#big strong men with impossibly tiny animals that fit in the palms of their hands? GREAT

[invinciblerodent]

anyway once Assan gets too big to get inside the house (and the convenient excuse of "what if Assan hurts it by accident" is lost), I've been toying with the thought of Ver finally talking Davrin into getting a cat

partly because like everyone, during her run I made sure to stop and pet every cat (so it's kind of canon that she really likes them- I took that a bit further and hc that she could never have one growing up, and then she started working nights and unpredictable shifts so that also made getting one before impossible), and partly because I just like the idea that spending half a lifetime tending to wild halla and the other half hunting monsters and raising a lion-eagle (all Very Large) would leave him both apprehensive, and somewhat rudderless when it comes to caring for something that's a fraction of that size.

like when people with large dogs first start interacting with kittens, and look like they've suddenly gained a new and terrifying awareness of the fragility of life

[ruthsheart]

comfort

 While Marco is flying the wolf pack to Scotland, @ava-x-park stays with Ruth to comfort her hysterical best friend. To her surprise, she learns that being a good friend isn’t always gossip, shopping, and compliments.

tw: blood

Ruth: Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong. Marco hadn’t picked up his cell all day. Last night he’d flown off like some geeky superhero in a trench coat, pack of wolves floating around him like little deadly clouds. He’d simply flown off, alone, and left her, alone, and not once had he picked up his cell in twelve restless hours of calling and sobbing into her pillow and smashing whatever she could smash in her anxious rage. The least he could do is send her a text. Hey Ruth, I’m in Edinburgh, be home soon, in his typical careless, no-big-deal way of saying things that mattered. No. Idiot had gone off to be the hero and get his throat torn out as he starved himself of sleep and food, all alone, in boring ol’ Scotland of all places. Selfish jerk would get eaten by wolves and the only thing she’d know for sure was that he never picked up the phone ever again. In the meantime, Ruth had thrown enough fits to exhaust herself and trashed enough of her flat that she couldn’t properly sit or lie down anywhere except the floor. So on the floor she planted herself, pretending to nap between ragged sobs and panicked, ferocious text messaging.

Ava: As Ruth's self-proclaimed best friend, it was Ava's duty to comfort and soothe poor Ruth in her brother's absence - to be a pillar of strength and consolation during Ruth's time of deep distress and loss. To bring a sense of calm and clarity into the midst of the chaos of Ruth's desperate situation.

However, Ava being Ava and Ruth being Ruth, it was never going to be quite that simple.

The little silver spoon sang against the glass cup as Ava prepared some sweet chamomile tea. Stevia, of course, no sugar. Sugar was for breakups and when people died, and as far as Ava knew - despite Ruth's fears for the contrary - no one was dead just yet. There was no sense in adding to the dramatics by giving the poor girl sugar.

"Here you go, darling," she said in a soft, sing-song voice, as she padded back to Ruth. "Usually when mummy feels stressed she has a tramadol and takes herself to bed, but I don't have any tramadol." She took a seat on the floor opposite Ruth and offered out the cup. "So I made some tea. Apparently it's soothing. If it doesn't help, we can move on to wine, I'm sure I saw some Chardonnay in your drinks cabinet."

Ruth: She sniffled miserably as she poked a few more words into a text message. Please don't leave me here alone. I can't do this without you. Send. As Ava's nimble feet moved with an almost inaudible patter across the wooden floor and over the throw rug, Ruth weakly pushed herself up to sitting. Her hair hung limp and tangled over her face. Her wrinkled white blouse was smeared with blood and her jeans had dark mud-stains across the shins. She hadn't changed or showered or eaten in almost 24 hours. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Marco was the only person who mattered and he was gone.

"Thank you." She muttered as her hands wrapped around the little cup, her voice low and rough from crying. She didn't want tea, but she was raised to be polite whether she wanted it or not. Instead, she held the heat close to her chest. It was something warm in this cold, dreadful world. "I don't want to sleep. I don't want anything." Everything was wrong, from Ava's adorable little socks to the spinning ceiling fan above their heads. The world was wrong without Marco in it. "Why won't he answer me, Ava?" She already knew the answers. He's focusing on telekinetically flying himself and a pack of wolves. He's too high up for proper cell service, which was spotty over the wild parts of Great Britain to begin with. He didn't want to get distracted and mess up. He'd dropped or forgotten his phone somewhere. He fell, or he was attacked, or he was dead. "Why is he such a selfish jerk?" Her throat squeezed tight and her ragged voice turned to a squeak as she gripped the tea cup tight and sniffled back aching tears.

Ava: "Well, that's what the tramadol was supposed to be for," Ava explained with pronounced patience. She tucked her long legs neatly under herself and rested her now-empty hands in her lap. "At least get changed. A nice, hot shower and some fresh pyjamas. You'll feel a hundred times better, trust me."

At Ruth's questioning, she gave a exaggerated, sympathetic sigh. "Because he's a man," she explained. "And they're all the same. Brothers, boyfriends, dads... they all go to the same school of self-absorbedness and awful communication. It's just what they do, and we love them anyway for some reason. I'm sure Marco will be in touch with you again  just as soon as he's finished dealing with those ghastly flea bags. He's probably off scrubbing himself with a wire brush as we speak and he'll be home before you know it."  She folded her arms, forgetting herself for a moment and frowning deeply. If her mother were here, she would scold Ava about wrinkles.

