up the window, a filmy-eyed raven hopped inside the windowsill. 

"Finally," Arthur said, fluffing up all of his feathers so that he resembled a black hand duster. He shook his tail out. "Do you know it's pouring out there? I should have transformed into a duck instead, but Jaina keeps telling me it's not 'dignified.'"

"When will she learn that you're a lost cause?" Sylvanas drawled.

"Right?"

Rolling her eyes, Sylvanas said, "Well?"

"Huh? Oh! Yeah." Arthur made a sound as though he were clearing his throat, and he perched a little straighter. "Lady Waycrest has agreed to give you the Eastern Cliffs. It's an abandoned settlement near the lighthouse of Falconhurst."

Sylvanas sighed. "Wonderful. More impassable cliffs."

While this entire conversation was going on, Anya and Velonara had stopped their game of whist at the table. They had somehow managed to procure a deck of cards only a few hours after their arrival in Corlain, and picked up the game with a cunning and alacrity that had many of the locals cry foul. Which, in the locals' defense, Sylvanas reckoned was probably true. Velonara's hand was frozen mid-play, a card held between her fingers. They were both staring at the sudden conversation between their despot and a bird. 

For his part, Arthur's head cocked, and he hopped a little closer towards their table. "Hey! This lady's cheating! She's got some spare cards up her sleeve!"

Anya's deathly pale cheeks went faintly blotchy. She glared daggers at the raven. "Permission to shoot the bird, Mistress?"

"Permission denied," said Sylvanas. 

Throwing down her own hand, Velonara snatched Anya's wrist and wrenched the cards that had been stashed up Anya's bracers. 

Sylvanas ignored the ensuing squabble in rapid-tongued Elvish behind her, like the hissing of angry snakes. She turned to Arthur. "Is there anything else?"

"Do you have a towel? Can you give me a quick rub down?"

"That was a rhetorical question, Arthur."

"Yeah, well, mine wasn't. I had to fly for hours to get here, and I'm soaked."

Rather than dignify this with a response, Sylvanas shooed him back towards the windowsill and shut the window. He squawked at her indignantly from the other side of the glass, before he was ultimately driven off by the rain. 

It took another two weeks to bring in hand-picked members of the Horde to fill the outpost. Sylvanas had already sent word back to Orgrimmar of her plans, and a list of suitable candidates had been drawn up at her request. The small ship -- something harmless enough to slip past the Kul Tiran Navy patrols by pretending to be a neutral fishing vessel -- landed at Falconhurst on an auspiciously sunny day. The sun was a wan yellowish circle behind a thin layer of clouds. It felt like the first time Sylvanas had seen sunlight in years, even though it had been only been a few weeks of incessant rain. 

A handful of Forsaken and Tauren stepped off the ship and onto shore. The local fishermen on the docks did not give them more than a passing glance. As per Sylvanas' orders, the Tauren -- all of whom were druids -- arrived in various animal forms. Neither they nor the undead were considered an odd sight in Drustvar. Indeed, the most difficult part about keeping a low profile was trying to encourage her more zealous Forsaken followers that they needn't erect banners with her symbol upon them. This slight to her glory seemed to cause a few of them physical pain, and more than once she had to order Nathanos to go around at night to tear down a few tabards from the walls of their encampment. 

Less than a week had passed before Velonara was clearing her throat to get Sylvanas' attention. 

"What is it?" Sylvanas did not look up from where she was fletching a series of arrows. She had been forced to purchase the feathers from a hawker Falconhurst, who had been curious as to why she did not simply hunt for pheasant herself. He quickly nodded in understanding when she explained she would not hunt anywhere near the Crimson Forest, however. There was even a small discount offered for her supposed piety. 

"There are two women watching us from the tops of the cliffs," Velonara explained. 

Sylvanas tied off a section of gut around the fletching. "And you haven't scared them away yet? You're losing your touch."

"One of them claims to be the Lady Lucille Waycrest. She is demanding an audience."

Now, that did get Sylvanas' attention. She glanced up from her work. "Demanding? Is she, now?" Finishing off the arrow, she set it down and then rose to her feet. "We shouldn't keep one of our hosts waiting, then."

It was a quick walk up the switchback road leading over the saddle of the cliffs. Waves thundered against the shore below. Their outpost was placed on a small outcropping that was sheltered by a man-made shoal with a lighthouse erected at its very end. At night it almost appeared as though the lighthouse were floating above the tides. Now, the wind-battered lighthouse was peering out at the dusk-washed sea like a lantern. 

Most of the locals from Falconhurst avoided the Eastern Cliffs apart from a few fishermen, who favoured the docks. And yet, two dark shapes were standing near the cliff's edge. They were peering down at the outpost below. Over the whipping of the wind, Syvlanas could barely hear their murmured conversation. 

Sylvanas announced her presence by allowing her foot to kick loose a stone on the path. Both of the figures turned. One was carrying a lantern. She lifted it into the air, peering through the impending gloom of twilight at those who approached. 

"Lady Waycrest, I presume." Sylvanas stopped a few paces away, and tucked her arms behind her back in a comfortably militant pose. "I understand you wished to speak with me."

"Yes," said the woman holding the lantern. Her hair was dark, and her clothing fine. She studied Sylvanas with pursed lips. "I wish you'd approached me before approaching the Drust."

Sylvanas arched an eyebrow. "Oh? I was under the impression I was welcome here."

Lucille's mouth thinned even more. "You are. For now. But it is bloody inconvenient, you know, having you lot strolling about under Jaina's wing, while I'm kept in the dark."

With a nonchalant shrug, Sylvanas said, "Your arrangement with the High Thornspeaker is your own. How you go about your business is none of my concern. So, unless you're telling us to leave, we have very little to discuss."

"That's not what I'm here for." Drawing herself up -- she was short for a Kul Tiran, which meant she was only slightly taller than Sylvanas and Velonara -- Lucille gestured to the woman beside her. "I've been told you already know Mace?"

Sylvanas' eyes cut through the darkening air. Mace was fidgeting with the daggers sheathed at her waist. Her palms moved restlessly over the pommels until the metal was burnished smooth and bright. Her red hair was unmistakable. When Lucille gestured towards her, Mace inclined her head, her movements jerky, as though she had to remind herself to be deferential. 

"I do," Sylvanas said slowly. 

"Good. I'm assigning her as an escort to your outpost," said Lucille. She turned to Mace. "No starting fights. And report back to me every fortnight."

Meanwhile, Sylvanas's shoulders went rigid. "I beg your pardon?" she growled. "You will do no such thing."

Lucille frowned in her direction. "It's only fair," she said. "Jaina is having you watched."

"She isn't," Sylvanas insisted flatly.  

"Then what is that?" Lucille pointed over Sylvanas' shoulder.

Sylvanas turned to follow where Lucille was indicating, and spied a large raven shuffling along the branch of a nearby tree. The bird seemed to notice their attention upon it, for it went very still all of a sudden.

Eyes narrowing to crimson slits, Sylvanas raised her voice. "Is that you, Arthur?"

"What?" said Arthur. "No! No, I'm just a normal raven."

"Normal ravens don't talk, Arthur."

"Oh. Right. I mean -! Caw! Caw!"

Sylvanas had to unclench her teeth before she could speak to Lucille again. Her clawed gauntlets creaked, and she relaxed her hands. "A trade then. You leave Mace here, and take Velonara back to Waycrest Manor with you."

"What?" hissed Velonara at Sylvanas' elbow, too low for the humans to hear. Sylvanas slanted a dangerous glance in her direction, and Velonara fell silent. 

"Fine," agreed Lucille after a moment of thought. "Fair's fair. Just know that if she puts a knife between my ribs, Jaina will drown everyone at your little outpost."

"I'm well aware," Sylvanas drawled.

For some reason, that made Lucille relax. She even smiled. "Well, good. That's settled, then. Welcome to Drustvar, Warchief." Then, she nodded towards the ranger standing attentively at Sylvanas' side. "Velonara, was it? I have two horses stabled at the inn in Falconhurst. We can ride back towards the manor in the morning."

Velonara said nothing. Indeed, she gave no indication that she had even heard Lucille speak to her. She was too busy glaring awls into the back of Sylvanas' head. 

The tip of Sylvanas' ears twitched slightly in annoyance. "Are you going to answer Lady Waycrest?"

Velonara's expression remained implacable, but her voice was stiff when she inclined her head towards Lucille. "I will meet you there at daybreak."

Satisfied, Lucille strode off towards Falconhurst. Her step was unerring, if loud. The soles of her boots seemed to find every twig along the road. The moment she was out of earshot, Velonara rounded on Sylvanas. 

"I don't like this," she said in a low tone. "We are in hostile territory. You need a proper guard detail, and you were already under-protected when you decided to leave your Deathguards in Orgrimmar."

Sylvanas smiled as a pretense to bare a bit of fang. "I am more than capable of protecting myself. Besides," she gave a wry wave towards Mace, "I have a new bodyguard now."

As the conversation had continued, Mace had squatted down on the ground. She had procured a small block of wood from somewhere, and was now busy whittling away at it with one of her daggers. It took her a long moment to realise that both Sylvanas and Velonara were now watching her in silence. Her knife slowed against the woodgrain. She blinked up at them blankly. "Huh?"

"Yes, she seems very alert," Velonara muttered darkly. "I'm so relieved." 

"Don't forget me," said Arthur from his branch. "I'm still here."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Sylvanas sighed. 

--

The next morning, Velonara left with Lucille back to Waycrest manor with strict instructions on sending back reports on the latest political and military movements every week. Nathanos and Anya took the news of the trade about as well as Velonara did, which meant that Sylvanas was forced to endure extra Forsaken guards around her quarters at the Eastern Cliffs at every hour of the day. 

Arthur also took the discovery of his presence to mean that he no longer needed to hide. He made a habit of roosting atop the first story eaves of the building that Sylvanas used as both personal quarters and a command centre. He would chatter away at her undead guardsmen, pestering them with questions and stories. 

Even worse, her guards cracked and eventually began to talk back to him. 

Sylvanas was pouring over a series of reports on the latest treaty update from Zandalar one evening, burning the midnight oil, when she first heard it. 

"So, wait -- you eat bodies? Why?" Arthur's chirpy voice was unmistakable over the sound of the waves against the nearby cliffs. 

There followed a rustle of chainmail rasping over a bony shouldered shrug. "It heals us. Makes us whole again."

"Woah. Really? Can you show me?"

A dry chuckle. "That's not the reaction we usually get, kid. But sure."

Tossing down the report onto the stack of paper on her desk, Sylvanas pushed back her chair, its legs scraping loudly against the wooden floorboards. She stormed over to the front door, and yanked it open. Immediately, her two guardsmen jerked to attention, their normally stooping backs ramrod straight.

Sylvanas glared at them and hissed. "You will refrain from developing a rapport with the bird. Understood?"

“Yes, Dark Lady,” one of them said.

“Of course, my Queen. Forgive us,” said the other. 

Sylvanas then aimed her glower upwards, where Arthur was poking his black-feathered head over the side of the thatched eaves. "Isn't it time for you to deliver your report to Jaina?"

Arthur's milky white eyes blinked at her. "Probably. How many days has it been?"

"Do you want me to write your reports, too?" she growled. 

"Would you? That would be really helpful."

"You are a terrible spy." She waved an irritable hand at him. "Go home. Before I let Anya shoot you."

"Someone's grouchy today,” he remarked, but took flight before Sylvanas could make good on her threats.

She glared after him, following his flight path until he was no more than a black speck disappearing over the hills. When she turned her attention back onto the guards, they gripped their polearms even more tightly. 

“Where is the other one?” she asked.

One of the guards lifted his hand and pointed with a flensed finger. Slamming the door shut behind her, Sylvanas stalked in that direction. It did not take her long to find Mace. As far as spies went, she and Arthur could not have been worse at their jobs if they tried. Mace spent her days throwing stones into the sea, or talking to the local fishermen, or hurling knives at a target dummy made out of a flour sack filled with straw. She never spoke with the undead more than necessary. Any time Anya or Nathanos reported her talking with members of the Horde was when she would question the Tauren about the Cenarion Circle and the Moonglade. 

Sylvanas found her sitting on a stump beneath the deep eaves of the command centre. Her back was turned to Sylvanas, and she gave no indication that she noticed her presence. Mace was hunched over something in her lap, and various trimmings heaped at her feet.

Standing behind her, Sylvanas watched as Mace’s hands bound three sticks together with twine into a roughly human frame. Next, she gathered dried leaves and twigs around the frame, tying them into place by circling the ball of twine in key sections. She worked methodically. Her restless disposition was well-suited to this kind of constant activity. 

When she was nearly finished, Sylvanas nodded towards the little wicker man. “What do they do?”

Without looking up, Mace shrugged. She was completely unsurprised by the sound of Sylvanas’ voice directly behind her. “Dunno. She likes them, though.”

“Who?”

“The High Thornspeaker.” 

The wicker man was beginning to take shape. Mace bulked it out with more leaves and twigs. It lacked any kind of head. Briefly, vividly, Sylvanas could remember the wicker man in the forest with its watchful skull. A skull which seemed, in retrospect, a near exact copy to the one Jaina wore. 

"What do you do with them when you've finished?" 

Mace grunted around a twig in her mouth, taking it and lashing it into place along one of the wicker man's legs. "Leave them at the edge of the forest, usually. They disappear in a few days. She takes 'em, see? Or, if you have to make camp, you stake one of these at your feet while you sleep. Protects you from ghosts and constructs and, y'know -" Mace waved a withered leaf at Sylvanas. "- banshees and the like."

"And you want to put one in my outpost as a housewarming gift," Sylvanas sneered. "Lovely. Thank you."

Unperturbed, Mace put the finishing touches on the wicker man. She bound the last bit of twine into place, and then weighed the wicker man between her hands for a final inspection. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but I am sleeping here surrounded by you lot. I'll take what I can get."

Reaching down, Sylvanas snatched the wicker man from Mace's grasp. "This thing -" her voice was low and dangerous, "- will not save you from me. And I will not have it anywhere near my personal quarters."

Mace tongued the inside of her cheek. Then, she nodded towards the wicker effigy. "Don't like it much, do you?"

Sylvanas’ hand tightened around the wicker man until she heard the creaking of twigs and leaves. She straightened, forcing her fingers to unclench. Without the bear claws and a skull, this effigy was far less ferocious than its counterpart in the Crimson Forest. Still, it made her skin crawl to touch it. 

She looked between the wicker man and Mace. Her eyes narrowed to crimson slits. “Do you have any Drust in your family line?”

“My uncle Tavery,” Mace replied. She was shuffling around the supplies at her feet. Eventually she picked up a piece of wood, and began carving it with a knife. 

Sylvanas turned the wicker man over to study its construction. Mace had woven the twigs and leaves in such a way that they all interlinked over the effigy’s chest, as though framing its lack of a heart. A space to be filled by grim offerings. Sylvanas stroked her thumb over the area. “Tell me about Gol Inath.”

Shoulders tense, Mace hunched over her knife. She shot Sylvanas a wary glance over her shoulder. “You shouldn’t -- You shouldn’t say its name aloud so easily.”

“What is it?” Sylvanas repeated, impatiently enunciating every syllable. 

“The sacred tree. The entrance to Thros.”

“And what is Thros?”

Mace scowled at her. “Why are you asking me all these damn questions? If it’s information about the Drust you want, you should ask them. Not me.”

Gesturing with the wicker man, Sylvanas said, “Indulge me.”

For a moment Mace said nothing. She fiddled with the handle of the dagger, then turned back to whittling the small block of wood in her hands. It was beginning to take on the shape of a shaggy bear. “The Blighted Lands. A nightmarish place where nothing grows.” She gave the dagger a particularly vicious flick, tearing off a chunk of wood. “Hell, Warchief. Thros is Hell.” 

--

If there was one thing Sylvanas was very good at, it was being patient. She had waited to lure Arthas into a trap, pretending to be under the yoke of his will even when the Lich King’s powers had begun to wane. She had bided her time in joining the Horde, ensuring the alliances of both the Forsaken and sin’dorei. The living wanted everything urgently and immediately. On some days she could still feel that itch scratching just beneath her sternum, but today was not such a day.

She sat behind her desk at the Eastern Cliffs. Its surface was littered with papers and documents, bits of parchment with her notes scrawled across them in spidery lines. And though the watery sunlight of Kul Tiras washed through the windows of the building, the hearth was lit, more for light than for warmth. She had very little need of warmth these days. 

A map of Kul Tiras was spread out before her, its curling edges weighed down with various items -- an inkwell, a dog-eared book, a jar of sand for drying wet ink. Standing at the opposite side of the table, Nathanos leaned over and pointed to the map. “According to Velonara, Lady Waycrest has levied troops at Fletcher’s Hollow to fend off the Ashvane forces seeking to take the mines and foundry in that area. She has also sent troops to garrison Fallhaven, as it is the largest settlement in Drustvar that is accessible by sea. Drustvar has very few ships of their own, and certainly none that can rival the Great Fleet.”

Sylvanas’ elbow was propped on the chair of her arm. She curled her fingers into a fist and leaned her cheek upon it. “How many souls has she levied?”

He straightened and answered. “Fifteen thousand.”

Studying the map, Sylvanas hummed. “Not bad for a nation that traditionally doesn’t field an army.”

Nathanos gave a condescending little sniff. “It is nothing compared to what the Horde could muster at a moment’s notice.”

“Perhaps,” Sylvanas murmured. “But who needs an army when the only way to your land is by sea?” Reaching out, her hand drifted over the map towards Tiragarde Sound. She tapped her finger against Boralus. “And what about our beloved Lord Admiral? What has she been doing these last few weeks?”

“I have received news that she was visited by an Alliance envoy.”

Sylvanas glanced sharply up at him. “Anyone we know?”

“Genn Greymane.”

At the very sound of the name, Sylvanas’ lip curled. “And?”

“And Katherine sent him away as well.” Nathanos’ beard twitched in a smug smile. “She wanted nothing to do with the Alliance either.”

Sylvanas laughed, the sound sharp and short. She settled back in her chair, a smile still playing across her lips. “So, she sent the dog running with his tail between his legs. I knew I liked her.” 

Nathanos’ own smile faded. “Why haven’t we told her about finding her daughter alive? If it’s the Admiralty you want, we should be trying to curry their favour and uniting them.”

With a sniff, Sylvanas said, “You have no sense for the dramatic, Nathanos. You would be a very poor theatre performer.”

He offered a small bow in reply. “You flatter me.”

She let loose a gentle huff of laughter, turning her attention back to the map. “No, we wait. We let the Ashvanes tie their own noose. What will the people say? When the daughter of their beloved war hero, Daelin Proudmoore, returns from the grave to liberate the nation from a usurper House?” Sylvanas curled one loose corner of the map between thumb and forefinger. The parchment began to tear slightly, the rip aiming up between Drustvar and Tiragarde Sound. She studied it a moment, and then pulled her hand back. “Why, I think it might just be a cause for a celebration.”

“You mean: a coup,” Nathanos said.

“What’s a good party without a little bloodshed?” she said wryly. “Besides, I hear Kul Tirans are the brawling type. Think of it as a cultural experience. We are -” Sylvanas fluttered the fingers of one hand as though searching for the words. “-forging stronger ties with our future allies.”

“I am leaping for joy on the inside,” Nathanos replied in his flattest possible tone. “And if the Alliance should approach her daughter? What then?”

“They won’t.”

“You underestimate their cunning.”

“No, I predict their weakness.” Leaning back, she propped her feet atop a clear corner of the desk, crossing her legs at the heel. “The old wolf or SI:7 might approach Jaina, but their Little Lion wouldn’t allow them to go through with any plan they concocted between them. He could never stomach something so underhanded.”

“And this High Thornspeaker? What if she sought them out herself? Presuming she ever deigns to set foot outside of her forest.” He snorted, shaking his head. “I have my doubts.”

The way Nathanos said that gave Sylvanas pause. She shifted slightly in her seat to face him more fully. “About what, pray tell?”

For a moment, he hesitated. He seemed to mull over his words carefully before beginning. “Forgive me, my Queen, but no one else has seen her, or even heard her voice. I have sent scouts into the Forest -- every week for the last two months -- and always they return empty handed. Confused or scared witless. Some claim to have been hunted like a wild animal through the woods. Some rave about men made of bone and moss chasing them. Some say there is a tree strung with carcasses at the heart of the forest, and that its guardian is a bloodied stag crowned with stars.” He held his gloved hands palms up, showing that they were empty. “None of them have ever seen a woman as you described her.”

“Do you think I was as addled by the forest as your scouts?” she asked in a voice that was dangerously calm.

He inclined his head. It was not a nod, but a sign of subservience. “No. Of course not. That we have been given this outpost is proof enough that you encountered someone -- or something -- which swayed the Lady Waycrest.”

“But you don’t think it was her.”

Sweeping a hand over his heart, Nathanos said, “You do not have me by your side to be trusting of others, my Queen. And I think it is very convenient that we found her alive. Too convenient, in fact.” He kept his head bowed as he spoke, but his gaze held her own with unflinching conviction. “How do we know this isn’t some spectre or illusion? How do we know we aren’t being played for fools?”

The rear legs of the chair creaked slightly beneath Sylvanas as she shifted her weight. Her eyes strayed to the hearth, over which the wicker man had been hung. Its limbs were scorched. She had tried to burn it after speaking with Mace, flinging it into the fire as more fuel, but it had resisted her efforts. So far there had been no forced nightmares in its presence, but Sylvanas remained wary of it all the same.

She thought back on that meeting in the forest. Gol Inath. A congregation of ravens. Shadows and mist and a faceless woman whose tongue was as sharp as her mind. The memory should have seemed dream-like, but it wasn’t. Even dwelling upon the memory now, it were almost as though she were transported back to the entrance of that tree; the smell of it pervaded her senses like a familiar but long-forgotten scene. As though she had rummaged through her mother’s vanity as a child and happened upon a used vial of perfume. 

“Your suspicions are not misplaced,” Sylvanas assured him. “But she is real. I am sure of it.”

