#aside from the fact that he's hung like a horse obviously

[wordstome]

not to be pretentious or anything but I legit think whoever wrote König's bio was on some xgames shit. Like if we think about it, without his bio he's just some guy with a German-adjacent accent? The veil is kind of interesting, especially knowing it's a t-shirt, but a lot of people would just write him off as a Krueger clone. Richtofen from Black Ops has more personality.

But then someone, in exactly 119 words, conveyed so much and yet so little about who he is as a person? A lot of veterans come home with PTSD and anxiety, but König has always had anxiety, and he still chose to enlist at 17, which presents a lot of intriguing possibilities for what kind of childhood he had and what kind of person it molded him into. The fact that he was bullied as a child serves as a juxtaposition with "too big to be a sniper", which is at least 6'5". That's a big ass man. Did he hit a crazy growth spurt? Did the kids make fun of him specifically for being big? Was he a violent person in his youth, or did that manifest in the military?

Can you imagine hoping to become a sniper, a position that involves a high degree of skill and a fair amount of distance, and instead being assigned to be an insertion specialist, kicking down doors in the thick of it and frightening hostages? Quite a few people have explored this aspect of his character: is he bitter about that? Is he jealous of snipers? We know he holds some amount of resentment because of his "and they said I couldn't be a sniper" voice line, how would that tie into any insecurities carried over from childhood?

All of this also puts his voicelines into new context. Most if not all of the operators shit talk, yell, and cheer, but König seems to take a sort of vicious pleasure in what he does. He's confident in his abilities, bordering on arrogant. Part of this is probably just his accent, but it's another piece in the big guy/anxiety/YOU MISSED ME! puzzle. I love seeing how people reconcile these parts of him into a fleshed-out character. A lot of people deride people who like König despite him not being part of the story and only having a short bio to characterize him, but I think that's a good thing, and presents a lot of room for people to speculate and explore. That's kind of his appeal, at least to me.

[honeytea8]

Virtue & Vice • Dio Brando/Reader

A/N: Discord prompt for the week was Masquerade AU, so I decided to write for Dio Brando, using @sammystep’s beautiful bedroom and mask renders as inspiration 😏 (seriously, they are amazing, so check them out at the end of the fic!!); Also written to be gender neutral, so please let me know if I messed up anywhere!

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: With your estranged cousin in a town full of rumors and ghost stories, it’s rather obvious you’re in for an interesting weekend. Somehow, you catch the eye of an insatiable beast, and whether you manage to survive him is left completely up to you.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Subtle references to Stone Ocean, heavily implied sexual content, Dio monologuing lol

In every city you’ve visited, there was always talk, and by talk, you meant gossip. Grapevines grew from thin air, spreading until the town was entangled in a sickness you liked to call Hearsay. You had witnessed this far too many times in the past, the novelty having worn off a long time ago. But on occasion, you liked to lend an ear to the particularly interesting ones—stories that left you searching for that innocuous sliver of truth amidst fairy tale.

Most times, however, it was merely a drunk spewing his usual nonsense to any person willing to listen. You were rarely ever an audience to such. Still, nothing quite chilled your bones like the tale recounted by one of the strangest men you’ve ever met.

It had been late in the evening, but not too late that the barmaid was not still serving homemade pies and cold drinks to her patrons.

A man only a few years older than yourself was perched on a rickety wooden chair nearby; it gave a high-pitched squeak every time he shifted. He had been there upon your arrival and would likely be there after you were gone. His clothes were drenched in sweat, boots caked in mud. You noticed him observing you from under the brim of his ten-gallon hat, though the rest of his face remained hidden. The nearest available seat just so happened to be right by his own, you hesitated, but ultimately took it.

Your fingers were frozen like cubes of ice and you breathed on them in a fruitless attempt to help them thaw. The barmaid made her rounds and eventually came to you. Only then were you able to order something to warm you up, a simple cup of coffee would suffice. You sat silent and unassuming, content with minding your own business until a gruff voice reached out to you, almost as if his words grew an arm and gripped your shoulder.

“Yer face,” he muttered in your direction. “S’like someone I can trust.”

You blinked at him. The implications behind his words were not lost on you. In fact, it was something you heard quite often. For your own mother had delivered you into a cruel world, and was quick to brand you with a trademark that has followed you for as long as you could recall: an angel.

In return, people seemed to gravitate towards you—were always intrigued by you, listening and speaking to you, soothed by your very nature and presence. It was a gift, you supposed. And like any gift, you preferred to use it for good. Whether it be to share in another’s burdens, or to relieve them of it entirely.

“Is there something you would like to share?” you replied back.

He hummed, then took a long swig of his whiskey in preparation. “Yeah, somethin's kept me up fer days actually.”

“What has?”

“I used ‘ta butle for a lord here in this town—hmm, well ta be frank it was only for a lil’ while... was dismissed soon after.”

The man continued without giving any clear answer to your question, but you assumed a bit of patience would grant you the full story.

“I'm sorry about your job.” you said out of courtesy, but he waved you off.

“Don’t be. S’better this way.” he took another sip, draining the glass in one go and waved for another round. “You believe in heaven?”

“Heaven? Like… the place where good people go when they pass on...? I—I’m not too sure.”

“S’alright.” he smiled for the first time, wide lips stretching across his face handsomely. He looked rather boyish with his half dimple and cleft chin. His expression was almost endearing. You figured he might’ve been quite the charmer when sober. “Name’s Hol Horse, by the way.”

“Hol Horse, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduced yourself as well, to which he tipped his hat in greeting. The whole exchange was rather odd, but you went along with it for the sake of your own budding curiosity.

Hol Horse cast a wary glance around the room. You too chanced a brief look, but not as thoroughly as your companion. Obviously, no one was listening. You smiled and silently encouraged him to surrender the burden laying heavy on his conscience.

Hol Horse gave you his story. Some parts he gave in detail—others he offered in threadbare comments, giving only the minimum for you to catch the gist. From what you could piece together, he had worked as a servant under a young lord in the countryside. It was a large estate left behind by a ‘Sir Joestar’ who had passed away many years ago due to illness. His only adopted son was left to inherit the fortune, along with several of the businesses in town. That was as far as Hol Horse knew, more surprisingly, he had never even laid eyes on his employer during his tenure. Any and every form of correspondence was made through the lord's right hand.

At one point, you were beginning to wonder what picture Hol Horse was trying to paint here. Why did any of this matter? Regardless, it was the earnest pull of his voice that kept you rooted to your seat. That, and the fact that he had seemed to grow even more...disturbed the longer he spoke. His brows were pinched while he thought, showing his great displeasure. You truly hoped, for his sake, that confessing whatever was killing him inside would finally put his heart at ease.

In a lowered tone, he revealed the true cause of his troubles. He had spotted a number of bloodied sheets being carted away from his lord’s sleeping quarters, men and women’s clothing torn to shreds and disposed of in an incinerator. Certain staff members with superhuman strengths and abilities. Phantoms, ghosts, demonic spirits. All culminated by the devastating amount of missing persons. These were some serious, and if you were honest, strange allegations.

“My apologies,” you interrupted, “but I’m not sure I follow.”

“I’m sayin’ that some crazy shit’s goin’ on in this town, and I wouldn’t feel too inclined ta stay if I were you.”

You pursed your lips, far too stunned for words.

“Heaven.” he uttered like a curse. There was a sudden quiver in his lips, that sent a chill racing down your spine. It wasn’t just about ‘heaven’. More specifically, Hol Horse was convinced there existed a way to call it forth.

The sheer ridiculousness of this statement seized your attention. The man was so obviously intoxicated, but spoke like these were irrefutable facts that he too struggled to come to terms with.

A heaven within the reach of mere mortals? Powers no man had any business wielding? It was absolutely ludicrous! But your gut, which had saved you countless times in the past, urged you to not cast this tale aside.

You wondered if this made you a fool.

.

.

.

You had only come to this town per invitation from a distant, older cousin. And while distant by blood, she was also distant to you in nearly every other aspect as well. You and your cousin, Gwess, scarcely saw one another due to a series of familial barriers. By all accounts, you should be wary of her, but she was also newly married now, and you supposed her only desire was to rekindle your long-neglected relationship.

Marriage, children, a home—it had a way of changing people. You were unsure if you could genuinely relate to her feelings, but you would not stop her from trying to rebuild something, even if that something had never truly existed in the first place.

For whatever reasons, your cousin had you set up in a hotel instead of her guest house. You didn’t take it personally, after all, it was her home to do with as she pleased. The hotel suite was lavish; far be it from you to complain.

Clean, white walls, with an intricate gold motif wallpaper, Persian carpeting, high thread-count sheets made from the whitest Egyptian cotton. At your bedside were red roses that added a bit of color and warmth to the room, and near the window was a mini-bar stocked with various alcoholic beverages should you choose to indulge.

Courtesy of Gwess, your outfit for the night’s festivities hung on the bathroom door, zipped up in a garment bag to keep it from either soiling or wrinkling. She had gifted it to you along with a mask for the masquerade ball, though, you felt a sudden trepidation bubbling in your stomach at what awaited you; like a premonition of something to come, it weighed on your chest, and you tried desperately to swallow it down.

Hol Horse’s words from the previous night continued to haunt you in broken fragments. He had warned you not to stick around but it wasn’t like you were staying much longer. Just one more night.

Still, you worried. With the sound of your heart thumping in your ears, you drew out the lace and chiffon clothing from the bag that had kept it hidden from you until now.

A feeling you could not explain washed over you at the sight of what Gwess brought for you to wear. It was white with wing-like patterns sewn down into the material just below the blades of your shoulders. You considered the meaning of this as you donned the outfit and fixed the mask over your face. Mockery perhaps? Who could say?

Gwess greeted you in the hotel lobby with open arms and a warm smile.

“Cousin!”

“Gwess.” You murmured with a nod and a small tilt of your lips. “You look well.”

She grinned, eyes crinkling, “Don’t I?” Gwess gave a twirl, showing off one of her newest purchases. A thinly strapped designer gown with silver embroideries and little birds stitched at the hem and sleeve. In her hands was an extravagant mask covered in jewels and... real life bird feathers. You assumed so, given the traces of blood still on them. Ever the beauty, your cousin was. Her husband, being a lawyer working under a prominent firm in town, made sure that his dearest Gwess wanted for nothing; inherently enabling her rather eccentric hobbies, like mutilating tiny animals and using their remains as accessories.

.

.

.

The venue was a large ballroom not too far from the hotel. It was beautifully decorated with crimson and gold ornaments and glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The festivities were already in full swing. Peals of laughters, thundering music, flashing lights. It was increasingly overwhelming. The event was more of a bacchanal for the rich and wealthy, a hedonistic gathering for the town’s upper echelon. It was almost ceremonial.

To make matters worse, you lost sight of Gwess, or rather, she had ditched you for a group of familiar faces. So, you wandered about on your own. There were a startling amount of guests, it felt almost like eyes were on you at every moment. Bodies pushed on all sides of you as you struggled to make your way through to a less crowded area. The sick feeling in the pit of your stomach bred more fear and anxiety, until you felt the urge to vomit right then and there.

Escaping into the open balcony was your only form of solace, and perhaps you’d remain there for the rest of the evening. Though, how could you have known that in doing so, you would inevitably find yourself within the crosshairs of an apex predator.

By his third victim, Dio was beginning to think that none of his ‘esteemed’ guests had brought a worthy sacrifice. A sneer curled at his lips as he watched them from his seat above. They were like monkeys, dancing for his entertainment, but unfortunately, he was far from entertained. He lounged back in his seat with a deep sigh.

Dio Brando did not believe in chance or coincidence. He did not believe in a being beyond the proverbial curtain, pulling on strings and orchestrating the whims of humanity. But lately, he’d been feeling a bit of a premonition. Nothing alarming, just an inkling of something he couldn’t quite place. And even after speaking to Enrico at length—

Dio paused in his musing, having caught sight of something in his peripheral.

With purposed steps, he followed the instincts deep within him, a visceral tugging in his gut, until he was greeted with the sight of your back. Poised like a sharpened blade, clothed in white; you stood underneath the lantern’s glow, like an angel hand-delivered to his doorstep. Utterly enticing.

You turned, gazing over at him with a peculiar look in your eyes, like that of a cautious doe in the presence of a hunter. The mask you wore shielded the majority of your face, but you were not someone he recognized. The clothing you were wearing made him all the more interested in finding what lay beneath.

Even from this distance, he could see the light sheen of sweat on the back on your neck. The subtle quake in your shoulders was not hidden from him either, even the bob of your throat as you swallowed.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he finally asked.

You were not expecting the man to speak since he looked so dead set on staring at you. “I don’t mind at all.”

You shifted over a little, an unnecessary action, seeing as there was plenty of room for the both of you. The fresh air did well in calming you down. But the sudden appearance of this man and his wolfish gaze was putting you back on edge. In any other instance, his very aura would have sent you running for the hills, but for some reason, you couldn't even bring yourself to move.

“You aren't enjoying yourself,” he noted with a teasing smile. “Does that make me a terrible host?”

You fumbled for a minute, stuttering over your words while trying to find an appropriate answer that wouldn’t offend him too much.

“C-Certainly not. It’s, um, no fault of your own. These kinds of things never interested me in the first place.”

You tried to avoid looking him in the eye when you responded but that proved to be impossible. His eyes were such a beautiful shade of scarlet. You half-wondered if they even came in that color naturally. He licked his lips, and for a second you caught sight of a sharpened canine.

“One could say that I am looking for something. Why else would I throw such an affair?”

Curious, you angled yourself a bit closer to him.

“Do you believe in gravity, dear?” he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “That might be the reason why I’ve found you. You feel it too, that innate pull that can’t be explained.” he drew you closer until you were chest to chest. “It’s why you can’t walk away even though you’re frightened. I think we were fated to meet each other here.”

A wind blew as he said those words, tussling his gold spun hair, as if nature itself were confirming his words.

“Don’t you believe in destiny? That our lives are fate’s ultimate composition; a song that plays from the moment we take our first breath until we breathe our last.”

He was standing so close, close enough that you could smell the hint of cinnamon in his cologne and... blood...on his breath. It was making you dizzy, but you were also surprised to find that you wanted him to kiss you. And once that thought was acknowledged, it blossomed into a heady desire that was slowly taking over your entire body. You wanted him, the monster behind the mask.

“What say you, dear? Are you still frightened by me?” he laughed. “Don’t be. You and I are the same.”

“I’m...not afraid.” you said and placed a hand on his chest. It pleased him to hear you say it, even if your body betrayed your words. He leaned forward with one arm wrapped around your waist and gave a long, languid lick to a stripe of your skin, your perspiration was no deterrent at all, in fact he rather enjoyed it. Being this close to you gave him a vision of depthless oceans behind his eyelids with the taste of saltwater on his tongue and algae under his feet.

It was cathartic.

Indeed there were cleaner ways to do this, but he liked the pulse of your jugular beneath his tongue. He let his fangs sink into the flesh of your neck, puncturing your skin all the way through. Your fingers gripped his clothes, but not out of pain. The immense pleasure washing over you felt unlike anything you could ever imagine. Puffs of your warm breath coasted against the shell of his ear. You were far past the point of return.

.

.

.

In the final act, you laid naked in your hotel bed underneath blood speckled sheets. Your neck was throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the pleasant soreness between your thighs.

Dio, the name of your new god, hovered over you bare as the day he was born with an arrogant smile on his lips. Your wrists were bound with the strips of cloth torn from your body. You couldn’t reach him but your gaze still roamed the hills and valleys of his muscled chest in an act of worship and devotion.

An angel, they had called you. But what was angel without a fall from grace? It seemed in order to know virtue, one must first acquaint themselves with vice.

[twdbegins]

A Little R&R

__

Simon x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Some sexual references.

Word Count: 2,110

“Mmhm, well, you’re gonna see a noticeable change if you keep that up.”

__

Nobody has ever said that being a doctor is easy work. As a matter of fact, being in any job in medical field is probably one of the most demanding jobs there can possibly be. However, you had gone through a lot of school to become a doctor and while it was hard work, it was rewarding work. Nothing filled you with more joy than helping others. It was something that made you super passionate. It reminded you that, despite the fall, there’s still good in the world. 

With that being said, there were still times when the workload did sometimes get to be a bit much. At least before, when you were in a legit hospital, you had nurses and other doctors to provide their hands-on help. Now, it was pretty much just you. If you were lucky, Simon or another savior might be able to offer some minimal help, but in an overall sense, you were on your own. Another challenge refers to the more sanitary side of things. Since you weren’t in a hospital, the infirmary wasn’t as sterilized as you wanted it to be. You cleaned the infirmary from ceiling to floor every single day and as often as you could. You always deep cleaned your tools and sterilized them, but at the end of the day there was no way for everything to be completely clean. 

The worst part of it, though, was the fact that you had every single solitary patient. Obviously, if you’re the only doctor, then everyone is going to come to you. Some days you would have one person come in and some days you would have 40 people come in. It just varied from day to day. Your absolute least favorite day was check-up day. After you had been at the Sanctuary for about a year (and Negan realized you were there to stay) he found it necessary for every savior to have an annual checkup. Everyone. On the same day. 

The first year you had to do it was absolute hell. Everyone showed up at random times during the day and there was no order whatsoever. However, the next year, you put a system in order. Every savior would have to come at a specific time, starting with the highest in command to the lowest (this was per Negan’s request). So, Negan always went first, Simon next, and so on and so forth. You usually averaged about one savior every fifteen minutes. Which doesn’t sound that bad, but considering there’s an average of about 150 to 200 saviors, it makes out to be a long day of work. 

It was checkup day, November 11th to be exact. You had made sure to hydrate plenty the day before and get a good night of sleep, because you were not taking any breaks to try and get this over with quicker. Sure enough, you heard Negan’s familiar voice in the doorway at 6:00 A.M. sharp;

“Well, good morning, doc!” He chirped. 

You gave a smile;

“Negan.” You said acknowledging his presence.

Negan always went first because he was indeed highest in command. He also liked to just get it over with so he could still get a useful day of work. He knew the drill. He stripped off his signature leather jacket, setting it on the chair in the corner with his beloved Lucille. He had this rather unsettling smirk on his face. As much as you respected him as a leader, he could be quite disrespectful to you. Not in a “I don’t respect your feelings kind of way”, but he was known as a ladies man (his multiples wives as evidence to that). It didn’t at all offend or bother him to have a woman put her hands on him, in a professional way or not. He sat on the table as you began his checkup exam. He stayed silent for a little while, but you knew it wouldn’t last. As you were listening to his lungs and overall breathing, he spoke;

“You know, if you really want to see how I can handle myself, you can close that door and I’ll just show you.” He prided. 

You hushed him, waving a hand in front of his face. You couldn’t properly hear what you were listening for if he was talking. You stayed quiet as you finished listening to his lungs before you answered. You hung the stethoscope around your neck as you tested his reflexes.

“Now, that’s not a very professional thing to say to your doctor is it?” You said grabbing the reflex hammer off of the counter. 

He shrugged;

“I mean, doctor-patient confidentially, right? Or does that not apply anymore?” He asked. 

“No, it does...depending on who you are,” You said truthfully. 

You tested Negan’s reflexes on his knees, noting that his response was a little slow;

“Reflexes are delayed,” You said taking the back of his hand and checking for dehydration. Nada. “Did you drink last night?”

He nodded as you wrote it down on his chart. He was healthy as a horse. 

“Well, other than the reflexes, you’re good to go,” You said truthfully. 

Negan smiled;

“Sweet,” He said getting off of the table and retrieving his jacket and weapon of choice. 

“Will you send Simon in, please?” You asked.

Negan zipped his jacket;

“As long as you two promise to behave in here.” Negan said approaching the doorway and motioning for Simon who was right outside. 

Simon walked in, Negan giving him a slight glare as he left. Simon raised a brow and looked at you;

“What was that about?” He asked. 

You rolled your eyes;

“Turned him down. Again.” You said referring to his advances. 

That wasn’t at all an uncommon occurrence. Negan was always trying to pick you up and had even thrown a marriage proposal your way before. All to which you denied and continue to deny every time. It was kind of a running joke between you and Simon now;

“Shocker,” He said pulling you to him, “Mornin’, baby.” 

You gave him a quick kiss;

“Hi.” You replied. 

He sat on the exam table, eager to get this over with. He hated going to the doctor, although he was willing to make an exception. You checked his eyes and ears first, both in perfect condition. You checked his lungs and breathing next, as you had done with Negan.

“Take off your shirt, please.” You asked. 

He smirked as he lifted it over his head;

“Yes ma’am.” He set his shirt aside and winced at the cold metal of the stethoscope against his back. 

His hands were on yours hips, rubbing in circles as you listened to his breathing and heart beat. His heart rate was a little elevated, but that was most likely from the fact that he was raking you over. You were asking just some general questions (all of which you knew the answer to) along the way. You had your hands at his neck, feeling for any swollen or tender lymph nodes;

“Have you had skin irritation or any noticeable changes to your body lately?” You asked as you felt his neck gently, his skin sensitive to the feel of your touch.

He groaned;

“Mmhm, well, you’re gonna see a noticeable change if you keep that up.” He said. 

You pulled your hands away and tried not to laugh;

“Sorry. I’m almost done.” You said reaching for a tongue depressor.

“What time do you think you’ll be done?” He asked curiously.

You shrugged and gave a questionable look; 

“Late for sure. Open wide,” You instructed, “Maybe midnight?” 

You checked his throat for any signs of inflamed tonsils or strep throat as he attempted to speak a response that was just muffled;

“Huh?” You asked taking the depressor away. 

“I said to come to my room when you do get off. I’ll be up.” He repeated.

You nodded, jotting the final notes on his chart;

“You don’t have to wait up for me.” You kindly said.

“Sure, I do. I want to.” He retorted.

You smiled, and sighed contently when you finished his examination;

“Well, my love, you are in perfectly good health.”

He laughed at your monotonous tone and slipped his shirt back on, before standing back up;

“Do you have any breaks today?” He asked.

“Nope. Straight shot from start to finish.” You replied.

He nodded with a slight grimace. He hated seeing you work yourself too hard. But you wouldn’t do it any other way. He kissed you again before leaving;

“I’ll see you tonight. Don’t work too hard.”

__

The day went by horribly slow. Person after person came through. You repeated the same tests over and over until you felt like you’d freaking pass out. Finally, low and behold, you examined the very last savior at around 12:15 AM. Basically 18 hours of straight work with no breaks. Honestly, it should’ve been longer than that, but some exams didn’t take as long as others. You were exhausted and drained. You cleaned the infirmary as usual, used the shower, and finally were lights out at 12:45. You locked up and straggled to Simon’s room, which felt like miles away. You walked into his room and, sure enough, he was awake and waiting for you. 

You looked tired, to say the least. He offered a comforting smile;

“Hey. All done?” He asked. 

“All done.” You affirmed. 

Your legs and feet had never hurt so bad in your entire life. You quite literally collapsed onto the bed, letting out a sigh of relief that you felt in your soul. He sat on the end of the bed as you just took a moment to mellow out. Your feet were a horrible shade of dark pink, borderline red from the heavy blood flow from being on your feet all day.

“126. 126 saviors came through. That’s a personal record.” You said with a laugh.

Simon shook his head in disbelief;

“I don’t know how you do it. Anybody that you think will kick the bucket this year?” He asked slightly joking but also not. 

You scoffed;

“From a physical health standpoint, no. Mentally though, that new guy Derek might be in for it if he doesn’t change his attitude,” You stated honestly. 

“Oh, yeah. The tall redheaded guy, right? I think Richie got into a tussle with him a few weeks ago.” Simon said recalling the big fight that went down. 

You hummed in affirmation as you watched him trace circles on your leg lazily with his index finger. You groaned and rubbed your face;

“My feet hurt so bad. I feel like I’ve been standing and walking all day.” You growled. 

Simon got up from the bed and laughed;

“That’s because you have,” He grabbed a bottle off of the dresser and sat back down. You suddenly felt a cold presence and rubbing sensation on your leg. You looked down and let out a groan of relief upon realizing Simon was rubbing your legs and feet;

“You are an absolute angel, you know that?”

He smirked;

“I do my best.” 

His hands worked wonders on your aching lower limbs and appendages. You raised a brow;

“Where did you get lotion from?” You asked examining the dark red, label-less bottle. 

His hand gently gripped and slid down from your knee to your ankle;

“I have my ways,” He grinned; “I thought you outta know that by now.”

“You’re still full of surprises. I never know what tricks you have up your sleeve.” You laughed heartily. 

He still grinned;

“Yeah, well, I gotta keep it interesting,” He joked, “No, but I found this last week. I’ve just been meaning to give it to you.” 

The lotion’s scent was so good and so calming. You definitely could’ve fallen asleep right where you were.

“At least I know I’ll sleep good tonight.” You stated. 

“Speaking of, I think it’s time to call it a night.” He said rubbing the last bit of lotion in and returning the bottle to the dresser.

You groaned and rolled over to your side of the bed with him quickly sliding into his side. You rested yourself against his side, immediately feeling like you were about to fall asleep. Before you drifted off, however, he softly said a few last words for the night;

“You really do keep this place running,” He said kissing your head, “I love you. And I’m really proud of you and everything that you do.”

You looked up at him sleepily, kissing him softly before falling asleep in the arms of the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

[cranetreegang]

OC Witcher Fanfic: Part 3: Let's See What You're Made Of

A/N: First fight scene!! I think fight scenes are probs one of my weaker points in writing, so it took soooo long to write it. I'm very happy with how it turned out though. As always, let me know what you think! I love getting feedback!

Summary: Lanas and Nis track down the cyclops. Lanas worries that Nis will be a hinderance to him. Will Nis prove him wrong, or will she get them both killed?

Word Count: ~3,000

Warnings: Graphic violence, blood, guts... I mean they trying to kill a cyclops.

Read Part 1 and Part 2 Here!

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Lanas wasn’t lying when he said at first light. He had Nis on her horse before the sun even had a chance to rise. She slumped in her saddle, swaying from side to side, and he was doing the same. He didn’t wake her up to take over watch last night, so he barely slept. His tiredness didn't stop him from thinking over how best to handle this cyclops though.

Any wrong move would mean death. Hers more than his. He didn't want her to get in his way. He also knew she was too stubborn and wouldn't stand aside to let him take care of it. His lips pursed as he thought over the upcoming fight. He had three fire bombs and a handful of bolts left from dealing with the spriggan. That wouldn't be enough to take this monstrosity down though. Even with his ogroid oil, cyclopses were known to withstand the most grievous of wounds before dying.

Distance. That was the best strategy for orgoids. It's powerful arms and earth-shattering stomps would make close quarter combat a challenge. One misstep would mean being pulverized into dust. Perhaps Nis wouldn't be useless after all. That was if she was as good with a bow as she claimed to be. If she could keep the cyclops distracted long enough for him to land a few vital hits, then they both might walk out of this unscathed. If she could land her shots, and if the cyclops didn't corner her.

Lanas frowned. There was too much uncertainty and it all surrounded Nis. He hadn't even gotten to the idea of her panicking if the cyclops made any move towards her. A mental image of an arrow landing in his back came to the forefront of his mind.

"Cyclopses aren't like rabbits." Lanas said seemingly out of the blue.

Nis was in the middle of braiding her auburn hair out of her face. She paused for a moment to take in what he just said.

She raised one of her dark brows. "Really?" Her tone was full of mock surprise. "That's not what I've been told. But, I suppose you're the expert on matters such as these."

"This isn't time for jokes, Nis." Lanas growled.

“You’re the one talking about cyclopses and rabbits.” She smirked.

His upper lip curled for a moment before settling. He gripped his reins tighter as he continued, "One hit of a cyclops will kill you."

"Well, that certainly wouldn't be good." Nis chuckled as she finished tying back her hair into a ponytail. "What do you suggest, to avoid such unpleasant things. Like death, or dismemberment. I much like the idea of not being in a cyclops' stomach today."

"Keep your distance. As long as you stay out of its reach you'll be fine." Lanas stopped himself from adding, 'and don't shoot me in the back.'

Nis nodded with a far away gaze. "And, what will you be doing?"

"Killing it."

Nis let out a loud laugh before stifling the abrupt noise due to Lanas' harsh glare. "Oh, Lanny. You say it's not time for jokes, yet here you are. 'Killing it.' Ha! I suppose that's a decent enough plan. I'll keep my distance and you'll kill it. Simple as hunting rabbits."

Lanas sent Horse into a canter to get ahead of Nis. If she wanted to be slaughtered, then so be it. She wasn't his concern or problem anymore. He could get the crowns off her corpse.

Nis caught up to him with an amused grin plastered on her freckled, worry-free face.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to constantly anger you. I'll follow your lead, fret not my dearest Lanny." Nis said, her stormy eyes giving away her seriousness.

Lanas glanced towards her. "You better. Mistakes could cost us both our lives." He huffed.

"And we surely wouldn't want that." She replied.

Lanas turned his attention to their surroundings, while continuing contemplating different strategies that wouldn't get him killed. Nis was too much of a risk for him to rely on. A fact which annoyed him more than anything else. This was why he preferred to work alone.

He looked to Nis idly flicking through her arrows. A smile tugged on her vermillion colored lips as she hummed some out of key tune he wasn’t familiar with. She looked akin to a noble on a fox hunt more so than a monster hunt. Lanas realized she wasn’t worried because she had no idea how dangerous this was. The very idea made him frustrated. She would learn soon enough, he thought.

It wasn’t until they were halfway to Dorian when Lanas held up his hand to stop them. A faint hint of blood hung in the air. The scent was nearly masked by the aroma of the woodlands. His hair stood on end from the utter silence. He scanned around them until his eyes settled on the branches nearby. Horse rocked underneath Lanas with a heavy snort. He patted Horse's neck with a hush.

"It's near." He informed her as he slid off his saddle. Nis scanned around trying to find where the beast was, but all she saw were dense trees. With a confused sigh, she dismounted Pip.

Lanas rummaged in his saddle bags for a few moments while Nis tied their horses to a slender tree trunk. He stuffed various potions into his bandolier and attached the fire bombs on his side. He hooked a handheld crossbow onto his belt and drew the silver sword from his back. He treated the blade with his last vial of ogroid oil. The gentle smell of Ginatia wafted into the air.

"What's that?" Nis asked as she leaned over his shoulder.

He glances at her then stalked into the forest.