"I still don't really understand what that boss wolf was even doing. Like, what on earth was he planning to do with Faye's body? Go to uni and drink at the weekends? Use his new thumbs to finally surf the net on an iPhone? What was the master plan, exactly?"

Ruth: Ruth’s eyes lifted from the little glass cup hugged in her hands to give Ava a deadpan, exhausted stare. She was too tired to argue. Last night, she might have thrown a fit if someone told her what to do, she might have screamed and tossed her mug of tea across the room. She didn’t have the energy to fight like that, not after a long, sleepless night of crying into her throw rug. Now she could only stare with sore, watery eyes, as if silently begging Ava not to force her up from the rug where she will decidedly lay until she dies.

Ruth sipped at her tea, then frowned at the boring herbal taste, like water and leaves. On second thought, that was all tea was, water and leaves. She set the cup aside and drew her knees up to her chest. Her focus faded in and out while Ava chattered on about fleas and scrubbing... Blood and dirt-stained fingers picked unconsciously at the mud on her jeans. Her mouth answered before her mind had even caught up. “He wanted power.” She blinked at the distant invisible place she’d been staring at for minutes before turning to look at Ava. “He was nothing more than an animal before Faye, just a wild dog, but inside Faye, he had power. He could communicate, he could manipulate, he could walk among us and nobody would throw him in a kennel and move him to the zoo. He was angry, and he wanted the power to do something about it.” She thought back to the night in the woods, dancing and feeling each other’s bodies under the full moon. She’d been asking herself the same question for days—what had Ulfric wanted out of that night? Was it really him in control, or had Faye shone through for one evening? Ruth hugged her knees tighter. “He wanted to hurt people. That’s reason enough to destroy him.”

Ava: "Well, he got one thing right, I suppose," Ava mused with a non-committal shrug. "People tend to underestimate the gift of the gab, but if you've got it, you've got an awful lot of people under your thumb. I guess he could talk to us and move around our world and still talk to all of his gross little friends." It was the best of both, really.

Oh-so-casually, she took her phone out of her pocket and brought up Marco's number. There were exactly two WhatsApp messages to him saved in her history: one from like a million years ago asking why his sister wasn't answering her phone, and one from last spring asking him when his birthday was, because she had been tipsy on champagne cocktails with Ruth and thought she was being dreadfully witty. Neither message had elicited a response from Marco, though the two blue ticks confirmed that he'd read them. She keyed in another message.

would u hurry up?? ruth planning ur funeral xx

Still smiling sweetly for Ruth, she put her iPhone away again.

"Anyway, like I said. Men. Even men who are wolves, or dogs, or whatever. Selfish."

Ruth: Ruth sighed, a long dramatic rush of exhaustion. Normally, she'd agree with Ava. They'd laugh about how terribly irritating men were--selfish, rude, ignorant... Ruth couldn't count how many times she'd told Ava stories of how Marco was impossibly frustrating and unkind to her, but for every tale of woe, there were two more stories of his generosity and love. Things had never been easy for them, father always had his expectations of them, but they held strong because they had each other. Without Marco, she would be utterly alone for the first time in her life. He had to come back. She needed him back in her arms, because if he didn't come back, she wouldn't know how to live without her other half.

A silence fell between them, exhausted and painfully aware of itself. Again, Ruth found herself staring at Ava with a blank, lifeless expression of disappointment. Everything was wrong. Words came out wrong, the carpet under her bum sat wrong, Ava's watery tea was wrong, Ruth's aching violated skin was wrong, the air felt wrong. Ava's presence only sharpened that sensation from a dull blade to a slicing edge.

Slowly, Ruth uncoiled herself and fell onto her back. She shut her eyes. For a moment she thought if she pretended to sleep again, maybe Ava would go home, leave Ruth to suffer in loneliness as loudly and as mud-caked as she wants. Then a strange thought popped into her head. Without getting up or opening her eyes, Ruth muttered. "Why are you here, Ava? What do you want?" Her hands felt heavy, as if someone rested a 20 kg weight in each palm. They sank into the fluffy rug, blood-stained fingers curling in on themselves. "I thought we weren't talking anymore."

Ava: Ava watched her friend mope with concern, a tiny crease appearing between her perfectly-maintain eyebrows. Ruth was acting like her brother was already as good as dead. None of them had died yet.  They'd all come up against the wolf pack in one way or another, and they were all still alive. Even Des, and all he had to defend himself were flashy lights. Marco could literally move things with his mind. He could even fly. He was going to be fine.

Ruth's question, however, threw her slightly. "Hmm?" She tilted her head to one side and tried not to sound as miffed as she felt. "What d'you mean, why am I here? You can't be all by yourself in this state, can you?" She fell silent for a moment, the hurt worming its way into her chest as she scrambled to find something else to say.

