#biron hums

[marvelslegacies]

Song: Came A Long Way Artist: Heartless Bastards Character: Biron

[amiharana]

For the kiss prompt.. can't have revalink without ❦

(ask game from here)

you're so true about this anon what is revalink if not snow kisses persevering or however the quote goes (more under the keep reading)

Revali doesn't think he'll ever tire of looking at Link.

They're atop the Biron Snowshelf, having just permanently finished off the Guardian Stalker buried there, and after they had collected the parts of its destroyed corpse, it began to snow lightly. Not enough to warrant any concern from Revali, but enough for Link's eyes to widen at the event, looking around in quiet, yet delighted surprise. He holds out a hand palm up to the sky and when he catches a few snowflakes, he cups them in his hands and stares in wonder, eyes sparkling.

Beautiful, Revali thinks to himself, utterly besotted in an instant. You look beautiful when you're happiest, my love.

"Have you never seen snow fall before?" the Rito says aloud instead, rather softly. Link looks back at him grinning wide, his eyes bright with glee. Even in the merciless chill of the Hebra Mountains, Revali melts under Link's smile.

"Well, I mean I have," the blond says, rolling his eyes. "But it never gets old. It's incredible." He glances back at his hands and brightens when he finds more snowflakes have fallen in, and starts waddling towards Revali.

"Look how pretty," Link whispers, showing his cupped hands to Revali, who instinctively reaches a hand out to hold his mate's waist. Within Link's hands lies a group of small, but intricately patterned flakes. They were quite pretty, but—

"You're far prettier," Revali murmurs back, and Link snorts at him.

"You're such a sap," the blond says, but he's grinning. He's got snow in his hair now.

"I have no choice, you make it too easy which how much you endear me." Revali takes his other hand to tilt Link's chin up and presses their foreheads together. Gently, he nuzzles his mate's nose and lips with his beak, to which Link sighs in response and wraps his arms around Revali's midsection, returning the gesture.

"You dropped the snowflakes," Revali remarks softly.

Link hums. "I can always catch more. A moment like this with you is much more valuable." He brings his hands up to cup Revali's face and presses a soft kiss to the middle of his beak, the Rito's eyes shutting.

"If you desired so, I'd give you all the snowflakes this land could offer," Revali says under his breath. He's far too infatuated with the blond to be making such impossible offers, but he supposes that he would die trying to give his mate everything he'd ever want.

Link only giggles in response. "That won't be necessary," he says. "I already have you." When Revali pulls away to look down him, the blond's cheeks and nose are flushed pink, but his bright grin keeps the cold at bay, his eyes sparkling with mischief and fondness.

Yes, Revali won't ever tire of looking at Link, his most precious jewel. How could he ever?

[whump-cravings]

TR3 - Overtaken

1,497 words | Original Work: The Royal Three

Content | War, battle, magical battle, death, stabbed, shot with an arrow, pinned by impalement, profanity, royal whump

The air around the royal siblings thrummed with power, concussive blasts raining on them from every direction. The youngest, Baltar, held the blows at bay while feeding a power to the eldest, Hakon, who stood in a braced stance while the middle child, Rohisa, managed their counter strikes.

"Hakon!" Rohisa warned, flinging a blast beneath oncoming foot soldiers to the north, whose silver-plated armor made them impossible to target directly.

Hakon, managing this and several other battlefronts through the eyes of others, had no time to waste with speech; in an image-thought, he directed Rohisa to strike a point on a wall high above the courtyard.

He was met with bewilderment but could only trust Rohisa to follow his orders, because masses of power abruptly released from six different locations. Hakon had only a fraction of a second to predict the trajectory of each strike, determine how to redirect it in a beneficial manner, and convey that information to Baltar.

Sound assaulted the area as Rohisa’s blow exploited a structural flaw and dropped an avalanche of stone on a group of Vallaen mages and soldiers. At the same time, magic scraped across Baltar’s modified shield, flinging into the soldiers to the north, the archers that had appeared on the roof to the south, and into a tree to the southeast, toppling it on yet another group of enemies.

