#bronze powder mug

[ltwilliammowett]

A bronze powder measure mug (from the french first rate l'Austerlitz, recovered from the wreck of l'Alouette (1808/17), before 1817

L'Austerlitz was one of a number of vessels ordered as part of an emergency rebuild programme following the disaster of Trafalgar. A massive vessel, she mounted 118 guns and and was used as a flagship on a number of occasions. In 1814, after Napoleons abortive 100 days war, the vessel was transferred to Brest, where she was disarmed. She was broken up in 1837. L'Alouette was wrecked in June 1817 on her way to the island of La Réunion in the Indian Ocean, loaded with military goods (including this mug).

[junglecattransformations]

Battle Cats

As the amberish sconces of torchlight braziers ambiently brandished the clay-stone monoliths that bordered the sparring ring within the citadel-the reign of a victorious imperium had been ushered by a reckoning of tempestuous carnage-bloodshed that damningly veined over Panthera as machinations of titanic supremacy conquered against the galactic inferiority-scourge of unbridled resistance. Evading sentry patrol at the garrison sector, unmovingly, Sabre grounded his impassive poise as the ebony furriness of his razored clawed fingers tensely clutched onto a metallic handle of a javelin-spear with combative-honed readiness thrumming within his veins. Garbed in a leathered tunic that fittingly delineated the corded litheness of his tauter-athletic solidity, tactfully, he adjusted the bronze pauldron on his bulkier shoulder as the mechanized coolness of his cybernetic palm robotically grazed the forged steel, at the second he registered the huffish grunting that resonantly caromed against his twitching roundish ears.

Reactively, his longish furrier tail swayed on viperous accord while his knife-point fangs were menacingly poised against his snarlier breaths, while the diamondlike intensity of grayish-sapphire opals peripherally roved at the wooden entry doors. Growlingly, he remained unshakeable with defensive footing, listening to the lumbering-wobblier hoof-steps heavily encroaching closer. Smirkily, he quirked his furred muzzle with devious-cub- naughtiness, knowing his sparring opponent and stout-hearted friend had accepted the sparring match. "Kinda thought you wouldn't show up..." he murmured in a snarkier pitch, cockily, braced against a rack of javelins. "Usually you're stuffin' that ugly mug of yours until mornin'... " he quipped out, puckishly scrunching his whiskered muzzle with a waggish rapt, evident to his toothier smirk. "Guess it's still early for that, huh..."

Out from the gates a mountainous creature lumbered forward on fat hooves. While other warriors wore sophisticated armor befitting their forms, this creature was garbed in hard leather that clung to a voluminous shape of furry fat and lumpier muscle. A biker-like vest was strapped to a plump abdomen that did nothing to contain the fat bulge of a belly. Spiked gauntlets adorned the wrists while a hog-chain hung from the creature's side. Hog-like grunts came as he breathed and strode forward, green eyes piercing as they gaze upon his feline friend with dangerous excitement. "Gotta keep this powder-keg fueled and ready to dish out punishment," a deep baritone voice said with a jovial pitch.

The creature, known to by the name "Gorge", patted his hefty gut to accentuate his point; his piggish-snout pulled to revealed rows of flat teeth that were less intimidating the his tusks. "Besides, you know if there's anything that can pull me away from a second breakfast, its a good fight. What about you, Kitty, I thought you'd be spending all morning brushing the wrinkled out of that furry mane you love so much," Gorge jabbed with a throaty chuckle.

"Y'know if you're tryin' to hurt my feelings, it's not workin'..." Sabre drawled out, chucklingly as he unwaveringly fixed the steeliness of his whitish-sapphire depths onto the bulbously porcine gladiator who clumsily wobbled onto the stubbier deformity of his cloven-edged hooves without a tracery of conditioned decorum invested with his lumbering advances.

Bolstering his paw-feet onto a slinkier variance of his battle-honed poise, Sabre reservedly waited for the blimpish hog to ploddingly drive his clunkier momentum near the sparring ring as he nostalgically was barraged with callback memories of their brotherly-competitive dynamic-kinship was viscerally inseparable. Being an orphaned cub that was tragically pegged to become a caged drudge for sating a Kree collector's sadistic amusement, he was ferried by piratic Ravagers to Xandar, during a nebula explosion, the cargo vessel was damagingly crashed into sandy dunes of the wasteland-Gorge's mother adopted him to become the newest addition of her chubbier brood-piglets-it wasn't an easy feat raising a hellbent panther cub against trials of survival, most of his siblings were purchased with galactic credits and sold to fatteningly become swell-out drudges within the breeding ranks of Xandarian pens- Gorge was fortunate that his mutative deformity was abomination. Predatorily, his metallic claws gleamingly snicked against the javelin handle, aware of the earth-quaking vibrations that breached his proximity while Gorge had nasally thrust the grizzled pudginess of his jowelly snout with crankier traction. "Besides, I hear you're startin' to look delicious in the ranks, might wanna lose a few pounds, pal..."

Oh, you're just jealous everyone's eyes are on me," Gorge wheezed with a snorting laughter, grunting as he caught sight of the javelins and halted, assessing his opponent and choice of weapons. He let out a boisterous laugh that was cut short by another snort. "You kitty-cats are always crave attention, but we both know you can't handle my piggy style, Sabe." He firmly stomped his hooves into the earth, causing a soft rumble as his mountainous-stature looked about as imposing as a tank coming to run down all in its path. He looked at the feline warrior with both aggression and soft affection, never having cared for many in his life except for the cub he was raised with like a brother. There was no one who understood his look on life and drive towards success like Sabre. But just the same, there was no one he really enjoyed sparring with just as much as the lethal cat who could shred metal with a swipe of his claws. "I'm the king of the pigsty, remember? I'll have you rolling in the mud before you know it." He grinned, revealing a pair of unevenly spaced tusks that curved upward.

Staving down a riotous surge of untrammelled-aggressive ferocity that crescendoed through his veins, intimidatingly, Sabre eased up the javelin with a spear-point challenge that metallically grazed over the furrier bulginess of Gorge's jutted-out girth with coaxing pressure. With swifter graces, he felinely dragged his paw-feet over the dustier ground, snakily arcing his longish tail on defensive accord-mirroring Gorge's poise of counterattack as the hulkish boar rampantly thrusted a spear against his javelin on fiercer succession. Twirlingly, he pivoted on his arched paws, blocking a thrusting strike with cobra-like quickness, aware that Gorge would stomp onto his tail. "C'mon man..." he snarled out, gnashing his fangs, as the battle-hog snortingly emitted a gustier breath vexatiously against his ebony-onyx fur. "That all you got..."

"Hmmph!" grunted Gorge, his breath fogging in the air through his nostrils as if he were a bull. "Just getting warmed up," he met Sabre's thrust with his own spear. The clash of steel sang to him, the vibrations of the impact moving up his muscular arms. He grinned, revealing his tusks. He loved the thrill of combat and all the powerful sensations it brought him. "Yeah, now we're talking!" He put more force into his thrusts, using his size to his advantage as he manuevered himself to block any possible chance of the feline evading him.

He and Sabre continued to clash spears, the force of their thrusts nearly splintering each other's weapons. While Sabre had speed and agility on his side, Gorge's strength and stamina made him unrelenting. Seeing the panther back-track a downward swing of his weapon, his expression turned into one of mock pity. "Oh, you want more, little kitty? You're just not as big and bad as you think you are." He chuckled, then swung his spear around in a wide arc, aiming for Sabre's side. "But I suppose I could make you feel better." He grunted as he swung, putting all his weight behind the blow.

His tusks gleamed in the dim light of the arena. His eyes narrowed as he ducked under another of Sabre's thrusts, spinning around to face the feline warrior once more. The light of the sun reflected off of Sabre's polished armor and into his eyes, causing him to groan and shield his blinded gaze. "Stupid-shiny-HEY!"

Hearing the grumpier snorts boisterously huffed out of his chunkier porcine rival's jowelly snout, growlingly, Sabre torqued his paw-foot with measured traction while hefting the javelin with dead-straight precision metallically against the blobbish furriness of Gorge's tattered shoulder, the robotized servos of his cybernetic arm rigidly flexed with hinged restraint as the battle-hog stumblingly wobbled closer to a spear rack. Against a bone-gripping upheaval of predatory rabidity-bloodthirst that grippingly effused in arrestive fruition, panty, he wavered back at the alarming second his vision intensified with thermic skeins of reddish energy that arrowed over Gorge-a heartbeat of juicier prey. Swaying his lengthy tail, he stuntedly lowered the javelin, doing his utmost to shake off the carnivorous urges- an unstable divergence that warringly ensued a skull-pounding headrush as the frostier steeliness of his wide-blown aquamarine opals roved onto his porkier opponent-best friend. "Still not light on your feet..." he murmured, raspily, glancing at his mechanized claws with a crestfallen grimace over his fanged-muzzle. "Sometimes I think fightin' is all M' ever gonna do, pal..."

His words were a quiet, confiding whisper that seemed to penetrate Gorge's armor as he ducked beneath the swing of the spear and came to a pause. He paused for a moment, his eyes softening, and he felt a pang of empathy for his friend. But then, he remembered the taste of blood, the thrill of the hunt, and the need to survive. "Don't be a drama queen, Sabe," he huffed, answering his spear thrust with one of his own aimed for the feline's exposed side. Sabre side-stepped and growled lowly, making Gorge exhale roughly.

"Look I know what you mean, pal," he said, his voice deep. "I've felt that way too. But sometimes, you just have to find your own peace. Whether its in a sheltered hide-away far from conflict-or even if it's in the midst of battle. We all feel peace differently. You gotta make your own path." He lifted his spear again, his gaze hardening. "And sometimes, that path leads to victory."

"Always gotta put me on the ropes with your great wisdom..." The panther-Centurian quipped with a snarkier drawl, hissingly, scrunching his whiskered muzzle with a derisive rapt as Gorge's javelin clangingly thunked against his metallic greaves that were tightly buckled over the corded-litheness of his muscular calves-he wouldn't be on the receiving end of the battle-hog's jovial-underlying amusement. "Woah...Did you just..." Keeping his measured footing grounded without a fraction of resistance, snarlingly, he grazed his leather-sheathed paw consciously over his scabbard, aware of his sidearm dagger-pugio-clutching onto the bronze pommel with unerring quickness as he twirlingly flipped the blade into a reverse icepick grip, whiplashing his longish tail viperously against the marble-stone wall, and coaxingly dared Gorge into tactical stalemate. Plumpishly the bulgier doughiness Gorge's barrel-sized rotundity saggily jiggled with every hoof-step as he oinkily mirrored Sabre's readied poise in combative-teeming sync."Let's see how intense things will get, tubby..."

"Whoa, lets not get nasty," Gorge quipped with a rumbling chuckle that snortingly turned into a deep bellow. "But have it your way!" He thrust his spear, but Sabre easily dodged, flipping his knife into a reverse grip. It was fast and done with lightning-quick finesse that the mountain hog couldn't help but feel mildly impressed over. He'd never seen anyone in the legion wield a blade with such quick reflexes as if they were an extension of one's body.

Sabre growled, baring his fangs, and lunged at Gorge, feinting with his knife and then thrusting with his shoulder. The battle-hog stumbled back, but quickly regained his footing. He bellowed, lowering his spear and charging at Sabre, who jumped nimbly to the side. The two combatants ducked and pivoted, their blades sparking as they sought an opening until Sabre lunged up high and threw his blade aimed for Gorge's exposed shoulder, only for the blade to be caught in the hog's grip mid-air, much to Sabre's surprise. "Show off," Gorge bared his tusked-teeth in a cheekier grin. "You're not the only one with quick reflexes, pal."

Venting out guttural breaths, chuffily, the Centurian-panther subtly quirked his furrier muzzle into a half-smirk as he glared at the bronze-hilt dagger impressively clutched into the puffiness of Gorge's meatier hand-his efficient-soldiery-prowess never wavered from his battle-tested ferocity. Despite that, he valiantly steered a motley regiment-deviants of honourable Pantherian warriors-brothers-in-arms who adamantly followed him on the province of war-he stowed the rebellious tenacity-defiance that was infectious potency within his conditioned ranks. Flashing the stormier intensity of his bluish ultramarine opals crestfallenly at the rhino insignia emblazon on Gorge's metallic pauldron-the verminous signet of herbivores, growlingly, Sabre eased his tenser footing with hinged restraint, as he tactfully adjusted the buckles his leathered vambrace over his lithe forearm. "I heard the noise that more rebels have been transferred onto cargo ships to Xandar..." The chagrined scratchiness of his whiskey-roughened timbre bitingly reached Gorge's spade-edged ears, evident to the edgier stiffness flexing over his lengthy tail. "Somethin' doesn't smell right...I can't shake this feelin' we can't turn our backs on this one, pal..."

A pondering silence ensued as the two friends struggled with the tension of an unseen conflict simmering so close to home. Pockets of rebellions weren't uncommon but the rate of their consistency had been increasing over the past several months it stood to reason that something was up. Before they could discuss things further, that was when the ox-horn rang out through the training grounds, capturing their attention. What followed was the distant growls of the sentry posts.

"Well s***," Gorge muttered, glancing around uneasily. "That can't be good." He turned back to Sabre, his normally jovial expression replaced with a grim determination. "Come on, let's go see what's going on. We might be in for another tough fight." With a grunt, he turned and jogged off, his massive frame easily moving through the chaos of the camp.

With the battle-honed momentum of his paw-steps, intimidatingly, Sabre advanced to the proximal gates, the steeliness of his silvery-aqueous opals flashed over a chivalric leopard sentry garbed in metallic cuirass that was bucketed onto the golden furriness of his blotched-whip-cord muscles as he grounded his poise with vigilant decorum warily at the entrance of the garrison. "Justus...Report..." he growled out, pressingly, watching the leopard-anthro steadily ease his gauntleted paw in the direction of blackish plumes that smokily enwreathed the market environs. Thrusting up his furred muzzle, involuntarily, Sabre caught a whiff of the sulphurous rancidity - miasma stinkily wafted from a smouldering heap-a ration cart that was evidently torched like a warning beacon."Damnit.."

"Commander," Justus grunted, saluting Sabre with a paw against his armoured chest. His feline-features wore a deep frown that wouldn't leave his face. "We lost contact with Lieutenant Reaver and our caravan as they were venturing through the Bodarian Jungle. We sent a patrol to meet them at the rally-point but only one made it back with this ration cart," he gestured to an unconscious and injured cheetah-antro who laid against the wall. The medicus was attending to his injury with a healing salve. "The others are feared dead or captured."

"What is it? Rebels? Invaders?" Gorge growled, clutching the handle of his chained-hook at his side with anticipation of Kree warriors coming to reap their resources like they'd done countless other planets in their empire.

"We don't know," Justus snarled, his own suspicion not too dissimilar from the hog's.

Scything his vibrainium claws of his forepaw into a defensive arc, snappishly, the panther-centurion jutted out his fangs with aggressive strain as his diamond-edged pupils thinly slit with razored intensity onto the leopard sentry. He wouldn't dispatch more of his ranks for a suicide mission outside their borders-they weren't expandable. The Kree raiders- humanoids were a parasitic scourge of intergalactic empires controlled by fascist-genocidal paragons-extensions of a central-nerve database that was called the Supreme Intelligence who devouringly cleansed planets with slaughterous extremists -Accusers who delivered their apocalyptic reckoning like a sentence of justice. Despondently, against his impassive resolve, Sabre was troublingly aware of his feline-ranks barraged by Kree marauders-he wouldn't turn his back on them. "Nobody makes a move until I give the order, got it...?" Sabre murmured against hitching pants, chuffily. "Gorge, I need you to question the survivors, get information of who attacked Reaver..."

"Your orders, cub?" A cold and authoritative voice cut through the mounting tension as the soldiers felt a chill of dread seep into their bodies. "Need I remind you that in the presence of a commanding officer, you defer to their authority, not to the whims of your own inexperience." Out from the gates emerged a scarred antro-lion with battle-worn fur and silvery-blue eyes filled with contempt. His stature was broad and muscular, yet his gait was slow and creeping like an old predator sizing up any potential insurrection among his pride-mates.

"General Korios," Justus snapped to with a paw to his chest, his eyes darting over to Commander Sabre with unease, already sensing the growing animosity that was ever prevalent. Korios was an old soldier and favored right-hand officer of the Mighty Tygerus-their liege lord and king. Scores of rebellions had been mercilessly cut-down in their height and infancy by the Old Lion's merciless hands and strategic cunning for manipulating situations to his favor. All commanding officers were either appointed by his hand or won that honor by slaying a predecessor in combat. His cold calculating eyes were fixed on Sabre, piercing and searing to the depths of his soul.

"A caravan of our warriors has been set-upon and you wish to prowl into the wild as a one-cat armada? You overestimate yourself, Sabre."

Staunching out dredged-up 'smart-mouthin' cockiness, grudgingly, Sabre whiplashed his longish tail on reactive accord, knowing that he conveyed a riotous semblance of pent-up defiance, he would merit plenty of traitorous insubordination-divested by his prominent-valorous mantle of being a Tribune-Korios was a vulturous-warmongering taskmaster who staked a deadlock foothold of promotional reverence by deceptive machinations-countermeasures of using his ranked legions as expandable pawns for his depraved convenience in the frontlines. As the sandy dustiness of the garrison citadel powdered his obsidian-ebony fur, unwaveringly Sabre torqued his footing inches from the battle-marred General, scrunching his whiskered muzzle staunchily against the vaporous reek wafting off the yellowish griminess of Korios bloodied fangs. "With all due respect, Imperator, I was looking out for my brothers..." he returned against guttural raspiness, tetchily, curbing down his untrammelled aggression while he registered telltale displeasure portentously radiating off the grizzled lion-anthro. Sidelonging a razored glance at Justus who trepidatiously eased into a kneeling crouch on his furred haunches underneath Korios's imposing-malignant shadow-they were leashed drudges to his maniacal will. "I... Uh...wish to accompany the caravan, those battle cats are a part of my infantry...I gotta to have their backs, no matter the cost."

"Pantherian soldiers do not need coddling as if they were meager pups," Korios grunted, his eyes boring into the wounded soldier with a neutral look; his eyes were full of disgust yet his voice contained a measure of pride. "They know the risks, they must either be willing to go into battle and die for the glory of our realm. Should they offer any less they would be better suited in the coal mines where the rest of the dishonoured go to live out their shame." Inching closer towards Sabre, he peered at him with sharp slits, "Their fates are better than those who dare to commit treason by defying their orders. Do we have an understanding?"

Quashing the onrush of unhampered defensiveness that burningly strummed through his veins like a white-hot octane, scowlingly, knowing that discipline would come at him in spades, he wavered back from the brutish lion-anthro with measured restraint as he lasered his grayish-sapphire opals at the metallic ensigns of Tygerus's paw mark that decorated the bronze cuirass underneath a demask burgundy cloak-a valance of tenable-imperious notoriety within the Pantherian ranks. The vicarious credo of receptoral loyalty was exponentially corruptive within his feline-legions-he manipulated hearts of valour to gain cheat-shot prominence. With a tenser flex of his mechanized claws, reservedly, Sabre hinged a vestige of compliance, and rasped out, scratchily. "Yeah, I hear ya loud and clear, Imperator..."

"Good. Prepare to prowl out and investigate this disturbance. Bring your most battle-hardened warriors with you. Make sure they understand that disobedience will not be tolerated, and that I expect results. If they are rebels, decimate them but save one for questioning. If it is invaders, send word to the command post immediately. Prove that you are worthy of your rank, Sabre, and not the soft cub I suspect you are. Dismissed." With that Korios turned and ventured back towards the gates, his retinue of guards following him, some casting malicious looks towards Sabre with cruel grins.

"Well that went well," Gorge grunted.

"Yeah...Guess he was showin' us his nice side..." With chagrined snarkiness gravelly fringed in his murmurous timbre, steelily, he glanced at the rotund battle-hog who braced the furrier pudginess of his gauntleted arms over his barrel-shaped girth that blobbily drooped over his threadbare belt. A naughtier gleam in Sabre's aqueous opal rascally conveyed his tenacious-hellbent spirit as he forcily eased his larger paw onto Gorge's spiked pauldron "When do I ever follow orders..." Quirking the furred curvatures of his sleekier muzzle, toothily, he listened to a grumpier huff snortingly gusting out of his best friend's jowelly-tusked snout. "C'mon it's gonna be one helluva of fight..."

"Just the kind I like," Gorge chuckled. With that, the two friends prepared to march out with their feline-infantry. Over two dozen Pantherians stood in a ranks with their armor covering their muscular physiques. They were battle-hardened warriors who craved combat, their fangs bared, their eyes glowing with battle-lust. As Sabre prepared to lead the column, his ears prickled at the familiar sound of a squabbling creature bounding towards him. A faint smile pulled at his mouth, revealing a sharp set of teeth.

"Stringy. I thought you would leave me to march without my provisions," he rumbled as he watched the ring-tailed lemur race up to him. "What took you so long?" He arched an eyebrow, taking his bag with an arched brow.

"Hah...Hah.. good to see you too, Battle-Cat ..." The scant grayish-white furred lemur jabbed back, sardonically, roving his copper-hazel orbs onto the blubbery-obese hog as he sternously dragged a cloth sack of ripened-delectable plums over the sandy ground with his tinier paws near the Gorge's massive hoof. "In case you were wondering, I enjoyed my orange slices until I heard the horn..." Thrusting up his longish stripped tail, zippily, he bounced on his clawed hind paws like a pogo stick, and placed the heftier sack into the cloven deformity Gorge's flabbier hand. "Don't worry I didn't steal anything...Well maybe my tail did, it does have a mind of its own..." He eased down on his lithe haunches and splayed his paw affectionately over his lankier tail. "Isn't that right, buddy..."

Sabre couldn't help but chuckle at the ring-tailed lemur's antics."Oh, I don't know," he rumbled, eyeing the tail. "Your tail does have a certain...flair for the dramatic. I suppose it's only fitting that it steals a little something now and then." He grinned, baring his sharp teeth. "But just make sure its not something overreaching, will be roasting Lemur tail for dinner," he quipped, slapping his hand on his friend's shoulder. He grinned, baring his sharp teeth as a battle-ready eagerness began to engulf him. "But let's not keep our battle-hardened warriors waiting, shall we? They're itching for a fight." With that, he turned and marched off, leading the column towards the source of the disturbance. "Forward, loyal Pantherians! Be vigilant and unyielding!" There was a chorus of growling roars as the feline-warriors beat their chests and dug their claws into the ground, muscles tensing with the anticipation of a head-long charge into the wild.

Against the blood-pounding surges of his adrenalized-rampageous ferocity that explosively notched with his unstoppable-deadlier momentum, growlingly, Sabre emitted a full-throated snarl, whooshingly he propelled in earshot from the desert garrison as his bionic arm poised for a glorious battle-charge. Every visage of his bestial-predatory rabidity exceedingly intensified in unhampered fruition. Registering the oinkish grunts throttling behind him, gnashingly, he jutted out his razor-edged fangs while his claws gleamingly snicked out as he agilely pounced on a stone-wall, like fluid velvet, his longish tail arced with a commanding gesture to his feline-legion.

"Hold!" He growled out. His squadron reacted immediately as they paused in their advance. Sabre began sniffing the air, stretching his senses amidst the shrouded wilderness they had found themselves in. Nature's scents were thinly mixed with the scent of charred wood, blood and death. He snarled instinctively, his nerves prickling with anticipation. He felt a presence beside him as Gorge lumbered over, grateful for the pause to collect his breath.

"What is it, Commander?" Gorge grunted.

"We're close," was all Sabre said before beckoning the warriors to resume their advance. Gorge released a disgruntled sigh.

"So much for a breather," he began jogging after them.

The column of Pantherians advanced further into the desolate forest, the scent of blood growing stronger with every step. Along the way they picked up signs of dead guardsman and destroyed wagons. The missing caravan. The wind picked up, carrying with it the faint sound of distant battle cries. Sabre's heart raced, adrenaline surging through his veins. His eyes scanned the horizon, searching for any sign of the enemy. "On guard!" He growled.

Twitching his whiskered muzzle, stiltedly, he evicted the jackhammering urges that errantly grappled him into a predatory stupor as the vaporous aroma of blood mist sailing over the forested environs was intoxicatingly addictive; flitting his roundish ears against the cacophonous volumes of javelins of rebel Pantherian insurgents scrapingly clanged over crimson metallic shields-ferocity amplified in defensive succession. Panting out throatier chuffs, blindingly, Sabre vaulted with acrobatic-stealthier- graces over a vine-sheathed branch, the sleekness of his obsidian-raven fur shadowily contrasted against the dense umbra as his voltaic-sapphire opals lasered over decimated remnants of a caravan wagon.

The slaughterous barbarity of the Accuser legions was an infective scourge within Patherian borders-harvesting natural resources of the jungle to revitalize a smog-laden Hela that was toxically entrenched with contaminated-unbreathable air. Thrusting up his furred muzzle, alarmingly, Sabre detected a minter-sandalwood fragrancy-virile scent of a humanoid-Kree- invader smellily wafting around him. "Grah...Kree stink..." he murmured, gnashingly, and dragged his claws over the gnarled branch with vicious tack. "Gorge, advance and search for wounded...Our mission is clear em' out of here..." he commanded out, fervently, glancing at the newest recruits-tawny-golden furred leopard siblings-Rayan and Cato-who brazenly harnessed unorthodox-scampish feistiness as they readily adjusted the metallic bracers against their furred muzzles. "You two, scout the area..."

The two leopard siblings bowed their heads in obedience before darting off into the underbrush. The other warriors surveyed the area, Gorge checking the destroyed wagon. It once carried medicinal herbs and remedies used to treat battle injuries. Whoever attacked had pilfered numerous crates. Discreetly the Hog picked up a packet of leafs and stuffed them into his pocket- "Gorge!" The voice of Sabre nearly had the hog jumping out of his skin as he whirled about, gazing up at him with a sheepish look feigning innocence.

"Ugh, its not what it looks like, I was just um...saving this for a special tea later-"

"We need to find that caravan," Sabre cut through his meek explanation with an annoyed growl. "If the rebels have it, it'll set back our division for months. If it is the Kree, then it could be worse."

"The tracks lead from the west beyond the grove, probably to the river," Gorge said with a grunt. "Could be a diversion-the caravan was due from the south."

"Form up, and follow the trail," Sabre growled, "...and don't let Korious see you with those weeds. He'll have you cleaning the cisterns for months," he warned with knowing grin.

Shifting his cool aqueous opals piercingly at the ratty sack of dried leaves clutched into Gorge's pudgier hand, stiffeningly, with tactful vigilance, he eased onto his metallic-greaved haunches, swaying his lengthy tail on pendulum-hypnotic accord while his satiny obsidian-ebony fur stealthily camouflaged against the obstructive fan-like leaves that vexatiously scuffed over his feline head. Involuntarily, he angled his furred muzzle, sniffily, he caught the saltish-bilous order of canine drool that was undoubtingly a wasteland scavenger. Dragging out guttural pants, Sabre raised his gauntleted arm, readily signalling Gorge to advance near the river-kill-zone. "Stay low..."

"Got it," the Hog warrior replied, steeling himself as he kept one of his massive hands wrapped around the cool link of his hook-chain while the other held a spear in hand. The Pantherians followed, some crawling up along the branches of the trees, their movements silent as shadows, while the others kept formation with their commander who led them through the maze of trees. The tension was so thick it was almost suffocating as their nerves prickled with anticipation. It was almost in unison, but they all felt their blood-flow increase as the familiar cries of battle reached their ears. "Listen!" Gorge grunted, believing the danger was straight ahead. But Sabre's sense of hearing was far too keener than that of his warriors as the panther warrior watched a dark shape hover over the tree above his friend.

With dead-shot precision, blindingly, Sabre flung his dagger into the lankier torso of a mangy-wraithlike jackal as the sluicing noise of gored flesh screechingly resonated with a gasping yelp. The savorous amora of blood mistily enwreathed him at the second the convulsing jackal frantically dropped near Gorge's stubbier hooves with a heart-racking thunk. "You're welcome..." he murmured, starchily, gazing at the dumbfounded hog beadier eyes comically widened at the realization of the ambushing raider's deadly assault as he warded off the full-fledged predacious urges of tearingly gutting the canine husk with his knifepoint fangs-he couldn't become gripped into that savage mania-the corruptive deviance of his battle-honed conditioning. He needed to stow it. "How many is that you owe me..."

"RUN THEM DOWN!" Chaos erupted as the Pantherians engaged a vicious group of insurgents armed with weapons and fury. Sabre fought his way through a line of bull-like brutes barreling through the trees roaring a cry for "freedom". Gorge watched as his friend dispatched one of the bulls with a lethal efficiency that was both awesome and frightening, but his rear was exposed to the impending swing of a war-axe determined to cleave off his left arm. "Tribune!" Unsheathing his hook, Gorge swung his chain and lobbied the hook across the distance, spearing through the bull's shoulder causing him to let loose a roaring squeal. "COME HERE!" Gorge pulled the chain, propelling the bull towards him and into the impaling thrust of his spear in his opposite hand.

Sabre continued to fight his way through as he tussled into a grapple with a formidable feline. "Deserter," he growled once he got a good look at the scarred cheetah. It had the training of the milita but wore the ragtag garb of an insurgent. Anger and indignation rose up within Sabre as he glared into the feline's luminous amber eyes. "You betrayed your brethren! Your betray your Imperator!"

Against the vicious onrush of his bestial ferocity, the marred cheetah-anthro insurgent dizzyingly jerked his feline head as Sabre robotically poised his vibrainium claws on deadlier sync over his leathered tunic, his yellowish-virescent opals lividly gleamed alight with unbidden repulsion. The feverish bleariness of his vision stingily ensued against callbacks of betrayal. "H-He is a damn traitor!" Slashingly, he rented a full-throated snarl, lashingly grazing his fore-claws against Sabre's pauldron anguishedly with defensive strain. Opposing against the imperium was a suicidal gambit-he wouldn't become a leashed instrument of slaughterous drudgery. Hinging a modicum of unswerving valour-loyalty to his Pantherian brothers-cub-mates, he breathily rasped against Sabre's roundish ear with a heart-knifing revelation on desperate tenor. "W-We're just expendable pawns...You are too blind to see it, Commander!"

His words threatened to pierce through the haze of aggression that had enveloped Sabre. The cheetah insurgent's words rang hollow as he shuttered himself from their meaning and focused in on overpowering him with his strength. "No," he growled, hesitating for a moment. "You're the one who is blind! We fight for a better future. For the strength of our people. You have lost your way," he growled, wrestling the cheetah's arm but to his surprise, the rebel moved with his momentum enabling him to slip free from his grasp. Sabre raised his spear expecting him to attack but instead the insurgent began to flee through the trees. "Coward," he began his pursuit.

Gorge, still locked in his own melee with a bull, watched as the life faded from the eyes of one he pierced with his hook-chain. The insurgents, seeing the tide of battle turning against them, began to retreat deeper into the forest. He caught a glimpse of Sabre wrestling with the scarred cheetah, their claws and fangs tearing at each other's flesh. "Sabre!" he shouted, "Get back here!"