"Of course we're talking, Ruth! What on earth are you going on about? Honestly, all this stress has made you really confused. You're my bestie, babe. Just because we've been, like, super busy all year doesn't mean you're not still my fave, yeah?" She smiled at Ruth's supine form and folded her arms across her chest. "You know, I read this thing on Instagram the other day, about how really close friends can, like, not see each other for ages and then just pick up again right where they left off. I think that's totally us, don't you?"

Ruth: Eyes shut and body laid out like a skinned animal rug, Ruth tried not to sigh too loudly at Ava’s trite response. Tried, and failed. There were nine other people who could have come to comfort her, but Ava was the one who’d come. Ava, who’d been avoiding her for months. She had an angle, a motive, something. She wouldn’t just show up now to play nurse to someone she didn’t want to see without a reason. The idea that Ava was only here to watch her settled bitterly in her chest. Just another watcher, another person she thought she knew, wasting their time making sure she doesn’t do anything reckless. Slowly, Ruth explained with only a little venom. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’m a grown woman. I can eat, and sleep, and poop when I want to. That’s not why you’re here.” Again, she asked. ”What do you want?”

The reply was not what she’d been expecting. Ava, as she always did with her perfect knack for being perfect, smiled and brushed away Ruth’s concerns as easy as swiping left. Ruth’s eyes eased open to stare at the whirling ceiling fan. Confused? God, she really was confused. The world felt like it was crashing down on her head and nobody else could even feel it at all. Was she really losing it this time?

Her face scrunched up as a hiccup of a sob escaped, hot tears spilling free once again. “I’m s-sorry, Ava. I don’t know what I w-was thinking. Of course we’re still besties. Besties forever.” She swiped her hands across her cheeks to brush her fat, heavy tears away. Her fingers left brown smudges across her face. She gasped another quivering breath and squeaked as she stifled another sob. “I thought... I had my accident, and then you s-stopped messaging me, and I... I thought I scared you away. I thought you didn’t like me anymore.” She buried her crumpled, crying face in her hands, too embarrassed to share her gross snotty tears with Ava. “I love you, b-ballerina babe. Please don’t hate me for what I said.”

Ava: Honestly, Ruth's super-suspicious line of questioning was confusing - not to mention the rudest. Here was Ava, making tea and offering a listening ear like the amazing friend that she was, and all Ruth could do was shout at her and like some snappy... snap... McSnappington.

"Well, my darling. You're very upset right now, so I'm going to let that..."

She trailed off when Ruth suddenly dissolved into a puddle of tears and heartfelt apologies, and her own heart softened, kneaded with a strangely upsetting combination of genuine sympathy and gnawing guilt. "Oh, sweetie..." she said quietly, shuffling across the floor to draw alongside Ruth before lying on the floor next to her. "I was scared. Super scared. I wake up one morning to like, fifty billion WhatsApps all telling me to ring back, it's an emergency, you've tried to..." She paused, hesitating and blinking back tears. "That you've tried to... to hurt yourself. And then some of the others are saying it was to do with this... this stupid magic nonsense."

She fought to get a grip on herself before she started crying too. It wouldn't do to cry. This wasn't a big deal. They were best friends, just like they always had been. Nothing had changed.

"T-totally spooked, babe," she went on, with a nonchalance she's perfected over countless years. "And it was so not cute of me to ghost you like that. Completely selfish. I am so, so sorry for being such a hideous flake." She rolled on to her side to face her friend her head resting on her arm. "I love you too, gorgeous. It's you and me, yeah?" She reached out a perfectly-manicured hand and brushed away a tear. "Best friends."

Ruth: Buried in her hands, Ruth tried to swallow down the tide of tears that kept rising up, stinging at her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. She heard Ava move, her motions graceful, quiet, gentle. Everywhere she went was a dance, an expression of her perfect lithe shape. Someone like Des or Imogen would have plopped down beside her like a great sack of potatoes, announcing their arrival with fanfare and perhaps a little endearing clumsiness. But Ava, she moved with elegance, like a flower opening to the morning sun. In many ways, her best friend was like her twin brother, a rather inevitable turn of events considering how close she and Marco were. Just like him, Ava was almost always perfect. She was always smiling, always controlled, determined and practiced, talented and beautiful. Just like Marco, Ava was gifted. Her beauty inspired Ruth, and it tormented her. She could never be that graceful, that naturally smooth and gentle. Wiping her face roughly with long fingers, Ruth sniffled back the soggy tears and blinked at her effortlessly gorgeous friend.

"It was so, so scary." She nodded in mopey, pathetic agreement. "I thought I could make it disappear, get these horrible images out of my head, if I threw it all away and left this awful place, but without the paint..." Without the paint, there were so many other ways to pour her soul out onto the canvas. Her wrists itched painfully where the scars knotted her fair skin. "I wanted to d-do everything on my own, to prove I was s-strong and smart enough to control it, that there was nothing wrong with me. I..." Her throat tightened, but she pushed onward in a small, whimpering voice. "You're right. I can't be alone. I'm not strong enough."

Slowly, Ruth shuffled closer, reaching out to rest a soft arm around Ava's petite waist. "Best friends. No matter what. Even when... when... I'm not..." Even when I'm not pretty, or strong, or smart, or funny. Even when I'm falling apart. Please, please love me. Tell me I'm enough. She wriggled in closer, trying to hide her messy face against Ava's chest.