-Sir! What should we—? came a voice in his mind. With it, a distant battlefield.

Hakon flashed a configuration to Lieutenant Nilomi that would allow two of her five squadrons to punch through to the enemy’s rear and force the battle on two fronts.

He directed his siblings in the next half second, then focused on Commander Mahtan in the northern sector. Whole swaths of buildings had been reduced to rubble, but Hakon couldn’t let the devastation distract him. He kept the bulk Mahtan's mages spaced out around the civilian body, the other mages paired with Irondan foot soldiers in mobile groups to repel the attacking force.

Bindi was at the front courtyard, fighting his way in with his people; reinforcements for the royal siblings. His was an uphill battle with palace defenses now occupied by Vallaen forces. But Hakon knew every inch of the castle, each tactical position, and with his knowledge, Bindi's archers picked off Vallaen mages and soldier alike.

One of them drew back her silver-tipped spear and hurled it at the trio. Hakon drew on Baltar's power to wrap strings of magic around the haft of the spear, propelling it while angling it past their shield and at a mage to the east. It took the man through the abdomen, but Hakon wasn't watching the result, viewing another distant battlefield in his mind.

Rinho's and Biron's battles seemed to be going well, but there was a pincer trap aimed at Biron's strongest squadrons—

Fire in his thigh cut silenced magic’s hum and the telepathic information. Hakon fell hard onto his knee, gasping while clutching the hilt of the knife. They couldn't afford this—! With gritted teeth, he tore the blade free.

"Hakon!" Baltar cried, shield faltering over where it covered Hakon.

—breaking through—! Agony cut the sender off, and the eldest pressed a hand to his head. Biron was gone.

-Shield! Hakon barked at his brother, but a wedge of magic sent Rohisa and Baltar stumbling away. At the abrupt and harsh movement, Rohisa’s bad leg gave out; the princess pitched onto the ground. As soon as Hakon managed to erect a shield of his own, a heavy blast assaulted him from the side. He caught himself from falling sideways with a hand, grit digging into his palm.

-We've begun taking heavy losses—! Rinho.

-Pull back and regroup, Hakon ordered.

"What's happening?!" Rohisa cried as Hakon spared a sliver of mana to staunch his bleeding thigh, rearranging pieces on a mental board.

The enemy doubled down on the divided siblings.

-Focus on defense. Wait for Baltar, Hakon commanded Rohisa, pushing himself to his feet and almost falling under another blast. He'd been outed as the weakest sibling. -Bindi is close. The three of them just had to make it another minute, maybe half—

-can't keep this up, what do— Mahtan.

-Take half the mages off the civilians, Hakon ordered; a calculated risk. So far, the enemy’s focus had only been on their fighters.

Hakon shunted blows to his shield, sending them somewhat haphazardly into walls around them, throwing up dust. The attacks were tight but not completely controlled; Hakon siphoned off a smidgen of mana each time his shield was hit.

An arrow shot down at the eldest from behind, Baltar's vision allowing him to see it coming. He flicked just enough mana at its base to send it spinning; it clattered onto stone next to him.

"Baltar!" he hollered to get Baltar's attention directed at the regrouping foot soldiers, inching his way to his brother. The opposing mages were doing their best to keep them separated, their attacks shifting to focus solely on his right. -Ask civilians with mana pools to help power their shield, he added to Mahtan.

-Your highness?! Biron's dead! We're barely holding, I don't know— A panicked, unfamiliar voice. Hakon didn't have time to hold the young woman's hand; he took stock of Biron's forces, who had fallen prey to the pincer maneuver. He showed her how to rearrange the squadrons into a united force, mages in the middle, ranged fighters in a ring around them, and foot soldiers at the edge to repel those at the edge of the shield—and told her any silver-tipped arrows her archers had needed to be used now.

Baltar's blow of magic from Hakon's left shattered the shield around the group of foot soldiers, barreling into their center. Bodies were thrown several feet in different directions while those at the edges dove to escape the attack. One of them got upright quickly, throwing a spear at Hakon. He could see the haft was covered in magic; his trick wouldn't work on it

Mahtan was close to Rinho's forces, Hakon relayed to the two commanders in the meanwhile.