Sabre ran, his blood pounding in his ears drowning out the noise of battle as he followed the scent of blood and the vibrations in the ground leading him to another fight looming ahead. He caught sight of a dead jackal on the ground, his head snapped in an opposite direction with a bleeding cut on his brow. Furrowing his brow at the oddity of his demise, he listened, hearing a clanking noise of combat. "What is that?"

Inadvertently, the panther-Centurian became stuntedly floored by an unwarranted alarm to a scything whang of metallic shield that whooshingly boomeranged against the gnarled trees on ricocheting tenor he registered the shockwave of vibrainium kinetically pulsing over the mechanized servos of his bionic arm-a combative fusion that electrifyingly accelerated through his veins. The battle-crazed pandemonium of his infantry cacophonously intensified as if he was trudging over a denotive mine-field-metallic flakes of shattered javelins became a hailstorm over the swampier riverbank with no avail. Scowlingly, he gnashed his fangs and thrusted up his gauntleted fore-paw against a visceral upheaval of dredged-up confusion as he became consciously attuned with a deterred lapse of revamping-fractured memory of unerringly catching the partonic shield on straight-arm reaction like a frisbee. "T-That shield..."

Without wasting a moment, he sprinted through the dense undergrowth, rushing between trees and ducking under low-hanging branches. The noises of combat grew louder as he approached the source of the commotion. He could practically taste the sweat of the combatants on his tongue. When he arrived in the clearing, he was for a moment surprised to see the sight of a human man still locked in battle with the rebel jackal, their weapons clashing against each other in a furious dance of death. The jackal wielding his scythe relentlessly attempted to cleave the small human, but to Sabre's mild surprise, the human was evading and blocking every blow.

That was when he noticed the shield in the human's grasp-a shield that seemed to be giving him an advantage over the jackal as he bashed the surface of it against the rebel's head, causing him to howl with pain. Noticing the colours on the shield, the red, white and blue standing out amidst the monotone shades of green and brown like glowing beacons, caused Sabre to enter a trance, lost in a feeling of utter nostalgia.

"Give me that shield, human!" The Jackal roared as he attempted to wrestle the weapon from the man's grasp.

Against the grislier viciousness of the lankier jackal-anthro thrashingly yanking on the shield, blurringly, Sabre flitted his aqueous opals at intrusive Teran-humanoid who unshakeably grounded into battle-stance as he forcily braced his forearm with Spartan-honed resilence that surged through the corded bulkiness of his graven-edged solidity delineated underneath a tactical garment- ensemble of navy-blue kevlar strikingly decked with patriotic white-red stripes aesthetically contrasting the material of his tauter mid-drift. Leather-buckled straps were fastened over his broader shoulders bordering a chrome star that embossed his muscular chest. Sweatily, tawny-blondish tresses clung over the hard-edged angularity of his boyishly-chiselled features as he fiercely gnashed his teeth with defensive strain. "Remove yourself from the human, filth..!" The snarlier gravelliness of his chuffing pitch roaringly belted over the riverbank as the rogue jackal reactively pinned his canine ears back at the throat-yelping moment Sabre menacingly sashayed on his arced paws with predatory-deadlier advances. "Do it...Now!"

The blonde human looked between his opponent and the newcomer with anticipation, his blue eyes wide with incredulity. He said something beneath his breath as he clutched the shield in his hands with great strength. The Jackal growled with defiance of Sabre's command, his steel gaze landing on the fearsome commander, "I don't take orders from you! Death to the Imperator and all his pomps!"

With a snarl, Sabre lunged forward, his claws extended and ready to strike. The Jackal, sensing the danger, raised his scythe in defense, their weapons clashing with a deafening clang. The battle intensified as the two beasts circled each other, their muscles rippling beneath their fur. The human, caught in the middle, struggled to keep his footing as he watched the two beasts fight for dominance.

The clearing was soon filled with the sounds of clashing metal and snarls as the three combatants continued their brutal dance. The human, seeing an opening, tried to push past them and escape, but Sabre and the Jackal were having none of it. They each grabbed one of his arms, pinning him against a tree. The human did something neither of them expected, he struck their furrier abdomens with brutal front kicks that actually hurt them.

"Rrahh..." The gut-racking pressure of the push-kick kick had vertiginously robbed Sabre's unwavering footing as he gnashingly braced his gauntleted fore-arm tensely against his bronze-plated cuirass while the mangy jackal-anthro screechingly whimpered in high-pitched yelp against the mounting upsurge of combative ferocity that bodily hammered over his marred ebony grunginess that blotchily sheathed his rangier form. Thrusting his whiskered muzzle on the viperous accord, tearingly, Sabre dragged his jutting incisor fangs into a bonier shoulder with ferine abandon, gripping the immovable-traitorous defector into a choke-hold as clotty splurts viscidly oozed from the bloodied gashes underneath his fangs-every heart-thumping pulse irrevocably became white-noise, gutturally he applied bone-vising force that would cripplingly incapacitate without deviance of mercy.

Hinging onto a semblance of warred control, restrainedly Sabre eased his fangs off the jackal's bloodied shoulder as he listened to the heavier-unconscious thump quakingly vibrating against his paw-feet. "Hail Panthera..." he whispered in a raspier timbre, murmurously, edging from the filthier scum, incredulously, Sabre razored his whitish-sapphire opals unwaveringly at Steve who defensively hefted off the circular vibrainium shield over his muscled forearm with adamant-unfaltering vigilance of a soldiery paragon. The stormier intensity of his turquoise-azure ireses fiercely gleamed alight with virtuous-battle-worn resolve that wouldn't be corrupted. Grimancingly, Sabre emitted a cobra-like hiss as he instinctively poised his claws for a throat-strike a breadth over Steve's jugular vein on knifepoint accord, a tremorous deterance of hesitance viscerally suffused him to graze his claws warningly against the red-painted alloy."Grah...M'not gonna kill you..."

But the jackal was in no mood for mercy. With a savage snarl, he leapt forward, his claws extended and aimed at Steve's chest. The human, caught off guard, stumbled backward, barely avoiding the deadly blow. The Jackal, sensing weakness, pressed his advantage, landing another powerful blow on the human's shoulder. Steve cried out in pain, but did not yield. He drew his knees up and kicked out at the Jackal with all his might. The blow connected, sending the beast tumbling backward onto the hard ground. With a hard backward thrust, his shield smacked against the jackal's skull, the clanging echo travelling for miles as the beast finally collapsed beaten to the ground, leaving the human and Sabre the only two left standing.

The human didn't drop his guard, his shield still held at the ready, but the deep in-takes of breath indicated his exhausted state as he held his hands up at the ready, watching as the panther flashed his claws and postured himself. "Don't, just don't. I didn't come here looking for a fight..."

Hearing the choke-off raspiness of Steve's timbered drawl, growlingly, Sabre eased his gauntleted fore-paw against the rampancy of his deadlier attack. "I don't care, human..." he whispered out, gutturally, knowing the protocol of capturing a Kree intruder on Pantherian grounds. "Stand down before I will make you..."

Steve's chest rose and fell with each labored breath. His muscles ached from the exertion of the fight, but he didn't waver. "I could do this all day," he said with a defiant look, demonstrating a unique strength and stubborness that was unlike anything a Kree would express. It was admirable but foolish given the man's apparent state of exhaustion. His eyes were a deep blue that revealed an old-seated wisdom that spoke of decades of experience. A soldier, through and through. But still a tresspasser. The standing orders of the great Imperator Tygerus meant that all intruders were to be detained or killed.

"You must like getting beaten up, human," Sabre said with a drawl that prickled at the edges of his subconscious, causing some odd feeling of nostalgia to creep in on him. This felt familiar.

In that heart-arresting moment of unwarranted reaction, confusingly, Steve pinched his fevered brow on dumbfounded tenor as he stuntedly registered the suaver gravelliness of a whiskey-roughened drawl throatily resonating from the armoured panther Centurian; he gazed at the hard-bone curvatures-angularity that strikingly razored over the broadness of his feline muzzle furrily sprouting with needle-thin gossamer whiskers as Sabre cuffed out a panty breath, not wavering his defensive footing. Staunching down an upheaval of his residual perplexity that inexorably gripped him bone-deep, Steve lowered his forearm as the heated vibrainum of his shield grazed against his kevlar-clad thigh, he fixed the hawkish intensity of his cool azureous ireses squarely onto the panther-anthro's cybernetic arm as golden skeins were aesthetically soldered over the charcoal-ebon plating that was branded with a signet of a paw. "W-Where did you get that..."

But before he could finish his thought, Sabre launched himself forward, claws unsheathed and aimed at his chest, ready to take this human down. Reacting on instinct, Steve raised his shield in defense, meeting the lethal assault with a metallic clash. The force of the impact sent him stumbling backward, narrowly avoiding the follow-up swipe of the panther's other claw. Pain exploded in his side as he hit the ground hard, and he winced, struggling to get back to his feet. The panther, clearly more agile and stronger than the Jackal, advanced on him with a menacing growl. What he felt was the lightning quick clash of the shield smacking against his head. Were it not for his armored helmet, he would have been knocked unconscious. The strength and quickness of the attack still unsettled Sabre who let loose an angry growl.

Steve, however, was quick to counterattack, thrusting his shield at the panther's midsection. Sabre leapt backward, narrowly avoiding the blow. They circled each other before resuming their onslaught. The area was filled with the sound of their clashing attacks, claws against vibranium; Sabre felt like he was in the arena. It was invigorating but also vexing. He couldn't leverage himself against the agile human even with his greater size.

Suddenly, Steve charged forward, his shield held high. Sabre dodged to the side, only to find himself trapped in a twine of branches on the ground. The human's shield slammed into him with bruising force, sending him tumbling to the ground. With a grunt of effort, he struggled to his feet, his head spinning from the impact. Steve held his shield, struggling with uncertainty.

Grounding his combative-adamant poise with defensive traction against the sweltering humidity, pensively, trying his damnest to stow onto vestiges of restraint, Steve braced his shield over his kevlar-clad thigh as he gazed into the panther-anthro's lazurite opals that mesmerically gleamed voltaic intensity was like a bluish acetylene flame as he strained against the heart-razing confusion that rackingly barraged him soul-deep without avail. He wouldn't hesitate to bash the shield into the panther's armoured mid-drift-he needed validity against the revelation that an intergalactic legion of genetically-mutative animorphs captured his best friend. "Where did you get that...?" he demanded with teeth-gritting, breathlessly, roving his blearing azure ireses over the warped bionic paw, detecting the rancid toxicity of despotic-butcherous imperialism that mephitically enwreathed within the humid forested terrain. Unwarranted urgency inexorably torpedoed within his veins as he blocked a mechanized claw-strike. "Now M' only gonna ask once...Where is Bucky Barnes?"

That name puzzled the Commander, feeling as if it were familiar yet ridiculous all at the same time. Wrinkling his whiskered muzzle, he bore his teeth with a defiant growl, feeling the last of his patience begin to fade against this human. "Who the hell is-"

*CLANK*

The sound of a metallic hook smacking against the human's skull interrupted his chain of thought. Sabre watched with mild surprise but also annoyance as the human tumbled to the ground unconscious just as the hook that had struck him was whipped back into the enormous hand of his hoggish friend who entered the clearing. Gorge chuckled, "Since when do you let puny humans get the best of you?"

Sabre growled, "I had him on the back-foot."

Flitting his longish tail, impassively, Sabre eased onto his armoured haunches a breadth at Steve's unconscious form, while the rotund battle-hog gruffly retracted the metallic chain of the siege hook into the stubbier deformity of his gauntleted hoof, blankly, Sabre lasered his whitish-sapphire opals fixedly at the vibrainium shield as he splayed robotized claws scrapingly over the chrome-painted star emblem that metallically adorned the circular shield-a revered signet of valour-liberty. An ephemeral starkness of dredged-up connection-apparitions- viscerally hijacked the recess of his addled mind, while his massive paw shakily traced over the red paint. "T-This looks...Familiar..." he murmured in a throatier undertone, gratingly, and thrusted his gauntlet arm back as if he was electrified by a taser repulsor. "Grah..Probably scrapped trash from a Ravanger..."

"Could be. He's not dressed like any Ravager I've seen before," Gorge grunted, assesing the state of the strangely dressed human laying unconscious. "We don't get too many Terrans in our space sector. He could be a Kree spy, or even a Nova Corps officer." Reaching down he lifted the shield in his arms, surprised by how light yet durable the metal sphere felt in his hands. "This is all he's packing? How did he fend off that Jackal-and you with just this frisbee?" Gorge tossed the shield to Sabre, watching with mild interest as his Pantherian friend caught it flying disk with lighting quick reflex, the digits of his claws scraping against the surface of the object. "Guess you saw that one coming this time. How do you want to handle this, Sabe?" He asked, gesturing to the unconscious man. He was their only lead between the rebels and the lost caravan.

"Commander...Woah...Hold on, sir, " A chirpier pitch speedily blurted from a golden-ombre furred cheetah as he whooshingly skitted on his armoured hind-paws with quick-foot momentum, evading the Centurian-panther's icier glower, he swiftly pounced onto a gnarled branch of acrobatic graces, and unblinkingly roved his inquisitive brownish-hazel opals at the motionless Terran strangely clad in a dark-blue tactical garment. "O-Okay that's bad...Gotta be a Kree infiltrator, right..." he murmured, stammeringly, gesturing his lengthy-spotted tail at the vibrainium shield possessively gripped into Sabre's robotized paw. "You gonna bring him for questioning..."

Sabre regarded the new recruit with a commanding posture, "Centurion Cato. Arrange one of the toppled carts to transport these prisoners. The human is not to be taken lightly." He grunted, watching as Gorge hoisted the unconscious human and jackal off the ground like sacks of fruit and threw one over each of his shoulders. Sabre held the acquired shield still in his hand, for some reason finding the weight of it comforting in his grasp. He cast a furtive look towards the treeline where the escaped rebel had fled. "Any who escaped today won't have anywhere to hide once we get the answers we need."

Some minutes later, a cart was brought into the clearing where Gorge threw the prisoners inside. He looked at Sabe pensively once the prisoners, "you know that Korious is going to want to hear about this." He said, dreading what the Imperator would to learn they found only a ruined caravan.

Scrunching up his whiskered muzzle, derisively, Sabre gazed down at the vibrainium shield fastened over his gauntleted wrist-it was a conductor of a treacherous firestorm-anarchy that would damagingly ignite a revolutionary powder-keg against his tyrannical emperor if Panthera sought this symbol of valour as the matchstick of a calamitous reckoning. Growlingly, Sabre eased the circular shield against his armoured thigh, and his sahaying momentum near his tubbier friend. "Let me worry about that..." he murmured against snarlier breaths, throatily, aware of the penalty of his impetuous disobedience. "Bring em' to the citadel and don't let Korious question this human without me..."

Cato, the golden young cheetah, gave a curt nod, "Sir, yes sir!" He and the rest of the Pantherian guards began to wheel away the imprisoned jackal and human in the toppled cart.

"Somehow I don't think keeping the Old Lion out of this one will be so simple," Gorge shrugged. "All right, let's get moving!" The hog yelled, padding forward to lead the way back to the citadel. As they began to make their way through the forest, Sabre could not help but feel a sense of foreboding as he wondered how the Imperator, and the Emperor himself would react to this. He only hoped that the storm could be withered before it could grow stronger.

The nectarous amora of juicer plums deliciously entrenched over the marketed sector, as draped cloths of merchant tents flappingly billowed against the humid air, twitchily, his furrier tail arced up on mischievous accord while he evaded the stone-faced glower of a hulkish rhino sentry who bulbously grounded his massive hooves near a fruit cart. Rapting his tinier paws, Stripey crouched on his lankier haunches a breadth at straw-woven baskets that were appetizingly heaped with succulent melons."Ooh...I'll take a little bit of these...Maybe some of that..." With quick-paw swiftness, thievishly, he snatched purplish grapes, deceptively, tucking a few into his raggedy tunic. "Why do they always make it so easy for my amazing skills...Like I mean c'mon, I never get caught by old grumpy horn over there..." he whispered, snarkily, hopping off the wooden ledge with evasive graces as he vanishingly scampered into the direction of a pillared archway, only to be deterred by javelin spear that alarmingly grazed his whitish-grayish fur. "Woah..."

Gasping, he looked back to see the javelin tip quivering, mere inches from his head, as the weapon's owner, a massive gray-furred wolf with a scarred snout, stepped closer. "That's close enough, thief," he growled, his eyes narrowing. "You're coming with me." Stripey's heart pounded in his chest, but he forced a cocky grin. "You're probably mistaking me for someone interested in your wares. Gotta say, not very appealing so I was just on my way out of here," he said, trying to act nonchalant as he casually turned back toward the market.

The wolf growled again, more menacingly this time, and Stripey felt a shiver of dread run down his spine. That probably wasn't the smartest thing say. "I'm gonna string you up, skin you and sell you with the rest of my "unimpressive wares"," the wolf threatened. Swallowing hard, Stripey glanced over his shoulder and saw that a rhino sentry was beginning to take an interest in their little exchange. He couldn't afford to draw any more attention to himself. With a sigh, he turned back to face the wolf. "Alright, alright," he muttered, suddenly throwing himself towards the wolf in and hugging him tightly. "Hey relax, pal, you know I was only kidding. In fact, that plum pudding over there looks pretty tasty is that new?" Discreetly he used the distraction to slip a few pieces of fruit into his pouch behind the wolf vendor's back.

Manically, the brutish wolf-vendor flashed his grimier incisors fangs at the lemur with deadlier rabidity- he attempted to seize his verminous drudge with unmerciful precision as he gripped onto a cleaver. "I'm going to enjoy splitting your mangy body into two..." he snarled, evilly, yanking onto Stripey's longish tail while grapes annoyingly pelted his canine muzzle. "Rrahh...You little..."

But just before the grisly strike could come, there was a sudden flash of movement from behind the stalls as a large powerful figure leapt over a table with practiced agility, landing gracefully beside them. His shadow covered them like a cloud of darkness promising a swift downpour of retaliation. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" The graveling deep baritone of Sabre cut through the chaos. His ebony-raven fur was bristling with determination and steel-blue opal were gleaming alight with battle-readiness. Sparing the lemur an exasperated look, he focused on the wolf who appeared mildly shocked by his appearance.

The rancidity of corruptive stink odorously wafted off the canine vendor's mangy fur, with a breakneck reaction, viciously, Sabre clutched into his ganglier wrist on bone-crippling accord, slamming the grizzled paw against the wooden ledge as his roundish ears raptly flitted against the full-throated yelp that spasmically resonated from the stunned-thuggish wolf-anthro. Restrainedly, he eased his fore-claws off the scruff of grayish fur as he warded off the bestial-murderous urges that combustively strummed in his veins."Enough of this..!" he railed out, gnashingly, and flashed the icier steeliness of his aquamarine opals unwaveringly at his crafty- kleptic servi. "His services are under my watch, and I will pay what is owed to you..." With an impassive semblance brandished over the furrier contours of his whiskered muzzle, he removed golden Xanadarian units from his leathered sachel, aware of the vendor's glassier yellowish eyes greedily staring at the units. "Yeah...The unmarked currency that I snagged from a Kree infiltrator...These units will get you a fun time at Conjuncton's Casnio ..."

"C-Commander Sabre..." The vendor said with realization. "Your servant has sticky fingers." The wolf vendor, still gripping his cleaver and eyeing Stripey warily, slowly lowered his head in submission once he realized the lemur was in service to a high-ranking Pantherian officer as he judged the panther's armor. He snorted derisively as he shifted his gaze from the lemur to the gold Xanadarian units in Sabre's hand. Greed flared in his yellow eyes. With a growl, he released his grip on the cleaver and stepped back, nodding gruffly. "But fine. I'll take that," he grumbled, snatching the units from Sabre's hand. "But you better not come near by wares again, lemur." He spat on the ground before turning and stalking off through the crowd.

Sabre stared down at his servant expectantly with an accusing raise of the eyebrow, "You just cannot help yourself, can you?" He grunted with a small bite of humor in his voice that indicated he wasn't entirely upset over the situation.

Feigning a waggish smirk deviously over his tinier muzzle against the depth-charge rampancy of his insatiable-notching urges, blindingly, Stripey grabbed a yellowish-decadent plum off the vendor cart with thievish precision, evading the voltaic intensity of the panther's grayish-aquamarine opals that unnervingly straddled him with a trenchant glare, cheekily he dragged his needle-point fangs into the juiciness of his pilfered fruit without a vestige of reined composure. "Whoa...Hold on...I'm the smallest guy on this desert planet, I can faint easily without a good bite of citrus..." he defended against a mouthful, heartily. "Sometimes I even crave ice cream...psst...Whatever that is..." He rapted his grayish-furred paw over Sabre's gauntleted wrist. "Gotta be good right, Bagheera."

The panther let out an annoyed sigh and shook his head. "For one so small, I swear all you think about is food. I don't even want to imagine where it all goes," he replied with a growl, "but you're still going to pay for that plum out of your week's salary," he said, rumbling with amusement as he watched the lemur's ears extend in stunned disbelief. "And don't call me Bagheera when we're in public. It's Commander Sabre." He motioned the lemur to follow him into step as they made their way through the market, his striped friend sputtering in appeasement if only to save his full earnings. Several eyes watched them, some too intimdated by the commander's presence to let their gaze linger too long as he perused some wares. He picked up a rare plant imported from an exotic moon named Zula and inhaled its scent, finding it calming. He tossed a gold coin to the hoggish merchant, embedded with the image of Emperor Tygerus and received his change.

He gazed sidelong at his servant.

"You've been out here most of the day. You know you're paid to do more than lug my supplies around. Have you heard anything useful?" The marketplace was a hub of activity where travellers from neighbouring villages came to the city to sell their wares. Some off-worlders frequented under the watchful eye of the Pantherian guard to ensure they weren't enemy spies.

"There's been some noise about Xander cargo ships loading up with prisoners...Mostly big guys with hooves..." Stripey divulged, whisperingly, twitching his snubbed muzzle with a crestfallen gleam alight in his beadier darkish ireses as he noisily gnawed on another fruity bite. "Happens on the spaceport, lots of security roaming around with taser spears that leave a nasty mark on those who try to escape..." he rasped under a chirpier breath, warily, glancing on the rhino-anthro sentry thuggishly poised near the marketplace gates. "He's a guy to knock out with that cool robo paw of yours if you want answers..."

Sabre narrowed his eyes at the mention of the rebels, shifting his gaze towards the burly-rhino that his friend signaled him to. A deep-heated growl emanated from his mouth, his whiskers twitching in agitation. "Why would they be sending the prisoners off world?" he wondered aloud. "Pantherian law deems them to be either imprisoned, executed or sentenced to the mines." A dangerous edge entered into his voice. He knew that under Korious, the law could be bended but never broken. Whatever the case, he didn't like that certain things were kept from him if it meant this conflict was being prolonged and not ended. His thoughts returned to the strange human he encountered in the forest, wondering how his interrogation was unfolding and if he would find his way onto these supposed ships headed for Xandar. He didn't like this at all. "I need answers..." He debated going to confront the rhino, but before he could decide his next course of action, an ox-horn rang out through the marketplace along with the shaking boom of an incendiary grenade going off at the tower.

On depth-charge succession, the explosive vibrations deafeningly pulsed over the marketplace as remnants of clay-stone dustily rained against the manic pandamonium of alarmed vendors who screamingly fled in unison as the armoured rhino stompingly charged his unstoppable-horn-impaling momentum near the obstructive detritus. With defensive readiness, Sabre unwaveringly lasered the peripheral intensity of his steelier aqueous opals in the direction of the blast, in a earshot, thrusting his whiskered muzzle against the intrusive-ambrosian scent of vanilla-cherry that headily arrested his warring senses-a luscious-feminine decadence that savorously beckoned him to pursue on hungered abandon. Growlingly, he propelled his feline-honed agility over a melon cart, snacking out his metallic claws on predatory sync as he chased the evocative scent. "W-Where are you..."

That was when he spotted a commotion occurring near the edge of the blast radius. While other merchants were either running to or from the explosion in a mad panic, the rhino guards were dutifully maintaining control by guiding them away in an orderly fashion. The sight of a scuffle disrupted the order as he watched a sleek agile shape outpace and attack a trio of suspicious guards. A white furred lioness wearing a hood moved with a lighting quick swiftness that belied her size, her eyes were gleaming with a determined glisten as she raced past the marketplace, her powerful feline-limbs moving unrelenting, her snow-white fur shining like the purest of pearls against the dust-strewn pavement. "Oh no you don't..." Sabre hissed, his mind torn between the primal urge to pursue and the more pressing matter at hand such as the explosion and seeing if anyone was hurt. Yet, there was something about her that called to him, a scent that seemed to linger on the air...

He cursed the rhino guards and their inability to catch a fleeing suspect and looked at Stripey, "Try to keep up, don't let her out of sight." With that he broke into a run, his lemur friend climbing to a roof to follow close-by from the skies.

Harnessing a surge of balletic agility, lithely, she crouched onto her furred haunches onto the clay-stone ledge of a pillared roof, the fieriness of her autumn-brandy opals impishly gleamed with thievish intensity as her whitish-clawed paw deftly gripped onto the golden armlet that was exquisitely adorned with crescent rubied moons-a galactic accessory that was exhibited by the opulent-penurious notoriety of Panthera-bribable senators who gorged on their avarice while turning away from the parasitic installations of syndicated taskmasters. Gliding her claws over the roughness of the stone, tensely, her pinkish nose scrunched as she registered a virile-headier scent that addictively ghosted against the sweetness of plums. Keeping the length of her black cloak draped over her tousled silvery-platinum whorls, she bated out a panty breath, catching a glimpse of a ganglier lemur speedily hopping near her proximity, while deceptively removing a thermal disk from her threadbare satchel with quick-paw readiness. "So...Now I have a monkey chasing my tail..." she purred out, snarkily.

Suddenly, a pair of rhino guards appeared at the edge of the alley, their bulky forms clad in shiny silver armor. They exchanged a look before one of them spoke. "You! Stop right there!" he boomed, his voice echoing through the market. The lioness tensed, her eyes narrowing as she studied the guards carefully. "Or what?" she drawled, her tone laced with amusement. They rushed her, looking to use their burly muscular mass to overwhelm her. The lioness feinted a pounce only to use her swiftness to sweep a trash barrel from the wall and kick it towards them. She masked her next move which was to pounce towards the wall and leap right over them as they came barrelling through. She continued running, her easy evasion impressing the lemur who flew above her.

"She's good." Remembering his goal he spotted his friend and commander racing in the alley opposite, "she's headed just north towards the square," he called out.

"Rrrah...Damnit..." Gnashing his incisor fangs against snarlier pants, raggedly, Sabre propelled his feline-honed agility over the obstructive pillar with unstoppable-acrobatic graces as his mechanized-vibrainium claws draggingly scraped against clay-stone as he penetrated his pugio dagger into a groove of the pillar, blindingly sliding his bulkier form downward with breakneck-adrenalized momentum as his bionic paw forcily hammered into the ground, anchoring his sprinter-poise while gunning for his thievish-seductive prey. The curvaceous exquisiteness of the lady-cat's svelte form implosively stoked a hungrier-ardent ferocity within him-a feverous voltage notching with every blood-pumping rush. "Gotta kitten..." he drawled in with murmurous chuffing, throatily, gazing at the whitish-furred lioness effortlessly perform a backflip over a barricade of melon carts on balletic succession as she naughtily quirked her delicate muzzle into a deviant smirk, while her longish tail viperously roped a melon and explosively flung it with dead-straight precision at him. "Woah...!"

"Sabre, over here!" came the urgent voice of the lemur perched atop the wall, waving frantically. The Pantherian Commander's eyes flickered momentarily towards the lemur before focusing back on his prey ahead of the alley attempting to duck behind cover. He bounded over another cart, narrowly avoiding a flying melon, and raced towards her. As he neared, Stripey jumped down from the wall, heading straight for the lioness. "Now's your chance!" He chirped. Sabre felt his blood-rushing like hot lava, pumping his muscles with relentless energy as his surroundings flew by in his sprint. He could see her straight ahead, the lioness using her own swiftness to pounce towards the gates. Sabre slammed into her, expecting his momentum and larger mass to have her pinned and restrained only to feel her slide right under him before they hit the ground!

"What?!" He growled, whipping his head up to see her paw aiming for his head. He felt the impact of her attack stagger him with surprise. He growled angrily, his instincts sharpening back into focus in time to avoid another hit. He caught her wrist and yanked. She growled and aimed a kick at his side. His armour took the brunt of the attack, and he spun her around bringing her back into his chest. His arms wrapped around her, his deep heavy breath fanning her silken white fur. "Got you!" He growled, his world suddenly engulfed by the lure of her cinnamony fragrance.

Hearing the panty gravelliness of his whiskey-roughened timbre unnervingly ghosting over her roundish ear as he bodily caged her against the graven-corded-hunkier resiliency of his tauter muscles that bulkily flexed against the bronze plating of his engraved armour. Deviously with an underhand swipe of her lithe paw, she clutched into his vambrace gauntlet, arresting his teeming impatience with a distractive grazing of her razor-point claws—not surprising he didn't release her. Curbing down her brazen feistiness to bash her head into his whiskered muzzle, tersely, she eased her fore-paw off his gauntlet."Sorry to spoil your fun, but I have places to go and things to steal..." she purred in a foxier pitch, sassily, angling her furred head against his pauldron on coquettish accord while lingeringly kneading her delicate claws over his roguish tresses with violating ministrations. "Hmm...Or maybe I'll stay for a dance, Panther-boy..."

"What?" He growled. Listening to her cool voice caused a spark inside of him. A familiar feeling struck that he couldn't explain, as if...as if he had experienced this kind of encounter before with someone like her. His brow furrowed as he became lost in a reverie, making him feel like he was back in that forest confronting the strange human. His lapse in concentration allowed her to slip out of his grasp and whip her tail towards his ankles. She pulled his feet out from under him. His instincts were reignited as he pounced back to his feet and lunged towards her. She fluidly evaded his attack as she scaled the wall. He lunged, she evaded. It was like trying to catch water that adapted and flowed in a manner he couldn't grasp. "Oh no you don't," he followed her manuevers, scaling the wall by pouncing between surfaces as she scaled to a roof-top.

Stripey watched this unfold with confusion, "What kind of chase is this?" He wondered aloud.

Gripping onto a clay-stone ledge with her fore-paw with acrobatic-honed graces, bracingly, she flitted her luminous brandy opals at Sabre who growlingly thrusted his larger paw to yank at her whitish tail. "Oh you think I would make it that easy..." she quipped, jauntily, as her plushier underlip played off a naughtier smirk while glancing at a ceramic vase that was a hairbreadth from her paw-the high octane of their chase was exhilaratingly irresistible, brassily, she knocked the vase off the balcony with dead-straight precision for his sleekier head. "Let's see if you can land on your feet..."