Nis followed behind him with her bow drawn and an arrow nocked. "How do you know it's here? I don't see it anywhere?" She asked.

"Branches are broken up high." He pointed above them and she looked up in awe. She finally saw the twisted and snapped branches above them, but also scattered at their feet. "You'd also hear it before you see it."

"Mhm. I mean, of course. Obviously." She hummed.

Lanas tracked the great beast's movements further into the woods. He managed to find a fresh set of tracks to follow. His senses were on high alert and body eager for the fight to come.

They didn't have to go too deep into the forest before a putrid odor assaulted him. The bear medallion vibrated against his chest. He raised his fist and they knelt down behind some brush.

There, in front of them, they could make out the slouched form of the cyclops. Even sitting, Nis estimated the beast to be at least double, maybe triple, the height of Lanas. Its long black hair clung to its rippling back. Nis was intrigued to see the cyclops wearing a tattered loincloth with a leather belt carrying various objects; like an oversized barrel it had fashioned into a mug. They could hear the sounds of flesh being ripped apart and bones snapping in its mouth as it feasted.

Lanas turned to face Nis with a serious expression. "You will do as I say. Keep your distance and don't get in my way." He paused then added, "Don't shoot me in the back. Please."

She nodded. "Got it."

Lanas spared her a final glance, "Stick to the plan. Distance. Distract. Dodge. I'll do the rest."

He didn't wait for her response as he began making his way into the flattened clearing. Trees had been ruthlessly ripped out or snapped clean in half. The giant cyclops huddled in the center of the destruction. The witcher carefully stepped over and between the shattered limbs littering the soft earth. Lanas could sense Nis somewhere behind him, laying in wait. The cyclops was too distracted eating its latest prey to even notice their approach. The medallion hummed stronger with each step. He unsheathed his sword and took a calm, deep breath through his nose.

Lanas plunged straight into the monster's back, aiming for the beast's heart. The sword couldn't pierce far into the creature's back before being stopped by the cyclops' rib. Lanas cursed immediately for missing his mark. The cyclops wailed in surprised anguish, its nearly devoured deer fell from its grip. He ripped his sword from the iron-like flesh then dove away as the cyclops' mighty fist crashed where he had just stood.

The two hurried to their feet. The cyclops cast its shadow over the witcher, forcing him to look up. Lanas prepared to make another roll when an arrow flew straight into the beast's eye. The cyclops stumbled back. Its hands wildly flailing around.

Lanas used the momentary distraction to slice at the monster's legs. He whirled himself in-between the stomping feet to give the monster deep slashes into the back of its knees.

The cyclops whipped itself around to backhand Lanas away like an annoying bug. He had been able to block the brunt of the attack with his forearms, but he was still sent flying away. The witcher managed to flip himself back to his feet and stop himself from tumbling further across the sharp, broken timber. Several more arrows found their mark into the creature's cheek, ear, and neck. The power from the arrow strikes were enough to keep the beast off balance. The cyclops tried in vain to block the arrows coming from the tree line by raising its tree trunk of an arm to cover its face. Nis' arrows lined its exposed forearm instead.

With the cyclops trying to fend off her attacks, Lanas reached for his crossbow. His hand hovered over it as he took in the dead trees around the cyclops. Instead of the crossbow, he grabbed a fire bomb to throw at the creature's feet. The dried out trees immediately caught then set the beast's clothed calves aflame. It roared out in rage. Its bleeding eye landed on Lanas and figured he was the source of its pain.

The cyclops charged towards the witcher, who threw himself out of the way. He hopped to his feet to begin dancing away from the furious cyclops' chaotic blows. Lanas kept ducking below each wild swing with impressive timing. The ground shook with each step the beast took, making Lanas concentrate on his footwork to avoid tripping on the debris. Embers were flying in the air, spreading the flames. He just needed an opening to land another strike against the brute.

Nis' arrows were no longer stunning the creature and seemed to only be making it angrier. She tried to get some sort of command from Lanas on what to do, but he was struggling to maintain distance.

Lanas' foot landed on a limb that snapped. His foot, unexpectedly, slipped more than he could anticipate. He twisted his body enough to avoid most of the swinging uppercut from the cyclops. Its elbow collided into Lanas' back in a glancing hit. His body was swept across the clearing. He landed face first with an audible grunt. The cyclops pounded its chest while letting out a mighty roar of triumph. Nis sprinted from her cover towards Lanas.

"Lanas! You alright?" She kept her attention on the cyclops while she dragged him by the arm to his feet.

"What are you doing?!" He shoved her away with an annoyed hiss. Pain shot from his back at the quick motion. He winced and nearly fell back down.

She rolled her eyes then stood in front of him. "I'll keep it distracted. Find a way to kill it. You know. The plan." She sent an arrow flying right into the beast's throat. The cyclops ripped the arrow from its thick hide then slammed the ground in rage.

With the attention on her, she sprinted away from Lanas. Her nimble fingers nocked three arrows as she led the cyclops away. With the pressure off of him, Lanas downed an entire vial of Swallow and felt immediate relief. When the cyclops began to charge Nis, she stopped where she was and drew her bow back.

Lanas rushed behind the charging cyclops with the unquestionable sense of dread threatening to come over him. Nis needed to move, or she'd die. He cursed his luck that she chose now, of all times, to freeze. He pushed himself even harder to try and stop the cyclops in time. He pushed himself past the pain. He had to. But he wasn't close enough. He wasn't fast enough. The cyclops had beat him to the naïve wannabe.

"Nis!" He shouted.

Nis hadn't even moved an inch. She took a sure deep breath as the cyclops raised both of its arms to smash her into the ground. That's when she released the arrows. The first arrow found its way into the cyclops' forehead. The second arrow lodged itself into the monster's swollen eye, making the cyclops totally blind. The last arrow landed where the bridge of the cyclops' nose should've been. But the sudden attack didn't stop the cyclops from finishing its movement to smash her.

Before it could pulverize her, she jumped backwards far enough for the creature to slam the ground instead. A puff of dirt and rocks shot into the air from where she had just been. She quickly hopped onto the cyclops' forearm while she readied another arrow. The cyclops tried to shake her off, but she already anticipated this. She let the momentum of its flailing take her away from the cyclops while also landing another painful shot into the cyclops' useless eye. The beast moaned and slammed the ground repeatedly in pain.

All of this happened quicker than Lanas could process. He watched Nis, unharmed, getting away from the cyclops. He stopped where he was and took the beast's tantrum as an opportunity to throw another fire bomb. The creature, charred from the previous one, caught even faster. Burnt flesh and wood filled the smoky air. Lanas rushed behind the cyclops to finish slicing through its flaming charred leg. The monster cried out then fell to its knee with a guttural groan.

Lanas climbed up its back and jumped into the air. He aimed his sword directly into the top of the beast's head. His sword impaled through the cyclops' skull and all the way through its throat.

A wet roar briefly spilled from the creature's mouth before blood consumed its cries. Lanas removed his sword and hopped off its back. The cyclops teetered left to right before collapsing on its side. The ground quivered as the cyclops choked out its last breath. Then silence consumed the woods once more, save for the ravenous flames decorating the already destroyed clearing.

Nis approached the beast with an arrow pointed directly into the creature's heart. "Is it dead?" She asked.

Lanas kicked its foot then sheathed his sword. "It's dead."

Nis let out a relieved sigh as she withdrew her bowstring. She came closer to Lanas with a concerned frown. Her eyes scanned over his obviously injured form. "Looks like the beast got one on you," she quipped as she sheathed her bow.

"I'll be fine." He huffed. He circled around the dead creature before deciding there would be plenty for him to harvest.

Nis watched him with one raised brow as she was ripping her arrows out. He brought out a vial to extract the drool billowing out from its gaping jaw. He then reached into its warm, damp mouth and pulled out its tongue. He examined the appendage, and decided it would be good enough. In one quick slice, the tongue was freed and he stuffed it into his pack.

"That's disgusting." Nis commented.

"Help me get its hair." Lanas ordered.

Nis gave a mock salute as she pulled out her dagger.

She helped him gather clumps of hair, several vials of blood, a liver, and a heart from the cyclops. The fire surrounding them had snuffed itself out, leaving them in a cloud of smoke and ash.

Nis looked over the blood covering her armor with her nose scrunched. "This'll take forever to get out, you know." She sighed.

"Better get used to it if you're gonna make a habit of monster hunting." Lanas gruffly replied. He knelt over his pack to organize his fresh loot.

Nis gave a sharp laugh then shrugged. "I suppose. Especially if I stick with you."

Lanas paused then looked up to her. "Once you've given me my coin, we're done here."

Nis bit her lip which turned into a sheepish smile. "Well, what if I had another job for you."

Lanas grunted as he slung on his pack. "No." He turned on his heel to begin the walk back towards their horses.

Nis matched his stride after a short jog. "I don't think you quite understand. I didn't really need your help with the cyclops. I need your help with something else. Something more dire."

"Don't care." Lanas replied, his gaze dead set in front of him.

"Don't care?! You don't even know what it is. Besides, I believe I just proved to be more than capable of helping you." She glared at Lanas. She took a breath then said, "Just hear what I have to say first. Then, if you still want to refuse the job, you can."

Lanas stopped walking and threw his loaded pack on the ground. He looked over Nis with fresh eyes.

Her skill in that fight, no human could've possibly pulled off. He highly doubted even an Scoia'tael archer could've done what she did. No... there was something wrong. He hadn't been able to figure out what it was that made him on edge. Perhaps, deep down, he hadn't wanted to look any further into it. Not with the amount of crowns she was paying him. But as he stared at the woman before him, the gut feeling returned.

Nis hadn't the time to react to him drawing his sword before she felt the tip of the silver blade pressed into her neck.

"What are you?"

[kitkatopinions]

Hey how's about Neptune for the asks? :)

Alrighty, Neptune is the last character ask I have in my inbox. If anyone is interested in hearing my thoughts on any other character, feel free to send them in! 

My top three ships for the character

Neptune/Jaune is probably my favorite ship for him, I think they could be cute and they’d have a good relationship, and I think he’d help Neptune loosen up and stop trying so hard to be cool. Neptune/Sun is my second favorite ship for him. Although I see them as best friends for life, I also think they could be really nice together and there is some very cute fan art of these two. Also, Ren/Neptune could be really cute, if Neptune has done some maturing, I could see them connecting in Vacuo. (Honorable mention to Weiss/Neptune, who would’ve made this list, if their ‘love triangle’ hadn’t been done with so much cringe.)

My three least favorite ships for the character

Neptune/Ruby is kinda... Weird, just because of how young Ruby often acts. Neptune/Blake. I don’t think Neptune and Blake would ever have feelings for each other. And Neptune/Ilia. Even putting aside the fact that she’s a lesbian and I headcanon Neptune as gay, she’s clearly uncomfortable with his advances and he apparently has no awareness of when to back off, so... Yeah. This one feels kinda icky to me.

My biggest criticism for the character

I was going to talk about how some of the humor surrounding him is cringe as it is with Sun, or how he and Sun don’t ever get new outfits, but guys, I have to talk about the flirting. The flirting with Weiss? Not a problem, Weiss is clearly receptive, she and Neptune do have at least some level of chemistry, Weiss shows no signs of being uncomfortable. Even his ‘what a woman’ line with Yang is (imo) totally fine, they’re both casually flirty and Yang didn’t seem uncomfortable with Neptune at all either, and there’s nothing wrong with casually flirty characters. But Neptune flirting with Team NDGO and making sexual innuendos and making advances on Ilia when she clearly looks uncomfortable... These were obviously not well received and Neptune just kept flirting. That’s bad. I love Neptune, but this writing is jacked. Men wrote him to make women uncomfortable without it being treated as a real problem his character overcomes (while we’re on that subject, Jaune has the same problem with Weiss and just because he ‘moved on’ to Pyrrha when he thought Weiss had ‘chosen Neptune’ doesn’t mean he was ever shown on screen to realize that pestering women who make it clear they’re not interested is wrong.) I love Neptune, but if they weren’t going to make him a bigger character who had an arc and learned to not make sexual innuendos to women suggesting they’re going to try and use a professional fight to assault him and then wink at them when they show clear displeasure with his gross attempts at ‘flirting’... Then they should’ve just not done that! Because it wasn’t funny, or cute, or cool, or playful like the RWBY writers had clearly thought it was.

My favorite thing about the character

His friendship with Sun. I honestly love the fact that Sun has this dorky, intellectual, tries too hard, ‘super cool’ friend. Neptune seems to hold Sun back some and doesn’t seem to take things as serious as even Sun does, letting his (if what I’ve heard from the books is true) very valid phobia impact his performance and even impact whether or not he goes with Sun to Menagerie. But at the same time, those flaws don’t mean he isn’t a good friend. We see from the start that he’s a good listener, he’s supportive and understanding and loyal, willing to follow Sun (as he follows Blake) into crazy adventures and up onto ledges. They joke around, they get each other, and the fact that they’re independent and can survive without each other only makes them a healthier dynamic. Also, Sun clearly opens up to him and is very comfortable talking to Neptune about his feelings towards Blake in volume 6 and they had a good scene together there. Gosh, I miss these two. (Honorable mention to Neptune’s hints of anxiety and how stressed he can get. I’m very easily stressed out and anxious myself and it’s nice to see a character that seems to be incredibly stressed himself while still being a cool character who is friendly that people like.)

A headcanon I have about them

Blake knowing about Neptune’s fear of the water makes me think that she had hung out quite a bit with at least Neptune. I love the idea of them being friends themselves, connecting and sharing a lot of similarities even if they seem totally different from first glance. They totally spent hours talking Sun’s ear off about various books while he just tried to follow along because he loves them and wants to share their interests.

What I would change about them if I was making a re-write

I’ve been thinking a lot about Neptune lately and how I’d change him. First off, I’d keep him casually flirty, but throw out him going too far since it makes me uncomfortable. And I think I would feature him in Mistral and have him reconnect with the mains. I think that for what the show was in Volumes 1-3, Neptune having a more comical, casual character was fine and fun and didn’t throw off the tone, but that he’d need some adjusting to fit into RWBY in the future, and I also think Mistral needed to be more fleshed out and that RNJR and Oscar/Oz needed more time and more to do there. If Team RNJR had met up with Neptune and the rest of his team (though obviously Sage and Scarlet wouldn’t be very featured) and heard from them about the shady things going on in Mistral, that could be good. I’d have the mains spend some time ‘working under Lionheart’ as he tries to get rid of them before Cinder makes her deal with Raven and that would include them doing missions with Neptune. He would be more serious and mature than before, telling them Sun is with Blake in Menagerie, and tell them about how bad things have gotten in Mistral which they would see themselves as they take missions even when none of them are licensed (which they would see as a good thing, but would be clearly framed as a bad thing with Neptune not doing well and clearly not ready and the others also clearly not ready themselves.) Then when everyone starts meeting back up, Weiss and Yang are pulled into things. Neptune could be part of the Haven fight and then reconnect with Blake and Sun when they return. A part of me really would want them to join the group permanently and accompany them to Atlas... But I think I would have them go to Vacuo to continue going to school, and just meet up with them again in the Vacuo arc.

What I I think of their character allusion and what (if anything) I would change about it

Neptune was the Roman god of water (originally springs, lakes, and rivers only before eventually expanding into the primary god of the sea) and horses, and also may have been the god of rain and cloudy skies before that function was given to Jupiter. His Greek counterpart, Poseidon, was the god of the sea, storms, and earthquakes, and was a protector of seafarers. Like most gods, there is a lot to go off of in terms of characterization and very little that’s definitive to make a concise character. However, Neptune is mainly gimmick based, with a weapon that doubles as a trident and in the show canon, only has something to do with water. Although it’s interesting to note that Poseidon had worked with Apollo (the god of the sun) in mythology at least once. It seems like there isn’t a lot there. Even including his semblance in the show proper would go a ways towards making his allusion to Neptune/Poseidon feel less gimmicky.

[starlessskies94]

Consequence (Joel Miller x OC)

Summary: What if Joel survived his injuries from the Abby and Fireflies attack but ends up with really bad amnesia. He can’t remember his wife, Ellie, or the Outbreak; only before. How will his family bring back the man they once knew?

Pairing: Joel Miller x OC

Note: Okay this is a sad one and I'm sorry Joel :(

Chapter Three

Joel felt out of place the second he walked through the damn door. It had been how ever many weeks since his accident and the next thing Joel knew, he was being taken to a house that was apparently his.

“Here we go. Home sweet home.” Tommy mumbled as he unlocked the door and stepped inside waiting for his brother to follow. He did, albeit slowly, on the crutches he’d been given from his time at the Infirmary while his leg healed. Joel stood in the doorway looking around the place. It was big, spacious and very well lit. There was a strange warmth to the house he felt itching in his mind, perhaps a sense of familiarity but it was faint and fleeting when he glanced back to his younger brother.

“So this place is mine huh? Have I lived here long?”

“Uhh yeah, just over four years…”

The older man just nodded. His voice dropping back into its usual gruff manner.

“Alright then. Do I live alone? Or with someone?”

Tommy flinched at the question but thankfully Joel either didn’t notice or simply chose not to pull him up on it. If the younger Miller was being honest, he had no idea how to answer. When Joel had woken up, he’d just assumed Ada was part of the Infirmary staff and when Ada had taken the decision to distance herself from Joel while he healed one step at a time, there had really been no reason to correct him. Instead only informing him she was a volunteer sometimes but worked in the stables as her main job. He had taken that as fact and moved on. He cleared his throat and led his big brother further into the home while forcing the most genuine smile he could muster without causing alarm.

“You know, why don’t I leave you a while to get reacquainted with the place.” He offered, trying to change the subject. “Look around...maybe you’ll remember something.” Joel simply hummed lowly in reply. His hazel eyes once again darting around the rooms as he grew more uneasy.

“You... uh... need any help getting around the place?” Tommy asked quietly. His hand rubbing awkwardly at his neck while fidgeting in place where he stood. “Those stairs are pretty-”

“I’m fine Tommy, I don’t need babysitting alright.” Joel cut off hastily. He was getting frustrated with all the coddling and while he was grateful to Tommy for looking after him during his time stuck in the Infirmary; he just wanted to get on with things now. Thankfully Tommy seemed to understand this, knowing his brother as well as he did. A small grin twitching at his lips to see his big brother was still the same stubborn bastard he’d been before. Good to know some things never change he supposed.

“Okay I’ll leave you to it then; I’ll swing round later to check in on you alright?”

Once again Joel just grumbled in reply but it was enough for Tommy and he turned to leave the older man to it. Leaving his keys on the side table in the hallway before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

Joel left all alone with his muddled thoughts. It was strange being in a house he didn’t recognise, yet there were traces of him all over the place. His boots sat by the door, his favourite books on the bookshelf behind the couch. Favourite movies piled up next to the TV, his preferred whiskey in the dining room along with that same damn bourbon he and Tommy always drank together at New Years.

There was freshly washed laundry folded and stacked in a basket by the backdoor with fishing gear, all packed and ready to go. It was odd walking around as he did. He felt like he was intruding.

The only sounds in the quiet home being the scuffs of his heavy boots and crutches scraping across the wooden floor the further he ventured in. It was a struggle getting up the stairs with his bad leg protesting as much as it did but Joel’s curiosity was getting the better of him as he climbed to explore the upper floor.

He paused on the landing to catch his breath after the small effort of reaching the top of the stairs drained his already dwindling energy. He took a moment to pace him as he grit his teeth and breathed lowly through the throbbing in his busted leg. Turning by the side table and looking down at the picture of him and his brother. Tommy was smiling leaning over a fence while Joel stood beside him, a small grin of his own, holding a cup of coffee in his hands. It was strange looking at a picture he couldn’t even remember being taken. Where were they? What were they doing? Who even took the picture?!

Joel rubbed at his tired eyes in a feeble attempt to fight away an oncoming headache. He figured now was a good time to try to find his bedroom as it was clear he’d already overexerted himself for the day; despite the fact that he’d done so little. But the man was still recovering and Joel knew it would take some time yet before he completely regained his strength.

He pushed himself forward towards the door in front of him, but instead of being greeted by a bedroom was met with something of a workshop.

An array of tools, books and paints all across the room, freshly crafted guitars hung on the wall, along with some half finished, that lay on the counter tops. Wood chippings littering the floor by the window as he looked closer to see a number of animal carvings on a shelf, another of a cowboy riding a horse, simply copied free handed it looked like, from the illustrations in a book and papers propped up on the side.

Did he do all this? He wondered. This was getting surreal and Joel could’t stop the spinning of his head as he tried to process everything. His headache creeping back with a touch of nausea pulling at his stomach.

There was clearly a life lived here; but it wasn’t his. His life was back in Texas with Sarah. Except of course...it wasn’t, not anymore. And it pained Joel every time he had to remind himself of that. His fingers instinctively brushing against the broken watch on his wrist. Another sharp pang of grief hitting him; as he tried desperately to remember how it had broken in the first place...once again...nothing.

He couldn’t take it anymore, waking up in a world, a whole damn town he didn’t know. Neighbours and supposed friends he didn’t recognise. Learning that his baby girl was gone and that it had happened almost twenty five fucking years ago!

It wasn’t fair! Joel didn’t want this...he wanted to go home. Where everything made sense and to a life he knew.

He didn’t understand why it was suddenly gone or who had been responsible for taking it from him. His lip curled in a snarl as his whole body trembled with anger, fists clenching and pulling his crutches, throwing them aside as they ricocheted against the wall. He threw himself forward, arms reaching out to push away any tools, papers or crafts he could get his hands on.

The unfinished guitar splintering into pieces on the floor with the other pieces strewn about the room.

Joel heaved a deep sobbing breath as he took in the destruction he had caused, his chest rapidly rising and falling as the anger in his blood slowly dissipated. His leg buckled from under him as he let himself collapse with his back against the door, sat silently.

Every inch of him ached and hurt. He didn’t think he could do this, trying to remember the years of a life he couldn’t recall ever having. What if the memories never came back? What if he was cursed to live this way forever.

Always closed off to a part of himself that was now a stranger to him. Or maybe whatever had happened to him was just too painful... Joel had to consider the possibility that perhaps that part of him didn’t want to remember.

Maybe it didn’t matter. In that moment he didn’t even bother to wipe away the tears of frustration and sadness that welled in his eyes. There was no longer any shame in it. After all there was no one there to judge him for it anyway. Now that Sarah was gone, Joel was alone. Sure he had Tommy but he had his own family now, it had been a shock to learn that his brother was married but Maria seemed nice nonetheless. And it wasn’t his job to look after Joel, no matter how much he insisted that it was. Joel rubbed roughly at his eyes the more he thought about it.

In that moment he decided he wouldn’t burden Tommy with his recovery any longer. Joel could take care of himself. Perhaps being alone was what he deserved anyway, if someone had attacked him, they’d obviously had a damned good reason for it. Maybe this was the punishment they’d wanted for him all along.

Alone. With no family left of his own.

“Yeah maybe that was it.”

[sinful-imagines]

3 times Koichi was the mom friend and one time he was just a mom

aka The dumb Duwang Gang fic I spent far too long on 

AO3 link

Word count: 5442

1:

 It was a late Sunday afternoon, and Koichi was enjoying some much needed relaxation time. He wasn’t really doing anything in particular, just laying in bed and listening to the same handful of songs on repeat. Everything was calm and peaceful, just like Koichi wanted.

 So of course that’s when he gets a call from one of the most chaotic people in his life, Josuke.

 When they first met, Josuke seemed similar to Koichi in the sense that he was relaxed and levelheaded, but as their friendship developed he realized that this was not the case. Koichi didn’t mind all that much though, it was nice to have a bit of spice in his life. Sometimes it was a bit too much, though.

 He picked up the call after a few rings, a bit sad that his relaxation had been interrupted. But he tried to push that thought aside and let a smile grace his face. “Hey, what’s up?” He asked, sitting up and unplugging his headphones.

 “Oh, not much. But could I ask you for a favor?” Koichi was intrigued by this, seeing as Josuke rarely ever asked for favors, causing his mind to run with possible circumstances.

 “Sure! What do you need?” Koichi responded a bit too quickly, wanting to be a nice and reliable friend.

 “Oh thank god, I was so worried that you’d say no. I want to order something online but we’re moving soon so I don’t want it to arrive at our old address, so could I ship it to your place? I’ll pay you a few hundred yen for the trouble,” Koichi’s face lit up at that. He could be a good friend and get paid at the same time? It sounded perfect, and Koichi couldn’t wait to help out.

 “Absolutely! Just wondering though, what are you get-” Koichi started, but was cut off as Josuke hung up the call. He thought it was odd, but didn’t put too much thought into it. He sighed, laying back down and smiling.

 A few weeks later, a package arrived at Koichi’s door. Despite the fact that it was addressed to ‘Koochie Horse’ he immediately assumed it was Josuke’s package. He still had no idea about the contents of it, having completely forgotten about it until a few moments ago. Although he knew that it was probably nosy to snoop through whatever Josuke had bought, curiosity got the best of him and he decided to open up the package. After all, it was probably just a new textbook or that new racing game he’d been talking about for a while.

 Right?

 Wrong.

 The first thing innocent little Koichi saw upon opening the package was a small round container with the label ‘Gamer Girl Bath Water.’ He was confused to say the least and decided to take it out of the package, gasping quietly at the realization that it was in fact someone’s bathwater. Disgusted and disappointed at the same time, Koichi ran upstairs to give Josuke a call. He clicked on the contact as quickly as he could and eagerly waited for a response.

 “Yo, what’s u-”

 “The package came.”

 “Wait I can explain-” Josuke pleaded, very obviously holding back a laugh. “I did it ironically, I don’t actually want someone’s bathwater. Well, unless it’s Okuyasu’s. But he’s not selling it anyway so it doesn’t really matter.”

 “Josuke.. I..” Koichi paused for a minute to contemplate his life decisions that lead up to this moment, then continued. “I’m so disappointed in you. And I’m not even going to mention the last you wanting to buy Okuyasu’s bath water because that’s disgusting.” Koichi sighed, setting the accursed bath water on his nightstand.

 “I don’t blame you. Even Oku was disappointed in me, and I’m pretty sure he subscribed to her Onlyfans.”

 “That one wasn’t ironic, was it?” Koichi replied, his disappointment growing significantly as he realized that Okuyasu had paid for porn of a gamer girl.

 “Nope.”

 “I thought so.”

 2:

 After the whole bath water incident, Koichi became much more wary of Josuke’s antics. So when he asked if he wanted to have a sleepover for the first time, he was pretty nervous. Not to say that he wasn’t excited, he was just anxious that he was going to somehow be pressured into buying someone’s bath water.

 Luckily for Koichi, the night went completely normally at first. Well, as close to normally as you could ever get in Morioh. The three of them played a few different video games and talked about the serial killer running around the town, typical teenage stuff. It was only when Okuyasu started complaining that he was hungry did the mom friend in Koichi come out. The group walked to Josuke’s refrigerator after getting tired of Okuyasu’s complaining and collectively sighed as they saw the contents of it. There was a whole watermelon, a few eggs, and a singular slice of cheese. Just as Okuyasu suggested eating the watermelon whole, the group noticed something else on a lower shelf of the refrigerator. It was a small container of cookie dough from Kame Yu. It caused the three of them to gasp in excitement, but for different reasons. Josuke and Okuyasu, like most people, were planning to eat the cookie dough raw and then regret that decision when their stomachs were screaming in pain. Koichi, however, was planning to actually make the cookies. There should be enough dough to make at least one cookie for everyone, so that was the obvious way to go about things in his mind. He grabbed the container and took a quick glance at the back of it, which earned a confused look from the two idiots.

 “Oi Koichi, you’re not going to actually bake those, right?” Josuke asked, bewildered at the idea that anyone would waste perfectly good cookie dough by cooking it.

 “Of course I’m going to bake it.. that’s what you do with cookie dough?” Koichi replied, incredibly confused. Unless they were going to shove it up their asses (which he wouldn’t put past them) he couldn’t think of a reason why they wouldn’t want him to bake the cookies. And then it hit him. “Wait, were you guys planning to eat it raw?” Koichi asked, the disappointment he was feeling evident in his voice.

 “Well duh. Besides, that shit is too complicated anyway,” Okuyasu muttered, looking at Josuke for a split second to make sure that he wasn’t the only insane one.

 “Okuyasu you literally just put it in the oven. It’s not that complicated. Also it says DO NOT EAT RAW in massive lettering,” Koichi said, gesturing towards the comic sans warning on the front of the container.

 “Koichi you’re not even tall enough to reach the pan you need to put the cookies in. Plus they’ll take like 20 minutes to bake and if I have to listen to Okuyasu complain about how hungry he is one more time then I’m going to explode.” Josuke replied, stealing the container from Koichi and opening it up. “Oh wow, there’s more in here than I thought. There’s probably enough for you to make a few cookies and for us to have some of it if you still want to make them.”

 Koichi shook his head at first, but began to think about it more and more. He was getting hungry as well and didn’t feel like eating an entire watermelon so this was really his only option. Besides, he would have the opportunity to prove that he wasn’t insane and that cookie dough was better when made into actual cookies. Koichi took the container back from Josuke’s hand and carefully scooped out 5 balls of dough with a spoon that was laying on the counter. In retrospect he probably should have washed the spoon first, but he didn’t dwell on it for long. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you both end up with stomach aches.” Koichi warned as he handed the now halfway empty container of cookie dough back to the idiots. They ran back to Josuke’s room quickly and left Koichi to bake his cookies in peace. The first thing he needed to do was find a pan to cook them in, which proved difficult. He searched through almost every cabinet and drawer in his kitchen, only to find nothing but old cook books and cookie sheets. (which he also needed but not as much as the actual pan) Just as he was about to admit defeat, he noticed two more cabinets far above the oven that he was nowhere near tall enough to reach.

 Shit.

 Getting Josuke or Okuyasu to help wasn’t an option because he was NOT going to deal with the months of teasing that would result from it, so he had to improvise. He felt bad snooping around Josuke’s house, but he didn’t really have any other option. Koichi started by looking in his living room, and while he didn’t find any stools he did find a half asleep Tomoko next to an empty bottle of wine and a porno magazine. While that was interesting it wasn’t what he needed, so he kept looking. Eventually he found a sturdy looking chair and figured that would work as a stool. Luckily it did, and he was able to actually start making the cookies. He’s familiar with the Kame Yu brand of cookie dough, so it didn’t take him long at all to get them in the proper shape and size. Double checking the time and temperature, he put the tray into Josuke’s oven and waited. He considered going back to talk the two idiots but decided against it after hearing one of them scream “JUST BECAUSE I PUT SOMETHING IN MY ASS      ONCE     DOESN’T MEAN I’M GAY!” It caused Tomoko to stir a little bit, and that worried Koichi too much to leave the kitchen.