Hakon formed his shield to his body—a feat both impressive and mana-expensive—diving towards Baltar while twisting through the barrage of blows. He inflated his shield back to a sphere, getting onto a knee as the spear clattered harmlessly against the ground. He was just an arm's length away from Baltar's shield, and Bindi was in the corridor—

Biron's commandeered forces had thinned out the surrounding enemy, leaving three noticeable gaps; Hakon directed the unnamed young commander to divide her people into three groups and move into the gaps, breaking the unity of the enemy.

He saw the bowman on the roof through Rohisa's vision as she looked towards her brothers, and the bolt fired at him. He wrapped magic around its shaft—

"Highnesses!" Bindi hollered from the far end of the yard, and relief flooded through Hakon.

But the arrow, coated completely in silver, slipped through his grasp.

He lurched out of the way, the bolt slicing through his ear. He saw from Baltar's eyes another hurtling at him from behind.

He never could have moved fast enough.

The bolt embedded in his shoulder, lighting his world on fire and breaking communication again. He strained against a scream, reaching to rip the bolt out, but a blast of magic threw him forwards like a rag doll, right at the feet of the foot soldiers. He rolled away from a spear, screaming through his teeth when the movement shoved the bolt through his shoulder.

"Leave him be!" Rohisa yelled, something exploding and sending debris raining down around and on Hakon. Metal clashing told him Bindi's people were fighting to get to them. He just needed to buy them time, just ten seconds, if he could just--

He tried pushing up on his good arm, and a foot took him in the face, sending him sprawling. A spear rammed into his good shoulder, pinning him to the ground. He screamed again, both from pain and rage, grabbing the haft of the spear.

"Hakon!" Rohisa and Baltar cried in unison.

"Surrender or he dies!" someone yelled from above him.

"Fuck you!" Hakon screamed, knuckles white on the haft of the spear. "Kill me if you want but we'll never--"

"We surrender!" Rohisa shouted over him.

"Rohisa!" Hakon bellowed, kicking with his single uninjured limb. "Baltar, don't--!"

"D-Don't kill him!" Baltar said, voice catching on a sob.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He snarled wordlessly, gnashing his teeth at air. He couldn't even be angry with them, when only minutes ago they had lost Mother and Father.

[luxe-pauvre]

I was tagged by @thecynical-idealist and @vfollia to make a moodboard of my spring aspirations and fashion inspirations.

A spring of solitude, reading, and assignment writing:

“Solitude in the city is about the lack of other people or rather their distance beyond a door or wall, but in remote places it isn’t an absence but the presence of something else, a kind of humming silence in which solitude seems as natural to your species as to any other, words strange rocks you may or may not turn over.” - Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost

“For now she need not think of anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of - to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others... and this self having shed its attachments was free for the strangest adventures.” - Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

I tag: @c-erudio, @classical-vanity, @expatesque, @bironism, @deadhamlet.

[nyaka-rogue-dragon-age]

The Hanged Man {Part 1}

The first time I met Varric Tethras was long before he became the famous (or maybe infamous, is more accurate) author, occasional Spymaster- and more notably, friend to the famed “Champion of Kirkwall”.

We met when he was nothing more than a merchant looking to gather to gather an expedition into the Deep Roads. An adventure that he and many others regret.

Nothing good comes from places so deep and dark. Not from the Darkspawn, not from the Demons, and most assuredly- not from Red Lyrium.

Varric and I know that all too well.

…. We were younger, then. Naive too. Sometimes I find myself missing those days, before the Deep Roads, before the Qunari, before Red Lyrium. Back to the days when he had yet to take a step into the deep dark earth, and I had yet to plunge myself into their troubles. When Varric was simply Varric- wily, charming dwarf with a permanent room at the Hanged Man, who in his free time got into trouble with a young, nearly equally as charming human rogue by the name of Biron Hawke.