A stunned Sabre only had a moment to react as he raise his forearm to his face. Immediately, the vase shattered with a sharp cacophony of clanging ceramic as Sabre's body plummeted downwards. Stripey watched with a mix of horror and surprise, his heart racing as he lunged to catch his friend. He caught the back of his armor-plate but Sabre's weight was too heavy for the lemur to hang onto. Sabre landed with a loud grunt, his paws smacking into the ground causing his muscles to recoil against the strain of collision. Sabre showed no reaction as his piercing gaze watched as the white lioness winked and vanished after dropping a pellet of smoke. "Damn it," Sabre growled, hands balled into fists.

Stripey landed beside him, relieved yet amused by what transpired. "I forgot cats land on their feet. Lucky you," he quipped. His humorous edge sobered as he saw the peeved look on his superior's face. "I guess she uh got away?"

Sabre responded with a grunt. "For now," it was left unsaid but he wouldn't forget this encounter. Not too many eluded his capture, and the lioness certainly got his attention...for more than one reason. Shaking away the spell of his fixation, his mind focused back to the matter at hand. "She came from the Grand Central Keep..."

"Where most of the senators live," Stripey said, catching on, "Whatever she stole must be important."

"We need to head back," he growled, marching past his lemur friend who came to rest on his shoulder. "By the way...this never happened."

He could practically feel the laughter building up inside his small friend's body before it erupted.

"Stripey, I swear if you tell Gorge-"

"Hey, you can trust me, Sabe...This little guy knows how to keep a secret..." Deftly, he splayed his tinier paw over the vibrainium servos that robotically flexed against his featherlight caresses as he, attentively began picking out crumblier remnants of stone that dustily collected into the gun-metal plating. With a chagrined scrunch of his feline muzzle, grumblingly, Sabre veered his intimidating paw-steps with the vigilant decorum of a Patherian soldier, advancing over the pillared dolmens that bordered the market sector gates as Stripey tensely clung onto his armoured back, flicking his ring-tailed vexatiously against his charge's shaggier tresses. Being perched onto the shoulder of the panther-Centurian protected him from becoming a declious appetizer of vulturous-bloodthirsty scavengers-grizzled-snouted hyenas who chucklingly slinked behind the obstructed turn-over carts. "Hah..Hah...Not today fellas..."

"Lemur's not on the menu. Look away if you know what's good for you," Sabre grunted, his sharp eyes glaring at the hyenas who cowardly looked away. Sabre smirked as he patted his friend on his shoulder. "Hope you had fun, because now its time to get back to work." The Grand Central Keep rose before them, a towering monument of white marble dominating the monolithic skyline of the city. It was a symbol of power and prestige, the home to the most influential figures in the Empire who served Emperor Tygerus. As they approached, they could see more guards patrolling the walls and sentries posted at the gates as they combed through the remains of the explosion. "We need some answers," Sabre growled, his sapphire eyes narrowing. "I think I know where to start."

Against the exhaustive throes of bone-deep grogginess that paralyzingly robbed his mobility in fruition, blurringly, Steve fluttered his eyelashes reactively against the feverous haziness as he registered the coiling-taser- restraints fastened over his wrists; the pulsing voltage of the bracer-gauntlet sonically amplified through his veins as he forcily attempted with straining resilence to wrench his fore-arm off the dirtier ground. "Grah..." Vertiginously, he angled up the scruffier broadness of his tensing jaw, staving off a head-rush as he blearily roved his silvery-azureous ireses over the begrimed stone walls that were macabrely smudged with inky blood of Kree infiltrators and globbier remnants of a butchered wormy Sakaaran as maggoty lavra slimily tunnelled into the razed apertures of craved geometric mezzotints. "T-That's not something to wake up to, Rogers..." he drawled, raspily, aware that he was in lockdown of a detainment cell. "Gotta find a way out..."

Centurion Cato shifted on uneasy feet as he stood posted outside the doors leading to the interrogation hall. The sound of screams and vicious growls could be heard emanating down the corridor as the prisoners of the empire were be subsequently "questioned" for information. The young feline couldn't have fathomed why he would be posted in such a position this day. He was too young for such horrors but Imperator Korious had issued a mandate for new promoted recruits to be hardened into merciless warriors by exposing them to the grim realities of war. "Do they ever stop?" He wondered, gripping his spear in his paws as he listened to the chorus of pain echoing down that dim hall. He listened as he heard a shuffle of steps and a door open down the hall. He stood at the ready, hearing the clanking of armor as the imposing form of Commander Sabre stepped into view. "Sir! I mean-Commander! Sir!" He acknowledged with a salute.

Half-quirking his furred muzzle into a toothier smirk at the cheetah-anthro's boyish stammering, impassively, Sabre grounded his armoured-clad paws near the rustier bars that were smearily adorned with intestinal gunk-the carious rancidity couldn't be evaded. Twitchily, his leathery nose rapted against the odorous potency that miasmically sailed over the dirt-pit cells. "Any word from Korious about the prisoner..." he chuffed out, murmurously and lasered the steeliness of his aqueous-sapphire depths at the hulkish rhino sentry unmovingly poised with a taser javelin clutched in his bolder-sized hoof. A kinetic frequency of a thermal detector pulsingly tremored against his furred ears-the guarded cell was hot-wired."He's not the best for gettin' answers...M'gonna pay this human a visit before it's crowded in there, distract the guard for me..."

The young centurion swallowed hard, his eyes wide with alarm and surprise, but he sobered quickly into an obedient soldier. "Y-yes, Commander," he stammered but soon enough, an air of confidence came over him as he smirked with anticipation, "I think I got an idea."

The burly guardsman named Orkos grunted with mild irritation from his post as he brought his cup of Asgardian imported mead to his lips only to find it empty. "Again," he grumbled, his senses already quickly sharpening into focus enough that he could smell the stink of the interrogation corridor suffocating him like a fog. He hated his post more than anything, the only thing keeping him entertained being the occassional dumb prisoner he got the pleasure of gutting in escape attempts, or when it was his lunch-break when the quartermaster brought in the delicacies. His hearing picked up the sound of soft paws trekking close to him, carrying a cup. "Centurion, shouldn't you be at your post?" He grumbled at Cato boredly, as he made to pick up his barrel and refill his keg.

"I thought you might be getting thristy so I thought you'd like something fresh-" The cup was swiped out of his grasp before he could finish. The rhino guards sniffed and wrinkled his horned nose.

"This is water?!" His voice was laced with outrage. Cato grinned sheepishly.

"Isn't that what guards are supposed to drink?" He asked innocently. The rhino guard suddenly looked threatening causing Cato to raise his paws apologetically only to accidentally spill the water across the rhino's chest.

"Idiot!" Orkos growled angrily.

"Look I'm sorry, maybe I should just-" Cato turned around, his tail suddenly snapping against the keg caused the barrel of mead to spill over. Orkos' anger turned to horror as the rhino lunged to the floor to save his precious mead. "Oh, sorry, were you about to drink that? Smells pretty expensive." Looking behind him, Cato gave Commander Sabre a nod to proceed.

With a measure of stealthier evades, cautiously, Sabre braced his armoured back tensely against the eroded-metallic door as he dragged his fore-paw over the hinged latch. Warding off dredged-up apparitions-chimeras of gladiator-like Terans with emblems of red star-loyalty of the Motherland stitched onto their black military garment as they were dormant captives locked into an icier chamber surrounded by electronic machinery-the vomitous-chemical stink of antiseptic effused his senses as he raptly pinched his furred brow with confused strain. "Argh..." Dizzily, he eased up his gauntleted paw over his muzzle, gnashing his incisor fangs against the bone-shuttering onslaught of distorted memories of being cruelly strapped into a robotic chair as a circular headset rotated over him at the second a stone-faced Teran garbed in white pressed a controller. "N-No..." Emitting out a growlier breath, aggressively, he drove his bionic paw into the door with hammering ferocity in the wake of his reaction. "Get out of my head..."

He moved into action to stave off the flow of images and approached the cell-door. Using his own access, he watched as the electronic lock deactivated and the door opened. The stale scent of mildew touched his nostrils as he entered the dark interior. A single sentry light shone down from above highlighting the shackled form of a human man, chained to the floor. Sabre's training rose to the forefront as he maintained an image of unshakable authority. He ignored the itching at the back of his mind that gnawed at his focus, harkening him towards some feeling of familiarity. His jet-black fur shimmered like silk in the bright light, his eyes burning like hot coals as they peered at the human closely.

Steve raised his head, anticipating another round of questions and violent jabs coming from the rhinos that interrogated him earlier. Instead, he met the alarming sight of the one creature that had been on his mind ever since he had woken up. The very creature that now loomed large in front of him like a sentinel of destruction. The posture, the stance, the unflinching gaze made him feel like he was back on the falling Helicarrier years ago, facing someone who both was and wasn't his best friend. "...I-Its you. B-Bucky..."

In that heart-arresting moment of unriddled confusion, viscerally, Sabre became trepidatiously floored by the wheezier hitches of the captive's raspier drawl as his razor-thinned pupils became owlishly dilated against the depth-charge pulse of the callback- reciprocal memory that imploded into his cerebral recesses like white-hot voltage. Staunching down irrepressible urges to abandonly yank the destabilizer restraints of the twangy-haired Teran, involuntarily, he reeled back on clumsier traction, fixing his aqueous- sapphire opals piercingly at the five-pointed chrome star insignia branded on the dark-blue kevlar of Steve's tactical- patriotic uniform. A continuous mantra of a brotherly promise ravaged his thoughts 'M' with ya until the end of the line...'

Those heartened words nostalgically reactivated a mechanism of undeniable trust as he riskily gazed into Steve's mistier azure ireses."S-Stop callin' me Bucky..." A snarlier hiss bitingly railed out of him, as he viciously whiplashed his longish tail against the bars. "M-My name is Sabre..." He lowered onto his armoured haunches on predatory accord, thrusting his bionic paw a hairbreadth at Steve's bruised throat as his vibrainium-alloy claws were readily poised akin to a hammerlock to slashingly deliver a cobra-strike on his captive's jugular vein, only to stuntedly register a vestige of hinged mercy-empathy that he couldn't shrug off. "Grah..." Wrenching his paw back, restrainedly, he streched his furred muzzle and jutted out his incisor fangs against throatier gnarls. "W-Why can't I do it..."

Steve coughed weakly, his body still bruised and sore from the beating he had taken earlier. "B-Because its not who you are-." He paused, his gaze flickering between Sabre's face and the star insignia on his chest. "Maybe it's because of this." He tapped the insignia, a bitter smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Maybe this reminds you of home." He made no effort to disguise the longing in his own voice, the yearning call of a home far away that he had been plucked from during the heated escalation of their last mission together. Seeing he had the Pantherian's full attention, Steve pushed against the bars, his blue gaze determined. "It means liberty, justice, brotherhood. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. Those were the things we fought for back home. Whatever they did to you-" His chest tightened as the woeful images of watching his friend, and several other teammates vanish through the Infinity Gate portal they'd unearthed that had pulled them away into deep recesses of the galaxy. He'd failed to catch his friend's hand as he was pulled through. The sorrow etched deep giving him a lasting guilt that couldn't be healed unless he found him-found all of them. "This isn't who you are... really."

"Shut up!" Ramming his bionic paw against the eroded bars with bone-shattering ferocity, Sabre belted out a full-throated snarl against heaving-panty breaths; upheavals of untrammelled skull-vising confusion rackingly barraged him in tenfold as he stumblingly torqued back on clumsier footing, gripping into vestiges of sanity as vivid imagery of a bloodied Teran hand desperately clutching onto a metal rail of a train door alarmingly replayed in succession, he was strenuously reaching over a leather gloved hand against the frostier gusts. "Bucky take my hand...' The railing detachedly snapped off in the wake of a heart-wrenching scream that deafened his ears-he was breathlessly dragged into a snowy abyss by icier tentacles. "Grah..." Rearing up the sleekier angulariy of his furred muzzle, the voltaic heat of his wide-blown aqueous opals stormily electrified with bestial rawness as he unwaveringly razored a dead-straight glare at the chrome star that he would slashingly rip off. With a modicum of warred restraint, seethingly he jutted out his incisor fangs over his furrier underlip, detecting the anguished stink of unbidden heartache that radiated off the captive. "That damn star means nothing to me...!"

Steve's eyes softened, breathing deeply, trying to steady his racing heart. He had seen that look in the creature's eyes before but when he was a man. The desperation, the confusion, the anger. It was like he was a completely different person warring within another, like he had been replaced by someone else. "Let me help you," he entreated. This wasn't the first time he and Bucky had been through this song and dance, and it pained him to see his friend lost. "I'll help you remember, I'll tell you everything you need to know." He watched as the feline in front of him visibly struggled with himself before something must've snapped causing his pupils to dilate and for his paws to slam against the bars, startling Steve.

"The only thing I NEED to know, human, is what you're doing on Panthera?" Sabre snarled, falling into his training to safeguard him from the onslaught of inner-conflict. "Are you with the Kree? Or are you an infiltrator for the rebellion?"

Brandishing a semblance of full-measured trust over the hard-edged angularity of his chiselled-hawkish features, placatingly, Steve mirrored the panther-anthro's inscrutable glare against the fractional viciousness tumultuously revving within the galactic beast-machine. Despite the unbidden onslaught of grevious heartache that he reservedly stowed, he was pegged into an inexorable deadlock of a precarious reality that was heralded by a dimensional-quantum wormhole paradox that A.I.M. generated with cosmic remnants of the Tesseract cube-a transdimensional gateway that heart-wrenchingly stole everything from him when the activated switch was pressed. Dragging out a shakier breath, he remained cool-headed, fostering onto vestiges of hope to reach his tenaciously hellbent best friend-his Bucky. "There was a fight with really bad scientists that believed they held the world in their hands...Everything went south when I made the wrong call and got everyone on my team...Lost." he rasped against a hitching drawl, resigtering the saltier dampiness blearing his vision as he gazed at Centurian battle-cat unwaveringly poised at the bars. "I-It's my fault and M' gonna own that until I get everyone back...Home."

Sabre was frustrated with the lack of direct answers to his questions. But he could sense no lies in the human's words as he unveiled the depth of his remorse and sense of failure over losing his team-members. In a way, he could sympathize with his burden of responsibility having lost a number of his own Pantherian soldiers in battle. He never stopped fighting to save them, even when it seemed their fates were sealed; it was why he would choose to bear the risk alone. Lost in his own turmoil, the Pantherian commander scowled at the human, "You are a long way from home, Terran. If you ever wish to see it or your friends again, you will give me direct answers." When he received no immediate response, he peered at him closer. "You fight with unique skill and grace I've not seen in a Kree soldier. You were able to fend off the strength of a Jackal twice your size using your own. That is no small feat. All lends credence to the notion you are a very dangerous man-"

"How predictable that your rebelliousness steered you to my prisoner, Cub..." The abrasive cadency of the brutish legatus-Korious malignly resonated at the heart-slamming moment the velvety sleekness of his obsidian fur reactively tensed with defensive edginess against the carious potency-the malodorous stink of unquenchable bloodlust entrenched him. Gnashing his incisor fangs against panty breaths, with fiercer variance, Sabre flashed the steeliness of his mesmeric aquamarine opals predatorily at the iron-welded braziers that eerily contrasted orangish sconces over the unkempt grayish-white fur of the warmongering-truculent lion who virulently advanced near the cell with haughtier paw-steps of an imperious mogul. Being a high-ranking general of the Pantherian legionnaires of political-glorious conquest of satisfying his Emperor with indispensable barbarity of his murderous operations, Korious was revered as the iron-booted pillar of combative supremacy against fractious resistance. Scrunching his grizzled muzzle with irate disgust, he gripped onto the leather-buckled straps of the vibrainium shield with a possessive flexion of his gauntleted paw. "It seems this infiltrator has enticed you into his thrall, Sabre, and I must admit that I am disappointed that you violated my orders of visiting this impotent Terran..."

"Cub?" Sabre growled, feeling insulted by his superior.

"Impotent?" Steve chimed in, equally confused if not insulted by the remark. The two exchange a glance with one another before Sabre slams his paw against the bars with frustration. Remembering himself, he salutes Korious with a scowl across his muzzle, his eyes peering into the cold depths of the gray-furred lion with unyielding determination.

"He is my prisoner, Sire," Sabre reminded him. "I captured him, I should be able to question him and demand answers." He ignored the crawling feeling of discontent beneath his fur at the sight of the star shield held in his superior's grasp. It felt wrong for some reason unknown to him. He recalled the weight of it in his hands, how right it felt. It was puzzling yet rewarding of his efforts. He glared back at Steve whose own eyes were fixated on the two of them as well as the shield. "Don't deter me from this," Sabre implored Korious. "He could be connected to the rebellion or even the thief from the Central Keep-"

"Enough...!" Against a throat-shredding roar, callously, Korious scythed his fore-claws lashingly against the bars as Sabre disarmingly pinned his felt-like ears back, unabashedly emitting a guttural submissive cuff while the dreadnought lion sneeringly released his grip on the vibrainium shield. The clanging vibrations were like a kinetic shockwave over his grungier fur "You deliver compassion for this rogue human, a craven frailty that must be scoured by discipline...Return to your obese hog..." he growled out, bitingly, evicting a combustible surge of bestial-alpha hostility as his bulbous-girthed rhino sentry heavily lumbered with a taser weapon. "Remove yourself from my sight, cub..."

Sabre glowered at his superior and then at the rhinos behind him, before turning back to the cell. The human looked back at him with soulful eyes, weary yet equally determined. There was no fear in those depths. It oddly reassured him, but the panther wasn't happy with being dismissed. He knew he may never get another chance at interrogating the human after leaving the room, but there was nothing he could do without risking sedition and imprisonment for refusing a direct order. "Fine," he growled. With one last defiant look at Korious, he spun on his haunches and stalked away, followed by the rhino sentries, leaving Korious and Steve alone.

The Old Lion looked at Steve unflinchingly, his gaze cold and calculating if not unnerving. Steve wasn't sure what to expect, but the words that came out of legatus' mouth made him go still with shock.

"Avenger. Captain America, isn't it?" Korious spoke knowingly.

"Yeah, who are you supposed to be, Mufusa..." Steve quipped with a snarkier pitch, raspily, angling the bristled scruffiness of his clenching jaw up evident with a gleam of defiance burningly alight in his azure ireses as he remained adamant underneath the lion-anthro's imposing shadow. Every spliced Pantherian had a trademark of a deranged-sadistic geneticist-the High Evolutioniary who barbarously played around with coded animal DNA, spawning mutative-beast hybrids-abominations for his morbid fixation with harnessing genetic perfection of his galactic utopia. "Look, I don't know what this planet has done to you or why you're acting like Roman soldiers..." he pressed, inquisitively, shifting a glance hawkishly onto Korious's marred paw-a deformity of scarred gashes-branded loyalty. "Someone is playin' behind the curtain and M' gonna find out by tearing it down..."

There was a soft rumbling as the Old Lion appeared to consider his captive. Korious, however, remained unshaken in the face of Steve's determination; his stoic demeanor was about as solid as the walls surrounding them. Holding the vibranium shield in his clutches, he traced the star emblem, searching for signs of the devastation rumored to have been dealt upon it by the hands of a Mad Titan. "Remarkable as you may be among your kind, Captain, it is clear that like all humans you possess a level of arrogance that I cannot fathom. You Terrans believe you are indomitable. You believe you are so special that you can think you can challenge anyone. That you may peer into the abyss and simply turn away from it without being pulled into its depths." Approaching the bars, Korious' demanor became more aggressive, "Well, Captain. You and your Avengers have peered too far into the abyss you have not yet stopped to realize that you cannot escape it. There are darker things-older things in the deep recesses of space, some as old as time. My Emperor has seen them. He knows all about you and those you once called allies."

Like Bucky. The words were left unsaid but deafening all the same as Steve's own demeanor became hard. "So you know the truth. And you've been lying to Bucky this whole time, letting him believe he's something he's not."

"Upon Pantheria, the past is what we decide to make it, and so is the future. Unfortunately for you, Captain, your future will soon meet a swift end...once the Emperor meets you in person." The doors to the room opened and in walked a trio of rhino-guards. "Make sure he is kept isolated and ABSOLUTELY NO ONE OTHER THAN ME ENTERS THIS CELL!" He roared with fury, marching out the door. Steve watched him go, his hands closing tightly on the bars of his cell.

"Watch your back, Bucky..." He sighed.

'Till the end of the line,..' The mind-razing onrushes of unriddled confusion stirringly intensified against his warring restraint, impassively, he braced his armour-clad back against a clay-stone pillar that adorned the dining gallery as whitish scones of hazier moonlight from the dome ceiling ambiently contrasted over the marble table; platters of roasted chunks of meatier appetizers juicily beckoned him. The societal rites couldn't be evaded. With tactful coolness, Sabre lowered onto a bench, aware of his longish tail viperously swaying like a pendulum against the floor. Deftly on valorous reverence, he unfastened his bronze-metallic gauntlet, slipping the bracer off as his cindery-obsidian fur edgily bristled with hard-pressed tension. Quashing down the gurgling pangs of jacked-up hunger, growlingly, he splayed his furred paw over a greasier platter, avidly clutching onto a hearty piece of mango-glazed chicken. "Mmph...Gotta be on heckuva trick..." he murmured, scratchily, with derisive indignance rapting over his feline muzzle as he tearingly pierced his incisor fangs into the meat. "T-That shield...I held it..."

It had been a day since he interrogated the human, but Sabre couldn't shake the lingering feelings that came with it. Throwing himself into his duties seemed like an easy escape from the frustrations boiling over with Korious' interference, but neither that nor expending his energies in the training courtyard had done anything to alleviate his mood. The one thing that had lingered positively at the edge of his thoughts was the thought of that shield. That damned infuriating disk flashed in his mind's eye and he chewed harder into his meal.

"Just give me the whole tray, why don't you?" The rumbling deep voice brought on a sense of calm as he looked ahead to see the voluminous shape of his Hoggish friend arguing with the cook. "Do I look like a guy who's gonna have his fill with that little itty-bitty platter you use to feed a duckling?" He grunted at the cranky goose who waved his utensil at him with a plate of noodles and spiced meats.

"This is my kitchen, F(atso). If you had your way, you'd eat my entire shop!" The goose, Fong, quacked at the hog irritably. "You want extra? You pay more!" He snapped.

Gorge's annoyed glare became deepened into a scowl, "Maybe I won't eat the whole shop. Just something more specific. Tell me…is goose on the menu?"

Hearing the incessant squawking of the feathery-ganglier shop-keeper ratcheting against his ears, fixedly, Sabre lasered his silvery-aquamarine opals at his paunchy-girthed comrade who gustily emitted a huffier snort in protest of his deterred feast. Smirkily, he quirked his furred muzzle as he watched Gorge forcibly slam down his cloven-hoof against the stone table with teeming ferocity, aware of the battle-hog's unbridled tantrum, decisively, he eased off the bench and rampantly sashayed closer to diffuse the quarrel. "Shoulda figured you would find a way to blow off steam..." he quipped with a starchier drawl, grumblingly, bracing his fore-paw over Gorge's spiked pauldron. "C'mon pal, let's return to my table before you're put on the ropes..."

As they sauntered back to their table, Sabre glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder at Fong, the goose chef, who was still glaring at them before huffing and returning to serve other guests. The small shop wasn't empty as other patrons sat at other tables dining quietly. Gorge grunted as he followed Sabre to his table, "more like I was ready to put him on the menu." He chuckled as he slumped into the seat and allowed his massive hand to slap onto the table. "Good business is good business, I don't see what the issue is," he grunted as he pulled out a pack of credits. Seeing the state of Sabre's plate where a half of cregan-bison had been torn from the bone aggressively, he looked at the panther with bemusement.

"Besides you're one to talk. What did that chewed carcass do to you? Or did you picture it was a certain Old Lion before you dug into it?"

Glancing at the chunkier slab of greasier bison, crestfallenly, Sabre gnawed on his jutting underlip as he clutched onto a metal fork with his massive paw, hinging a semblance of restraint against the heart-notching rabidity- bloodlust that inexorably accelerated through his veins. "Somethin' doesn't feel right in me..." he snarled out, throatily, gauging his claws into a fatty piece on vicious abandon. "Ever since that human with the shield called me Bucky...I feel like I know him..." Swiping his tongue over his incisor fang, grimacingly, he chalked off the visceral urges-the dynamical attachment of brotherly protectiveness fueling his guarded heart. "Why does that name keep rattlin' in my mind...Was Bucky the name I was called before your Ma found me in the dunes..."

Seeing his old friend lost in his own head wasn't a new thing for the hog-warrior who could remember him being conflicted over himself as far back as his cub years. Gorge liked to think of himself as a good listener whenever his friend was down, but he wasn't much of a shrink that could explain how the mind worked when it came to coping with trauma. He just liked to hit things and eat when he was feeling down to take his mind off the worries. "Its not a name I remember hearing before today," he grunted. "I wouldn't give it too much thought, clearly all its doing is making you mope around like a lost-stray." He listened as his feline-friend growled irritably before scarfing down another piece of meat. Gorge shrugged, he really did suck at all the touchy-feely nonsense. Times like this he wished his friend spent less time being a brooding commander and more time trying to find a feisty lioness to help soothe his worries. "Okay, clearly this has you worked up. Did the human mention anything else that felt familiar aside from the name?"

"T-That shield means something to me...I'm not sure if I was exposed to Skrull devices that put these damn memories in my head..." Sabre murmured in a whiskey-roughen drawl, hushedly, dragging his fork against the ceramic plate on trepidatious accord, while listening to Gorge's slobbish mouthfuls piggily amplifying as the plumpish battle-hog devouringly ravaged a heap of yellow-fleshed melons without a vestige of control roping him down. Roving his sapphire-aqueous depths at the droopier bulginess of Gorge's leather-tattered rotundity, waggishly he quirked his whiskered muzzle into a puckish smirk, glaring at the melon platter with dead-straight intensity as Gorge nudged his jowely-tusked snout greedily a hairbreadth at the discarded pomegranate. "Hey, don't even think about packin' that in your big gut, I don't just eat meat here..."

Gorge snorted at that. "Like you're pig out and eat more than plate-you felines are too obsessed with your diet than actually taking the time to enjoy the finer delicacies that get served up here." He pointedly took a big long devouring slurp of the last mellon on his plate, shamelessly allowing the juices to dripple off his mouthy-tusks. The hog enjoyed the burst of flavour while at the same time enjoying the soured look on his friend's face as he unconsciously reached for the pomegranate. "So yeah, I think i'll just be taking this and letting you clean your chops on a big piece of cabbage, Commander Goody-Good-" Gorge was both surprised yet amused when Sabre's paw slammed onto the pomegranate with authority, a challenge seeping into his eyes as he swiped the fruit to devour for himself. "No way," Gorge chuckled.

"Oh M' sorry did you want some..." A cheekier gleam naughtily intenfied in the cool smokiness of his aquamarine opals as he snobbishly gulped down the pomegranate with cub-like brattiness, resigtering the snortier huffiness that gustily blew over his ebony fur. In those fissionable moments of relishing the nectarous-tartier sweetness of the ripened fruit, moaningly, Sabre angled his furred muzzle as his roguish chestnut tresses unkempily clung over his armoured paudron, countering Gorge's brawly-tempered impatience-he was grappled into a hungered mania of addictive decadence, conscious of the obesefied-tubbier boar's stubbier hoof grubbily edging at his platter. "If you want me to share, you're gonna have to say please..." he snarked, jokingly, sliding the platter away from Gorge's reach. "That's an order, big punk..."

"Sabe, don't make me "accidentally" put you through the wall if i try to extend my weight further than the few inches it would take to swipe that plate from ya. That wouldn't look good. Remember the cantina at Nowhere?" Gorge playfully jabbed, his memory of their early years hunting the galactic cesspit of a space-station in search of a Pantherian fugitive had been dull. Were it not for the company of Sabre and a few of their comrades, he would have died of boredom. To say they got blasted at the local tavern before departing was an understatement. In his drunken stupor, Gorge mistook a shove at his back to be from a Ravager only to sheepishly discover it had been Sabre who bumped into him after being pushed by said Ravager. He didn't realize it till he'd already put his buddy through a wall with a simple swat of his arm. The memory caused Gorge to rumble with laughter while Sabre growled irritably. "You must've been really hammered. When I asked if you were all right, you said you needed the nap-time! Hahaha! Good times."

Against the heartened volumes of Gorge's boisterous-snortier jovilaity that chuckingly revamped, moodily, Sabre grazed his metallic claws over a ceramic platter of reddish grapes with vexatious precision."Yeah well, you didn't have all the extra packagin'..." he jabbed back with rapid-fire snarkiness, murmurously, popping a graped into his fanged-mouth as he steelily glancing at the lumpish-blubbery rotundity of Gorge's furrier underbelly that saggily puffed against the battle-dented armor. "Gotta say, you're really carrying a big tub now..."

"What, this?" Gorge shamelessly rested a hand upon his rotund-belly and let loose a chortle. "This is fuel in the tank, Sabey. Fuel for a walking, brawling, hog-machine of destruction," almost on cue, a loud growl erupted from his belly as if it had a mind of its own that agreed with him. "And it looks like its needs another refueling. Stomping those insurrectionist scum-buckets this morning nearly drained me dry." His stomach growled even louder, prompting Gorge to growl and reach for a keg of ale poured to which he downed. He slurped and belched. The other patrons, hearing the noise, shook their heads while Fong paled with dread. "Hey, Goose! Bring around for me and pal, here. And some of those juicy hot bilge-tenders. Don't look at me like that, I know you're packing em." He could practically smell the juicy Vanir imports.

Mirroring the hungered fieriness that burningly gleamed in Gorge's beadier hazel-onyx ireses, toothily, Sabre played off a half-smirk rascally over the furred angularity of his muzzle as the succulent potency of the Vanir tenders arrestingly wafted around the spacious dining hall as the grayish-feathered Chinese goose irascibly waddled on his tinier webbed feet with his feathered wings clingily gripping the heftier platter. Keeping the impassive demeanour of a steel-hearted Centurian, growlingly, he eased up his bionic paw on mechanized accord, flashing the razored heat of his ultramarine opals stormily at Fong who gingerly lowered the platter onto the stone table. "You better head back to your kitchen, Feathers, my tubby pal right here, kinda leaves no stone unturned..."

Try not to eat the table too along with your food!" Fong huffed as he plopped the large tray in front of them. With an irritable quack, he waddled away, muttering under his breath about hiring himself some security. Gorge's senses were engulfed by a succulent aroma that made his mouth water as he beheld the cooked meats and vegetables surrounding them. A feast fit for a king. Licking his chops, he ignored the goose's jabbing retort and shot Sabre a toothy smirk, seeing just how mesmerized he was by the course dishes as well.

"What's got you droolin'? Bet you can't even finish half of that," he motioned towards the tray filled with tenders.

The spicer greasiness of the roasted tenders mouthwateringly wafted off the platter, gutturally, Sabre poised his droolier incisor fangs with a devious stretch of his whiskered muzzle as he was on a unwavering deadlock of the gluttonous-competitive throes of piggish mania. "Don't tell me that you're scared M' gonna beat you..." he quipped, teasingly, glaring at the blimp-sized hog with point-blank intensity against the upheaval of gut-notching hunger tempoing within the bulkier-corded rigidity of his furred abdomen. Pudgily, Gorge thrusted the warty furriness of his elongated snout, huffily gesturing the rapacious challenge. 'Oh, so that's how it's gonna be, huh..." With a lightning-quick swipe of his paw, blindingly he sagged a hearty piece, knowing that once he rampantly scarfed down the savorous Vanir entree there was no turning back. "Try to keep up..."