Ava: Ava shook her head. This was so typical Ruth. So independent and stubborn. So hell-bent on doing everything herself, even when it was a disaster waiting to happen. Still, she couldn't blame her. Their powers scared Ava, too.  Ava, as much as she avoided this truth, had been frightened into inaction. Ruth had had the guts to attempt an escape.

"Oh, darling," she sighed. "Your painting is in you, like my dancing is in me. You can bin your paints all you like but I'm afraid there's no running away from how devastatingly talented you are!" She allowed herself to smile again. "Maybe this magic thingy is the same. It just sort of is."

She hugged Ruth close to her, not sure what to say. Her usual go-tos when comforting her friends were to tell them they were just so pretty, that they didn't need so-and-so in their lives anyway, or that they should go clubbing or shopping. Somehow, in the face of Ruth's raw pain, with her friend's thick, tangled hair between her fingers, none of her pre-programmed responses seemed adequate. That quiet, growing panic that had become increasingly familiar to her since beginning her studies at Durham made it's presence known once again, and she fought to contain it.

"Even when you're not quite up to yourself, yes. Of course. What are friends for, after all? Darling, you've been so brave. But the wolf thing is gone now. Marco will be back in no time, all fussing about being hungry and having dog hair on his jacket. Faye will be up and about in no time and we can all get back to normal. That's all we want, really, isn't It?"

Ruth: “Devastatingly talented? That’s your choice of words?” Ruth wanted to slap Ava’s cheeky mouth, so she did, gently. Rolling onto her side, she lifted a hand to pat Ava on the cheek, leaving a muddy smudge in her wake. A smile threatened to pull at her lips as she noticed the dirty handprint on Ava’s flawless cheek, a little bit of artful juxtaposition. At least she’d left her mark somewhere in the world before the end of it all. “Devastatingly something, I wouldn’t say talented, maybe foolish.” Rolling again onto her back, she blinked her aching eyes at the whirling ceiling fan. Her smile faded, sharpening into a little frown of contemplation. Maybe it just is. That bit of logic went against everything the authors had told them, but that could be why it sounded so appealing. Of course, anything sounded more appealing than cursed to die horribly. For some of them, they had taken to their powers like a fish takes to water. For Ruth, it felt more like her powers had taken to her. Overwhelming waves that crashed on her head before receding away into the depths of the unknown future, leaving her smeared with paint, sore and confused. All she could do to control it was keep her paints and pencils nearby for those moments when the levee broke and time came flooding in. Was that what Ava meant by “it just is”?

It was easier to ignore the gnawing fearful questions when she was pressed up against Ava, wrapped in her slender arms with the sweet floral scent of her filling Ruth’s head. Fingers brushed into the thick matted hair at the back of her head. Finally, her ragged breathing began to settle into a rhythm. Her quivering relaxed into a heavy exhaustion. Ava’s fingers curling into her hair sent waves of warm, tingly sedation through her. She snuggled against Ava’s chest, relieved to feel cool skin against her burning hot cheek. Her breath swept across Ava’s skin in quiet little hiccups. Ava’s voice was like a melody, light and dainty as birdsong. Again, the flimsy ghost of a smile floated on her lips. Marco would saunter back in complaining about hair on his jacket as if he’d only been gone minutes, rather than days. “Marco...” Her giggle was a tiny breathless wheeze. “I miss him.”

Faye, too. She missed Faye’s careful fingers, her soft lips, her watchful eyes. That Faye was gone. This new Faye wouldn’t dote on her every movement, wouldn’t drink in her every word like poetry. The wolf was dead. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Ruth nodded against Ava’s chest. “Normal,” she whispered. Her head was immensely heavy. Simply the act of breathing took all the energy she had left after her violent fit of tears. She shut her eyes. “I’m not sleeping.” She insisted in a small groggy mutter. “I’m just resting my eyes for a minute.”

Ava: Ava laughed as Ruth gently cuffed her cheek. So relieved was she to see her friend show even a glint if her usual cheerful banter that she was even willing to let the muddy smudge on her face go. Either way, she was still the cleanest person in the room. That would have to do. "Devastatingly gorgeous, then," she offered.

Ruth had become calm, and Ava shut her own eyes in the soft silence that came with the likely-brief island of tranquillity in the sea of her friend's emotions. "I know you do, babe," she replied softly. "He misses you too. That's why he's going to hurry back."

She opened one eye and glanced down at Ruth's head, profoundly unconvinced by Ruth's claim. "Darling, if I blew on you right now you'd be off. Why don't you go to bed? I can wait here and wake you up if Marco comes back, yeah?"

Ruth: “God, I hope he hurries back.” Ruth grumbled sleepily into Ava’s chest. “I can’t live like this. I can’t keep living like this. Always on edge... waiting for the next attack... the next bout of bad news...” Her voice hummed low as she babbled her drowsy worries. “Every time I think I can trust someone, they hurt me or they leave me, everyone but Marco... but he’s run off, too.” Weakly rubbing her watery eyes, she sighed. “For once, I just want to feel safe, like there isn’t someone waiting to jump at me from the shadows.” She sniffled miserably. “The stress is killing my complexion.” Some mornings she didn’t even recognize herself in the mirror.