 After about 10 minutes of staring at the oven it finally beeped, signaling that the cookies were done. As Koichi opened the oven he smiled widely. They turned out perfectly; they were just the right size and they were the perfect shade of golden brown. They still needed to cool off though, but Koichi didn’t feel like waiting any longer. Besides, he could just wait for them to cool off while he was rubbing them in Josuke and Okuyasu’s faces. Carefully using an oven mitt to move them onto a plate, Koichi took a whiff of the cookies and smiled. This was certainly better than raw cookie dough. Once they were all onto a plate Koichi excitedly walked back to Josuke’s room. The heat from the still warm cookies burned his palms a bit, but he didn’t mind all that much. After all, he’d been through a lot worse than a bit of a burn. “See guys! I told you that they’re better this w-” Koichi cut himself off as he noticed that Okuyasu and Josuke were laying on the floor, cuddled up next to each other and moaning. To Koichi’s immediate relief they were in fact not fucking each other, but they’d eaten so much cookie dough that it was too painful to move.

 “Hhhhhhhgggg…. this was a bad idea…” Josuke whined, looking up at Koichi’s cookies with puppy dog eyes. “Can I have one? Please?” He said as Koichi looked away as quickly as possible. Josuke was hard to say no to normally, let alone with puppy dog eyes. He couldn’t help but look back after a few seconds, and by then he was making desperate grabby hands.

 “Sure, just take one though. But if you would’ve listened to me from the start then we’d have a lot more cookies and you both wouldn’t be in so much pain right now.” Koichi smiled as he realized that he’d won their little feud. He sat down next to Josuke and set the plate down next to him, sighing quietly in relief at the fact that his hands weren’t burning anymore.

 “Yeah whatever.. thanks though, these look delicious,” Josuke mumbled as both he and Okuyasu reached for a cookie. It was only then that Koichi remembered something he probably should have mentioned a while ago.

 “WAIT DON’T TOUCH THEM YET THEY’RE STILL BUR-”

 “OW KOICHI WHAT THE FUCK???”

 “..ning”

 3:

 Koichi is a good child. He never snuck out, never skipped school, never cheated on tests, and never even considered doing things that Josuke and Okuyasu did on a daily basis.

 He’s also very compassionate and worries for other people more than himself a lot of the time.

 Coupling these two things together, to say that Koichi was concerned that Josuke had been gone from school for the past week was a massive understatement. He kept saying that it was ‘just a cold’ and that he ‘felt mostly fine,’ but Koichi didn’t believe his words. He was incredibly worried about Josuke’s health, especially with all of the Stand users that were roaming around the town. The possibility that Josuke was attacked by a disease giving Stand was incredibly low, but it still worried Koichi a ton. Okuyasu didn’t seem to be anywhere near as worried, which confused him completely. He’d been gone for an entire school week, obviously something was wrong. He made sure to call Josuke every night and make sure he was okay, but those phone calls didn’t seem to alleviate his concerns in the slightest. He always seemed so sick and in pain during them that it made Koichi’s own throat start to hurt. So after the 5th day in a row of him being gone, Koichi made a decision. He decided that he would go to Kame Yu after school to buy a few things and then visit Josuke in hopes to make him feel a bit better.

 The school day went by normally like usual except for the fact that Josuke was absent once again. Rumors were starting to spread like wildfire about his absence, something that made Koichi even more worried for his friend.

 He went to Kame Yu immediately after school, texting his mom a short message explaining that he’d be gone for a little while. He didn’t have an exact list of things he wanted to buy, he only had a handful of general ideas in mind. He started by grabbing some donuts  and a slice of cheesecake from the bakery section of the store, two things he’d recently learned were some of Josuke’s favorites. After that he looked for some medicine to at the very least help with his pain. Koichi didn’t know what type of illness Josuke had, so he picked out a few general cough medicines like Tylenol and DayQuil. Lastly he went over to the junk food area of the store and grabbed a few miscellaneous things like chips and chocolate bars. The total only came to about two thousand yen, which Koichi didn’t mind paying in the slightest. Besides, Josuke had given him a cut of his lottery winnings a week prior so this was a good way to repay him somewhat.

 As he walked down the street to visit the ‘sick’ boy, Koichi contemplated calling Josuke to let him know about his arrival. He decided against it after a while though, remembering the few times he’d come over without a notice. He knocked on the door and waited patiently for a response. It took a lot longer than he expected, sparking worry in Koichi that he’d interrupted Tomoko while she was busy. He sighed in relief as someone opened the door, but looked up in a bit of confusion as Josuke opened the door instead. “Oh hi Koichi, what are you doing here? I’m glad you showed up though, I was getting pretty bored. Come on in, my room’s a bit messy though,” he chuckled as he motioned for Koichi to come inside. Koichi was thoroughly confused. He didn’t sound sick at all, and he didn’t even mention his illness. And why was he holding his Switch, he always said it was ‘the reason he was having homosexual thoughts’ for some reason? All of these concerns seemed to be answered immediately as Josuke started to speak once again. “Shit, you still think that I was sick right? Oops.” Josuke laughed nervously as he looked down.

 “Wait you’re not? Then why have you been missing school for so long? Is everything okay?” He asked as he followed Josuke upstairs and to his room. He set the bags of medicine and junk food down next to his bed and gave Josuke another confused look.

 “Okay Koichi you’re going to think that I’m insane and I don’t really blame you but I’ve started a business. And I faked an illness so that I can stay home for a couple days and keep on top of all of my customers and orders. Also what’s in the bags?” Not once did Josuke look up from his Switch during this interaction, as he was too busy trying to farm for popular villagers. “Okay so here’s the idea. I get Nook Miles tickets from playing the game. I use the tickets to farm for rare villagers. I search for Raymond specifically. I get Raymond. I sell Raymond on EBay for 6,000¥. I use a portion of that to buy more Nook Miles Tickets and then the cycle continues until I’m rich.”

 Koichi burst out with laughter at both the ridiculous idea and the completely serious look on Josuke’s face while telling him about it. He couldn’t help himself. Buying Animal Crossing villagers? Who would do that? His ‘business’ venture didn’t change the fact that he skipped school to work on it though, and Koichi’s laughter quickly turned into disappointed silence as he remembered. “Yeah but you still skipped an entire week of school to do this though.. I was really worried about you.. That’s why I came over here, I brought you medicine and some food to help you feel better,” Koichi muttered, feeling a bit dumb for not even considering the possibility that he’d just been skipping school.

 “Oh my god that’s why you came over? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worried! I’ll give you a cut of the Animal Crossing money for making you panic and for going out of your way to get all of this stuff for me. I really appreciate it,” Josuke said, still not looking up from his Switch. “I thought I was only going to be gone for a day so I just said I was sick and then my business exploded and I just had to keep going along with it an- GODDAMNIT LEOPOLD NOBODY LIKES YOU YOU DUMB SHIT!”

 “Oh it’s fine, I’m just glad you’re okay. How’d you manage to convince your mom that you were sick for an entire week though? And thanks but it’s alright, you can keep the 2¥ you’re going to make from your ‘business.’ Koichi looked over at Josuke’s Switch to find what he was so angry about only to be greeted by an adorable looking lion with green hair and glasses. Why was he so angry?

 “Oh you laugh Koichi but I’ve already made over 200,000¥. These people are so desperate for these fake animals it’s insane. Also my mom’s away on some sort of business trip thing. I’m definitely gonna get my ass beat when she gets home but-Oh thank god it’s someone I can actually sell for once.” Josuke smiled softly as Koichi looked over once again to see a cat that looked like an orange. Adorable! Though he didn’t know what made it different from the lion that made Josuke so angry. “Anyways, you can have some of the animal crossing money for all the trouble you went through. Is 10,000¥ fair? I really don’t know what to do with all of this money to be honest.”

 That was the first time that Koichi realized that Josuke wasn’t joking or lying and that he’d actually made a huge profit by selling animal crossing villagers. And he’d be getting a cut from it too? Not just a few hundred yen either, 10,000.

 “10,000¥? That’s a lot, are you sure? I mean it really wasn’t that much trouble and I..”

 “Shut up and take the money Koichi. You can have it as long as I can still have the food you brought me.” Josuke finally looked up from his Switch to look into the bags of stuff Koichi had brought and happily gasped. “Woah is that cheesecake? You’re the best!”

 Suddenly the week Koichi spent worrying about his friend didn’t seem to matter as much.

 1:

 Nothing ever stays calm in Morioh.

 That’s something that Koichi had learned over the summer.

 So when he was having a relaxing and chill day, he really should have expected something to go wrong. That ‘something’ was a frantic call from Josuke some time in the evening. Of course that itself wouldn’t be an issue, but the subject matter certainly was. Excited to take a call from his best friend, Koichi set down the book he was reading and eagerly picked it up. “Hi Josuke, what’s u-”

 “HE FORGOT THE BABY!” Josuke yelled into the microphone, causing Koichi to panic a bit.

 “WHAT?” Koichi yelled back, holding the phone further away from his ear because of how loud Josuke was being.

 “HE FORGOT THE BABY!!”

 “Josuke you're going to need to explain,” Koichi said, hoping that it was a joke of some sort.

 “Okay so you know how my dad left yesterday?”

 “Ye-”

 “WELL HE FORGOT THE BABY!!” Josuke yelled once again, the distress he was feeling very evident in his voice. Koichi knew this must’ve been somewhat legitimate considering Josuke was a terrible actor.

 “Josuke I….. what baby? There’s a baby?” Koichi asked with just as much confusion in his voice as distress in Josuke’s.

 “Oh my god I never told you about the baby!! So like two months ago when my old man first got here we found an invisible baby and we named her Shizuka and he was supposed to take her with him but he didn’t and now I have a baby to take care of and I don’t know what to do and I-” Josuke rambled frantically, holding Shizuka in one arm and his phone in the other.

 “Okay calm down, I’m sure everything will be fine. Maybe just tell your mother that he left the baby and she can call him up? I’m sure he wouldn't mind buying another boat ticket.” Koichi replied calmly before realizing something. “Wait, she’s invisible? How did you find her then? Is she a Stand user?”

 “I mean, probably? All I know is that there is a crying baby in my arms and if it keeps crying it’s going to turn my arms invisible and I kind of need to see those. And my mother definitely won’t believe that my dad left an invisible baby here. Besides I’m pretty sure she’ll start breaking down if I even mention him.” Josuke sighed, gently rocking Shizuka back and forth. Or at least what he thought was gently.

 “Wait, she turns things around her invisible too? Oh god that can’t be good. Try and figure out why she’s crying and then take care of it. I can probably come over and help you if you want, I have a little bit of experience babysitting. But you should probably find a way to contact your dad so that we don’t have to deal with an invisible baby forever.” Koichi’s motherly instincts were becoming more and more apparent now that there was an actual baby involved, especially considering he didn’t trust Josuke to handle a baby all by himself.

 “I think she’s tired but she won’t go to sleep. I have her some NyQuil but I think that just made it wor-”

 “You gave the BABY NyQuil??? Okay I’m coming over to your house because I do NOT trust you with this baby.” Koichi was so incredibly worried for the well being of the poor baby at this point.

 “I mean yeah.. now that I think about it that was probably a bad idea. And please do, it’s been crying for like 20 minutes,” Josuke pleaded, causing Koichi to hang up the call and get ready to leave the house as soon as possible. It also didn’t help his worries that Josuke referred to the baby as ‘it.’ After somehow convincing his mother that he was going over to Josuke’s house to study, he practically ran out the door to make sure Josuke hadn’t murdered the baby already. He knocked on the door frantically and was created by a confused yet excited Tomoko who had no idea about the situation unfolding upstairs. Tomoko started to have a conversation with Koichi, which although he appreciated it, was the opposite of what he wanted to do right now. He tried to rush it as much as possible without seeming rude, and practically ran upstairs once it was over with. He opened the door a bit too quickly, causing Shizuka to stir a bit and start crying louder. That wasn’t his biggest concern though; his biggest concern was the fact that Josuke had given the baby to Crazy Diamond and Crazy Diamond was rocking the baby with way more force than necessary. “Oh thank god you’re here, it’s crying and I don’t know what to do.”

 “Just.. just give me the baby. Also you better be paying me for this,” Koichi mumbled as he took the baby out of Crazy Diamond’s arms. He tensed up for a second before remembering how he used to rock the babies he had to babysit. All of his attention was on carefully rocking Shizuka back and forth, and it seemed to calm her down a lot. Although the makeup on her face had heavily faded Koichi could still make out her expression, and she seemed to be a bit happy. She was still crying though, and Koichi could tell she needed something. “Have you fed her today? That might be why she’s crying,” Koichi asked, looking up at Josuke with a slight frown. This night was going to be fun.

 “I fed her a little bit earlier but then she vomited all over me and started screaming again. But that’s a good idea, I’ll go get some food for her.” Koichi was very worried about whatever Josuke was about to bring as food for Shizuka, but he didn’t feel like asking. After all he couldn’t be that stupid, right? Well he did try to give her NyQuil so I guess he could be that stupid. He continued gently rocking Shizuka, making sure to maintain a gentle yet steady rhythm. The smile on her face led to a smile on Koichi’s face, which was only helped when she gently grabbed onto Koichi’s sweater. He had no idea why he was so good with kids considering he only babysat a handful of times, all he knew is that he was thankful for it. As he heard the door open Koichi prepared for disappointment but was pleasantly surprised when Josuke brought up actual baby food, a few napkins, and a bottle full of a red liquid of some sort. “We don’t have milk but I read somewhere that you can give babies fruit juice as long as they’re over a month old. Hopefully it’s fruit juice anyway, it didn’t have a label on it. Oh and I brought some napkins in case she throws up again,” Josuke said as he sat down on the bed next to Koichi.

 Koichi was more than willing to take the small risk that he was feeding her blood to make sure that Shizuka had something to drink. Everything was going well… too well. But he tried not to think about that. “Oh wow, thank you so much! I was half expecting you to bring me like wine or something,” Koichi replied, wishing that he was joking. He took the bottle from Josuke’s hands and shifted the way he held Shizuka slightly so that he could feed her more easily. Koichi slowly handed her the bottle, which caused her eyes to light up and for her to immediately start drinking. Thinking he did something right, Koichi smiled and looked up at Josuke before hearing sounds of vomiting and seeing bits of red splattered all over his sweatshirt. Goddamnit. As he reached up to grab some of the napkins that Josuke had brought, Koichi realized that he was laughing way, way harder than he should’ve been. “Hey shut up, at least I’m actually taking care of      your     baby,” Koichi mumbled as he took the napkins and cleaned the spit up off of his hoodie. After that was taken care of he grabbed the container of baby food and opened it up, relieved to see that it had a small spoon on the side of it so he didn’t have to make Josuke run more errands for him. He opened up the container way more carefully then he needed to and grabbed a spoonful of the yellow mush. To Koichi’s relief Shizuka eagerly ate every spoonful she was given and didn’t throw it up this time. She got through the entire container of baby food relatively quickly and it made Koichi feel incredibly accomplished. She also wasn’t crying anymore and had a huge adorable smile stretched out across her face, so it was clear that her hunger was the reason she was upset. Shizuka once again clung to Koichi’s (now stained with red) sweatshirt and mumbled something incoherent. He figured this meant that she was tired so he glanced around Josuke’s room for a blanket, but what happened next was certainly not what he was expecting.

 “Mama!!” She said between small fits of giggles, her grip on Koichi tightening slightly. He gasped with both excitement and confusion as Josuke started going hysterical. “Mmaama!” She cooed once again, making as close to eye contact as someone invisible could make with Koichi.

 “W- I- has she ever spoken before this??” Koichi asked frantically as he realized that he was now the mother of an invisible baby that he met 15 minutes ago. Though thinking about it more he didn’t really mind it for the time being.

 “No she hasn’t! She’s never even called me that and I’ve had that thing for way longer. Bitch.” Josuke clearly looked angry about this and it made Koichi laugh a bit.

 “Well I didn’t give her NyQuil and actually fed her. Maybe if you take her for a bit she’ll warm up to you.” He attempted to pry Shizuka’s hands off of his sweatshirt which proved to be way more difficult than he thought. Once he did though, she seemed to go into Josuke’s arms with ease. Josuke’s eyes lit up as the baby was shifted into his hands, panicking a bit before remembering the rhythm that Koichi had kept while rocking her. He did that for quite some time until Shizuka seemed just as comfortable and happy as she was in her ‘mom’s’ arms. After a while, her eyes closed and she started to drift off to sleep. “M..ama..” she mumbled softly as she snuggled closer into Josuke’s arms. He tried his very best to hold back a laugh so he wouldn’t wake her up, but he couldn’t help it. Luckily Shizuka seemed to be a heavy sleeper and it didn’t bother her too much.

 “Ha, we’re both her moms! That’s gay,” Josuke said with far too much laughter following it. Koichi sighed once again, something he’d been accustomed to during his friendship with Josuke.

 “Yeah shut up, let���s find a place to keep while she sleeps.” Koichi’s eyes darted around Josuke’s room to find somewhere to keep her, eventually landing on a small basket in the corner. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable thing, but they didn’t have many other options. He put one of Josuke’s pillows into the basket along with a towel for a blanket and motioned for him to put Shizuka in it. He did, (actually being gentle for once) and she subconsciously snuggled up against the pillow. As they shared a relieved and happy glance with each other, they started to think about what else they should do considering it was only about 6pm.

 “Wanna play F-Mega? I just unlocked some secret tracks?”

 “Sure!”

 Being a lesbian mother to an invisible baby was certainly not the way Koichi expected the summer to end, but he should have known that nothing is expected in Morioh.

[deiacontraria]

i wasn’t planning on discussing books i read in here since i mostly just reblog stuff but now that my side-blog is basically pointless, i suppose i might as well

okay so anyway poppy wars was great and i’m now unreasonably hyped for the third one?

i’ve literally never done reviews/opinions before like this, so i’m just gonna put it under the line because spoilers in case anyone sees this, although admittedly I’m mostly gonna comment on characters

like, i’m pretty sure this isn’t even a review, just me gushing over how i liked the books and then ranting about colonialism (yeah, I can’t seem to avoid that)

oh yeah trigger warning: colonialism, drugs (this is the poppy wars)

Rin was, at times, a bit annoying, especially since she seemed to have tunnel-vision about who she thought was in the right. I guess the whole militarization of the students (and later the shamans) is the whole point of that line, but I was glad to see her finally grow out of it.

Altan was so angry and yeah he was a victim but even Rin herself admits it was such a terrible idea to get hung up over him. Not to mention freeing Feylen turned out to be such a hilariously terrible idea.

Speaking of Feylen, he isn’t even a central character but arguably one of my favorites because a) I really want to know if all shamans are still “in there”, maybe to the degree they could potentially be killed or freed, and b) because I thought of this quote while reading one of the scenes and laughed way too much.

Though the wind blows, the mountain does not move.

This quote is completely unrelated and I’m actually not sure where it’s from (if anyone knows the complete/cited one, please let me know because I can’t find it :c), but the point is, Feylen is basically possessed by an evil Wind God and not once but twice he gets taken out by literal mountains. In the backstory he was immured after he lost control and now a mountain gets thrown on top of him. I mean, I feel super bad for the guy, but lol. This isn’t even that funny but I laughed way too much at the thought.

Venka’s storyline was just tragic and I hope she gets to kill a lot of idiots.

Kitay was uh, surprisingly better in Book 2? He went from being super book-focused to still being super book-focused but also being more willing to take risks. Aside from Chaghan tricking him into thinking actual horse pee was part of that ritual and he actually drunk it and oh god that scene hurt even if Chaghan admitting he’d lied was hilarious. The fact that he originally didn’t even want to be related to war and now he’s even willing to bear the pain of Rin’s Phoenix powers really sealed it for me. Anyway RIP Niang

Changhan was awesome in general and please tell me I’m not the only one who thinks he had a thing for Altan.

Not saying Chaghan had a thing for Altan but hey guys I think Chaghan had a thing for Altan.

What’s happened to literally every character sucks, yeah, so in theory all their growth has been out of necessity, but they didn’t give up and after book 2 I really REALLY hope they get the resolution they deserve in the end. War sucks and so does colonialism (but more on that later)

Nezha was uh, a surprise but not really? Since Enki(?) had already accused him of being a shaman back in book 1. He seems adamant that he isn’t a shaman and he actually seems to have the cannot-be-killed factor that lost shamans like Feylen also have so, uh? He has the power of a god (actually a dragon ._.) but it does seem to work a bit differently. Also yeah Rin, he’s a coward. Don’t get me wrong, I did ship Rin+Nezha throughout the book, but THE AUDACITY. Kitay did say he had been acting weird since when he saved Rin (and Rin basically drugged him til he passed out), so I kinda hope he was just losing control to his god as opposed to just being an ***, especially since he lets them go in the end.

Also lol at Rin accusing Nezha of being a shaman after she’s captured and the inquisitors (yes I’m going to call them that) being like ????? because Nezha’s father is hiding it. I do agree with Rin though, his father would have 100% intentionally left Nezha at the mercy of the dragon just for the sake of having power.

Anyway! War! Sudden southern rebellion! I really hope they win. Against the colonizers. I honestly can’t even read some of those scenes. There’s really firm church parallel in there. They worship the Maker and hate Chaos. Uh, sound familiar? Yeah. Except shamans are Chaos and it’s perfectly justified to torture/kill them! (/s, for the record) .Yeah... the Hesparians (honestly not even sure if I spelled that right because, as I said, I could barely read those scenes) are objectively terrible manipulators and I really really dislike them, to not use harsher words. Like. Seriously. The Poppy Wars. *sigh* OF COURSE it was going to turn out to be colonialism. This hurt.

In any case, if there’s anything I hope, it’s that they eventually figure out how to actually get rid of the immortal god vessels. We don’t see the others that lost control but seeing Feylen, who’s clearly still conscious and occasionally trying to struggle, basically doomed to eternity of being stuck because their god is too dangerous but also incapable of dying. Just eeeee somebody save these people. Or at least find a way to kill them.

TL;DR Poppy Wars was awesome but colonialism makes me sad (obviously not the story’s fault lol) and for some reason I’m apparently obsessed with Feylen

[yarti]

[ Fanar ] - [The Carriage of Life ]

Click anywhere for Imgur link with full set and captions.

Story Below:

"Three days yet by foot. We probably should have taken a carriage. This road is a fair bit less scenic than most we've put behind us."

I took a puff from my pipe, eyes set far out into the fields for even in that vastness, I knew precisely where to look.

"Unless horse and carriage were to leap out from behind a boulder, we'd best grow accustomed to walking."

Gili strode ahead of me, darting behind a roadside stone. "It could happen. A carriage, that is. It could? Could it not? More perplexing things have happened." She yelled, skipping to the next largest rock and peering behind it. "No horse here!"

It had became something of a game. A way to pass the time on such a walk. We had long-since exhausted the easy conversations. "Things that were and those yet to be." We had discussed those at-length. We neared Blackmore, but would not stray that far south just yet. Our path was to be a more direct one. The lights of Whiterun could be seen on the horizon on those darker nights. As fireflies over distant fields, signs above, ever honest, or the freckles on her then wind-whipped cheeks. It was just a matter of closing the distance.

The day we left town, Gili took it upon herself to part with some of her hair. I offered to trim it for her, but she is as thickheaded as ever. With one wrong snip of her scissors, half of her hair was gone in an instant. What remained hung off to one side, nearly covering an eye. Distracting at times, I'm certain, but it fit her. This style was something of a rebellious look. Not quite the image she had wished to project. She often worried that Mother and Father would disapprove of her in one way or another, her new hairstyle being another worry to add to the list. Each day brought about another worry. At times I wondered if I should have kept our destination a secret. We had discussed it earlier that morning in fact. "They are good folk, as good as they come. Once they see that you are likewise good company, they will welcome you with open arms. Father will be easy to win over, just be yourself. He is a man of Mara, a family man despite his work. You will see a great deal of me in him. Mother will be difficult. We can only hope that she will be too busy with Fiolette to give you much ire. Though, if she were to turn her wrath on you, I could do little to help. Especially if Fannah has visited or been in touch lately. Fannah thinks you to be a witch. That you've bewitched me and that this journey is some complex nefarious plot." I let out a hearty chuckle then shut my eyes as warm memories flowed over me. "They certainly have a..." I stopped myself to have another draw of the elves ears. "Most peculiar view of women." I burst out, half between a cough and a laugh. Far from a new topic, this. She knew to expect interrogation, harsh words, perhaps harsher looks. But I assured her, she would warm up to her. She had my word on that.

Boredom begat boredom, the long road tiring and draining. Sore soles and pained souls, with every step, I felt my tone grew more annoyed and hers more desperate for stimulation. She never stops talking. At times, quiet can do a man good. I can see why Father would set aside time for mead or the lake. Idle-chatter and stress do not play well with budding relationships. Rather than have one of us eventually lose our temper, I elected that we surrender to the road. A serious campsite would be fine medicine. We set up camp at the nearest opportunity, a Nordic ruin, or what was left of one. No interior to speak of but flat stone floors would do plenty. The following two days were spent in camp. We found much time to mend body and soul, and time aside to write. It was good to put quill to paper and get some of this off of my chest. The result became a letter to Fannah. As much distaste as I may seem to have for Gili on paper, in truth, I do love her. Most dearly. I would have her no other way.

The next night, we were beset upon by the most terrible of storms. The heavens would glow like the broad of day for but a moment, then crash into blackest night. I feared the wind might carry Gili away if not for the urgency with which her fingers dug into my cloak and about my arm. She looked to my grimacing face as the sharp beads pelted my jaw and brow, hair drenched and dripping beneath a hood long darkened by the downpour. She would find no solace there, so my cloak and embrace would have to suffice. My hood did little more than dull the wet arrows as they came swift and many from all directions. The road was likened to a warzone with us in the crossfire.

The flashes of lightning silhouetted a high house, a manor just off the road. These were empty lands, naught more than fields barren and unkempt road. A house was a welcome sight, be it owned or abandoned. I envisioned a porch or awning above the doorway, the mere thought of it made me smile. If it were abandoned, we would make it our own until the storm passed. Lay out a bedroll and enjoy our time while the world above poured itself dry. If it were owned by unsavory folk, even the briefest respite under an awning would have done well to soothe our troubles. Best yet, I envisioned us met with the open arms of some kind strangers, an elderly couple. An old Nord lady, clutching at her shawl, lurching around the barely-opened door, extending a rusted lantern to illuminate our downtrodden faces. The relief on those faces as she welcomed us inside to warm ourselves by the fire and partake of a meal far past dinner-time. At the dinner table we would meet her husband, a Dunmer noble, a face untouched by his years but obviously of similar age to his mate. The table was long with many chairs. They would regale us of their sire, little ones come and gone and of their adventures in places and ages long since passed. Gili and I would sit together, my arm across her shoulder, listening to their tales until the coming morn. I shook myself from my thoughts, only to find Gili peaking at me from beneath her hood. She nodded, acknowledging my daydreaming or nightdreaming as it were and nestled against my chest. Knowing her as I do, we likely shared that dream. The amulet of Mara around her neck jingled loudly as we quickened our pace.

In an hour's time, we came upon the once-majestic outline of our shelter to-be. Rotted and disheveled, a shade of what it may once have been. I cleared my throat and stepped up to the door, a hand curling into a loose fist. It rose then fell upon the door softly as Gili brought about some light. Far too soft, given the intensity of the storm. "Louder." She urged with her palm on my back. My fist rose again, this time coming down much harder. The door boomed and splintered, echoing through what lay beyond it.

"Hello?" I called out. "I know it is dreadfully late, but this storm. It came out of nowhere and nearly blew us away." Gili added, with hardened voice.

Aside from the storm and our sighs, we were met with silence. Again, harder still, a fist met the door. With that, the bolt gave way, allowing the door to roll open. It squealed on hinges long since oiled as a cloud of dust struck our faces. Inside, a long dark abyss.

"Is there anyone inside?"

No reply. Wind howled through the doorway, slicing at our exposed faces and hands. The house snored like a long-slumbered beast. "We're coming inside." Once inside, we tried to fasten the door behind us but the lock had crumbled from the impact. Gili held it shut by light of palm then inched a small table in front of it to keep the storm out.

"Well, either our hosts are sound sleepers, or the house is to be ours." she mumbled, following me into the unknown.

Hastily, we cleared each room, settling into a comfortable bedroom once all was deemed safe. A fireplace, some wine. There will of course be no written record of our private time, it was intended to be ours and ours alone but someone felt otherwise. In the midst of it all, a peculiar sound caught my long ears. I grew still, listening. Eyes scouting the room between hush breaths. On the other side of the door, boards bowed under the strain of someone or something. I rose and eased my way over, wrapping a sheet around my bareness. Taking sword, my crimson eyes seared through the slit of the door, scanning low to high. Without moment's notice, I drove the sword through the door to it's hilt. A curdled cry, like that of a dying animal, it shrieked then bolted down the hall. The sword groaned sickly as I pulled it from it's splintered sheathe, blackened blood clinging to the edge. "Vampire", I whispered, taking Gili by the hand. We burst through the door, sliding to a stop in the slickness behind it.

The path of upturned tables and clutter lead through halls we had already cleared, with a blood trail ending at the opening to a once-lit room. The monster had snuffed out the candles. I pointed to a candle, my voice but a notion in the air. "Berne." In the mists and moonlight beaming through those stained glass windows, we could make out a figure just head and above and to our right, a shuffling high along the cathedral wall. The hiss of a beast on the attack. Before Gili could turn toward the sound, I had already smote it with fire. A cloaked figure howled and fell to the floor, writhing as another stirred at our backs. I spun, giving it unto the flames likewise. As they passed, the hall fell silent but for the pains of the now lone figure.

"I apologize for your comrades, but I know what you are. Berne. By holding to the shadows, they left me no choice. I could not risk it. But you. You may have intruded on our intimacies, but you have yet made no move. Am I assume that you are to be civil? " I lowered my sword and quelled the warmth in my palm.