"Oh, you're on," Gorge growled. The meal soon progressed into a frenzy of competitive gorging, each bite teetering the other's balance between gluttony and self-control. The tenders were succulent, the vegetables cisp, and the gravy rich. Before long, the diner was filled with the sounds of chewing and swallowing, as Sabre and Gorge struggled to fit yet another bite into their gaping maws. Their eyes never left each other, daring the other to slow down, to show any sign of weakness. "Had enough yet?" Gorge taunted, his words ending with a belch.

Sabre felt his sides bulging, his stomach feeling heavier than it would normally, almost stretching. His paws felt weighed down by the sheer mass of food he had consumed. But still, he managed another ravenous tear into the meat, determined to best his buddy. Gorge, on the other hand, seemed to be in a different league entirely. His bulk barely shifted as he shoveled more food into his gaping maw as if it were a garbage disposal.

A few of the othe patrons in the diner were disgusted while others watched the open frenzy with amused interest. Soon enough, bets began to gather as Fong brought a second tray, and then another and another, this one larger than the last. Sabre and Gorge showed no signs of slowing down as they scarfed down a fresh serving of sauced wings. "EAT! EAT! EAT!" The guests comprised of felines, jackals, and a few rhinos beat their fists into their palms.

The competition reached its climax as the duo reached for the final drumstick on the plate. Their muscles strained against one another, teeth clenched, eyes locked in a battle of wills. "Rethink that move, Sabey-"

"Ooh...I hate you..." Hissingly, Sabre quashed down a throatier-hoggish belch that was eruptively teeming within his stuffier mid-drift that weightily bludgeoned against unhampered dregs of his predacious appetite, groaningly, he eased his grease-smeared muzzle over the stone edge on fevered tenor, dishevelledly his chestnut tresses were askew over his furred brow as he attempted to reach for the drumstick, only to register the contractive spasms of the gut-racking onslaught that expandingly increased with the bloated-out heaviness of his swelled girth. Trying his damnest to force himself to snag the final piece of victory, scrapingly, his claws dragged a breadth at the platter-he couldn't budge. "Grah...Fine, you claim the victory..." he growled out, stuffily, bracing his gauntleted paw strenuously over his armoured mid-section. "Can't eat anymore..."

The patrons erupted in a chorus of cheers and some boos as Gorge triumphantly chewed down the last drumb-stick with gusto. "The champion reigns supreme!" The Hog grunted, barely able to so much as shift his posture in the creaking chair that strained under his increased mass. The table was stock filled with trays and empty plates, that could've been mistaken for a party aftermath. Gorge looked at Sabre with satisfaction but also with a hint of astonishment in his deep brown eyes. "There's no shame in losing, pal. Takes years to work up an appetite as big as mine. But i'll say this though, you certainly aint the lightweight I thought you were," he chuckled as he reached for his stein of mead and poured it down his mouth messily, gorging the liquid with long audible gulps. "Ngh, I don't think I can move for a bit," he belched loudly while Sabre picked a tender-bone from between his teeth. "Gotta say, that was kinda fun."

"Commander Sabre...Sir..." Whooshingly, the spunkier Pantherian scout-Cato- accelerated his quick-footed swiftness through obstructive-moronic partons as he swerved into the direction of the ravaged table with earshot momentum as his longish golden-furred tail whippingly arced with his unstoppable paces. Gulpingly, with a sheepish gesture of his fore-paw that underlyingly conveyed 'boyscout' reverence, he dutifully gazed at the Centurian-panther underneath his foppish auburn tresses. Being the 'messager-boy' for the malignant-roughshod legatus wasn't an easy feat to dodge, he admired the ranks of Pantherian superiority and never questioned his orders. Jutting out his lankier muzzle with boyish-cublike tack, he grounded his armoured-greaved paws with decorous poise as Sabre unwaveringly flashed his diamond-slit aqueous opals at him with a stoic rapt moodily twitching over his boxier muzzle."U-Uh...Y-You've been requested for an audience with Emperor Tygerus..." he addressed, speedily.

Gorge spit his drink once the choking shock registered. Sabre went eeriliy still. There was a short moment the duo believed the young centurion was ribbing them but they knew this wasn't something anyone would joke about. The implications were unsettling enough but also confusing. To be given an audience with Emperor Tygerus was something given only to those close to his Inner Circle...or to his enemies. Gorge and Sabre exchanged a look before the feline looked at Cato with a focused look. "The Emperor? Did they say why I've been summoned?"

"I-I received the message from his advisor..." Cato returned against a timorous breath, stammeringly, gazing at Sabre tensely easing off the stone bench with intimidating traction of his defensive footing; harnessing a telltale variance of cautious readiness, the amenable cheetah scout edgily reeled back from the menace-bound proximity of his deadlier Commander who bulkily shadowed his lissom form with gladiator-honed solidity that athletically melded against the bronze plating of his curiass. "I didn't question him, sorry..."

"You did well, Cato," Sabre assured, his tone as reassuring as he could make it. He glanced at Gorge, and then back at the young soldier. "Tell him I'll be there immediately." He watched as Cato saluted him and proceeded to leave as fast as he had come. The levity in the room appeared to have been sucked out as if they had entered a vacuum, but Sabre kept himself reserved, his mind steering him back towards a commander's mindset. Inwardly he was fuming with the thought that Korious was probably behind this.

Seeing his pensive look, Gorge leaned forward. "Getting called up by His Majesty ain't nothin' to scoff at, Bud. You want me to come with?" He asked, cradling his stine of mead with a grim look. He didn't like the thought of his brother going into a lions-den filled with vicious predators led by the most powerful and dangerous one of them all.

"Worried about me, huh, now that's not your style..." Sabre rasped in a gravelly-timbered drawl, murmurously, splaying the furrier velvetiness of his paw deftly over the vibrainium-alloy servos of his bionic arm, guardedly detecting a kill-switch mechanism-a contingency of leashed compliance deceptive welded against the gunmetal plating-amethyst geometric sigils kinetically pulsed against his claws. He couldn't shake off the apparitions of distrust stowed with the despotic-titanic emperor who morbidly cleansed the defilers of Panthera under his merciless paw of imperious supremacy. Harbouring onto restraint, he gave the paunchy boar a sidelong glance, and whiplashed his lengthy tail with viper-strike precision at the heaped platters, knocking them smashingly down onto the floor. "Besides, you'll be busy cleaning up..."

The clattering of dishes caused Gorge to grimace with dread while in the kitchen an angry Goose let loose a string of curses. "You hooligans! You'll pay for all of this! Double your bill!" Fong quacked as he waved his spatula at them threateningly. Gorge looked at Sabre with an exasperated look to which the panther merely grinned at him toothily, knowing he was leaving him to pick up their over-sized tab.

"Sore-loser," Gorge grumbled as Sabre patted his shoulder and proceeded to leave the diner. Gorge took a long swig of his mead. He wasn't too despondant, he just hoped whatever his friend was about to face wasn't worse than the thought of facing a broom to clean up this mess.

The High Palace was an empyrean realm of monolithic obelisks that bordered the Romanesque immensity of the grand vestibule, every marble-stone pillar was impressively carved with Pantherian-feline- sigils as the amberish sconces of torchlight from the iron-welded braziers hauntingly burnished over pristine statues of tigers- sentinels of alabaster ivory that massively adorned the entranceway of advised-imperial senate. Keeping himself grounded with reserved footing, Sabre roved the incredulous steeliness of his grayish-aquamarine opals fixedly at the shimmering reservoirs of the cascading water that rampantly gushed out of bronze tiger-heads eerily mounded on the brick stone walls- a vaunting indulgence that gilt-edged paragons of the illustrious senate assemblage greedily relished, despite that Pantherians longed for pure water instead of mining of the cavernous wellsprings. Voices of revolt were cruelly silenced by the inrush of penalty taxation, straining wages of homesteads and forcing opposers to become obedient drudges to reciprocate their deficits. It wasn't a reality to endure and he couldn't turn his back on Panthera. By the credo of lasting-soldiery allegiance, he was damningly lashed to the sordid will of the emperor.

He felt a ringing in his ears. It came with the feeling of his steps growing heavier the closer he got to the palace, a dread of foreboding creeping into his gut as he stood at the entrance to the grand-foyer. He longed to be anywhere else but here. His sense of duty kept him focused and fearless but his soldierly intuition was shouting at him that something about all of this felt awry. He considered the state of conflict that Panthera was enduring, how each day and night saw his band of brothers fall in battle only for those they'd captured to vanish without facing justice. What was it all for? And then there was that strange human whose name he had not even cared to ask for. Why did he seem familiar? Why did he call him a name he didn't recognize?

The ringing in his ears grew louder and the panther couldn't contain himself.

"Damn it all," he growled, allowing his head to droop as his eyes blankily stared into the cool clear depths of the cascading waters, hoping the soothing sounds would clam his turmoil. He couldn't shake the creeping doubt that festered and dug, allowing the haunting image of a dark-haired human to reflect back at him as he gazed into the waters.

The ringing began to sound like the wailing of a siren. His heart hammered in his chest as he stared at the human visage in a trance. "Winter...Soldier..."

He was torturously grappled into amnesic throes of unwarranted confusion as he gazed into shimmering ripples that arrestingly captured the visage of a roguishly suaver Terran; shakily he eased his fore-paw a hairbreadth at the furred curvatures of his whiskered muzzle, unblinkingly, he gazed at a vein-threaded hand brushingly mirroring his featherlight caress against hard-bone angularity of his razored cheekbones that cuttingly accentuated the scruffier heaviness of his knife-edged jaw as his claws deftly traced the poutier velvetiness of his shapely-wide lips and cleft-dimpled chin notch of his bristly chin as virile beauty hunkily rode over his chiselled-hawkish features. Gripping onto his shaggier tresses, fiercely, he tugged harsher with breakneck force, doing his utmost to purge the chimeral reflection deceptively conjured by hallucination-induced sorcery. "T-That's not me..." he panted against snarlier breaths, as his mesmeric aquamarine opals smolderingly gleamed with the untamed-agonized rawness of a captive soul. "No...Get out of my head..."

"Well, well if issn't little battle kitty..." Hissingly, the raspiness of Texan burr slitherily ghosted against his furrier ears as the venomous potency wafted off razored-thin fangs that drippily oozed against the lengthy sliminess of a fork-tongue jutting out of a reptilain-puckered snout. Chuffing out a guttural pant, defensively, Sabre poised his bionic paw over his leathered belt, his vibrainium claws readily grazing the metallic hilt of his dagger as he maddeningly detected cold-blooded extremities of a pythonic reptiloid. Fostering a modicum of warring restraint, sniffily, he thrusted his feline muzzle, catching the septic miasma of a rancid-poisonous toxin enwreathing around him. "Now, how about we get some pleasantries between us, and be a little civilized before our less agreeable natures take hold, Commander Sabre..."

A sinking feeling of dread entered his gut once he heard the serpentine voice of what could only be the Emperor's cold advisor. "Lord Secundus," Sabre gave a slight deferential bow of his head in acknowledgment. Secundus was a raptor-like hybrid who stood over six feet tall, just an inch shorter of Sabre. Adorned in regal robes of green with trimmed gold, he appeared like a philospher but the sharpened end of his claws revealed how deadly the lizard could be if provoked. Secundus was perhaps the closest thing the emperor had to a voice of conscience when it came to lending down judgment in his decrees. His race were known for their cunning, but also their slithering voices of deception that ultimately were self-serving. Sabre had only met the royal advisor a couple of times in the past in passing, and never alone. Being in his presence didn't intimdate Sabre but it did put him on edge. "I have been summoned?" He asked readily.

Tilting his scalie reptilian head, maliciously, Secundus flashed his silvery-virescent orbs shiftily onto the ebony-furred panther who gripped the dagger with knifepoint tact. "Well now, that's a question that only the great Tygerus can answer..." he drawled out, cavalierly, jutting his fork-tongue snakily against his pointer fangs as sconces burnished over the spikier contours of his raptorial features. Staving down the berserker rabidity that dementedly gleamed in the callous orbs, tauntingly, he edged closer, gesturing the leathery scaliness of his gnarled-ebon claws deathily at Sabre's bronze cuirass. "You think whispers slip past me, kitty, I know you like to break the rules and play down the rebel card behind Korious's back, don't think I can't sniff out your stink of disloyalty unless that's repulsive pig I smell on your fur..."

The taunting words towards his friend caused a spike of anger to pierce Sabre's chest. In a sudden movement he had jumped in front of the raptorous advisor and growled at him with warning. "Leave my friend out of this. The Emperor's second you may be, but you're not the Emperor himself that I need to tolerate such insults from the likes of you or Korious." The words had escaped him before he could reign them. His emotions were a flux of unreleased frustrations and confusion surrounding himself, the state of Panthera and the strange human who sowed a seed of doubt from within. He could see the dark amusement in the raptor's serpentine eyes and looked down to see his claws were extended and ready should he make a move. Sabre stowed his anger, knowing he was treading on thin ice if he made a direct threat, physical or verbal.

He forced himself to remain calm, to maintain the image of loyalty that was to be expected of one of his rank. "My loyalty to the empire has never been in question, Lord Secundus," he said through gritted teeth. "Any supposed actions I take behind my superior's back has always been in the best interest of the Empire and our Emperor."

Flitting his slimier tongue, leerily, he registered the hottish panting of Sabre's growlier breaths fervently intensifying against his scalier fleshiness as the Centurian-panther aggressively scrunched his furred muzzle against a viperous hiss, not wavering his grounded-unmoveable footing. "Well, you sssee, little kitty, I am the devoted confidant of the Emperor, the one he trussstsss in the dark..." An onrush of bone-shunting iciness penetratingly glissaded through Sabre's veins when he caressingly splayed his gnarly claws over the whiplike velvetiness of his longish tail reactively arcing near his bejewelled vambrace, evilly clutching with a possessive flexion. "I can get usssed to feelin' your sssilky fur, mmm...ssso pleasssurable against my uglier deformity, maybe I will ssstrip it off and make a robe out of it once your ussse to Panthera becomes ssspent..."

The not-so-veiled threat pushed against Sabre's disciplinary barrier causing him to reach aggressively as he pulled his tail free of the raptor. "Try it and it will be your scalie skin that gets stripped off and sold for cheap leather!" He growled heatedly, using his towering height to loom over the lizard. His patience was running thin, he felt the longer he remained in the company of the Emperor's lackey, the greater the chance he'd consign himself to becoming "fugitivus" by slaying said lackey in a fit of rage. Days of unspent frustrations still lingered in his being and the commander regretted that he hadn't released those feelings in the training courtyard rather than stuffing his face at the cantina.

With haughtier traction of his scalie feet, imposingly, Secundus, veered near a marble-stone tiger sentinel, dragging the sliminess of his ebon- gnarly claws over the carved head as he grinningly flashed Sabre a toothier smirk. "I may be cold-blooded against your feline senses, but Lord Tygerus...Well...He's a different kind of animal who doesn't play down the mercy card for a little battle kitty who rattles the cages with a Terran..."

The subtle hint in his accusation wasn't lost on Sabre who suddenly felt cold vindication in his bones. Korious had the Secundus' ears, and Secundus had the Emperor's. To say he felt as if he were being conspired against was a vast understatement. The Pantherian Commander knew he was in the cross-hairs and couldn't afford to let any form of weakness show. "I don't care for the gossip of jaded officers," he said, not carrying if he was out of line for insulting his superior behind his back. It was clear Korious had it out for him and Sabre wasn't about to let himself get mauled upon. "If I have been brought here to explain myself to His Majesty, then that is what I shall do." He grunted, posturing himself as the doors to the foyer opened and out stepped a cluster of cheetah-guards adorned in polished-plated armor. Royal guards.

"The Emperor will see you now," the Captain of the Guard, Severus, growled with authority. Sabre looked at Secundus with a hard look, waiting for him to make his move.

With a heartbeat of measured vigilance, cautiously, Sabre advanced his paw-steps into the regal immensity of the High Throne as the headier-luscious scents wafted off scarlet zabutons that palatially adorned the marble steps; the metallic gleam of chunkier-taser restraints were collared onto the lithe furred necks of a harem of champane-blondish lionesses who voluptuously rested onto their bloated-out girths into the dormant-listless throes of inexorably being obedient drudges-broodmares to slake the lascivious delectation of the Emperor. The protrusive bulginess was damningly a telltale revelation that his progeny-heirs of Panthera were incubating within the serviceable-gravid females. Wrestling onrushes of his pent-up revulsion, gnashingly, Sabre emitted a throatier cuff as he grounded his footing tentatively a breadth at the nesting cushions. "This can't be..."

"At last!" A deep foreboding voice boomed across the hall, it nearly shook Sabre to his core to realize whom it belonged to. "The Great Commander Sabre has graced the halls of my palace with his presence," the floor trembled with vibrations as foot-falls descended from behind the dais. What he thought was a towering sentinel was in fact a moving shape that was mountainous in stature and fearsome to all in attendance who watched it move. Sabre looked on, spell-binded but also uneasy as a white tiger emerged from the darkness. His hulking physique was bulging and wide, it could cover two average builds in its shadow. Sparkling golden armor adorned with red-jewels covered the warrior-like shape, a flowing red cape hung from his back. Standing nearly seven feet-tall with a gnarly crown upon his brow, Emperor Tygerus stood tall as he descended the dais with his amber eyes set upon the smaller feline at the center of his room.

"I trust introductions are unnecessary at this juncture," Tygerus growled, his gait confident and smooth as he stood before Sabre, looking down upon him expectantly. Captain Severus, Lord Secudnus and others in attendence bowed indeference.

Against the succession of customary reverence in unison that was akin to an infectious paralytic that entrenched him, reactively, Sabre eased onto his armoured haunches; brandishing the hard-bone contours of his feline muzzle with soldiery compliance as he braced his gauntleted-forepaw over his the medallion-crest that fittingly latched his scarlet cloak draped against his bronze pauldron. Angling his feline head down, growlingly, he panted out like a dutiful servant underneath the hulkish shadow of a dreadnought Siberian tiger-a butcherous warmoger robotically deformed with cybertronic servos melded over his whitish-striped fur. "Hail Tyerus...Hail Panthera..." He detected the nefarious aura of the paunchy-reptiloid questionaries-interrogator's proximity was slimily looming in the bowing throng. A turquoise-virescent scaled bearded- iguana anthro-Insidiatous-the warden of ledgers, grounded his claw-feet at Secundus's lankier side. "I come at your request..."

An assessing growl resonated from the towering feline who looked down upon Sabre approvingly. "With great haste, I can tell," the Emperor could sniff out the lingering scent of mead and freshly cut bilge-tenders upon the commander's form and let loose a rumbling dark chuckle, "feasting away at your leisure, were you? Well, I do hope you enjoyed your meal, and I do appreciate your swiftness. You may rise, Commander." He grunted, watching as the panther rose and gazed up at him. For a moment a beat of silence passed between them, the only communication shared was by the focused stare as Tygerus looked into Sabre's eyes; searching. "Hmm…" He pondered loudly as he shifted forward and looked the warrior up and down. "I have heard much about you, Commander. Both from my trusted counsel and my loyal generals. They claim you are reckless to a fault, head-strong, formidable but also…idealistic."

He shot a look at Secundus and off to the edge of the room stood Korious who stood with his arms folded at his back, nodding mutely. The Emperor growled, "Idealism in support of our empire is not a crime. It is to be commended. And you have served loyally for many years, young warrior. You and your regiment have driven the rebel cells out into the wilderness…" In a sudden jerk, of his head, Tygerus brought his whiskered muzzle close to Sabre's head and growled deeply, "but to kill an infection such as insurrection, isolation cannot be the long-term solution. The infection itself must be eradicated! Wouldn't you agree?"

Staunching down white-hot vestiges of his traitorous resistance against the brutish ferocity that pushed him into a corner-on the ropes, unwaveringly, Sabre responded with a subtle nod as his bionic paw whirred on mechanized flexion-he couldn't allow a glint sentiment-empathy tellingly flash within the iciness of his whitish-sapphire opals, he evicted those heart-vising reservations and poundingly rapted his vibrainium paw on his armoured chest. "Egomet..." he whispered, raspily, conveying full-measured loyalty. "I-I will do whatever it takes by your command, Imperor..."

"Whatever it takes?" Tygerus rumbled, looking between his generals and others in attendance before grinning, "I like that." A cunning yet horrid thought began to form in his mind to test the claim of the young commander against the accusation made by his advisors, while at the same time indulging in his own taste for punishment. "I will have a demonstration from you then." Sabre's expression fell into confusion, but the emperor ignored it as he growled with a commanding gesture and his guards immediately fell into formation, matching to clear a path towards the eastern doors of the throne room. "Follow me," Tygerus commanded as he led the way. Sabre fell into step behind him with Secundus and Korious following at the rear, devious looks were exchanged between them.

They walked down a long corridor with great windows along the wall allowing the day-light to streak through. Tensions rose as they approached an exit leading to the great outdoors, or what looked to be rather, the palace courtyards.

A grevious dissonance of heart-wrenching pleas anguishedly caromed over a phalanx of armoured orangish-furred tiger legionnaires readily poised with arcuballista crossbows that were point-blank with ebon arrows-a murderous hailstorm was seconds from being unleashed as Sabre caught glimpses of shackled prisoners-defilers standing near a stone wall that was smearily adorned with bloodied remnants. Among the execution gallery was the human-Steve-braced against the stone with his unkempt blondish tresses sweatily askew over the scruffiness of his bruised jaw, as oozing blood dampishly trekked down his broader neck. A jackhammering pulse of unbidden heart-razed desperation alarmingly tremored within his veins, gnashing his incisor fangs, Sabre heaved out breathless pants as he registered that visceral callback of brotherly-hellbent spirit. He wouldn't abandon that inseparable connection that was damn real like a heartbeat. "Oh hell, M' gonna do somethin' kinda stupid..."

Sabre was quick to realize what was happening here and what kind of demonstration the Emperor had in mind for him. The dread in his stomach was unexplainable at the thought of these prisoners dying, especially the Terran who felt familiar to him. He fought to convince himself that it was just the disgusting thought of becoming an executioner when he was in fact only a soldier, and not that he felt any kind of sentiment towards these prisoners. But as he shot a look towards Korious, the pompous old lion had an smug look in his eyes that convinced Sabre that this was his own idea.

"Traitors, thieves, rebels and invaders," Tygerus said with a vicious scowl upon his face. His white fur shone like pearls as it absorbed the sun's rays. His red cape billowed in the wind as he marched forwards and surveyed the assembled captives with an air of authority and intimidation that left all of them quivering with fear. All except one-the Terran, who gazed upon the towering white tiger with assessing eyes full of challenge. "Your lot in life was cast the moment you chose to defy the Pantherian Empire and its glory. Let no manner of man nor beast claim ignorance once set upon the soil of my kingdom, that you shall not sow division nor spread the propaganda of tyranny to upset the balance of power that keeps this empire strong and unified!" Many soldiers let loose a chorus of cheering roars, some beating their chests with their paws and others bashing the floor of the courtyard with the bottom of their spears.

Sabre would've given anything to be anywhere else but here as the Emperor set his sights upon him. "Examples must be made against those who challenge us. Praetorian-Commander Sabre. You will demonstrate your commitment to Pantherian justice and send each of these condemned to their deaths!"

With a light-quick gesture of his massive paw, bruisingly, Tygerus shoved the mechanized scorpion crossbow against his bionic paw on possessive accord, forcily gripping him into an inevitable deadlock of heart-racking compliance that he couldn't evade. Hearing the sadistic cadency of his gruffer timbre, mercilessly, worming against his roundish ears, Sabre trepidatiously clutched onto the curvier metallic sleekness of the crossbow into straight-arm poise as he flashed the lazurite-steeliness of his opals' unblinkingly onto the shackled Patherians—disposable collaterals who had become spawned instruments of resistance against the despotical reign of the carnage-reaping Emperor. He was pegged into a suffocating reality of being in a chokehold underneath Tygerus's barbaric heel, while smokescreen installations of mutinous citizens who vented against political oppression were condemned to execution row-becoming white-noise in the ether. One yank of the bow's trigger-lock and he would damningly scythe out the heartbeats with fur-piercing termination-slaking Tygerus's homicidal bloodthirst. Justice wasn't retractable. Gnashing his incisor fangs with anguished strain, he aligned the spikier ebon arrow with headshot precision over Steve's drooped head. "H-He goes first..."

"This should be interesting," Korious murmured offhandedly to Secundus beside him. The raptor grinned with anticipation, tasting the sure arrival of imminent death for the prisoners or satisfying humiliation for the Pretaurion Commander should he fail to live up to the task. The courtyard was silent with tension following the Panther commander's strained words. Tygerus grinned maliciously as he watched Sabre take aim. The other prisoners shifted restlessly in an attempt to free themselves of their bonds, neither of them eager to wait to be next after the human was executed. The human, however, stood calm but his fair features were marred with a sorrowful frown as he stared down the end of the crossbow held in Sabre's hands. His blue eyes were bright and searching-hoping for a sign of the man he knew as his old friend inside of the feline ready to end him.

"I'll always be your friend, Bucky...No matter. Till the end of the line," he said, ready, whatever the case, should he be forced to meet his end here, he wouldn't beg for his life nor would he lay the blame at his friend's feet. He was always ready, no matter what, to fight on. But he also knew when it was time to be patient or to lay down and rest. He wasn't counting on that day being today. As he gazed into Sabre's eyes unflinchingly, he held his stare latching onto it like a life-line as he pulled him away from the darkness he had been trapped in. "I'm with you." He swore.

Sabre's eyes closed, a tear of remembrance streaking down his furry features, his grip on the crossbow shaking. "S-Steve..."

Gaspingly, he panted out choked-off heaves against the heart-razed onslaught of the mortified revelation that irrevocably denoted within the cerebral recess of his addled mind; the dilated intensity of his razor-slit pupils owlishly became wide-blown as he blearily gazed into the cool azureous ireses of his best friend-Steven Rogers that shimmeringly gleamed with valorous defiance-hope. The vibrainium servos fused over his bionic paw rigidly tensed with underlying reluctance as he warred against the catatonic throes of amputated memories. Fostering onto a teeming measure of warred restraint, stumblingly, he reeled back as depth-charged shockwaves of digitized-artificial vestiges of being an orphaned cub nestled into the wreckage of a Ravanger vessel anguishedly rode through his feline skull. "Graggh..." Pinching his eyelids shut against the dredged-up imagery of the runtish-gaunt-faced Terran with foppish twangy-blonde hair exhaustedly poised with wobblier footing in a rundown alleyway with a dented trashcan lid clutched into his bonier hands as he determinedly braced over a vicious punch.

Against the wheezier breaths that chestily strained up his lankier throat, unwaveringly, the puny Brooklyn scrapper grounded his unshakeable footing a breadth near a wooden-plank fence as his bone-railed fingers gripped into the rusted handle of a trashcan with a vestige of his adamant tenacity-he wouldn't become shoved onto the ropes by a pimpy-faced lunkhead-jock who bullishly got his daily kicks of pulverizing him with cheapshots into a Flatbush alley. Warring the gawkier traction of his defensive footing, Steve flashed the rascally intensity of his turquoises-azure ireses daringly at the jerk-faced chump who quirked his toadyish lips into a fiendish smirk as he intimidatingly cracked his meatier fist with thuggish readiness. "Gotta say, shrimp you never know when to quit..." he snorted out, gruffly, stomping his clunkier boots with boorish paces closer to Steve without a glint of mercy alight in his raven-black depths. "Where's that pretty boy of yours...Buck-Tooth Barnes..."

"This isn't gonna go well…" Steve said with anticipation in his gut. The bully's cruel smirk only stretched further into a wide grin.

"Yeah, for you!" Seizing Steve by the collar of his shirt he all but pulled the small blonde completely off his feet and prepared to take aim with his fist. As he brought his fist down, instead of feeling the satisfying crunch of the scrawny kid's nose, he felt his fist meet cold hard metal as a trash-can lid was brought between them. "YAAAAAAAHH!" He screeched, letting Steve go as cold searing pain lanced through his forearm.

"Looking for me?" A cool youthful voice said. Steve looked to see Bucky between them, holding the dented trash-can lid in his hands. "I'm like a bad-penny, I'm always bound to turn up." The bullies looked apprehensive by his sudden appearance. Steve, following Bucky's example, picked up a trash-can lid of his own and held it protectively at his front as they stared down the cowering punks. "Now would be a good time to beat it, before my buddy here really makes you regret coming after him." He said, looking at Steve with an encouraging look.

The bullies, like a pack of hyenas, tucked tail and ran, leaving the two Brooklyn teens to bask in momentary relief. "You should probably carry one of those on your back every day, Stevie." Bucky gestured to the trash-can lid and chucked the dented one away. "Because you just can't help getting into trouble," he teased.

"Y-You always pull me off the ropes, Buck..." Dragging out a throat-rattling breath, wheezily, Steve glanced up at the suave-faced Brooklyn kid who starchily quirked his full-bow lips into a toothier smirk as he exhaustedly bolstered his knobby-rangier arm groaningly against the cement brick stone, doing his utmost to stow down an upheaval of his asthmatic defect as Bucky tentatively clamped his vein-threaded hand over the loose-fitting material of his collared shirt with brotherly pressure. "How many do I owe ya now...?" he quipped, sheepishly, caressing his tinier hand against the blondish tresses askew over his bruised temples. "Well, at least I didn't my bell rung by that meathead..."

"Unlucky for us, there's too many meatheads like that out there," Bucky said as he and Steve made their way out of the alley, their jovial bond brightening despite everything. "We might be outnumbered against them, pal. But together, we'll never be outmatched."

Coming back from the memory caused Sabre to smile somberly. "Y-Your name is Steve…"

Confusion among those present as they listened to the exchange. But the atmosphere shifted into shock as Sabre took aim with his crossbow and with a precision shot, fired the bolt towards the shackles holding Steve in place. The locks snapped open and Steve's wrists were freed from his bonds.

"Traitor," Tygerus growled with rage. Flicking his gaze towards the rhino-jailers he pointed at them commandingly, "seize him and the Terran!" The rhino's lifted their clubs. Sabre was quick to shoot out the remaining locks holding Steve in place before dodging a downward swing of a club aimed for his head. Sabre rolled along the ground, using his quick agility to toss a rhino off his back and dodge another attack. The swing of a club missed its mark and struck the shackles of an imprisoned minotaur. The rhino's fell still with dread as the massive prisoner fought to free himself. Sabre meanwhile looked at Steve and cried out.

"RUN! I'll hold them off!"