At the gentling of her tone, he lifted his head. “Then if she is real, how do we know she will be up to the challenge? Druids are dreamers. They make poor leaders. Always with their heads in the clouds or the trees.” He tapped the side of his own head for emphasis. 

“This one is different. She’s -” Sylvanas made a face. “- terribly practical, actually.”

He scrunched up his nose in a look of minor disgust. “I was not aware that was possible for a druid.”

She hummed wordlessly in agreement.

“Still,” Nathanos said. “I doubt the Navy will follow someone who never emerges from their life of seclusion and mysticism. Regardless of their name. If I don’t believe she is real, then the average Kul Tiran won’t either.”

Now, that was a problem. As far as Sylvanas could tell, Jaina seemed content to act behind the scenes, all while letting Lady Waycrest take the centre stage. 

“Then we must lure her out,” Sylvanas said. 

“With what bait?”

Again, her eyes strayed to the wicker man. Lowering her feet back to the ground, Sylvanas stood. She rounded the desk and crossed over to the fireplace. Her face was illuminated by orange flames as she reached out to pick up the wicker man. “Leave that to me.”

--

Sylvanas left the Eastern Cliffs without an escort, much to the annoyance of Nathanos and Anya. The sky was dark and boiled with clouds, and not even a hint of starlight could shine through. The promise of rain was heavy upon the air; Sylvanas could almost taste it. For all that it was a still night, a calm night, and -- most importantly -- a rainless night. 

When she arrived at the edge of the Crimson Forest, a raven soared overhead and landed in the lower branches of a nearby tree. 

"Do you want a ride?" Arthur asked.

Sylvanas' step did not falter. She pressed on, walking into the woods with the fang dangling from her outstretched hand as though it were a lantern clearing her path of shadows. "No," she said.

Arthur flew to another tree ahead of her. He shuffled his wings and watched her course. "Can I sit on your shoulder at least?"

"No," she said again, more emphatically this time. 

He cawed, which she took to mean he was annoyed by this imposition. She did her best to ignore him, but it was difficult to do so, when he continued flapping from branch to branch, hopping along after her and not bothering to keep himself hidden. 

"Did you follow me the last time as well?" Sylvanas asked.

"No," Arthur replied, his voice fading somewhat as he sailed over her. "Tavery wouldn't let me. Thought I'd give myself away immediately."

Well, they were right about that, at least. Sylvanas refused to engage in any further conversation with Arthur, despite his best efforts. He was far too curious for his own good, pestering her with questions about her station, her state of undeath, how she died, how the Forsaken lived -- for lack of a better term -- how they had overthrown the Lich King's iron will. 

Sylvanas kept her eyes fixed upon the fang. She followed its path unerringly.

Eventually, Arthur said, "You're going the wrong way."

Sucking in a deep breath to calm herself, Sylvanas stopped. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "I was under the impression that this thing -" she shook the fang where it dangled from her hand. "- would always lead me to Gol Inath."

"Oh, it will. But you're looking for Jaina, right? She's not at Gol Inath right now."

"And you couldn't have told me this sooner?" Sylvanas growled. 

Arthur shook his tail feathers in an offended manner. "Hey, I offered to give you a ride. It's not my fault you didn't want my help earlier."

Stuffing the fang into her belt pouch, she glared up at him. "Show me."

Immediately, Arthur swooped down from his branch and landed on her shoulder. His claws scrambled for purchase against her pauldron, and he flared his wings to steady himself as he sought to get a good grip. Before he managed to do so, his feathers smacked Sylvanas on the side of the face a few times. She leaned her head to one side, fuming silently to herself.

"There! Phew! Okay." Arthur folded his wings against his back. "Jaina's with Athair and Athainne. Go west."

Sylvanas turned and started walking.

"No, your other west."

Gritting her teeth, Sylvanas continued on the other way. Arthur continued to chirp directions in her ear, happy and at home on her shoulder despite the incredibly ugly looks she would cast his way from time to time. 

At last, they came upon a clearing in the woods. It was nowhere near as vast or impressive as Gol Inath, but it had its own quiet majesty. The trees here thinned. Will o' the wisps danced around their trunks, their bluish light casting no shadows in an eerie array. More life than Sylvanas had seen anywhere else in the Crimson Forest abounded here. Rabbits and lambs gambolled. Jet-black foxes with white-tipped tails scampered from Sylvanas' path at the sight of her. A pack of wolves lifted their lazy heads to watch her pass by, but went back to sleeping beneath the outcropping of a den dug into the gentle hillside. Stationary owls turned their golden eyes upon her, and red-breasted nightingales dipped and darted a few paces above the ground. Predators and prey alike gathered here, and none seemed very concerned with one another. 

And at the centre of the clearing, Jaina was conversing with a stag and doe. Her voice was too soft to overhear, even with Sylvanas' keen ears straining to catch the slightest syllable. The stag was pale as moonlight. Its antlers gleamed. It stood larger than any deer Sylvanas had encountered before; she could lift her hands above her head and still not hope to touch its withers. The doe beside it had a coat of purest black, which seemed to drink up any surrounding light until it appeared to be a void in the shape of a deer. 

Both creatures turned to regard Sylvanas steadily when she drew too near. She stopped. Jaina glanced over as well, her skull mask omnipresent even now. Without preamble, Arthur took flight, winging through the air and landing on Jaina's shoulder. He leaned in close, whispering something in her ear, while she nodded and murmured a reply. Then, she took him from her shoulder and perched him atop the stag's antlers. The stag's tufted tail twitched, but it gave no other indication that it noticed Arthur's presence. 

Jaina walked over, leaving Arthur and the two Wild Gods behind her. Her every other step was punctuated by the end of her staff touching the earth, and sending up a spiral of greenery in her wake. 

Sylvanas nodded in greeting and asked, "Do you always wear that?"

Drawing to a halt a pace away, Jaina tilted her head. The skull mask was as impassive as ever. "Think of it as a symbol of office."

"Do you plan to ride out against the Ashvanes wearing a horrible deer skull?"

"I had, actually. Yes."

"And I thought I was bad at politics," Sylvanas drawled. 

Jaina's voice was impatient when she spoke. "What do you want, Warchief?"

"To talk."

For a long moment Jaina regarded her in silence. Then, she said, "Well? Talk."

There was the temptation to be just as short with Jaina as Jaina was with her, but Sylvanas held her tongue. "You're not like most druids I've encountered in the past."

"No, I imagine not."

When Jaina was not any more forthcoming, Sylvanas sighed and reached behind her. Jaina tensed, but Sylvanas only pulled the singed wicker man from where she had tethered it to her belt. Sylvanas waggled it back and forth, the way one might motion with a doll to scare children.

Jaina's shoulders relaxed, but she made a sound of wordless irritation. "Why have you brought me this?" 

"I heard you like them." Sylvanas held out the wicker man. "Personally, I don't see the appeal. But to each their own." 

In the short time they had known one another, this was the first time Sylvanas had seen Jaina hesitate. Slowly she reached out to take the wicker man, and Sylvanas noticed that her hands were no longer made out of wood. Instead, they were sheathed in pale, calloused, living skin. A glance downward proved that the same was of her bare feet. Their soles were scuffed with dirt, but otherwise unremarkable. 

Jaina's fingers traced over the scorch marks across the wicker man, as though she were inspecting a bruise upon a child's knee. "He looks a little worse for wear." 

"He lost a scuffle with the fireplace." 

Jaina snorted. She shook her head. "Do you even know what these are?" 

"No," Sylvanas answered truthfully. "A ward, I imagine." 

A thoughtful hum escaped Jaina at that. She touched the place where the wicker man's heart was supposed to be, the blank patch where all the twigs and leaves intersected. "Sometimes, yes. They can be guardian effigies. Sleep inducers. Dream totems. Soul cages, though very rarely. Sometimes they are just the centerpiece of a festival rite. But regardless of their use, they are always an instrument of worship.” Jaina tucked the wicker man away, and it vanished beneath her heavy cloak. “Thank you. I shall treasure him.”

Sylvanas could feel her ears pin back at the idea that this was some offer of worship. “I did not make it,” she said quickly.

Jaina shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. You were a participant nonetheless.”

“I was the one who tried to burn it,” Sylvanas pointed out.

“Oh?” Jaina laughed softly at the admission, and Sylvanas had to stop her hands from curling into fists. “Funny you should think that removes you from the equation.”

Holding out her hand, Sylvanas took a step forward. “I wanted it away from me, but if it’s going to reveal anything to you, then I want it back.”

“Too late. It’s already gone.” Jaina flourished her cloak to prove just that. “Do you think it would show me what I haven’t already seen?”

Sylvanas froze. 

Now it was Jaina’s turn to move forward. She drew close, peering down at Sylvanas, who glowered steadfastly in return. The points of the skull’s antlers appeared dark and crusted with old blood, as though they had gored an animal to death. “Your dreams are very violent, Warchief," Jaina murmured. "How many times have you died? Twice?”

Baring her teeth, Sylvanas growled, her voice slipping to a dark two-toned rumble, “Stay out of my head.”

Something in the air shifted, and suddenly Jaina did not appear so looming. She shrugged, but did not step away. “Very well. I won’t pry any further.” Taking the staff in both hands, Jaina leaned her weight upon it, her pose relaxed. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

Sylvanas scowled. She could feel the shadows slithering beneath her skin, the venom of anger an acrid taste at the back of her mouth. Swallowing it down was a practised action, something she had done a thousand times. And always it was difficult to not let it take root. Her face became as blank and mask-like as Jaina’s before she spoke. “I could not help but notice that the Ashvanes have already made moves to the southeast. Based on my scout reports, you are going to need additional support.”

“Your concern is touching, but I am more than capable of defending Drustvar without the help of the Horde,” said Jaina.

“You and Lady Waycrest have levied quite the impressive little force. I’ll grant you that. But armies need more than promises and dreams.” Sylvanas rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, the tips of her gauntlet rasping against one another, metal against leather. 

With a snap of her fingers, Jaina caused a grasping vine to sprout from the ground at their feet. It twined around Sylvanas’ ankle, but did not hold her fast. “I can grow enough food to ensure the army is fed through even the most bitter winter.”

“I’m not talking about food. I’m talking about money.” Sylvanas kicked her foot free and ground the vine beneath her heel. “You think soldiers and sailors follow Lady Ashvane -- or your mother, for that matter -- because they want to be fed pork and biscuits three times a day for the remainder of their sad lives? Do you think they like freezing aboard a third rate on the northern run to Kalimdor?”

The skull cocked to one side, and Jaina sounded amused. “Are you hoping to bribe me?”

“Normally, yes. Though I know you aren’t the type to be swayed by the promise of coin.” Clasping her hands behind her back, Sylvanas lifted her chin. “No. In fact, I was hoping to buy something from you.”

Jaina tapped one finger against the staff, thinking quietly to herself before saying, “And what do you want to buy?”

“Another outpost. Think of this as paying rent.” Sylvanas dragged her toe along the dirt to smooth the vine out of the way, as though marking a line between them. “You give me land, you let me develop a minor presence elsewhere in Drustvar, and in return I help your war effort.” 

“Hmm.” Straightening, Jaina nodded. “Very well. But your presence is to remain strictly civilian. If I get wind that there are soldiers or munitions in your outposts -”

“You won’t,” Syvlanas interrupted before she could finish.

Jaina made a disbelieving noise. “That remains to be seen.” She lifted her hand, and Arthur flew over to land upon her forearm. “Take our guest to Swiftwind Post, that abandoned fane northwest of Fletcher’s Hollow.” 

Sylvanas thought back to the map on her desk at the Eastern Cliffs. “That’s very close to the foundry being invaded by the Ashvanes. Are you expecting me to send my people in blind?”

For some reason Jaina thought that was funny. “Perish the thought,” she said. Then she added, “It’s good defensible high ground. Difficult to assault. Your people will be safe. I’ll make sure of it.”

In a flap of wings, Arthur moved from Jaina’s arm to Sylvanas’ shoulder. This time at least he managed to get a good grip without making a complete nuisance of himself.

Jaina made an inquisitive noise before saying, “Arthur, why aren’t you giving her a lift?”

“She doesn’t like it,” Arthur explained. 

Jaina turned her attention to Sylvanas, waiting for an explanation. Sylvanas had to keep her expression carefully neutral, though the force of her scarlet gaze could strip paint from the hull of a ship. “Can you at least do me the courtesy of sending someone else to spy on me? Anyone else.”

“No. I trust him,” Jaina said simply. “And believe it or not, he is an excellent judge of character.”

Hearing those words, Arthur puffed up his feathers proudly.

“Fine,” Sylvanas snapped. “I’ll do this my own way.”

She held out her hand parallel to the ground, the fingers of her clawed gauntlets splaying wide. The last time she had summoned a skeletal mount in Drustvar had been at the very fringes of shoreline nearest Tiragarde Sound. The death magic had come easily, eagerly. Now, when Sylvanas’ magic reached into the ground, silence was her only reward.

Scowling, she tried again to no avail. 

Arthur shuffled a little closer to her ear and said in a too-loud whisper, “Is something supposed to be happening? I feel like something is supposed to be happening.”

“Shut. Up,” Sylvanas hissed at him through grit teeth. Shadows gathered at her outstretched palm, but the earth refused to budge. Eventually, after another futile effort, she dropped her hand with a wordless irate snarl.

“A good try, really,” said Jaina, who had watched the whole thing in silence. “But here in the heart of Drustvar, you’ll find that the dead answer only to me.”

Stymied and fuming, Sylvanas bit back a sharp retort. Instead, she turned heel and stalked away without another word, while Arthur gave her unwanted directions back towards the Eastern Cliffs. And as she strode off, she wondered if Nathanos hadn’t been right all along, if this place was even worth the trouble. The thought was met swiftly with the idea of the Alliance getting their hands on the Great Fleet of Kul Tiras, and Sylvanas lengthened her stride with purpose. 

Even if she was bound to lose eventually, she would be twice-damned before she let the Alliance win.

--

At least Swiftwind Post didn’t have the incessant sea spray rusting everything it touched. Instead, it had -- true to its namesake -- near constant gales. The native heath of Drustvar painted the surrounding countryside in stark browns and purples as far as the eye could see. Winds swept the plains, rippling across the tussock and bare weathered stones of the steep hills that dotted the area. Atop each hill, a series of large and ancient stones had been arrayed into circles. Whatever carvings they had once borne had long since been stripped away by the harshness of time and the elements. The ruins stood starkly against the pale grey backdrop of the sky, like a series of broken teeth, or the fingers of giants clawing their way from an untimely grave. 

The Horde flight masters could often be seen struggling to coax giant eagles into their wooden shelters. Sylvanas had been insistent that they use the native birds rather than give themselves away by importing foreign wyverns all the way from Kalimdor. More than once, several Tauren had to rush about after a goblin flight master dangling from the halter of an enormous eagle, which in turn was struggling to navigate the squalls that rolled over the top of the rocky crag. 

Anya complained about the wind nearly every day. Her claims were not unfounded. She would grumble about how her bow and arrow were near useless in this area, which of course resulted in the topic of Sylvanas needing more guards to protect her from potential threats on her life. The proximity of Fletcher’s Hollow and its skirmishes between House Waycrest and Ashvane made both Anya and Nathanos insufferable. They insisted on shadowing their Dark Lady’s every footstep, until she could hardly walk without stepping on one of them.

After weeks of enduring this, Sylvanas was just about ready to kill them. Again. 

“Please tell me Lady Waycrest has finally driven away those Ashvane raiders,” Sylvanas groaned, rubbing at her temples. “These people can’t be that incompetent, can they?”

She was seated at her desk in one of the hastily built, low-slung structures atop Swiftwind Point. A Tauren druid had stooped to enter the front door. With a bow, he handed her a parcel of letters and reports all bundled together with twine and oiled parchment. She murmured her thanks, and he departed without another word. Sighing, she began to unpick the string. 

At a nearby table, Anya had roped Nathanos into playing whist. He was scowling down at his hand of cards, deliberating over his next move. While his shoulders were hunched protectively over his hand, Anya was splayed out in her seat. She sat slumped, with one foot atop the chair beneath her, the other stretched out as far as it would go. One of her arms was flung over the back of her chair, and she dangled her fan of cards in her hand without a care in the world. 

“If there’s anything I’ve learned since being here,” Anya said, her arm lazily swaying back and forth. “It’s that Kul Tirans always find a way to surprise you.”

Sylvanas agreed with an annoyed grunt. Shuffling through the reports, she read labels and arranged them on the table before her in order of importance. She sought out a name in particular, and when she couldn’t find it her brow darkened. “Why don’t I have an update from the Zandalari treaty yet?”

Without looking up from his hand, Nathanos answered, “From what I understand they are squabbling over concessions.”

The corner of Sylvanas’ mouth turned down sharply. “Tell Lor’themar to stop wasting time, finish the drafting, and arrange for copies to be signed. I want those ships at our disposal before the end of the season.”

“I will see it done,” he said.

His dutiful response did nothing to improve her mood. Sylvanas aimed a glare in his direction and hissed, “Now, Nathanos.”

She could see how the dark note in her voice sent a shiver running down both his and Anya’s spines, and how readily they both responded. They sat bolt upright, their eyes burning bright and alert. Anya’s ears went rigid, and she dropped her hand. The cards scattered along the ground, revealing that there were far too many for a normal hand in whist. 

Rising to his feet, Nathanos flung down his own cards atop the table. “Anything to get me away from this game,” he muttered. As he stomped towards the door, he made sure to tread atop Anya’s cards. 

After he had gone, Anya began picking up all the cards and grumbled, “You couldn’t have waited until after I’d won?”

Sylvanas ignored her. Ever since her second trip to the Crimson Forest, her mood had remained vastly unimproved. 

Her hand strayed to the next report. She checked for proof that the folded letter had not been tampered with, and -- satisfied -- opened it. Her eyes scanned quickly across Velonara’s encoded Thalassian missive. As she read, she pulled over a detailed map of Kul Tiras already weighed down on one section of her desk.

Various notes had been scribbled here and there, predominantly around the various regions of Drustvar. She moved a few more red tokens -- indicating Ashvane forces -- to Fletcher’s Hollow, and a few more black tokens -- indicating Waycrest tokens -- to Barrowknoll. She kept one of the black tokens pinched between thumb and forefinger, using it to tap against the inlet of Fallhaven. 

Sylvanas had already thought of how she would invade Drustvar. If she were in Ashvane’s over-polished shoes, she would sail her ships right up to the real prize of Drustvar’s west coast, strangle Fallhaven for a good year or two of besieging, and then mop up the rest of the west after winter passed. The mountains bisecting the region cleanly in two clearly marked Arom’s Stand importance, as it sat astride the only route over the mountains that an invading army could take. There were no good landing zones for troop barges on the eastern coast. Too many cliffs. And the inlet near Falconhurst was lousy with shoals. No ship larger than a sloop would risk navigating those waters.

Not to mention, the inlet near Falconhurst directly abutted the Crimson Forest. And gods help any army who dared launch an attack on that nightmarish place. 

“Fifteen thousand isn’t enough to fend off a two-pronged attack,” Sylvanas murmured to herself. She dropped the black token onto Fallhaven, and then moved a few more red tokens into Fletcher’s Hollow.

Shuffling the cards between her hands, Anya stood and made her way over to Sylvanas’ desk. She peered down at the map. “They should withdraw all their forces here -” she pointed to Fallhaven. “- and wait out the siege through the winter. The Kul Tirans are mad, but no one is mad enough to try to camp in eastern Drustvar through this weather.”

“I agree,” Sylvanas said without looking up. “But somehow I doubt they’re going to do that.”

“Maybe they have a morale problem?” Anya offered. She expertly shuffled the cards again, showing off by using far more flourishes than necessary. “Maybe if they give up Fletcher’s Hollow, their levied forces will lose heart. Give up. Go home.”

Pursing her lips together, Sylvanas sat back in her seat. She frowned at Barrowknoll. “Or maybe they know something about this place that we don’t. What did you see when you scouted the area?”

Anya shrugged. The deck of cards vanished between her hands, spirited off to gods only knew where. “A village. A town square. Farmers. Sailors. Soldiers. A cemetery. A Church to the Tides. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Hmm.” Pulling the last parcel towards herself, Sylvanas ordered “Have another look, and report back in two days.”

With a bow, Anya left. Drawing the silver hunting knife from her boot, Sylvanas slipped the tip of it beneath the oiled brown paper to carefully slice the packaging. She opened it, and pulled out a book. Its leather jacket was green and aged. The corners were frayed. The pages were yellowed. Its spine had been broken dozens of times throughout the course of its life. She turned it over, searching for a title, but the gilded lettering had long since been rubbed away. The only distinguishing mark still upon the book was a crude and unrecognisable rune pressed into the centre of the front cover. 

Tossing aside the packaging, Sylvanas opened the book. A note from Velonara slipped out, explaining that this was the only thing she had been able to find on the topic of ancient Drust history. Even the title page had been ripped free, and the author’s name in the forward effaced. A quick scan of the forward proved that the author had been one of the original Gilnean settlers, a gentleman by trade and a natural historian by hobby. 

When Sylvanas turned to the first chapter, she paused. The author had included very detailed sketches of what he had encountered during his explorations. One such sketch took up nearly the entire first page. It was of a wicker man, identical to the one Sylvanas had encountered in the Crimson Forest, down to the skull, the bear claws, and the heart staked against its chest. The chapter header read: ‘On the Subject of Iconography and Effigies’

Hastily, Sylvanas flipped further along. She skipped through most of the work until she found what she had been looking for. A chapter entitled: ‘A Catalogue of Kings: Gorak Tul and the Myth of the Witch-King of Thros.’

Sylvanas slowed her reading, carefully scanning each line for information about Gorak Tul, the Horned One, the King Undying, an ancient Drust sovereign prophesied to be defeated by a hero who thwarted death three times. If the author was to be believed, Gorak Tul was naught but a legend. A mythological archetype. A horror story used to scare naughty children. 

But if that were true, then why did Jaina not like Arthur talking about him?

Sylvanas turned the page, then swore softly in Thalassian. 

The rest of the chapter had been ripped out. 