The monster fidgeted just out of the light but said naught. It turned to face us slowly. A flowing dark robe, a thin and tall man. Beneath his hood, two hot coals surrounded by pitch black paint. Paint flowed like waterfalls from his eye sockets, down his cheeks and out from his mouth like bile. Where paint lied not, his skin was as old milk, leaning toward the green hue of decay, he clutched at his wound and stared on. Black lips firmly shut.

Gili brushed past me. "Is this your home? You have surely heard this storm and I pray that you had not the misfortune of being caught out in it. We came inside to take shelter from it, not to disturb you and your ilk."

Putting myself between her and the Berne, I began again.

"Regardless, I am in no mood to fight further." I sighed, leaning against a nearby pew.

"Must you feed or perish tonight? Look to your clan." I gestured toward those that still sizzled in the dark.

"Can there be no third option? What if we come to an agreement. You let us be, we let you be. Tend to your wound, perhaps speak with us, if you are capable. I have need of information and perhaps you have what I seek. Come morn, we part ways. I ask only that you remember the mercy we would give you, and to give it in return in the future. Seek cure for that which ails you. It is an offer few would extend." In the soft moonglow, a smile raced across my cheeks, eyes shut to envision the words.

"I see a future in which we may again cross paths. A bright summer day. I with my wife, children in tow. I introduce you to little ones as an acquaintance from some near-forgotten night. Friends. Living Man and living Mer sharing a handshake, with warm palms under warm skies. This life will be but a nightmare eagerly forgotten. This could very-well be. Can you see it so clearly as I?"

"Thank you", the cloaked figure groaned.

"Ah, I feared you too far gone for speech. Honor my words, friend. Tell me, what brings three Berne to Skyrim?"

The monster trudged over to one of his fallen companions, kneeling before it as he spoke. His voice was deep, Cyrodyllic, with the accent of native Dunmer. It was obvious that he had not spoken in common tongue for quite some time. Centuries perhaps.

"There is no place for ours in Morrowind. Others make public their takings and if they find one of us, we are taken as well. Blame falls on ours. Every street, every home, every eye seeks ours. Suspicious," he hissed the word. "Suspicious glances and suspicious thoughts. We were chased from our homes and now we go hungry." The word "hungry" trailed off, the depths from which he pulled the word gave truth to it.

"And why so far west, if I may?"

"They are here too. It is hard to seek prey as prey."

"Yours have been growing in number as of late. I came across a band of Aundae some weeks ago. In Solitude itself no less. A regrettable meeting. A couple, I assumed. I slew them, then laid them together under Mara. I thought it the right thing to do." Pausing, I peered down to my feet in condolence.

"Regrettable" the Berne whispered, turning his attention to the other comrade.

"Who are these others?" I chimed in.

"They are as us, but not of us. They are like..." He paused, seemingly searching for the proper term. "Dwemeri, but in our skin. Brass bones."

"We came across one of those. You speak true, friend." I hesitated, unsure how much I should share with a stranger. Grandfather was always careful to speak of him, as though mere mention could bring him back.

"I thought them to be of Assut, or rather, leftovers of his plights. Perhaps imitations of it? Mingling Dwemeri machinations with illusion was his craft. Though that all ended some time ago as far as I know. My grandfather had many a dealing with him. Do you know the name?"

The thing fell hush, pondering deeply.

"No."

Not of Assut. An imitator then. Certainly Grandfather will know more. Knowing him, I doubt he has sat idle these long years. If Assut still lives, I can be certain that he knows his whereabouts by now. My thoughts turned to the owners of this manor.

"Did you kill the owners of this fine house or were you likewise uninvited guests?"

"I do not kill. I feed on cattle, not kill. I have not killed since before. Before this life." He gestured to his still-bleeding chest as he spoke. "My brothers, they found this place and sent for the rest. We were to stay here. They may have killed the owners. I do not know. They cannot speak as I."

"Could not, speak as I." The Berne corrected himself.

The conversation slowed to a crawl. The three of us sat in near-silence, Gili traced her fingers through my hair as she often does, coming to rest upon my chiseled brow. At once her fingers stopped, suspicious. "Is something the matter?"

She fired off with one of her spur of the moment questions. "Do Dunmer men always have such a brow? Or is it because of your father? Not the ridge, yours is not too noticeable. But the sheer size of it. You have a massive forehead. Muscular, bulbous even. I have not had many dealing with your kind, much less had them at my fingertips. So I am genuinely curious." As the words left her mouth, she recoiled. I suppose she thought I would be offended by her choice of words, though no harm was done. I was well accustomed and enamored by to her to-the-point word choice.

"Hmm."

I drew long of mind, eyes shut, lost to all but myself. The good, the bad. I swam through the waters of my life in search of a related story. Finding the words, I spoke loudly enough that our guest could hear.

"In days long past, as golden days lay at my back heel and new horizons at my toes. As twins grew into their own. Near-mirrored forms twisted by the peculiarities of this world The fairer side of the coin, my sister, she grew into her beauties, elegant and graceful as the night. But I? I tumbled awkwardly into lanky ruggedness. Adulthood is rough on Dunmer men. As children, we are much alike in face and form. Our brows are light, though heavier than you would see on a Nord child, certainly. But as boys become men, our features diverge so heavily. The blood of my Father and Grandfather made my awkward years a bit more awkward in comparison, I am sure, as I so swiftly grew muscular and bold featured. Forested, top to bottom. The body of a true Nord. I shed my childhood like a cocoon. Sparring had left me lean but toned. My face long, chin and brow more prominent. The jaws and nose of my Father, as though you had molded the likeness by hand."

Her question answered, I saw fit to stop there, but my thoughts would not yield.

"We had lived a sheltered life, Fannah and I. Though we had traveled with our parents on many occasions and received an education fit for kings or queens, we were kept well out of danger. Blind to the more interesting parts of the world. Now for an ordinary Dunmer, he might be content to stay at home, enjoy childhood until it's true end, until work, love, or power finds him and whisks him away. But a Dunmer with Nord blood burning strong in his veins, it was not for me. I left home at twelve or perhaps thirteen. At first, visits were quite common. I would spend more time at home than on the road, but over time, I came to crave that road. Every second spent idle felt as though I was wasting away. In those days the bulk of my journeys lead to simple odd jobs, being of use in whatever way that I could. Be that farm work, errands, courier work, or things even more mundane. Then, as now, I rarely take pay unless forced upon me. A warm meal and place to sleep for the night, those are just rewards. A man's coin is his own, I will not deprive him of it. One thing lead to another and I became something of a local monster hunter. Not a full fledged mercenary or bountyman by any means, but I felled many a troll or intruding sabrecat. I knew of my fathers trade and saw that as my likely conclusion, my path was his. This was in the budding days of Fannah's devotion of Mara. She would often accompany me and could more than hold her own as well. The benefits of being a Snakestone did not fall to me alone. She is every bit as capable as I, just in a smaller, feistier package."

My grin slowly crumbled away, leaving a solemn frown.

"By sixteen, I had killed my first man. A Bosmer bandit. I did not take it well. At times I wake to the sounds of the battle, some seven or eight years later. For a time, I carried his hammer with me. It felt right. When my sword heft him nearly in twain, there was no thought of justice, no thought of success. I felt as though I had failed him. There should always be another option. I grieved for him. For a family he could have had or left behind, for a life he could have had if he had been on a different path. I should not have been the one to give finality to his situation. I found tht in all aspects of life, there is a lesson to be learned. If I need kill, I had best take something from it. Let that life not go in waste. If I was more persuasive, perhaps I could have talked him down. Made him atone for his ill deeds, face prison and come out a better man. I am no perfect man, nor would I ever claim to be, but I am aware of my deeds and their consequences. The what-ifs. He was the first, but he was not the last. I have tried to do things the right way but still, there is a line of ghosts at my back. Two more added this very night. They are with me. But this is not the story for today."

With the final word, I settled back against Gili's bosom and began the actual tale.

"I see myself in Dawnstar, as a painting behind my eyes. Fall of the same year I believe. Near sunset, I sought refuge from a dreadful storm. With the passing of this great storm, a beast rose from the northern waters and slowly crept upshore. A Grahl. Washed up from the northern lands I presumed. Be in in search of food or new territory, it had chosen a poor path. Cries from the shore had shaken me from a daydream. I stepped outside just in time to see the haggard form pierce the waves. It stood five men tall with tusks like spears, no, like masts. From matted white hair dripped ocean brine and foam, and from his three-clawed hands came death for any that may cross him. The fishermen fled and lawmen shuffled about in fear. With little hesitation, I darted up the hill and stared down at it. Palms aglow, I loosed a single fireball. The impact knocked him clear off of his feet and with a mighty splash he fell back-first into the tide. As he rose, angered but unharmed, his claws gave chase. Slicing the sand as my sword so did to his flesh. At the end of my lunge, the blade carved out a chunk of his thumb. It cut true and he bled into the foam. On scurrying feet I rounded his back, leaping as I lobbed another fireball at his feet. He roared and looked down at me as though I were an ant to be crushed. A bellowing cry shook the shoreline but I had no fear. He moved clumsily through the soft clay just off shore, his weight was too much for it I imagined. Seeing this, I fled into the waves myself, with a steady stream of flames ensuring that he would give chase. And so he did, and in doing so, lodged himself in the soft clay. Dodging a blow, I took hold of his gnarled fingers and hoisted myself atop them. Darting from muscle to muscle, gripping his white fur to steady myself, I moved ever higher. Until I could see a many-veined neck beneath that dripping beard. With each beat of his gargantuan heart, his neck pulsated. I had found my target. I drove the sword into the hump of his back, sending him reeling. His hulking mass fell back, exposing his engorged neck. At once I leapt from atop his back, mind racing, my perception of time came to a halt. I recall my breath, the beat of my heart dwarfed by the beat of his. The crash of waves. I found footing atop his breast and with precision, made my cut. With a torrent of blue blood, he tumbled into the mud, throwing me clear onto the shoreline. There was no cheering crowd, no boons, no feeling of greatness. I stood just off to the side, warming my hands by magick as blue blood trickled down my brow and fell from my hair. Wiping it away, I think this was the first time that I took notice of how my face had changed. This is the moment that had wormed it's way into my mind. I looked into that pearly water. Peering deep and long into my reflection, taking note of my features. As my face had grown long, forehead bulbous, the eyes were the same. In my eyes, I was the same boy that once cowered from levitating rats or mudcrabs. Now a man, felling mountains in the name of greater good. I again felt great regret in what I had done. The world is without one Grahl, and in it's place, perhaps tens of people are yet still living. Most would consider that a worthwhile trade. But the world is still without that Grahl. It continues on giving it not a thought. As it is to continue on without these two." I gestured to the fallen Berne. "As it would continue on without you." An ashen finger darted toward our guest. "As it would continue on without I, or mine. Not every life lost is taken, but in situations like these, it falls upon each of us to decide who stays on this carriage and who shall disembark early.

"If I had been more knowledgeable of Grahl back then, perhaps I could have lead it away. They have their likes or dislikes as do we all. For every beast there is a working lure. And by all of the gods above, he is a heavy beast. Now that you've been introduced to him, perhaps the both of you could help me carry him?

My tale finished, I searched his hooded face for a sign that I had struck a cord, though found none. We spent the better part of the next hour diving from one subject to another. It was pleasant conversation, considering the guest. Shortly before morning, we retreated to our room to reconvene and find some rest before the long road. With sunrise, we found the house empty. Our acquaintance had fled, taken his fallen with him, and held true to his word.

"May he find his way."

I was quiet the next few days. Lost in thought as is to be expected of me. Gili probed for answers and feelings but received little reply. I felt sorry for her, to see her try so hard, only to be met by this wall. I found peace in my pipe, mind and in our closeness, as one-sided as it were. Quiet days make for boring days and no amount of endless chatter on her part could sway the mood. Before long, roadside rocks again became the center of attention.

To our left, she spotted a large boulder. "The game continues", she mouthed the words. With amber eye glued to the far edge of it as we made our way past, the sudden neigh of the horse startled her. Behind the stone sat a horse and carriage, as though she had willed them into existence. "Oh ello there." A voice beckoned from its backside. A little man stepped into view and tossed an overflowing sack of mushrooms into the back. "I never thought to bump into anybody else out here. Where ya heading?"

With rested feet, the following day passed quickly and as I put this quill to paper, the family homestead has came into view. As majestic a sight as ever. We near the end of this ride, with another to soon begin. My thoughts collected, I opened up. With but minutes left on the road, I gave Gili a brief lesson on the varieties of vampire and how best to deal with each. How one could likely discern the clan within seconds as they all behave differently. I spoke more of my Grandfather and of Assut. Of stories that Grandfather had told Fannah and I, and of where and how we met him. How as a boy, my extended family was scattered across Skryim and Morrowind. How under the grace of Mara, acquaintances from long forgotten days were rejoined in the end. Of the paths that brought us together, and of our long journey home.

[celestialarcana]

Kingdom by the Sea

Summary: Lucio has been living under his newly assumed name for almost a year now, living the life of a mercenary and traveling through the world hunting down and fighting whoever he needed to. He originally balks at prospect of taking a break to visit a secluded town for some festival, but upon arriving into town his attitude quickly changes.

 A young woman captures his attention, and he decides quickly that maybe coming here was a good idea.

(Beginning of “Origin” Story for my Fan Apprentice)

Lucio had cheered dramatically for everyone to hear when the leader of the band of mercenaries he had recently joined announced that they were riding out. The prospect of another fight sent chills down his spine and his mind began to race with all of the different areas they could be heading to and of the bounty they would receive for their prowess in battle. The instant that the woman had declared that they were going towards the sea to attend a festival in the town of Izar instead he groaned with just as much emphasis, completely let down and frankly annoyed by what she had said.

He was tired of sitting around and effectively doing nothing, and heading to a small town for some annual festival where they paid respects to some god or goddess or being didn’t interest him in any way. He wasn’t exactly sensitive to the customs of others, especially since he knew that the deity that his clan existed and had immense power. But deep down Lucio knew that he wouldn’t be able to last more than a week in the region they were in without a band to join. He was vain and selfish but he wasn’t fully an idiot, he knew what he needed to do to survive.

As they rode on out, he listened in on the conversations the others were having. Some recalled memories of it the year prior or even further, and he had to admit that hearing people express excitement at the prospect of returning piqued his interest. There were tales of dancing late into the night, of food and drink that seemed limitless, and beaches where the most sordid of activities took place. Festivals meant alcohol to drink, pockets to pick, and countless people looking for a quick screw. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Two days later they had arrived at the town, and Lucio was surprised at its location. At least a day’s ride from another city, they had created a sizable community off the beaten path. The troop had ridden through bare plains, weaved through dense forests, and after navigating down some steep switchbacks they had arrived at a clearing a quarter mile away from the town. The field was empty, but their leader had smiled happily, declaring they had gotten the best spot as others wouldn’t start coming in for the next few days.

While the festival would last nearly a week, she explained that it was best to get there in advance to stock up on anything they might need before the crowds overran them. The energy through the air was palpable, but the woman was adamant that they not overrun the town and most importantly that they were on their best behavior. She warned that she wouldn’t hesitate to strike down anyone who threatened her relationship with the town leaders, and everyone knew she was serious.

It was only Lucio who stood in the back and rolled his eyes as she gave her speech. He wasn’t going to listen to her ‘meaningless’ warnings, and ‘empty’ threats; he was determined to have the most uproarious time after the toil of fighting for the past three weeks. Setting up his tent and his tent alone quickly, he waited until everyone started working on other things and sneaked off towards the town, ready to get the party started. As he walked towards the town he couldn’t help but notice that it was a steep climb to get towards it, something that would make it hard to attack in battle. As he continued his ascent he regretted not bringing his horse, but as the noise grew and the smell of the sea became stronger his excitement grew.

Finally making his way to the top of the hill he looked down upon the town and couldn’t help but be impressed. It was much larger than he expected, built into the cliff as it curved down towards the bay and towards the beach that he couldn’t see but knew had to be there. The road was made of cobblestone, smooth pieces of rock that were polished by their time in the sea and the buildings sturdy, made of a strong wood and with intricate and delicate detailing. He didn’t care for that part, but he couldn’t help but wonder what type of people lived there. He heard voices speak in a language he only knew a few words of but he didn’t care and pushed forward, making his way down to what he assumed would be the center of the city.

The multiple stalls and people bustling around proved his suspicion. People were setting up booths, decorating them with driftwood and rocks, shells of all kinds. They speckled the posts, hung from mobiles, and fishing net was being used to create barriers from some to ward off people from approaching from the sides. In the center was a huge pool of water, clear and pristine in its simple circle although a bit boring but Lucio scanned the grounds, wondering what he should approach first. The people setting up a food stand? No, there wouldn’t be any anyways. One of the booths had that several boxes around it to pilfer through? Too many people busy with those objects to risk it. He decided to continued to through the town and find a place where he could eat and begin his drinking and flirtation but in the midst of one final scan he froze.

At one of the booths stood a young woman, tall, maybe just a fraction above him, and lithe and with a smile unlike any he had seen in months. She was talking animatedly with the older woman manning it, leaning onto the table and gesturing widely as she pointed to whatever was behind the counter and beckoning it towards her. He stood still where he was and watched her like a hawk, taking in her every move. She was elegant in her gestures but there was a certain wildness to her, a freedom in her expression and movements that made her entirely unusual compared to the companions he had over the past year.

He was surprised by how drawn to her he was, to be honest. Her brown hair was wavy from the by the constant breeze of the sea and salt from the water and fell past her shoulders, random golden highlights from time spent in the sun spread throughout it. She had appeared thin from further away, and while he noticed that she was the closer he got he realized she had a fair build of muscle on her, legs long and strong. She was tanned from the constant sun but he could tell that she had to have been naturally pale by the slight burn on her shoulders that were left exposed. He couldn’t stop staring, he almost would have been embarrassed if he realized what he was doing.

But above all he couldn’t stop taking in the features of her face. He skirted around the various booths trying to stay out of sight as he took her in from every angle. Sharp cheekbones, a clear complexion, strong jawline, long and straight nose and lips he wanted to take between his. Her eyes seemed to draw him in, a deep shade of green vivid and vibrant like an emerald that someone had paid his boss in once. After months of dirty men, women, anyone just looking for a simple release, something to lower their stress from the constant fighting he found himself truly captured by what he saw in front of him.

The voice of his fellow mercenary rang in his head about abandoned beaches and his lips curled in delight as he imagined what the two of them could do.

She let out a laugh out of nowhere that he could finally hear as he now was directly across from her, looking at an empty stall. It was genuine and he could tell by her tone that she was delighted by whatever was happening, and when he turned to look at her she was handing over a bottle with something shimmery inside it as the other woman turned around and then returned with a large bundle of fresh lavender and a small bundle of driftwood. Taking a deep breath in of the calming flowers she smiled and gave a short wave before she picked up the driftwood and immediately took off and around the booth, Lucio’s view of her completely blocked.

Whipping around the booth to find her, his eyes widened in shock as he realized that she had disappeared in an instant. She had been walking off fast, but he hadn’t realized she was that quick and that he was left with no leads. Looking down at the ground he grumbled to his self before he snapped his fingers. She was obviously a local, the other woman was a local, the other woman could tell him where to find her.

Easy.

He approached the booth as smooth as he could, flashing his most charming grin to the woman as he could muster at that moment. He had heard a bit of their conversation- nothing he could understand but something he recognized from the region and gave a quick, “Hello,” his accent (aside from his looks) clearly giving away the fact he wasn’t from here.

The woman rose an eyebrow at him before tapping her chin and responding with a quick “Hello” of her own before asking, “Where are you from?” Lucio’s eyes widened as he tried to process what she said, his grasp of this language only at the barest of phrases or words, before she clucked her tongue and nodded. “South, yes? Snowy area?” she asked in his own language, her control of the language definitely at the beginner level as her grammar and accent was off but much better than his of theirs. “Ah, yes. You speak it?” he said, interest apparent as he leaned forward. “A little. Lots of visitors this time of year. You are early.” He wasn’t in the mood for chit chat but knew he’d have to keep it up to get to what he really wanted to ask. “Ah yes, I wanted to get a look at the town before the festival. Never been to this city before.” “Glad you visit! Can I help? Ah there it was. He smiled as he looked in the general direction that the other woman had walked off before turning back and asking, “The woman who was just here. Do you know where I could find her?” That question seemed to spark something in the woman and her face changed from opening to protective in an instant. “Why?” Lucio was taken aback by the lack of answer and the sharp tone the woman had asked and flustered. He couldn’t well just answer “She’s beautiful” or the more straight to the point “I want to sleep with her” and he threw on a tense smile. “I just would like to meet her. She bought a lot from you, I’d like to hear about your product.” “I can tell you,” she said, not budging an inch. She looked down to a child that Lucio hadn’t noticed sitting behind the counter playing with a mobile of sorts that mimicked the others around but unique in its own way. He eyed the kid who looked back to him and then his mother, nodding back to her as he started to deliberately prod at it and hold certain shells. “I’d like um, an unbiased review?” he finally attempted before the woman turned from him. “Leave her alone. She’ll be around,” she said as she shot a look over her shoulder that said “Get out” and Lucio turned heel immediately, cursing under his breath about how the woman barely knew his language as he walked away and looked down the street that she had taken off down leaving him in the dust. He groaned before his lips curled into a darker smile. He always loved a good hunt. It took him a little longer than he expected to track her down. He didn’t have much to go off of, just the smell of lavender and the tiny petals that had follow at random times through the journey and the occasional whiff of driftwood which, unfortunately for him, was heavily prevalent through the town. It wasn’t until he ended up at an alley where the scent grew stronger and he found a few strands long brown hair on the ground that he felt fully confident. After cutting through it he turned to the left and had to cover his eyes as the sun nearly blinded him. This street was shorter and led to an edge of the cliff that was fenced off, still leaving a view of the ocean uninhibited by any building. Right at the edge of that there was a two story house like the others, but a small sign hung above the door that had a simple design on it. He walked up and looked into the window to find various trinkets and bottles in there with a counter in the back and even more items resting on shelves behind it along with various cupboards of sorts. “A-poh-thee-car-y” he muttered as he tried to sound the word out, satisfied with his pronunciation even though he had absolutely no idea what it meant. Straightening his posture, he opened the door and swung it a tad more forcefully than he intended to, several chimes ringing out above his head as he stepped in and looked around. There were so many things in it that he couldn’t identify, and there was a strong smell of the sea coming in from the various open windows but he ignored those and looked directly to the purple that he caught in his eye. A bundle of lavender and driftwood sat on the counter and he smiled smugly. Bingo. As he stood there trying to guess what this store was a voice called out from the second story and down the stairs. “Be right there!” Ah, that voice was music to his ears, far unlike any he’d heard in months. Friendly, soft, bright… He was thrown out of his thoughts when he heard the first creak of the stairs and immediately leaned onto the counter in a pose that he knew accentuated his body, ready to turn on the charm despite the obvious language barrier. Body language was enough, a practiced smile usually got him what he wanted. When she finally made her way fully down and greeted him with a smile he had to clear his throat. She had changed, now in a more revealing loose white top in which one sleeve had dropped down her arm, leaving more of her neck and chest exposed especially since her hair had been pulled back into a loose braide. It wasn’t expected, and he openly checked her out as she looked at him. “Hello! How can I help you?” she said as she walked towards him and he just smiled and gestured around the shop. “Hello,” he got out, proud of how he sounded and her smile softened a bit as she moved behind the counter and dropped down behind it, a shuffling noise coming out before she stood up and placed a large map down on it. “Been expecting you,” she said as she unfurled it, and while he was confused she diverted his attention back down to it. He looked down at it as she tapped on a star on it in the location they were at. “My home,” she said before she pointed lower on the map, in the general area his tribe was from before she asked, “You?” Lucio nodded and pointed to the area that his family usually moved in and she clapped her hands once as she rolled up the map and put it away. “Thank you! Makes it easier when we can talk instead of gesture. And thankfully it’s something I know.” “What? You speak my language?” he asked, shocked by that simple fact and even more by how seemingly fluent she was, especially compared to the woman from before. Her accent wasn’t the strongest, but she knew the words and how they worked. “Yup! A decent amount of people from that area come up here, usually as mercenaries which you obviously are. Your language is so hard to learn though, I’m glad my mother taught me when I was young.” “You’ve known it a long time?” “Well, yah I guess. This festival has been going on decades, centuries, it’s the backbone of this town. People have been visiting a long time and so we’ve learned how to communicate. We had to.” “Wow,” was all he could say and she let out a small laugh at that. “A bit unusual for it to be spoken in this region, I know.” “Well, my language is one of the best. It’s beautiful, only the smartest know it.” He turned a bit pompous as he puffed his chest out, the opportunity to brag never escaping him. “It definitely is hard to learn,” she acquiesced. “Your language is nice too,” he said, going back to her as he tried again to flatter. “Different from anything I’ve heard. I could only get through a few basic words.” “It’s a pretty drastic jump from the region next to us to us. It’s like yours I guess, not many speak it outside of here, and we speak a really specific and old form of it.” “Old?” She shrugged once, her mouth lopsided as she did so. “People move away and it mixes with other languages and changes. We just try to preserve ours. I think it’s the same for you, you don’t use a lot of the grammar of the more settled areas. Were you nomads?” Lucio was incredibly uncomfortable by how much this woman was seemingly able to get from just a few shared words but he nodded. “We had our ancestral home to return to, but we spent a lot of time roaming.”

“That sounds amazing. I haven’t been out of the town too often, I would love to see more of the world. Don’t know if that’s possible for me that.” “It’s your life you know. You can do whatever you want, no one can hold you back besides yourself. That’s what I believe, no, know.” She laughed as she shook her head but one of the mobiles behind her started to sway and she let out a soft ‘ah’. Turning to it, she tapped one shell three times and another one twice. The more he looked at it he realized that it was a copy of the one that the annoying child had messed with before he left. After a moment she held onto the larger one and closed her eyes before she released it a second later and turned back to Lucio, a confused and slightly turned off look on his face. “What was that?” She shrugged again. “Town secret.” “You can’t tell me?” he asked, curiosity now taking over for anything else he was feeling as he leaned over and stared at the various mobiles intrigued. “Let’s just say I knew you were coming because of these.” “What does that mean?” he had raised his voice at that before he shut his mouth and averted his eyes, a small pout forming. She covered her hand with her mouth and giggled, entirely amused by the blush spreading across the face of this Southerner who obviously had no idea what he was standing in and who he was talking to. Crossing her arms and leaning across the counter, she placed her chin in her hand and smiled fondly. “Would you believe me if I said magic?” “Magic?” Lucio asked, eyebrows rising as he turned and looked to her, his expression probably far more eager than he would want to show. She nodded and pointed at the rows of mobiles hanging above her head, all unique but all reminiscent of the others he saw hanging from the various stalls he had walked past on his way to find her. “Most households here have one and can use it to communicate with me. They just have to tap the signal to activate the connection and then send their message.” He was confused again, “How do you send a message? Tapping? Everyone knows the signals and you can understand them?” “Well, there’s a signal to activate your mobile. Then you just have to hold onto the shell and well, think what you need to send. It comes in in words or paraphrased, but I can tell what’s happening and then send a signal back. “I’m coming”, “Come to me”, “Yes”, “No”, things of that nature. What I just sent back though was “All is ok”.” “What did they ask you?” She turned to him and eyed him head to toe before smirking. “They told me “Stranger approaches” earlier, and seemed a little scared since they were confused by you. They just asked me “Find you?” and I let them know I was alright. I don’t sense that you have malicious intent.” Lucio stood there still before he tilted his head completely to the side, his brain processing what he’d just hear. “So you’re saying that people can send you messages without words? And you get them? And then they understand what you say back?” He thoroughly did not understand what she had just said and her simple nod almost infuriated him. “This doesn’t make any sense!” “Magic usually doesn’t to those who aren’t practiced in it. But I’ve just created a system for people to contact me in general or in dire emergencies. I’m rather busy, so whatever energy is radiating from the mobile helps me determine which one to check first. If one makes my ears ring I know to check that first. Some just feel inquisitive, others seem like a simple emotion of gratitude, others might just be a child learning how to use it and being excited.” “Why do you have so many? Couldn’t you only have one?” She shook her head, “Too overwhelming. Hard to go through only one channel and take in everything.” She didn’t give him anything more but her last statement confused him immensely. It fell silent again before he stood up and shouted. “Wait! That’s why you said you were expecting me!” She laughed and nodded in delight as she pushed herself up from the counter and walked back around the front to stand by him. “Yes, although I wasn’t expecting a Southerner to stop by! Used to burlier people from the west to arrive this early.” “Oh, they’re here. I just snuck away from them.” “Ooooh, won’t Alissandre be upset when she realizes?” He leaned back on the counter, propping himself up with both elbows as he gave a quick wave of his hand. “She doesn’t scare me. And like I said, a person can do whatever they want, it’s their life. So I do whatever I want.” “Like track down a poor unsuspecting woman.” It was his turn to laugh then and let out a smile of his own, “Exactly.” “Well, you’re more than welcome to browse if you’d like and you can ask me any questions you might have, but I have to prepare for the week so I’ll be upstairs.” She went to turn around but Lucio quickly spoke. “What’s this?” he asked as he pointed at an empty bottle on the counter and she just laughed. “An empty bottle.” He pouted again before his eyes roamed around and fell on a drawer that had fragments of shells in them. “This?” “Crushed up shells, as you can tell. But to explain why they’re here- I use them in various potions and antidotes. They also are good for basic spell rituals.” He nodded and his eyes scanned again and she just crossed her arms and smiled at him. She wasn’t going to lie, he was incredibly handsome with his sharp jaw and cheekbones, blonde tussled hair, and obviously fit body from what she could tell by his unbuttoned blouse under his vest. A bit overeager, and definitely not as mysterious as he probably thought he was, but charming all the least. But what truly drew her in were his eyes. She had never seen anything like those silver eyes that had stared at her so deeply and appraisingly before turning shocked and wondrous as she explained anything to him. They were unlike any she had seen before and she felt like she could get lost in them, and smiled to herself as she thought that that’s probably what he wanted. She wasn’t a fool, she knew exactly what his intentions were when she came down and saw him posed and ready to seduce. She didn’t mind it, but she was busy and couldn’t lean too far into her desire to flirt back with this stranger. Straightening up and walking towards him, she slid close to his side as he hastily looked for something before turning to her as she encroached in his space. “I know what you’re doing. And while I find it cute and could continue to watch you do this I do have work to get done for the festival.” He turned to her when he felt her approach, but he couldn’t hide how he was a little surprised at how close he was before he put on his best smile. “Well, I wouldn’t want to bother you.” “Not a bother at all, like I said you’re not too bad to look at,” she winked at that and before he could respond she continued, “But I do have a lot to finish.” “I guess this is my cue to leave then,” he said but he didn’t feel rejected at all. If anything this made the chase more interesting, a game of cat and mouse now. She had openly admitted she found him attractive, which, of course she would, but it was still good to know he had an easy shot. She stepped back a bit and put her hand out, “By the way, I’m Usoa. Welcome to Izar.” He went to respond. He had it planned out, take her hand as if to shake it but then bring it to his lips, whispering Lucio across her skin before he left a lingering kiss, something that always worked in his favor. But this time it was different. When their hands touched there was an instant spark and their hands tightened around the other’s as a powerful surge ran through them. It lasted only a second, but the two of them stood there still after it ended as they both looked at the other eye to eye. “What was that!” he exclaimed, completely confused by what had occurred. The feeling had been unlike any sensation he had felt before, a rush of pure energy that he couldn’t even begin to describe. “I don’t, I don’t know,” Usoa whispered as she looked at her hand and back to his. He noticed that she seemed incredibly tense though as she took her hand in her own and muttered, “My magic’s never acted like that before. I haven’t, I haven’t.”  She stopped there and shook her head quickly as she dropped her hands and smiled back at him “Can we do it again?” “I don’t think we can,” she said as she reached out for his hand and laced her fingers between his. Her hand seemed to fit perfectly in his and while he felt different for a reason he couldn’t pin down he didn’t feel the power from before a second time. She looked up at him and gave a lopsided smile, disappointment apparent in her eyes. “Doesn’t look like it.” “Well,” he said straightening his posture as their hands unclasped. “We should figure out how to make it happen again.” Her smile softened at that, and he felt a bit uncomfortable at how much he wanted to feel that again but she just nodded. “I’d like that too.” “So,” he said, now trying to act nonchalant as he looked at his hand, “When will we see each other next this week?” “So confident,” she practically cooed as she slid closer to him again. “Well, you’ll definitely see me this week, I can promise you that.” He rose an eyebrow quizzically and her smile turned a little more flirtatious as she leaned on her elbows on her counter and looked at him. His hand barely grazed her arm from how she positioned herself but she seemed ignorant to it and kept speaking. “Be here for the opening of the festival at sunset, get to the fountain early to get a good spot before it crowds up, and meet me there two hours later.” She stood up again and reached back to her hair, pulling at the piece of cloth that had been used to pull her hair back. As it fell down her shoulders, covering her neck she flipped it over to him, it dangling there as it swung back and forth slowly. He reached out and took it before looking back to her. “If you don’t see me you can use this to find me. Might be easier to track if you have something of mine, hmm?” she said with a wink as she drew back and went to head to the stairs. He gave her a devilish smile at that, absolutely turned on by how she invited him to hunt her down. “You’re almost making this too easy.” She gave him a smile that matched his and he wanted to reach for her, sweep everything off the counter and pin her down to it. “Maybe I want to make sure you find me.” He took in a sharp breath then. She was interested in the chase, that much was apparent. “I will see you soon, Usoa,” he said as he played with her ribbon. “See you soon,” she started before pausing. “Might help if you give me your name.” He thought back and realized that the spark had distracted him and he hadn’t been able to give her his. “Lucio.” He’d said it with pride but was taken aback by the confused look she had given him. “Well, Lucio, I’ll be waiting.” She had said his name with a twinge of dubiety but the look was gone just as quick as it had appeared. She walked backwards, eyes still on him as she looked him over once more. “I’m sure you know where the door is,” she said with a final wave as she began to ascend the stairs. When she was out of sight Lucio straightened up and walked out, the door closing behind him and locking almost immediately, probably by some spell she had been able to conjure up. Looking down at the fabric intertwined through his fingers, he smirked as he brought it to his nose and took a deep breath in. Salt, sweat, an underlying note of lavender and the distinct scent of the sea. Clenching the cloth in his fist, he slid it into his pocket as he smiled. Looks like the festival was going to be fun after all.  