With quick-hand swiftness, blindingly, he clutched onto the metallic hilt of his pugio dagger at the explosive second a bulkier raptoriod guard whooshingly propelled his scalie-clawed feet into the air with a jump-kick, torquing back near a clay-stone pillar, Sabre angled the knifepoint glare of his blade as he reactively braced his cybernetic elbow against the lashing assault that scrapingly grazed the vibrainium plating. Anwswrring the beastlierrabidity, Sabre flipped the dagger with knifepoint precision, stabbingly, he drilled the leathery fleshiness with corkscrew pressure, detaching the hyoid bones with throat-sluicing viciousness as greenish splurts of blood viscidly trekked over the ashen scales.

"Guards!" Korious roared commandingly, "contain the beast!" The Legatus pointed towards the massive tank that was a feral taurus with red glowing eyes. A monstrous beast that had rampaged through the eastern-valley was an escaped specimen condemned to execution. His eyes were furiously locked onto Sabre, unsurprised but satiated to see his suspicions towards him were proven true. As a regiment of Pantherian guards moved to stun the Taurus with their shock-staffs, the Old Lion had become the prime focus of a certain Terran who stared him down challengingly. "Bold of you to linger and squander your opportunity for escape." Korious taunted.

Steve raised his chin, "I want my shield back. It needs to be cleaned," he said jabbingly, watching as Korious lifted his "trophy" from off of his back.

"I will use it to remove your head and that of your dear friend," The Old Lion growled. Steve fearlessly lunged and fiercely engaged the Pantherian officer.

Sabre felt like he had just crossed a line he could never come back from. The shock was stowed away by the adrenaline of combat as he fought against the rhino guards that were determined to beat him to a pulp. The rest of the security teams were pre-occupied in trying to reign in the beast he had intentionally thought to use as a distraction against the overwhelming numbers. He tried to hold himself back, some lingering sense of Pantherian loyalty still controlled him as he loathed the idea of killing any of the guards and soldiers he fought with. But as he watched Steve engage Korious, he remembered why he was doing this. He and his friend had to get out of here before-

*WHAM!*

Sabre's distracted thoughts obscured his senses until he felt the fist of the escaping Taurus smash into his side, sending him crashing into a pack of centurion guards like a bowling ball knocking over pins. The Taurus roared and beat its massive fists against the ground causing the courtyard to shake. Many rhinos were immediately crushed under its attacks while others pierced its legs with their blades. The beast roared and struck back. Sabre felt a blade jam into his side and growled chokingly, looking down to see that Secundus had snuck up on him.

"I told you I would gut you," the raptor slithered. Sabre retaliated by headbutting the raptor, biting into his arm. The lizard hisses as its blood spilled. Steve pivoted and ducked beneath Korious' attack, and used the Old Lion's momentum to throw him off his back. Trapping the Legatus' cape, he bashed his head with a haymerk causing him to growl angrily. A test of strength ensued as they gripped the shield, trying to wrestle it from the other. Their eyes were locked on, furious and unrelenting. The feline's teeth gleamed with hunger as he attempted to sink his jaws into Steve's arm. Steve, taking a trick out of Natasha's book, brought his foot up and in between the lion's legs. Korious' eyes grew loud as he howled in agony. Steve pried the shield free, watching as the legatus fell to his knees. Steve bashed him with his shield.

"I'll be taking this," he said.

Gazing at Steve acrobatically surging his breakneck momentum over the legatus's immobilized form with effortless graces, Sabre half-quirked his whiskered muzzle as he slashed his vibrainium claws into the predacious advisor's scalie arm, leaving a branded gash of his errant retaliation onto the bloodied leatheriness, knowing that he crossed the inevitable threshold of treachery-dishonour. In an earshot, viperously his longish tail frisked over Secondus's lankier neck with no avail, while he quashed down the murderous-bloodthirsty impulse to aggressively sink his incisor fangs into the reptile's throat with bone-vising chokehold."S-Stay there..." he growled, raspily, feeling the slimier fork-tongue dampishly jutting against his ebony fur. "Urgh..."Underneath his shaggier chestnut tresses, peripherally, his sapphire-aqueous opals roved back onto the valorous Terran-Steve as he viscerally registered the dymanical heartbeat of his brotherly spirit that he wouldn't abandon. Staving the insuppressible urges to vanishingly bolt into a fugitive-run, against the rampant gravity of his votive surrender-defeat, involtionairy Sabre tossed his dagger onto the sandier ground, and panted out, roaringly. "Go...Steve..."

"Not without you!" Steve shot back, feeling himself pulled back to a moment in time where a great chasm of fire stood between him and Bucky. His friend wouldn't leave without him, and Steve couldn't bring himself to do the same. "Come with me! We can find-" Before he could beckon the panther to him, the area was shook as the rampaging Taurus charged free from the marauding reinforcements beginning to enter the courtyard. His massive size caused an enormous hole in the wall of the courtyard, scattering rock and debris everywhere. It was like watching the Hulk in action.

Steve felt hands latch onto him in the dust-swarm and a soft youthful voice spoke urgently. "Come with me, I'll show you the way out." Steve tried to fight off the unseen person but was taken over as a pack of escaped jackals pushed him towards the hole in the wall. He was like a log being swept away in a river. "BUCKY!" Steve cried out in vain, his voice growing further away.

Sabre felt relieved to see Steve away from the chaos. But his tranquility was shattered as he felt a gargantuan hand wrap around his neck. White fur obscured his vision until he met the piercing amber gaze of the furious Emperor towering over him. "You will not escape," he growled.

"Argh..." The bone-clamping pressure of Tygerus's bionic paw squeezingly amplified on merciless tenor, desperately, against thoat-retching heaves, Sabre dragged his claws over the whitish-striped fur as he locked into a straight-armed chokehold; the rabid-deadlier fervency exponentially coupled with the momentum of back-slamming force. "D-Didn't plan on it..." he rasped, snarkily, thrusting his whiskered muzzle up as he caught Emperor's roundish ear against his incisor fangs. With a vicious yank, tearingly, he chewed off a furrier piece that bloodily clung to his razor-edged fang-he wouldn't surrender to the ropes-not without a fight. Spitting out the glob of mauled fur, panty, Sabre flashed the prodigious despot a toothier smirk. "H-Hail Panthera..."

Tygerus reared himself back with a roaring yelp of pain, eyes wide with disbelief as he touched his ear. The sight of blood staining his white fur was a shock. One that soon evaporated as he released a sadistic dark chuckle at Sabre's audacity. "Stand down!" He immediately shouted at the advancing group of centurion reinforcements who were prepared to skewer the renegade commander with their spears. Tygerus removed his cape and cast it aside, allowing his powerful form to be seen and free to flex into battle-readiness. "I will deal with him myself," he said, removing his crown of spiked jewels and setting it aside. A recovering Korious and Secundus spared seething looks, each of them longing to taste Sabre's blood upon their mouths as they watched him take a fighting-ready stance against the Emperor. The height and size difference was noticeable, but those who had witnessed or fought alongside the commander knew that he had faced larger foes successful. But the Tygerus was a different specimen entirely. His amber eyes gleamed with malice, but there lay a calmness and cunning that spelled trouble for any on the receiving end of his fury. "You have disgraced yourself and my insulted my rule, Commander. There is only one punishment befitting this betrayal." With a mighty roar, Tygerus pounced at Sabre with lightning quick attacks.

Sabre was alarmed by the speed and ferocity of his larger opponent, his armor doing little to stifle the pain of his punishing fists that cracked into his torso. The commander fell to his knees but was unwilling to let-up as his reflexes became more attuned to the speed of his opponent, giving him time to swiftly dodge a lunging kick, but only just barely. Sabre lashed his claws, feeling them scrap against the reinforced plating of the white tiger's greaves. "Too slow," Tygerus grunted, catching Sabre's forearm and bringing his elbow down on it. Sabre roared with agony, only to receive a head-butt that had him seeing stars. "Too weak," Tygerus growled, wrapping his digits around the leather harness of Sabre's b***-plate, he tore the armor from the commander, then delivered a punishing fist to his stomach. Sabre gasped, blood traveling up his mouth. Letting his opponent collapse to his knees, Tygerus kicked him onto his back, driving his foot down on his chest, pinning him to the ground. Sabre tried and failed to push his foot off, but each moment of struggle cost him more air. The timber of the Emperor's growls was dissonating as he loomed low, so low his face hovered over his own. "You are nothing but a gnat beneath my boot...Sergeant Barnes." He grinned as he watched Sabre's eyes widen with shock.

In that soul-careening moment of insurmountable-floored confusion raiding through his veins, hissingly, Sabre punctured his vibrainium claws into the leather-clad boot that crushingly hammered against his chest-plate; every vestige of his combative resistance was being divested against the brutish onslaught that excruciatingly grappled him into collapsing dregs. Every concussive onrush imploded against the heart-jolting revelation that his memories were exorcised by Skrull lobotomic device-radio static that muted the volumes of resistance. Throttling out guttural pants, consciously he jack-knifed his furrier mid-drift off the ground, forcing Tygerus to clumsily stagger back as he viciously latched onto the Emperor's hind-paw with full-fledged aggression, not letting go. A saltier bleariness dampishly robbed his vision, achingly, he gnashed his fangs, and railed out a full-throated snarl. "W-What the hell do you do...Answer me!"

A thrusting kick against his midriff nearly took him completely off of the floor as Tygerus resumed his furious onslaught. "I took a weak and broken excuse of a Terran soldier and sought to mold him into a perfect warrior to serve my empire!" Tygerus growled, picking up Sabre off the ground by his neck and holding him in a choking hold off his feet. "You are one of many, but I had hopes for you. You were a born killer, bred to follow orders. But even now, this lesser version of you bleeding through the cracks seeks to corrode the visage of perfection I created." Bringing Sabre down, he slammed him to the ground, watching as the stone cracked beneath the weight of the impact. "I have dreamed of an eternal empire, one destined to expand beyond the scope of this system. Imperfections such as you will not be tolerated."

Against the bone-racking onslaughts excruciatingly intensified within his receptor extremities, breathlessly, Sabre gagged a choke-off- salivating heave as droolier wetness reddishly daubed over his armoured chest while he was crushingly being power-slammed into the ground. Harnessing onto a warring modicum of resistance against the exhaustive strain, draggingly, Sabre raked his claws piercingly over the bulkier rigidity of Tygerus's gauntleted forearm on the defensive accord, scrapping deeper akin to a knife-gouging assault. "Y-You not gonna win...Rargh..." he growled in a scratchier undertone, gratingly and thrust his sleekier hind-paws bodily into Tygerus's broader muzzle, as his paws slashed with viperlike quickness, stingily blinding the dreadnought feline with his untrammeled viciousness. "P-Panthera will fight...You."

Darkness took him into unconsciousness as the pain of his injuries became overwhelming. Those watching licked their chops with the thought of being the one to finish him off. Severus, Captain of the Elite Guard, stepped forward brandishing his lethal spear in hand. "With your permission, Your Excellency, I will put this traitorous dog out of his misery." Tygerus flicked his gaze towards his guardsman and grunted with refusal.

"No. This one, I will make an example of personally," he looked to the rhino guards, many of whom were injured or killed as a result of the Taurus' escape along with that of the prisoners. Those who still lived stood at ready as Tygerus commanded them. "Take him to the cells." The rhino's bowed and moved to collect the fallen commander. "Secundus, fetch the medicus to see to the injured."

The raptor said nothing but gave a short bow, his own injuries stifling his movements. Korious approached the Emperor with a grave expression. "What of the escaped prisoners, my Emperor? No doubt they will rally and formulate some form of counter-offensive. And the Terran, he knows too much about our methods of…recruitment."

Tygerus snapped his gaze to Korious, anger burning in his amber gaze. "Hunt him down and kill him. Kill all of them."

Eviting the riotous impulse to stealingly infiltrate a domus homestead of a dissolute-penurious senator of the syndicated Pantherian counsel ensemble, bracingly, she grounded her whitish-lithe paws against a clay-stone pillar as her autumn-brandy opals fixedly roved over a delivery wagon that was temptingly heaped with rolls of luxious silk-seric cloth-a trade-off bribe to stake down political security-rapacity against a mutinous hailstorm. The banking installations were the engine of the allocation of the Pantherian warmongers-soldiers were dispensable pawns to retain order against galactic invaders, she discovered the reality of the empire's true alliance with Xander-enslavement. After receiving a radio transmission recording off Nowhere from a confidential backer that was a manifest over a cargo vessel, she had the evidence card to deceptively place on the bartering table. Adjusting the velvety material of her cloak's hood over her smokier-whitish tresses, devaintly, she quirked her delicate-whiskered muzzle into a coquettish smirk as she clutched onto an EMP taser disk-a little accessory to kickstart an effective distraction. "Well, I guess it's playtime..." she purred in a huskier undertone, breathily, gazing at the handcart's driver-a fluffier ram-anthro wobbling on his stubbier hooves as he tactfully pulled onto the silk rolls. "Now, that's just too easy..."

The clanking foot-falls of encroaching steps turned her focus as she realized she wasn't alone. Her battle-honed instincts flared as she prepared to have a run-in, hopefully, with that fun Panther she had a thrilling chase with a week ago. But years of practice had taught her how to register the signs and she could practically feel the clumsy vibrations in the ground that could only belong to a certain young cub of a soldier. Centurion Cato arrived, almost appearing out of breath. There were few Pantherian soldiers that made her feel at ease, it just so happened the young feline was one of them. "L-Liva!" He greeted her, speaking in a hushed voice. She regarded him warily, wondering if he had been followed. "You shouldn't be sneaking into senate houses right now. The whole palace city is on high alert!" He said with a desperate hitch.

"Well, I guess you should dodge the noise, Spots..." Liva murmured in a snarkier pitch, registering the jacked-off urgency against Cato's boyish stammer as he twitchily rapted his longish-spotted tail against the pillar, conveying his trepidatious uneasiness that coupled with a rampant heartbeat. Aware of the cheetah-anthro's spunkier resilence, she eased her lithe paw brushingly over the golden-brownish furriness of his boxier muzzle with pacifying-featherlight ministrations as she riskily glanced at the high-class domus that was repellingly adorned with the burgandy pennants of the iniquitous senate. Unabashedly, Cato wavered on her armoured paws, brandishing a timorous semblance of an undersized cub-mate against her exquisitely vixenish proximity-their sibling dynamic gave him a sense of protection-family-against the hard-straits of being a orphaned cub, she wouldn't allow him to blindingly race into the rigged crossfire-alone. Tamping off her 'big sister' protectiveness, offishly, Liva quirked her delicate muzzle into a jauntier smirk. "You can stick with me, kid, I know how to keep a low profile..."

Cato's heart sped rapidly as his unique intuition detected an encroaching threat. Without warning, he whisked Liva out of the room and behind a marble column. Her confused protest vanished when she too heard the stomping march of rhino sentries being led by a Pantherian guardsman. "There is no one here! How could there be?" The jaded voice of a pompous jackal senator rang out in the distance of the estate, the owner not having been aware that not only was there a thief in his house but centurion guardsmen conducting a house-to-house search of the city. "I am a most loyal subject of Emperor Tyg-"

"Can it, old dog!" One of the rhinos grunted, in no mood for niceties after having his arm broken by the escaped Taurus. "Emperor's orders. Each house is to be searched for the escaped rebels and any caught giving them sanctuary will be dealt with severely." Listening to this conversation unfurl, Cato spared Livia a dry yet desperate look as if it say "told you so".

The searching continued and Cato felt Liva tug on his arm to lead them out an open window. "Wait, through there?"

Aware of his sheepish reaction, balletically, Livia crouched onto her shapelier haunches over the stone ledge of the arched window, detecting that sentry installations of the bulbously girthed rhino squad were effectively mobilized in the streets to locate the fugitive Terran-countermeasures of deadlock vigilance that she needed to evade. "Can you save the questions for after, Spots..." she deadpanned, brusquely, glancing over her lithe-curvier shoulder at the valiant-steadfast cub who edgily mirrored her poised readiness as he speedily romped onto the ledge with a variance of hesitation, while he gulpingly flitted his brownish-hazel opals at the rhino guard stompingly barrelling his massive-leathery form near a melon wagon with horn-ramming momentum. With coaxing pressure of her daintier paw against his armoured shoulder, Livia waited for the lug-head to veer his brutish intrusion from the senator's home." We move in three..." In an earshot of her acrobatic graces, breathlessly she dove out the window, harnessing her feline-honed- exquisite agility, landing on the cart with a kitten-soft pounce. "Well, don't keep me waiting, kid..."

Cato spared a frantic look over towards the sounds of approaching steps headed them then back towards the open window. "I hate when she does that," he groaned. With practiced ease he raced across the floor and leapt through into the outdoors. The rhino and senator entered the room, wondering why there was an open window.

"Check it!" One of them grunted. Down below in the courtyard, Livia and Cato hung back against the wall beneath the view of a rhino who stood gazing outside. "There's no one out here. Continue sweeping the area!" He called those inside.

The cheetah and tigress let loose small breaths of relief, but knew they weren't out of the clear just yet. "This way," Cato said, leading her down a secluded path that would lead them back onto the streets. In the distance they could hear the wailing zoom of city guard transports moving through the streets, no doubt forming a perimeter as they hunted for the escaped prisoners. Once they were in the clear, Cato turned to Livia with an urgent look. "You need to get back to the Sanctuary while you can. If anyone suspected of-"

"Okay, mind telling me why those horned boys are chasing your tail, Spots..." A tartish breath underlyingly fringed against her sultrier undertone as she impassively braced her svelte form against a sand-wall, gazing at his boxier muzzle quirk up convincingly into a boyish smirk. Within the marketplace arcades, she registered the cacophonic frequency of betrayal that deafeningly amplified in the direction of the garrison sector-a high-gambit stunt of insurgency against the Pantherian despot."Oh don't play the sweet card with me, I heard the noise coming from the garrison, sounds like a prisoner escaped under the Emperor's nose..."

The young centurion wasn't sure how much to share after everything he'd witnessed, and some of which he'd learned from second hand accounts from the other guards called to the Emperor's palace. For years he'd worked as an informant for the Resistance inside of the Pantherian army, doing what he could to deter the legions away from safe-zones the rebels would use. His cover was essential in the long run if he were to ascend the ranks. But he also knew that word would more than likely get out about what had happened at the palace.

"Not just a prisoner. Prisoners. Including a Taurus, Janus and a few other criminals," Cato said. Though he and Livia felt relieved to know that Janus, one of the Resistance's intelligence agents, had been freed, it worried him to think of the damage the rampaging Taurus would do across the valley. Especially to the other Pantherian soldiers encamped in the area. Seeing Livia's confused gaze, he continued. "Apparently the Emperor wanted to test Commander Sabre's loyalty by having him execute the prisoners. But he refused!" He said, his voice somehow jubilant despite himself. "Sabre freed the prisoners and even fought the Emperor…but he was defeated." He said somberly.

For years he had admired Commander Sabre since he was recruited into the legion. Though he felt remorseful at the thought of the commander serving a tyrannical dictator, he had hoped Sabre was somehow different. It seemed his hopes were confirmed, but at what cost?

Unwarranted apparitions of warring heartache rackingly glissaded through her veins against the urgent rampancy that she wouldn't staunch out. Using her thievish calibre to lock-pick the bone-tasering shackles that restrained the panther-Centurian was a traitorous gamble, she reminded stealthily undetectable from Tygerus's carnal-lascivious radar, breaching the dungeon chamber would damningly throw her into the crosshairs, Tersely, Livia saddled him a point-blank glare, as she caught a glimpse of unspent desperation in his brown-hazel opals. Against a tractable onrush of stark conviction, she ruefully gnawed on her delicate underlip, and whispered out, hushedly. "I'll help you get your friend back...We need a good distraction to cover our backs, kid..."

"I'm not so sure its going to be that easy, Livia," he shrugged. The notion of freeing the imprisoned commander had sat in Cato's thoughts along with the idea of seeking help from some of his friends. But he didn't know if they would be as sympathetic to his plight or if their loyalty to the emperor would outweigh it. Cato wasn't sure why the Commander had refused to execute the prisoners, whether it was out of a sense of sympathy towards the rebellion or if he was simply goaded by the Legatus into being disobedient. But he did know that once someone was imprisoned for treason, their odds of survival would plummet the longer they remained in captivity. Prisoners were never heard from again. But if they could somehow get the Commander on their side? The rebellion could stand firmer than it had ever been. An idea slowly crept into the youth's cunning mind. "Commander Sabre's is going to be heavily guarded, but I think I can get to him. If you want to cause a distraction that can help, you should find this Terran that escaped. He's the reason that the Commander refused to obey. I don't know who he is or what their connection is. But he wields a special shield. Get him to cause a distraction, maybe it'll force them to drop their guard around the prison and I can free the commander."

"Well to make things interesting...You'll need this..." With a quick-handed swipe, fluidly, Livia eased her lithe paw over her leathered sachel, removing a shard-like vibrainium pin that was aesthetically etched with purplish tribal- geometric sigils with featherlike deftness of her snicked-out claws; it was an effective tool she had inventively utilized when thievishly raiding corruptive senate mogul's estates-ones who deemed the lower-class of Panthera as verminous-craven inferiors that needed to become scoured against the dynastic prominence of the Empire. "Use this little toy to unlock the cell door, remember to turn it clockwise just in case the lock is rigged..."

Cato took the pin without question, a sense of purpose fueling him with the thought that a solid plan had been devised between them. He reached to his side and pulled out what looked to be a locket of some-kind. It looked like a Terran relic. A time-piece? "Use this to track the Terran. They confiscated it from him when they captured him. You can pick up scents better than anyone." He said. He knew that Korious would be eager to claim the item and have his own trackers use it to s*** out the escaped Terran. That Cato had managed to secure it from the storage unit before anyone else could had been a stroke of luck and good-timing on his part.

With an incredulous gleam deviously alight within her brandy opals, fixedly, Livia studied the warcraft spoil-relic that was a tracking device to guide the holder into a lensatic direction; with cautious ease, she flipped open the device and gazed at the grainy newspaper clipping of a beautiful Terran woman-a cherishable memory that was heartily kept close to vest. "Anything can always be used for a trade..." she purred, tersely, watching the spinning needle magentically land onto the letter n-north. "Usually this charity thing isn't my style, but I'll bring this rogue Terran to our place..." With a tenser flex of her paw, she clutched the relic, and whirlingly pivoted onto her delicate-arched paws. "Don't be late."

"I'm never late," Cato replied with an upbeat grin, "they won't know I'm there. I'm fast as a cat and sneaky as a spider," he pounced away, scaling the wall of the nearest building with ease before vanishing from sight. He left Livia to ponder what had transpired. Unease coursed through her with the feeling that whatever was about to happen, for better or worse, Pantheria would never be the same.

The dripping of a pipe kept his mind alert, anchored to the here and now. Sabre would've found the noise to be oddly assuring were it not for the grim reminder he was locked inside a dank dark cell. The noise was a maddening titter tatter of liquid against flat stone somewhere in the hollow corridors that was beyond his reach. It never stopped. Though the sound was about as tame as a whistling wind, it rang almost like a siren as it echoed loudly, preventing him from getting any sleep. Sleep was almost a welcome escape from the aching pain that lingered in his body. The pulverizing might of the cruel emperor was just as real as all the stories he'd heard about him. Breathing felt as painful as a blade digging into his lung, nausea festered in his stomach as the stench of vomit assaulted his senses.

"Gnah!" He grunted, trying and failing to lift himself off the ground and towards the back-wall of the cold empty cell. He felt like he'd been run over by a Prowler, every bone as brittle as glass that could shatter at any moment under his straining movements. He cursed and growled, fighting through the onslaught of pain as the taunting phantom of a cruel laugh that came to him in his nightmares. A small ugly Terran with glasses, calling him the Fist of Hydra. Sabre shuttered his eyes, "I'mm that guy…Im…B-Barnes…" He realized. It hadn't been a dream. Everything in the courtyard-the prisoners, the Emperor's test, his failure. Steve… "Steve…" He closed his eyes, for the first time in so long, feeling too tired to fight the wave of memories washing over him that felt like someone else's-not his own.

"I'm that guy…I'm that guy," he repeated to himself, breathing deep and heavily, struggling to stay focused as his vision blurred. "B-Bucky…Barnes…"

The heart-stunting revelation of his identity-humanity exponentially surged through his veins with torpedoing force as he thrashingly strained against the clunkier restraints that vertiginously anchored him like deadweight against the muckier wall. Rearing his feline head back on bone-wrenching traction, gutturally, he panted out anguished breaths that scratchily frayed against his throat. "I-I can't be this..." On mortified accord, he scraped his vibrainium claws blindingly over the dirtier ground, warring against vestiges of lucid sanity that impolisvely depth-charged within the recesses of his addled mind. "Arghhh..." he railed out, screechingly, unaware of the encroaching-haughtier paces of a slithery reptoid nocuously advancing closer to his electrified cell.

"Awake at lasssst, are you?" The slithering serpent's voice crawled into his cell like a viper ready to sting its prey. Sabre braced himself against the wall, glaring balefully at the bars where the shape of Secundus crept towards his cell. "I wasss afraid you had perisssshed after my liege had beaten you into the dirt! Yet sssstill you cling to life?! How interesssting, yet unfortunate for yourssself! I alwaysss knew you would be too headssstrong, too sssoft to properly sssserve the empire!" The raptor laughed with a vexingly cruel tone, his amberish-green eyes peering at him with sadistic hunger. "Tell me, Ssssabre, wasss it worth it? Conssign yourssself to a traitor."

The churlish malignancy of Secondus's taunting cadence vitriolically whipsawed against his riotous heart, growlingly, Sabre resigtered his unspent bestial ferocity menacingly strumming over his tauter-corded rigidity that furrily sheathed with ebony velvetiness underneath his armoured curtiss; against his sweatier chestnut tresses that grungily clung to his whiskered muzzle, his dilated silvery-aqueous opals unwaveringly glared at the nefarious advisor who reptilianly darted out his forked tongue, hungrily sampling the reek of defeat. With fang-gnashing strain, hissingly, Sabre emitted a snappish cuff, rampantly easing his forcily shackled fore-arm off the wall. "M-My loyalty is to Panthera...Nothin' else..." he rasped in throatier pitch, aggressively. "You just like watchin' good people die...You can't help it because that's your damn nature..."

The green-scaled raptor's laughter-mockingly cruel-filled the dank air, echoing off the stone walls. "Ssssabre, your wit and sense of honor did you no favors. Itssss a ssshame. You had potential-the ssskil and ssstrength to become greater than any sssoldier in the legion. And now look at you. Beaten, broken, and at my mercy once more. It's almost poetic, don't you think?"

Before Sabre could respond, the impact tremor of encroaching footsteps shook the room. The feline emperor, Tygerus, stepped forward, his massive form casting a shadow over the bars of Sabre's cell. The tiger's eyes were a cold, emotionless yellow-boring into the panther. Sabre felt a chill of foreboding run down his spine. "Well, well, well," the emperor drawled. "Look who has now awoken from the dregs of total oblivion. The lost human turned killing machine. Has your nightmares revealed to you the true depth of your pit of sorrow?" His voice was soft, almost purring, but there was an undercurrent of menace that sent shivers through the panther's body.

"Or has the pain numbed your senses?" He taunted, running a hand across the cut left upon his face by the feline. "I will confess, it has been some time since someone has left their mark upon me in combat. Don't count on such a thing happening again."

Jutting out his incisor fangs against the insurmountable repulsion that burningly knifed through his veins, defensively, Sabre yanked against the metallic chain that kept him cripplingly floored him into throes of submission as pent-up viciousness revamped on fiercer accord; he wouldn't a dormant pawn of morphic compliance while Tygerus sanguineously amputated every installation of Pantherian resistance. He needed to detachedly sever off the infectious tentacles that morbidly grappled him into a chimeral-dimensional reality. Staving off a pukish breath, exhaustedly, he attempted to heft up his vibrainium paw with strenuous traction, only to feel the bone-numbing voltage of the restraints sonically razing out his tenacious heartbeat. "Grah...Y-You did this to me...Why?"

A cold frown was worn across Tygerus' features. The white tiger's eyes, for a moment, took on a distant look as if he were lost in a moment in time that none could see except for himself. Once his pupils returned to their natural shape, an also maniacal grin stretched across his muzzled lips. "Why not?" He growled, "if power exists, it is meaningless if it is not used. And put it to good use I did, with this," a sickly green glow suddenly filled the corridor as a bright-gemstone attached to a scepter was revealed. Held tight in the emperor's grasp, he slammed the bottom of the staff to the floor, dimming the vibrant glow that contained a mystical power from within. It reacted to his will, his own eyes having taken on an emissive shade of emerald.

"You were not the first…James Barnes, and you certainly won't be the last. Unlike you, I began as something less, something broken and lost. When my kind were subjected to the Mad Titan's planet cleansing crusade decades past, Pantheria had no hope of recovery. Near to extinction, I knew the only solution to bring our kind back was to sacrifice the few for the many. The power of our collective mages molded into one. With it, Pantheria rose back stronger than ever! We repelled invasion after invasion and even began to conquer in response." His teeth revealed into a snarl, "there were those who resisted-those who believed in the old ways-the weak ways. Freedom is an illusion that separates rather than unites. Recruiting both enemies and traitors had never been so simple with this," he held the scepter pointed towards Sabre, smirking shrewdly. "All I needed were the perfect soldiers to instill my rule-and you and many of your friends fell right into my lap, Winter Soldier."

Against his deadened mobility, scowlingly, Bucky flashed the voltaic intensity of his razor-slit aqueous depths onto the runic sceptre that was grotesquely embellished with a skeletal tiger-head-socerous conductor that portentously ushered morphic witchery as vaporous glyphs of hexagon mandalas eldritchly radiated from the malachite gemstone on telekinetic fruition. Shudderingly, his resistance was hijacked by pulsatingly onrushes that irrevocably amplified with heart-stunting exhaustion as Tygerus malignly arced the demonic sceptre over the eroded bars with scything precision, sneerily conveying his psychopathic-homicidal tantamount of malefically eradicating oppressors-traitors of his war-world empire-dystopia. "Y-You took the lives of good people from my world so you could rule em' like a space Ceaser...?" he drawled out, croakily, as his feverous vision bleared when he dizzily glanced at his longish-ebony tail. "Change em' back..."

Tygerus scoffed, "Why undo perfection? Those who cross the boundaries of my empire, willingly or not, are mine to do with as I please. They will remain useful to me so long as they remain in the blissful ignorance of an existence I have created for them. The moment that truth is shattered…" He exchanged a look with Secundus who grinned knowingly. Tygerus chuckled darkly, "they are of no further use to me. YOU are of no further use to me. I will not allow you to run amok and risk the desecration of my vision." Aiming the head of his scepter towards the shackled feline, he focused his will as the gem began to once again glow with a foreboding pulse of magical energies. "In time, you will be but a distant memory, Commander Sabre, like all others who sought to defy me before you."

The pulsating virescent energy telestically gleamed in his silvery-aquamarine opals, impudently, Sabre quirked the hard-edged sleekness of his whiskered muzzle into a toothier smirk as his velvety nose scrunched with rapt of 'Brooklynn boy' defiance; a growlier breath resonatedly emitted out his furrier throat as onrushing-suffusive vestiges of being torturously anesthetized into cryogenic dregs within a Siberian missile-silo gatecrashed the recesses of his gutted-out memories. Loyalty was a murderous price of blood-stamped ledger that was unforgivingly branded with the crimson star of Russia-he was the robotized sniper wraith-a muzzled phantasm-that complied with directives-kill-orders of elimination to remove expandable pawns-traitors of HYDRA with his dead-shot mercy.