--

This time when Sylvanas went back to the Crimson Forest, Jaina was on the outskirts of Gol Inath. The great tree loomed like the ruins of a stark and bleak cathedral. Though Sylvanas had made sure to arrive during the day, the shadows of this place seemed to cling to life beneath the boughs of the tree. 

Arthur was perched on Sylvanas’ shoulder as she arrived, guiding her faithfully onwards. This time, Sylvanas spied one or two humanoid figures around the base of Gol Inath, but none of them were Jaina. They stopped to stare at her as she passed, their expressions guarded. She ignored them, following Arthur’s cheerful directions even while she refused to respond to his usual chatter. 

She found Jaina in a flat clearing between two twisted roots of Gol Inath. Jaina was kneeling on the ground with her back turned, still wearing her skull mask despite not expecting company. Her staff was nowhere in sight. On the forest floor beside her, the enormous ink-black doe was sprawled on its side. For a moment, Sylvanas thought it was dead, but then its head lifted with a weary whine, its star-bright eyes squinting before it flopped back down.

“Shh.” Jaina placed her palm upon the Wild God’s flank, rubbing in a soothing manner. “It’ll be alright, Athainne. We’ll get you through this soon enough.”

“Hunters?” Sylvanas asked, drawing closer. Arthur pushed himself off her shoulder and flew off to a low branch, where he watched. “I didn’t think they’d be able to harm her.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Jaina said, “Nothing so grim.” 

Sylvanas stopped when she was standing just beside her. From this distance, the round bulge of the doe’s stomach was clear. Frowning, Sylvanas asked, “She’s pregnant?”

Jaina hummed. “Breech birth. This is going to get messy.”

With a grimace at her own poor timing, Sylvanas said, “I should come back later.”

But Jaina only shrugged. “Do as you like. You can stay. So long as you can stomach a bit of bodily fluids. Otherwise, I recommend you go stand over there for a bit.” She pointed back towards the massive trunk of Gol Inath.

“I’m not the squeamish sort.”

“Oh, good. Then you won’t mind helping.”

Sylvanas’ ears shot up in surprise. “You can’t be serious.”

Jaina was already shuffling towards the doe’s rear legs. “And why not? I could use an extra pair of hands.”

“I am not putting my hands up there.”

“I meant with the pulling later.” Meanwhile Jaina was unwinding her own handwraps, and folding up the sleeves of her robes nearly to her shoulders.  

Nodding towards the mask, Sylvanas asked, “How can you even see through that?”

“Magic,” Jaina said simply, tossing her handwraps further away so they wouldn’t get soiled. 

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. “That’s a lie.”

Laughing softly, Jaina said, “Only half of one.” And without a mote of hesitation, she stuck her hand into the doe until her elbow all but disappeared. The doe made a noise of complaint, which Jaina hushed. As she began rummaging around, she craned her neck to look at Sylvanas. “Now, to what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your company this time?”

While not the most bizarre situation Sylvanas had ever found herself in, it ranked pretty highly among them. Which meant her first instinct was to default to putting her hands behind her back in an officious pose. “As I’m sure you already know, Lady Ashvane’s forces have begun their siege of Fallhaven.”

“If it’s the safety of Swiftwind Post you’re worried about, you could always pack up and leave.” Jaina had to turn her head back around, her hand feeling around blindly inside the doe. 

Sylvanas arched an eyebrow at her. “Is that why you gave it to me? In the hopes it would act as a deterrent when the surrounding area was eventually overrun?”

“No.” Jaina grabbed something and pulled. Her arm emerged slippery and spotted with flecks of darker fluid. When only one little hoof came with her closed fist, she reached back in for the other. “Your presence there makes my forces seem larger than they are. It’s useful. Keeps the enemy second-guessing their reports. Plus it makes them wonder why I would put an outpost up on a brae in the middle of nowhere.”

Sylvanas’ posture relaxed somewhat. That wasn’t so far-fetched. If she hadn’t been so sure that her people could defend the position, she might have been angry. But Jaina had been right. Swiftwind Post was a craggy rock of highground on its own in the middle of heath fields that stretched all the way to the Sounds. It would take half an army to flush out even a small cohort entrenched there. 

“You should be drawing everything to Fallhaven to protect it,” Sylvanas said. “You can afford to lose Fletcher’s Hollow, but you can’t afford to lose Fallhaven. Why you’re even bothering to wait for a retreat north across Barrowknoll is beyond me.”

“Maybe I’m a tactical genius,” Jaina said dryly.

“Says the woman with her arm shoved halfway up a deer.” Sylvanas drawled. “Unless there’s something special about that place you’re not telling me about?”

Shifting her weight forward, Jaina braced her free hand against the ground and rearranged her other arm deeper inside the doe. “You mean you haven’t sent your scouts through the area multiple times?”

Sylvanas grit her teeth. “I have.”

“And?”

“And,” she admitted, “they found nothing.”

“Then there must be nothing special about it.”

Sylvanas had been around many people in her life who frequently entertained the notion that they were the cleverest person in the room. Most of them thrived off the idea, surrounding themselves with simpering sycophants who would tell them everything they desired to hear. Jaina should have fallen in the same category, but somehow she did not. She gave the impression not that she simply thought she was the smartest person in the room, but that she simply was that clever. When others did it, Sylvanas scoffed. When Jaina did it, that truth was unimpeachable. 

It was -- in short -- incredibly aggravating. 

“So, you’re here to convince me my plan is terrible and I desperately need your help. Is that it?” Jaina asked. She had finally managed to get the other hoof out, and was now straightening the fawn in the womb. 

“Only half of the plan.”

“Oh, good,” Jaina grunted, starting to pull on the fawn’s legs until the backs of its haunches were just visible. “Because I was beginning to think the stories I’ve learned about you since our first meeting were blown completely out of proportion.”

It shouldn’t have stroked Sylvanas’ ego as much as it did that she was storied enough to warrant whispers of her name even in a backwater like Kul Tiras. But it definitely did. 

Jaina jerked her head, the skull nodding towards the ground nearby. “Grab that rope for me, won’t you?”

When Sylvanas glanced down, there was indeed a soft hempen rope coiled among the leaves. She leaned down, picked it up, and handed it over as requested. Cocking her head to one side, she watched as Jaina tied the rope around the fawn’s legs, just above its hooves. It was a sailor’s knot, sturdy yet not so tight that it would damage the newborn. 

Keeping tension steady on the rope with one hand, Jaina stood. She used her free hand to dangle the end of the rope at Sylvanas. “Come on, then. Start being useful.”

Grudgingly and hardly believing what she was doing, Sylvanas moved to stand behind Jaina. She grabbed the last length of the rope and planted her feet firmly on the ground. When Jaina lowered her stance, Sylvanas followed suit so that they mirrored one another. 

“Don’t yank,” Jaina warned without looking around. “We want a nice steady pressure. And try to pull as low and horizontal as you can.”

There were worse ways to endear oneself to a potential ally than helping a Wild God give birth near a mythical entrance to the underworld. Though, truth be told, Sylvanas was struggling to think of one at the moment. 

The doe was larger than most horses, her night-dark flank heaving with every breath. Jaina’s hands were slick with blood and mucous; she had to pause to wrap the rope around her hands. Together, they pulled. It took a great deal more force than Sylvanas had initially thought would be necessary, but slowly the fawn began to emerge. At one point Jaina had to stop to ensure its tail was arranged properly before they were pulling again. And then, the fawn slipped to the ground in a rush.

It was completely still, its coat dark with fluids. Immediately Jaina dropped the rope and went down on her knees. Her movements were quick and practiced. She positioned the fawn just so, sticking her fingers into its mouth and nose until it coughed up more fluid and -- finally -- began to breathe. 

“There we go,” Jaina murmured, her voice soft. She began briskly rubbing the fawn down with a handful of dry leaves from the ground. When Athainne started shuffling as if to stand, Jaina pointed at her. “Oh, no you don’t. You stay right there.”

The Wild God huffed wearily at her, but did as it was told. 

Meanwhile, Sylvanas watched this entire interaction with a sense of bewilderment. “Since when do Wild Gods listen to the whims of mortals?”

“Since now,” said Jaina. She was letting the fawn attempt to stagger upright on its reedy legs, and she patted it on its flank in a congratulatory manner when it managed to succeed. 

Sylvanas coiled the rope neatly around her arm, tying it off and dropping it to the ground. “Why not just solve the problem magically? Why go through all this?”

“I would have, if necessary. But I didn’t need to. They’ll both be fine.” After she had wiped her own hands and arms down as much as she could, Jaina rose to her feet. “As for your military concerns: thank you, but no thank you.” Unrolling the sleeves of her robes, she began gathering up her handwraps and the length of rope. She said dismissively, “You can go, now.”

Sylvanas did not budge. “Sooner or later, they’re going to find out about you. The Drust aren’t a target now, but the moment anyone gets wind that you’re alive...” She trailed off, leaving the repercussions unspoken.

“Maybe. But they don’t know yet.” Suddenly, Jaina froze. She turned towards Sylvanas. “Do they?” she asked, and for a brief moment the dark eye sockets of the skull blazed with a fierce blue light. "Did you tell them? About me?"

"No."

The skull remained fixed and staring at her, deadly silent.

Sylvanas met her glower for glower. "If they know about you, they did not learn it from me."

Jaina remained quietly glaring. Then, she continued gathering up her things. Behind her, the fawn had ambled shakily over to its mother, and was now getting licked clean. 

Sylvanas thought of Katherine, of how her own sources in Boralus had gone quiet over the last few weeks. “Shouldn’t you be worried about what’s happened to your mother? If they are bold enough to attack Drustvar at all, then the power of the Admiralty is waning far more than just a few months ago.”

“My mother can take care of herself,” Jaina said, but her voice was too controlled, too even. 

“And what will happen to your House when she finally dies?” Sylvanas pressed, her arms crossed. “Will you do nothing? Will you let your family name fall into obscurity?”

Her calm finally broken, Jaina whirled about. “Why do you care? This isn’t your fight! You’re only here because you want something you can’t have!” She slashed through the air with her open hand, and the very earth seemed to hold its breath, the shadows of Gol Inath gathering at her feet. “Well, I won’t be the one to give it to you! I will not be the pawn in your game with the Alliance!”

The moment the darkness began to coalesce at the base of the roots, Athainne’s ears had pinned back. Suddenly, Sylvanas found herself pinned by the gazes of both an angry Archdruid and a threatened Wild God with a newborn foal. She gazed coolly back at them, refusing to give an inch. 

“Fine.” Without preamble, Sylvanas turned and began to stride away. “We shall do it your way. I will withdraw my people from Swiftwind Post and the Eastern Cliffs, as you so clearly desire.”

Jaina’s head jerked. The shadows faded. “What -?” 

Giving a little wave of her hand, Sylvanas continued on without turning around. “No, you’ve utterly convinced me, High Thornspeaker. This is not my fight.”

Behind her, Sylvanas could hear Jaina spluttering, “Now, hang on just a -! Sylvanas. Sylvanas!” 

But Sylvanas did not pause. She continued walking, and when Arthur tried to flutter down onto her shoulder, her hands flew to her bow. His wings flared and he veered off, landing instead in a nearby tree. Bow nocked and ready with a black-tipped arrow, Sylvanas left the Crimson Forest, and this time nobody followed.

--

Back at Swiftwind Post, Sylvanas gave the order that they were to make it appear like the Horde was packing up their camps. More importantly, she gave the order that Arthur was no longer allowed near their encampments, and that her rangers had free reign to shoot any ravens they saw venturing too close. None of them did. The ravens all seemed far too clever for that, and stayed far away from the Horde outposts, which seemed to irk Anya to no end. She would watch the skies, finger stroking over her bowstring in cold anticipation.

On the other hand, Mace was permitted to stay, which only seemed to confuse both her and the rangers. To puzzle them even further, Sylvanas took to letting Mace into the command building atop Swiftwind Post. The one who seemed most confused by this turn of events was Mace herself, who would sit on a low stool near the front exit. Wood shavings would pile up at her feet as she would nervously carve her little figures, her dark eyes darting around the room whenever Sylvanas occupied it. Whenever Sylvanas spoke to her, Mace would start, as though afraid Sylvanas had changed her mind and decided that the game was up. 

It took longer than anticipated for the eventual result. But ultimately, Lucille Waycrest came knocking at Sylvanas’ door. 

"Did you know," she said, as an undead guardsman shut the door behind her, locking out the howling gale, "that it is very difficult to get up here?"

"I am aware," Sylvanas drawled. "But now that you're here, you can fill me in on your latest plans, and save Velonara the cost of paper and ink."

The windows faintly rattled in their frames as the wind whistled over the heather and hills. Running her fingers through her dark hair until it had regained some semblance of order, Lucille admitted, "Actually I was hoping you could tell me."

Sylvanas blinked. Her pen paused over the page. "Why would I know?"

Lucille spread her hands. "You think Jaina tells me anything? I'm as much in the dark as anyone. And you're the only non-Drust person I know who ventures so freely into the Crimson Forest, and comes out in one piece."

Careful not to blot ink upon the page, Sylvanas balanced the pen in its inkwell. She leaned back in her seat and studied Lucille over her steepled fingers. Lady Waycrest was young, but she had dark circles under her eyes. Her clothing, while fine, was rumpled. It could have just been courtesy of the wind, but somehow Sylvanas doubted that. The last month or two since their first encounter had put a strain upon her; she looked haggard. 

“You want my help,” Sylvanas said. “But I see no reason why I should give it to you.”

Lucille rocked back on her heels in shock. “Then -? Then why have you been keeping Mace around? Why have you been leaking information to me and not Jaina?”

“Why do you think?” Sylvanas asked.

“Is this some sort of trick question?”

Arching an eyebrow at her, Sylvanas remarked, “You’re not very bright, are you?”

“You -!” Lucille spluttered for words. Pointing out the window towards the encampment, she said incredulously, “You’re unbelievable! You’ve just spent the last few months getting footholds in my land! And now, you -!”

“It’s not really your land though, is it? Legally speaking, perhaps, but we both know how much weight that holds. About as much as this.” Sylvanas took one of the tiny black wooden tokens used to mark the map with troops, and tossed it at Lucille’s feet. “That’s what helping you gets me. So, why would I do it? What do you have to offer me that I would want? Think.”

Lucille’s mouth wrenched open, then shut very quickly again. She swallowed thickly. The brief flash of anger that washed across her features faded, and her expression crumpled. When she spoke her voice was tremulous, “I don’t know.” She had to clear a burr in her throat. “I don’t - I don’t know what I should do.”

Katherine had been right. Lucille Waycrest was a poor ally, indeed. Though not through any fault of her own. This was a girl whose parents had fallen prey to the Heartsbane Coven, witches who worshipped Gorak Tul and sought to retake Drustvar in his name. Her House had been dragged to the brink of destruction. She had barely managed to avoid the fall of her entire family, and even that was hardly from her efforts alone. And now that she was Lady Waycrest, Head of a Great House of Kul Tiras, she was without a mentor, surrounded by even more enemies, adrift in a sea of dangerous politics that she could not hope to navigate alone.

Once, Sylvanas might have taken pity on her -- she might have freely offered advice or guidance -- but not now. Now, Sylvanas did not even offer her a chair.

It was not the principle of the thing. It was the spectacle of it.

And besides, this might even be an educational experience. 

Sitting forward, Sylvanas picked up her pen and returned to drafting her document. “I told you before.” She scratched another line across the page. “Your business is your business. How you go about it is no concern of mine.”

Lucille rubbed at her brow and sighed, “Jaina won’t want to ask for help. She thinks she can win anything by herself. She’s too proud.”

Without looking up, Sylvanas tsked, a light tapping of her tongue against the backs of her teeth. “How very true to her namesake.” She signed the end of the document with a flourish. The last stroke of her name was artfully blotted with ink. “I see you are not as burdened by hubris.”

A muscle twitched at Lucille’s cheek. Still, she said, “No. I am not. I know when I am outmatched and outgunned.”

“That’s a good start, at least.” Sylvanas rubbed at a spot of ink that stained her fingertips. “You want my advice?” 

Lucille bit her bottom chapped lip, then nodded. “I’m listening.”

“The people of Drustvar are superstitious. They follow you not only for your name, but because you are a link to the High Thornspeaker, who defeated the coven of witches that had been terrorising the countryside for years under your family’s rule. Jaina is simultaneously your greatest weakness, and your greatest strength. Which is why I want you here today.” Sylvanas calmly folded her hands in her lap. “Convince Jaina to my terms, and I will consider giving you the support you need.”

A shadow of confusion crossed Lucille’s face. “What are your terms?”

“She already knows. And if she wants to talk, she knows where to find me.” Pointing towards the door, Sylvanas said, “Go. And take your little spy with you.”

For a moment Lucille did nothing. She made an abortive motion, as though she were going to take a step forward, only to turn heel and stride out, leaving Sylvanas alone in the command building. Sylvanas waited a minute or two, then stood and walked over to the door. 

When she pulled it open, she said to one of the guards, “Tell Anya and Nathanos that under no circumstances are they to follow Lady Waycrest. And have Velonara remain in Corlain until further notice.” 

The Forsaken guard bowed, and immediately trotted off to do her bidding. Sylvanas shut the door, returning to her desk. There was far more work to be done. 

--

Eventually, Sylvanas was roped into playing cards. Nathanos flat refused to play, and in turn Anya would not accept no as an answer. Or at least, she did, but she sulked about it, all while denying that she was definitely not sulking about it. 

Outside, rain pummeled the windows, and the sky was dark with early evening cloud. Lightning flashed intermittently, followed by the low long roll of thunder. Meanwhile, Sylvanas was losing her fourth game of whist in a row, even after she had ordered Anya to rid herself of any extra cards with which she might cheat. They sat in silence. Sylvanas had cleared one side of her usual work desk in front of the hearth to give them space to play. 

Sylvanas' red eyes burned over her hand, her gaze hotter than the flames that licked the stone hearth black and sooty. "You have always been a filthy little cheat. Where are you hiding them this time?"

Anya played a trump card, winning the round, and said calmly, "I don't know what you're talking about, my Queen."

"Do you like having a tongue? Or would you rather I unburden you from it?"

Anya stuck out said tongue in reply, then said, "And you always were a sore loser."

Sylvanas opened her mouth to retort, but her ears twitched towards the door. Shouts and the sounds of a commotion outside. Both their heads whipped around. They rose to their feet, cards forgotten. Anya had an arrow nocked and drawn in an instant. The moment the door burst open, she fired two shots in rapid succession, her arm a blur of motion. 

The arrows froze midair before they could reach their destination. They hung in the air as a massive shape shadowed the doorstep. The extra guards flanking the doorway were struggling against something. Their feet were just visible, flailing wildly as they were lifted from the ground and pinned against the outer walls, their weapons clattering to the earth. 

Jaina had to duck her head to step inside. Her shoulders stooped, then straightened to their full height once more. Water dripped onto the floor at her bare feet, pooling behind her with every step. With a bored wave of her hand, the arrows fell to the floor. 

The skull mask looked at Sylvanas, and then -- pointedly -- at Anya, who had a third arrow drawn and ready to loose. 

"Anya," said Sylvanas, not taking her eyes off Jaina, "Leave us."

Anya began to hiss a complaint, but Sylvanas made a sharp gesture, cutting her off. Grudgingly, Anya lowered her weapon. She left, stepping around Jaina, who refused to give way. When she was outside, she shut the door hard enough to let her displeasure be known. 

"You better not have killed any of my people," Sylvanas said once they were alone. "Otherwise, I will reconsider our little arrangement."

"They'll be fine." 

Jaina moved closer to the fire. The shadow she cast swallowed the opposite wall and half the floor. The shape of it did not seem to quite match her actual figure, flickering darkly against the panelled wood. It was the first time Sylvanas had ever seen her indoors. Somehow, Jaina made the room feel too small just by standing in it. From this angle, Sylvanas could just make out the hint of her jaw behind the mask. 

After a moment of tense silence, Jaina spoke, her tone curt. “I don’t appreciate being toyed with or manipulated.”

“Finally, something we can agree on,” said Sylvanas, repeating back to Jaina the very words she had spoken on their first meeting. “And I don’t appreciate you barging in here, unannounced, after having strangled my guards on your way in.”

“I figured I ought to repay you for the way you first visited me.” Jaina leaned her staff against the wall so that it rested on the edge of the mantlepiece. The action was nonchalant, as though she were hanging up her coat from the rain, not propping up an object that crackled with dark magics. “Going after Lucille was low. Even for you.”

“I thought I was rather gentle with her, actually.” 

The skull swung in Sylvanas’ direction, its stare incredulous.

Sylvanas shrugged. “Gentler than Ashvane would have been, anyway. Or even your mother, for that matter.”

A grunt of concession. Jaina turned back to the fire. It cast off sparks that sputtered at her feet, never quite reaching the ragged and muddy hems of her robes. “I’m surprised. When I’d heard she was coming here, I thought I’d lost a friend for good.”

With a snort, Sylvanas said, “Do you treat all your friends like pawns?”

“I am protecting her.” Jaina’s voice rasped. 

“I’m not interested in the lies the living tell themselves to sleep better at night.” Sylvanas leaned her hip upon the side of the table, and crossed her legs at the ankle. “And you didn’t come here to tell me off for being hard on your so-called ‘friend.’”

Sylvanas could hear the sharp intake of breath behind that mask. Jaina drew herself up, but her shoulders remained stiff. The firelight limned the edges of the skull in a sickly ochre glow. Eventually, she said, “Give me reserve troops and more coin, and I will consider your proposition.”

“I want more than empty promises.”

“Then what do you want?”

In answer, Sylvanas reached behind herself. She pulled a piece of parchment from a stack of documents on the desk. It was long, trailing nearly to her waist, and filled with neat lines so finely written upon the page, that it appeared more ink than anything else. At the bottom, Sylvanas’ waxen seal was already pressed and dried beneath her signature. 

She held the page out to Jaina, who stepped forward and took it cautiously. Jaina took her time reading over every line of fine print. When she got to the end, she glanced at Sylvanas over the document. “How long have you had this prepared for? Days? Weeks?”