When I was just a minstrel, a waitress. When I found refuge and work at the Hanged Man, served drinks, food, shrugged off the drunks- and occasionally dabbled in song and instrument. When I was just a normal, ordinary girl running from Fereldan like so many others.

Nyaka the Tavern Girl, and Varric the dwarf with the crooked smile and the crossbow.

.:+:.

Free Marches. Kirkwall, Lowtown-

The Hanged Man

It was loud and bustling, feet shuffling along floors worn down to the splinters and stained across by ale, sweat, blood, vomit… You name it. Busy bodies and stumbling figures staggered around the warm room, slopping beer from their cups and bumping into tables- coins glittered as pieces were thrown down as bets, conversation roared with murmurs of shouting and laughter and anger mixed in.

Varric let out a heavy sigh as he set his quill down on the table top, his hand moving to reach for his cup as he moved it up toward his lips- emptying it of what little ale was left in the bottom before sighing again. The table was littered in papers and documents and matters to which he had spent the better part of the day trying to sort through and piece together. To near no avail, unfortunately- he’d been locked up in his room for the better part of the day before migrating to the main hall of the tavern to continue what had proved fruitless and frustrating.

The close confines and dingy atmosphere of the Hanged Man (as well as the lack of windows) gave no true indication as to the time of day. But judging from the rise in people drinking and the orange-yellow glow that seemed to grow dimmer in that one, small, grim-ridden window near the entrance- he had wasted the entire day away and now night was setting in over Kirkwall.

His fingers left the edge of the cup slowly before he started stacking his papers up into piles, the sound of music starting as the band got going.

His eyes began to trail slowly over the confines of the room and the people. He wondered faintly how likely it would be that dear Biron Hawke could not have called on him today..... Perhaps he was busy, and with no true need of Varric- though maybe he wished it had turned out the other way.

He found the same few people roaming the floor who never seemed to leave the Hanged Man. He saw the few Templars that came in for the end of the day and a reprieve from their duties, their shoulders sagging and glancing about at the common rabble and the thieves with wary eyes.

A whole wash of common and usual, the regulars and those that stumbled in drunk and looking to become more. Those simply there for the noise and others to see someone else, and some few for the information, to scope out the people and the possible marks. Varric’s lips twitched ever so slightly at the thought of some idiot brave enough to try and pick his pockets.

His hand moved to take hold of his cup again as he continued to look out across the rabble, his watching interrupted when the lightness of the cup reminded him it had emptied.

He began to raise it, intent on casting a word toward the bartender for a refill- his eyes trailing toward the bar only to halt.

She was moving between the crowd with hardly a sound, her feet trailing over the floor and hardly seeming to touch anyone she brushed so closely. Those icy blue eyes found every little opening between the bodies, her expression utterly neutral yet insanely keen and focused, her hands balancing several mugs and plates all at once. Her dark russet and red hair shone dimly in the firelight as she passed the hearth by.

She was something a familiar sight too, she’d arrived at the Hanged Man near a week prior and stayed- she worked there, serving drinks, food, cleaning too. Though in all his time spent at the Hanged Man he hadn’t afforded much time to actually talk to her- she seemed something of a busy body, on her feet from dawn to dusk and never ceasing in what she did. He found himself wondering how she managed to keep on all the time and never seem to tire even the slightest bit…. With how wrapped up in his own plans and things he’d been the last week, he had paid her no mind- not enough to know her name, or how she came to end up in Lowtown and toiling away here …. But now,

There was something about the way she was moving between the people, some lightness- as if she was weightless. It would have been hard to hear her make any noise from across the room and with what rabble filled the air, but he somehow felt he would have scarcely heard her feet move across the floor even without all the other interference. She walked with nothing but control, grace even-

He hummed lightly under his breath, his eyes narrowed as some keen light shone from them for a moment.

His hand lift in the air with his empty cup, catching those somewhat strange icy blue eyes in moments. She nodded, ever so slightly- before retreating back to the bar to grab a pitcher and trailing her way across the hall toward him.