Now, he was roped into the disposable throes of being traitorous collateral-a loose end that would be severed. Bracingly, against the heart-slamming onslaught of unbidden defeat, Sabre resigtered the pukish sludginess of rancid bile gushing up his throat as the vitreous aura of the gemstone blindingly intensified against the white-heat of unriddled agony, he was being morphically divested into a pathetic drudge of Tygerus's unquenchable amusement. "Hrggh..." Stuntedly, he became aware of every corded-graven thew of his athletic-lithesome solidity chunkily expanding with lumpier-rubberized as pudginess that blobbishly glozed against the mutative -obesifying strain raiding through him on protrusive succession. He was condemned into the porcine dregs of enslavement-a girthier-fattish boar would profitably fare galactic credits on Xander. Gnashing the curvier deformity of his jutting incisor fangs, snortily, he grunted in a Russian undertone."Pust' imperiya padet(Let the empire fall)..."

"Hmph!" Tygerus grunted, not quite sure what was said. His cold gaze was focused solely on the image of the younger feline, once a proud and promising soldier in his militia but now a failed venture among many others who'd met the power of his scepter. The magic engulfed the shackled panther like a blob of slime, seeping into the furry flesh of his form like a parasite eager to cause destruction from within. Like those who came before, Sabre resisted; his innate stubbornness only exemplified by what remained of his Pantherian vigor as he fought against the spread of the magical wildfire in his veins. Tygerus watched keenly, both with anticipation and fascination as he beheld Sabre's willpower to stave off the flow of his transformation.

"Your will is impressive," he commended, "but pointless. Fight as you may, my will is stronger," he focused his power until his eyes were a glowing shade of emerald. Secundus stepped back, uneager to be caught in the crossfire of his emperor's onslaught as the magic bore down upon Sabre until the feline was on his back writing in pain. His once powerful muscular physique was twisted and stuffed with ballooning fat, his paws once deadly and sharp were now stubby hooves. His feline muzzle extended into a porcine snout. "Now you will now the true cost of treachery, and the true meaning of helplessness, Bucky Barnes." Tygerus watched as the spell full consumed his captive until nothing remained of the pantherian warrior who entered the cell. All that remained was a shackled and groaning fat hog.

"Urgh..." Against the porcine scrouge that inexorably robbed his wobblier mobility, huffily, Bucky thrusted up the jowelly pudginess of his elongated-tusk snout as he consciously bolstered the droopier rotundity of his barrel-sized girth against the grimier wall, only to feel the weightier heftiness of his Centurian armour-mantle restrictedly grounding him with no avail. With a modicum of his irrepressible stubbornness, thumpingly, he stomped down his stubbier-cloven hoof against the rusted chain, lasering his beadier grayish-aquamarine depths at the predacious reptoid slimily darting out his fork-tongue, demonically evident to a sinstirous gleam in his cold-blooded orbs. "Y-You won't...Win...This fight...My friend Steve will doesn't quit..."

Tygerus' scowl twisted into a feral grin as he beheld his handiwork, the ominous glow of his sceptre dimming to inaction. "Your friend will not last long out in the wild. No matter where he runs, we will find him and finish what you failed to do." Approaching the bars, the Emperor's loomed forward, fixing the diminutive hog with a piercing look, "as for you. You are no longer befitting of the name "Sabre". The honor and respect that was bestowed upon you is stripped with that of your form and title. You wished to be as insignificant as you were before you arrived here? Now you are less than ever before! Lay in your squalor, James Barnes. Reflect upon what you have cast away, and know that your suffering is only just begun." Tygerus stepped away until he turned and marched off, his cape billowing behind him.

"Well ain't that disappointing, little piggy..." Serpentinely, the advisor eased up the lankiness of his scalie hand against the eroded bars as his quicksilver orbs trickily fixed onto the blimp-sized commander who slouchily wobbled on exhaustive traction, attempting to pathetically evade a derisive-nauseatic barrage of humiliation while he quashed down a nasally snort. "The unbeatable paragon of soldiery valour is now just a worthless chubby porkier who grunts out the voice of resistance, well, except no one in this stink hole will hear you..." he drawled with a raspier snicker, waspily, gazing at Bucky who sulkily pivoted on his stubbier hooves. "It doesn't matter, you'll be ridin' with the fattening defilers of this glorious empire to Xandar to feed Nova Corps like every grunter we ship out..."

"I-I know how to get off the ropes..." the Centurian-hog emitted a snortier rebuff, chestily, brushing the pudginess of his jowelly-tusked snout cushily against the stone-brick wall, harnessing a defensive vestige of untamped stubbornness that was anguishedly channelling within the blubbery rotundity of his droopier girth. Thrashingly, he yanked against the hoof-vising restraints on clumsier traction as his corkscrew tail wiggily rapted against his chunkier backside on vexatious accord; he wouldn't give the viperous parasite the satisfaction of being humiliatingly morphed into a porcine drudge-collateral.

Against the mephitic dominance of a tyrannous despot who scythed out the installation of resistance within the environs of Panthera, she detected volumes of hope ratcheting beneath her lithe paws as political-corruptive��machinations of the imperial senate were inexorably pegged into a deadlock after the clamorous noise of the fugitive Teran riotously heralded over the marketplace. Using the accessory Cato slipped in her paw, measuringly, Livia was in pursuit of the battle-honed Terran, evading the burly-horned rhino sentry's who unnervingly paroled the entryways, with taser javelins activated with bone-stunning voltage. Jutting out her whiskered muzzle, instinctively, she caught a whiff of a mintier-virile fragrancy that was coupled with feverish-bloodied sweat. "Hiding are we, Soldier boy..." she purred in breathier undertone, snarkily, flashing her tigerish-brandy opals at the silk cart vendor obstructing a bazaar arcade. "Interesting..."

If the unique scent wasn't enough to attract her tracking senses, the sight of a cloaked tall merchant pulling the silk cart caught her eye. There were many hawks that operated within the city as members of the city-watch. Some who would keep a vigil upon the outer-walls for signs of threat and invasion. She had an inkling of suspicion, knowing that the rebellion had at least one friendly hawk in the Emperor's militia who had been imprisoned months ago. Cato did say that certain someone had managed to escape in the chaos. The feathery merchant kept his head low, leading the cart away. She could see a faint impression in the back of the wagon filled with merchandise. A subtle shift of movement and the scent grew stronger. She followed along, watching as the cart reached a somewhat secluded alley and made her move.

Screechingly, with razored vigilance teeming within the feathery litheness of his peregrine form, the stealthier goshawk raptorially scraped his dagger-like talons against the stone ledge as his grayish-white plumage readily tensed with predatory-honed ferocity when his obsidian-silvery orbs piercingly fixed onto the vendor. Being a chastened sky-watcher for a tenebrific-murderous Empire was suffocatingly agonizing, he backstabbed innocent citizens of Panthera, ushering them into dregs of enslavement because of his dubious-cheapshot loyalty for survival. Bobbing his sleekier head, the feathered operative, unwaveringly drove his peripheral vision over the bazaar tents, resigtering a familiar heartbeat of indomitable-soldiery valour that beckoned him. "Uh...Let's get this over with..."

He registered a unique bird-call noise that his "cargo" had insisted he use to indicate the coast was clear. Said cargo made himself known by removing the flap covering the rear of the wagon. A Terran human emerged briskly, giving a sideways glance of his surroundings before sliding off the edge of the cart. "What now?" Steve Rogers asked his feathered-companion. Someone he knew very little about except for the fact that like him, he was a wanted fugitive for some tyrannical empire of feline warriors. Steve had seen many forms of intelligent animal-hybrids since waking up on this strange world, but the hawk was unique to the individual in front of him who eerily reminded him of a certain friend back home.

"Now we change carts and disguises. If any Rhino sentries notice us, they'll be thrown off the scent. Too many of them don't care enough to look beyond what they can see or smell," lifting a faded blue robe off a vendor stall, it smelled of sandalwood and berries. He tossed it to Steve, chirping with affirmation, "put that on." It would cover the musky stench that humans seemed to exude out in the sun. The stench was off-putting but the skywatch-hawk had smelled far worse in his tenure in the Emperor's service.

"Why did you help me?" Steve wondered aloud, throwing the robe on with the hood covering his head. "You could've left me to get trampled by that mob in the courtyard. But you didn't."

"Yeah," the hawk sniped, offering nothing beyond vague acceptance. "I'm still trying to figure that out too. Just seemed like the right thing to do."

"Well…thanks for that," Steve ignored the feeling of familiarity in his gut, knowing he was stuck in a fortified city of sentient animals-hybrids that reminded him of Ancient Rome with a futuristic twist to it. He knew he had to find a way back home, but he also knew he couldn't just leave his friend behind. "The Commander-Sabre. What will they do to him?" He was almost afraid to ask, but he needed to know. He had to know how much time he had to act.

With a sombre bopping of his feathery head, expressively, the sky-hawk rapted his talons leadenly over the wooden pole of the cart; the escalation of imperious supremacy was hinging against united resistance in grevious succession. He wouldn't become perched over the battleground while Tygerus bloodthirstily decimated Pantherian inhabitants with his barbaric devices of execution. Restrainedly, Janus, puffed up his feathered-sheathed girth, as he mirrored the stormier intensity of Steve's cool azureous depths, the warranted mission to get him out of the dodge was suicidal against his calibre of hard-core stealth-he was edging into a threshold of deliverance. "Commander Sabre will be at the receiving end of punishment for his disloyalty...He took the fall to save your ass because he believes in Panthera...Whatever happens to him can't be undone..."

Steve became visibly frustrated, his composure threatening to waver as the sum of the past several weeks of isolation upon this world without a plan or back-up began to catch up. After uncovering the truth of what happened to Bucky, he wondered if the same fate had befallen his other friends and allies who had been caught in the blast-radius of their previous mission that saw them get scattered to the cosmos. Bucky, Clint, Scott, Peter and so many others had arrived to lend their assistance. Steve was the first one to fall into the portal, the others came after. He couldn't remember anything before waking up in a jungle. He wondered if he had been spared Bucky's fate because he was just that lucky.

"I can't just leave him there. H-He's my friend. What they did to him-what they probably did to the others. We just-" He was silenced when his feathered companion raised his taloned hand in a halting gesture. Steve looked at him confused, but the hawk had his eyes peered. "What is it?"

Against a strumming heart, reactively, Janus flapped his sleekier wings on defensive sync, aware of an intrusive-feminine proximity that clashingly robbed his unshakeable vigilance as his tinier head jutted out, the delicious-headier amora of cherry-vanilla maddeningly entrenched him as he incredulously caught a glint of whitish-platinum fur blurringly contrasting within the shadowy ambiance of bazaar tents. "Move..." he squawked out, edgily, rapting his wing against Steve's leather-clad gauntlet. "I'll keep her distracted..."

Steve wasn't sure what the mystery hawk meant, but he knew there was no time to question a directive when dealing with an imminent threat. "We can deal with this together," he lifted his shield from the wagon and held it at the ready. He would lead further back, their plan was to head to the "Badlands" where Janus had a hide-out they could lay low in, but before he could respond, their tracker leapt towards from the shadows. Janus cawed like a bird of prey, using his swiftness of speed and winged arms to ascend up towards a higher-ground, dodging the whipping strike of a feline's tail. Steve held his shield up, thrusting his weight as a balletic figure used her greater agility to leap onto the domed sphere before crawling around his back. His super-enhanced strength kept him vertical as she wrapped her body around him, her voice growling into his ear with warning.

"You need to stop with the chase..." With a kittenish smirk quirked over her furred muzzle that delicately ghosted against his ear, Livia scrapingly gripped her knifepoint claws into the dark-navy blue kevlar that hunkily sheathed his broader shoulder as she remained lithely straddled onto his muscled back. Gnashing his teeth, blindingly, Steve propelled his momentum back with measured traction of his reactive footing against a stone pillar, readily attempting to shake her off as she balletically angled her curvier mid-drift against the Spartan rigidity of his bulkier torso-she didn't ease her predatory-honed grip. Bracing her gauntleted arm fervidly over his throat into a rear-chokehold to immobilize him, grittily, Steve jerked his head on breakneck accord against her muzzle, as his twangy-blondish tresses sweatily clung against the silkiness of his whitish fur. "N-Now listen, I'm not here to dance with you..." she hissed in a terser pitch, brusquely keeping him captive in her arm-lock. "A speedy friend of mine needs your help to get this grumpy panther-boy out of his cage..."

[through-your-eyes]

Beginning: Sahar

(sopretentious on Pinterest)

Summer Wind echoes through the kitchen. The sun casts a soft, peaceful light into the room, projecting a vibrant range of colors onto the reflective toaster on the countertop. The occasional clang of vessels and slamming of cabinets can be heard, breaking through the monotony of the morning. Amidst all this, Sahar is dancing her way across the kitchen whisking her regular matcha, as she watches over the pancakes on the stovetop. 

“There’s a summer wind blowing…yeah it's pure serotonin…” Sahar can’t help but sing along to the soulful voice of the 502s. She pours the rich matcha into her favorite mug, following it up with a cup of cold coconut milk.

Seeing as the edges of the pancakes have turned a warm shade of golden-brown, Sahar plates them with some powdered sugar. Satisfied with her creation, she seats herself onto the high chairs at the bar table. “Finally, a peaceful Saturday morning,” she murmurs to herself, as she bites into the doughy pancake. 

“Zain! You cannot take that with you. You’re just wasting time; let me help you pack.” A female voice sounds in Sahar’s brain, startling her. Some of the powdered sugar scatters around the table top. 

Before she can attempt to place the voice, an image flashes behind her eyes, fading into her sight, and obscuring her kitchen. Suddenly, Sahar can see the back of a male, pacing around, what seems to be, his bedroom. She can tell, because of the huge suitcase left unopened on the bed at the center. Clothes are all over, some folded but most sprawled across in an unruly fashion. Sahar assumes the figure to be Zain. But who is he? And how can she see him? What is going on? Questions flood her mind. However, she doesn’t have time to ponder. 

(Created on Canva using base image from Shutterstock)

“Mom! I’m doing it myself. I’m more than capable. I’m literally leaving in two weeks; can we not argue.” Zain’s deep exasperated voice groans out, before he turns around to address his mother. At last, Sahar can put a face to a name. His intense, brooding eyes come into her sight - deep and brown. A strand of dark chocolate colored hair covers one half of his right eye. As he runs his hands through his hair, messing them up even more than before, he blows a raspberry - not bothering to conceal his irritation. 

“Okay…okay. I’m sorry. I’m leaving. Just let me know if you need my help”. Zain’s mother comes into Sahar’s line of vision as her arms wrap around her son's built frame. Her bronze arms fold across his broad shoulders and Sahar can see him reciprocating - wrapping his own arms around his mothers shorter figure. 

The image begins to fade out, and the soft light of her kitchen begins to fade back into her sight. “Oh.” Sahar breathes out in dismay, quite mesmerized by what she had just witnessed. Confused and disoriented, she takes a gentle sip of her matcha - her hands slightly shaking. What just happened? She wonders.

[sittinwithyou]

Handwritten Holiday #QuordlePrompt 14

On my Wattpad!

From Daily Quordle 335 (12/25/2022) GRIND, HOARD, AHEAD, WOOER

“My dearest Elanor.” He bit down on the end of the pen and squinted at the three words that glared back up at him accusingly. The cursive was sloppy, like always. The letters sprawled across the lines on the page with the tell-tale sign of amateur artistry and he hated the splotchy, inky lines. Why had he thought that his father’s fountain pen would be the best way to write a letter? He glanced to the bronze cup of Bic pens. Because, Norman, he thought, fountain pens are fancy. Elanor is fancy. She deserves fancy. He nodded, bolstered by his own pep talk.

He drew out another sheet of note paper from his pack and smoothed it across the leather padding of the desk. Once again, he steadied the tip of the thick pen against the paper and began to write. Immediately the ink flowed from the tip of the pen and bled through to the desk. “Shoot!” Norman jerked his hand up in an angry sweep. He watched as points of blackness splattered out towards the darkness of the office. He heard the ink hit the carpet. “Ugh, fine,” he relented, and he sat the pen back on its wooden holder then picked out a Bic pen. He started anew with a fresh sheet of paper.