Sylvanas fluttered her fingers in a vague gesture. “A while.”

Jaina’s hand clenched into a fist around the page, crumpling it. She took a deep breath and smoothed it out once more. Then, to Sylvanas’ surprise, she laughed. Sylvanas’ long ears tilted up, and her posture straightened. Jaina was laughing to herself softly, ruefully, shaking her head. The motion rustled the leaves and tokens of her cloak like the wind through the boughs of trees. 

“Predictable,” Jaina chuckled.

Immediately, Sylvanas’ ears slanted back. Her brow darkened. “Is that so?”

Jaina waved the paper at her dismissively. “Not you. I was talking about myself.” Her thumb traced over the blank space where her own signature was supposed to go, right beside Sylvanas’ name. “If I sign this, I will have your support?” 

“You will.”

Turning back to the document, Jaina scoured it from top to bottom again. And then once more. She drew up next to Sylvanas to reach the table, where she set the document down on a bit of clear space. She grabbed up a pen, dipped it into a spare inkwell, and began to cross out certain sections. 

Not moving from where she leaned against the desk, Sylvanas peered over Jaina’s shoulder. “Did your Drust education come with a healthy dose of law, as well?” she asked dryly. “Or is that due to another time in your upbringing?”

With a wordless grunt, Jaina slashed the pen across three of the clauses near the end. “If I am going to become the Lord Admiral and open the borders, then I will do so on my terms. Not yours. Not anyone’s.”

The corner of Sylvanas’ mouth turned down in annoyance. Still, she only hummed darkly in agreement. “And removing my exclusive rights to military bases?”

The skull tilted in her direction as Jaina glanced balefully over at her. “You may keep your civilian outposts, but there is no way I will allow a foreign military presence on Kul Tiran soil after this internal disagreement between the Houses has been settled.”

Jaina re-read the agreement for a final time, pen poised over the place where her name was to be signed. When the pen was just about to touch the parchment however, Sylvanas cleared her throat. Jaina straightened and turned to her in questioning silence.

“It needs to be witnessed,” Sylvanas explained.

“Bring your witness, then,” said Jaina impatiently. 

It took only a moment to get Nathanos inside. He had been lurking just outside the front door, alongside what seemed to be every member of the Horde in the camp. Most had their weapons drawn, ready for anything. Steel glinted wetly through the rain-darkened air. Sylvanas gave the assembled little crowd a cool look, then jerked her head for Nathanos to follow her.

She shut the door behind them. Nathanos hair was slicked back to his head, and his coat was soaked, but he paid no attention to the rain. The golden glow of his eyes glowered in silent disapproval first at Jaina -- for daring to endanger the Dark Lady -- and then at Sylvanas -- for daring to put herself in danger in the first place. 

Sylvanas strode past him, making her way back towards the desk. "You can be angry with me later, Nathanos. Right now, we need a witness."

"Very well," he murmured, and though his tone was light and cultured his expression was foreboding. 

Jaina waited for him to join them. Then she took up the pen once more.

Sylvanas cleared her throat again.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Jaina jerked upright, the pen clenched between her fingers in a white-knuckled grip. "What now?"

Sylvanas pointed at her. "Your mask. We need to be able to faithfully verify your identity."

For a moment Jaina did nothing. Then, muttering foul curses under her breath, she threw the pen down onto the desk. It sent a splatter of ink across some of Sylvanas' other documents, but left their agreement unscathed. She reached up, fingers curling around the base of the skull at her neck, and lifted the mask away. 

She was both younger and older than Sylvanas had expected. Her mouth was pinched in displeasure, her jaw bullishly set. A deep scar ran down the right side of her face, bisecting one of her eyes, so that it peered out, white and blind. Her other eye was the same icy blue as her mother’s. Indeed, they looked remarkably similar, but for Jaina’s tall, broad-shouldered build. Streaks of her original hair colour gleamed golden in the firelight, as though whatever weapon had slashed across her face had drained everything out of that side. 

She tucked the skull under one arm and glared challengingly at both of them. “I am Jaina Proudmoore, youngest child of Daelin Proudmoore and Katherine Proudmoore née Grey. Being of sound mind and body, I am willfully signing this agreement to a temporary alliance with the Warchief of the Horde, Sylvanas Windrunner, Dark Lady of the Forsaken, under the discretion of -” she waved towards Nathanos, “- whoever the fuck you are. Now, can we get on with it? Or are you going to continue to be a pain in the neck?”

Giving a mock bow, Sylvanas said, “By all means.”

Without another word, Jaina turned back to the document. She snatched up the pen, dipped it into the inkwell, and signed. Handing the pen to Nathanos, he signed between both their names. Then with a last baleful look in Sylvanas’ direction, Jaina crammed the skull back over her head, wrenching at its jaw to secure the mask more firmly in place. 

She was halfway to the exit, when Sylvanas called after her. “Be sure to give my compliments to Lady Waycrest for actually managing to change your mind.”

Jaina paused with her hand on the door. “She didn’t.”

A furrow marred Sylvanas’ brow. “Then who did?”

“Arthur.”

The door swung inwards, admitting a sheet of rain onto the floorboards, and Jaina strode out without a second glance. She did not bother shutting the door behind her. Picking up the document, Sylvanas watched Jaina’s retreat. The members of the Horde congregating outside parted before her like waves before a ship’s prow. And a familiar raven swooped down and landed on her shoulder. 

Then one of the Forsaken guardsmen reached in, and shut the door, shutting out the image and the rain. 

Tapping her finger against the edge of the parchment, Sylvanas asked, “Is that enough proof for you?”

At her side, Nathanos grunted sourly. “I am adequately convinced. Though your stage performance was rather lackluster, in my opinion.”

“I wouldn’t exactly describe you as a patron of the arts, either.”

“Somehow I feel the theatrics aren’t over yet.”

Rather than answer, Sylvanas merely lifted one shoulder in a lofty shrug.

“Why are you baiting her? Why waste time?” Nathanos asked. “If we had given our support immediately, then Drustvar would have been in our debt. Our military presence would be too difficult to dislodge without taking more formal avenues. The outcome would have been the same.”

“Because now I have what I truly wanted in Kul Tiras.” Sylvanas lifted the document in her hands. Jaina’s signature was still wet; the ink gleamed in the firelight. She smiled. “An open invitation.”

[rwbyvein]

Firen Lhain: Chapter 201: Nock/Neck

Jaune looked over as Ruby jumped into Weiss' arms. The card game was getting quite energetic, but now they were crying in each other's arms. It was too adorable for words. He found himself walking over to the table.

* * *

"Well, I think I'm done playing, actually." Blake said as she stood up to walk away. "I'll see you guys later..." she barely voiced.

"Women." Nora added from the table by the window JNPR had occupied.

'Window seats are so much cooler.' Jaune thought to himself, as he walked around the table to Blake's now empty seat. "So?.." he asked RW_Y.

"Perhaps?.." Weiss quietly voiced, and coyly toyed with her hair, "Neptune would care to join us?"

"I'm cool, you two have fun." Neptune replied, and turned to walk away. Sun turned to look at him questioningly before looking back to RW_Y and waving.

"So?.." Jaune quietly asked, Ruby wagging her tail.

"Sit down, Ladykiller." Yang eagerly said. "You can take over where our black shadow left off."

Jaune sat down and picked up the cards. "So, who am I playing as?"

"If you must know?," Weiss asked him, "you are playing as Vale."

"My sister never let me play as Vale." Jaune sighed.

"Which one?" Yang asked.

Jaune mumbled for a moment. "All... er... most of them... it's a... it's a long story... let's just play..."

"Chill, man." Yang said to him.

"Now that you're playing," Ruby said to him, "YOU MUST AVENGE ME!"

"You're not out of the game, yet." Jaune said to her.

"You're not?!" Weiss asked, tears starting to form in her eyes.

"We're seeing a new side of our snow flower," Yang stated, "and I think I like it."

Weiss wiped her eyes. "Why must you torment me?"

"Duh?" Yang asked, "because I'm playing as Mistral."

"The two never really got along." Jaune stated, and put down a card. The card read 'Light of Beacon.'

"Shit just got real." Yang stated, "You think you can take me, pretty boy?"

"Pretty-what?" Jaune asked.

"I'm sure she's just trying to agitate you." Weiss added.

"I say we form an alliance!" Ruby stated, pointing at Yang. "Knock her off her thrown."

"From high in the mountains of Mistral." Weiss augustly added.

* * *

Sun and Neptune walked out of the library. "What was that?" Sun asked.

"What?" Neptune replied.

"You love that game." Sun stated.

"Yeah, but they don't know that." Neptune replied, "Let me be cool, man."

"Okay, yeah," Sun continued, "but I think the platinum blonde likes you."

Neptune opens his mouth to let his teeth gleam. "Seriously?

"Seriously." Sun replied.

* * *

Jaune stood on a platform suspended twenty feet in the air. In front of him stood another platform, about 10 feet away. Jaune leerily looked down the gap. "I reeaallllyy don't think this is a good idea."

"Now, Mr. Arc," Glynda said from the ground, "you have nothing to lose but your antlers."

"Was that a joke?" Jaune asked her, but saw nothing but her typical stern, cold gaze in reply.

"I can mend any bones." Glynda replied, again with her stern gaze and unflinching tone, "With proper use of aura, you have nothing to fear but fear itself."

"And broken bones, apparently." Jaune sarcastically replied.

"You're skills have advanced spectacularily, which, I believe we can both agree is thanks in large part to the assistance of Ms. Nikos, but," Glynda said and paused, adjusting her glasses, "perhaps we should call it daring? I will admit that I was... skeptical... of your early perfomance, but now, I dare say, and will - not - repeat!, I see potential."

"And all I have to do is make the jump?" Jaune asked skeptically.

"It will help you progress as a huntsman, yes." Glynda replied. "Perhaps you need a bit of incentive? You have 10 seconds to make the jump."

"And if I don't?" Jaune asked.

"I will destroy your platform." Glynda replied. Jaune fearfully looked about. "Five seconds, four seconds, three seconds..."

Jaune ran forward and jumped off the platform. He was going to make it! He was going to make it!

If his aim was a bit better.

"Aura!" Glynda cried, and Jaune snapped out of his panick as he plummeted down. He summoned his aura, which he was finally realizing it was as Pyrrha described, like flexing a muscle. His antlers were lopping him off balance, but he struggled to steady them, and steady himself, and landed, hard, onto the ground. He was mildly injured but... intact. He looked up to see Glynda smiling brilliantly. "Now, what did we learn today?"

"Uh..." Jaune mumbled, "all... I have to lose... is an antler?.."

"Precisely." Glynda stated, and Jaune pulled out his scroll. "Checking your aura?" she asked, until the shutter noise sounded. "MR. ARC!" she exclaimed.

"Let's call it blackmail material." Jaune stated, Glynda still staring at him with an intense look. "What, you don't want people to know you smile?" he asked, and Glynda just continued to stare at him. He stood up and breathed deeply. "Thank you."

"You are... welcome... Mr. Arc." Glynda replied. "Perhaps now you can work on your aim?"

* * *

Jaune pulled a package into his room. Nora jumped over as Pyrrha and Ren gathered around. "What you get, Leader?!"

Jaune opened it up and the others saw... shoots of wood. Jaune pulled up the longest length. "My longbow."

"What's the wood for?" Nora eagerly asked.

"To make longarrows." Jaune replied. "Wood, and stones, and feathers from dad's latest catch."

"Two bags?" Nora asked.

"Left and right." Jaune stated.

"What difference does that make?" Nora asked and giggled.

"Spin direction." Ren stated.

"Exactly." Jaune added.

"Alright..." Nora stated, "what's a longarrow?"

"Length," Jaune stated, "weight, neck, balance. They're all key to an arrow shooting properly."

"Did you miss it?" Pyrrha asked him.

"I used to practice with it every week." Jaune replied, "I really didn't think I would miss it so much."

"What kind of dust do you use with your arrows?" Nora asked.

"Dust?" Jaune asked, and shook his head. "Why would you use dust with an arrow?"

"Everyone uses dust." Nora said matter of factly, and Jaune looked pensively into nothing.

* * *

Yang patted Jaune's head as she walked passed, "Some day..." she solemnly said, and he breathed in deep and sighed. Once most of the students had walked up he finally lifted his head, careful to balance his antlers. He walked down the stairs to the centre of the lecture theatre.

"Mr. Arc?!" Professor Port bombastically asked.

"How much do you know about longbows?" Jaune asked.

"Not my particular favourite, but is it a good, strong, robust weapon for good, strong robust men."

"I actually used it for hunting..." Jaune voiced, "But my teammates were talking about using dust in arrows?"

"I'm suprised we are having this discussion, as they usually cover it in our seed schools." Professor Port said to him, "But, I understand... your circumstances... are unique... Now, my speciality is more in how you use your weapon then designing it, but the basics are the shape of the chambre along with the type of dust and refinement you are using. Most weapons have a shaped chambre expressly for this, but if you used it with arrows, I suppose you would need to shape it yourself. Now, your friend Ms. Schnee is far more of an expert at that then I am..."

"She is?.." Jaune asked.

"Well, well, it seems she uses her semblance to control the shape and amount of dust she uses with her rapier."

"Is THAT how she can do all those crazy things?!" Jaune asked.

Professor Port shifted his moustache. "Yes, indeed. She is quite remarkable. Now, as for professors, I believe Professor Peach would be the most suitable. She is in charge of Beacon's alchemy courses."

"ALCHEMY!?" Jaune asked.

"Atlas would have you believe alchemy and science are one and the same, but I can assure you, they are not."

"Annnd?.." Jaune asked, "If I don't want to learn, I don't know, the secret ancient art passed down in encrypted tomes, what should I do?"

"We have plenty of designs for arrows in the library, if you want something to simply copy." Professor Port replied, "But where's the ADVENTURE in that? Jaune, my boy, I've seen you take great strides as a huntsman. I can see you reaching out to your destiny and GRABBING - IT - BY - THE - HORNS!" He twitched his moustache. "I apologize is that was insensitive in any way."

"I..." Jaune voiced, "used to be sensitive about them... I saw them as nothing... but a liability... But now..."

"But now, I see fire in your eyes, steel in your loins. I see the heart of a wild beast." Peter Port said, and twitched his moustache. "Again, I apologize..."

"It's okay, professor." Jaune replied. "I... I feel more at home... in being a Faunus..."

"Excellent!" Professor Port stated, "Excellent!"

* * *

Jaune knocked on RWBY's door. "Hm?" Jaune mumbled, when his scroll vibrated. He picked it up, and it was a message from Nora, 'That you, Leader?!'

'Yep.' Jaune replied. 'RWBY not in yet?'

'They had something to do in town.' Nora replied. 'Something SECRET!!!!!!!'

'That's not ominous.' Jaune replied. 'We'll, I'll be studying in the library. You guys have fun.'

'You got it, Leader!' Nora replied, and looked up from her scroll. "Jaune's going to be studying in the library. Wants us to have fun."

"Indeed?" Ren asked.

"Whatever should we do?" Pyrrha added.

Nora quickly tackled Pyrrha onto her bed, "Maybe! - you could tell us how you feel about Leader?!"

"If you feel comfortable." Ren stated.

* * *

Jaune's scroll vibrated. He picked it up, and it was Nora once again. 'I know you're in the library. And libraries are supposed to be quiet.'

'Yes?' Jaune texted back.

'YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS?' Nora texted him, and sent him a video. VNN. It was a giant robot... fighting... huntresses...

"RWBY?!" Jaune's shout echoed through the library.

* * *

Jaune walked into JNPR's room. "We need to do something!"

"About?.." Ren asked.

"RWBY!" Jaune shouted, "We've got to!.."

"I'm sorry." Pyrrha interjected, and JN_R looked at her. "I believe they have long since won."

"Like one little robot could take out RWBY." Nora added.

"So?!" Jaune asked, "We shouldn't?.." and this time they just looked at him questioningly.

"I don't believe there is anything we could do to help." Pyrrha's sonorous voice stated.

Jaune visibly and audibly sighed.

[alonelytinywriter]

Please

You got it, Darling! *finger guns* I don’t do readers, hope you don’t mind! Warnings of kidnapping, smexy times, drug use (forced and self indulgent), Stockholm Syndrome(beginning stages), the basics for yandere stuff dears, ye have been warned.

Yandere! Takami Keigo (Hawks) / Original Female Character

Playlist - Finneas Station (Pandora) 

Name: Higurashi Ruri ~ Birthday: December 15th ~ Age: 20 ~ Hair Color: Pink ~ Eye Color: Brown ~ Gender: Female ~ Height: 4′ 6′’ ~ Quirk: Peryton*

Appearance: Ruri is a short girl of slender yet feminine build. She is fair-skinned with a perpetual blush on her cheeks. The blush, paired with her fair skin has made more than one person suspect she has been drinking, even when she is stone cold sober. Her eyes are large and round, their irises an ashy brown with oval pupils and rather thick upper eyelashes. Her hair is cut just above her shoulders, bobbed and curved inward with short bangs that lay straight across her forehead, and is the same shade as her eyes, Because of her Quirk, Ruri has two large deer-like antlers that grow from either side of her head, which bloom the same flowers that come from an Eastern Redbud tree. From her back emerge two wings, only 5 and a half foot from tip to tip, with thick, glossy, ashy brown feathers. ~ Ruri nearly always wears long flowing or tiered skirts paired with peasant blouses and lacy tanks. She commonly adds wood jewelry, fringed handbags, and jeweled or embellished flat sandals (or flat ankle boots) to complete her look of the day. Her most distinctive feature is her layered and colorful clothes, as many have described her as looking ‘washed out’.

Quirk: Peryton* ~ Ruri’s quirk, Peryton, caused her to develop her antlers shortly after her third birthday, although she was born with soft, downy wing stubs that grew and matured as she did. Physically, her Quirk grants her the ability to fly - her wings are not just for show! - but she does suffer from allergies that develop in the aftermath of the antlers atop her head blooming. Her Quirk had never truly have her the want to become a Hero and her parents, apothecaries, where more than happy to allow their daughter to follow whatever path she may chose. 

Power - 3/5 ~ Speed - 4/5 ~ Technique - 2/5 ~ Intelligence - 4/5 ~ Cooperativeness - 4/5

~Please~

~ The first time Hawks spotted the girl she was crossing the street, her long skirts billowing in the wind as she darted forward. It had been the two large antlers atop her head that had drawn his attention, their gleaming bone horn broken by the grown of large red flowers that seemed to release a fine cloud of glitter to the wind. And then she was gone into the crowd, her small frame swallowed. She became an obsession for him after that, and he became her shadow, although she never seemed to realize. He followed her to her job - a small sushi shop that offered amazing Miso soup - learned where she lived - a studio apartment based over a grocery shop - and quickly found the pattern to her schedule.

~ Months passed before Hawks spoke with the girl for the first time; she was running from a Villain causing a scene in the middle of one of the busiest shopping districts around Musutafu. She was sprinting through the crowd, antlers gleaming in the dim light of the setting sun, clearly looking for an escape when a scream cut through the noise, echoing across the shop windows until it seemed to ring through the air like a siren. Her eyes meet his for only a moment, a brief convergence of brown and gold, and then they found the little girl falling through the air, a look of pure terror on her small face. The villain had found her cowering under a shopfront table and slung her through the air in a fight of rage. Hawks knew he wasn’t close enough. He couldn’t make it. The little girl was going to fast, to far away, and she was going to hit the pavement beneath her - hard. But she never did. The girl was there, her ashy-brown feathers gleaming in the light like polished cedar as they beat against the air, the little girl clutched against her chest. She looked magnificent, like an avenging angel come down to lay waste to the foolish mortal before her, her eyebrows narrowed down into a positive glare as she viewed the villain and found him wanting.

~ That was all it took for Hawks to cross the distance between them and everything passed in a blur after. The villain was apprehended, the little girls’ parents were found, and the girl, Ruri, was under his wing, shaking.

~ She wasn’t a Hero, not even part of the police force. She saw a child in danger and . . . just couldn’t help herself. She had acted before thinking, and the second the adrenaline faded from her system she was a mess. Tears, although they would not fall, pooled against her lashes, and she couldn’t seem to stop shivering. Her teeth chattered as she tried to give her address to the sidekick on the scene, who was oh so kindly offered to escort her home safely, and she didn’t even think twice when Hawks stepped in and volunteered to do so instead. She was so innocent, so trusting, it was hard to believe she hadn’t been taken advantage of before. In the end, it wasn’t a hard decision to make - the ambulance had a syringe filled with droperidol and he only had to wait until they were a few blocks away before he slipped the needle into the flesh of her hip. She barely noticed, flinching only minutely and mumbling something along the lines of bugs and the summer being a killer. He didn’t drop his perfect smile as she began to stumble, didn’t bat an eyelash when she had to lean into his side for support, one of her antlers pressed against his chest as she tried to keep her balance.

~ “Hawks? I don’t - I don’t feel well. I think . . . I think somethings wrong.” Ruri murmured, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. She was stumbling, her feathers ruffling violently as she swayed. Something was wrong, wrong, scary wrong. Her legs felt numb and she couldn’t control her wings. Ruri felt giddy and unfocused. It was hard to catch a real breath and when she looked into Hawks eyes they appeared too clear, too gold. They looked fake. Then the vertigo hit. “Just a little further, darling. Just a little further and we’ll be at my home.” She didn’t even have a chance to scream before Hawks hand was across her mouth. He bundled her into his arms and look to the sky in a rush, a lopsided smile on his face. “Hush, babygirl. The only screams I want to hear from you are screams of pleasure.”

~ Everything had gone dark and when she woke she was dressed in a lacy nightgown that barely covered her curves. Hawks was above her, his chest bare and his wings fluttering gently as his fingers traced shapes across her translucent skin. “You were so brave babygirl. So brave. But you were silly, weren’t you? You can’t put yourself in danger like that. But you’ll be okay, won’t you. You’ll stay here now, and everything will be okay, won’t it?”