[wearthegoldhat]

Kyrgyzstan: A Travelogue in Words

Manas International Airport has inadvertently turned into a bird sanctuary. The decibel of bird sounds when, dazed after 22 hours of travel you walk for the first time out into early morning Kyrgyz sunlight, provide a stunning first impression of the deepest part of the lushest forest at sunrise. Then you traverse the barren miles between Kyrgyz towns. So that when leaving you look up again and realize the birds have made a home not between the lush green leaves that were earlier conjured, but between long metal bars stretched across a plain awning. You chuckle to yourself for pity of those architects. Certainly they had not intended nor anticipated this secondary affect of hundreds of birds gathering to fight and sing and build and defecate above the sliding doors in and out of Kyrgyzstan.

Other first impressions: the toilet paper here is just a slightly wider and colorless kin of the crinkly stretchy paper streamers we use in America to celebrate birthdays and bridal showers and such.

Borscht soup has the redness of the reddest heirloom tomato distilled to 15 feet for purity of color. I thought it was full of tomatoes but it is full of cabbage and bits of beef, without any of the tartness of tomatoes. The red remains a mystery, but that is of little concern to me because it tastes very good. (After writing this, I learned the soup is made from beets.)

Lake Issyk Kul is blue-blue. Blue must be said twice because it is not just blue, it is the bluest blue, and the standard against which all blues may be set. And it does not want for size either—8 hours is required to travel its circumference. We could see it from our room. But at the lodge, the hallway we had to walk down to get to our room was so long it began to feel psychological. It was long and dimly lit, with no windows, just rows and rows of doors to each side, and you think you are nearly there but then you are still not. It is inevitable, even after walking up and down it multiple times a day, that you wonder if it ever ends. Walking through it feels a little like you have been plunged into an anxious dream.

An hour’s drive around Lake Issyk Kul towards the Hindu Kush mountains brought us to a little dirt road into the alleged burial grounds of St. Matthew, which turned out to be merely a small cave tunneling through a hill, with a yellowed Bible, a half-assed alphabet etched into the wall, a crumpled picture of Mary, Nestorian symbols of the cross inside an enclave, and a fistful of yellow flowers fastened above the small dark hole of an exit. It was a funny attempt to capitalize on pious tourists and the actual discovery: the divers who discovered remnants of ancient human civilization buried under Lake Issyk Kul, a shard with Armenian/Syrian language which corroborates with a 14th century map indicating an Armenian monastery at a place called “issikol,” where St. Matthew might have been as he traveled towards India, establishing little communities of believers.

Large yellow brown planes, horses and cows nibbling side by side with little nosy clusters of gossiping chickens. Chickens, when they are together in the country, are always gossiping. Cows wander freely along the single paved road, crossing it at will, knowing their right of way—if they are hit the driver is at fault and pays. By nightfall they have all headed home because if they are hit after dark, the driver is no longer at fault and the owner pays for his losses. One lamb is 100 som and one horse is 3,000 som. I’m guessing cows are somewhere in between. The road is pollarded with trees painted white on the bottom, for what I’m not sure, because the trees are all dead and dried. They burn areas of the fields before cultivation, but I am not sure if anything can be coaxed out of these miles of dry grey granules of dirt, with yellowed grass spaced out like the hairs of a balding man. What great faith these men have driving around in tractors, farm tools scattered about. Seasons are a miraculous thing when the dead of winter is really so dead. But even then, Kyrgyzstan’s main problem, it seems, is that nothing is going on. Lake Issyk Kul is a large shock of brilliant turquoise just before the rise of the Tien Shan mountains to snowy peaks, and the beauty of it seems utterly useless, because beauty is completely frivolous and indifferent when industry is what is needed, work for men to put their hands to. And you can see it in some of the men’s faces ruddy with alcohol at noon, nothing to do and no purpose aside from bottles of that great Russian export, hard liquor. A man on a horse corralling his sheep on a barren hillside here, a lone smoke stack there, and a girl sitting on an overturned bucket selling 3 more buckets of soft apples...

Their jaunty hats of embroidered creamy woolen felt seemed at first like costume. I saw them upon the heads of a group of men, old and young, in western dress waiting at the gate in Istanbul. But as our plane descended into Bishkek, the men had grown raucous (I could smell the alcohol on their breaths behind me) and they kept laughing wildly and standing up in the cabin. The stewardesses’ reprimands went from pleading to threatening until they finally sat down. All throughout that week I saw men wearing them neatly upon their heads, amidst the countryside dust and the smog of Bishkek buses. They became to me more beautiful than all of Lake Issyk Kul, because they are symbols of human dignity, handiwork, and identity upon their heads—singular and defiant acts of Kyrgyz expression amidst vast lethargic poverty. Then we were back at Manas International Airport. Missions is messy, he said as they tried to stuff a large Kyrgyz wall hanging amidst other shapely gifts into a suitcase that weighed in just under 20 kg. Earlier he had told me a story about the videographer for a group of missionaries going around Kilimanjaro. What was the hardest part of the journey? They asked him. He had lugged hefty camera equipment all up and down the mountain. After a bit of thought he said, getting all the receipts for reimbursement. So, missions is messy, and this has many meanings. Tetras-ing wall hangings into luggages under the weight limit is one of them, I said.

Later I saw two Kyrgyz infantrymen in smart Soviet-era hats and uniforms. They stopped to stand on the luggage weighing scale, in a jocular mood, perhaps ready to fill their bellies with spirit on a Friday night. I took a picture of them as they looked up at the large round clock of kilograms, laughing. We had just seen some people off, and went back out again to the deafening sound of birds.

Spaciba. I whispered many times under my breath but did not have the courage to say out loud. I started to recognize a few Russian letters. I was using a BeeLine sim card and all the messages from the carrier came in Russian.

Afghanis vacation in Tajik, Tajiks vacation in Kyrgyzstan. That is the order of wealth perhaps. We walked around the plaza, the architecture and use of space, so starkly Soviet-looking, was nothing like I had seen before. Stone monuments rose up everywhere. Lenin stood tall as a mountain, his hand outstretched, ominously pointing the way. We saw banners from the Persian New Year celebrations. We saw bottles of their award-winning white honey. They gifted me two, and a wall-hanging made of wool, before I left.

Back in the other central asian country where they worked, their phone calls were monitored by the government. They had code words for anything that might give their religion away, and while in Kyrgyzstan, they kept stiffening at words like church and missionary spoken out loud so freely between us. He acted out a phone call he once received from his dad who hardly ever called him: he heard his dad ask how is the mission doing? at the same time he heard a beep sound in the background, and he started coughing loudly, frantic to cover that forbidden word, mission. Are you ok? his dad asked. Dad let me call you back later. He hung up abruptly.

He told me about the experience of his Dutch friends. The lady was newly pregnant and earlier that morning she had broken news of it to her family over the phone. In the afternoon her husband stopped at a government office. The officials greeted him and then congratulated him on his wife’s pregnancy. He was obviously taken aback--how could they have known? And then he realized they had tapped his call. The state learned of his wife’s pregnancy at the same time their family learned of the pregnancy. Constant surveillance was a fact of life, as elementary as seasons and the color blue.

We shared immigration stories (immigration offices in developing countries always produce stories). He told me about his friend who went to the immigration office in a North African country. The windows were numbered 1-8. He went to the first one. A man slid open the window. And after an exchange of explanations and papers was done, he said, please proceed to window 2. So he went to window 2 and waited. It slid open to reveal the same man. Hello, he said, as if they had not just spoken moments ago. A twin perhaps? But no. Window after window it was the same man, running all 8 windows of immigration at the immigration office. Seven times he greeted him as if they had never spoken before.

He also told me about kidnappings. A few days after he told me about his own, he shared another one about the pregnant German woman who was kidnapped in a middle eastern country he had worked in. The kidnappers had begun to broadcast a live video of their ransom demands. But the scene quickly spiraled into a chaos that was almost comic. The woman began to shout at her kidnappers, openly mocking and shaming them in her brazen way. The kidnappers could be seen regrouping in a corner, arguing with each other over what to do, how to proceed, maybe they should just let her go? She was pregnant afterall and maybe what they were doing was unethical. He told me he never thought he could feel for kidnappers, but he did then. In that moment, they were just a group of people who were desperate and believed that this was the only way to get their demands met. They were also just a group of people who did not agree with each other and did not have a good plan in place. They eventually released the woman.

Gigi and I sat on the floor of the hotel room (because the floors were heated and nothing else), across the street from the American embassy that rose up like a fortress amidst rubble, before a beautiful alpine backdrop. It did not feel real. We talked and talked late into the night. We held onto each other like sisters who would be separated soon.

I heard many stories and shared a few of my own. After I spoke in front of a conference room of 200 people, a couple approached me. The husband used to be a professor at UPenn and now runs a social enterprise/business as mission in Kyrgyzstan. Her daughter teaches on a Native American reservation in the Southwest. The wife told me that she was very touched by what I had said. I almost laughed and began to apologize for my terrible public speaking. Speaking skills don’t matter as much, she said firmly. What I could tell was the message you shared came from the heart, and that is the more important thing. So then I n my heart I felt comforted, but in my head I said, I am not entirely convinced that is true. Several other schools and organizations also approached me, in an uncomfortably eager attempt (imagine elderly men requesting to sit with you at dinner time to tap the corners of their mouths with a napkin and share the most scintillating mission statements with a side of groveling) to recruit me because I am young and already have 3 years of experience in East Africa. I turned them all down by the end of the week. I left that path 2 years ago and I do not see myself going back. If I do go, I will go another way.

Now that it has been six months since my trip, I can hardly believe I was ever there. There are a few parts of it that I’d rather not recall. But I do have a pair of luxurious woolen slippers, deftly embroidered, with tips that curve sharply upward, that I wear around the house when I want to feel regal, to remind myself of who gifted them to me, and that I did really spend a very strange week gallivanting about Kyrgyzstan.

[fanesavin]

The crowning ceremony of the High Raj Avitej Sharma, First of his Name.

[ Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (x) | (x) Part 4 ]

@danisavin / @faye-andrews / @thatwhichbindsus / @bumblingbrujo / @mayaparker @scarlettxruby / @avitejsharma / @xxtuaharjunaxx

Iann stayed the night in the Castle, mostly because he already had his things here for the Coronation, but also because he met a Duchess who needed attending to for the night. He'd left her chambers early though, getting his ablutions in ocean water and change into formal attire done first, before he wandered back into the courtyard in the hopes that the servants hadn't completely cleared the feasting table from last night. He was glad to find some mead still remained. It was Honeywild, but it would do. Besides, that meant the Forty Isle casks had been drained last night, while Honeywild's remained. The drink of desperate men. Iann smiled, pleased at the thought. He sipped the mead and nibbled at handful of berries, slowly surveying the Castle. Inside the main part of the castle would open up to the Grand Hall. That was where the Sunlit Throne sat, where the Bluesprings crown would be, guarded by Rajisthangard day and night. The coronation would be happening in a few hours, once nobles managed to get their heads out of their cups, or off the thighs of a lover. Iann was looking forward to it. Or rather, he was looking forward to it finally happening, so that he cold return to his Flagship and continue his travels. Back up North, to release the White Lady back into the northern wilds, and to visit his son in Blackspire. And then perhaps a trip back to the Forty Isles. Perhaps the sight of his eldest son would encourage his dear father to die faster. Plans for the future; but for now, he waited, patiently. Iann drank his mead and ate his berries and leaned against one of the spired columns, watching the servants and Cloverry members hustling around him.

Miguel was surprisingly well rested for someone who had gotten so little sleep. Before he went out into the public eye, he skittered toward his own room and changed into something a little more subtle. Not the outfit for the coronation itself, that would come later - and it would look like his mother dressed him. Which he wasn't looking forward too, so he enjoyed the course fabric and easy movement of the warrior's garb he donned. The only item that was a bit more ceremonial were the obsidian and gold daggers he kept close to his chest. It seemed most people were sleepy or hung over, so Miguel lidded his eyes a little - no one needed to know how good he felt, or how ready he was to conquer the day. He bumped shoulders with Iann and took some of the berries he had in his hands, payback for the apple. "Have a nice night, Iann?"

Iann "Somewhat. A ruined red dawn though, at the sight of you," Iann said, but at the same time offering Miguel a sip from his cup of mead. "See how they move and bustle. The people move forward, eager for someone to be crowned. Even in the light of yesterday's incidents," he murmured thoughtfully. "Then again, plenty of 'incidents' happen with the commonfolk, that is beyond our knowledge." Or care. "We only remark about this because it's affected our own. And I believe what happened to the Grand Lady and your Witch of the Wilds friend, is what slipped through the cracks of a rather tightly held ship. Imagine how much more 'incidents' surge around us noble few..." Iann looked around the empty courtyard (aside from the servants and guards). "Trying to break into this peace and shatter it for good."

Miguel grinned and took a little mead from his brother's goblet. The only time they took food from each other was when it had obviously been eaten of drunk from the other. But the false brotherly intimacy amused Miguel to no end. "The sight of you fills me with joy I can hardly express," he crooned to Iann. "What would I do without you? Get my own drink? Unthinkable." The mention of the incidents with Cassandra and Lady Lacroy dampened the mood somewhat. "Hmm. True, I wouldn't spare a thought for these incidents if it involved parties other than our darling sister-in-law. But there are plenty of things I don't know, and I don't bother myself with the knowledge of not knowing," Miguel chuckled a little at his sentence, at the sheer absurdity of it. "In fact, it hurts my head a bit to think of. I'll leave the mind and tongue twisters to you."

Iann snorted. "You forget who you're talking to, Miguel. Drop the hapless clownfish act." He didn't believe for a second that his brother's head 'hurt' from thinking too much. That was his brother's problem, half the time - he overthought things, far too much. The youngest Cardero was incredibly intelligent, in ways that Iann didn't dally in. It was Miguel's cunning that Iann paid more attention to. "What I'm saying is that this is all to be expected. A few desperate attempts to stir up trouble, and discontent in people's hearts, now that we are all collected here to be admired and to admire. The problem with desperation is that it's a very dangerous weapon on its own...." He pressed his lips together tightly. "And both incidents certainly gave the commonfolk a show, spectacles that they've been denied by the Cloverry's austerity. I'm not sure which they'll be talking about more for weeks after: the actual Coronation, or the glimpse of frilly underclothing they got up Cassandra's pretty dress while she was being whisked down the streets of Upper City."

Faye almost hadn't returned to the capitol after the previous evening's debacle. Her pride had been viciously bruised, her trust betrayed, and her hope that maybe, just maybe, /he/ would be different shattered. So Faye had took the glaringly obvious hint that she was as unwelcome with him as with any other, and taken her leave. But as she'd gotten further and further away, that bruising hurt had turned to anger. And that anger had turned to something else. Something that had spurred the actions of her ancestor. Revenge. Though on a much less murderous scale. So Faye had stopped in a tavern, freshened herself and changed clothes, and headed back towards the Capitol for the coronation. She'd been invited after all. She was still of a noble House, despite everything else. And she wasn't going to whine about it. Nor was she going to let some... man... keep her from representing her family name. None So Fierce, was the motto that hung above her hearth. It was time to live up to her name. After stabling her horse, Faye made her way up to the palace, dressed in stark contrast to the black robes of the day before.

Miguel let out a soft harumph. "I'm not a clownfish, more a squid I suppose." But he listened to what Iann said. "There's no way to make everyone happy, but I think giving people a show is one way to ease desperation. If they're talking about the incident with Cassandra, they're also talking about how quickly and efficiently we dealt with the issue - I'd say not a soul left alive is one way to discourage any..." he waved his hand, unconcerned with whatever could come from a common peoples' discontent. "If House Kesley can't stand against us, then what chance do the urchins of the city have? I thank House Kesley for their buffoonery, they make my job easier."

Iann clapped Miguel on the back. "My little brother," he proclaimed at Miguel, and it almost sounded like praise. As of Miguel had finally set his sails properly, figured out the wind, and almost caught up with his eldest brother's ship. Not quite caught up, but close enough that they could cheerfully hail each other from on deck, while their crossfirebows made aim at each other in the decks below.

Maya spent the morning baking an elaborate celebratory gingerbread. Once it was complete, she headed upstairs to see where else she might be needed. While technically she was only in Lord Savin's employ and only a kitchen girl, as far as anyone knew, it would still do well to see what she might be able to overhear upstairs. While baking she'd already gotten the full gossip report from the Capitol's servants. She slipped into the back of the room, quiet and likely unnoticed.

High Raj: ~bells started tolling, slowly at first then carrying down through the city. It didn't last long. It was merely an announcement for the start of the Coronation, for the nobles to assemble in the Grand Hall of the Bluesprings Castle~

Miguel blinked at Iann in surprise, where did the sudden praise come from? If he didn't know any better he would think Iann was proud of him. But the bells distracted him, and he ducked his head to excuse himself. "I must change before the coronation proper, see you soon." He pat his brother's arm in response and ran off toward his room.

Faye heard the tolling of the bells, so she didn't bother stopping to speak with anyone. Not that anyone tried to strike up a conversation anyway. She would be leaving after the ceremony, and wouldn't be coming back. There was nothing for her here. There was nothing for her anywhere.

This was it. Ciara felt a momentary thrill run up her spine. Truthfully, there was no Council until there was a High Raj. Her role did not truly exist until it did. She walked alongside others, keeping pace with them, her hair twisted carefully to hide her scars and exemplify her status. Every person had a position in the Grand hall, dictated by centuries of tradition and years of warfare. Hers, as representative of House Florent, was far back and far to the left. She could hardly see The royal throne, but could just well enough. It was, however, a perfect vantage point for watching everyone else. Even the best men and women in the kingdoms had momentary flickers of expression in response to things. Tiny, often imperceptible flickers, but she knew them, and planned to record them. The reception was as critical as the coronation, and her mice had made her well aware of the doubts in this hall.

Iann "You look beautiful, you vain thing!" Iann called out, his voice echoing (and slightly mocking) as Miguel hurried off to change. He laughed then, and drained his mead, strolling towards the Grand Hall. He was in no rush. He'd probably be the first one to arrive before anyone else anyways, and Iann always loved the idea of being first.

The coronation ceremony started at high noon, when the sun shone directly above the throne perched on the dias. The Grand Hall of the Bluesprings Castle was grand, with high arches and domes of beautiful wrought metal and glass that allowed light in from strategic angles, all of which subtle directed people towards facing the Sunlit Throne. Today the glasspanes were removed, allowing the much-needed seabreeze to flow and circulate through the room, as it gathered with nobles, courtiers and their various entourage.

The members of the Cloverry took their places to the sides of the Hall. The crown itself perched on the seat of the throne. it was heavily guarded by six Rajisthangard for two days now, as it was warmed and imbued by the sun's power as per traditional dictates of a Bluesprings Coronation. It had been decades since anyone had even seen the crown itself. A dense, heavy but beautifully crafted thing, not ostentatious but certainly eye-catching in its gold and jewels.

No one was appointed to crown the High Raj. The crown was a representation of the High Raj's responsibility to the people, a reminder of the heavy burden being placed upon that human brow. A reminder through duty and strife (and headaches), the ruler would need to think carefully but quickly for any decree that would affect the realm. The throne was different from the crown - it was large and elaborate, intended to remind the people: this was their High Raj, and the Raj commanded respect and honour. When the High Raj sat , it was raised higher than those assembled - not only so that the Raj could see them, but also so that they could all see their ruler.

To Iann's disappointment, there were already quite a few ahead of him. All the courtiers and cronies, and actual nobility that populated the Capital itself. But being a part of the Quiver of Houses, Iann strode easily through the gathering few, to take a place designated for the Forty Isles. The stones on the floor, colour-marked for these positions, had all been finely polished. Some of the stones would have no one to stand upon them, Iann thought. But that only made the Quiver that much more powerful, because each member would then be considered absolutely necessary should it ever come down to that. He did spot Lady Florent drifting her way through the crowd, and wondered if she would even take a stone for herself, or not. Houses weren't required to take their stone, but usually that was a political move. Protest, or disgrace, or mourning, or some other reason. Florent or Phyre? He amused himself thinking of it, as he waited.

Faye took her place in the position of her House. She ignored the fact that at some point it appeared that someone had taken a blade to the insignia, but had given up after the old stone refused to be marred beyond a few nicks and scrapes. She stood silent, hands clasped demurely in front of her, and observed the rest of the gathering.

Tuah nodded his head and walked outside, speaking softly to his confidante on what he was planning during the coronation. When Fane was ready, they walked side by side towards the castle, his confidante on his other side and the Dawnguards behind them. Once they have arrived his eyes trained towards the crowd, studying each face that was present as he took his place.

The Red Priestess entered the hall along with the rest of the invited nobles. While having no official place as did the Cloverry, she found a respectful place to stand that would not draw attention away from those that deserved it. She was merely a messenger. A conduit for the Lord of Light. She still carried no blade, but that was no matter. It would come when it was required. The Priestess stood calmly, looking at all the gathered faces, and hoped that this was the start of something good. The start of a new age of peace.

Fane walked in thoughtful contemplation alongside Tuah, his eyes scanning a few of the familiar figures who opted for fashion trends that were almost blinding. Everywhere you turned your eye there was some emblazoned crest or another to catch the attention, peacocks, Fane thought to himself sullenly. Preening and plumping their chests to be deigned the most attention here. Arriving at the hall his eyes scanned those already assembled noting Iann already in place, Lady Ciara and several other notable figures until his eyes caught on the back of... He blinked as if the act would clear his vision and she would no longer be stood in place looking... resplendent. A part of him wanted to step towards her, to ask why she'd come back after their argument this morning but now wasn't the time. Opting to swallow he dipped his head and made his way over to his place, those of the Guard who opted to accompany him falling in to stand nearby. Their presence a sign that the Guard would also uphold the peace but equally a small peace of mind for Fane.

Maya stood quietly in the back of the hall behind the space designated for Blackspire. She watched quietly, searching the crowd for faces she recognized as well as any potential trouble. Peace had been promised, but Maya knew too much of war to trust that promise. She saw the Red Priestess enter and made a mental note to avoid the religious figure. While Maya was certain that the woman didn't know who Maya was, her looks had been all too calculating to make Maya comfortable. Luckily most everyone's attention was on the other nobles as well as, of course, the High Raj.

Miguel made his way back through the castle, looking just a bit more regal than when he left. He took his spot beside, and slightly behind his brother. People were continually filing into the room and he was thankful for the sea breeze that blew on them - keeping the air fresh and salty.

High Raj Between the nobles, down a deep green carpet that led to the throne, Avitej Sharma walked in slow and measured pace. There was no fanfare; the still hush and occasional rustle of cloth set the sombre but still elegant tone of this particular Coronation. A baby wailed, but the open vaulted ceilings allowed the breeze to carry the sound away, rather than letting it echo through the Hall. Avitej barely heard it, but was glad for sounds of normalcy around him rather than loud trumpets or ominous drums. From up in the Castle, voices from below carried upwards, and all the Nobles were aware of the hustle and bustle below of the people who waited to be ruled while going about their daily lives. That was the point of opening the rooftops, a decision Avitej made with his Council. The nobles were not stashed away in their own world of elaborate and lavish decor, music and the pleasure of their own voices. They had the sea breeze that sometimes smelled of fish, the calling of hawkers and arguments of commerce, the life of everyone come together for this occasion. Even if the commonfolk were not in the Grand Hall themselves, they were still present.

Avitej reached the dias and ascended it slowly, picking up the crown in both hands. He turned, holding the crown high. All of this symbolic of course. He picks up the crown, he holds it aloft, he places it on his head. He makes this choice, and it's his alone to make as he will be High Raj. No one else can do this for him. Avitej stood there for a bated moment, crown held high for everyone to witness this momentous scene that would shift the realm of Bluesprings - hopefully towards a better life. Better than a decade of war and strife.

Avitej placed the crown on his head and he didn't smile. His face was as sombre as the occasion and smiling would only look smug. Instead, he stood there for a few moments, his face carved out of stone but not unpleasant, letting his people see their High Raj for what he now was.

It was just a little 'shhhk' sound, and then the face of their High Raj, stoic and carved out of stone, was suddenly sheeted in bright red blood. High Raj Avitej gasped and stumbled backwards. By the time he sat in the Sunlit Throne, he was already dead.

A Herald of the House Sharma, in a panic at seeing his High Raj murdered before his eyes, cried out in anguish: "THE HIGH RAJ IS D--" But before he could finish the sentence, Iann only needed the two striding steps towards the man, and he sliced open his old throat with his obsidian blade. Maybe he should've just covered the man's mouth - but this was more efficient and Iann was reacting from the instinct of shock. He only realized what he'd done belatedly, and also how it would look. He held his reddened hands up, dropped the dagger with a clatter to the stone floor, then dropped to his knees as the Guards surrounded him with their weapons drawn.

Ciara eyed Lord Savin as he entered with a group of guards at his flanks, and could hardly believe her eyes. She turned her gaze to the elder Lord Cardero instead, so hide from herself her response to the man. No faith in the Rajisthangard, no faith in the peace deal and all for everyone to see so blatantly. For all the world to see bright and clearly, during the coronation of all places, and flanked around him, rather than to the rear. But then Avitej entered. Lord, to become Raj. She watched, with a tight throat and deference. She knew war as everyone else did, and she also knew what made the peace after it. Her eyes were fixed on him, transfixed. He was beautiful to behold. He held the crown, and placed it on his head. And then, he died. Bright, red, crimson. Ciara froze still as the Herald began to yell, as lord Cardero sliced his throat, spilling more red onto the throne. By the time his knife had hit the floor, Ciara had disappeared through a wall, and not even those standing beside her noticed she had gone.

The Red Priestess watched in silence as the man who would call himself ruler placed the crown on his head. She felt nothing, strangely enough, as she watched him look out on the assembled. And when the somberness was cut across with cries of fear and screams of horror as red sprayed across the stones, the priestess of the Light barely flinched. Instead, she let out a breath, her shoulders sagging slightly. The chaos that followed was none of her concern. She turned, and slowly left the great hall.

Maya's eyes went wide with shock at the scene before her. She couldn't find it in herself to be entirely surprised at the High Raj's death, but Lord Cardero's slaying of the herald caused her shock. It was poison. It had to be. Meaning likely suspicion would fall on her and by extension Lord Savin. She slipped from the Great Hall during the commotion to head back to the kitchen to learn what she could from the servants there.