“My dearest Elanor,” he whispered.

~~~

Kevin backed away from the door to his office and smiled. Tomas saw the smile and tilted his head inquisitively. “What is he doing in there?”

Kevin started down the steps, placing his feet so they caused the least amount of creaking. He motioned for his husband to follow. “If I were to guess, I think he’s got a crush and I think,” he added with emphasis and a wink back over his shoulder, “that he aspires to be a wooer.”

Tomas stopped him, his hand on Kevin's shoulder. “A wooer?” he chuckled. “Who is he wooing? How?”

Kevin shrugged and continued down the steps. At the bottom, he paused as if to let Tomas go ahead of him and then grabbed him around the waist and laid his chin on his shoulder. “Well, evidently to a girl named Elanor and with my expensive pen. He’s losing a couple of week’s allowance to clean what I just saw him do.” He kissed his husband's neck. “But it’s sweet, I think. Our little guy’s got a crush for Christmas.”

Tomas pulled Kevin's arms in closer and fell back into the hug. “Yeah, but at that age, you can easily get heartbreak for New Year’s.” They broke the embrace and ambled into the kitchen. “Do you want a cup of coffee?” Kevin broke his attention from the snow falling outside to shake his head.

“No, but maybe a tea?”

“Sure.” Tomas busied himself in the process as Kevin returned his gaze out into the black and orange night. The streetlamps were catching every flake on their way down. “What do you mean,” he asked, his breath fogging up the pane of glass momentarily. “Heartbreak for New Years?”

In the reflection, he could vaguely see Tomas's shape. He paused before he began to grind the beans for his drink, and stared more through the back of Kevin's head than at it. “Well,” he started as he returned to filling the grinder. He placed the cap on and let it whirr before he responded: “I used to collect sad stories when I was a kid. True ones. Like, the extra teenage drama that would happen all around me. I would hoard them, really. In my journal.”

Kevin turned to watch him put the bean powder in the press and Kevin's bag of English breakfast (his favorite) in his big Santa mug. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the window, savoring the coolness as it soaked into his housecoat for a moment. “Oh yeah?” he said. This was a new fact. “How long’d you do that for?”

“A couple of years,” he said. His casual shrug unseated a strand of his dark hair, and it swung lightly like a feathery pendulum over the drinks. He absently pushed it back and glanced up at Kevin. “What?” he laughed.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you smiling at me like that?”

Kevin let his face grow even wider. “Me? Smile at you? Whatever would I do that for?” Tomas shook his head, his own mouth turning up at the edges as his cheeks started to glow. “What, I can’t just smile at my husband?”

One eye looked back up at him through hair that had fallen once more. “A grin like that caused the us to decide to get married and have a kid, Mr. Vance.”

“Oh, really?” He rolled his back off the window and walked around the island to slip his hands around Tomas's waist again. He playfully slapped at Kevin's advancing limbs and indicated at his amateur barista work on the countertop. “What,” Kevin laughed. He heard his voice as it lowered into a warm whisper. “I’m just admiring-”

“You are trouble,” Tomas chided. His voice, in contrast, had gone up in a playful tone. He turned and placed a splayed hand on Kevin's terry-clothed chest and glared up at him with dark, fetching eyes. “And you’re not getting the chance to unwrap this present yet.” He pointed to the press and Kevin's mug which was now steaming from the water Tomas had poured in. “Drinks first and Norman’s got to go to bed.”

“Fair enough. How long on the tea?”

“I don’t know, ten minutes?”

Kevin nodded then stepped towards the stairs again. “Norm, buddy. You up there?”

There was a pregnant pause and the faint rustling of items from his cracked open office door. Then, in a voice that was thick with the inflection of a preteen trying to sound nonchalant, Norman yelled back, “One minute!” Muted thumping broadcasted the kid’s scampering to his own room and then turned into slapping footsteps as he clunked down the stairs. “Yeah, Dad?”

Kevin tried very hard to not notice the ink stains on his son’s fingers or face. “Bed in, what, fifteen?” He glanced back at Tomas and winked.

He looked past him at Norman and smiled. “Make sure to brush your teeth.”

“Yes, sir,” Norman said, and he bounded back up the stairs.

Tomas watched him go and then slid the Santa mug over to Kevin so that it’s warm edge just brushed his fingertips. “That boy’s gonna have heartbreak, alright.” He sighed and leaned into Kevin’s back as he squeezed his body just below the ribs. “Whether it’s gonna be his or ‘Elanor’s’, we’ll see.”

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Playbook: How To Look More Expensive & Elevate Your Aura

Looking expensive or 'rich' is all about investing in yourself, your appearance, how you carry yourself, and not shying away from signature details or indulgences. Here are some tips to level up your look and demeanor to feel high-class in your daily life – no matter how much money you want to spend in these life arenas.

Appearance:

Prioritize Proper Grooming: Always looking clean and put-together is the ultimate sign of class. Shower daily. Brush, and take care of your teeth. Wash your hair on a regular schedule. Never allow your hair to look greasy – brush and blow dry it regularly. Cleanse, exfoliate, and moisturize every inch of your face and body. Perform your skincare routine religiously. Apply sunscreen daily.

Tailor & Steam Your Clothes: Freshly-pressed and well-fitting clothes always look infinitely more expensive – no matter their price point. Looking rich and expensive is about high self-regard and paying attention to the little details. Ensure your garments look crisp and clean – no wrinkles, pet hairs, loose threads, lint pieces, or fabric bulges highlighting an improper fit.

Create A Classic & Streamlined Capsule Wardrobe: Simplicity radiates a chic sophistication. Go back to the basics with timeless pieces – like a button-down blouse, a classic crewneck sweater, black trousers or straight-leg jeans, leather pants, a leather jacket, a trench or wool coat, a well-fitting cami or tee shirt, a simple slip dress, or a knit set. Focus on a neutral color palette – black, champagne, dark grey, chocolate brown, camel, or crisp white shades. Seek out elevated fabrics – such as Pima cotton, cashmere, washable silk, and buttery vegan or recycled leather.

Invest In Signature Pieces: Spend on "outer shell' items – coats, jackets, heavyweight knits, handbags, and shoes – that directly interact with the outside world and can be worn repeatedly with almost every outfit. Save on items like tee shirts or more simple jewelry pieces that can be found for less while still being fairly high-quality. I recommend Everlane, Lilysilk, and Naadam for affordable basics (Frankie Shop, Skims, and Norma Kamali for moderately priced pieces) and Catbird and Oma The Label for well-priced accessories. Here are all the everyday essentials you need to build the ultimate Femme Fatale Wardrobe.

Simplify Your Beauty Routine: Fresh, clear, and glowy skin radiates rich girl energy. A well-curated skincare routine should do half the heavy lifting. However, you will probably want to include a shade-matched foundation, concealer, and powder into your makeup routine along with a bronze contour, a rosy blush, and a subtle highlighter. Shape and fill in your brows for a polished look. Apply a deep black mascara to your lashes and luscious black eyeliner to your top lid, waterline, and tight line – keep the strokes thin and crisp (create a subtle wing if desired). Finish your face with a deep pink nude, red, or deep wine lipstick/gloss/lip tint. Here's a guide to the ultimate Femme Fatale Beauty Routine for a completely elevated (and sensual) look.

Eat Healthfully & Workout: Health is wealth. Taking care of your body shows self-respect – your most priceless asset. So, incorporate whole, plant-based foods into your daily diet and make it a priority to find movement you love that you can incorporate into your routine multiple times a week.

Lifestyle:

Streamline The Details: The rich girl aesthetic is all about refinement and looking put together at all times. Always have a set of matching pens with coordinating notepads on your desk, a uniform set of coffee mugs on the counter, coasters, glassware, sheets, pillowcases, cold-weather accessories, etc. This attention to detail instant makes your environment look more expensive.

Have Personalized Stationery: A high-value woman isn't shy about leaving her signature touch. Have personalized stationery (thank you notes, greeting cards, business cards, etc.) monogrammed and on hand for anytime you need to send a note or gift to a friend, coworker, boss, client, etc. This addition shows your attention to detail, leaves the recipient something small to remember you by, and adds a human touch to any gift or gesture. Try gold lettering on cream cards for an elegant, expensive look.

Keep Prosecco & Sparkling Water On Hand: Bubbly on a budget feels just as expensive as champagne (and tastes great too). Sparkling water elevates your daily H20 – add some lemon, lime, orange wedges, or frozen berries for a fancy, fruity twist.

Have Proper Place Settings: Neat, thoughtful presentation exudes class and rich energy. Whenever hosting any type of sit-down event or cocktail party, have the plates stacked, glasses and cutlery arranged correctly. Have all of the appropriate utensils readily available. Again, it's all about the details.

Stay Informed & Well-Read: A thirst for knowledge, learning and having the ability to engage in thoughtful, informed, and intellectual imbues a high-class radiance into any room. Read books, learn about different cultures and current events, and invest in studying different industries, and interests. Explore your hobbies. A rich mindset translates and generates an overall elevated aura.

Demeanor:

Learn Proper Etiquette: Address people by name, and offer a firm handshake. Maintain eye contact. Say "please" and "thank you." RSVP promptly. Communicate clearly and compassionately.

Maintain Good Posture: Shoulders back and relaxed. Open your chest. Keep your back straight and your head held high. Take up space. Command presence.

Master The Art of Engaging Conversation: Prioritizing self-presentation, learning how to listen, holding your own, and encouraging others to feel relaxed are the secrets to becoming magnetic in any social situation. Read more of my tips HERE.

Embrace An Abundant Mindset: Free your mind of limiting beliefs and notions of scarcity. There are plenty of opportunities, experiences, and emotions to go around. Another person's success doesn't take away from your potential. Focus on expansion, not envy.

Remain Confident & Unbothered: Believe in yourself. Invest in your well-being. Prioritize your goals and block out the noise from anyone trying to tear you down or criticize you for your ambition, goals, or desires. Stay in your own lane. Allow others to do the same. This is how you level up to elevate into your queen energy to create a rich life and design your dream reality.

[river--ghost]

Parent Guidance Recommended

word count: 3,281

focus characters: Pacifica Northwest, Fiddleford H. McGucket

warnings: child neglect, implications of alcoholism, implications of infidelity, mugging, knives, threatening, generally awful people

summary: On the worst birthday she’s ever had, Pacifica finds herself seeking support from a source she’d least expect; the new owner of the once-Northwest Manor, her own former home.

Pacifica was turning fourteen on the Fourth of July. A perfect birthday. Perfect girl. Perfect family.

Her parents would throw a party. Like any Northwest party, with gorgeous, itchy lace ball gowns and impeccable etiquette, each word in every conversation spoken with flawless flow, with purposeful posture and respect-demanding mannerisms. A perfect party for perfect people, with perfect food prepared.

After claiming her designated ruby-studded chair at the dinner table, she would be shocked when her plate was revealed to her. Deep-fried Roareos. Stacked in a small sweet-powdered delicious heap in front of her, chocolately, cream-filled cookies, dipped in batter and deep-fried to perfection. Sugary. Messy. Pacifica had never had it before. How did her parents know she wanted to try it?

She turned her head to cast a quizzical look to her parents, who’d been watching her, holding each other with loving smiles directed at her. A warm feeling spread inside her like warm butter. She reached for a fork.. but hesitated, and hovered her hand over the plate instead. She casted another glance at her parents to see their reaction. No cold response was elicited so far. In fact, she could have sworn her father nodded in approval.

She delicately picked one of the cookies up with her thumb and forefinger, and raised it to her lips to nibble at it. Her senses were flooded with warm, sweet goodness. Just as amazing as she imagined. She stuffed the rest in her mouth, going so far as to lick her fingers. Her lips were coated with melted cream. She neglected the napkins beside her plate to instead lick the sugar mixture from her lips. Barbaric. But her parents didn’t seem to mind either of the actions. She thought she even heard an amused giggle from her mother.

“Sweetie, would you like your presents now or after you’re finished?” Priscilla— no, this was Mom— asked. Pacifica paused. She had a say? Were they not on a schedule? She supposed if she was given the option, she would love to open gifts while she snacked on the rest of the Roareos.

“Now, please,” the young blond girl responded. On cue, one of the butlers was beside her, placing a neatly-packaged gift box on her lap. A beautiful purple silk ribbon sat on top, holding it together. She couldn’t recall the last time she felt so eager to reveal its contents.

What was inside? Some comfy clothes? Paint, perhaps? A cute animal plush that would contrast the creepy porcelain dolls in her room? The possibilities were endless.

Delightfully, she tugged at it. The box opened. As she peered inside, her excitement dissolved. The warm feeling turned to ice.

The bell. The one her father carried on his person at all times. The one that willed his command in the mansion. The one Pacifica hated. Suddenly Preston was standing over her, slowly picking the bronze item up.

Loving smile gone, replaced with a disapproving, even disgusted scowl. She shrank in her seat.

“Pacifica Elise Northwest,” he boomed. “So it’s true. You’re mingling with the common, ignoble crowds these days.”

“No!” she found herself crying out. “It’s not like that! I have to!”

“Have to what? Work a lowly job as a waitress in that slobbish cesspit? At that- that disgusting, sorry excuse for a dining destination? THAT’S NOT ACCEPTABLE EVER. How can you call yourself a Northwest? How can you call yourself our daughter?”

The very first thought she woke up to was that it was too good to be real.

Tangled in her sheets, warm tears trickling down her cheeks. She sniffled and quickly wiped them away before slipping out of bed.

The house was dark. Silent. The clock on the wall read 7:52. Her parents’ bedroom was empty as she passed. It smelled of wine. They would not be back for a while. Pacifica found herself releasing a sigh, her tension easing a little, even if that meant she’d be spending her birthday alone for the very first time. She leaned against the doorframe and closed her eyes, trying to recall the good part of the dream, trying to revive the taste of the sugary treat, but it was gone. Soured by the unreality of it. All it was doing was making her hungry belly ache.

When checking the refrigerator, cabinets and pantry and coming to the realization that all that was left was a loaf of bread, a half-empty tube of Bringles and a couple dinner kits. No breakfast food. Not even a single egg. Not even leftovers. Something like despair and disappointment blossomed inside her. She would have to eat at the diner again…

She snagged her wallet from the counter only to find her twenty had disappeared, leaving only a couple measly ones and fives and whatever coins were loose inside. She felt the tears building a little again and slapped the wallet shut to try to stifle them. There was a time she had nearly everything, but now after Weirdmaggedon, she couldn’t even trust that her own hard-earned cash wouldn’t be snagged if left around her own greedy birthgivers. Her strength was being sapped by the will not to burst into a sobbing fit. There was enough in there to cover breakfast at work when she got to Greasy’s, at least.

With her belly still growling, she changed out of her nightwear, threw on her apron and a pair of aviators and began the walk to work.

The day was a bright one, sunny and a little breezy. A pleasant temperature. It did not reflect how Pacifica felt. Despite the summer weather, she pulled her scarf over her head, casting shade over her face. The neighborhood streets were mostly void of people, every house gated off. Just because they lost the mansion did not mean the Northwests were living in squalor, but her spending money was strictly monitored. Her parents now enforced that any money she spent, she’d have to earn. A fourteen year old. A child. Just so her birthgivers could ensure a few extra dollars in their account.

Pacifica couldn’t help but feel the fanciness of the neighborhood was almost deceitful. Her own household was a prime example. Her own rumbling tummy was a prime example. She wondered if there were others who lived in these houses that had similar problems as hers. Unlikely here.. however there were definitely others, people who’d been pushed to extremes just to get by.

Whether that was the reason behind why Pacifica soon found herself being followed halfway through the trip, she didn’t know. The feeling of being watched intensified by the minute, and glances into the reflections of shop windows told her there was a person. They refused to let up for at least a couple of blocks, the likelihood that they were just going the same direction by chance was steadily decreasing. They probably saw her leaving the wealthier neighborhood. The young girl picked up her pace. It did her no good.

The next moments were a blur. Her arm was snatched. When she struggled, a slice put a stop to it. Her arm began to bleed. Something sharp pressed to her throat, stiffening every muscle in her body. Vulgar language was hurled at her, demanding cooperation before her purse was yanked from her shoulder, and she was thrown to the curb. She was left winded, bruised, panicked and hyperventilating. She struggled for her breath back.

Mugged. She’d been mugged for the few measly dollars she had on her. And the fact that her first thought after all that was concern for what her parents would think that she let those precious dollars be nicked in the first place.. it only increased her distraught. Her breaths hastened more and more, and she didn’t realize her tears had finally started to flow until she was already sprinting down the street, her vision muddled. Every step felt like thunder to her ears. Home. She just wanted to go home. Maybe she couldn’t be herself as much, and maybe she was always busy, under constant supervision. But at least there was stability. At least there was certainty of the future. At least it was comfortable, at least there was always food on the table, breakfast, lunch and dinner. At least her father never stumbled around reeking of alcohol while only Lord knew where her mother was. Maybe her parents weren’t the best to other people but at least she could be certain they were true to each other. At least she could pretend everything was fine.

Pacifica wasn’t sure how far she’d gone. She was sweaty, she felt gross and sticky. Her legs were sore, threatening to give out if she went any further. She was still bleeding. She ached everywhere. But she’d reached her destination. She stood at the bottom of a familiar, long driveway, and at the top, sitting on a large hill, towering over the town stood the proud family mansion. Waves of nostalgia and sorrow crashed over her. Everything felt so gross. Every memory tainted by the knowledge of her parents’ true nature. She couldn’t even speak to anyone, not even her parents. Who would listen to a rich brat whine about how she used to be richer? Certainly not any of the townsfolk.

She found herself staring at the manor for a while, not entirely sure what to do.

“...What am I doing here…?” Pacifica whispered, sniffling and reaching for the tissues she kept in her purse, only to be hit with the whirlwind of events that had just happened again. Her arm stung. She could barely hold herself upright. She felt so… so tired. She meekly wiped her nose on her sleeve, and started to turn around when suddenly she bumped into someone.

“Wo-ah there, kiddo, careful, better watch where ya—” a cheerful voice piped, before cutting itself off when the sight of Pacifica in her disheveled state registered. “Huh? Hey.. Ah’ know you.”

Color drained from Pacifica’s cheeks. This guy again.. Why was he here? She quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks as she tried a witty remark, but — “Y-y-ea-h, well-, wh-o w-ou-uldn’-t-” — ultimately failing when her quivering body wouldn’t stop heaving sobs. Again she sniffled. Disgusting. In front of the hillbilly too.

McGucket’s face morphed into something like sympathy. He kneeled down to her height. “Ah- hey, what’s goin’ on kiddo? Are ya alright?”

Pacifica parted her lips. She wanted to say yes. Her instincts screamed at her to say yes. She could practically hear her birthgivers demanding her to say yes. She had to be perfect. She had to be flawless. She had to be stoic, proud, happy, for her family.

But that’s not what came out.

“n-NO!” she cried, her knees finally buckling as if the years of abuse weighing down on her shoulders finally came crashing down on top of her. Her face buried in her hands, sobbing violently into them. She wasn’t okay, she wasn’t okay, she wasn’t okay. Wails and cries escaped. She couldn’t stop the tears anymore. She was in so much pain, she was so alone. The sobs wouldn’t stop. The raging storm of emotion only continued to demolish her walls, clawing at her pride and self esteem. Everything she pretended to be crashed and burned at that moment.

Fiddleford had been a little stunned by the sudden breakdown, but he started to piece the situation together from the bits and pieces the poor girl was babbling. He didn’t get up and walk away like Pacifica was expecting him to. He stayed put, even placed his hand on her shoulder to try to console her. When she didn’t flinch away from him, the old man started rubbing circles on her back as she cried and cried. Fiddleford never was the best at comfort.. though he could only imagine how long this outburst had been bottled up, and he thought it best that Pacifica let it all out before trying to say anything.

It was a while before Pacifica’s sobs began to calm enough to allow her to speak in more coherent sentences. The story became clearer. She spoke about how her parents had mistreated her, like she was an accessory rather than a human being, a literal child. How things had been getting worse this past year since they were forced to move due to her father’s irresponsible stock market decisions during Weirdmaggedon, to preserve what fortune they had left. How she felt more at home at the diner than she ever did at her own residence. How she hardly saw her parents anymore. How everything had changed for the worst. The way her parents had become about money, even how they scolded her for ‘nagging’ about her birthday the previous day, when it had been the first time she brought it up in half a year. It all hurt terribly to speak of but Pacifica couldn’t help but notice the sudden weightless feeling after getting everything out. She was surprised to find Old Man McGucket was still listening.

“Y’know,” he spoke finally, “Ah knew a fella once who thought ‘e had everythin’ before ‘e lost it all too. ‘Should’a been there for ‘im like he needed.”

Pacifica was quiet for a moment. “..W..ho was he?”

Fiddleford only waved his hand. “Ol’ college buddy. Doin’ mighty fine these days. Now whaddya say we get off’a the street an’ patch up that lil’ ol’ scratch a’ yours inside?”

It tooka moment to register the question through his southern accent, but when she did, her eyebrows knit together in confusion. “..I- inside..?”

Inside the mansion. Pacifica almost couldn’t believe it. Old Man McGucket was the one that bought the Northwest Manor. She wondered how on earth a former homeless man was possibly able to afford such a grand purchase, until peeks into a couple rooms along the hallway that had been filled with computers and strange machinery told her she didn’t know nearly as much about McGucket as she previously thought.

It was so strange walking through the hallways again. Everything was the same, but different. Was the grand rustic architecture and furniture always so beautiful? And… were those.. raccoons she was spotting out of the corner of her eyes?

McGucket led her to a room with a couch- a familiar silver-themed room with a certain carpet pattern. It looked nearly the same, except for the banjo leaning against the couch’s armrest, and maybe a few more stains than its previous flawless condition “for guests- that is, for guests to look at”. Despite her emotional state, she found herself smiling at the memory of her adventures with Dipper Pines, trying to bust that ghost… until she recalled the punishment her parents had made for her after that was all over. She began to feel a little sick. Her gaze dropped to the floor as McGucket trudged into the room, plopped onto the couch and patted the cushions beside him. Hesitantly, she followed him and did as gestured. It was.. weird to be back. She wiped her eyes again.

“How’d that’a happen?”

“..What?” the question hit her like a slap.

“The cut.” He gestured to the bleeding injury with a bandaged hand.

“...Oh.” Again, her gaze dropped. Her eyes began to mist again before she shut them. “..I-I.. I was.. um.. mugged on the way here… They stole my favorite purse…” Shame burned at her belly. She didn’t see any sign of judgement in McGucket’s reaction, though. He didn’t ask why she let that happen, or why she wasn’t responsible enough to bring someone with her. There was only concern for her.

“Oh.. ‘Ahm sorry that’a happened. Gravity Falls’s usually safe.. er- ah..” The old man scratched the back of his head. “‘least, it’s not the people ya gotta usually worry ‘bout.”

“Heh.. yeah..” Shrugging, the old man pulled out a full-blown first aid kid, temporarily baffling Pacifica for a moment. “Wai- were you just carrying that—?”

The question went without a response as McGucket went straight to disinfecting the cut. “‘Doesn’t look terri-bubly deep,” he piped. “Should’a stopped bleeding by now but we’ll patch it up ta’ keep it safe while it’s a-healin’.”

“Wait.. how do you know how to do this..?” Pacifica asked, furrowing her eyebrows a little. The old man gave her a cheery grin.

“Well, ‘gotta pick up somethin’ ‘bout it after livin’ in the dump buildin’ evil whatsits and thingamajigs outta rusty metal for a couple’a decades.”

..Oh. Well, that would make sense, she supposed.. Briefly, the question as to why he was being so nice to her after the way she and her family treated him crossed her mind. She wondered if that friend he mentioned had something to do with it… Suddenly she found herself wishing she’d paid closer attention to the details of the relationships between the other people involved in the zodiac. She guessed it could be that hotter Mr. Pines (or.. Dr. Pines?), she recalled seeing some kind of emotional exchange between him and McGucket during Weirdmaggedon.

Occupied with her thoughts, she hardly realized McGucket had completely finished with the bandage until he announced it.

“Done!” he cheered, stuffing the first aid kit back into the oblivion from which it came. Weird. More Gravity Falls weirdness. “...Thanks.”

“Anytime, sweetie. Y’always got’a listenin’ ear right here if ya’ need it.”

Pacifica gave him a small, grateful smile. The old man would never know what that meant to her.

“I.. I don’t know..” she sighed softly. “Today was just… awful… It’s the first birthday I’ll be spending alone, and I guess it’s… getting to me…”

“Yer birthday’s today?? Ah, Ah’m sorry, sugerbun,” McGucket spoke. “Awful break, goin’ through somethin’ like a’this on’a birthday mornin’. Say, ya always got a place right ‘ere if ya need. Plenty a’ empty bedrooms.”

Pacifica raised her head. “...R...Really..?”

McGucket beamed. “Why sure! Ya remind me a’ my lil’ Tator Tot, Ah’ miss ‘em somethin’ terrible. It gets a lil’ lonely in this ‘ere big ol’ mansion sometimes and ah wouldn’t mind a visit from some young folk from a’time ta’ time.”

She could… she could visit. Whenever she wanted? Her old home, without her parents around. McGucket was that okay with her? Even going so far as to compare her to (presumably) his own kid? That was… incredible. Before thinking it through, she threw her arms around the old man, chorusing her ‘thank you’s with a bubble of laughter. Though startled, Fiddleford slowly returned the hug with a warm smile.

He stank quite a bit. Pacifica recoiled a little at the realization of what she was doing. Ew. What would people think of her if they caught her doing something so unthinkable? Willingly embracing this stinky old man who…. gave incredible hugs.. Her concern suddenly dissolved. In its stead, a certain safety appeared, and she melted into it a little more. It was the same feeling she craved in her dreams. Dirt didn’t matter at all anymore. The feeling of a parental embrace shielding her from the unpleasantness of the world was all she could bring herself to care about at that moment. It felt so warm… Before she knew it, she was tearing up again.

“...Thank you, McGucket..”

“Heheh, anytime, sugarbun. Say, since it is yer birthday, whaddya say we hit th’ town an’ find somethin’ ta’ cheer ya up?”

Pacifica wiped her eyes with her palm. What an offer... To think a year ago she would never had even considered walking around with the old kook as a possible option, but.. She found herself looking forward to it. “I… I would love that.”

[Part 1 of ??? possibly 2??]

[honestlyfragile]

Jinxed - Bang Chan

Pairing: Bang Chan x Female reader

Genre: fluff, crack, winter!au

Wc: 3.1k

Summary: Chan had always had a thing for knick knacks, and you’re just right on season. But are refunds possible? Or will he just have to deal with being… jinxed?

Your novelty shop was a tradition passed onto your family for decades. It was open all year round but since Christmas was around the corner, it was more active than ever. You sold items that were brand new, and some antiques that were either donated, or preserved stocks that haven’t been sold in years.

Ever since winter break, your mother certainly took the chance of asking you to watch the store this time, and you couldn’t really turn her down. Besides. it wasn’t that hard to do so. You would just punch the items on the cash register, then it’s sold. Pretty easy, right? Except for when customers have way too many questions. Especially for the antique items. Questions that go as far as the origin of the item, which you should know of. Gladly, every single donated item had its own story to tell.

It was a few minutes before your lunch break, but just as you were going to put up the “On Lunch Break” sign, a boy with ash blonde hair with a faded brown undertone wearing a thick, black leather jacket with a red knitted scarf entered the store. His eyes slowly wandering from left to right as soon as the chimes on the door tingled. You sigh, but you had to entertain them. Your lunch could wait.

“Good day! How can I help you?” You smile.

“Uh, yes good day to you too,” he awkwardly greets, and you give him a nod.

“Looking for anything in particular?”

“Oh i was hoping to buy a snow globe.” He rubs his cold hands together, his pale skin turning red.

“We have a lot of those here, do you prefer new ones or antiques?” You suggest.

“Antiques? Those seem cool, they are still in good condition, right?”

“Of course they are. Let me show you where it is.” You exit the cash register and lead him into the section of the well preserved antique snow globes. “Some of these go way back fifty years ago. But they are a bit pricier the older they are.” You give him a heads up.

“That should be fine. Fifty years you say? May I take a look at that?” His eyes light up, you start to think that maybe he did have a thing for collecting these kind.

You scan the selection and carefully reach for the one that had an intricately carved bronze base, while the globe had a small Christmas village on it. With both hands, you hand it over for him to observe.

“Wow.” He lightly shakes it to make the snow flakes float around. “May I know the origins of this one?” He says, eyes still glued to the knick knack.

“That one is from England. It was donated to us.”

“Interesting. How much is it?” He looks at you this time, and notices your nametag.

You couldn’t help but smile back at the excitement of this boy. “It’s a hundred and fifty dollars.”

His eyes widen, but doesn’t complain. “Consider it sold.”

You carefully take the item from him, and go back to the cash register. You get it a nice box and tie it with a red ribbon, for the design and security of the package. “Here you go, thank you for the purchase.” You smile and hand it to him.

“Thank you, ____.” He smiles, turns his back and leaves the store. You could finally have your lunch.

It was kind of him to have taken note of your name, but you never really got his. But he was just a customer anyways.

----

Chan arrived home and ever so carefully took out the item he had purchased from your store. He lightly tugs on the red ribbon that you had beautifully knotted around the box, and they slowly fall on the sides. He opens it and cautiously slips his quite large hands into the box, and he could barely fit it inside. Still, he tried to grip the glass ball and once he had gotten a hold of it, he flips it over with care. Bothered by the fingerprints that he left on it, he took it with both hands and fogged up the glass with his warm breath. He wipes it with his sweater paws and it went back to its crystalline form. Satisfied, he shakes it to make the snowflakes float around and places it on his bedside table, where his lamp shade was also located.

He smiles, pleased with what he just acquired, which he thought was a rare item. It was, and he had absolutely no idea what it might bring him.

----

The weather was more frigid than usual, it was zero close to negative. He had checked all of his windows if they were tightly shut, and they were. He shudders, and rubs his palms together and warms it with his breath. He tries to turn the heat up, because the temperature indoors most certainly wouldn’t do.

“What the heck?” He fumbles with the heater, which didn’t want to turn on. Even if it was very much plugged into the mounted outlet on the wall. He unplugs it, then plugs again. But it still didn’t work. “The power couldn’t be out, the lights are fine, the others are working too..” he pouts and scratches the back of his head.

Setting aside the busted appliance, he thought that maybe he could just eat and drink something warm, like hot chocolate and some spicy ramen. He pours hot water onto his mug and mixes in the dark cocoa powder and adds two tablespoons of brown sugar. The scent and aroma kissing his nose. He lifts the mug onto his lips, and carefully takes a sip— it was too hot. He got startled because his tongue got stung by the burning sensation, and at the same time, some of the drink has also spilled on his clothes. “Shit.” He mumbles, frustrated. He couldn’t even enjoy a cup of hot chocolate without something unfortunate happening. Maybe his luck with making ramen would be fine, he’s done this a hundred times, what could possibly go wrong?

Now more cautious than ever with his actions, he gets a cooking pot and fills it halfway with water. He grips it tightly, just in case the water would want to suddenly leap out of the pot, right? Safe. The pot made it to the top of the stove, and he sighs in relief. He turns up the heat, setting it to high and impatiently waited for it to boil. He was freezing.

Chan had his own way of making ramen, he learned it from a former room mate. He puts the seasoning powder first and lets it simmer before he boils the noodles. He was doing so well until the gas stove had suddenly just stopped heating the food. The fire had disappeared, and his noodles weren’t even soft enough to be eaten yet. He tries to stay calm, and turns the knob of the stove over and over again, but no sign of ignition. He ran out of gas.

“You have got to be kidding me.” his palms rest on the marble counter, the cold sensation hitting his skin and he flinches. He curses to himself, he has never been this unlucky before.

He had no choice, he couldn’t just throw the meal away. He got his electric kettle and hoped that the noodles would continue to cook there. He transfers the half cooked ramen to the small opening of the kettle and it slightly spills on the side, but thankfully, he made it work.

“Who eats ramen that was cooked in a electric kettle? Psh.” He shakes his head in disbelief, but eats it anyways.

As he quietly tried to enjoy his meal, his head uplifts to look at his wall calendar, thinking that it might have been Friday the 13th or he might have stepped on a crack on the pavements on his way home. His bad luck had to come from somewhere. And to his surprise, it was. December 13th, 2019, Friday. And for once, he had believed that it all made sense. It was just Friday the thirteenth.

-----

Chan woke up the next day, not sure if he felt lucky or not. The first thing he does is get his phone from his side table, his eyes barely even opened. Before he could even read the time, his phone drops on his face, and hits his nose, hard. “Jesus!” He rubs the bridge of his nose, now quite red from the impact of the gadget. He runs his hands through his hair and carefully stands and stretches. He walks over to a safe spot, making sure that his limbs won’t knock anything over. He successfully does his push-ups. He walks over to the blank wall beside his desk and does a handstand. So far, so good. He huffed, and does a couple handstand push-ups, then carefully plops down.

He heads over to his desk to shake the snow globe that he bought, takes his small time admiring the details of what was inside, then sets it down once again. He goes to the bathroom and washes his face with a cleanser as he lathers it lavishly. By the time that he tried to turn on the sink again, there wasn’t any water coming out of it. He opens his eyes as a reflex, totally forgetting that he still has soap in his eyes, causing it to sting. And as another reflex, he rubs his eyes only to find out that the hand he used was covered in foam as well. He stomps his foot, nothing has ever went his way ever since he got home from your store. The only way that he could possibly remove all the residue on his face was to use the drinking water he had, which was an absolute waste. As the saying goes, “When ill luck begins, it does not come in sprinkles but in showers.”

Chan started to think that maybe something else had been bringing him this horrible luck. Many Friday the thirteenths have passed in his whole 23-year old life but he has never had it this bad. Actually, he could not recall the last time where he was running out of luck. Chan wasn’t the type of person to believe in superstitions that much, but the shower of unfortunate events made him believe that it wasn’t just all a coincidence.

He sat in front of his desk, plopping down on his swiveling chair. He runs his hands through his hair and goes in deep thought. Again he glances at the snow globe. He crosses his arms. “Could it be?” he shakes his head, “no, no, it can’t it’s a snow globe what can it possibly do?” He pauses. “But what if it is? Should i go back and ask for a refund or would that be too stupid?” He raises his eyebrows and puts his hand under his chin. He was literally having a conversation with himself at this point and it was hilarious.

He abruptly stands up, causing him to get dizzy. He rubs his temples and proceeds to grab his coat, he was going back to your store. He got the box that was used for the snow globe and even the ribbon, of course he didn’t know how to tie it as good as you did, nonetheless he tried to get the package to the original stage that it was in.

It had been snowing a handful outside but it was still safe to drive. He places the package on the passenger’s seat and even blocks it with a seatbelt. “It could have been you. You’re the one who’s bringing me bad luck. You can’t fool me with how good you look.” He glances over the item, and proceeds to drive. The light had been yellow and he tried to beat it, unfortunately he was caught and halted onto the side. He was given a driving ticket. His bad luck was a whole avalanche.

He arrives at the store, practically storming in. You were surprised to see the boy again, but the smile on his face has definitely vanished. “May I help you?” you look at him, puzzled.

He arrives at the counter and sets down the item. “Yes i would like a refund.”

“We don’t do refunds sir I’m sorry. But is the item damaged? Why would you want to make a refund?” You questioned, surprised because no one has ever asked a refund from your store, for as far as you could remember.

“No, it’s perfectly fine. Physically.” He looks down on his feet, his ears turn red.

“Then I don’t seem to understand the problem here sir.” You were still very much confused.

“It’s just, i don’t want it anymore.” He stutters and purses his lips in embarrassment, he couldn’t get himself to say that it was because he thought that it was bringing him bad luck.

“I told you, we don’t do refunds. And what’s with the reason that you have? That’s not very sensible.” You raise your eyebrows, like you knew that he wasn’t telling you something.

“Please I can’t really take this thing home anymore” he pleads but it was still very much ineffective.

“Not until you tell us why you don’t want it anymore. I clearly remember how excited you were when you got it.” You look at him in disbelief.

“It brings me bad luck!” he blurts out, and bites his lips. He fidgets with his cuticles.

“It what?” you couldn’t help but laugh, and you knew that it was impolite to do so. But it didn’t make sense to you at all. But you purse your lips right away.

“You heard me. I’m not saying it again.” He looks down, his ears red from being flustered, and fidgets with his cuticles once again.

“Okay let’s have a deal then, you leave that item here for a day and see if anything changes. Also, if you don’t come back then I won’t be giving you your money.” You shrug, hoping to have made a decent deal with this bothered young man.

He takes a deep breath and doesn’t make eye contact. As if he did not want to agree. “Fine.” he finally lets out, and you smile.

“So it’s settled then?” You get the package from him and store it somewhere for safe keeping. You could not believe you had just agreed to this boy’s request. He was cute anyways, totally harmless.

Instantly, Chan was in a better mood. He just felt like he was lucky again, or at the very least he was back to normal. He smiles at you, and for the first time, it was blinding. Like the whole atmosphere of the store has changed. You were stunned, you could barely hear what he was saying.

He waves his hands in front of your face, and you snap out of it. “___ hello?” He calls you by your name once again and you swear it has never sounded that good. “I’ll be coming back yeah? Thanks for letting me work out this situation of mine.” He clicks his tongue, and winks. Before you knew it, he was out of your store.

-----

It was something about him returning the item that made you feel a sudden change, whether it was in you or amongst your surroundings. For some reason, you have looked forward to seeing him again, when back then you could not have cared less. Getting a crush on a customer wasn’t so practical now, was it?

Business is booming today. You watch people go in and out of the shop but the one person you hoped to see didn’t come. You anticipated his return because for the first time, you looked forward to working your shift. But you still never got his name. Good old no name.

But just when you were about to wrap things up and close the store, he catches up to the entrance. He breathes heavily and pants, the white December air escaping is lips. His throat is dry, so he swallows before he speaks. “Look, wait is it too late to get that refund?”

You sigh, you were about to lock the door already. “Well, technically yes. But since you made the effort, i’ll go and open for a bit again.” You try to hide your smile as you turn your back, but you knew that he did the same. The lights were back on and you head to the register. “So, were you lucky today?” you laugh, as if it were to be teasing him of his absurd reason yesterday.

“Y-yeah. Pretty lucky. I mean look i made it whole today.” He straightens his coat and brushes off the snow.

“If you were lucky, you wouldn’t have been late today.” you chaff, shaking your head.

“That’s a different story okay! I had to attend to something” he reasoned out.

He was adorable. You couldn’t deny that. But you loved to see him all defensive. “Okay, fine. Here you go. I’m not telling my mother about this refund so let’s just pretend it never happened or else i’ll get in trouble.” You take the cash out of the register and hand it to him.