~ Ruri had known, even in the fog of the drugs coursing through her system, that it was very important that she answer. She barely knew this man. She knew of him, of course. Who wouldn’t recognize the Number Two Hero, Hawks? But why was he above her, looking down at her as if he expected an answer. She tried to gather her scattered thoughts, but gold eyes held her and though she wanted to close her eyes she couldn’t. His fingers were still on her skin, dipping beneath the silk that covered her breasts, the lace that sheltered her sex. There was a heat unfolding inside her, spreading from her chest, filling her with a trembling longing as he continued to touch, his mouth following after. The most she could do was blink slowly as her vision slowly focused on her feathered appendage stretched out beneath her. The feathers gleamed softly in the light of the lamp on the nightstand, each feather standing out in sharp contrast to the dim room until -

~ Ruri’s scream had cut through the air and startled Hawks so badly he had fallen from the bed, his wings jerking violently. For a moment Hawks thought that she was screaming at him, for him to stop, for someone to hear her, but then he realized - Ruri was screaming in horror at the sight of her clipped wings, each primary feather cut so they only sat a few inches below where they started. Her wings appeared short and stubby, misshapen in some drastic way, and Ruri knew they would not support her if she were to try to take to the sky.

~ In the end it wasn’t the last time Hawks felt the need to clip her wings. It happened again the first time she tried to escape, nearly three months into her captivity, and he did it painfully, pulling each feather out by it’s roots, causing their regrowth to be painful and long. The next had been the one and only time he had tried to force himself on her, and the resulting fight had left him with two black eyes and a split-lip that would crack any time he tried to smile in her direction for the next week. He hadn’t tried to do so again, and Ruri was thankful for that, even if it had enraged him to the point of raggedly clipping her left wing so that it appeared that she was molting. She had watched Keigo come and go, acting a hero all while she called him a monster behind closed doors. That had stopped quickly, too, because when he found that she felt brave during the times her wings were clipped he resorted to plucking her wings one feather at a time. He would catch her mid escape and do it to show that she would never, no matter how hard she tried, get away. He did it twice before she finally caved and began to use his real name - Takami Keigo. Three times before she would allow him to cuddle her as they sat on the couch together. Four before she stopped fighting him when he climbed into the bed with her, the last time he had ripped the feathers out by the handful, using his weight to hold her down as she thrashed and screamed below him. Over and over again, for months it happened until, finally, Ruri stopped fighting back.

~ “Are you okay darling?” Ruri startled at the sound of Keigo’s voice, so close to her ear. She hadn’t heard him enter, hadn’t heard his greeting she knew he must have given her. She felt as if she were floating, the weed she had smoked working through her system and making everything seem shiner, new, as if it were something to be amazed at. It was drawing her into the past, as well, she thought brokenly.

~  “You got into your stash?” Ruri giggled and shrugged her shoulders. The small stone pipe was sitting on the coffee table before her, as well as her grinder and small bag of weed that was, without a doubt, dwindling away to nothing. The answer seemed clear enough. Keigo smiled, eyeing her silently for a moment before he moved to walk away, whether to his room or to the kitchen, Ruri wasn’t sure but she suddenly, inexplicably didn’t want him to leave her side. She knew it wasn’t right, that she shouldn’t want her kidnapper anywhere near her, but she couldn’t help the flash of longing that flashed through her as he moved to walk away. “Please.”

~ Keigo froze. When he looked back to Ruri he found her leaning across the couch, her wings sprawled out behind her and her antlers, which had been barren since she had awoken inside his apartment, were showing signs of new growth - small leaves sprouted across their length, and there, along the tips, were small buds showing the beginning stages of red growth. Tentative, Keigo leaned forward, stretching out one hand, and before Ruri had time to consider her actions, she scooted forward. The smile that stretched across the Number Two Hero’s face as he ran his fingers through Ruri’s hair, mussing and then smoothing it down again, was brilliant. “Do you have any idea what day it is?”

~ Ruri paused, panic flushing through her system for a moment. Had she forgotten something important? His birthday? A holiday? Was it her birthday? She didn’t want to loose her feather - she had been so good. But Keigo seemed to understand the look of panic on her face, and he took pity on her because he leaned forward and whispered the answer against her lips. “It’s been one year since I brought you home with me darling. Our one year anniversary. My beautiful baby girl. Does that make you happy?”

~ “Yes.” Ruri answered without thinking, shivering with delight as Keigo’s hand stroked her cheek. “I missed you, you know.” Her eyes were unfocused, the lids half closed. One of her hands moved to cover his and she pressed it against her cheek. “Missed you, missed you, missed you.” Keigo wasn’t quite sure what to make of her actions but he didn’t want to risk loosing the moment. Instead, he pulled her into his arms, his face pressed into the crook of her neck.

~ “I missed you too, baby girl. And who knows? Maybe if your good, we can go out this weekend? Would you like that darling? Would you like to go outside again? The snow has begun to fall and it’s beautiful outside. Just as beautiful as you. So beautiful . . .” Keigo’s words trailed away as he hugged Ruri closer to his chest. “My beautiful. Mine.” 

*The Peryton is a mythological hybrid animal combining the physical features of a stag and a bird (in Ruri’s case, I imagine her wings and bird like features to come from the Pink Robin, a small tubby bird native to Australia.). The Peryton was created and described by Jorge Luis Borges, in his book Book of Imaginary Beings, and he supposedly used a long-lost medieval manuscript as a source.

[inspirationdivine]

The Monster Mash || Lydia and Jared

Timing: Current Parties: @inspirationdivine & @themidnightfarmer Summary: Lydia and Jared meet in the woods in the evening

OR

The one where Lydia’s in “Cabin in the Woods” while Jared’s in “Snow White”

It was the safest Lydia had felt in weeks. The vampire would never be able to touch her, not for as long as his soul was missing. Remmy was safe, albeit heavily scarred, and there wasn’t all that much going on in her life. Soon it would be mushroom season proper, but until then, she was happily wandering the woods in the early evening sun, admiring the golden cast that the light shone on everything. The only artist better equipped than a Leanan Sidhe was nature itself. Lydia, lost in her own mind, didn’t notice them at first. The growling, cruel gnashing of teeth, the skeletons shaped like armour, the glowing green eyes. Lydia froze when she saw them, blood running cold. Barghest, or aufhockers. She’d seen them before, in the cage with Remmy, and could remember all too clearly the pain she’d heard from her friend. Lydia screamed, stumbling back, wondering if she was supposed to play dead or run or just prepare to die.

Jared was whistling quietly as he took a few of the pack out to scout for suitable stray bones to outfit themselves. This year's brood were wilder than the last and the nymph could not be more proud. But it was still something that they would need to be taught, and just like last year Jared accompanied them in their first search. The first bone on their armour would be attached by their mother in a show of tradition that Jared felt blessed to be able to witness every year. The mothers of the two litters took point far ahead of the rest, and they alerted an unfamiliar presence in the way they would in the wild. Except the protection of the pack fell to Jared, so they compensated for his poorer hearing by growling louder and more fiercely than they usually would for any of their own kind. He sped up his gate and emerged into the same patch of trees just as the woman screamed. His hands flew up first in surrender and then down by his sides to placate the bonedoggle mothers behind him. “Shhh shhhhh their hearing is sensitive!” he whispered hastily. 

“What??” Lydia yelled, stumbling back. A root caught her ankle and she fell hard onto her derierre in the dark foliage below. The beasts looked hungry, starved for food and ready to maul her to shreds. They were thinking about it, she could tell, planning how to tear out her throat. The man was absurd to think- Lydia swallowed down the thick saliva filling her mouth, taking a moment to feel the reverberation in her chest. “Get away from them! They’re dangerous!”

The bonedoggle mothers grew more upset at the consistent yelling. These mothers had been completely wild once, a two legged yelling like that was dangerous for them and they recognised it. Even if the words the woman was screaming were lost on them, the tone was familiar. Jared raised his hands again making a gesture he hoped translated to ‘pipe down’ to the woman. “Shh shhh, don’t scream. Screaming is freaking them out.” He hissed while making a slow path towards her where she lay on the ground. He took a knee next to her and turned to softly speak to the mothers. “Go round up the pups, girls. They’re heading this way.” He requested lightly with a calming smile and a small shooing gesture. They both gave the woman another feral look, one even snapping her teeth, before they took turns vanishing into the trees. Jared offered the woman a hand as he stood back up. “Did you sprain anything falling over?” He asks carefully. Feeling something vague about her, but nothing he could put his finger on. He’d never been told what meeting another fae felt like after all. 

“I’m screaming because they freak me out!” Lydia retorted shrilly, but tried to bring it down a decibel. He didn’t frighten her as he approached, how could he, when he was so obviously fae, and so clearly wrong about everything. He kept talking to the monsters like they might answer back, might listen, and oh lord, the things kept coming closer with their mouths definitely salivating for a meal. Lydia flinched back as one leapt forward to bite her (or so she thought) but missed. Then, one by one, they turned on their haunches and wandered away. Panting, Lydia took the Fae’s hand and stood, so clearly trembling. “N-no. How did you- how, what?”

He looked down at the woman with some sympathy as they stood. She was shaken by them, and rightfully so. Had Jared not been walking with a known pack, her chances against all 13 of them would have been slim, even with the majority being so young. Even if he didn’t see the threat he appreciated that others certainly did. Jared grew cagey then, unsure how to explain to a stranger what he was doing walking amongst monsters so casually as well as dismissing them from a meal without blinking. He held her hand firmly for an extra moment in both of his in the hopes that it would give her some courage back. “I just uh…” and he stumbled. What did he say? He hadn’t been prepared for this eventuality this evening. Letting her go he struggled for words. “I just uh..” he tried again. “Dogs you know….”

“Dogs.” Lydia replied, staring at him. Oh no, he was another. They clearly weren’t dogs, they were the furthest thing from dogs she could imagine while still being the approximate size and structure of the canine variety, but if he didn’t believe that they weren’t dogs, if he couldn’t feel the magical connection between them… Lydia swallowed, wrapping her arms around herself tightly as if she might feel less fragile because of it. “Do you not… feel anything?” Another poor soul.

Her tone spoke volumes and he decided in that moment to be a little reckless. “Well not dogs, but uh rather doggles.” Jared corrected himself bringing a hand up to chew on his thumbnail worriedly, the other arm crossed his chest to hold it steady. And then she inquired after how he felt and he was lost for only a single moment. Did she mean about the bonedoggles or about her? Because he most certainly felt something about her. He gestured with a finger between the both of them. “Between us? Uh...maybe? Are you...doing something to make that feeling? Like a memory I can feel, it’s weird.”

“Doggles? Is that like… doggo and pupper and other internet terms?” Lydia asked hesitantly. “Or is that their species name?” She honestly had no idea with him. He knew more than he was letting on, as he nervously chewed on his nail, but maybe not as much as one might think. What on earth did he mean, like a memory?  Lydia ran her hands over her clothes, shaking a few errant bugs off her. “No, I’m not doing anything. I- Might I ask, does the word fae mean anything to you?”

“Species… they’re called bonedoggles.” Jared told her hesitantly. He could know things about the supernatural species and not let on to what he was. This was fine. Her inquiry sent off alarm bells in his mind however and he took a full step backwards as subtly as he could. Just out of arm's reach if this were to go south. “Fae? Maybe, perhaps. Bonedoggles aren’t fae though…” That was always the same, the same awkward struggle towards an admission. He’d cave first, he knew he would. But if he could help it he’d cave in a way that didn’t out his farm. 

Lydia eyed him for a long minute after he’d finished, before clasping her hands together. “Oh, thank goodness. For a moment I thought you were serious about believing they were real dogs, when they looked…” Lydia swallowed, looking around as if they might hear her speaking ill of them, “So vicious. No, they aren’t fae. But you are and I am!”

“You’re fae too?” All cagey attitude was dropped as soon as she uttered those words. Jared heaved a sigh of relief and then caught himself. “Is that the memory feeling? It’s like, in my fingertips like I know you’re something but I have no idea how to describe it.” He was probably babbling nonsense, but he was so relieved and curious that he couldn’t contain himself very well. 

“Yes!” Lydia replied, her glamour blinking away for a moment to show her high pointed ears and her firefly wings peaking out from behind her back. “That’s just it. We’re blessed to know each other by instinct.” Her joy sank away, her head tilting as she stepped closer, carefully avoiding the branch that had tripped her before. How had he not felt it as loud as a siren when he’d held her hand for that moment. “Have you… not many other fae before?”

Her glamour flickered and he caught sight of her wings. “Amazing!” she looked far prettier in her normal skin than he did. Jared considered dropping his like she had hers, but instead did the bear minimum. He allowed only his 4 horns to appear from his hair in return. “Not uh, not so many, only a few. I didn’t know that was that feeling! I feel….stuff all the time so I guess I could have been writing it off as something else.” he explained to her. He then allowed a sheepish grin to cross his face. “Raised human I’m afraid. Not a very.... Not very in the know.”

Lydia’s eyes widened as he revealed his horns. Nothing like the elegant antlers of a lampade, but every bit of breathtaking. He had to be a nymph, their appearances were so varied and beautiful in equal proportion, and he was only showing so little of it. Lydia wished to see more. “They’re beautiful,” she murmured, once her breath was back. Although, he felt stuff all the time? What on earth did that mean? Everyone had senses for feeling things, but this was different than touching treebark. “You were raised human? It can’t have been easy. Wait… how did you? With those Doneboggles?”

Jared blinked back at Lydia and then smiled more widely. “You think so?” His hands raised to touch his horns, already covered over by the glamour again but he could still feel them. “Yeah, family of deniers too so you know how that goes.” He shrugged in a jovial sort of way, as if what he was describing didn’t sound like an awful way to grow up fae. “..oH right yeah. They’re my kids. I’m a nymph for vicious beings. You know… someone has to look out for them.” He paused a moment before asking that cheeky question. “And you?”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Lydia said softly, because it sounded so terrible. At least he wasn’t Regan, suffocated by his own denial. He was just lost and alone, like Jeff, in so many ways. “They’re your… children?” Lydia looked at him extremely skeptically, but she’d heard of nymphs of all manner of things. Still, she didn’t believe anything like those monstrosities could truly be changed. “Leanan Sidhe. Artistic inspiration.”

“Well I call them my kids, but they’re more my charges. My lot in life is to try my best to protect them I suppose?” There wasn’t a set path for any fae, but in times like these Jared reflected on wishing there were at least clearer baseline instructions. “Described as muses by google.” he recited from memory. Then Jared cringed and quickly added “No offence of course if that’s wrong. I just...human upbringing and all...not very well educated.” he explained with a small attempt at a laugh. 

“No, muse is a perfectly acceptable term,” Lydia laughed. “At least you’re willing to learn. That counts for a lot. So much, really.” She swallowed. How old was he? Twenty? Thirty? A Hundred? How lonely, especially for something that already left him so isolated, facing prejudice. Lydia thought of the skull Deirdre had brought her with a shudder. “So you… can communicate with them? Control them?”

Jared was immensely glad that he hadn’t offended the woman. “Very willing to learn about this stuff, I feel like I’m always missing something or other that I should be on top of.” he laughs more genuinely. Other fae always seemed to have more of an air of authority about them than he did, this woman definitely had a confidence in who she was at least after all. “Oh my kids? It’s more we have an understanding. We’re connected, it’s like...uh….that human theory of the string tied around someone's pinky finger? There’s a push and a pull to it. And not everyone is connected the same way, but we’re all attached if that makes sense? I respect them, and they in turn respect me. We listen to each other in a way?” 

Lydia listened curiously, looking up to the sky as the sun began to dip to behind the trees. No more golden  hour for them, but then this was so much better than something that happened every sunny evening. “I’m not sure I understand that all that much,” she replied, with a soft smile. She understood the words, the concepts, but couldn’t grasp what it really meant. It wasn’t control at all… maybe symbiosis? “It’s incredible, though, all the same. Sorry, we’ve been talking all this time and I haven’t even caught your name. I’m Lydia!”

“Hard to grasp I suppose unless you can feel it.” Jared settled for. The tug of his soul towards his creatures wouldn’t make sense to most. And that was okay. As long as he knew where he was with it, it was working out just fine. His mouth opened in surprise and then he offered his hand out to the other. “Oh damn yeah. I’m Jared.” he introduced in return. As as he said this one of the bonedoggle mothers emerged from the brush once again. This time accompanied by one of the pups. His eyes turned to her when he sensed her arrive and he tilted his head in her direction for Lydia to know she was there as well. “I promise she won’t bite you. She’s just being weary, her pups are taking a big step today.”

“Jared, lovely to mee- Aah!” Lydia yelped as the mother reappeared, but half way through remembered that she needed to be quiet around them, so stifled her mouth with her hand. She still jumped behind Jared, grabbing his arm and peering out behind him. “You can’t promise that! I relinquish you of your promise! Never make a promise about someone else’s actions! Especially- uh” Lydia swallowed. “A mom with her pups.”

The nymph laughed quietly at Lydia’s reaction. She was not the first, nor would she be the last, to hide behind him. Now that Jared had calmed to the other faes presence, the feeling was easy to convey over his connection to the mother doggle. Her teeth were no longer bared in protest and he smiled softly at her and her kin. The moment lost when Lydia indicated how stupid his word choice had been. “Oh fuck yeah, shit right. I...I’m usually better about that I really am.” he said, his blush thankfully covered by the glamour he wore, although his tone definitely gave him away. He glanced at Lydia and then spoke. “Bonedoggles are sensitive to sound like Bies are. Where bies will be startled away by it, doggles tend to attack anything making too much of it. That’s why we keep voices nice and low usually.” He nods at the two forms in the half light. “Her ears are at rest, she’s pretty calm now.”

Lydia eyed him, a tiny smile playing on her lips despite her fear.. Definitely a child fae, even if his demeanor was charming. “Right, of course.” She said, then swallowed, looking back at this hellish hound, and yeah, maybe her ears were at rest, but Lydia didn’t know what that looked like. “Calm. Right. I trust your judgement.” Lydia replied. It was easy to trust him through the wind chimes in her chest, even if she didn’t understand everything he was talking about. She didn’t know what a bies was, nor did the skeletal hound look calm to her, nor the young pups beside her cute. She still hid behind him, eyes wide as the darkening light made her skin glow. “Is she calmer because of you?”

His pride built when Lydia said that she trusted his judgement. From someone so new to him it was a surprising but every welcome comment. “I always say it is best to keep a good distance from doggles, but at the same timeI don’t want you to be worried about these right now. I’m here and I’ve got you covered.” Jared told her with a smile before gesturing for the doggles to go ahead and bring their bones to him rather than him going to them. He asked with a soft tone along with the gesture and the visible doggles departed, the few in the shadows Jared was unwilling to point out to the other fae just in case she panicked. “I suppose so. She reads my emotions like I can her’s, sometimes. I’ll admit meeting a stranger when I’m with something a human shouldn’t be is a little stressful. But I’ve calmed, so they have in response? If that makes sense?”

“I usually keep my distance from anything I can’t talk to and isn’t fae. Next time, I’ll just try to remember not to scream,” Lydia replied with an attempted casual laugh that pitched a little on the high end as the…. Bonedoggle came closer, and dropped bones at Jared’s feet. It was fine. This was just like Deirdre. Except, of course, that Deirdre wasn’t a terrifying beast, who didn’t attack at loud noises. So, really, they were the opposite of Deirdre. Lydia took a deep breath as they retreated, and stepped out from behind Jared. “That does make sense.” After all, right now could Lydia not feel the contented hum of Sammy glazing a sculpture? “No, of course I understand why that could have been alarming. Fortunate for both of us that we were who we were then.”

Unaware that Lydia was still hiding behind him somewhat, he unwittingly exposed her by vanishing from her side. Jared had crouched down to the small pile of bones being left at his feet, counting them out and discarding any that seemed too damaged to make a good first piece of armor. “I feel really lucky yeah. I now know what that feeling in my fingers is all about. I really didn’t have any idea it was anything like that. I thought it had something to do with my kids you know? I can feel the ache when they’re hunted, I thought maybe the good feeling was something good. Can’t help but dream huh?” he laughed lightly. Jared looked up realizing he was oversharing and shot a sheepish smile at Lydia. “Is being a muse hard?” he asked to change the subject. “I want to learn. I feel like I have tons to catch up on.”

Lydia’s smile twisted into something sadder. She didn’t understand the affection he felt for the beasts, but she knew well the feeling of losing a creature you were bound to. He looked sheepish, but her expression was only encouraging. “Well, do feel welcome to ask anything you might wish to know.” He changed the subject, and Lydia grinned, much happier to discuss this than to watch him sort through his bones.  “Is it hard? Not in the slightest. I can sense talent, and give people artistic inspiration with as little as a smile. Need to be careful about not drawing the attention of any wardens, but then, don’t we all? I rather enjoy my life.”

She was being generous and it brought a smile to his face. “I’ll be bothering you all the time. I only have one other fae to really ask, and she’s kind of busy a lot. I don’t like to bother her.” Or rather, Jared was promise bound to ask Morelia for help should he ever be in medical trouble, so when little things cropped up that he didn’t know about he hesitated to ask. “I don’t know an awful lot about wardens. ButI think so far I’ve done alright.” At least on the warden front. “Have you lived in town long?”

“It isn’t a bother. No one should live in ignorance of their heritage and culture, if they don’t wish it,” Lydia replied with a small shrug. “I could introduce you to other fae too, if you would like that,” she said softly. “There is not much to know about them other than that they are iron-skinned monsters that will kill you if they get the chance.” She shivered lightly as a cold breeze rolled through the forest. “Oh, probably coming up on 10 months now, I move every few years.” Hazards of immortality, really, and keeping her hunting grounds close to home. “What about you?”

As Lydia told him she was more than happy to tell him whatever he wanted to know he smiled. Jared smiled and looked back down at the doggles who were almost finished attaching their first bone to the pups. He jerked his head at the closest of the pups to have already been awarded their bone. Whispering a quick soft order to head home. “I’ve lived here all my life. Grew up here, never really left.” Jared offered Lydia his arm with a tentative smile so he could lead her out of the pack of doggles with as little stress to both parties. “What’s it like moving around a lot? Is it because of trouble with wardens or just becuase you like it?”