Sleep. She was so unbelievably tired. If Marco would just come marching victoriously through her door, she would finally be able to let everything go and let sleep take her. Until then, her thoughts stuttered between sluggish disappointment and frantic bursts of fear and anger. “Noooo...” She moaned quietly, squeezing a little tighter at Ava’s waist as if to hold herself there on the floor with her. “What if he calls?” Her voice began to tighten and turn high-pitched with panic. “What if he doesn’t come here first? What if he shows up on the news? I don’t want to miss anything!” Her breath faltered. Her voice wavered into a plea, rather than a demand. “I can’t sleep. Marco might need me at any moment. I have to... I have to stay... awake.” Again, she hid her face in Ava’s chest, shielding her friend from seeing how her eyes could barely keep open, despite her worried protests.

Ava: Ava sighed deeply. "It's not fair, is it, darling?" She replied. "Do you ever think maybe life would have worked out so much easier if we just... hadn't all gone down to the beach that first night? I mean... " she smiled, abashed. "I only went out that night because I was meant to meet some boy from History of Art - you remember the fit one with the ponytail that dropped out last May?" Her smile faded at the memory, her free hand moving unconsciously to rub at the muddy streak on her face. "Anyway, I stood him up. Got to the bar and just, like, kept walking. And the beach looked so lovely that I wanted to take a picture and put it on my Instagram." She glanced sideways at Ruth and raised her eyebrows. "Should have just gone on the stupid date, shouldn't I?"

She'd gone off on a bit of a tangent, but she didn't really mind. Ruth probably didn't care too much either. The poor girl was almost out cold.

Ah, skin. Something Ava could actually help with. "Perfect, then. We'll do facials at my apartment once all of this is finished... just... just as soon as you aren't muddy anymore." The carpet in her bedroom was cream, after all.

Ruth's sudden protests caused her to sit up. "Ruth. Darling. Marco is going to be such a pain if he finds I didn't look after you properly," she  said. "He'll know, too.  No amount of eye cream is going to fix this, babe."

Ruth: Ruth remembered the boy with the ponytail. He’d been smart, but lazy, uncommitted. Ruth had several classes with him in her first year. She had glared at him from across the room every time she noticed his nose buried in his phone in the middle of lecture. Maybe all that glaring had injected him with some terrible illness, or maybe he’d finally decided he was too smart for school, either way he’d dropped out suddenly and Ruth had never seen him again. Ava’s chest slid out beneath her cheek as the girl moved to glance at her. Ruth blinked the tears from her eyes and raised her head to meet Ava’s dark, sweet eyes. A slight smile tugged at Ruth’s lips. Ava was so naturally lovely, even smudged with dirt and shadowed with somber emotions. Ruth imagined painting that soft, radiant face, smoothing delicate pinkish porcelain-colored paint onto the canvas with her sharp painting knife to get the clean, flawless reflection of her beauty. “He was pretty, but that guy had no dedication to anything. It’s good you stood up that cheeseball. He’s no good for you.” Even exhausted and upset, Ruth knew without a shadow of a doubt that Ava would have abhorred dating that loser. It was obvious.

“We were star-gazing,” Ruth began in a dreamy, far-away mutter. “Marco and I, we were already at the beach together, looking at the stars. We do that in the summertime when school gets out, just lay back and talk about cabbages and kings while the night turns all around us for hours and hours and hours...”

Every time she thought she had gotten the tears under control, they began to creep back up again. Her eyes welled up with wetness at the simple suggestion that they do facials together, something they used to do regularly before her accident had driven an awkward wedge between them. For perhaps the first time in twenty-four hours, Ruth paused to look down at herself. Her clothes were caked and smeared with dried sticky muck. The dried blood on her hand was falling off in ragged little chips. Her hair hung in thick, matted tangles, rather than her usual luscious waves.

When had she become such a horrible mess? How had she let it get so bad? With Ava here, no less—perfect, gorgeous, well-composed Ava, who never looked less than completely stunning.

Mortified, she hid her face in her hands, wishing she had Cleo’s gift to disappear. “Ohmygod, I’ve lost it. I’ve really lost it. I’m on the floor in day-old clothes with dirty hair and blood and... and Marco’s going to have a cow. Oh god, what do I do? I’m such a mess. No wonder everyone thinks I’m totally mental.”

Ava: Ava smirked. "Yeah, definitely. He probably thought he was God's gift to women, too. The way he used to peek around sometimes in lectures to see if anyone was looking at him. I mean, he was hot and everything, but I'm actually fairly sure that he was so in love with himself that going out with anybody else would have counted as cheating."

As Ruth's eyes began to well up with tears again, Ava lay back down next to her again. "Yeah, and it's like, June now. You'll be doing it again this time next week, I promise. Just lazing about chatting about.... about cabbages in the sky and all those lovely things." Probably twinspeak. She didn't ask.