The Red Priestess: watched in silence as the man who would call himself ruler placed the crown on his head. She felt nothing, strangely enough, as she watched him look out on the assembled. And when the somberness was cut across with cries of fear and screams of horror as red sprayed across the stones, the priestess of the Light barely flinched. Instead, she let out a breath, her shoulders sagging slightly. The chaos that followed was none of her concern. She turned to leave, but found the way blocked. The great doors of the keep already closing upon the assembled.

He wasn't going to fight the Rajisthangard, because he knew it would make him look guilty for a murder he didn't commit. His eyes remained glued in disbelief to the Sunlit Throne, and the man - only a man, and young too - slumped into it. Iann didn't know Avitej Sharma well, he hadn't even really cared about who was taking the Crown. But there was a certain hope and relief in the idea of peace in the Bluesprings realm, no matter how tenuous. It was naive, and Iann hated himself for thinking it. So when a Guard roughly dragged him up, tears in the man's eyes as he wanted to turn his own horror and fear on something, Prince Iann looked back at him evenly. "Do what you must," he offered, but then a Prelate instructed the Guard to place the Prince in irons for now and remove him from the Grand Hall. Others might also suspect that Iann had a hand in the death of the High Raj, and the Prelate didn't want any more bloodshed in this accursed Hall today.

Faye didn't make a sound as the smell of blood and the screams of the people assembled filled the air. She froze, hands flying over her mouth to contain the sound that wanted so badly to come out. She took a step back, and then another, and another... as fear swept over her like a flame. She knew that sort of death. Poison. And she'd already been seen using something similar on a man that had attacked her, though to much less harmful effects. She had to leave. She had to leave right now.

Miguel There was a moment of internal silence. And then a giddiness filled Miguel's chest and he bit his lip and looked concerned to hid his joy. What an exciting turn of events. And so fortuitous. He hadn't killed the Raj, but it coincided so well with his own plans, it had to be fate. He watched as his brother was taken away in irons. The sight was honey in his tea. There was work to be done, and Iann out of the way would make that work so much easier.

Fane was left standing in belated shock as the High Raj fell on his throne, crimson staining the flagstones. He'd worried that something would happen, that... something would go wrong, and here it was for all to see. Death was not a new sight in the Inquisitors eyes, he'd seen men far younger die under far more gruesome circumstances. But the High Raj had been a beloved figure. A symbol of unity and peace. A man to bring about a prosperity for ages to come and in one act, that peace was shattered. So where there were gasps and screeches echoing out around him in a world that seemed to have slowed substantially he stood silent. A vigil of passing. Time only sped up once more when he saw the sudden movement to his right, the Crown Prince slaying the Herald, to silence him before his call could even echo, instead, letting it die in a gurgle of blood. The six of his men, who had all come relatively unarmoured and unequipped as a show of fealty to the crown - that the Guard would equally be beholden to the one ruler had all gone to draw their smaller arms. Yet were stopped by a sharp signal at his hand, "no, no weapons and no force, help the Rajisthangard re-establishing some order."

Tuah felt a swell of emotion as he stood among the nobles, bearing witness to such a momentous occasion. His eyes followed each step the High Raj took until he took his rightful place, crown on his head and a sombre expression on his face. He could feel his lips curled into a soft smile, the hope that glimmered behind his eyes that peace between the nations could be achieved under the banner of the High Raj. It would be an uphill battle, he had no doubt, but one he hoped to achieve nonetheless. But the hope turned to shock then horror when he bear witness to the murder of the newly crowned High Raj stumbled backwards, blood splattered from his mouth and life soon left the young body. Tuah gripped the pommel of his sword, jaw clenched as his eyes scanned the panicking crowd, suspecting everyone that was present. He caught the commotion around Lord Cardero, watching with hawk eyes as Iann being dragged by the Rajisthangard, before moving his attention towards Fane. He calmly made his way towards the Lord, his confidante hot on his heel. “I hate it when you’re right,” he muttered under his breath.

Ciara had already begun to head to her own destination, but she was not the only one to slip out. A servant girl, or something of the like, serving Lord Savin. She grabbed a servant of her own, completely unaware of what had just happened two halls away. One of Ciara's mice, but by design not one who often served Ciara herself. "Follow the Savin servant girl. Inconspicuously, now. You have wine to fetch." Her voice was sharp as steel, and brooked no argument. The servant nodded sharply. If Prolate Theodore had any sense, the keep doors were already locked. No one was to leave. And while in this moment she trusted no one, least of all him, she trusted him to hold to expectations. The Lords and Ladies would be trapped here, and Ciara had enough mice for most walls. She would learn who caused this.

Faye watched as the guards descended on the prince as more blood spilled over the stones. She watched as the prince was placed in irons. She watched as a ripple went through the crowd. She watched as the doors started to close. She watched as the Dawnsguard went for their weapons. Watched as they were told to stand down. Watched as it all fell apart. Again.

A random Prelate under Theodore's guidance pleaded with the assembled people to remain calm, the Gates had been locked for their own safety and no one should leave. And what they needed now was to assemble the Quiver of Houses from all representatives present, to decide what was to be done now. The poor man was so beset by grief and the immediacy of this act of violence that he broke down in tears halfway through the announcement.

"You know I am a representative of the Quiver of Houses," Iann said, hearing the announcement made as he was being escorted to the gaol. "When you realize that I was not responsible for the High Raj's death, I expect you to give me a similarly protective escort to the Quiver Hall. If you please." Because the last damned thing he wanted, as he realized just how hasty his actions were, was for his little brother to represent the Forty Isles in the Quiver of Houses.

Maya sensed she was being followed. Since she had nothing to hide about what she was doing though, she walked calmly down to the kitchens. The news had yet to trickle this far down. She asked a few innocuous questions designed to discover who had access to the High Raj's food and drink. The list was too long though. Believing the promises of peace the servants had been lax securing the High Raj's meals. She returned to her work as if that were the most normal thing in the world for her to do. After all the meeting of the Quiver of Houses was likely to go long. The nobles would need sustenance.

Unable to leave the keep, and unwilling to use other methods to dissuade the guards to leave their post, the priestess turned back to the assembled. The Raj's death was sad, yes. An unneccessary act of violence. And people wondered why no one believed that peace could exist. Seeing the young prelate fall to his knees in grief, the priestess came over and lay a hand on his shoulder. "Strength, brother..." Looking up at the slowly panicking crowd, the priestess stepped up onto the dias, uncertain if anything she said would help. Closing her eyes, she pressed her hands to her chest and spoke a prayer to the lord of light to help those in need. Moments passed, and then all around the room, the torches flared with violent intensity. A roar of flame and light and heat that might have been the gust of wind that blew through the hall. Or something else. Hopefully it would get their attention. "Are you not the bravest and strongest of your Houses?" the priestess called out calmly. "Yet you act like frightened children who have never seen death before. The Raj is dead. But peace does /not/ have to die with him. You are the ones that make peace. Not a man on a throne."

Fane frowned unhappy by Tuah's comment "I wish I wasn't'." As his men aided the far more numerous Rajisthangard to secure the room Fane turned his attention to the throne and the Raj's body. "We need to make sure the scene isn't disturbed. And the Raj's body needs to be secured..."

Iann was taken to a cell - not too deep in the bowels of the castle, at least. Something fitting for a Prince, he thought grimly. He couldn't hear what was going on above him, but he answered the Guard Commander's questions patiently, and then the Prelate's questioning as well. Iann couldn't tell how long it took - an hour, perhaps more. Regardless, it was determined that he would be allowed to sit in the Quiver of Houses, but remain cuffed and escorted by Rajisthangard for the duration of the meeting. He wasn't a suspect but at the same time he was a suspect, as much as anyone else in this castle was, it seemed. It was a humiliating compromise, but Iann gravely took it. By the time he was taken back up to the Grand Hall, it was mostly empty, save for other Rajisthangards, and some members of the Cloverry. The body was removed, the crown remained on the Sunlit Throne, bloody now and sullied.

Miguel came forward and nodded to the Inquisitor. "May I inspect the crown?" He knew a thing or two about poisons, Iann had hinted as much already in Fane's presence - there was no harm in inspecting it. Unless he touched it and encountered the poison.

Faye watched from the back of the hall, pressed against the wall of the keep in order to keep herself from trying to flee. The prince was taken away, and the Dawnsguard started securing the room. She saw Lord Savin helping to get the Raj's body secured, and something in the back of her mind screamed to tell him not to touch the crown. Poison worked in many ways, including prolonged skin contact. A brush of a finger might not do much, but one never knew. Miguel came forward to join him, asking about the crown specifically. Faye frowned, but couldn't make the words come.

The Red Priestess stayed in the keep as the lords and ladies were quieted and reassured. To their credit, most did well after the initial shock had worn off. But the death of the Raj - while terrible - was no longer important. Not the the priestess. What came next was important. Who would rule? Who would be held responsible for today's death? She kept her own council until the prince who had slit the heralds throat was brought back in under armed guard. Making her way over, she took a seat near the prince. "You stopped a city-wide panic, doing what you did."

"Perhaps you can vouch for me, then," Iann replied, as he watched, both grateful and seething, as his little brother stepped towards the Throne with the Inquisitor. He looked over then at the Witch of the Wilds, pressed closely against the wall, and then finally at the Red Priestess. He was still standing up, she'd taken a seat on a stone bench next to him. "Are you attending the Quiver of Houses assembly? I think you should. The servants were talking about that grand speech you made, to shake the fear out of people's boots. Did it actually mean anything, Priestess?" He was still shaken up about all of this, truthfully. But Iann knew better than to let it show.

Ciara flitted through the halls. She was torn on where to go first, and opted in the direction of his bedroom. There were poisons that took hours to act, and some which could still be timed to the minute. They may have been in the soaps of his bath, and lingered in his hair until pushed into his skull. She needed to see, and she needed to see before the Prelate. It was perhaps her next duty to learn Avi's sex life, and those of his servants. She had only had days to establish herself in this castle, she didn't have the months of knowledge - she needed the Prelate's spies too. She needed to convince Prelate Theodore to let her in. Guards stood before his doors, and did not let her through. For the first time, she flashed the small Council medallion. "Your commander will tell you soon. The High Raj is dead. Assasinated. You will allow me to investigate this room without delay, or I will have you charged with treason." Her stature and status did nothing to intimidate them, but the medallion pinned under her cloak was more convincing. They hesitated moment, and then there was a wail along the hall, pure grief. The Raj had been loved. They stepped aside, and let her in.

Fane checked on the general state of the room now that it was mostly settled (as settled as it could be following what had happened). He looked the Prelate's men also helping to reestablish some sense of order. Following the path of the High Raj he slowly made his way up the steps towards the throne, the stone still bearing the marks of what had happened here. He touched nothing, moving to rest on one knee as he took in the area. There was nothing untoward about the scene specifically, no strange odour hung on the air, only the slight staleness of some disturbed dust the next thing to be inspected he supposed was the crown.

"I can vouch for the truth," the priestess told him, which in this instance was the same thing. At least to her. "Letting that fool scream to the masses about what's happened would've seen the city in flames within the day. You saved lives." She glanced up at him where he stood. "I never speak words I don't mean, Your Grace. These men and women don't have the option of showing weakness. What started with the Raj - may the Light bless and keep him - will only trickle downhill."

"Ah." Was the most he replied for a long while. Then Iann looked down at her, and well - down her dress exposing her cleavage. It was right there, after all. "So that Unnamed Sword of yours, it remains where ever you keep it secured."

Miguel stood with the Inquisitor - and wasn't the title accurate today? He pulled a pair of black leather riding gloves from his pocket's and paused a moment. "Would you like to get a closer look, or shall I?"

Faye knew she needed to move. She had been in the same place for far too long. But going unnoticed seemed the best idea at the time. Though she felt eyes on her regardless. By the time the prince had been brought in - under guard, she saw, with no small amount of trepidation - Faye had at least moved to sit on a bench along the wall. Afraid her legs might fall from beneath her. She watched as the the Inquisitor walked the path the Raj had taken, her breath speeding up slightly as he knelt to inspect the crown. Miguel was there too, thankfully pulling on a set of gloves. He knew of poison. Faye had learned that much from him. Perhaps she should go. People were being allowed to leave the hall, but not the keep itself. But where would she go?

The Red Priestess watched the Inquisitor and the other man as they inspected the crown. She suspected a topical poison herself, but it wasn't her place. Surely between the two of them they could come to a conclusion. The priestess felt the prince's eyes on her at times, but he didn't speak for quite a while. When he did, it was to ask of the sword. "It does. Though I know not where that is."

Fane similarly opted to pull a pair of leather gloves from his belt. "I shall, your royal highness shouldn't expose himself to potential toxins if any happens to be in or on the crown." They'd lost on King today, no need to add a prince to the list. He was neither and therefore it was expected that he say such a thing. With his own gloves pulled on he carefully raised the crown from its resting place on the throne mindful of any hidden contractions or mechanisms by which a dose of the poison might be administered. "A topical toxin wouldn't act as fast as it took for the Raj to fall..." Carefully he turned the crown over in search of some delivery method murmuring under his breath "I wonder..."

Iann: "Unnamed sword in an unnamed location. That bodes well," he replied, then called out to Miguel and the Inquisitor, "Yes, yes we understand that the High Raj is dead. He was killed. We all saw it. We are rulers of kingdoms in this realms - well, I am. And the Inquisitor is. And I'm sure she is, to her own extent," he said, eyeing Lady Faye. "As rulers I think we should concentrate on who should rule. My brother has skills in such things, Inquisitor, Don't sully your own hands with such menial tasks. Come, we should convene in the Quiver of Houses."

Miguel pulled on his own gloves, hands ready if the Inquisitor heed Iann's advice. It wasn't that he didn't trust Fane, but he wanted to touch it himself, to figure out this puzzle with his hands and his mind, without relying on Fane. Miguel didn't mind if the Inquisitor went with Iann and the Red Priestess to talk politics.

"It bodes as well as a murdered King does," the priestess said in return. Though she said nothing of the crown or the two men inspecting it.

Fane looked back at Iann's summoning, "go on, I want an answer here first I'll join you shortly." The crown in his hands he turned it over slowly tilting this way and that in the light of the the Great Hall. There was a subtle metal seam inside, and as Fane applied pressure on the circumferential side of it little barb-like thorns emerged from the thicker rim above. Mechanically designed. Cold and calculated death as soon as it had been placed on his head. Releasing the pressure with his thumbs the barbs retracted back into the frame of the crown. Miguel had his hands out and Fane carefully let him take it. "A cruel death..." but efficient in a chilling sense.

Iann shook his head. "No, Inquisitor, leave this...investigation to the lesser folk. Your duty is now to the realm."

Fane exhaled under his breath, he had the answer he needed regardless. He looked at a few of the Rajisthangard and then Miguel. "The crown is evidence in the Raj's murder... Once it has been fully examined I wish for it to be kept secure. It cannot be tampered with." Noting Dani approaching he gave them a small nod trusting they would see to helping secure the evidence before heading back down the steps.

Faye knew that there were few poisons that could cause death quite so quickly. They would have to be absorbed into the skin over time. Minimum of a few hours. Even the fastest acting poisons took several minutes to do their job. The Raj had died nearly instantly. That only left... "Venom," Faye said without realizing it. She looked up at Fane and Miguel as they inspected the crown. They seemed reluctant to leave it behind, and the prince seemed eager to get them to leave.

Miguel 's jaw tightened to hold in a grin. A cruel death, for sure, but so effective. He fiddled with the mechanism, holding it so Danian could see. Then he held the crown close to his face and took a sniff. There were plenty of poisons that were odorless, and more still that left traces. There was a faint smell of blueberries, but Miguel wasn't sure if that was the poison itself or something used to cover a worse smell. In any case, the dried barbs held barely any evidence. What was more interesting was the mechanics. Either the crown had always been like that, or someone had enough time to tinker with it enough to install the mechanism. Since he doubted this was a fake crown - what with all the guarding of it. Which meant that someone had tinkered with it before many of the nobles had arrived. He took a deep breath before relaying the pertinent thoughts to Danian. "What do you think though? Fake crown or tinkered?"

Maya returned without a word to the Great Hall once she had learned all she could for the moment outside its walls. She'd heard many rumors. although sorting out the true from the false would take time and more information. Standing again at the back of the room, she whispered with one of the guards to learn what had been discovered while she was 'attending her duties.' She knew that she needed to speak to Lord Savin. While she had secrets she didn't expect to be found out and that weren't relevant, she should inform him of them just in case. There was no such thing as knowing too much on a day like today.

Faye: With Lord Savin leaving the room, and Miguel - who was the only other person in the city she trusted even a little bit - standing holding the crown, Faye finally swallowed her fears and slowly approached them. She didn't step up on the dias, merely stood at the bottom looking on, her soft, white robes catching the light from the high windows. "Venom, my lord," Faye said, voice as even as she could manage. "Your likely not looking for poison. But venom."

Iann wasn't so much eager to leave, as he unfortunately understood responsibility. They could spend hours sitting here studying a crown, while the people - the commonfolk - waited and waited for nothing. No news, no Coronation, nothing to give them. Just closed gates and silence. Decisions had to be made that were about the kingdoms and this supposed unity they were supposed to have. Not poring over the murder of their short-lived High Raj. That was important of course it was necessary to determine why the High Raj was even killed. But the little details were for leaders to trust their lessers with. Perhaps the Inquisitor didn't have that trust, or perhaps it made him feel good to get his hands dirty with the details. But in the meantime, nothing was actually being done. "Lady Faye, you should come with us. The future of this realm lies with you too, I'm afraid."

Danian had been wandering around the keep, searching for any sign of suspicious figures that might have been hiding in the crowd, admiring their bloody work. Nothing had turned up, really. So, after several minutes of scouting, they joined the nobles gathered around the king's fallen site itself. They were in no rush to follow them further to the Quiver of Houses. After all-- they weren't even sure they belonged in such a meeting. They weren't the head of their house. Not yet. Instead, they stood themself next to Miguel, studying the crown as he held it for them to see. "I can't say for sure," they hummed thoughtfully themself. "We'd have to get a closer look at the mechanism itself." They paused to glance at the prince once more. "Do you think they would allow us to inspect it- if we asked, of course?" Faye's added point earned a raise of their brow. "How can you tell?"

"Shall we move this to someplace that might do some good, your grace?" the priestess asked just before Iann called out to Lady Lacroy. The woman had finally moved from her spot on the wall. It was true. Dying House or not, she was still of the Quiver.

Faye nodded at the prince. "Yes, your grace. Just one moment, if you please." She turned to Miguel and the person she didn't know, but had seen their face the night before at the celebrations. Taking a small step up the dais, Faye swallowed. "Rarely does a poison cause such... massive hemorrhage." Faye indicated the stains on the floor. "They exist, but they're exceedingly rare. Venom... especially the kind found in certain species of vipers... can cause massive bleeding within moments, depending on the dose and the delivery."

"The Quiver Hall," a Prelate announced, motioning down a path leading off of the Great Hall and into a room. Not far from the Great Hall, still within easy reach. Iann was escorted there, shaking his head once he was situated in the Quiver Hall. "Venom? I wouldn't be surprised if it was my own brother who did this, if he ever got close enough to the crown to do so." There was a time, about a month ago, when the Crown was taken on a tour of the regions, to curry excitement and engage enthusiasm for the Coronation and announcement of the High Raj. People liked to look at pretty things, it encouraged them and allowed them hope.

Miguel felt the need to show off a little, besides - Danian already knew he wasn't the useless muscled clownfish that he pretended to be when it suited him. "Thank you, Lady Lacroy - another hint is in the method of action, a poison would more likely be ingested, while this was jammed into the skin..." He glanced between the investigation party and the politics party. "I won't demand your time if you're needed elsewhere, Lady. But I beg your company when you're finished."

Danian nodded to Lady Lacroy - it was nice to put a name to a face without having to ask - when Miguel gave his thanks to indicate their mutual feeling. "It seems looking into the particular effects of these vipers and the mechanism itself might be a good place for us to start, then." They tilted their head to Miguel. "Would you agree?"

Miguel nodded. "Yes. I assume this castle has a library - do you happen to know where it is?" There were also human resources, but Faye would be busy, and he didn't see the Master of Whispers.

"Careful who you accuse, Your Grace," the priestess told the prince as they walked.

[faveficarchive]

All the Colors of the World: Part 4

Les Amours Perdues

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Mel/Janice, Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: After meeting once again post-Macedonia, Mel and Janice come to terms with their feelings for one another, while also coming to terms with who they are individually.

For the rest of her life, Gabrielle would replay the image in her mind: she, atop a horse, holding aloft a sword. Was that really me, the "we must stop the cycle of violence and hatred" pacifist bard? Leading a battle? A warrior Queen? Then, the answer: It was. For some wild moment I was there, I felt the blood singing in my body...that rush. For that second I knew what Xena felt in battle. Dare I admit it? It was...glorious.

But the glory ended. Quickly.

A nerve-shattering clang brought the sword out of her hand, and almost threw her off the horse. Petrus's mount danced around Argo; Xena's mare, however, was leading, and she kept Gabrielle out of the warlord's reach. A rising roar filled the bard's ears: the armies were converging on them and the ground thundered. She was in the eye of the storm. But then she was falling, caught in the fatal throes of gravity, with time shifting wildly. The decent was slow, then fast. She heard—and felt—a sickening crunch in her wrist as she hit the dirt. Before she could stand up, she felt a sharp, agonizing pain in her thigh. The bastard. He had thrown a dagger into her; the hilt protruded from her leg.

He dismounted and walked to her, sword in hand. She looked once again into the dead eyes. How can anyone have eyes with no color? She did not want this to be the last thing she ever saw, but so be it; to counter it, she shut her own vivid eyes and thought of the vivid blue ones so dear to her..

As it turned out, it wasn't the last thing she saw. She heard the familiar whoosh of the chakram riding on the wind, and a gurgle. Opening her eyes, she saw the chakram embedded in Petrus's chest. The warlord dropped to his knees in front of her. His features began to ease into relief as he welcomed death, but then contorted in pain as he coughed up a bit of blood. "As I said, little Queen, you have good taste," he whispered. He fell back on the field, dead.

A wave of exhaustion and relief hit Gabrielle, as the tension and buildup of the past few days snapped within her. She felt herself being scooped into strong, familiar arms, and her eyes caressed Xena's concerned face.

"I'm taking you back to the village," the warrior said.

The bard nodded. So much for the battle rush. Who needs to fight this fucking war anyway? Not me. "Xena?" she began.

"Yes?"

"You have the most wonderful timing."

*****

Colonel Anton Frobisher had not seen Mel since the young woman had spent a year studying at Cambridge ten years ago. He had witnessed her in every stage of her life: as a sweet-natured infant, a curious toddler, a precocious child, a lanky teenager, a soft-spoken young woman. While he was eager to see this latest "version" of his oldest friend's progeny, she remained fixed in his elderly mind as a little girl, an intelligent eight year-old, who—when she didn't have her nose in a book—was chasing around Patches, a very old cat that lived on his estate in Cornwall. Wielding a long stick that she called a sword, the girl swore that the ancient calico was her arch enemy seeking revenge against her. She was...an odd child at times. One day the old cat triumphed and caught Melinda with a rather nasty scratch on the arm.

* * *

June, 1924

Nicholas Pappas carefully dabbed peroxide on the cut. The girl's eyes brimmed with tears, and her lower lip trembled, but she stared stoically past her father into space.

"You're being very brave, Melinda," he said soothingly. "Almost done." Quickly he wrapped some gauze around her arm and tied it neatly. Out of sheer relief a tear escaped her eye, and he soaked it into his dry, callused thumb. "There we go," he said, with a kiss to her forehead. "Come, let's join Uncle Anton for tea."

They headed for porch, where Anton waited in a wicker chair. At the table before him, high tea awaited them all. He ruffled Melinda's hair as she walked by. "I daresay, Melinda, Patches—"

"Catlisto," corrected the girl solemnly.

"Er, yes—Catlisto—may have won the battle, but you won the war. She flew out of the house like a storm."

"No, Uncle Anton, I shall never be rid of Catlisto," Melinda intoned dramatically. "She is an immortal."

Anton shot a glance at Nick, who convulsed in silent laughter over his tea. Good God, Nick, what do you let this child read? "An...immortal, you say?"

"Yes, a cat is the form she now takes. Centuries ago she angered the gods, and Zeus turned her into a common house pet." With that, Melinda shoved a scone into her face, in only the way a hungry child can.

"Well," Anton mused, looking out into the yard, "now that I think about it, that old beast has been around here ever since I can remember..."

* * *

He was impressed as she stood in his doorway; Melinda continued to grow more stunning with age. She incorporated her father's looks—the height, the broad shoulders, the black hair and blue eyes—into an irresistible package. He felt a strange attraction toward her—strange, because it was based solely upon her resemblance to the dead man who was her father. Ah, Nick, even though I never told you, you knew how I felt. And you remained my friend anyway. Bless you. "Melinda, I'm so delighted to see you again. You look lovely," he said to the woman, at last. He rose from behind his desk and walked to her. She bent a little to receive the kiss that the shorter man placed on her cheek.

Her smile was shy, yet warm. "Hello, Uncle Anton." She paused. "Or should I call you Colonel?"

"Call me that only when we work, my dear. Do sit down." Mel sat in a leather armchair across from his desk.

"Well, I've got you all set up in a flat, dear, not far from here. Fact is, we've taken over a whole block of flats, it seems. Nothing spectacular, you know, probably nothing you're used to, living in that grand house by yourself."

"I'm sure it will be fine, Uncle Anton." Is he implying I'm...spoiled? The house I live in would barely be big enough to be a shed on his estate, she thought.

"Good. I'll have McKay take your bags over in a bit. Now, I do recall you know quite a number of languages, aside from that ancient nonsense you know."

She chuckled. "Yes, I do."

"Well?" His demand was a bit imperious, as his career-soldier-dom seeped through.

"Oh! Let's see, I know Spanish, Italian, German, Russian, Polish, Romanian..."

He clasped his hands in delight. "Excellent! We have quite a large number of Polish military in London right now, you know. About 30,000 men. So we need all the help we can get in translating services. I've quite a number of documents that need work. But that can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, I think you should have dinner at my home. We'll catch up a bit."

"Sounds wonderful."

He stood up and she followed. "Let me walk you out." He stepped outside the office and instructed Sergeant McKay, his assistant, to bring around a car to take Mel and her luggage to her new flat on Mecklenburgh Street.

As they descended the steps to the ground floor, his curiosity overtook him. "Melinda, why is it you are here, in London?" he asked gently. The urgent letter she sent gave no reason for her sudden interest in being so much closer to the war.

"Ah, well, I did want to contribute to the war effort..." she stammered, sliding her glasses up along her nose with a shaky finger. He smiled, charmed at her nervousness.

"But you could have done that just as well in your own country," he retorted.

"Yes, you're right," she conceded. A pause. "I came to find a friend...who's stationed here."

I knew it, he thought smugly. The old girl is in love. "An American, I assume?" She nodded. "What branch is he in?"

A faint blush colored her cheeks. "Er, my friend is in the Women's Army Corps, Uncle Anton."

"A woman?" Frobisher mused.

Mel raised an eyebrow, gently amused. "Yes, unless they changed the admission policy or something."

Oh my. He couldn't keep a grin off his face, which made her blush deepen. So Nick, that's why I caught you poring over Kraft-Ebing one day, when your daughter was a teenager. And I thought it was in reference to me. He noted with empathy the anguish and worry now on her face;. obviously, she was very taken with whomever this person was. He smiled inwardly: And I may be in a position to help. But for the moment he resolved to try and cheer her up: "So she's one of those...what do you call them, wackeys, eh what?" He waggled his thick, gray eyebrows.

He was rewarded with a giggle. "A WAC, you mean."

"And you don't know where her assignment is?"

"No," Mel answered, her expression turning morose once again. "An Army friend said she had been stationed here, in London. But I don't know where, exactly."

He opened the door and they were outside, against the darkened sky. Mel's ebony hair blended into the night, yet her eyes glimmered like beacons, even in the foggy, blacked-out haze of London.

Frobisher patted her arm. "Melinda, if she's here I'll find her. Let me see what I can do. What's your friend's name?"

She ducked her head, preventing him from seeing those bright eyes cloud over in pain. And she told him Janice's name.

Frobisher hung up the phone with a sigh. Almost two weeks had passed since Mel's arrival in London. As he could've predicted, she threw herself into the work at hand, and was very good at it. He regretted that her duties called upon her to act as an escort to military functions for some of the Polish officers, many of whom, inevitably, grew infatuated with her. He noticed the weariness with which she threw off the advances; it was obvious to him that she was discouraged in her search, and losing faith.

Now, finally, after untying knots of bureaucracy, he had news for her. He wouldn't have imagined that finding one American WAC would be so time-consuming; but Janice Covington was, after all, only one of many involved in the war. And the news wasn't good. True, it could be worse, but it still wasn't good. He walked down the corridor to where she shared an office with two other translators. Only one of the translators, Cutts, was in the office. "Hello, sir," the young man greeted Frobisher; he was exempt from military service due to a heart problem.

"Hello, Cutts. Where's Melinda?"

"Think she went to the loo, sir."

Frobisher chuckled at his bluntness. He lingered at Mel's immaculate desk, and noticed the curling, black and white photo taped on the wall above her desk: It was Melinda, looking rather disheveled, with a small, fair-haired woman, wearing a fedora, who gazed at her rather intently. Rather adoringly. And Melinda? How often had he seen the girl grin like that, with such unfettered joy, with such abandon of her very serious, almost mask-like, demeanor?

Cutts noticed Frobisher’s interest in the photo. "It's an odd picture, isn't it, sir?" he said. "Doesn't do Miss Pappas justice, probably not her friend either." The older man smiled mysteriously. On the contrary, it does them more justice than you can imagine.

"I happen to like that photo." He heard Mel's soft voice from the doorway. He turned to her, and immediately his face gave everything away. "You found her?" Mel asked; her tone shifted, and crackled with nerves, almost like a static-filled broadcast.

Frobisher nodded with resignation. "She's in France, Melinda."