He’d lived here all his life and he still hadn’t met that many fae? Lydia took his arm comfortably, and followed him to what felt like safety. Already, she was planning a trip for him into the Mirror District. “Oh, a little bit of both. Well, it doesn’t help that I’m 70 and hardly look it to the human eye. Although, I must tell you about the time I had to move in 1987…” As they wandered off together, all that could be heard was the birds in the trees, the chatter of their voices, and not a single growl from the bonedoggles,

[litzing]

The Crown of God

Do you like demons? Demons with antlers? What about morally corrupt angels? Well friend, you’ve come to the right place. The Crown of God is a short story (by me!) about what happens when the good guy turns out to be the bad guy. Hope you love it!

Title: The Crown of God

Author: @litzing​

Word Count: 2213

I’m the only creature in the world that can hide from God. God’s successor, I mean. His watchful eye sees all, knows all—but with the Crown of God in my possession, I’m invisible. And He is not happy.

“Elvis, darling...”

I clutch the Crown to my chest, one hand clamped over my mouth to stifle myself, as I cower behind a pillar in His magnificent palace. A golden light passes behind me, and I hold my breath.

“Elvis!”

His booming, layered voice is earth-shattering, but the Crown keeps my eardrums from exploding. I’m not an emotional man, never was, but even I am afraid, tears pricking my eyes as I wait for Him to move on. After an eternity, the light fades as He searches further down the corridor, and when I’m sure He’s gone, I bolt.

I skid around a corner. At the end of the hall, I can see the intricate, wrought-iron gates leading to the pits of Hell, wide open, and I know what I’m going to do. I creep towards the gates, hugging the wall so I can duck behind a pillar if need be. The Crown hums in my arms, searing hot, yet it doesn’t burn my hands to the bone.

“Elllviiis...”

The voice is close. I freeze and flatten myself against a pillar, but I’m too late. A brilliant light blooms in the corridor behind me, and the pillar explodes, the blast sending me flying towards the gates in a shower of marble. I hit the ground hard, and the Crown tumbles from my arms and clatters to the floor. I groan, supporting myself on weak arms, then scramble to grab the Crown before He can get to it first. I shouldn’t, but I raise my eyes.

Lyriel—God, as He’s called these days—seems smug as His countless eyes wink at me one by one, His six wings growing still as He alights on the polished marble floor. I’m amazed that I can gaze upon His angelic form without my eyes melting. In a flash of luminous light, He looks almost human, save for having a few too many eyes and a few too many teeth. The small wings sprouting from the sides of His head flutter and flex. He’s beautiful, in the otherworldly way that angels are, with golden brown skin and long blond hair so fine it slips through His fingers when He flips it over His shoulder.

“Oh, holy, holy, holy! Elvis, dear, is that you? It’s been so long,” Lyriel says, spreading His arms wide in a grand gesture. “How have you been? Well, I hope!”

I struggle to stand, but my legs aren’t cooperating just yet. I smashed my hip on the floor when the explosion launched me down the hall.

“No greeting? Didn’t your mother teach you any manners? Oh, I apologize—Of course she didn’t.” He approaches, His bare feet silent on the marble. “She only taught you thievery. You stole her life just like you stole my crown.”

I’m as good as dead if I don’t get on my feet, and with adrenaline coursing through my veins, I stand. My hip throbs, but still, I stand. Lyriel stops when I do, half of His eyes flicking to the Crown while the rest watch me closely.

“That crown is mine, Elvis.”

“Fuck you.”

He’s unfazed. “You dare speak such words to the Lord, your God? My, my.”

“Why do you want it so bad, anyway?” I ask, shifting my weight to ease the pain in my hip. “You’re already God. You don’t need the Crown too, Lyriel—“

“You will no longer refer to me by that name,” He snaps. His tone is forceful.

“Struck a nerve, Ly?” I ask, inching backwards towards the gates.

He scowls. “To answer your question, I want it because it’s mine. How would you feel if I came into your house and took your things?”

“So it’s not important? Just another artifact you’re hoarding?”

“Precisely.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I...”

I raise the Crown, and I’m about to place it on my head, nestled between my antlers, when Lyriel cries out in protest, an ancient, long-dead language. I arch an eyebrow.

“Thou shalt not lie.”

“The rules of mortals do not apply to the divine, Elvis!” He’s frantic, teeth clenched, hands curled into fists as His wings shiver with rage. I’ve ruffled His feathers. Lyriel calms Himself, and He exhales. “Fine. What is it you want from me? Power? Oh, I could give you so much power. Or do you want money? It’s funny how mortals worship papers and coins these days. Or maybe...” There’s a gleam in His eyes. “... Maybe you want to be human.”

I blink and lower the Crown. Human? Could He do that?

“Poor Elvis. One foot in Heaven and the other in Hell. An ugly half-breed. What’s that like? Tough, isn’t it? Humans fear you and demons hate you. It must be so sad to be you. But I can help you! I can grant you new life.” He steps forward. I step backward, wincing when my hip strains. “Wouldn’t it be nice, Elvis? Wouldn’t you love being human? Being normal?”

It’s enticing. I’ve had dreams about waking up human, waking up normal. No more depression. Sometimes I’m even handsome—No antlers, no red eyes, no fangs. Less gangling. I hate that I can count my prominent ribs in the mirror every morning.

I avert my eyes.

“Oh, is that your weakness?” He takes a few more steps towards me, and I back up in time. “You want to be human. I can see it in your eyes, Elvis.” He taps His temple. “I see all.”

I cast a fleeting glance behind me. I’m in front of the gates, and just beyond, I can see the pits of Hell giving off a faint orange glow, fueled by fire and brimstone. Hellfire is the only thing that can destroy the Crown of God. Lyriel knows that. But does He know that I know?

Lyriel extends His hand towards me.

“Give me the Crown,” He demands, “and I’ll make you human. It’s more than a fair trade.”

I think about it. I really do. I’d give up almost anything to be human, handsome, happy. Could I give up a planet? Could I hand over the reins of the Earth to this maniac? I know Him, and I know what He’s capable of, just like I know that He’ll stop at nothing to get the Crown back. Once it’s out of my hands, He’ll smite me—

But it was out of my hands. And He knew it was.

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

His smug smirk fades. “What? When?”

“I dropped the Crown when you broke the pillar. You could have killed me. Why didn’t you?”

His lip curls back in a sneer, exposing razor sharp fangs. He doesn’t speak. My eyes dart from Lyriel to the Crown and back again, and I furrow my brow. My brain is cycling through legends, tales of the Crown of God. I’ve studied the legends. I grew up with them. Is there something I’m missing? There has to be. Why wouldn’t He smite me? I had dropped the Crown. We talk about God being all powerful, but in reality, His powers are finite. Not a lot of people know that He makes up for His shortcomings with spells and artifacts like… Like the Crown.

“... Because you couldn’t.” I’m incredulous. How did I miss that? Of course He wants it back. He’s not God without it. “God can’t smite without his crown.”

Lyriel is furious, and with a banshee screech, He’s in His seraph form, with six wings and so, so many eyes. He’s bright, bright like the sun, and I’d be blinded if I didn’t have the Crown. He launches towards me, His wings beating at the air, so powerful they kick up a gust in the hallway. Fear surges through my veins, and when people are afraid, they don’t think. They act.

I put the Crown on my head.

It’s very unceremonious, becoming God. I feel warm. I feel energized. Healthy—my hip no longer aches and my mind is at ease. I look down at my hands, and as I watch electricity crackle between my spread fingers, I think... Is this what it’s like? Is this what it’s like to be God? I may not have the rest of God’s abilities like Lyriel does, but I’m still the second most powerful creature in the universe.

I’m about to be the first.

I turn my attention to Lyriel. He halts right in front of me, wings folding inward in a show of cowardice. He’s afraid. Terrified. I can sense it. He shifts into His more human form to parlay.

“Elvis, dear...”

“Don’t.”

“You wouldn’t want to live in a godless world, would you?” His voice is saccharine, like He’s coaxing someone off the ledge. “There would be chaos! Can you imagine a world without order? The humans, they’ll kill their planet. They already are. They’re facing extinction! Just give me the Crown—”

“No, I don’t think I will.” I lift my hand. “Burn in Hell, Lyriel.”

The air warps between us, churning like water. Desperate, Lyriel launches into a chant, a spell, in a tongue forgotten by time. But before He can finish—and He tries, oh, He tries—there is a burst of energy from my hand, knocking Him off His feet.

And when He hits the ground, He crumbles into dust.

I drop my hand and allow myself a moment of peace. I let myself enjoy being the most powerful creature in the entire universe for a minute, then reach up to take off the Crown. Once my fingers brush the hot metal, I hesitate. I could do great things with this power. Great things, but also horrible things. Power corrupts. Lyriel proved that through His own hubris. I don’t trust myself to not turn out the same way, so I sweep off the Crown and sigh, exhausted now that I’m no longer a god. I stare at the Crown for a second, holding it up in both hands. It’s a very simple crown. Unassuming. I was expecting something ostentatious. This is just a gold circlet.

I turn around and make my way through the gates. I stand on the edge of the pits of Hell. The pit is gargantuan in diameter, and it goes so deep I can’t see the bottom, but it glows orange with hellfire and radiates an unbearable heat. The Crown vibrates in my hands like it’s afraid, tempting me. I could do it. I could be God. But would I want to be? Could I handle that responsibility? Or would the Earth roll off my shoulders and shatter like glass? I’m no Atlas—And maybe it’s a good thing I’m realizing that now. We all think we want to rule the world, but when presented with the option... How many of us would be brave enough to carry the lives of billions? Beyond that, how many of us would be any good at it?

I need time to think. Is any mortal fit to be God? Should there be a God at all? The implications are dire. What would happen in a world without God? Would Lucifer rise? Would the world exist at all? I could be about to tear the fabric of the universe, but I can say with the utmost confidence that a world without God would be much better than a world ruled by Lyriel. Do you know what makes an angel an angel, and a demon a demon? Nothing. They’re the same. The only difference is who they serve. Lyriel may have been called an angel, but He had an evil heart.

I lower the Crown and gaze down at the hellfire. If the Crown didn’t act as a shield against divine forces, I’m certain the heat would singe my eyebrows off—and that’s because I’m part demon. A human might be dead by now. I can’t imagine how hot it must be further down.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out. It’s crazy that I have service up here. My dear friend Monica is calling because I’m a little late for our coffee date. I swipe to pick up the call and raise the phone to my ear.

“Aloha?”

“Hey Elvis! Did you go to the wrong café again?”

“Not exactly.” I watch the Crown glimmer and shine in the orange light. “Sorry I’m running late. Had to deal with some shit.”

“Is something wrong? Where are you now?”

I don’t know how to reply, so I don’t. What do I tell her? Do I tell her I killed God? Or that I might become God? There’s a lot to explain. There are layers.

After a short pause, Monica prompts, “Elvis? Hello?”

I sigh. “I’m here. I, uh—”

“You’re acting weird. For real, what’s wrong? Are you in jail? Who died?”

“No, no, Monica, it’s nothing like that. It...”

I give the Crown one long, final look. Then I toss it in the pits of Hell, and I walk away.

“... It’s kind of a funny story.”

[danetobelieve]

Mooseterious Circumstances || Blanche and Winston

Winston wasn’t sure why they were attending their 13th moose tour of Mooseventure tours. They had a great aunt who had once taken them here and the first tour had been genuinely interesting. But now as the blonde girl wearing a set of felt antlers that looked almost sadder then she did droned on in the same monotone that Winston had previously heard from an ecstatic and excited Pam. Winston couldn’t help that whoever she were, she could put more effort in. Turning and pressing their forehead out of the window, they gazed through their glasses and into the forest. They’d once seen two moose having sex in that exact spot they thought. The girl at the front of the bus said something bored and Winston sighed, feeling just as bored as they were. They would have to make a point of explaining to Aunt Ingrid that moosetours were only fun the first ten times you do them. Though Aunt Ingrid wouldn’t believe them. “Has the script changed in the last thirteen years?” Winston finally asked somewhat sarcastically, too bored to stay silent any longer, “Or do they make you say the same things they used to make Pam say?” 

“A fun fact about eastern moose like the ones we’re seeing tonight - “ Blanche was going to projectile herself off this bus and pray one of the moose ate her. She hated Monday night tours most of all, they were never full and now she was just desperately trying not to make awkward eye contact with Winston while she droned on and on about Moose. Luckily, the stupid Bullwinkle J. Moose records died down a bit so she could stop pretending to make jokes that always fell flat without the enthusiasm of someone who gave a shit about moose. “- lack upper front teeth, but has eight sharp incisors on its lower jaw.” She paused, finally, taking a break. The moose weren’t even out tonight. It was a bad day to watch for moose. Maybe they decided to actually go get some frigge sleep this time - but Blanche wasn’t able to pick her speech back up because Winston interrupted her. “Uh -” she glanced behind her to Stan, who seemed more concerned with driving the bus. She looked back to Winston, her face flushing slightly. Blanche knew she was a bad tour guide, but that didn’t stop Stan for making her do it. “Well, you gotta stick to the script,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck, awkwardly. “Or the moose will get mad. Or something. They don’t like change.”

Wow. That really had been a fun fact. Winston rolled their eyes and yawned before Blanche turned to face them. Glancing out the window they were almost certain that they could see a bush walking along, but they ignored it and turned back to Blanche to address her. “The moose can’t hear you and even if they could hear you then what do you think they would do? I guess it is a moosetery...” wait what the fuck. Winston’s head snapped back to the window where sure enough, a bush with antlers had just walked out of sight. “DID YOU SEE THAT?” They exclaimed! This was suddenly shaping up to be the most exciting tour that they had ever had the pleasure of going on. “There is a bush with antlers and legs that is walking along.” They were suddenly very glad that the only other people on this tour were two very old and very deaf, at least by their apparent inability to speak at less then 300 decibels about the different varieties of hard candy that they enjoyed. “Literally right there!”

Moosetery. Blanche snorted, scowling as she turned to shoot them an I heard that look, but jumped slightly when they hollered asking if she saw something. “What?” No, she hadn’t seen anything and she honestly tried not too. Moose were actually kind of terrifying. They were, like, huge. Blanche glanced to the other two patrons on the bus. They didn’t seem to be complaining that Blanche had shut up for a minute. Blanche hopped off her seat, pulling out her moose-flashlight (the one that was just a heavy duty flashlight that someone stuck stickers of Bullwinkle on), and squinted into the darkness. “A bush? With antlers? It was probably just a moose. In a bush. Trying to grab something to munch on that doesn’t have snow on it or something.” Blanche muttered, frowning. She’d seen some pretty wicked stuff on these things, especially on quieter nights. Now she really wished Granny hadn’t fucked off to find some late night White Crest gossip. Blanche chewed on her lip, glancing at Winston. “It’s fine. Probably. Besides, I don’t have any fun facts about bush antler things.” 

Just as she said that, Stan swore from the front of the bus. “Uh-oh,” Blanche muttered, and moved towards the front. “Stan, what’s uh-” there was a spluttering from the engine, and she grimaced. She knew that sound. They needed a new bus, they had for like 6 months but Stan kept insisting the engine was fine. It was not fine! They slowed to a stop, and Blanche ran a hand down her face, exasperated. “I guess we’re stuck looking at Moose here for - what the hell was that?” 

This time, Blanche did see it. The corner of her light caught it, and her eyes narrowed seeing just a glimpse of the bush antler thing disappear. She pressed her lips together. “Alright everyone, we’re just having a little bit of a pause,” she said, more to the deaf old couple than to Winston. “Um. Ignore anything bush related. Or antler related. Unless it’s a moose. Then look at the moose. I’m going to uh… What the hell was that thing.” She didn’t know, but she wanted too. 

“Your names Blanche right?” Winston replied as they read their name tag. “Bush antler things aren’t real, but that bush definitely stood up, walked a few feet and then sat back down out of sight, which is not something that moose...esss.” What was the plural of Moose? Meese? They weren’t geese. As the bus sputtered to a halt (not that it had been going fast anyway) Winston rolled their eyes. It wouldn’t take that long to walk back to town but maybe this was where they would actually step out of their comfort zone and go and investigate. Taking a deep breath they watched Blanche step off the bus and looked at the pensioners behind them. There was no way that they were staying in a stinky old tour bus with a bunch of boomers that probably didn’t even realise what a moose was. Ignorance was rife amongst the older generation and Winston was convinced that they wouldn’t make the same mistakes. “Wait, I’m coming to see this thing too! I saw it first!” They scrambled off the bus after Blanche, curious as to what the hell that was. They were sure it must have a rational explanation. After all, everything did. 

“That’s a bad idea - you should stay on the - oh, well, I guess you’re already off the bus.” Blanche said, looking at them, rubbing the back of her neck. She was technically the employee here, if anyone should be investigating it should be her. Or maybe it should be Stan, but he was probably content with calling a tow company right about now. I have triple A it’ll be fine. Blanche mentally rolled her eyes, and shook her head, instead waving Winston to follow her. “My name is Blanche,” she said, referring to their earlier question. “What’s your name again?” She should know that. Their name would have been on the list, but she hadn’t really been paying attention. Not waiting for them to answer, she continued, only pausing slightly before going off the path. This is how horror movies start, Blanche. The voice in the back of her head was warning her. The white blonde girl always bites it first. She frowned slightly, wishing Granny were here so she could go ahead and take a look.She pointed her flashlight ahead, curiously looking around as they went in the direction the bush antler thing did. Maybe some shrubbery or something had fallen onto a moose or a big deer or something.  “Ever had a moose tour up this up close and personal? If you want, I can tell you more fun facts,” she said sarcastically. 

Shrugging nonchalantly, Winston felt their shoes crunch through a branch as they stepped off at the side of the road. “Too late to go back now I guess,” they replied. The acrid smell of broken bus filled the air and Winston wrinkled their nose in displeasure. Winston wasn’t sure why they were feeling so adventurous, but literally anything was better then staying on that bus with three people who were inching closer to death at every moment. At least Blanche had something to say. “I’m Winston,” they replied with a shrug, “like Churchill, except not at all like them.” They pulled their coat closer around their body, they wished they’d dressed for an outdoor hike and not for a day on a infamously hot bus. It was worse in the summer. That’s why Winston had asked for it now. But even still, there was no need for it to be 100 degrees in there. Somehow one of the ladies had still complained that she was too hot. Winston slipped their hands into their pocket. “That sounds just delightful, is it true that the skin that dangles underneath a moose’s chin is called a bell?” they replied equally sarcastically. “I think it was over here,” Winston said stepping forward and pulling out their phone, flicking on the flashlight they peered into the darkness, searching for something, though they weren’t sure what. 

Blanche was probably the only person in the world that didn’t mind the sweltering sauna of the bus, but that was only because of her aversion to being cold. Maybe it had something to do with the bone chilling feeling that went through her everytime she passed through a spirit (and was thus recreated every time she thought about it) or maybe she just liked being toasty, but the bus wasn’t that bad. Her job already sucked enough, so maybe she would have quit by now if she couldn’t at least sit in comfort. She snorted quietly when they mentioned the dewlap under a moose’s chin. “Sure, when you see one reach out and shake it. See what happens,” she said, glancing at Winston, with a low grin. What would happen, should anyone ever be that close to a moose, was probably death. She pointed her flashlight over to where Winston has their phone flashlight, squinting slightly. “I don’t think -” Blanche didn’t get to finish saying what she didn’t think was a good idea, because something moved. And that something was big. “Uh - “ Blanche stuck her arm out, stopping in her tracks. Fuck, was it her fault if they died out here? Could Stan, like, get sued for that? However, some sort of morbid curiosity sort of propelled her forward a few more inches, raising her flashlight to see through the brush. Light from its eyes reflected back and Blanche froze again. “I found it - “ She wasn’t happy that she found it. It wasn’t a moose with a shrubbery cloak. It was, truly, a plant antler thing and it was looking right at them. Blanche backed up, and swatted Winston’s arm. “Time to go.”

“Hopefully I never get close enough to a moose to be able to do that, but even if I was, I wouldn’t. I don’t have an early death wish. Though that tour drove me to that at points, no offense, I know you just read the script right?” Winston wasn’t sure if this was necessarily the best avenue of approach, they weren’t trying to upset Blanche. They just assumed that this was a dumb job. Picking through the forest, Winston wasn’t looking exactly looking very hard. At this point they were almost certain that it had been a trick of the light or something akin to that. But then Blanche was swatting at their arm and backing towards them. Winston turned around, somewhat absent mindedly and almost dropped their phone, it slid from the grasp and they had to do an awkward juggle as they looked the plant moose thing dead in what looked to be very dead eyes. What the hell was going on with this town? One day they’re a quirky cosplay infested hotspot and the next there were rabid creatures lurking around every corner. “I agree,” they said, taking a step away from the moose and pushing Blanche forward. Flicking their flash light off they tried to move as quietly as possible, hoping and praying that they weren’t followed.

Blanche snorted. If they thought they had a death wish listening to the trash script she had to read every night, then they should listen to her inner monologue during the entire tour. She frequently wished for the sweet release of death. This was definitely not an ideal job - she missed when she was just the receptionist and gift shop attendant. At least that was easy and she could impress old people with her mental math when giving out change. But none of that was important because what in the Holy Fires of Hell was that shit. White Crest had always been a shit show. She was born and raised here, and she knew it was just weird. But, minus her being able to literally see dead people, she sort of always chalked it up to her brain being broken - not that she would ever tell Granny that. Anyway, White Crest wasn’t supposed to be a demon town it was just supposed like a Stephen King Weird Shit thing like all other Maine small towns. But, also, maybe hyper focusing on whatever was going on in her head was better than focusing on the giant plant monster moose that was behind them. Blanche had followed Winston’s approach, flicking her flashlight off as she was ushered forward as she desperately tried to keep quiet. Everyone in the surrounding area could probably hear the pounding of her heart though because she had officially crossed paths from being ‘curious’ to ‘anxious’. There was a rustling behind them that made her freeze in place for a half second, and reach back to grab their arm. She didn’t want to know  “I don’t mean to over react or anything -” She said, glancing over her shoulder. She saw the eyes of the giant plant moose monster thing. That meant it was sneakily trying to follow them. Nope nope hell nope! “But we’re running.” She tugged on their arm. “Let’s go.” Time to run, her least favorite gym class activity. 