Varric’s eyes flicked away from her for near only a few seconds as he pushed a stack of papers to the side- and as he looked up she was suddenly standing just there in front of him, filling the cup and those strange blue eyes like chips of ice watching the yellow liquid fill. His attention trailed from the markings painted under her eyes toward the fine and wicked looking blade that she had strapped to the low of her back, her skin and olive hue and her hair pulled into a tie at the side of her neck. Her clothes were well kept but nothing expensive, worn at the sleeves and clearly used to work, though a bit above the bare rags that the poor came to know.

“There you are, serah.” She murmured with a nod his way, her feet turning as she started to leave,

“That’s a fine looking blade you have there.” Varric called her back easily, her stoic expression breaking for half a second in slightest surprise toward him- before he saw those icy blue eyes flash in sudden uncertainty at what the words meant. He pulled his mug closer as he cast her a small, signature smirk. “Not often you see a barmaid carrying around a weapon like that, let alone one who knows how to use it well.”

The pitcher in her hands met the table top as she cast him a glance, pausing for a little while longer as her eyes narrowed. She let out a soft sigh,

“Is that a question or an assumption, serah?” She asked evenly, he smirked. She hardly waited for his response though, “… I am perfectly capable of handling a blade. Better to be at least proficient, lest my own weapon be removed and turned on me.” She paused, sighing slightly. “… Wise especially here in Kirkwall.” She added quietly,

“Clever girl.” Varric smiled, she blinked. He lat a hand lightly on his breast with a dip of his head her way. “Varric Tethras, at your service.”

She dipped her head toward him in return, “Nyaka Ayere.”

“I take it you’re from Fereldan?” Varric asked lightly,

“Escaping the Blight like near everyone in Kirkwall nowadays.” She nodded, “I take it you’re not?” She added in lightly, her lips twitching faintly at the corners and so faintly he barely noticed it- but ever the observant man, he did.

“Born and bred in Kirkwall.” He replied easily, she nodded a little.

“…. You do seem more local than most.” She murmured lightly, “… However, I thought that House Thethras was a part of the Merchants Guild. I find it a little strange you’d be toiling your time away in a tavern in Lowtown…. The Hanged Man doesn’t strike me as the sort of place to offer much profitable venture.” Varric’s eyes widened slightly,

“Heh, well informed about the Merchant’s Guild are we?” Varric hummed, she let out a small breath.

“Not quite so well.” She murmured, “But well enough to know you likely don’t handle upfront errands for the Guild…. Spymaster and secrets seem more your area of expertise, Master Tethras.” She stacked up the discarded plates resting at the end of his piles of papers and the like, those icy blue eyes of hers fixed to the cutlery and not to him. His eyebrow quirked at that, his interest peaked in pleasant surprise.

“And you garnered that from watching me work only a few hours?” He hummed, “It’s not as if I’ve spent much time in here since you began working here. That’s the quite the leap to be making about my character with so little time.”

“…. Hmm, you’re entire countenance exudes charm, wit, and a roughish mysteriousness, Master Tethras.” Nyaka replied lightly, Varric chuckled lightly under his breath. Her expression didn’t change at the sound though, her eyes kept still on her hands and her movement as she continued talking. “I don’t think it so much a leap…. But the piles of papers of names and manifests, carefully sealed letters, and little notes you pass along between here and your room to the outside while no one is looking do say something of your character.” She hummed, before pausing a moment “…. The way you watch the crowd is something of an indication as well.” she added in softly.

Varric’s eyes widened, glittering in the dim as he watched her carefully, and with no small flicker of surprise stirring in his core at those words that were so weighty and yet she said them so offhandedly. They weren’t vague, they were detailed, precise… It seemed she had noticed him more than he would have thought, and nearly with the same keen interest and perception he’d expect of himself. And yet there was nothing about her that gave off a hint as to someone so observant, at least not like that. And he was… Pleasantly surprised. Intrigued too.

“Very clever girl.” He smiled, she seemed to shrug her shoulders at the words- but he swore he saw her smile for half a second.

“You’re something of a rogue yourself it seems, and not simply a barmaid, hmm?” Varric smirked, his head tilting at her every so slightly.