After he told her, she immediately went back to the WC, leaving the men staring after her in stunned silence. Crammed into the small room, she pulled off her glasses with a trembling hand and cried above the toilet. This is so...frustrating. Every time I think I'm getting closer...I find out she's somewhere else. Her glasses, cradled loosely in her curled hand, slipped out of her grasp and clattered to the floor. At least they didn't end up in the toilet. That would be just my luck about now. She could not stop the visceral, angry curse that welled up in her mind. God damn you, Janice.

*****

September, 1944

It was Paris, but it sure as hell wasn't springtime. A third-rate hotel served as their base of operations. It did not endear the French to Janice Covington, nor she to them—especially when she growled for whiskey in their dour cafes, and only got red table wine that made Thunderbird taste like Veuve Cliquot.

She walked out of the hotel, and saw him leaning against the ambulance they were taking. Blaylock threw the ambulance keys at her. They sang through the air with a whiz, hit Janice in the right breast, and fell to the ground with a ping. She scowled. He blushed. "Sorry. We've got to get going," he said.

"If they think I'm such an idiot, why are they letting me drive him there?" Janice grunted, scooping the keys from the ground. "They" referred to General Bradley's underlings, the American liaisons to the Force Francaise d'Interior (or FFI; that is, the Resistance), who called upon Captain Blaylock for a driver to escort Max Duval, an FFI leader, to Reims. What Duval would be up to in Reims, Blaylock was not told; but when the Captain offered Janice—the best driver of ambulance, jeep, and truck in Paris—for the mission, he was rebuffed. It took a good deal of conniving on Blaylock's part, but the authorities finally agreed to let Janice drive Duval—if she were escorted by Blaylock.

"They don't think you're an idiot, Janice. They're just touchy about this one. Duval is a pretty important guy, and he was almost killed in the street fighting that went on last month, before the Liberation. Besides, they promoted you, didn't they?" The thought of a WAC—who was also a private—undertaking this crucial task was more than their Division Leader could bear, so they promoted Janice. But not by much.

"Yes, I do so love the alliterative joy of Corporal Covington rolling off my tongue," she said sarcastically.

Blaylock grinned. "Well, if you wanted to be an officer, you should've gone into officers' training."

"I didn't want to be an officer," she snapped.

"Then why the hell are you complaining?" he retorted, confused.

They stopped walking toward the ambulance truck they were taking for the journey. After three months of blood, mud, and death, not to mention the growing realization that her feelings for Melinda Pappas had neither decreased nor deceased, Janice allowed herself a surly outburst, aimed at one of her closest friends: "Because I can."

Luckily, Blaylock was accustomed to such outbursts, having known Janice for many years, and merely shrugged it off. "Well, you need someone to come along anyway, since you barely know French," he chastised her in his gentle way.

Duval, still nursing a broken arm from his fight of several weeks ago, sat morosely in the ambulance truck's open hatch, waiting for them. Aside from her rudimentary Greek, Turkish, and Arabic, Janice knew very few modern languages; French, especially, was perplexing to her for some odd reason and she watched impatiently yet enviously as Blaylock conversed effortlessly with their charge. However, Duval's meaning was unmistakable to her when his moist dark eyes settled on her and he crooned, "Ah, un blonde ange." Both men grinned at her with sheer infatuation.

"Oh, Christ." Janice walked away with a growl and a roll of the eyes, and climbed into the driver's seat. "I hate the French."

Blaylock gestured for Duvall to enter the truck. Closing the hatch, he sauntered over to the passenger side as the engine kicked over.

As they drove out of the city, all was quiet. Judging from the heavy breathing in the back, Duval had fallen asleep. Blaylock studied Janice's sullen profile and racked his brain for conversation, for something to divert his cranky friend. He had noticed as of late she seemed moodier and moodier, more inclined to pick fights with everyone from their Division Leader (concerning the general lack of respect given to the WACs) to a whore on a street corner (who said she would charge Janice more than a regular customer, not only because she was a woman but an American as well). Well, that was my fault, I never should have dared Janice to ask her how much she would charge. Ah. He remembered something he wanted to tell Janice: "Guess who I ran into on Boulevard Saint Germain yesterday."

"Who?"

"Papageno."

Janice blinked in recognition at the name; Papageno was a Greek friend, an important contact in the world of archaeological digs. He could provide men, supplies, and the most crucial gossip with a snap of the fingers. "What's he doing in Paris? I thought he was sitting out the war in England."

"He was. But once he heard Paris was liberated, he came here. I think he wants to be closer to home. Anyway, he sends his regards, and said he would try to meet with you soon. He also asked if you received the scroll he sent you from England."

She remembered with a jolt. The scroll. God, I haven't even thought about it...it all seems like another lifetime ago. And I suppose it is. It also served as a reminder of Mel. But then, I don't need much to remind me of her. "Yeah, I did. I'll have to tell him."

"Are you working on a translation?" Blaylock asked, his professional curiosity piqued.

"Yeah," Janice replied absently.

"Are you using Nick Pappas's daughter again?"

The truck swerved violently, almost ending up in a ditch, and provoking a cry of "Mon Dieu!" from their startled passenger. Blaylock looked at her in alarm.

"Using?" Janice bristled.

"For the translation." Blaylock supplied impatiently. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Uh, yeah...I am...I...she has the scroll now. I left it in her hands." As well as my heart, my sanity, and everything else.

Blaylock's lips quirked as he suppressed a grin. A sudden instinct had overtaken him. "You know," he drawled sadistically, "I've never met Miss Pappas. But I know Clement Young, her former advisor at Vanderbilt."

"Really." Janice said flatly. The last thing she wanted was to talk about was Mel. It's bad enough she consumes my mind...if I dare talk about her, I think I will go crazy.

"Yeah. Clem says she quite brilliant. Practically a genius."

"It's true," Janice quietly affirmed.

"And she's quite a knockout, he says."

Corporal Covington was silent.

"I believe his expression was, 'She's got legs for miles.'" What he omitted was Young's further commentary on the subject: "It's a shame, though: I think she's queerer than a two dollar bill."

Corporal Covington clenched her jaw.

"No opinion on that, Covington?" he teased gently.

And since when did Corporal Covington not have an opinion on a woman? A bittersweet realization hit Blaylock: The woman he was in love with was finally in love with someone. And it still wasn't him.

*****

In an effort to find out more information about her missing friend, Sergeant McKay, Frobisher's assistant, directed Mel to the St. George, a pub that WACs were known to frequent. She selected a Friday evening to go there. It wasn't terribly crowded, and while she was thankful of that, it decreased her chances of finding Janice. She scanned the room and spotted a group of khaki-clad American women at a table. None of them resembled the fiery-haired archaeologist. With a sigh she walked up to the bar. The barkeep smiled and nodded at her; however, before she could order a drink a decidedly unfamiliar hand cupped her ass. What is it with men and my behind? she thought, spinning around in anger. A British soldier, a sergeant, was grinning at her.

"Meg, love! Didn't know you was back in town!" he cried happily in a Cockney accent. His eyes roamed her figure. "Nice outfit! Thought you was doin' your bit overseas, drivin' an' all that. But I'm real glad you're back."

"Sir," she replied icily, "I'm afraid you're mistaken. My name is not Meg."

He doubled up in laughter upon hearing her accent. "Bloody hell! That's great...I reckon if Vivian Leigh can play Scarlett O'Hara, so can you!"

"Sir...sergeant," she said, gritting her teeth, "I am not who you think I am." She rifled through her purse, pulling out her work papers and passport, thrusting the documents in his face. As his laughter subsided, he studied the papers. His face paled. "Jesus H. Christ, miss, I'm sorry!" he apologized. "I really thought you was Meg...you're her spittin' image."

"That's quite all right," she replied, relieved that he believed her.

"I should've known a classy-lookin' woman like you was no Meg." Oh wonderful, he's a talker...and a drunk one at that. He'll never shut up. " 'Specially since I heard she's..." He held out a hand, palm down, wiggling it. "gone a little queer...they say she had a bit of funny business on a ship with some American lass. An' I can tell you certainly aren't one of those types of women."

Because he managed to snag Mel's interest, she let his last comment pass. "On a ship?" she asked. Could it be...?

"Yeah, transport to France. 'Bout three months ago." It fit in with the date of Janice's departure for Normandy, she realized; Frobisher had supplied her with the time line. "My mate was a watch on board. Said he recognized Meg from the old days, when she and I went out together. Well, he gets on duty one mornin', see, and hears these noises in a supply room. And there was no mistakin' what them noises were about. He figures it's one of the officers having it off with one of the ladies, and they deserve to have one last time together before hitting the ground, eh? So he doesn't bother 'em. Well, 'bout an hour later he sees Meg come out with some little American WAC!" the sergeant finished the story on a note of incredulous laughter.

Mel slumped onto a barstool. Was that Janice? Who else would be brave—or stupid enough—to do something like that? Was she sleeping with another woman already? And why someone who looks like me? It makes no sense...running away from me to become involved with someone who looks like me? I am never going to figure this out. She scowled, and recalled the woman named Velasko, and her parting words to Mel: "If you ever find Janice Covington, tell her I'm gonna kill her." Take a number, Miss Velasko, Mel thought darkly.

*****

There was a church in Reims, they were told, where they were to deliver Duval. As they reached the town's outskirts, Janice's eyes scanned the rubble and husks of buildings that began to surround them with increasing alarm. "How can we tell what goddamn building is the church?" Janice complained.

"Janice, if anyone could put goddamn and church in the same sentence, it would be you," Blaylock retorted. But he also looked discouraged. Finally he yelled back to Duval, who scurried up to the front. "Ou est la eglise?" he asked the Frenchman, who frantically scanned the streets.

"Ici! Ici!" Duval cried, pointing at a large building which, indeed, still resembled a church, despite its crumbling facade; a stone lineup of angels adorned the top of its entrance, all part of an elaborate-heaven and-hell scene, with its details chipped away. Jesus was missing the arm which pointed upward; demons had faces blown off, rendering them even scarier. The ambulance pulled up too the door. Before Blaylock could stop him, Duval had opened the hatch and was out of the vehicle. A thin man, dressed in black, peered from the open doorway of the church. He then came out and hugged Duval.

"Aw, that's sweet," Janice said, only semi-sarcastically. Blaylock, however, could never get used to the intense fraternal affection of Frenchmen, and he glanced about awkwardly. After a few minutes of speaking with his comrade and some others who emerged from the church, Duval bounded over to them and smothered the Captain with an embrace. Janice laughed at Blaylock's consternation. "Merci beaucoup, mon ami," Duval whispered into the Captain's ear. Then he released Blaylock and turned to Janice. "Ah, Madamoiselle Covington!" he breathed ecstatically. It was Blaylock's turn to laugh.

"Dr. Covington," Janice corrected automatically. Duval blinked in confusion.

"Corporal Covington," Blaylock threw in. Duval looked even more confused. Then he shrugged with a Frenchman's insouciance. "Au revoir, mon blonde ange," he whispered melodramatically and planted a kiss on Janice's lips. She pulled back, sputtering.

Duval's dark-clad comrade came out of the church with a small rucksack. He handed it wordlessly, with a smile, to Blaylock. The Captain opened it and returned the smile grateful at the sight of apples, cheese, bread, and a wineskin. With a final wave the two men departed into the church.

She waited until they had disappeared behind the door, and she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "Did I mention I hate the French?" she grumbled as they climbed back into the ambulance truck.

The sound of the wheels blowing out was so like an explosion that Janice thought they hit a mine. The truck swerved violently, spinning around almost 360 degrees, until the end of the vehicle slammed into a tree. Her jaw hit the steering wheel and she bit part of her lip at the impact. But the vehicle was still, and they had not blown up, although the radiator was smoking from under the hood.

She looked at Blaylock, who was rubbing his knee. "You all right?" she asked.

"Yeah, just banged my knee against the dash. You?"

"Fine. The steering wheel packs a hell of a punch, though." She rubbed her jaw. "What happened?"

"Don't know. Either you ran over something sharp in the road, or we set off a mine that, luckily, had a delayed explosion."

She jumped out of the truck. They were on a slight incline, with the passenger side tilted upward. Before Janice could suggest that Blaylock come out on her side, he kicked open his door and jumped out. "Shit!" he cried as she heard him fall with a thud. She ran over to him. He sat on the ground, now rubbing his ankle instead of his knee. "What?" she asked.

"Great. Now I think I sprained my ankle," he moaned.

She held a hand down to him. He grabbed it and hauled himself up; as always, he was impressed with her strength. He leaned on her lightly, relishing the physical contact between them, despite the throbbing pain in his ankle and the grim circumstances. How in the hell do we get out of this?

Janice scanned the road. Her breath caught at the sight: huge shards of broken glass were trailed along the road. "Son of a bitch! I ran over glass and I didn't see it!" She disengaged herself from Blaylock, who leaned against the truck for support.

Blaylock peered into the road. "It's clear glass, Janice. It's hard to see it," he said gently. He knew immediately she would beat herself up about it.

"Fuck!" she screamed, and furiously started to kick at the truck and its flat tires. Obviously she would beat up the faultless vehicle as well. I just have to keep her from kicking me around too, he thought. "Janice," he began patiently, "It was an accident. By the time you would have seen it, it would've been too late anyway. Besides, if you're gonna blame anyone, blame me. I was distracting you by trashing the Giants anyway." He watched as her stopped kicking, and her ragged breathing relaxed into a stable rhythm. "Sorry," she panted.

"Forget about it. Let's just concentrate on getting out of here." They were both silent for a moment. Janice paced, hands crammed into her back pockets, glaring at the road. Then it hit Blaylock. "Hey! There was a farm about two miles back—"

"A farm?" she echoed.

"Yeah, you didn't see it. It was on my side of the road. It looked pretty abandoned, but there was a truck there! I remember seeing it. If we could get that truck...I mean, if there are people there maybe they would drive us to Paris, or we could exchange the food for the vehicle..."

"Or if there isn't anyone there, I could hotwire it," Janice grinned.

He stared at her. She was a doctor—an intelligent and admired professional in her field (in spite of her father's reputation), a Harvard graduate, and a beautiful woman. But she was also as much of a roughneck and hooligan as her father, the infamous Harry Covington. It was the duality of Janice that intrigued him, and compelled him to love her. "Where in hell did you learn to hotwire a car?" She opened her mouth to reply, and he cut her off: "Never mind, I don't want to know. Okay, let's walk back to that farm." Tentatively he put all his weight on both legs, and winced when the swollen ankle screamed its protest.

"Wait a minute, hotshot. You're not going anywhere. You can hardly walk." With a gentle shove she pushed him against the truck again.

"The truck's not going to come to us, Janice."

"Look, why don't you let me go get it and I'll bring it back. You stay here."

His face darkened. "No deal, Covington. I'm not letting you go alone."

"For Christ's sake, Dan, you're injured. You have to admit you'd slow me down if you came along. Hell, I could run there if I went by myself."

"You don't know—"

"—any French, yes, I know, but I know how to pantomime real well, and I think between that and my pidgin French I'll convey the urgency of our need."

He sighed. He knew he would regret this, but he nodded his consent. "All right," he growled. He handed her his .45."Take this, and the food for the swap. I've a got a rifle in the back, so I'll be okay." She tucked the gun into her waistband, under the cover of her jacket, as if she had been doing such a thing for years. And she probably has, he thought. Another thing I don't want to know about.

She grinned. "I'll be back," she said, and took off, jogging lightly down the road. Wistfully, he watched her form grow smaller until it disappeared from his sight.

*****

Indeed, the small farmhouse had been abandoned; there was not even livestock, although there was blood to indicate most of it had been slaughtered, rather sloppily, for food. At least I hope it's animal blood, and not human, Janice thought as she carefully prowled around the buildings, handgun drawn. Her search yielded no one, living or dead.

The truck was, to her astonished pleasure, a very old Ford. She checked under the hood for any suspicious wires, which might indicate a bomb, and found none. The body was terribly rusty, and, given its age, it was harder for her to start it than she had hoped. But eventually the engine turned over, and she hopped into the driver's seat triumphantly.

The old truck lurched down the road. She was reluctant to drive it fast, in case it would die. As she approached the wrecked ambulance she saw no sign of Blaylock. She beeped the horn, which resounded shrilly in her ears. This is not good. Where is he?

She put the brake on, and, with the truck running, came out of the vehicle. "Dan!" she shouted. She noticed that the hatch of the ambulance was open in the back. Which it hadn't been before. Briskly she walked toward the truck, thoughts racing. He's okay...maybe he just fell asleep...no need to panic, no need...

She turned the corner, looking into the ambulance and the eyes of a German soldier. He was crouched down and shoving medical supplies from a metal chest into a large rucksack. Blaylock, she noticed, was face down behind him. In a dark pool.

They could only stare at each other, stunned, the American woman and the German soldier. He looked young, perhaps a little younger than me, Janice thought. This moment of empathy gave him just enough time. Just enough time for his expression to change from shock to recognition to rage. Just enough time to draw his pistol and shoot her.

At first she couldn't believe she was shot, but the pinprick of pain in her thigh unfurled like a fire and within moments a sticky warmth started to drip down her leg. Another shot, and she fell back, this second bullet also lodged in her leg. She gasped as she hit the ground, and waited for him to shoot again. But he went back to stuffing his rucksack. Obviously stealing the bandages, ointments, and instruments were far more important, and he had no time to be merciful and kill her quickly. He would just let her linger, let her die slowly, like her friend.

Her friend. There was a bloody smear on the edge of the door. A fresh one. Is Dan dead?. She groped for the .45. So it comes down to this. "Hey!!" she screamed. The soldier's head snapped around. She pumped three bullets into his chest. His gun, which he had drawn after the first shot, clattered onto the metal floor and slid toward her, like an offering. She stared at the Luger, panting. I've never had to shoot anyone before...

She stood up—ignoring the runaway blood that coursed down her leg and the faint feeling that accompanied it—and crawled into the back of the truck, to where Blaylock lay. She turned him over. His torso was slick with blood. He had been shot twice in stomach. But he was still alive. Barely. "Janice?" he whispered. His eyes were wide, unfocused, and staring past her, into the unknown, into a future that was far away from her.

She struggled not to cry. "Jesus, Dan," she said huskily, "I leave you alone, and look at all the trouble you get in. I'm the one who's supposed to get into trouble here."

"Yeah, sorry." He gave her a weak smile. "The son of a bitch. He caught me off guard..."

"Shhh, Dan, be quiet.. I've got to fix that wound." She started to move away but his bloody hand gripped hers.

"Too late," he gasped. "Let it go."

She knew it too. But fought it nonetheless. "No!" she screamed. She scrambled toward the rucksack, pulling out bandages. The floor was slippery with his blood, and she practically slid across the truck. Jesus...I'm going to faint. I can't Not now. "I have to get you into the other truck," she breathed heavily.

"Shit, Janice, you're wounded too," he said, spotting the growing crimson stain on her trousers, as she crawled back, cradling bandages.

She pressed a bundle of gauze to his stomach. "Hold on to that. I'm going to try and move you..."

"Wait," he said feebly.

"No, I can't, Dan, I've got to..." I've got to...I've screwed up again, haven't I? She dropped her head, and the tears came.

"Please...don't, Janice. It'll be okay." He touched her arm with a shaky hand. "Just stay with me for a moment."

She cradled his head and placed it on her lap, wrapping an arm around him.

"I'm sorry, Dan. So sorry."

He coughed. Blood speckled his lips. "Not your fault the damn Kraut shot me."

"No, it's not that." I'm sorry about hurting you. I laughed when you found me in bed with a woman, remember? I'll never forget the agony of your face. Why did you—and why do you continue to—love me? "I'm sorry about us."

He understood. "I know." He smiled weakly. "Fat lot of good that does both of us, huh?" She tried to smile back at him, but his words hit home. She dropped her gaze. Then he said, "Janice?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it her—Dr. Pappas's daughter?"

"Yes," she admitted softly.

"Did...something go wrong?"

Goddammit, Dan, you're here dying and you're quizzing me on my love life? Nonetheless, the words tumbled out of her. "It was me, Dan. I acted like a fool."

"You go back...get back to her and fix it," he said hoarsely. "Make sure you get home."

She felt his breathing slip away to nothing, disappearing with the light as twilight drifted over them. She lost track of how long she sat there with his body, drifting in and out of consciousness, until a pair of headlights blinded her and she heard the screeching of a vehicle and voices, speaking English, that grew louder and louder as they approached her.

*****

Gabrielle awoke with her lover's name on her lips. "Xena?"

She was back in her hut; it was night, and in the dim candlelight she made out Ephiny's slender form, sitting beside her on the bed. "Sorry to disappoint you, But I'm not Xena," the regent replied with a smile.

Gabrielle cleared her throat. "Did we—" Ephiny reached for a mug of water on the table next to them, and held it to the Queen's lips. She drank it greedily and gratefully.

"Yes. We were triumphant. After Petrus was killed, a lot of his men lost heart. It was a quick battle, and we had very few losses. A lot of injuries, though."

The Queen tried to sit up; Ephiny assisted, and gently propped the bard in a sitting position with some pillows. Her wrist was bandaged in a splint, and another around her thigh. "Where is Xena?" she asked nervously.

"She's fine, Gabrielle. She's at the common baths."

"Oh." The bard frowned, wondering why Xena did not use their private bath. "Why didn't she—"

"She didn't want to disturb you. Look, how are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess. My wrist hurts more than the leg. And I'm hungry."

"Big surprise. Let me bring you some food." Ephiny stood up.

Gabrielle swung her legs onto the floor. "Wait, I'm coming with you."

"Oh no you're not. Xena will chop me into tiny pieces and feed me to the dogs if I let you out of this hut."

"Actually, I think she likes you too much...to feed you to the dogs. But if I'm not mistaken, I'm the boss around here, right? " She felt the old anger rise, the anger she usually directed at the warrior when she was being "protected." I'm not a kid. "I want to see people, visit the wounded, make sure everything is okay." She glared at Ephiny, who held up her hands in surrender.

Leaning on the regent, Gabrielle limped through the village. Tired warriors greeted her, the children were back, and the wounded in the healer's hut were a minimum. Ephiny reported four Amazon deaths in all, an astonishingly low figure.

They ended their walking tour with a stop in the food hall. By this time Gabrielle's leg was screaming with agony, and she plopped down on a bench while Ephiny raided the kitchen. I wonder if I could get Ephiny to carry me back...her half-serious thought was interrupted by loud voices outside, the door swinging open, and Eponin and Solari entering the food hall.

Solari was exhorting her friend, "Are you kiddin', Pony, it was awesome to watch her...she slices, she dices, she..."

Eponin caught sight of the Queen, and clapped her hand over Solari's mouth. The indignant Amazon made a muffled noise of outrage. Then she followed Eponin's gaze to where Gabrielle sat, frowning at them.

"Hi, Gabrielle," Eponin said innocently.

"Mrehlow, Abrial," Solari said through the hand.

"Hi, girls," Gabrielle replied sarcastically. "Who are you gossiping about?"

"No one," Eponin said meekly. With a warning look to her friend, she withdrew her hand from Solari's mouth.

"No, just the uh...new cook. She has very impressive chopping abilities...I've never seen anyone de-seed a pomegranate the way she does..." Solari babbled. Eponin rolled her eyes.

"Nice try, Sol, but no one knows better than I how well Xena slices and dices," Gabrielle said.

The Amazons were shame-faced. "Sorry, we know you don't like hearing about stuff like that," Eponin said.

"It's okay." Gabrielle smiled at them. I don't like hearing about that...about Xena killing like that. But it's a part of her...and I've accepted the whole package deal, right?

Ephiny stumbled out of the kitchen, with a rucksack of food so large it blocked most of her upper body. "Is this enough?" she asked.

*****

Gabrielle leaned on Eponin for the walk back to her hut, Ephiny and Solari ahead of them, carrying the food. As they arrived at the door, Solari playfully kicked it open and she and Ephiny entered to deposit the food.

They came scattering out like crazed ants. "Beat it, Pony!!! She's in there!" Solari shouted as she ran by Eponin and Gabrielle.

"Oh gods!!!" Eponin took off as well and Gabrielle found herself lurching into empty space. She caught herself before falling and limped into the hut.

Xena, clad only in a shift, stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed. A bounty of foodstuffs was spilled at her feet, like some haphazard offering.

Blue eyes drilled into the bard. "Where," began the warrior in her lowest, most deadliest tones, "in the...Hades...have you...been?"

Quick, say something. It was an idiotic impulse, one which had—and would—plague her for the rest of her life. "Oh great warrior goddess, most powerful one, see you not the tribute my minions and I bring to you?" Gabrielle spread out her arms, indicating the food on the floor.

"You should be in bed," the warrior continued in the same dark tone.

"My love, words like that from your lips I cannot resist." With that, the bard hobbled past the food and playfully flopped on the bed, which jarred the stitches in her thigh; a cry of pain escaped her mouth, which blossomed into a comely pout.

"I have no sympathy for you," grunted the warrior. Nonetheless Xena sat on the bed and carefully undid the bandage around the bard's leg. "Mmmm, Lydia did a good job with the stitches. I see no sign of infection." Her blue eyes scanned Gabrielle's body, not with the appraisal of a lover, but the scrutiny of a healer. "You've a nasty bruise and a big cut on your calf, though. How's your wrist?"

"Feeling better."

"Good. Try not to jostle it too much. I'm going to put some salve on that leg." She walked over to the table, where her healing pouch was. She returned to the bard, her hands covered liberally with a thick herbal paste that she rubbed gently yet firmly into the injury.

"You must've had a busy day," Gabrielle said. "I should be rubbing you down."

The warrior smiled. How does she make it both gentle and wicked at once? wondered Gabrielle. "That comes later."

"Ahhhh," replied the bard knowingly, with a leer.

"I think you're a little too banged up for that."

Once again the bard resorted to pouting. She sighed, and gave up. "I'm glad we didn't have a lot of deaths. I mean, there were a lot of injuries, but Eph told me the centaurs got hit even worse."

"Yeah, and on top of it all they lost their healer a few days ago. Fell down a ravine. Died from the injuries." All the while Xena continued a steady massaging rhythm into the bard's leg.

Gabrielle gasped. "Gods! You're kidding! What did they do after this battle? Surely Lydia couldn't handle all of them...unless you helped." It dawned on her: Xena had been in the centaur village. For the first time since Solon's death six months ago. She stilled her lover's hands. "Xena?" Her eyes grew teary. "Why didn't you say..."

"Well, I was going to say...in my time." The warrior's crystalline eyes were darkened by the fire and the candlelight, but her tone was deep and gentle. "It felt funny at first...I kept looking for him, but I remembered he wasn't...there anymore. Then, the wounded started coming in." She gave a light shrug. "And I just didn't have time to think about it anymore." She looked up at Gabrielle. A look of anguish, one that she had not seen in quite a while, had contorted the young woman's face. "Gabrielle?" she whispered.

The bard looked into the fire, as if she wished to be devoured and undone by it. As she had been devoured by the god Dahak, and by her own guilt of the events that followed. This cycle never really ends, does it?

"Gabrielle," Xena said again, softly. "Stop." The bard's small hand flew to her cheek and she rubbed it, allowing her fingers to staunch the flow of some tears. A larger hand, sticky with salve, covered her own. "Stop," repeated the warrior. "Don't hold yourself responsible for this any longer. Because I don't. And no one else does."

Gabrielle's look held surprise. Which, in turn, stunned Xena.

"Do you think I hold you responsible, still?" Xena's voice was low, urgent, incredulous. "Do you think I would have allowed myself to be brought to you the other night, that I would've surrendered my heart to you, if I still felt anger toward you, if I still felt that...hatred?" She permitted herself to shudder at the memories of the past year.

The tears fell freely now. "No," Gabrielle conceded. "You're right. I just...what I truly hate is what we put each other through."

"Me too," the warrior agreed, brushing Gabrielle's cheek lightly, with her knuckles. They looked at each other for a long moment, not saying anything, not needing to.

Silence, however, was not a state that the bard indulged in for long. "Hey, how did you get so damn eloquent all of a sudden?" she cracked.

"I think it's your influence, Gabrielle." Using the back of her hand, Xena wiped away the lingering tears on her companion's cheeks. She then returned to the task of rubbing the salve into Gabrielle's leg.

"Well, it's only fair, don't you think? You influence me in a lot of ways."

To her delight, the warrior looked pleased. "How so?"

"Well, let's just say I've never enjoyed having a sword in my hand until today. I felt it, Xena. That rush...it wasn't exactly battlelust. But I felt the spirit. Your spirit." She paused. "Am I making sense?"

"In a poetic, bardly kinda way," snorted the Warrior Princess. "I'm not sure this is something you should be happy about experiencing."

Gabrielle chuckled. "No, it is a good thing. I want to experience it all, don't you? Well, I guess you have...but I haven't. When I tell a story, it's like I'm painting a world. Creating it. And I think for a long time I was only using a few colors. Do you see?"

Xena nodded.

"Now, I think, I've loved you long enough to see the world through your eyes sometimes. And to use the colors your vision has brought to me."

The practical warrior pondered all this. It's all kinda artsy-fartsy, but it makes sense, I suppose. "But the...colors I've brought to your world, Gabrielle, they have been pretty dark."

The bard leaned forward and captured the warrior's lips in a long kiss. Then the urge to talk outweighed the desire to kiss. "Oh no, no, Xena. You aren't just blackness. There is lightness there, in the blue of your eyes that leads to your soul, and the red vibrancy in your lips, and the gold of your skin..."

"Mmmm," Xena murmured with approval, as a series of kisses were linked in a chain of desire down her throat, "I think that graffiti I saw on Ares' temple in Athens was true: 'Bards Are Better Lovers.' "

"It is true. Although I just wrote it to piss off that old he-goat who calls himself the God of War."

"Gabrielle!"

*****

November, 1944

He thought he'd seen it and heard it all from the old man. Sergeant McKay had served as Frobisher's assistant for almost a year now, and in that time he had to memorize as many Gilbert & Sullivan operettas as he could manage (sometimes Frobisher liked some impromptu duets from him and Scotti, the unemployed, one-armed, opera singer doing cryptography), as well as the old man's tea rituals ("McKay! I told you, Earl Grey in the morning, and Darjeeling in the afternoon! Darjeeling is an afternoon tea.").

Then, one afternoon, the old man was roaring at him once again: "McKay! Come quickly!" With a roll of the eyes the chubby Irishman lumbered into the Colonel's office. Frobisher stood excitedly at his window, his walking stick pointing at something outside, the tip of the stick eagerly tapping the glass pane. "McKay! See that woman down there?" The Sergeant looked out the window; in front of the courtyard, near the stone fence that surrounded the building, stood a blonde woman dressed in khaki, lighting a cigarette. "Fetch her! Bring her to me at once!"