"You have a little bit, darling," Ava admitted with a twinkly laugh. "It's so not like you but let's face it, you're still hotter than the majority of people on their good days. What you do, is get a shower and have a nap. I don't care which one you do first - although I'm sure you'd be far more comfortable with all this dried muck off you." She got to her feet and put her hands on her hips. "Right. Chop chop. You decide what you're doing first and I'm going to get you a towel and some nice clean pajamas."

Ruth: Ruth sniffled and gasped, trying to suck back the tears, collect them inside herself where no one else could see them. It only made her sounds more miserable as she struggled to breathe. Ava's closeness beside her was a troubling comfort. Rub her face and sniffle all she wanted, she couldn't hide her pathetic sobbing enough for Ava not to notice. Ruth had tried so hard for so long to be strong, to be independent, but her best friend's closeness and understanding left Ruth's exhausted strength feeling as flimsy as a wall of dry leaves. A little shove sent her spiraling off in all directions, scattered powerlessly on the wind. She had missed Ava in her absence far more than she had thought. Being smart and strong was so agonizingly boring sometimes.

She missed facials and shopping and moaning about gross people in their classes. She missed wandering in new places and laughing at each other and staying up until the run rose. She missed riding bikes down hills and splashing paint on each other and arguing over what to eat for lunch. She missed having friends. Without Marco, her life had become lonely and loveless. But she hadn’t truly lost Ava, not like she lost Des all those years ago, only frightened her best friend. She prayed to the heavens that she wouldn’t lose Marco this time. She opened her mouth to argue that Ava couldn’t promise her that it would happen. People kept promising to her that Marco would be back, but they weren’t actually doing anything  to bring him home. Hypocrites, the lot of them. Her breath wobbled out a small hiccup. While she swallowed down that wave of tears, she decided she’d argue another day, one where she wasn’t barely keeping herself together.

It’s not fair. Ruth was tired and muddy and fighting to hold back tears while Ava was glowing with laughter and kindness. Ava was effortlessly perfect. Like Marco, she never tripped and fell on her face, never lost her cool. Rory, too. Stupid air signs and their stupid flawless smiles. It’s not fair.

“Th-thanks,” she muttered into her hands. Pulling her fingers away tentatively, she looked down at her hands and grimaced. “Shower.” She nodded. “He can’t see me like this he’ll throw a fit.” She looked around her at the rug, spotted with crumbles and smears of mud, then at her filthy hands, then up at Ava. Her eyes still puffy and watery, she held out her hands for Ava to help her up off the floor. ”Ohmygod I’m so gross.” She whined once she climbed to her feet. Her skin stung as she peeled the jean jacket from her shoulders. In the hours she’d been fussing and screaming and lying there, the jacket had nearly adhered itself to her back. She winced as she dragged it over her aching muscles, then dropped in it a heap on the floor. The white blouse beneath the jacket cling to her skin in filthy patches, splattered with blood. She didn’t hesitate for a second, curling her fingers under the hem and lifting the soiled shirt over her head before throwing it to the ground. She didn’t care what happened to the shirt now. Wash it, burn it, throw it in the rubbish, it was all the same as long as she didn’t have to look at it again. Her steps were slow and unsteady as she fumbled with the button of her skinny jeans while she wandered toward her bedroom.

Ava: "Oh you know he will, darling. He'll come strutting in here and he'll  be like..." She plastered an exaggerated frown on her face and deepened her voice. "Oh, Elizabeth, you look just simply frightful, what the devil have these - these nincompoops been doing with you while I was gone? If I can fly to Scotland whilst juggling a pack of wolves, one would think that they'd be able to to look after you between then. I shall have Jeeves lop their heads off!"

She was talking nonsense now. Anything to lighten the mood. Anything to coax her to do something - anything - that wasn't lying on her floor in floods of tears. Ava had no idea what to do with that. She knew how to gently tease and gossip and giggle. She was a good mate. As this conversation went on, however, she was becoming ever more sinkingly aware that she wasn't a particular skilled friend. She'd never really practiced it.

Her existential crisis was put on hold briefly as Ruth undressed right there and then, dripping with her trademark nonchalance at being stood in front of someone as she peeled her clothes off. Soft, tanned skin brushed futilely at patches of dirt and blood, her normally silky dark curls hanging in a matted, scruffy mess around her face as she bemoaned the state she was in. Even filthy and bedraggled, she was gorgeous. Ava was sure that in the same position, she herself would look like something that had crawled out of a swamp. Ruth's dark gaze and fascinating softness would shine even through anything.

She blinked as Ruth turned away and made her way out of the room, and realised that she'd been staring. Ruth probably thought she was being rude. Or worse, creepy. God, she wasn't a creep. She was just - well, tired. They were all tired. It was bound to be making them all peculiar.

Sighing, she got to her feet and picked up the dirty shirt, bundling it up in her arms and hovering for a moment, unsure of what to do. Finally, when Ruth had left the room, she tiptoed to the kitchen to find the bin to dispose of the shirt. And make some more green tea. God, she needed a cup of tea.