“I suppose I am.” Nyaka replied lightly, the plates now resting on her fingertips with perfect balance. She turned her back on him with a small wave over her shoulder and not a bother in the world.

Her icy blue gaze met his for but a split second as she headed away- her feet across the floor made near no sound at all.

“Enjoy your ale, Master Tethras.”

Varric leaned back in his seat, his fingers trailing along his chin as his other hand reached out toward the now full cup. His eyes watched her melt back into the crowd and move through it with ease, never bumping into anyone, her balancing of the plates never faltering- and those icy blue eyes never moving back toward him or his corner. Or at least, not whilst he was looking… And now suddenly he had a feeling she did look his way and he would never know it when she did.

“Hehe…… I think I’ll need to keep an eye on that one… ”

.:+:.

Part 2 (next)

.:+:.

MasterList/Directory

[marvelslegacies]

Song: War Baby Artist: Roddy Ricch Character: Biron We was hoppin' out in broad day Servin' fiends in the hallway Promethazine til the morning Hope I don't wake up tomorrow We was the type of [redacted) that would rob the robbers I'mma make the choppa sing like...

[marvelslegacies]

Song: Blunt Blowin Artist: Lil Wayne Character: Biron

Life is a choice and death is a decision Times have changed Well, fuck it, get a new watch I still got the vision like a line between two dots

[marvelslegacies]

Song: Tulips & Roses (Director's Cut) Artist: G-Eazy Character: Biron

I swear there's a scarcity of self-awareness Was faded when I wrote this, often micro-doses Mushrooms, chocolates, and bottomless mimosas

[marvelslegacies]

Song: Stupid MF Artist: Mindless Self Indulgence Character: Biron

[marvelslegacies]

Song: Control Artist: Puddle of Mudd Character: Biron

[marvelslegacies]

Song: You're Gonna Go Far, Kid Artist: The Offspring Character: Biron

[marvelslegacies]

Noah & Biron | Small Talk | Main Paragraph

It had been a week since Biron had stumbled into the lives of Team Legacy, he had almost adjusted to the new house. Cass and Jarome were out scouting tonight, doing the real work of men, while Noah and Biron stayed home doing nothing but pills, cigarettes, and marijuana. All they needed was one discrete head nod and they were sharing their secret stashes with each other. Biron had brought out the pretty pink pills from the inside pocket of a black backpack. Noah had a large glass jar filled with orange-dusted nugs.

In a matter of minutes Noah had three blunts expertly rolled and Biron was two lines deep into some quality coke. He passed a small glass tray over to Noah who took the rolled up fiver and put it to his good nostril. He snorted the stuff and braced for the burning sensation in the back of his throat.

“Cocaine tastes fucking nasty, dude.” Noah said, setting the tray on the coffee table and leaning back into the couch. Biron was to his left, facing the front door of their home, staring it down.

“Do the cops run around your neighborhood?” Biron asked without waiting for an answer, “I bet they don’t. These houses look nice.”

Noah had his own questions, but he was not yet high enough to ask them of Biron. So he picked up the tray and snorted one more line then lit up his blunt and a cigarette, double-fisting the two.

“You can light up a personal.” he offered one of the blunts to Biron with a dismissive wave of his hand, still holding the cigarette.

Biron reached insteach for the pack of Marlboro Reds and lit one up for himself. “When I’m fucking ready.” he said plainly to the other, the most outgoing of the three of them. Noah didn’t take offense to Biron’s words, he was too busy enjoying the waves… his head was swimming.

Biron found it easiest to be around Noah. Cass was in constant pain around him and wouldn’t shut up about it. Jarome was easy to talk to but perpetually busy meditating or reading. Noah had very little going for him besides their makeshift team, and Biron… Biron had very little going for him as well, for the time being. It just made sense for the two to get high together.

After twenty minutes passed, the thought of Jarome and Cass eventually returning was long gone. They were doing reconnaissance, anyway, Noah knew that Cass was thorough and Jarome could get obsessive. They’d be gone for hours, maybe even all night. This was Biron and Noah’s first time alone together. Noah thought he was more than good-looking but was trying to play the friend role, considering Biron had blundered into their lives in the midst of a major trauma.