Swallowing, Winston felt a bead of sweat form at the base of their hairline and run down the middle of their face, from the middle of their forehead and down their nose where it rested. It was beyond infuriating. Wiping it away, Winston was about to say something smart when they spotted the eyes and suddenly Blanche was dragging them headlong through the forest. Running had never really been Winston’s forte either. Being the asthmatic kid with glasses had left them jaded about physical activity of almost any variety. Except swimming. They liked swimming. “I don’t think this is an over reaction at all,” Winston replied honestly as they ducked underneath a branch before hurtling further into the night. They weren’t sure where they were going, but they were beginning to think that this wasn’t the way that they had come. Glancing behind them, Winston spotted the bush moose notice that they weren’t there anymore and decide that it was going to give chase in earnest. It was terrifyingly quick. “FUCK, fuck fuck,” Winston exclaimed, their voice full of fear, “RUN RUN RUN.” It was just behind them and Winston had no idea where they were headed. All they knew was that they had to get out of here, and straight away.

Bad, bad, bad. This was very, very bad. Helpfully, this was the only thought running through Blanche’s mind as they flew threw the forest. Her grip on their arm hadn’t loosened as they tore through the forest. They were definitely lost. Like, extra lost. But finding the bus didn’t exactly matter because Blanche was about 95% certain that a smelly bus wouldn’t protect anyone from a stupid Plant Monster. The thing was stupid fast - or maybe they were just ridiculously slow, Blanche didn’t know, but she didn’t care to find out what would happen once it caught up with them. If it caught up with them. Granny was always saying how she should be more positive, or something. Blanche took a hard left turn, finally releasing her death grip on Winston’s arm in a stupid attempt to try to confuse the thing. Winston was still swearing up a storm and she couldn’t really blame them. Run, run, run - like she had any other plan. Well, actually - as she scrambled over a log. “Do you think - we should climb?!” Climb a tree? Could the plant thing climb a tree? Could they get up a tree fast enough before it got to them? And then what did they do once they were up a tree? But maybe it would give them a second to rest and regroup. 

“Climbing a tree sounds better then running through the forest,” Winston replied, sweat gushing down the sides of their face. They could already feel their chest getting slightly tighter as they worked to keep running. Winston was doing their best to follow Blanche. But then she turned left and Winston wasn’t exactly expecting it. Doing their best to stay with her, Winston turned left after her and felt their ankle twist painfully, sending them sprawling forwards into a bush. Yelping in pain, they tried to force themselves to their feet. “Ah,” they winced at the pain of moving but wrapped their long fingers around a branch to help their journey upwards, “ow ow ow ow.” They whispered to themselves, doing their best not to draw any attention to themselves in their vulnerable state. They knew that they weren’t going to be able to just sit here and eventually walk this off. They needed to keep moving or they would get trampled to death. The turn must’ve worked partially, but Winston could tell that it wouldn’t be long before the plant moose hybrid spotted them and came after them in earnest.

The stupid moose thing must have gotten confused in the dark, but she heard Winston yelp in pain and she knew that maybe she should have shouted a warning before they turned. That was wild, this was wild - maybe she should actually focus on safety right now instead of calling everything wild. Blanche hurriedly tried to find them in the dark. The whispers of ouch were helping considerably as she hoisted herself up into the tree. Oh, going to the gym was paying off. She could climb a tree! She hadn’t climbed a tree well… ever. Because there were bugs in there and it wasn’t lady like - or so Granny said. But Granny wasn’t here. She wasn’t sure how high they needed to go to get away from the moose plant thing, but they needed safety first. Once she was certain she was high enough, she went to help Winston. It was like an airline thing - help yourself before you help anyone else. She reached out her hand towards them. “Here, come on. Before it finds us. We need to - uh - regroup. Or something.” 

Honestly, Winston needed to consider taking their fitness way more seriously. If they didn’t increase their ability to run it seemed entirely possible that they would simply die from the apparently monster infected town that was now their home. Which was really great. Winston was really enjoying the three near-death encounters that they had had. Glancing up, Winston saw that Blanche had somehow managed to hoist herself into the trees. A pretty good idea. At least they would be out of the way of the plant moose hybrid that they had managed to piss off with their mere presence. “How did you-” Winston decided not to ask about a good thing, hauling themselves up, they winced as they placed their bad foot on the base of the tree and pushed themselves up towards the bottom branch. Grabbing Blanche’s hand, they climbed slowly and painfully and hoped that they would make it on time.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry -” Blanche was hyper aware that Winston was in pain, and knew climbing was bad. “I go to the gym, sometimes, that’s why I -  well, I mean, I don’t really climb stuff very often but - ah, careful, please be careful.” Blanche had two moods, and it was either a snarky mess or a panicky mess and she had officially switched over to panicking. Any rustling was automatically the giant plant moose, even if it wasn’t. But the second she got them squared away to her height she started fumbling with her flash light, debating if she wanted to turn it on. “Do you think -” Blanche didn’t need to finish her question, before she could hear the stupid thing searching for them. The noise it made sounded like a moose, but not a moose? And Blanche had heard a lot of weird ass moose noises in her life. She held her breath a moment, closing her eyes real hard. Come on, what the fuck were they going to do? Granny would have a solution. Granny always had a solution, but it wasn’t like she call up the ghost of her dead grandmother on her phone and ask. If she was going to call anyone, it should be the fire department. Or the police. Animal control? Supernatural Things of Weird Shit Organization? Blanche ran a hand down her face, panting slightly. Ugh. She was sweaty. She hated being sweaty. “Alright,” she whispered. “Okay. We can get out of this. We can get out of this. There’s gotta be a way. How - I mean, first of all, you can’t run anymore right?” 

“No, it was a good idea,” Winston said as they finally managed to tentatively settle on the tree. Holding tightly, they did their best to keep their long legs from dangling where the creature could get them, “I just wish we had thought of it before I tripped.” Tripped was a kind word for being clumsy as shit. “Do I think that this thing is still out there?” Winston asked with a raised eyebrow, before nodding, “I can hear it I think.” They peered out into the darkness, wishing now more then ever that whatever they had managed to do with their hands could be done again. Maybe that would be enough to scare this thing away. Pulling their phone out, they glanced at it before sighing. “I don’t have any signal, do you?” They couldn’t even call for help if they wanted to. What the hell was this? A horror film? Winsont wondered who died first, the black kid or the sarcastic blonde. Either way they didn’t like their chances. “I can hobble, maybe,” Winston looked around, “if we could make a crutch or something I could go faster but otherwise … y’know maybe we could just wait this thing out?” Winston had to admit that they were out of other ideas. The hand thing, well they weren’t even sure if light escaping their hands was something that had actually happened and even if it had, what good would it be? They patted their pockets, coming up with their phone, their wallet, a mostly empty packet of gum, keys, their inhaler (which they took a puff of for good measure) and some change. “I’ve not got anything that I could use, not that I can think of anyway.”

“Can’t get any ideas until someone rolls an ankle. It’s, like, a rule or something,” Blanche joked weakly. All things considered, she was actually pretty comfortable in the tree. That had to count for a win. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, thanking every God that she never followed Stan’s stupid rule of not having it on her. “I have no service too - fucking Maine, man,” she groaned quietly, leaning her head back against the tree as she glanced at them in the darkness. She shrugged off her drawstring Mooseventure bag, knowing she didn’t have a lot of shit in it. “I have a first aid kit,” she said, glumly. “If you want it. I have to carry one, Stan  - the bus driver - has the other in case of injuries. Other than that..” She didn’t have much else of use. A lighter for when she tried to be edgy and smoke cigarettes (they’re nasty and not worth it), a phone charger, and a balled up sweater. She stuffed her mooseventure flashlight back in the back with a sigh, straining to hear. She could still hear it, and she wasn’t too keen on the idea of waiting to become Plant-Moose Food. Blanche didn’t know what kind of stamina that thing had. What if it could outwait them? . She looked back at the contents of her bag, and grimaced. Plant. Well, plants didn’t do so hot against fire, did they? “Winston, I have a bad idea, and you’re not going to like it.” Blanche said, flatly. “But it involves a stick and my lighter.” 

“School must have been a very painful time for you,” Winston replied glibly, “are you a masochist or something?” A smirk dragging itself across their face despite the amount of pain that they were in. Winston tucked their good leg around the thick branch that they were perched on, hoping that their inherently clumsy nature wouldn’t rear it’s wildly inconvenient head in that very moment. After all, falling out of this tree would be painful and potentially result in a trampling. Something Winston had no desire to experience. “This is when you wish you didn’t live in the middle of buttfuck nowhere?” Winston asked quietly, “I never ever have signal when I need it.” They waved their arm around for a minute hoping to find some signal. Whilst Blanche unpacked the contents of their bag, Winston nodded. “I can at least add a splint to my ankle and that’ll help support it,” they took the first aid kit gratefully off of her and began tightly applying a splint. It was a sore experience, the ache grew as the pressure was applied before subsiding to the dull ache it had previously been at. Then Blanche was talking about a stick and her lighter, “Did you miss the smokey the bear experience?” Winston asked with a concern, “Didn’t you know that open fires in a forest is the perfect recipe for disaster?” Blanche was right, they didn’t like it at all. “I’m not agreeing to this, but what is your idea?” It might be the only way they avoided living in the woods forever.

Masochist. That made her laugh. “Yeah, I do math for fun, too.” Except that part was true. Blanche did do math for fun - it was relaxing. It was too bad she didn’t have any other talent because maybe then she wouldn’t hate her life for majoring in accounting at school. Winston was right, though. She also never had signal whenever she needed it. Too many times, she had been stranded because her car died or had a flat tire or whatever the hell happened and there was no fucking signal on her phone. It was definitely like a White Crest curse or something. She looked over at them, grimacing when they asked about Smokey the Bear. “Sure, but I’d rather not become a snack for some supernatural bullshit.” Though, starting a forest fire was a real concern. Blanche didn’t even want to touch that ethical dilemma, if only because right now she was equating being eaten by a plant moose vs a small fire. “You take my moose flashlight so we find the damn thing - because right now I honestly feel like we need the Jaws music playing - I rip a really long stick off this tree, set the end on fire, possibly use some of the rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit, cause that’s flammable, right? And then I jump down, and try to set the thing on fire. And then hopefully, it burns, without causing too much damage, and you can come down, and we can hobble to safety. And, like, I’ll probably drive you to the ER for your ankle?”

“HEY.” Winston replied with a level of indignance that could not have been faked, “Math is very fun and extremely cool.” Math just made sense to them, it worked, it followed rules and there were never exceptions to that rule. Once you knew and understood the rule, you understood the math. Winston had often wondered why Winston was such a technological dead zone. For someone who’s entire life was a revolving door of trying to discover the latest trend, trying to get their hands on the latest piece of technology, living in what was essentially the stereotypical example of rural Maine wasn’t exactly helpful. “Supernatural bullshit?” Winston replied skeptically, “I’m sure there is a very rational explanation for this, one time, I heard about a form of torture using bamboo where they grow it through your body. This is obviously just that except on a much quicker scale. If we were to try, we’d be able to pull away the surrounding shrubbage and foliage if we could get near to it without being gored.” They considered Blanche’s plan. First of all they had to spot the thing, in the dark, when it was literally covered in a natural camouflage. Secondly they would need to set the thing on fire, hope that they didn’t set the surrounding forest on fire and then they had to hope that they would be able to get away. “Honestly, that all sounds like the worst plan I’ve ever heard, but I haven’t got a better suggestion and we can’t wait up here forever. You’re the one taking all of the risk, so if you’re comfortable doing it then I won’t stop you. I’m not sure I could anyway. Just have it known that I think this is a terrible idea.”

The natural defensiveness that came out of Winston about math was surprising - everyone hated math, it seemed. Except for Blanche, of course, who was tutoring people even in the freshman year of High School. Well, now it was herself and Winston. Maybe one day she could show them her freaky side journal where she wrote down equations to solve for fun. But maybe not when they were stuck in a tree, formulating a really bad plan and lowkey debating whether the plant moose was supernatural. “Why is someone torturing a moose with bamboo? That sounds fake.” Or maybe she was just more apt to call something supernatural because she saw dead people. Regardless, it didn’t matter what it was, they had to do something or risk staying in the tree until dawn. Which was still a few hours away. “Your aversion to the plan is noted,” she said dryly. She grabbed her flashlight and handed it to them, before grabbing her lighter and putting her bag back on her back. It only took her a second to break a smaller branch off the tree, before she carefully climbed back down. Climbing down was harder than climbing up, and that had to be some bullshit if she ever heard it. “Alright,” her feet crunched as they hit the forest floor. She was certain she could still hear the damn thing, just watching and waiting. It was dawning on her that maybe they really should have just waited.

Math was fun. Winston was willing to fight over it. Besides, their ability to use mathematics well had helped them develop their coding ability. “They were torturing prisoners of war in Vietnam, not moose. I promise you it was not fake, I got told that I made an inappropriate presentation on the Vietnam war during my last year at middle school because of that. I can promise you that it isn’t fake.” As Blanche ignored their good advice, Winston looked at the flashlight that she was offering them and reluctantly took it off of her. If they were determined to get themselves killed then Winston guessed that they would be helping them get a timely death. They heard her snap a branch off of the tree and begin her climb. As they did their best to light the forest up for Blanche and spot the thing that was keeping them there, Winston couldn’t help but feel the nerves and apprehension in their stomach. But they stuck at it, before spotting what they thought was the moose maybe twenty meters away from Blanche. “Psst,” they cried out in a failed attempt to be subtle, “I think it is over there.” They pointed off in the distance, very vaguely.

Blanche hadn’t meant the torture thing was fake, she just meant that someone trying to torture a moose with bamboo was fake. But she could explain that to them after she was was done saving both of their asses. Hopefully. Unless she died. Then Winston was going to think she thought something from the Vietnam War was fake, and they were going to think she was an idiot. Bad time to be focusing on that though - something that was also a bad thing to focus on was how much she really, really didn’t want to die. Her palms were starting to sweat again, and she suddenly had that nervous, jittery energy in her knees that made her feel like they were going to buckle under her. Awesome. This was already going fan-freaking-tastically. She wondered if Winston was going to judge her if she puked. Probably. She glanced in the direction they pointed out, and she saw it. The eyes. It was always the eyes. Blanche blanched slightly. Oh sure, easy to be brave in the tree, but now she was fumbling with her lighter, trying to set the end of the tree ablaze. And then, she fucked up. The moose-plant had started walking towards her and she panicked. “Oh no -” Blanche started backing up, trying to get her lighter to spark, but her stupidass was fumbling with it like an idiot. The moose picked up the pace and so did she - and she fell. Blanche shrieked as she landed flat on her back, the lighter flying out of her hand in a horror movie moment. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Winston watched Blanche with growing concern. It was almost as if everyone of their fears had been entirely founded and they had been completely right. Winston hated how clever they were sometimes. But they were pretty useless right now. They could only watch on concerned as their companion pulled the end of the tree close their lighter and attempted to spark it. She seemed to be struggling. Winston could only imagine the panic and terror that she was feeling and they suddenly wished that they had been firmer and insisted that she stayed there. Someone would’ve found them. Eventually. Sooner or later. They would’ve noticed that they were missing and someone would’ve come for them. But now Blanche was going to get herself hurt. Winston watched in terror as she slipped and fell, the lighter falling from their hands. Winston squirmed in terror and felt their grip on the branch disintegrate as they slid to the side, all balance failing them. There was a moment of terror where their heart sat in their mouth before they hurtled towards the ground. “Fuuuuuuuuckkkkk.” They could see Blanche and the plant moose and the ground rushing towards them at an alarming rate. Then they halted mid air and paused for a second. Winston felt out of breath and sweat beaded on their brow. The floor was literally inches away from their face. A second later and they fell the last few inches to the floor. Landing in a heap and with a mouthful of dirt they lay there for a moment, before realising that there was a giant moose trapped in a plant trying to kill them. Darting up, they winced in pain, before realising that the moose appeared to have submerged into a sinkhole. That was very convenient, but Winston wasn’t about to question a good thing. “Come on, we need to go.” They leaned down to help Blanche up, more likely to fall then actually be of any use. They suddenly felt exhausted. The adrenaline must be wearing off.

It was like a bad horror movie, and Blanche was the dumb white bitch in the horror movie that every screamed at to stop doing stupid shit. Blanche knew there was absolutely no way of rectifying this situation and terror and fear spread through her body as she realized she was going to die. Eyes shut tight to brace for whatever impact, nothing happened. Wait, what? Nothing happened. Blanche scrambled to sit up, brows knit together as she squinted in the darkness to see a fucking sink hole that the plant moose was currently trapped in. Winston was on their feet and trying to help her up, but honestly, as Blanche hurriedly pushed herself to her feet, she wasn’t really paying attention. “Let’s go before it learns it can jump 7 - 8 feet.” Blanche couldn’t even see the damn thing anymore, but she didn’t care. She grabbed a thicker big stick and handed it to Winston. “Use this as a crutch,” Blanche said, before moving forward. Blanche was jittery, the adrenaline hadn’t worn off from her yet, but she was still trying to figure out how a little sink hole just… appeared in the woods. “That was… convenient.” But, like plant-moose-monsters, she didn’t know anything about sinkholes. Maybe her very consciousness willed it to appear. Blanche snorted at the thought. “I don’t want to hear I told you so.” 

Blanche was pressing a branch into their hand and ordering them to use it as a crutch while still quoting some moose facts at them. “Yes ma’am,” Winston replied sheepishly as they continued to feel the energy drain from their body. They hadn’t felt this exhausted since the night where that weird dog thing had attacked them outside of their home that they shared with Ricky. “If you don’t mention it to the moose, maybe the moose won’t realise that it can jump that high.” Honestly, Winston was thanking their lucky stars. The chances of a sinkhole being directly in the moose’s path were infinitesimally small. But it had saved Blanche’s life and Winston wasn’t about to question a good thing. Leaning heavily on the stick, they winced with each step as a sharp pang of pain rippled from their ankle upwards. “That was very convenient, but I’m not going to complain about a good thing. But you will be hearing an I told you so, because, I told you so, and you could’ve really gotten hurt, and then I’d have to live with that guilt for the rest of my life.” 

Blanche snorted. “I’ll refrain from saying it too loudly,” Blanche said, looking at them pointedly. Focused on breathing slowly so she wouldn’t start hyperventilating, she looked down at their ankle, frowning slightly. The stick crutch can’t have been helping, but Blanche knew that there was no way in hell she was going to be able to carry them. They were too tall and she was too short. Blanche didn’t even know where they were going, and she had a feeling stumbling through the forest wasn’t a great idea. She made a face at their I told you so and shook her head. Maybe they were right and she shouldn’t have been so impulsive, but it was too late to change anything now. Besides, she got her just desserts anyway when she really thought she was going to die. “Well, luckily, I didn’t get really hurt, and both of us are still very much alive, so your heart can rest in peace. Here, let’s… stop for a second.” They probably weren’t far enough from the sink hole, but it was too dark to see it now, so out of sight out of mind. Hopefully. She pulled her phone back out. “I have 2 bars,” she said, folding up her phone. “That’ll do -” In a couple seconds she pulled up her GPS. “Alright, we need to go this way to get back to the road - c’mon, before I lose service again.”

“If there is anyway that we can avoid attack from hybridised fauna and flora then I would really appreciate that,” Winston replied glibly, shaking their head and sighing. Leaning heavily on the walking stick, Winston couldn’t help but relate to their sorcerer PC in their old D&D campaign. Their character had been in possession of an enchanted staff. But Winston was just a normal human, living in a normal world where weird things had just decided that they were going to begin happening. Walking aimlessly through the forest, Winston prayed that they wouldn’t run into anything else that might try to kill them. They also prayed that they found a road. Reaching into their pocket, they checked their phone again and was somewhat disappointed to discover that once again there was still no signal. “Fucking Maine, why do you have bars but I don’t?” they murmured with distatste at the lack of bars displaying on the OLED screen before their eyes, “maybe I should’ve gone to school on the West coast instead.” They weren’t really being serious. They had good enough grades to go to school in a lot of places. But White Crest held a special place in their heart and they knew that they didn’t want to leave just yet. Wincing as they put their foot down, Winston nodded. “Lucky you, I’m so glad that you didn’t get hurt.” At least Blanche had located the direction they were meant to be going. Gritting their teeth, they held a hand out, “Please, lead the way oh fair lady.” The sarcasm dripped from the final three words, Winston should’ve been less spiteful but when you’re in a lot of pain and feel like you’ve not eaten a good meal in weeks … well it gets harder to maintain your composure. 

“If we run into another plant moose-animal thing, I’m giving up. I had one dose of near-death-experience and I am not anxious for another any time soon,” Blanche said. The I told you so once again, and she let out a sigh. “I splurged for the iphone 8+ a few months ago.” Some old lady had come one the stupid moose tour 4 times in a row and had absolutely overtipped her. It was a good investment, too, because it was a lot better than the iphone 5 she had been using before. Still, she saw the signal drop down to one bar and she glowered at it. Don’t you dare, she thought. She glanced at Winston, feeling the sarcasm coming off them in waves. Well, if she had a series of unfortunate events that started with a stupid mooseventure tour that lead them to scrambling through the woods, she’d probably be pretty pissed off too. “How chivalrous,” Blanche commented flatly, glancing back at them with a raised eyebrow, before continuing forward. It wasn’t much of a path, but at least it was pretty level and there weren’t a ton of fallen branches or logs that they would have to climb over. And, they were pretty close to the road too. “Once we get to the road, we’ll call a car. I was serious about the trip to the emergency room.” 