Ruth: Ruth winced as her first name left Ava's lips. She could hardly stand it when Marco called her by that name, as much as he was accustomed to using it for some godforsaken reason. When anyone else called her Elizabeth the feeling changed from a frustrated fondness to a sour taste that strangled her throat. Even if it was just a joke, a silly impersonation, Ruth couldn't help but wear a theatrical pouty frown. "I don't need to be looked after," she grumbled quietly. "I just need a slap over the head from time to time." Maybe a kiss on the cheek and a handful of compliments too, but she wasn't going to admit that to anyone. With a small sniffle, she attempted to fix her hair, tucking wild strands behind her ears and combing fingers through thick snarls at the back of her head. She was fine. She could take care of herself, when she wasn't swept away in the floodwaters of her anger and fear. Lifting her chin proudly, she dammed up the levee. She had appearances to keep, a reputation to uphold. Too many people were already questioning her sanity. They couldn't see her like this.

Ruth squeezed her eyes shut as she wriggled out of her tight jeans that gripped at the curves of her hips and thighs. Hopping precariously on one foot, she worked off her tiny striped socks one at a time, then peeled the trousers from her legs. It felt good to be free of the binding clothing that stifled her skin. She left a trail of stripped away clothes strewn about behind her as she meandered toward the bathroom. Her breath froze in her throat as she caught a glance at herself in the mirror, haggard and stained, with dark circles set deep under her puffy pink eyes and hair in an ugly knot at her neck. With a heavy sigh, she started the shower, waiting for the hot water to steam over the horrifying image in the mirror. In the distance, she heard the kettle bubbling to life again. Ruth plucked a cotton pad from the cabinet and doused it in makeup remover before she set to work wiping the streaks of black eyeliner and soft shimmery eyeshadow from her face.

A thought kept flitting in and out of her head as she dabbed at her face. Ava stayed. Even when Ruth looked like a walking nightmare, and wanted to scream at everything and everyone, Ava stayed. Ruth had snapped at her and told her to go, still Ava stayed. She wasn't sure what that meant, but it meant something. Staring at her pinkish, bare face with sunken dark eyes, Ruth was at a loss for reasons. Maybe there wasn't one. Ava didn't need to have a reason to be there. Without a second thought, Ruth padded back to the door to her bedroom so she could poke her head through and call to her friend. "Hey, Ava? I'm glad we're best friends." Then she slipped back to the washroom to climb into the shower.

[ardynium]

Saving a chocobo

Read it at AO3

Still for @chocobutt-trash

Chapter 6, in which Cor meets a boy

His first steps were shaky, as if the ground hadn't completely solidified. The hand in his hand was weirdly warm, and he felt the temperature change as his hand moved over his chest. For an instant, it was almost burning, but there was not the experience of pain that would have followed without fail if there was a real burn. Cor inspected his palm, then repeated the movement. The silver arm grew warmer, than, in a certain position, hot, and then colder again.

After a little experimentation he understood that it was not the position of his hand, but the direction it was facing. So this was Gilgamesh's way of giving guidance? That it happened through pain was oddly fitting.

The hand seemed intent on keeping him just aside the paved road, as inviting as that even surface was to walk on. The Immortal fell into the steady step of of soldier scouting unknown terrain, and didn't take any time to explore beyond the grounds that he needed to pass to get ahead. He was not a person to be easily scared, but these woods gave him a feeling of unease that made him regret tactical retreat was not an option.

It was quiet. Too quiet. He wondered why there worn-out words popped up in his head, only to notice they were kind of true. This place was not without life, but every noise was washed down and muted, dissolving in the fog. Under his feet twigs broke and gravel moved, but only a faint memory of it reached his ears. The creatures that existed here kept their distance from the invader in his heavy boots, and he was thankful for it.

The further he got, the harder it was to make his way through the underbrush. What had been dead wood and mushrooms – at least he decided the weirdly soft things he sometimes scrunched under his soles were only mushrooms, but yet he did not feel the need to investigate – had turned into thorny bushes that teared at his clothes. Tiny red berries glowed under their leaves, and wispy threads of spider silk wove patterns between them. Those tiny threads posed more of a problem for the traveler than he had expected. Even a single on of them was strong enough that a tailor would happily accept it as new material for his trade, and where some of them were spun together, even his sturdy hands had a hard time to tear them apart, so zigzagging through the shrubbery was the preferable option to going in a straight line.

For quite a while he wandered, silently thanking Dareen for giving him this compass. The webs were a maze that grew more and more complicated with every step, and he felt lost even with the clear direction. It was only when he noticed his path closing behind him, being woven tight by tiny spiders, that he reached for Forfex, ready to cut his way through, but hesitated. This was not an attack, was it?

“Stop it.” Maybe they could be reasoned with, and he added a “Please” for good measure. They indeed paused for a moment, only to continue their work with renewed fervor. Cor was reminded of the little prince. Sometimes he was bent on doing something, especially when he wanted to show a new thing he learned, and neither good words nor threats would keep him from finishing his plan.

“You want to take me somewhere?” No reaction this time. He sighed and went deeper into the labyrinth between the trees.

Time passed.