“So what’d you go to prison for?” Noah asked cheekily. This was actually one of the easier subjects to broach between Biron and Noah. They discovered days ago that they shared a spider web tattoo, although Biron’s was a stick and poke and Noah’s was… done by a guy who had a real job selling bagels in order to afford his tattooing dreams.

Biron cocked a brow at Noah, knowing that his secrets were meant to be guarded. “Why do you wanna know?” he countered.

Noah shrugged, “It’s exciting. I’ve broken the law but never been arrested. Only detained.” Noah admitted neutrally.

“Fine. Armed robbery.” Biron said, “A few counts.” This time, Biron shrugged. “The thing is I wasn’t armed.” Biron baited and Noah bit.

“What do you mean? Tell me, tell me.” Noah bounced in his seat, feeling all kinds of vibrations humming against his skull.

“I knew a guy. My brother’s friend, really. He had Weapon Physiology.” Biron smirked as he spoke, his eyebrows raised up high. His eyes locked with Noah’s now for a moment. Noah felt a twinge of nervousness followed by a wave of giddy excitement. He liked looking at Biron. He was devastatingly handsome and made Noah feel as though his features were goofy and overly animated.

Biron continued, “No joke, man, I watched the guy step on a guard’s throat, turn his fucking foot into a revolver and blow his brains threw his fucking skull.”

Noah groaned amusedly, “That’s insane.” Noah thought for a moment about the guard and who he might have been, what family he may have had. He then was paused by the overwhelming thought that he should not under any circumstances bring up Biron’s dead brother. Noah would have to wait longer if he wanted to know the reason Biron had ended up at the Legacy house in the first place. Biron and Noah spent some odd hours swapping ridiculous stories, and after a while both knew that the other was exaggerating sometimes, though neither one seemed to mind. Shooting the shit was just too fun. The little pink pills were certainly helping to keep the ambiance lively during their shared trip.

“Hey,” Noah said in the middle of some monologue now forgotten, “are we gonna see shit on these or what?”

“No but I got somethin’ that’ll show you somethin’.” Biron said, “If you want it.”

Noah shook his head, “Nah my head’s doped up. I was just wondering. He pulled another cigarette out of its pack and held it between his teeth, lighting it up. He passed the thing to Biron who took it graciously. Noah was struck by the way Biron’s strong arms moved and flexed, yet he dare not speak of it. Biron hadn’t mentioned any boyfriends or girlfriends, so Noah was left to daydream about both scenarios, neither one involving him. Only Biron and faceless, nameless strangers.

Noah shook himself from his fantasies and realized that Biron was now eying the door with suspicion. “So what’s your thing again?” He said, still staring down the doorknob. Noah ignored this pleasantly and jumped at the chance to brag about his powers.

“I have power over the elements. It takes a lot of control but I’m way stronger than I was when I was a teenager. Jarome and I agreed I should never use this… but I can also manipulate blood. Something about the water in the plasma and the iron in the red blood cells together. I can’t, like, heal anyone or anything. I can just…” Noah hung his own head, having made himself sad, “kill people.”

Biron placed a hand on Noah’s shoulder and said nothing for a moment. Once the moment had solidified, he offered his advice, “It’ll come in handy in a dark moment, when you are called upon to be a merciful man.”

Noah pondered this, then said, “Thanks. I think.”

The door cracked open. Biron and Noah scrambled silently with their perspective paraphernalia, leaving the pack of cigarettes sitting innocently on the coffee table.

Cass and Jarome came shuffling in looking dirty and drained, Cass took one whiff of the stale air in the house and reached an arm out to the thermostat. He turned on the A/C then grumbled, “I don’t wanna know what you two have been up to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Noah wanted to know.

Biron waved his arms, “Ain’t no funny business around here. The man bummed me a cigarette.” Biron said nonchalantly.

Jarome rolled his eyes, “You both look… really high.” he deadpanned.

Noah and Biron exchanged a look, then both chuckled to each other before catching themselves and clearing their throats, uttering their excuses.