“I’m sure it’s just a moose who’s managed to get itself wrapped up in some brambles which are agitating it, or something like that. There’s no such thing as a plant moose. Not in the way that we think.” Winston had a perfectly rational explanation for everything, but especially this. “Ah well you should’ve gotten a phone that’s actually worth the extortionate amount of money that I’m sure that you inevitably paid for that thing,” they knew their tech and there was so much wrong with apple products that they didn’t know where to start. That was fact not opinion. They winced bitterly as they limped along. Right now they were tired, in a lot of pain and not exactly enjoying themselves. “I don’t know if a trip to the emergency room is really necessary,” Winston complained bitterly, “I’m honestly completely fine, you don’t need to worry about me, I’ll just walk it off.” They audibly winced as their foot made contact with the uneven surface of a root. “I’m fine, just fine...”

“Did you look at it in it’s freaky glowing eyes? Because you should have.” Blanche said, dryly. They were probably right, though, no matter what she thought she had seen in the woods. Then again, things were never as they seemed so who the fuck knew anything? Blanche glanced at them, snorting when they roasted her cell phone, and shook her head. “We’re not having the apple vs. andriod conversation in the middle of the woods - though, the extortionate price is worth it right now at this moment in time because I have service.” There was an implied and you don’t. Still, regardless of disagreements and them complaining that they were just fine and that there was no need to go to the emergency room, she looked at them doubtfully. “I dunno,” she said, a frown on her face. “You look and sound like you’re in a lot of pain. You need to get it scanned and looked at by someone who know what they’re doing.”

“Unfortunately I did look it in it’s freaky glowing eyes…” Winston swallowed, “as it was sinking into the .. well the ground. They kind of locked eyes with me.” They weren’t sure what the hell was going on. Raising an eyebrow, Winston shrugged. “My phone still has a headphone jack,” they replied with a shake of their head, “but I won’t subject you to that humiliation after the humiliation that we’ve both suffered today.” They winced as they walked a bit further. “But your service comes from your provider, not your phone.” They had to be right. It was pathological. They were just so smart that they had to always be correct. They couldn’t help it. “I probably just rolled my ankle and sprained it a little, I’m sure that it is completely fine.” They were sure of none of those things.

[aweebwrites]

The Raiju and the Dragon

Warning: mentions of blood, light gore, off screen murder.

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(YO! THIS IS A BIRTHDAY FIC FOR MY BEST PALL @thelucariosfish! HAPPY DAY OF BIRTH MY CHILD!)

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Winter was finally leaving the summit of the Howling Mountain. Bits of plants could be seen poking through the snow covered ground as the trees began greening too. The scanty chirping of birds echoed through the quiet wrapping around the mountain. Through that near silent, snow-covered mountain, something was moving. It's coat was as white as the snow itself, blending it in perfectly. It's large paws were cushioned by the snow, keeping its steps silent. It's large ears perked up, twitching at the slightest sound as both of its tails flicked in opposite of the other. The fox was on the hunt. It's intelligent blue slitted eyes were glowing and focused on the path ahead as his nose twitched. He caught the scent once more. The fox quickened its steps, the electricity wrapping around its body cackling quietly with his excitement.

The fox approached the edge of a cliff on the mountain face then crouched low, looking over the edge for his prey. He made a low purr once he spotted them. The fox smirked.

'Foolish humans.'

They were another daring set of documenters. They must also want to see the secrets the Howling Mountain holds. They will walk into the arms of death. A dark skinned figure appeared next to the fox.

"How many?" Cole asked Jay, the Oread not having vision as precise as the Raiju he shared his mountain with.

The only signs that Cole wasn't human was his pointed ears that stuck out through his black hair and that he was out in the cold wearing just a linen robe.

"Seven." Jay says, thinking of all the way he could trick the pesky humans. "Zane should be happy. He'll have leftovers." He says, looking across at the mountain nymph.

"Yeah. But he doesn't particularly like when they run and hide. He thinks a waste of time and energy but he also has to eat. Do you think you can get them somewhere they can't run very far?" Cole asked him and Jay hummed.

"Shouldn't be too hard. I should get going before they disturb Kai. They're walking dangerously close to his lair…" Jay says as he shifted into a crouch.

"Oh skies and all, don't let them. He went on a rampage last time one of them woke him early from hibernation and scorched half the mountain. Do you know how hard it was to heal the mountain and convince the animals to come back?" Cole says exasperatedly and Jay giggled.

"Don't worry. Should take very long. Zane's in the Birch Forest, right?" Jay asked and Cole nodded. "Good. Tell him to wait near the Birch Barrier." He told him before leaping off the cliff, flying through the air as a compact ball of lightning.

The Birch Barrier was a particularly thick cluster of trees in the forest that formed an impassable semicircle. He made sure to keep out of sight then land a little further down the mountain. He then made his way back up, following the physical and scent trail the humans made. Once he caught up, he glanced back at his tails, watching as they merged into one. He then shrunk his body to that of the size of an average fox, not one as tall as the humans themselves. He then took a wide berth around them and waited up ahead, sniffing along the snow.

"Look! A fox!" One human whispered as they spotted him.

"Record it. This may be as good as things get here." Another says.

Jay resisted rolling his eyes then turned away from them and began walking ahead, leading them towards the Birch Forest.

"Follow it! There may be a den! Or kits!"

Kits huh? Maybe not now but in the future if things go well for him and his chosen. What an odd litter they would have. He would love them all the same. Jay shook his head to clear his thoughts. There he goes thinking about kits when he doesn't even know how he felt about him. But that changes this spring.

"It's just an ordinary fox though. Why not look for more interesting things?"

More interesting huh? Jay stopped then raised his head, sniffing the air. He then opened his jaws- and roared, startling the humans.

"Holy shit!"

"Shhhh!"

Jay took off in a run, pretending to be spooked.

"Shit! After it!"

These humans must be amatures to simply go chasing down an animal- worse in its natural habitat.

"Trap it! We can bring it back with us!"

As if he was that easy. He zigzagged through the trees, snickering as one of them fell. He came to the halfpipe rather quickly, backing himself up slowly with a growl as the humans formed a semicircle.

"We got you now. Zoos will pay a fortune to have you." A woman says with a smirk.

Jay rose a brow then dropped the defensive behaviour.

"Alright. That's enough play time." Jay spoke, freaking them all out.

"Holy fuck, did it just talk?"

"What the fuck?!"

"Ugh. You humans are always so loud." Jay says, lowering his head so he can rub at his ear with a paw.

"This is too freaky. I'm out." One human says then turned around, walking straight into the furred chest of Zane.

"Yeah no. My friend doesn't like that idea very much." Jay says as he stood on his hind legs, transforming as he walked towards the humans, now frozen in terror where they were, looking up at Zane in all of his hungered rage. "You see, he hasn't had a meal all winter. While he needs at least one person a month to feed on, he had to bypass eating for two additional months... For reasons." Jay's muzzle shortened as his body grew, until he was standing before the humans who were looking at him in just as much horror.

He looked like them. Sure he had the ears still, both tails and furred hind legs, as well as his claws and fangs… But he looked very much human with his curly brown hair and freckled cheeks. His smile was playful.

"I hope you don't mind sacrificing yourselves for the greater good. And if you do..." He says, looking at them with wide, innocent looking slitted, glowing blue eyes.

The humans looked back to Zane who growled from his place towering over them. His antlers branched out high from atop his disfigured deer head, his maw filled with jagged, razor sharp teeth. His arms were disproportionately long and skinny with claws the length of entire palms extending from his fingers. His chest was covered in fur in the middle but his ribs stood out along with all the bones in his body. He stood on powerful hind legs with just as long claws as he looked them down with sunken in, glowing, sky blue eyes that promised death and agony in the process.

"... Well. Too bad." Jay finished off, patting the shoulder of one man as he walked by.

The wendigo roared and the humans screamed.

Jay turned around to watch Zane take a solid bite out of one of their shoulders, taking bone and all. One managed to slip by, running in their direction but then a wall of rock and earth suddenly cut him off, trapping him inside with Zane.

"Nice work." Cole says and Jay smirked.

"I hardly had to do anything. These lot are a lot boring. The last ones I had to get more creative with." Jay huffed. "Don't hurt their equipment Zane! I want to add them to my collection!" He called out and only received a grunt in return.

"I'll need the bones for the soil! Don't forget!" Cole called out and received a purr in response, the sound bringing a smile to Cole's face, despite the terrified and agony filled screams that sounded.

"The natives are safe this and next month. I want my pick of whatever they brought on the ship though." Jay says as he walked away.

"Let's hope they have cake. I do like that human pastry." Cole says, following him and Jay snorted. "Nya should be awake by now, right? The water usually gets warmer before land after all." He says as they began to descend the mountain.

"Yeah. She should be up. She might even want dibs too." Jay says, watching as the docks came into view from their high elevation.

"They no doubt have weapons. She'll want to add them to her hoard." Cole nods. "Meet you there?" He questioned Jay who sighed in relief.

"Yes! I thought you were going to let me walk all the way down there!" He groaned.

"You should. All you've done all winter is eat and sleep." Cole joked.

"It's what foxes are supposed to do Mr-I-don't-have-to-eat-but-I-eat-anyway." Jay huffed and Cole chuckled before vanishing like he always does.

Jay rolled his eyes then unleashed his powers, letting the lightning consume him then shrink, leaving him flying down the mountain and towards the yacht that was docked a little off shore. Their island home was far off the coast of Ninjago, human territory. It was one of a chain of several islands known as the Dark Islands to humans. Solely because they are all shrouded in mystery. No human that visits any return yet they always do. Not that the natives mind. They have a saying: better them than us and urge the newcomers up the mountain into Zane's claws. When none arrive within a month, the village sacrifices one of their own along with other things to appease the rest of them. They had nothing Jay wanted however and the villagers didn't have the best access to gold and shiny things for Kai. Nonetheless they made an effort with their best livestock.

Jay landed on the boat, looking around curiously from the outside and went in. He knew how boats worked Unlike the others, Jay was a city fox. He wasn't sure if he was born but he was raised in human territory. He got up to a lot of trouble growing up but his mortal parents wanted him to not be found. Apparently they murder his kind for 'safety reasons'. He figured out without them that's what happened to his real parents. He lived with them for 50 years before they passed together, on the same day of old age. After that, he had no more ties to the human world. He hates hiding. So he took the first boat he could find heading to the Dark Islands to live like he wanted, without hiding. What he didn't expect was to run into a Sea Serpent, a Wendigo, two dragons and a Nymph. He was glad he did though.

"Find anything interesting?" Jay asked the nymph who was rummaging through the kitchen area.

"I've found a few packaged cakes actually. The sleeping area has some potential for you." Cole suggested and Jay nods, head there.

Immediately, he spotted a laptop.

"Jackpot. Finally!" He purred, picking it up and looking it over.

Borg Technologies. They're still around huh. A very good brand. He tucked the device under his arm and began looking around for anything else interesting. He was certainly keeping these blankets and pillows. They were surprisingly soft and would make a great addition to his den. After a moment, the yacht suddenly lurched. Neither entities were surprised.

"Looks like Nya is here." Cole says around a mouth full of Twinkies then headed out.

"I already have what I need anyway." Jay says, following him out.

They both looked out at the sea, spotting an arch moving in the sea covered in scales of all sorts of blues that glittered in the rays of the sun. That a bad omen to anyone who dare to cross her territory but a good one for them.

"I'm not surprised to see you two here." They turned around to see Nya there, her large head lifted out of the water as her slitted blue eyes looked them over. "Zane got them to eat, right?" She asked, raising up more out of the water, keeping her head over the boat before her body began to recede and morph.

Just like all of them, she had two forms. Her sea serpent form was long and large with a long fin-linke spine that spanned from the back of her head down to the very tip of her tail. She also possessed a few sets of gills just under her head and near her middle that were protected by toucheer scales. She had talons, much like Kai but she only had two front paws, mainly used for sinking heavy duty ships trying to get to the Dark Islands. Her teeth were straight and needle like but very sharp and deadly, as well as her ability to crush an armored ship with just a few could of her body around it. In this more humane form however, she still possessed no legs and appeared to look like a mermaid. Her tail however looked more like an eel's but with scales. Her hands are as webbed and as claw like as her sea serpent form and her gills along the side of her neck and chest were firmly closed, allowing her to take in air. Her hair was black in Kai's brown but just as short.

"This one is bigger than average. Zane got himself quite the meal, huh?" Nya asked as Cole walked over to pick her up.

"Yeah but it's good. He hadn't eaten for all of winter. He needs the extras." Cole says and Nya gained a smug look.

"I wonder why?" She teased and the Oread that held her flushed.

"Hush you. I never teased you when you finally asked that pretty Naga out." Cole huffed, the flush still in his cheeks and Nya laughed.

"Skylor is more than just a pretty Naga." She says but patted Cole's shoulder. "Let's go see what I can get out of this scrap heap." She urged and Cole rolled his eyes hut carried her in.

"Not you." Nya says, stopping Jay when he moved to come along.

He looked at her confused.

"I can send Kai about to wake up. You need to head back and finally end the pinning." She says and Jay flushed and stuttered. "None of that denial crap. We know it's true. Now go! You know how grumpy he gets when he wakes up alone." She reminded.

"I'll take your stuff back, don't worry." Cole reassured and jay looked down at the items in hand then dropped them, the laptop landing on the pillows.

"Fine, alright." Jay huffed then flew off in his electrical ball- only to stop by the village.

He put in a request just after Kai fell asleep for winter months back. The village settlement was next to the thawing river that cut through the plains. They all lived in cleverly crafted huts of straw and clay but that was the least of his concerns. He stopped by the blacksmith, the ball of lightning he was in exploding outwards sending the villagers into panic. He stood there, before the smithy glowering intimidatingly as the other villagers hid and ran. The smithy emerged moments later, hurried and carrying something sheathed in red cotton. She knelt before him, shakingly holding the object up, fearful of them as they should be. He looked down the material then flicked it back. His eyes shone seeing the results.

Perfect.

He accepted it and the woman quickly scattered back, keeping a respectable distance as the braver few peaked out, whispering as they beheld him, waiting for him to speak.

"... Your village will know peace for two moons." He spoke and no-one dared to even utter a breath.

He nodded his approval at the smithy then left, zooming through the air as an orb of lightning yet again. He pretended not to hear their cheers as he did. The people knew they weren't gods but they held high respect and fear for them. They were the original rulers of this world after all. Creatures as the humans caller them. That and they refused to leave their home but feared Zane the most. So they struck a deal. One of their kind a month for protection from the others of their kind who wanted the island. Not that they would let them take their home anyway but they didn't need to know that.

Now, Jay was buzzing with excitement as he flew over the snow-covered peak to the back of the mountain. There, a large cave resided, its entrance covered with snow still. The only way in was a small hole Jay dug into the lair of the red dragon of the mountain. Jay flew in, landing on his hind legs. He walked further into the deep cave, his slitted eyes blowing wide so he could see properly. Close to the back of the cave was a massive red dragon that held wicked looking horns and spikes. One black claw was almost as tall as he was. He could easily crush him and in a twisted kind of way, Jay could swoon at that knowledge. He walked over to him, unable to stop himself from stroking his hand along the large red scales covering his head and body, loving the way the colours shift and dance like the fire Kai was. He couldn't stop his purr as he rubbed up against his snout, his tails wagging eagerly.

Heh.

How embarrassing would it be if-

As if sensing his thoughts, his large amber eyes opened, glowing in the dark of the cave. Jay stumbled back, face completely red.

Shit! He should have known better! Nya did say he was waking up! He could hear his heartbeat speeding up too! He was such an idiot! A low chuckle filled the cave.

"Well. Isn't this a surprise." Kai purred without moving, his body waking up still. "Missed me that much Sparky?" He cooed and Jay love-hated how his sleepy voice made his tails positively curl.

"I thought you were gonna sleep through spring too. Had to make sure you actually planned on getting up." Jay excused but that sounded lame to even him.

"Oh? Was that why you were purring as much as you were?" Kai teased and Jay was impossibly red.

He huffed and looked away.

"S-shut up. You were warm is all." He defended.

Kai's chuckle filled the cave again. Jay yipped once he was pushed towards Kai, glaring back at his spiked tail before looking up with Kai with wide, doe eyes. This was a perfect opportunity though! What was he doing?! He could finally confess his interest to be mates! Kai always brings out this defensive side of him. Kai brings out a lot in him and he liked that...

"Denial isn't a good look on you Jay… Tell the truth… That wasn't friendly at all…" Kai hummed, shifting his head closer.

Jay was sure he was looking like Kai with how red he was. He opened his mouth to defend himself then bit his tongue. He fiddles with the cotton in his hand then swallowed.

"... So what if it wasn't?" He whispered, looking up at Kai who looked surprised.

He wasn't expecting that to actually work, or for it to actually be true! The Raiju always held a special place in his heart. Little did he know he was the most precious piece of his hoard. It was why he always slept late for winter and woke early for spring. The idea of leaving him alone for that long was unappealing but he couldn't very well put him atop his small mountain of gold and gems and demand he stay there… Though… Maybe he can now…

Jay bit his lip, tails twitching nervously. Kai has been silent for a while now. Does he…? Does he not like him in that way? His ears flattened on his head as his heart broke.

"I-I'm joking though! Don't take it so seriously!" Jay laughed, sounding forced as he plastered a grin on his face.

Kai snapped out of his thoughts and looked down at Jay. He frowned at the forced grin on his face that didn't belong there. Maybe he should say said something before this gets worse.

"You weren't." Kai says, factually and it was all Jay could do to keep the smile on his face. "You have feelings for me, don't you?" He asked the small fox.

Jay bit his lip, his fangs pricking into his skin and sending blood trickling down his chin. Kai forced himself to move one Jay says nothing, stretching his sluggish body and spreading his massive, horned wings. He then suddenly shifted down, becoming smaller, more humane. He pushed himself up on his hind legs, folding his wings against his back then walked over to Jay, grasping his chin with his clawed hand.

"Jay…" Kai says softly, tilting his chin up so he would look at him. "Don't take it that your feeling are one sided. You've always had a place in my heart. It's just…" Kai trailed off as Jay's heart pounded against his chest.

Kai… He's interested?

This was everything he could ask for. But his but was unerving. He looked at him seriously, capturing him under his amber gaze and Jay couldn't help but gasp at their intensity.

"Jay, if we do this, do us… I won't let go. I won't let anyone else have you. You'll be mine and only mine." Kai warned and- what was so bad about that?

Here he was offering him far beyond he could ask for and all he dreamed off. Jay found his voice.

"... And what's so bad about that?" He asked in a whisper as he stepped closer. "As long as you know… I won't be letting you go either. I'll slaughter anyone who even looks at you like I do…" He says softly, holding onto Kai's scaled arms.

Kai couldn't help the pleased purr that rumbled from his chest at that. Everything Jay says and do never ceases to get to him.

"Jay…" He says his name with a growl, pulling him close by the waist and Jay flushed but went willingly. "You have to understand. Dragons mate for life. There's only one for us. I want you to be it. Skies above knows I do. But you have to understand. There's no backing out after this. You should think-"

Jay cut him off with his lips, wrapping an arm around his neck as he kissed him. Kai growled against his lips then cupped the back of his head, swiping his long, forked tongue against his lips. Jay let him in with a soft sigh that morphed into a moan as Kai kissed him deeply, his tongue leaving no spot untouched. He melts under the heat that radiated from the dragon, bringing his other hand up to wrap around his neck when a loud clatter sounded. Kai pulled back, keeping Jay pressed against him protectively as he snarled, amber eyes looking around for danger as smoke billowed from his nose. He looked down- only to have his eyes blow even wider at what he saw.

"Jay, this is…" Kai whispered as he reached down and picked up the sword by its hilt, looking over its sleek design.

The blade was broad with a dragon breathing fire moulded on the side. He looked over the delicately carved hilt to the pointed tip in awe. The entire sword was made of gold. It would be the first weapon he would add to his hoard. Growing up, both he and Nya had the same interest in a hoard. It often lead to them stealing from each other and nasty fights. For the sake of his sister's happiness, he turned to treasure instead. Gold, gems, shiny things. He likes how they look when the light of fire hit them. He longer for a weapon in his hoard for a while and now… Now…

"I call it the sword of fire." Jay spoke up, regaining Kai's attention. "It took the blacksmith all winter to make but they knew better not to disappoint me. It's yours. Think of it as a courting gift." He grinned and Kai looked at him, at the beautiful fox he didn't know what he did to deserve.

Kai dropped the sword, surprising Jay.

"Huh? You don't li-" Jay cut himself off with a yip of surprise once Kai suddenly pounced on him, leaving him sprawled out on the ground with Kai over him.

Kai kissed him again before he could ask what, delving his tongue deeper into Jay's mouth, leaving the Raiju to turn to putty under his paws.

Not too far away, Zane sighed peacefully, his sated hunger bringing him back to a more peaceful appearance. He still had his horns but they were smaller, less branched out. He looked completely human aside from that, his skin pale and flawless as his platinum blond hair stuck up. Not as wildly as Kai's hair at least. His pointed ears caught sound of something. Someone. Jay! He took into a sprint, his claws reappearing. He sounds hurt! But- He stopped in front of Kai's snow blocked cave, were the sounds were coming from. Kai was there! Were they fighting?! He was quick to bring down the snow blocking the cave to find out.

What he saw… He really should have expected. Without a word, he brought the snow back up with his powers and walked away. Frankly, he was lucky Kai didn't scorch him for interrupting his coupling with Jay.

"Zane!" He looked up and smiled to see his own mate, greeting Cole with a kiss. "What's up? Why are you outside?" He asked, holding an arm full of pillows and blankets, as well as the laptop, all no doubt for Jay.

"I initially planned on checking on Kai's progression in hibernation but…" Zane grimaced. "I have gotten more than I bargained for." He says with a grimace and Cole snorted.

"Looks like I lost that bet. I should have known better than to bet against Nya when it comes to her brother." He says, amused. "Well, I would have helped her with that underwater mountain anyway." He smiled as Zane kissed his forehead.

"Let's leave those two alone. We have work to do." Cole says, leading Zane away.

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(Oof sucky ending. Tumblr don't @ me rn I stg. Anyway I spent wayyy too much time on the base of the story rather than the pure plasma I intended. I hope you like it anyway!)