There was no thirst or hunger here, at least not for him. For a while, the spiders were guiding him along a small stream of clear water running through a rocky bed. It looked natural enough, but he could make out raw mosaics on the ground in some places, pictures of fishes and of a creature that looked like an octopus gone wrong in ornamtal stylisation. Gilgamesh agreed with the direction he was taking, and his steps had slow down to a walk. He wanted to save his breath. Just as Cor was musing how long he had been here, an only too familiar sound made its way through the surpressed noises of the world surrounding him. A tiny, breathless whimper, the wail of a hurt animal, pleading and full of despair. He froze midstep. Listened. It was not far from here, and even though he was not willing to leave his path, it hit a place in his heart where the violence of the recent years had not managed to create the same thick layer of armor that steeled him against most pleas. He shook his head and went on, trying to banish the pity that nibbled on his heart.

“This is not my order.” he told the spiders, and for a moment he felt multiple faceted eyes staring at him. “But then... I don't exactly have an order, do I?” He rubbed his face. The smith had told him to trust his guts more than his head, and maybe it was at least worth a try.

“Would you bring me to the one who is suffering here?” he asked, followed by a “The one we hear.” just to clarify. A milling mass of many-legged bodies closed the path before him and opened a new one, deeper into the forest. The Immortal hoped they not only understood his words, but also his good intentions.

Time passed.

He had not seen the smooth, skinlike bark of the trees for what felt like hours. Were they leading him in circles through this maze, where everything was covered in pale silk? The doleful sounds had grown louder, or wishful thinking got the better of him.

Shapes hung between the trees, vaguely humanoid. Here and there there surface of rusted armor under the webs, ancient and foreign in design. Sometimes a thing that might have been a branch or a weapon, impossible to tell.

“Hello?” He tried to shout, but the words came out of his mouth like through a thick layer of cotton, bound by the fog. “Anybody there?”

Oh, this was useless. Hunting a ghost, nothing more. He strayed from his past for nothing.

“He...” His head jerked around sharply. That was a voice, strained and high like that of a child. “He... hello?” The boy, it must be a boy, and he tried again to find the power to call out for his saviour.

“Where are you?” he tried to shout, asking the spiders in a lower voice the same, urging them to hurry.

“Are you him?” Cor recognized fear, and those words were filled with it.

“I'm not him, whoever that is! Just a traveler! Hold on, will you?”

“Don't leave me...” So feeble now, and the boy started sobbing again.

“I won't! I promise!” The words were out of the Immortal's mouth before he thought them through, and the little “Well shit.” that came now was meant for the spiders and the world at large.

“Well shit”, he repeated as he found the boy that hung in the trees, arms stretched out wide, long blond hair like a halo around his head, held up by silken threads. He couldn't be much younger them him, but a soft face and a load of tiny freckles made him look so very young. Big blue eyes stared down to Cor, swollen and red from crying

“You're real?” Fresh tears were runnning.

“I... I think so, yeah. You don't look so peachy.” Cor was lacking the right words for this situation. The boy was lacking all of his lower body, and the men he met in that situation usually were screaming for a short while and then very dead. The spiderwebs were keeping his intestines where they belonged, but even this way, he would not be of this world for long.

“You're real!” His lips trembled, and he smiled under his tears.

“What happened to you?” He stepped closer. The boy hung too high, way above his reach. Cor's head barely was on the level of his heart.

“I'm dying”, the fair boy stated, “but that's probably obvious.” The sad try of a chuckle. Cor never was a friend of gallows humor, but he allowed it in this case.

“How long have you been here?”

“Oh, been hanging around a while...” As nobody laughed, he bit his worn lip, and suddenly, his voice was full of tears again. “You won't leave me? You promised...”

“I can't help you... I'm so sorry...” Cor's hands were checking the injuries, and the boy shivered under his touch. His first impression was right. The webs kept him from dying, but even with the medical attention he could have gotten in Insomnia, this boy was a goner.

“You can. Please, please, you can.”

“You've got a name?”

“Only a number. Nobody ever cared enough to give me a name. Listen, traveller, I can tell you what to do, if you will do it. You must be brave for me, because my hands are bound, no, I mean, please, will you, can you, please...” His voice ebbed into sobs again.

Cor took a deep breath. A part of him was horrified, but another saw this boy, this puppy, and wanted to end his suffering. “So what shall I do?” The boy swallowed hard. The determination in his eyes was that of a warrior before certain death in a glorious battle. He had waited to utter this plea for way too long.

“Open me up and take my heart with you.”

“What?”

Under his freckles, the boy blushed. This was not going according to plan.

“End me. Please. Let me die.”

The Immortal carefully touched the spiderwebs, and the boy with no name nodded.

“Do you think this will hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Will you stay with me til I'm gone?”

“Yes.” Cor put every ounce of honor and adoration for this brave little boy into this one word, and the boy understood.

“Can I... can I have a hug before you do it?”

Cor held him in his arms for a long while, listening to his frantically beating heart, and finally he pulled the silk from him, as he had promised, and he held him while they boy slipped away without even a gasp. The spiders separated the threads holding the body, allowing the traveller to take him down and put him to rest in a shallow grave he dug with his hands.

He followed the boy's plea and took his heart from his chest. No flesh, but an intricate piece of clockwork, dark with blood. The hand in his palm grew scorching hot as he touched it.

For a time, he sat with the memories and the feeling of relief that lingered over this place now. Then it was time to walk on.