"Sir!" McKay cried, outraged. This is too much. I won't be procuring women for him as well, he thought.

"Damn you, McKay! I said now! Go get her! That's an order!"

The color drained from McKay's ruddy face. He was not the type to disobey an order, and in that respect he might have made a fine Nazi. Nonetheless he reluctantly jogged to the steps, and the momentum of his bulk carried him down the staircase rather swiftly. He half-hoped the young woman had escaped, for her own good. God knows what the old bastard would do to her. But the woman was still there, smoking. She wore the uniform of a WAC, and was much prettier than he initially thought. She glared at him with suspicion as he approached.

"Excuse me, miss." McKay couldn't get used to it—the idea of women in the military. Hence he usually disregarded calling them by rank. "I've been asked to escort you to Colonel Frobisher's office."

The young woman's brow creased in puzzlement. "Who?"

McKay sighed in exasperation. "Colonel Frobisher! Commanding Officer of the Intelligence Corps!" He pointed in the general direction of Frobisher's office.

"Why?" the woman asked yet another question.

"I don't know, miss. Just come with me, please."

Taking one last drag on a cigarette, the woman shrugged her acquiescence and dropped her smoke on the ground, crushing it with a black heel. McKay took off at a quick clip, then realized the woman was not at his side. He stopped and turned around. She was walking slowly, with a pronounced limp. "I'm sorry, miss." McKay said. "Didn't mean to take off like that." The woman merely smiled and nodded at his apology.

Frobisher was waiting impatiently until his door opened and McKay appeared breathless. "Here she is, sir," he said warily, and showed the woman in.

As she stood before him, Frobisher took her in: slender yet muscular; he had noticed the limp as she came in. Her green eyes burned in her tanned face, a mass of reddish blonde hair was pinned up haphazardly in a sloppy bun. A cap hung limply from a back pocket. He admired the defiance in her eyes. Oooooh, Melinda, you picked a lively one. Nonetheless, he had to show the impertinent girl, who merely stared at him, who was in command. "Good God, young woman," he growled, "don't they teach you to salute your superiors?"

Instantly she straightened; standing at attention, she knocked off a crisp salute. "Sir!" she said firmly.

"Name and rank?"

"Covington, Janice. Corporal." She paused. "Sir."

"Division?"

"The 13th, sir."

"Ah. You were in Paris recently, no?"

"Yes, sir."

He nodded at her leg. "Wounded, then?"

"Yes, sir."

"What happened?"

"I was shot by a German soldier, who was trying to steal medical supplies from an ambulance. He killed my commanding officer."

"And the soldier got away?"

Janice's eyes flickered with something; he was not sure what. "No sir. I...killed him."

He gave her a sympathetic smile. "At ease, Corporal." She relaxed gratefully. "You're a very brave woman."

She said nothing. He let it go. Not easy to kill a man. The first time's the hardest.

"I suppose you're wondering why I brought you here."

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"We have a mutual friend." He paused. "I believe you know a lovely young woman named Melinda Pappas?" Covington's cocky facade dropped like a stone. Not so spunky now, are we? Amazing, I've never seen someone go pale quite so quickly.

"Yes...sir," she whispered.

"Melinda's father was a very good friend of mine. And I've known her since she was a child." Frobisher peered at Janice critically. "Melinda's been looking for you, you know. She's been in London for nigh on six months now."

Janice could barely mask the shock on her face. "I wasn't aware, sir," she replied hoarsely.

He leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Well, you are now, aren't you? And what shall you do about it?"

*****

As usual, Mel had fallen asleep in her clothes. She spent so much time between work and hiding out in air raid shelters that she saw little point in undressing most of the time, except to bathe; and, in the face of the cold, wet English weather that she was unused to, she had abandoned her usual skirts and dresses in favor of warmer, more practical clothing. She wore a pair of baggy gray flannel trousers that Frobisher had given her, saying that they used to belong to a male "friend," and a white blouse, one of her own.

A faint boom had awakened her, along with the droning sound of the air raid siren. Time to get out into the shelter again. She groped for her glasses in the near dark, and could not find them. Sighing, she stretched and got up. The colonel had also provided her with a huge black overcoat, and now she donned it and stepped outside. The coat felt heavy and protective, like armor, yet it was also soft and warm.

Outside the apartment building were a few fellows from the building. Several of them worked in HQ as she did; in fact, Cutts, her office mate, lived in the building too. The young man was now smoking a cigarette and watching the light flashes from the east. He saw her approach. "Melinda," he said with a nod.

"Hello, Frank. What's goin' on?"

"Lots of coastal activity. Might not reach us." They continued to watch the lights in silence. Then a noise pierced the twilight: a shrill whistle grew in intensity and an explosion shook the ground. From a mere half-mile away they saw it: bright orange light and smoke. Mel grasped his arm, and he instinctively touched her hand. "But then again..." Cutts whispered, "I may be wrong."

*****

Son of a bitch.

It was early morning, almost eight o'clock. Janice walked as quickly as she could down the street. The air raid of the night before prevented her from finding Mel. She was, of course, pressed into service, and had driven an ambulance to one of the outer neighborhoods, which had been quite devastated. Thus her night had passed, driving, digging for bodies, administering first aid, and sleeping in the back of the truck when she could, the sharp bitter tang of medicine and blood curling in her nostrils. And it was hard to sleep, but not due to the smells, or her exhaustion: It was her realization that Mel was here...in this goddamned, godforsaken war zone of a city.

In the morning, when she was off-duty and supposedly sleeping, she headed for the address that Frobisher had given her. It was not far away, but her bad leg ached a little as she walked. She wished the damn leg would heal faster, but the doctor did tell her it would take a while, and that both the pain and the limp should decrease dramatically in due time.

As she grew closer to her destination, she saw that this area too had been hit by the raid. Part of this street she traversed had been decimated and lie in charred, darkened ruins. Remnants of smoke curled lazily, enveloping the street. She froze, her heart in her mouth. What if...? Her leg throbbed, telegraphing its message of distress, and she leaned against a lamp post, breathing heavily. She hung her head, a hand over her eyes, unable to look at the ruins. If it is true...I can't bear it. I can't lose her. Not now. If she's dead, it's because of me...she followed me here. The responsibility hit her like a punch in the gut. She wanted to turn and run, not find out...wouldn't it be better not to know at all, than to find out that Mel was dead? To imagine her living happily, and not see a body, another dead broken body? Too much death. I've had too much. I do not want to see hers. I couldn't bear it. Almost imperceptibly, her body shifted, as if to head back the way she came.

Don't walk away.

The voice inside her was new. Yet old in its origins. It felt so thoroughly a part of her that she never believed it was her ancestor, but she realized, standing on that street corner, that it was. She'd heard it in Macedonia, after she'd pulled Mel out of the cave, when Jack Kleinman impulsively took a photo of her and Mel. She had looked at Mel and, as the camera clicked, so did everything else. I've found you, the voice had said. Janice had shrugged it off, chalking it up to too much booze the night before and her always raging hormones, but now, finally, she could not deny the way in which she was drawn to Melinda. No matter how much she drank. No matter how many bar-room brawls she indulged in. No matter how far she would run.

A fate, a destiny, a bond. Call it what you will. Your courage has carried you this far. It will get you through.

All you have to do is look up. Now the voice sounded...amused. But before she could comply, she felt a gentle touch on her arm. And when she did look up, it was into the blue eyes that she would love for all her life, and beyond that.

Mel was thinner, perhaps even a little gaunt, and looked tired. This was all exacerbated by the large, dramatic dark overcoat she wore, and her black hair, which, uncharacteristically, hung loose and tumbled past her shoulders. Her long, elegant hand lingered on Janice's arm as they stared at each other.

"I've...found you." Janice thought it best to start with Gabrielle's words.

Mel's jaw shifted, as a sea of words and emotion, stymied over the course of a year, threatened to spill out into incomprehension. "You found me? I've been looking for you..." she sputtered.

"I know. I'm...sorry. Are you hurt?" Tentatively she pulled on Mel's sleeve, and surveyed the streets; people were talking on streets corners, pulling out wreckage, helping their neighbors, their homes destroyed, damaged, ruined. Lives were disrupted, but life went on, and no one seemed to pay attention to two lovestruck American women gazing intently into each other's eyes. Perhaps even the most unsympathetic passerby would admit it was better than having a bomb dropped on one's home.

"No, I'm fine. Just tired. Our block wasn't hit, luckily. Just some smoke damage....I was on my way to the office..." Mel continued to stare at Janice in utter disbelief. When she first saw a fair-haired, khaki-clad woman standing dejected, leaning against a lamp post, she thought, too little sleep and no glasses makes for pleasant hallucinations. But as she drew closer, she knew it was Janice. It was really her; she was really here. Don’t be a ninny and start crying now, Melinda Pappas. Nonetheless the unbidden tears sprang into her eyes. "God," she whispered, "there's so much I've wanted to say to you."

"I know, Mel. I’m sorry about what happened..." Janice trailed off.

"You mean...you regret it?" The tall woman’s voice had dropped to an agonized whisper.

"Jesus, no, I didn’t mean...that. I don’t regret that. I meant, I shouldn’t have left the way I did..." Quick, say it before you lose your nerve. "Look, I have only two things to say to you at the moment," she gulped. Come on, I can do this, after everything I've been through this past year...surely this is not hard. Or is it, quite possibly, the hardest thing I've ever done? "I love you. I think I always have, from the minute I saw you." She paused again, for effect. "And I'll never leave you again." Another pause. "Actually, I guess that was three..."

Mel seemed stunned, as if the Nazis had dropped a bomb on her head.

"You're not gonna faint again, are you?" Janice asked anxiously, recalling that fateful visit a year and a half ago, when Mel fainted at the sight of her. That should have told me something, then. Would a native southerner faint at just a little heat? No, it would take a lot of heat to lay this woman low. She allowed herself to smile a little, and was pleased to see Mel return the smile.

Mel shook her head vigorously. "No, I, uh..." The tall woman was clearly exasperated and befuddled. "Janice Covington, I don't know whether I should slap you or kiss you."

"I think I would prefer the latter, although I don't blame you if you do the former." Janice grinned. "Or you could compromise and do both..."

She was rewarded with a dazzling smile and a laugh from her lover, who enfolded her in an embrace, into the blackness of her coat. She closed her eyes with relief and inhaled Mel's scent. Surrounded by the dark warmth of the coat, her mind's eye was radiant with color.

*****

"You haven't asked about the scroll."

A curious hand fluttered against Mel's taut stomach. "Hmmmm?" Janice drawled sleepily.

To Mel, the drab flat where she had spent the past six months had never looked better. For two days she had not left the room, and hardly exited the bed she shared with Janice. The wily old Frobisher had wrangled a two-day leave for Janice, and excused Mel from her duties. He even sent over an embarrassed McKay with some food; the sergeant's overtaxed heart fluttered at the sight of Mel in a bathrobe, and the tiniest glimpse of the American WAC that he had led into his CO's office the other day, scantily clad (wearing a T-shirt and men's boxers) and lounging about on the bed. It's even worse than I imagined. In fact, I don't know what to imagine, McKay thought miserably as he left.

Night had fallen over weary London. Mel poked the slumbering woman who was curled up against her. "Corporal Covington, honey, don't fall asleep."

"Mmmmnrfph."

"Janice, don't you want to know what the scroll said? About Gabrielle?" Mel sank lower into the bed, turning to face her lover, and anchored her hands into the thick fiery hair. Impulsively she kissed Janice passionately, hoping it would awaken and arouse the weary WAC, so that they could talk about the scroll. I know, it's classic bait and switch, but all's fair in love and war...she thought.

For a moment, it seemed to work: The green eyes fluttered open with surprise, then the lids drooped down again and Janice broke the kiss. "You're an exhausting woman," she moaned in protest. Mel raced her hand over the dangerous, delectable curve of Janice's hip. "But don't stop touching me. Ever."

"I won't."

"Mel, I love you."

"And I love you, but...about the scroll..."

" 'Kay, tell me...I'm listening..." mumbled Janice, half-asleep, face buried in a pillow.

Mel narrowed her eyes in exasperation. "All right, here's what I've found out thus far. Ares becomes smitten with Gabrielle and makes her his Chosen. She goes on a violent rampage and conquers all of Greece, murdering ten times more people than Xena ever did. Meanwhile, Xena opens a bordello in Athens and secretly pens the Satiryca for Petronius."

"Ah, good old Gabrielle."

Mel, shaking her head, sighed in defeat. "Good night, Janice," she said, planting a kiss on Janice's forehead.

"Hail to the Queen, baby," Janice muttered, half-asleep.

Melinda Pappas arched an eyebrow in pleasant surprise. She smiled as she curled up to sleep next to her companion.

END!

[ulfwolf]

The Ego Battle -- Musing 179

It alone against the world, the ego —its illusory life 

It’s a grim scenario, this; grimmer still for being utterly real to the poor Ego, all the while struggling to keep up (and out of trouble), or keep down (and in trouble).

Ever thumping its own chest in defiance of all alien forces or scurrying for cover hopefully ahead of them, the Ego (in its heart of hearts) knows that it’s him (or her) against the rest of the planet: unfair odds to be sure, but what’s a poor Ego to do.

The Buddha Gotama was very specific. And all his spiritual offspring (the many different Buddhist strains that sprung up after his death some 2,500 years ago) that while disagreeing on many petty (in my view) details do agree. There is no such thing as Ego.

There are no sentient beings, only sentience.

Which, as the ultimate aside, naturally begs this question: how on earth did the One Ultimate Sentience (some named it Emptiness or Brahman or Tao or The One Mind) manage to fragment itself into a trillion trillion trillion trillion trillon trillion (et cetera) little bits, each called Ego and each with its own unique viewpoint?

And how is it that this fragmentation still seems to hold water?

I guess the answer to that question is that clear light at the end of the Samadhi Tunnel, to be reached one beautiful day by one and all.

Meanwhile, however, back to the Ego and its Illusion.

Concluding Herman Hesse’s “The Glass Bead Game” you will find “The Three Lives” written by the book’s main character Joseph Knecht (Magister Ludi). The last of these lives is “The Indian Life” which is as great a rendition of Maya (the illusion of Life) as I have ever read.

 While the Buddha spoke of Samsara, the Upanishads spoke of Maya. Same concept: the illusory life we’re all trying (and mostly failing) to come to grips with, starring: yes indeed: The Ego.

But one thing when it comes to Maya or Samsara: it is a zero-sum game.

On this Earth, for you to live someone or something else must die. This is obviously true of food but also of much else. Their bad luck, really, all those critters (and fish and fowl) that fall prey to our appetites daily to keep us strong. But, lucky for us (far too many maintain), the Bible specifically tells us to lord over all things non-human, so that’s all there for our taking (and digesting) then, isn’t it?

Indeed. It would seem that, according to Scripture, the Ego game is very much rigged in our favor.

Christianity, for one, views animals without much compassion and has held human beings as greatly superior to all other animals, and, has, in a word, held all lives non-human as food.

This being the amazing case, let me digress a little to illuminate this human-supremacy fallacy with the views of some celebrated Christians; after all, human beings were made in the image of God, and God chose human form for his (Jesus’s) earthly life and God has decreed that human beings shall lord it over all animals.

Yes, indeed.

First, let us turn Sain Augustine, who (for all his virtuous attributes) taught that animals existed entirely for the benefit of humanity. Why? Because:

·       Human beings are rational;

·       Rational beings are entitled to rule irrational beings;

·       Human beings can tame animals—animals can't tame human beings;

·       Animals are not rational;

·       Animals don't even know that they are alive.

So there. Though the strain in his somewhat simplistic (sleight-of-hand) logic echoes even today.

Another church father, Thomas Aquinas, was equally unconcerned with the welfare of animals, and taught the following:

·       Animals were created to be used by human beings;

·       Animals do not have the ability to reason, and are therefore inferior to human beings;

·       The status of animals is demonstrated by the fact that the punishment for killing someone else's animal is a punishment for despoiling that person's property, not for killing the animal.

(Excepting, of course, the Old Wild West, where they hung you for stealing a horse, while for killing some other cowboy in a brawl one might get a night in the smaller and a fine).

Thomas Aquinas taught that the universe was a hierarchy with God at the top. Each layer in this hierarchy existed solely to serve the layer(s) above it. Humanity came above the animals, so animals existed to serve humankind. Point proven.

Again, I’m not overly impressed by the water-tightness of this logic.

Aquinas also stressed the view that animals do not have immortal souls, whereas man, naturally, does.

In modern times, Karl Barth, some say the greatest theologian of the 20th century, towed the dogma line and taught that God's choice of human form for his (Jesus’s) incarnation showed that human beings are more important than non-human animals—a wild assumption, if you ask me, but I’m not a great theologian.

The Good Book itself weighs in on this, naturally.

As follows:

Genesis 1:26-28: Then God said, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. And let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over the livestock and over all the earth and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth.” So, God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them. And God blessed them. And God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth.”

And Genesis 9:2-3: The fear of you and the dread of you shall be upon every beast of the earth and upon every bird of the heavens, upon everything that creeps on the ground and all the fish of the sea. Into your hand they are delivered. Every moving thing that lives shall be food for you. And as I gave you the green plants, I give you everything.

And who can argue with God.

This, in essence, is a cart blanche for humanity to do with the Earth as it sees fit and pleases—and it does. And it is good. God said so.

So there. The meat industry, for one, clearly and heavenly justified by the Holy Book and its many masters.

Ever seen the wide-open, wild eyes of a cow lead to slaughter in one of these meat factories? She knows she’s going to die. She knows.

I really don’t believe that this was God’s plan, no matter what the Bible says.

Now, William Blake, on the other hand—a more compassionate soul, if you ask me—has this to say about his fellow animals:

A Robin Red breast in a Cage

Puts all Heaven in a Rage

A Dove house filld with doves & Pigeons

Shudders Hell thro all its regions

A dog starvd at his Masters Gate

Predicts the ruin of the State

A Horse misusd upon the Road

Calls to Heaven for Human blood

Each outcry of the hunted Hare

A fibre from the Brain does tear

A Skylark wounded in the wing

A Cherubim does cease to sing

The Game Cock clipd & armd for fight

Does the Rising Sun affright

Every Wolfs & Lions howl

Raises from Hell a Human Soul

The wild deer wandring here & there

Keeps the Human Soul from Care

The Lamb misusd breeds Public strife

And yet forgives the Butchers Knife

The Bat that flits at close of Eve

Has left the Brain that wont Believe

The Owl that calls upon the Night

Speaks the Unbelievers fright

He who shall hurt the little Wren

Shall never be belovd by Men

He who the Ox to wrath has movd

Shall never be by Woman lovd

The wanton Boy that kills the Fly

Shall feel the Spiders enmity

He who torments the Chafers sprite

Weaves a Bower in endless Night

The Catterpiller on the Leaf

Repeats to thee thy Mothers grief

Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly

For the Last judgment draweth nigh

Let me state for the record that I come down firmly on the side of Blake; very, much so. His contemporaries, interestingly, completely ignored him while History, that 20/20 hindsight wonder, seems to hold Blake in much higher esteem, and for good reason.

::

But then (let’s get back to the Ego), but then, someone else’s survival—someone who is far bigger than you and far more powerful than you (be it man or animal)—suddenly hinges on you losing, on you taking one in the minus-column, and here comes scurry time.

Oh, please, please not me. I’m just an innocent little ego who wouldn’t hurt a fly (you lie, scurrying), while the survival needs of the greater than you don’t give a damn, arranging their napkin and cutlery just so.

I sometimes wonder if Karma is not this zero-sum game’s official scoreboard.

::

I have read more than one account of Buddhist (both Pali and Zen) meditators reaching the point in their practice where the Self dilutes into a virtual nothing and with it (naturally, since they’re one and the same) the Ego. And they all agree: there is no sense of relief more profound.

Stepping out of the zero-sum game.

Shedding that little beast.

Good riddance, Ego.

 ::

P.S. If you like what you’ve read here and would like to contribute to the creative motion, as it were, you can do so via PayPal: here.

[westeros-rp]

The tower he stood on still amazed him every day, no matter how many hours he had spent on just admiring the great Hightower of Oldtown. There were far more complex buildings in Essos; from the Valyrian-inspired architecture of the Free Cities to the grandiose creations of Old Ghis, as well as breathtaking constructs of Yi Ti. Still, the sheer size of the tower on its own was amazing to Matarys. Standing behind the topmost aesthetic crenelations was always a joy - the boy could see the surrounding lands clearly and observe a new thing every day. In fact, he swore he'd gazed at the enormous wall on the other side of the continent on a clear day. "Come, Matarys. Your belongings are waiting outside the tower gates." The old maester's wispy voice made the boy pull his fingers into a fist while he turned to the man, as if he was irritated by the archmaester interrupting his daily routine although the truth stood elsehow. "Thank you, archmaester. I know the tower well, I believe I should be able to find my way downstairs." The acolyte turned once more, looking down at the Oldtown ports. But something was wrong. Far too silent. The old man behind him hadn't made any noise or shuffled his feet to move down the stairs. Matarys turned once more, his piercing gaze now a fierce glare. An inquisitive raised eyebrow made the archmaester speak again, "I'm afraid I must accompany you. You can lead the way, if you wish." A bright smile on the man's face spoke loud enough. He wasn't frightened of some spoiled adolescent, no matter how volatile the young man had proven to be. Matarys easily towered over the man, too, as he walked beside him and down the staircase. The bastard had already abandoned his cloak, instead wearing his new outfit specifically made for his Westeros endeavors. An obsidian black gambeson strapped tightly against his body from throat to knees, precisely decorated with red and gold accents, and a small belt along his waist to hold up what looked like a shortsword's sheath. Tight leather boots hugged all the way up his leg, to his knees as well, with only his face and hands as visible skin. His maester's chain, halfway complete (Matarys had finished about seven links of his chain, six of those silver), was wrapped around his left shoulder, almost reaching his elbow. The shine of solely silver and valyrian steel chain was a strange sight to most maesters, even moreso with the chain hung around the boy's arm rather than his neck. The tower being so large also meant it took some time to reach the gates, a journey down the many stairs that wasn't exactly pleasant for the archmaester that silently trailed behind the tall boy. No weapon was allowed inside the Citadel, and the old man's eyes flickered to Matarys' sheath more than once. He'd seen it before, three years past when the bastard enrolled into the Citadel. A pure black shortsword, that the maesters knew well to be dragonglass. The sword had its guard and grip made of valyrian steel, which made the maester wonder why the boy hadn't opted for a valyrian steel blade instead. Alas, the man had been told to swallow his pride and let the boy wear and wield what he wanted, as long as he quit the Citadel for good. With no comment of his chain, Matarys walked out of the gates in between the two sphinxes and turned to greet the maester one final time. "I wish you fare better out there, Matarys." the old man spoke, distate clear in his voice. "And I wish you the best of luck, Maester. Lords know the realm needs it, too." A disturbing grin ruled over his lips as he spat his venom. The maester slowly closed the gates, and Matarys turned to freedom. His advisor had responded to his raven in time, traveling to Oldtown and now had already started packing Matarys' chests onto the wagon. The older man pointed his workers around, until he saw his master. "The wagon is ready, your Grace. Have you any other tasks here?" High Valyrian was sure a relief to the boy's ears, and for the first time seeing his slave made him exhilarated. It meant he was back, back outside of that tower and back outside of those dusty libraries. "We ride the wagon into Oldtown, we can't forget Jaos (val: dog)." he replied in noble tongue, quickly seating himself in the horse carriage as they rode into town. One particularly loud inn was their destination. Matarys went in alone, letting Lāra (val: crow) and the three slave-soldiers guard the wagon. Having never entered a peasant inn such as that one, Matarys had some trouble orienting himself with the loud noise and overcrowded space. His target was easy to see, however. A man one head taller than the young bastard - with copper skin and green stripes similar to that of a tiger's running along his neck and face. "Jaos, come." Matarys spoke, having walked closer to the man who sat alone at a table - two wenches dancing around him in attempts of seduction as he drank his ale. The soldier was quick to react, pushing the women aside and stepping closer to his master before starting to lunge down to kneel. The boy caught his shoulders, pulling the slave back to his feet as he spoke again. "Stand. Not here. Come, we're leaving this shithole." Hearing Bastard Valyrian as Matarys swore brought a smile to the slave's face. Matarys was his master, but the previous three years without him had truly been uneventful for the Volantene slave. The two men walked back to the wagon and set off for their long journey.

one week later

Lara's suggestion to enter the Citadel three years ago had been good counsel. The massive library was obviously the primary benefit, along with being hidden from the royal family. But the ravenry had been a massive aid that none of the two had foreseen. Lara had advised they stay in Essos until the political climate was softer for them to land in Westeros, but Matarys had insisted on sailing west. Now, the climate would shift because of his moves. The young bastard was a player in a game of chess without anyone knowing about it. His carriage was flanked by five horsemen per side, two leading before the carriage, and four more protecting the rear. Jaos hung on the carriage, a heavy arm wrapped around one of the wooden pillars of the window. "Our girl is riding the Kingsroad as we speak, she should be there just in time for the feast," Lara informed, keeping track of numbers on his thick book. "Then, the Royal Family should be stuck in their city until the coronation." the man continued with a shaky old voice. "Yes, yes.  This way we can move without distractions," They had opted to ride the dirt roads that branched off the Roseroad, traveling through forests, hills and rivers in orrder to avoid the jams of the Roseroad. With King's Landing feast coming up in a couple days, most of the noble houses from the Reach would be traveling that route. Instead, Matarys ordered his slaves to follow along the sides of the Roseroad, that way they could have eyes on any opportunity to cross beyond the road and continue north of the Reach. As it was, they would be following the curve of the road which would take them towards the Stormlands. Matarys concluded it might slow them down by one day or two at most, but that was a small sacrifice compared to the possibility being seen; what was more suspicious than the sight of a foreign carriage flying no banners riding exactly the opposite way of the Capital? Surely with the night – when most noble carriages would stop riding and camp overnight – Matarys could find open spaces along the Roseroad and ride across.

[kinetic-elaboration]

February 22: Yet MORE Thoughts on Dawson’s Creek

Okay I know I said I was done, but I’m not. Re-watching that Dawson’s Creek finale has reminded me of a couple of things.

First, it was pretty bad, overall, although mostly because of how dirty they played Jen--not just in killing her, but in making her this soft-voiced wisdom-dispenser all through the ep...and then killing her, and having no one really react at all. Everything else was neutral-to-good but considering at least half of it was devoted to the Jen stuff, and she was SORTA a major character and all, it’s a big negative.

Second, the last five minutes were really good. Like the correct couple got together (re-watching, it seems to me that it was never as unclear as I thought it was the first time--like Dawson and Joey got only BFF type scenes, whereas Pacey and Joey got all the UST scenes but anyway), and the main trio were all friends, and Dawson gets to meet Spielberg but has no romantic resolution to his life, which is fitting, because 80% of his love interests were flat and unconvincing. (The two exceptions are Gretchen and S6 Jen btw.)

Third, you gotta admire this show for how secure it is in its own identity. It knows it’s all about beautiful scenery, outsized emotion, and talking a lot, and that’s basically it--but emphasis on the outsized emotion, like nothing ever really happens, but people FEEL stuff up to 11. Constantly. And the finale leaned into that all the way. Not just one conversation between off-and-on ex’s, but a half dozen. Not one goodbye-to-the-dying scene, but 15. Not one love-confession fake out, but 3 or 4. Not one disposable love interest, but 3. And why not? After six years I think they knew they were a phenomenon of the time. Dawson’s Creek has not aged well, but it’s done something better imo, which is really encapsulate the time in which it was made. (Full disclosure: I actually mostly watched it in syndication, because I was only really of the right age to watch/appreciate it during the second half-ish of its run. But it was still utterly pivotal to my teen years.)

Finally and most importantly I wish I could have an alternate universe Queer version of this show. Maybe not a reboot per se because those are always awful and also like I said, it is of its time. But it would just make so much more sense.

By this I mean that the show is notoriously and obviously based on Kevin Williamson’s adolescence, with Dawson being his avatar, and Joey the avatar of his childhood female best friend. And Kevin Williamson is gay. This explains to me more than any other fact why not only Dawson’s relationship with Joey, but almost every romantic relationship he was in on the show fell flat. No chemistry. It was most obvious with Joey because they beat that will-they-won’t-they dead horse with about a dozen sticks but honestly it wasn’t like he had a lot of other memorable love interests. I don’t think it’s because the show can’t do romance. (Pacey/Joey is still one of the best out there in a lot of ways, ridiculous first-sex-scene aside.) I think it’s because Dawson is a queer kid shoved into a straight kid’s body. Let him be free!

I think it would be ideal if he’s not out in the first season, but there’s still enough clues that it’s not like a SURPRISE he’s GAAA-Y thing like with Jack, where coming out is just a strongly emotional but vague and neutered teary-confession that appears out of pretty much nowhere. (Other examples include 90% of gay people on TV in the 90s and early 2000s.) Like, all of Dawson’s female romances are awkward, as in canon...but around S2 we get a reason why.

Gretchen could be Pacey’s brother (not Doug--Gretchen, in personality, still, but a man), and they could split up but eventually get back together and be endgame because I liked them.

Also even though I never read Joey as being queer, exactly, I do think Jen could be and also I love the idea of Joey/Jen I just do, I’m That Queer Girl. So Joey could go from being hung up on her semi-obviously gay friend to seeing this new girl and initially hating her and then realizing, WOW actually I like her but then because I still like Pacey/Joey, that could be the love triangle. Except way harder because it’s so much less obvious: who would she choose? I just don’t know. (Probably Pacey still tbqh but not because of Jen’s death. Jen would live in this alternate universe. Her love interests though were all universally awful so IDK who if anyone she would end up with.)

Jack would still exist but be maybe a little less, not to over-use a word here but, neutered. I mean, I don’t hate the depiction of Jack but it’s...it’s very weird to watch now, let’s just put it that way. It is, like the rest of this show, of its time. (He would not end up with Doug, though. With almost everyone else some shade of queer, Doug, the walking Gay Joke, is unnecessary.)

Also Andi could survive as a cast member into the college years and she and Audrey could hook up because you know what, it could happen.