“Your mother? Why?” He asks out of curiosity.

“We own the place so yeah. This is basically breaking the rules…” you trail off. “Anyways. I guess i won’t be seeing you again since the whole thing is sorted out now.” You don’t exactly know if you shoot your shot with what you just said.

“Who says we’ll just see each other here?” he smirks and you were taken back. Your cheeks flush bright red. He caught on.

“I work here, not really much free time with me.” you fumble with the closest thing you could get your hands on, which was a pen with a red fuzzy ball on top.

“I’m going to test my luck one last time today” He rubs his hands together and takes a deep breath.

“Huh?”

“Where are you going after this? Like after you close the store.”

“Uh, home?”

“Do you want to… perhaps get some coffee with me? Or hot chocolate, only if you’d like.” He smiles, and you’re weak on the knees.

“I’d love to.” Your cheeks were flushed but you didn’t care, he actually asked you out!

“Well I guess that’s enough luck for today. Shall we go?” He offers, but you had one last question in mind.

“I don’t even know your name.” You playfully roll your eyes and cross your arms.

“Chan. Or Chris, or… cutie whatever floats your boat.” He giggles and it was music to your ears.

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

Moonlight Chapter 15: Alder and Spruce

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 15/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Fourteen+

Chapter Sixteen+ >>

Note:

Throughout the story, text set in ALL CAPS indicates that it is in Morse Code.

----------------------------------

“How was your New Year?” Rachel asked cheerfully on Friday morning.

Miranda paused in the middle of pouring herself a cup of coffee from the press-pot on the Lee’s kitchen counter and glanced at Severus. He was leafing through a book that he had found sitting on the table, but he looked up long enough to give Miranda an ironic smirk.

“Tolerable,” Miranda said evenly. “How was yours?”

Rachel either didn’t notice, or chose to ignore the exchange and she said, “Just fine, although I was in bed well before 1996 started. Do you read Japanese, Severus?”

“No. Not at all,” he answered, still studying the volume. “Is this a book of spells?”

“Not exactly. It’s a facsimile of the Murakami Tenchi hajimari no koto, which is the sacred book of the Kakure Kirishitans.”

“Kakure Kirishitans?”

“It means, ‘hidden Christians.’ During the Edo period it was punishable by death to be a Christian in Japan, so those that remained faithful practiced in secret. The Tenchi existed as an oral tradition as much, or more, than a written one, and I’ve been comparing the different versions that we have records of. It would be fascinating enough as a religious study, but there is also evidence that the Kirishitans coded magical knowledge that they learned from their contact with the western missionaries and traders before Japan closed its borders in the seventeenth century.”

Rachel had started to speak excitedly as she explained her research, but she broke off when she realized that Severus was staring intently at her. Her pregnancy-flushed cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink, and Miranda smiled behind her coffee mug, recognizing the greedy look Severus’s face always wore when confronted with some heretofore unknown piece of knowledge.

“I’m sorry,” Rachel said sheepishly. “I tend to get carried away when I’m talking about Edo Japan. I know it’s not the most interesting thing to listen to.”

“On the contrary,” Severus replied, “I would be interested to read your findings.”

“Oh. Well, I’d be happy to send them to you. Will you be joining us this morning?”

“I’m afraid not. I am here only to prevent Miranda from falling into another tebo pit before she manages to replace her wand.”

“Which you’ve done admirably,” Miranda said, blowing on her coffee.

Rachel smiled and said, “I’ll be ready as soon as I get my things. Have a good day, Severus.”

When Rachel was out of sight, Severus closed the book and crossed the kitchen to where Miranda was leaning against the counter. He tilted her chin up with the tip of a long finger.

“You are to stay out of trouble today,” he said sternly.

She opened her eyes wide and replied innocently, “What? Me get into trouble? Perish the thought.”

He gave her a withering look, and set her coffee mug on the counter in order to kiss her soundly.

“Do you need anything from Diagon Alley?” she asked, toying with his hair when they broke apart.

Despite the fervor in his kiss, his face was still stern and his tone imperious. “Salamander blood and unicorn horn. Although I hesitate to entrust the choosing of such subtle ingredients to you.”

Rachel was showing no signs of returning to the kitchen, so Miranda used the opportunity to apply her lips to a spot on Severus’s neck that was never quite protected by his high collars. It tended to render him incoherent when stimulated, something she found useful when he was becoming overbearing. The muscles in his neck tensed and his frown became fiercer as her lips began their work, but, before long, his breathing became a bit ragged, his eyes drifted closed, and one corner of his mouth curled into half of a smile.

She pulled back, the better to admire her handiwork, and asked saucily, “What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Hmmm?” he said distractedly. “I seem to have forgotten whatever it was that I was saying. When should I expect you?”

“I’m having lunch with Rachel, so late afternoon. Do try to remember to eat something. There’s some leftover stew in the icebox.”

“I make no promises. Until then.” He traced her cheek with his finger and headed back to the cabin, where his lesson plans--and Miranda’s potions--awaited.

“Miranda, if you don’t tell me everything that’s been going on with that man, I might have to stop being your friend,” Rachel joked when she returned to the kitchen.

Miranda laughed. “Over lunch, I promise.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

The ladies made their way up to the main floor of the Embassy and queued for the communal fireplace. Rachel shifted her weight from foot to foot as they waited, as though she were not quite used to the new weight she was carrying. She was a small woman and the baby was already rounding out her middle nicely.

“Rachel, you’re absolutely glowing. How are you feeling today?” Miranda asked.

Rachel sighed and rested her hands protectively on her belly. “Pretty well. My hands ache most of the time, but the nausea’s finally gone. I’m still exhausted in the evenings and Aaron keeps teasing me about going to bed so early. But I keep telling him that we have to sleep while we can. Once the baby’s here, there won’t be the opportunity for years.” She smiled slyly at Miranda and added, “Speaking of sleep, I was surprised to see you so early.”

“I know. You can blame Severus for that. I thought that Patrick was punctual, but Severus takes the cake.”

"How is Patrick?"

"Well. He and Anna are expecting a baby in the spring too."

"That'll be four for them, right?"

"Yes. I think they're hoping for a boy to balance out all the girls."

"And how's the Romanian coming?"

"More quickly than I'd thought. Severus seems to be a natural at picking up languages and I'll be damned if I'm going to let him learn it faster than I do. Especially since I had a week's head start.”

They reached the front of the queue and Rachel stepped up to the fireplace first. She took a pinch of Floo Powder from the mouth of the bronze Piasa bird on the mantel and tossed it into the fire. The green flames flared up impressively and she shouted “Diagon Alley” as she stepped into them. Miranda followed suit and the ladies emerged into the dimly lit dining room of the Leaky Cauldron.

“Good morning, Tom,” Rachel said pleasantly as they dusted soot from their cloaks.

“Mornin’ Mrs. Lee. Will you be wantin’ anything this mornin’?” Tom grunted as he wiped the bar with a rag of questionable cleanliness.

“No, thank you.”

Tom shrugged and Rachel followed Miranda out into the sunny January morning. It was one of those cold, eerily bright days and they pulled their cloaks more closely about them and huddled together as they hurried over the cobblestones to get out of the frigid weather.

Ollivander’s shop was on the south side of Diagon Alley and Miranda held the door for Rachel as they ducked into it. The shop was long and narrow with so many wand boxes stacked in every available spot that the light from the windows was almost totally obscured. Miranda and Rachel craned their necks upwards as they stared, awestruck at the selection.

“I don’t know how I’m ever going to choose one,” Miranda murmured.

“You do not choose the wand,” came a clipped voice from the back of the shop. “The wand chooses the witch.”

Miranda’s body tensed instinctively and her hand went to her empty wand pocket. Rachel seemed unconcerned, and she gave a friendly smile to the thin, wrinkled man who appeared behind the counter and eyed the women somewhat suspiciously.

“Americans, I see,” he sniffed.

"I'm afraid so," Miranda said easily, relaxing her stance. "My wand broke in an accident a few days ago and I need a replacement."

He gave her a horrified look. "I hope that you intend to take better care of this one."

"Of course,” she answered, but then she snapped, "Hey! That's getting a bit fresh I think." Several tape measures had begun attempting to examine most of Miranda's body and she swatted at them. They drew back as though affronted.

"Ahem," Mr. Ollivander cleared his throat. "Young lady, I am afraid that you will have to be measured if you hope to be fitted with a wand. I had thought that you had been through the process before."

Miranda pursed her lips. "We do things differently where I'm from."

Mr. Ollivander gave her a look of barely concealed contempt, and she allowed the tape measures to continue. They did so, although it seemed grudgingly. Mr. Ollivander began examining his stores, fingering the boxes fondly as he did. He went up and down ladders, pulling out box after box while he muttered to himself. Each time he chose one, he would shake his head and push it back into its stack. At long last, the frisky tape measures floated away and Mr. Ollivander set two fine wooden boxes on the counter.

He opened the first to reveal a plain, but beautiful dark brown wand. “Alder and Dragon’s Heartstring, ten inches, rigid,” he said. “Excellent for nonverbal spells and exceptionally loyal once won over. Extremely proud and difficult to control before that happens. Perfect for the duelist.”

Miranda picked up the wand and savored the feel of the smooth wood in her hand. She decided to start with something basic and flicked it experimentally as she thought, Wingardium leviosa. A stack of twenty boxes shot into the air, and clattered noisily to the floor.

Mr. Ollivander sighed and waved his wand to clean the mess.

"A bit sensitive, aren't you baby?" Miranda said with a smile.

She replaced the wand and Mr. Ollivander opened the second box. This wand was also made of a dark wood, but it was intricately carved.

"Dragon's heartstring and Spruce. Ten and three quarter inches, flexible. A powerful wand, perfect for the brazen spellcaster, particularly if she has a good sense of humor."

This wand also felt good in Miranda's hand. She repeated her test and the quill sitting on the counter floated gracefully up and down. She tried it on a few other items in the shop and each one behaved obediently.

"This one seems easier to manage," she observed. "Although I wonder if the other might give better results after I got over the learning curve."

She set down the Spruce wand and went to pick up the Alder. Her hand was still six inches away when the wand leapt into it. Mr. Ollivander raised his eyebrows and she curled her fingers around it.

Wingardium Leviosa she thought as she flicked it at her messenger bag where it sat on the floor. The bag rose quickly into the air and began to set itself lightly on the counter. All seemed well, until the Alder decided to try to set the bag on top of the Spruce wand. Mr. Ollivander snatched the Spruce away just in time, a look of patient long-suffering on his face.

"Hmmm..." Miranda repeated her test and a few more items rose and fell evenly. By the fifth try, the items were rising and sinking exactly as she chose, and even seemed to move with more grace and panache than they had with the Spruce wand.

She turned back to the counter and said, "Why don't I give the Spruce another go, just to be sure." She tried to set the Alder back in its box, but when she uncurled her fingers, the wand stuck stubbornly to her hand.

Rachel laughed and said, "I think it likes you."

Mr. Ollivander nodded solemnly. "The wand chooses the witch."

"I guess I can't argue with that," Miranda agreed with a smile.

******

It was almost noon by the time Rachel and Miranda hurried out of the cold into The North Wind. They stood in the doorway, stamping the snow off their boots and enjoying the warmth from the enormous fireplace. When they had some feeling back in their faces, they approached the bored-looking waitress by the cash register. She was young, obviously on break from school, and her electric blue hair made an odd contrast with her prim, black and white dress.

“Welcome to The North Wind,” she muttered around a wad of chewing gum. “Do you want a damask, a linen, or a checked cotton?”

“Damask, I think,” Miranda answered.

The waitress shrugged, flicked her wand, and a richly patterned green damask tablecloth floated up from behind the counter. Rachel and Miranda followed it through the wooden longhouse, underneath a ceiling that was littered with shields, spears, drinking horns, and a viking longboat. When they reached the back corner, the tablecloth unrolled and settled itself neatly over a round table.

Rachel sighed heavily as she sat down, and she took the liberty of putting her feet up on the chair next to Miranda.

“Are you sure about the damask?” Rachel asked after they and their packages were settled.

Miranda smiled easily. “Oh yes. This is a business lunch charged to Lucius Malfoy by way of the Ministry of Magic. I mean, surely Malfoy was simply testing my abilities at his party. That would make the damage done to my wand a business expense. And we have to eat after all that exertion replacing the wand. So, yes, it’s definitely a damask day.”

Rachel laughed and they put their hands on the tablecloth. Immediately, platters of Swedish pancakes, lingonberries, sausage, meatballs, and cakes appeared, alongside mugs of coffee, tea, and mead. It was a feast fit for warriors and the ladies happily tucked into it.

They had done quite a number on Diagon Alley after Ollivander’s. First they had been to Flourish and Blotts for Strega Ilithyia’s Wanderings with your Wee Wizard or Witch, followed by Slug and Jiggers for the potions ingredients. Miranda had sent the poor clerk back and forth so many times before she approved of the salamander blood and unicorn horn, that he had muttered something comparing her to Professor Snape in terms of choosiness. She felt sorry for the young man, but she knew that she had succeeded in selecting specimens that would meet with Severus’s approval. Next, they had taken a turn through Thumbelina’s Things for Tykes to finger the outrageously priced baby trousseaux. The last stop before lunch had been Kircher’s Kabinet of Kuriosities. Miranda had been looking for something specific among the astonishing array of antiques, and it had taken her nearly an hour to find it.

“Romania is absolutely fascinating,” Miranda began, avoiding the topic she knew Rachel most wanted to discuss. She did this partly to tease her friend, and partly to put off the moment when she would have to decide exactly what to say about Severus. She had spent the morning deliberating, and she still had not quite settled on what she should share and what she should conceal. “Did you know that they don’t have a school?”

“No, I didn’t,” Rachel answered. “That does sound fascinating, but…”

“Some of the families send their children to Durmstrang,” Miranda interrupted, “but most of them stay in Romania and are trained by teachers called Solomnari. There are ten Solomnari, one for each district, and the children spend a year with each.”

“That must make for a varied education. Now, about…”

“They learn to ride dragons, if you can believe it. I hope I get the chance…”

“Miranda!” Rachel gave her as stern a look as was possible while still smiling. “You had better tell me what’s going on with tall, dark, and silent, or I’ll lose my temper.”

Miranda laughed. “You couldn’t be angry with me. But I’m glad you think he’s silent. He must have behaved the night of the party.”

“He was…intense, but polite. Is he not usually?”

“He’s got a mouth on him, that’s for sure.”

“As bad as Finnian’s?”

“Worse. Finnian had Patrick and Seamus to keep him in line, so he developed a filter. Although, in fairness, I usually find Severus’s remarks amusing. Usually. He’s also very intelligent and can be quite thoughtful when he wants to be. He took it upon himself to brew all the potions I’ll need for my first month in Romania when he really should be writing lesson plans.”

Rachel swallowed a forkful of pancake and lingonberry. “That’s sweet. How did you meet him?”

“At work.”

“Oh dear. Which case?”

“The vampire one. He wandered into the alley at just the right moment, so I made him my accomplice for the night.”

“It seems as though it’s been longer than a night.”

Miranda shrugged as she cut up a piece of sausage. “It’s been off and on. He’s completely devoted to his work.”

“I think a lot of teachers are.”

Miranda shook her head. “No, I don’t mean the work at Hogwarts.” She glanced around and, when she noted that the nearest patrons were on the other side of the dining room and deeply involved in what appeared to be an argument, she added quietly, “He’s in the Order and his assignment’s dodgy. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I gather that it’s not the safest thing in the world for him to have a relationship at the moment.” She hoped Rachel’s usually keen insight wouldn’t see through her bending the truth a bit. She decided not to add anything about the Voldemort connection. That was something that she hoped she would never have to discuss with the Lees. They were understanding, forgiving people, but Miranda doubted that they would be eager to have her involved with a Death Eater--even a former one.

Rachel looked thoughtful as she sipped her tea. “It sounds like it’s getting serious if you’re risking so much to be together.”

“No,” Miranda said lightly. “It’s a fling. A great fling, but a fling nonetheless.”

Rachel’s thoughtful look turned dubious.

“What?” Miranda asked, a little defensively. “I’m a grown woman. I can’t have a fling if I want to?”

“You know I wouldn’t judge you,” Rachel reassured her. “He just seemed so worried about you when he thought you’d gone missing the other night. I wonder if he cares more for you than you realize.”

Miranda blew on her coffee before answering. “I don’t think so. If I had to guess, I’d say that he’s in love with his childhood sweetheart.” She took a sip and added, “But I don’t mind. I don’t think he’s the marrying kind anyway. Hell, I don’t think I’m the marrying kind.” This was true, for the most part. Whatever pull Miranda might have felt towards something deeper than friendship and fucking was severely tempered by a desire not to be responsible for another wizard’s undying love and devotion. It hadn’t gone terribly well the first time and she was not eager to repeat the experiment.

“You used to be the marrying kind,” Rachel observed mildly.

Miranda sighed. “That was a long time ago. David was different. I was different.” She spooned some sugar into her mug and stirred it for a moment, watching the black liquid form a small whirlpool. “I expect that eventually I’ll go back home and Severus will stay here and I’ll have a lot of spicy stories to season my memoirs.”

Rachel was silent for a long time and when she finally spoke, it was with some hesitation. “Miranda, is it possible that this is really about Isaac?”

Miranda felt a wave of panic in the pit of her stomach. It had been years since anyone had dared to mention that name to her. Every muscle in her body tensed and she said icily, “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t bring him up.”

“So you haven’t told Severus about…”

“Of course not!” Miranda snapped. “And I’ll thank you to drop the subject.”

Rachel looked distressed and said softly, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

Miranda took a deep breath to calm herself. She knew that Rachel meant well. She laid a hand over Rachel’s and said, “I’m sorry for snapping. I simply don’t want to talk about it.” Forcing a smile, she went on, “Tell me about the baby and the pregnancy instead. I want to hear every detail.”

*****

Severus flipped the pork shoulder with a flick of his wand. It was simmering quietly in its pot and the milk was well on its way to coagulating into a delicious brown mass. He had been dubious when Miranda had made this dish for him in the fall, insisting that her sister-in-law’s recipe was foolproof. She had proved her point, though, when the result of the three hour simmer had far surpassed the sum of the two simple ingredients. There was at least another hour left now before it would be ready, and he set the lid back in place for the duration.

The sun was low in the sky and he threw on his cloak to go out into the afternoon. The wind whipped violently off the Channel, and as soon as he was free of the wards surrounding the cabin, he Apparated to Miranda’s makeshift training ground five miles inland. He appeared with a crack in a clearing surrounded by gnarled, bare trees and covered in sloppy piles of melting snow. There had been a thaw during the last few days, and dirty puddles of water sat sullenly where the still frozen earth could not absorb them. The wizened trees did manage to block some of the wind and this, combined with a ring of torches that Miranda had conjured around the edge of the tree line, made outdoor training tolerable. Miranda was standing in the center of the clearing, hard at work with her wand when Severus found her.

“Expecto patronum,” she cast with a flourish. A silvery feline about twice the size of a house cat sprang forth and ran towards him. She turned and smiled at him as her Patronus circled him.

“A lynx?” he asked, studying the animal.

“No,” she corrected. “A bobcat.”

“I am not familiar with that particular breed.”

“They’re wild American cats.”

He smirked. “I would have expected something larger, although a wild cat does seem to suit you.”

“I wouldn’t scoff if I were you,” she chided. “A bobcat can bring down a deer if it wants to.”

His face must have shown his amusement, because she asked, “What’s so funny?”

He waved his wand and commanded, “Expecto patronum.” A silvery doe leapt from it and bounded around the clearing. Miranda started laughing and the bobcat stopped circling Severus in order to chase the doe. The witch and the wizard watched the Patroni chase one another until the shimmering beings disappeared behind the trees.

When they were gone, Miranda turned to Severus and asked, “Are you up for a sparring match?”

He stipulated, “If you are certain you have that thing under control.”

She had spent quite a bit of time practicing with the Alder in the cabin, which had resulted in a fair amount of destruction and minor injuries. Severus had found the process highly amusing to watch, although the wand had paid him back in spades on the one night they had spent at his quarters at Hogwarts. He had wanted to set her wand to open his door and, when he had cast the necessary spell, the blasted thing had shocked him. Miranda had laughed and said that her wand was very loyal to her. And, the more she learned to use it, the truer that seemed.

“It’s all in the way you talk to it,” she said.

Severus took this as answer enough, and they bowed formally to each other. They turned to mark their twenty paces, and then whirled back to cast the first attack in one fluid motion. Her white sparks and his red ones met and sizzled, but it was a languid exchange, more of a tease than anything. Another volley went forth, quicker and stronger the first, followed by a third, and a fourth.

Severus felt that Miranda did indeed have her wand under control and decided to test her further. If the truth were to be told, he was eager to see what she was made of. Without further preamble, he slashed his wand at her, and a whirlwind twisted out of the tip. She grinned wickedly when she saw it ripping its way across the clearing, spewing snow in all directions as it bore down on her. She snapped her wand violently, and a jet stream of hot air shot underneath the tornado. The windstorm slowly lost speed and, before Severus’s eyes, it started spinning back towards him. He darted away to give himself time to halt the spell.

By the time the tornado had fizzled into nothingness, Severus was underneath the canopy of the trees. Miranda was right behind him, and she flicked her wand to pull a branch down on his head. He blasted it in half, and she immediately brought down another. He deflected this one to her, but she vaulted it and it clattered harmlessly to the ground ten feet behind her.

As soon as she landed, he was ready with another wand flick and she was jerked into the air by her ankle. He had started to smile by now as she rose towards the tree branches.

“I’ll bet you do this to all the girls,” she quipped, sounding completely relaxed as she undid the clasp of her cloak and let it fall to the earth below her.

“That was my reason for inventing it,” he bantered back. “Although it is much more satisfying when the ladies in question neglect to wear trousers under their robes.”

“Ha! You’d have to ask awfully nice if you wanted that sort of a thrill.”

By this time, she had floated high enough to be among the tree branches and she slashed her wand at him, knocking him to the ground. With another slash, she liberated herself from his spell. In one motion, she pocketed her wand and caught hold of a nearby branch, swinging around it like a circus performer, and landed lightly in a squat on the upper side of it. She had her wand out as soon as she landed, and sent a string of hexes at him from her perch.

“Thanks for the high ground!” she laughed as he dodged her onslaught.

“A miscalculation on my part,” he returned. “I should have realized you were part monkey.”

After he had physically dodged the third hex, he was able to start parrying them with his own hexes, but could not make any advance on her.

“This will never do,” he chided.

Miranda had fallen into a somewhat predictable rhythm with her attacks, and Severus took advantage of the mistake to counter and thrust during one of the pauses. A shower of arrows appeared over her head, and she had to ignore him for a moment in order to turn them into a harmless spray of flowers. In the time it took her to do that, he sent a stream of ice onto the branch and trunk of her tree. She lost her balance on the branch and fell towards the earth, but she slowed her descent with a flick of her wand, hit the ground in a somersault, and rolled to her feet in a fluid motion.

He applied the ice spell to the ground between them, turning it into a treacherous path of frozen earth. She turned her attention to maintaining her balance, and he used the opportunity to snatch her wand out of her hand and call it to his.

“You naughty boy,” she purred, but she did not try to retrieve her wand immediately.

Instead, she backed away a few paces, and then charged him, going into a slide as she hit the icy patch. He was so focused on catching her wand, and so surprised by her physical attack that he made for easy prey. She crashed into him, feet first, and he went tumbling over her, landing awkwardly on his side. As she reached the end of the ice, Miranda pushed herself to her feet and snapped her fingers to call her wand back to her. Severus tried to keep hold of it, but the Alder wand started sending stabbing pains into his hand again, and he had to let go.

“What on earth was that?” he demanded, but he was having difficulty restraining his desire to laugh.

“The result of having four older brothers,” she replied jubilantly.

Her face was radiant with exertion and mirth, and Severus was distracted by its beauty long enough that she was halfway across the clearing before he realized that she was headed for the ruins of a stone wall and staircase tucked into the edge of it. He scrambled to his feet and gave chase, but he could not stop her from once again claiming the high ground.

She climbed to the top of the crumbling staircase and whirled back to him, just as he had managed to leap onto the lower part of the wall. As she flicked her wand, a massive, fork-tailed bird flew forth, shooting lightning bolts at him, to his astonishment. The first one grazed his shoulder, and he had to physically dodge the next bolt before he managed to cast a shield charm. The lightning slammed into his shield, knocking him backwards off of the wall, but the shield held firm. After a few moments of the attack, he noticed that there was a pause after every seventh bolt, and he used the opportunity to cast his favorite curse at her.

The Sectumsempra flew silently at Miranda, but she sensed its approach and deflected it to the side. It grazed her arm, neck, and cheek, causing her to lose her balance on the edge of the staircase. She let herself fall lightly and rolled across the wet snow. The Thunderbird disappeared and Severus bounded over the wall to her. She was lying on the ground, singing the quiet incantation to heal the wounds from his final curse.

“You have to show me that one again,” she said as he gave her his hand to pull her to her feet. “As in, right now. Where did you learn that?”

Pride expanded in his chest and he answered, “I invented it.”

“Of course you did. Where have you been all my life?”

She said it flippantly, and he knew that she meant it lightly, but it was a wonderful thing to hear all the same. In fact, he felt rather foolish and awkward at how good it was to hear, and he frowned slightly in order to cover the reaction.

Clearing his throat, he faced a nearby tree to demonstrate. “Sectumsempra,” he cast. The bark of the tree exploded as gashes appeared on the trunk.

It took her a few tries, but soon she was casting it as viciously as he always did.

“Show me how to cast the lightning bird spell,” he ordered, when she had mastered his curse.

“I’m afraid only Thunderbirds can do that. But there’s another one I can teach you,” she replied.

“I had no idea that barbarians were so exclusive until I met you.”

“We’re full of surprises,” she bantered back, her eyes twinkling. She turned back to the unfortunate tree and cried, “Fulgur!” Several bolts of lightning struck the already damaged trunk.

He followed suit, but instead of lightning, a shower of soot and ash spewed out of his wand.

She laughed out loud and said, “You’re not saying it correctly.”

“Excuse me?” He was torn between amusement and irritation.

“You’re rolling your ‘r.’”

He tried again to the same result and she laughed harder.

“You’re flipping it now. You have to sort of swallow it.”

“Are you saying that I have to butcher it the way you do?” he asked mockingly.

“Only if you want the spell to work.

He shook his head and then flicked his wand, imitating her lilting, mid-western twang perfectly. “Fulgur.”

Lightning struck the tree so sharply that it lit on fire. They extinguished it together with a fountain of water and exchanged a satisfied glance.

*****

Later that evening, after the pork and peas had been demolished, Severus set the last vial of Strengthening Solution in its box. Miranda was in her bedroom, haphazardly throwing items into her bag. He took his time tidying in the potions room so that he would not have to watch her do so, both because her cavalier attitude towards packing agitated him, and because he did not care to think about the next day. It had been a very comfortable Holiday and he was more disappointed than he cared to admit that it was ending. Once he had resigned himself to Miranda’s mission, they had settled into an agreeable routine of work and recreation. After that unfortunate New Year’s Eve, the Dark Lord had not deemed it necessary to summon Severus again, and even Albus had left him to himself. Severus had found that if he ignored some of the details regarding what exactly he and Miranda were preparing for in their work, he could pretend for brief stretches of time that his life was actually rather normal.

When he could dally with the potions no longer, he emerged into the main room and noticed a tin and a package wrapped in brown paper sitting on the table. They had not been there when he had gone into the potions room and, when he went to examine them, he saw that his name was written on the paper.

“Miranda,” he asked, “what is this?”

“It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” she called back from the bedroom. “Or don’t you civilized Brits remember each other’s birthdays?”

It had been at least ten years since anyone had remembered his birthday. He raised an eyebrow and opened the tin, discovering that it was full of toffee. He selected a piece to sample and found that it was indeed as good as Aaron had made it out to be. He closed his eyes as he swallowed it, hand already going back for another piece.

Severus’s father had never cared much for him or his mother. Severus had never understood why and certainly no one had ever talked about such matters. He had learned early that it was best to stay out of his parents’ way—his father’s because the man was free with insults and fists, his mother’s because she was usually exhausted and impatient with him. But there had been times when his father had been out of the house and his mother would make an effort to give him some attention. This had been particularly true once he had grown old enough to begin to use his magic purposefully rather than doing so accidentally. His mother had also managed, on his birthdays, to slip him a tin of some treat or other. Consumable presents were safer as there would be no evidence for his father to find. His father considered gift-giving a waste, and so nothing of the sort ever happened in the house, except secretly, once a year in January.

His mother had continued to send him a letter by owl to mark the day through early adulthood, but it had been years since she had done so. The last occasion he had spent any length of time with his mother had been just after his father had died. He had felt the need to attend the funeral—if only to see the corpse and know that the man was truly gone. He’d stayed a week with his mother then, settling matters with an irritating Muggle solicitor. He had noticed during that visit that she seemed to find him difficult to bear. He had gone to see her once or twice after that, but she had been withdrawn and had tended to flinch whenever he frowned. He didn’t understand why this was either, and he didn’t intend to ask her about it. He doubted she would have told him the answer even if he had asked. He had simply stopped visiting and stopped writing, and she had done the same.

“You’ll make yourself sick if you eat it so quickly,” Miranda teased as she came back into the main room.

“It’ll be worth it,” he muttered, but he forced himself to stop and put the lid back on the tin. He wasn’t a little boy hiding from his father anymore. He could save the rest to eat at leisure without fear of repercussion.

He picked up the other package and unwrapped it slowly. The brown paper gave way to reveal a silver cigarette case with a mosaic of a serpent on the cover. He flipped it open and found it was full of cigarettes.

“For when the Dark Lord gets tired of your cheek again,” Miranda said over her shoulder as she continued packing at her desk. “And that’s not all it does.”

“No?”

“Watch.” She pulled out her own case, set it on the desk, and started tapping on it.

Before his eyes, the tiny bits of colored stone rearranged themselves into a new pattern of dashes and dots. He flipped over the wrapping paper and saw that the key to the code was written on the back of it. It took him a few moments to decipher the message: HAPPY BIRTHDAY

She had turned back to her desk, and so he did not try to suppress his smile of pleasure. Slowly, with much reference to the code on the wrapping paper, he tapped back: THANK YOU

She paused in her packing to reply via code: YOU ARE WELCOME

He laboriously decoded her message and then sent one of his own: WHEN IS YOUR BIRTHDAY

She laughed and smiled at him over her shoulder before sending back: MAY 4

He fingered the case, enjoying the cool, smooth feel of the metal as he studied Miranda in the firelight. He slipped it into his pocket and felt rather as moved as he had been when she had presented him with the unexpected tebo harvest. He supposed that if he were less of an ass he would say something sentimental to her. But his mind, that was so quick to invent insults, was rather stunted when it came to praise. It seemed trite to speak of friendship, crass to speak of shagging—and dishonest to speak of anything else. So he said nothing at all.

He went back into the potions room and retrieved the box he had made for her. Bringing it to her, he silently set it on the desk, letting his fingers linger on the top of it. She smiled at the box when she saw it—she was so quick to smile—and put her hand on top of his. Their eyes met and he brought up his other hand to trace her cheek with his finger. Perhaps, for now at least, there was nothing that needed to be said.

*******

Sunday evening found Severus irritably pacing his sitting room at Hogwarts. He had finished most of his lesson plans that afternoon—although he had pointedly ignored the lessons that he most detested to give. Albus had demanded that he teach the Potter brat Occlumency and Severus was petulantly refusing to prepare. It was going to be a disaster, he knew that much already. Potter was completely unable to control himself. He wore his heart on his sleeve and Severus believed that it would take nothing short of a miracle to teach the boy.

Severus had argued heatedly that Albus should take on the task himself. After all, Potter liked Albus and the boy would probably make more of an effort for him. But nothing Severus had said had made any difference. Albus still insisted, and now all Severus could do was try and watch the experiment fail. He had stipulated that he be given use of Albus’s Pensieve. Severus did not want Potter anywhere near his mind, and there were certain memories that he wanted to ensure the boy never saw.

After half an hour of pacing, the glint of the cigarette case on his desk caught his attention. The corner of it was peeking out from beneath a scroll with the final month of the First Years’ plans. He sat down at his desk, intending to finish the scroll, but his eye kept moving to the case. Surely Miranda had only intended the thing be used to summon him to put her back together after the next time she got herself maimed. And, whatever her intention, she was probably asleep. It was almost eleven o’clock where Severus was, so it was close to one in the morning in Romania. But, despite all these reasons not to, he found himself tapping: ALBUS WANTS ME TO TEACH OCCLUMENCY TO POTTER

It took him some time to tap all of that as he had only just committed the code to memory. He almost put the thing away in a drawer of his desk, he felt like such a fool by the time he’d finished. He left it where it was, though, and went back to his scroll. And, before long, a message arranged itself back to him from Miranda: MY CONDOLENCES TO YOU BOTH WHAT IS ALBUS THINKING

Severus still felt like a fool, but he replied: I HAVE NO IDEA

And she answered: THAT SOUNDS LIKE A DISASTER

Lesson plan forgotten, he tapped: I AGREE HE WOULD NOT LET ME REFUSE

She replied: TRY NOT TO KILL POTTER

An idea to turn her sympathy to his advantage occurred to him: I MAY NEED SOME INCENTIVE

There was a pause, and he could almost hear her laughing. Finally, she replied: YOU ARE A BULLY

He smirked and tapped: I THOUGHT I WAS AN ASS

She answered: THAT TOO BUT I WILL MAKE IT WORTH YOUR WHILE FOR THE BOYS SAKE

He raised an eyebrow and asked: JUST FOR HIS SAKE

She replied: AND FOR YOURS AND I EXPECT I WILL ENJOY IT MYSELF

Pleased with her agreeableness, he set down the case and wrote another line or two of his lesson plan. But he found his eyes kept wandering to the serpent mosaic, and before long he had asked: HOW IS ROMANIA

The mosaic rearranged itself to say: IT IS BEAUTIFUL I WISH YOU WERE HERE TO SEE IT

Severus studied this message for a long time, hesitating to respond. But, finally, he replied honestly: SO DO I

---------------------

End Notes:

Thank you to the amazingly awesome Jo Raskoph for betaing this chapter! I am so grateful to you for your time and your insights!

The Kakure Kirishitans and the Tenchi are real and have a fascinating history. The Beginning of Heaven and Earth: The Sacred Book of Japan’s Hidden Christians, translated and annotated by Christal Whelan (1996 University of Hawai’i Press) is a great introduction to this if you’d like to know more. I totally made up the part about the Kakure Kirishitans coding magical knowledge into the Tenchi, though. I do think, if JKR’s world were real, such a thing could have happened.

The descriptions of the wand woods, cores, and flexibility were taken from pottermore.com.

If anyone missed it in chapter 6, Miranda’s living brothers in birth order are Patrick, Seamus, and Finnian.

The North Wind restaurant was inspired by the Norse folk tale, Peter and the North Wind.

The magical education system in Romania was inspired by Romanian folklore, which includes legends of wizards called Solomnari (singular, Solomnar) who live in caves and collect children with magical abilities in order to train them into future Solomanri. They also ride dragons.

------------------------------

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Fourteen+

Chapter Sixteen+ >>

[moonbeambucky]

The Price of Gold (Part 11)

Pairing: Lance Tucker x Reader Word Count: 2979 Warnings: fluff, angst, mention of cancer

Summary: As a sports journalist you’ve traveled the world interviewing famous athletes. You’ve loved your job up until you find out your next article is on the last person in the world you ever wanted to talk to, Lance Tucker.

A/N: This doesn’t follow The Bronze canon though some film details are mixed with real world events. Written for @green-eyeddragonfanfiction Dragon’s 3k Follower Creative Content Challenge. My prompt was “I can’t be in love with you!” gif source (x)

PART 10 | THE PRICE OF GOLD MASTERLIST

Lance was taken aback by the way you grabbed him, you were needy and he wanted to give you everything you wanted to take. His body was buzzing, he felt more alive than when he was at the Olympics. You, his first love, his only love if he was being honest with himself, were back in his arms again. It was like his dream but only better because it was real.

His body jolted when your tongue slipped its way into his mouth and met his own. In that moment Lance, swallowed a moan and stepped back, “I thought we agreed to go slow.”

If it wasn’t for the sweetness laced in his voice you would have felt terribly rejected, but you understood what he was staying, they were your own words. “I know but I missed you.” Your admission fell breathlessly as you stared back at Lance, a smile pulling ever so sweetly on your lips.

Lance stared at your heaving chest, licking his lips and feeling his pants twitch. Thankfully his northern brain took over as he took your hands in his own, placing kisses on both of them, “I’m not going anywhere. Let’s not rush things okay? If whatever we are means you’re back in my life I don’t want to ruin it.”

You nodded knowing he was right and you let him leave after a few more kisses; it was your birthday after all.

Lance picked you up the next morning and you practically bounced into the car, excitedly kissing him hello. On the drive to the gymnastics center you had agreed to keep your “thing” a secret. Parents of potential students would be coming in today thanks to an open house promotion he had posted on social media.

Laura greeted you with a hug that you were expecting and you returning it back with equal enthusiasm. You had a lot to be happy about and frankly your cheeks were aching with the amount of smiling you had done in the last twenty-four hours.

You stood on the sidelines observing Lance and Laura fielding customers that walked in, some alone and some with children. It was mostly women but when a father and his young son came in you didn’t miss the look on Lance’s face. Laura spoke with the man but when Lance overheard the encouraging words he had about his son learning gymnastics Lance asked to take over.

You shadowed him with the pair, walking around the open floor. The boy, Fernando, was holding his father’s hand but was itching to jump onto the mat. Lance bent down to speak with him, promising both Fernando and his father Will that he would teach the boy everything he knows.

You saw the way Lance looked at the pair, wishing his own father was half as encouraging, no– that was a lie, he wished Mitch was encouraging, period. At least society has grown since Mitch Tucker’s days. Will didn’t hesitate to sign up and Fernando was more than excited to begin.

More people had come in and you watched as Lance would thoroughly explain the programs Tucker Gymnastics offered. In between answering questions he would look your way quickly, with his mouth slightly pulling to a smile but he focused back on the customers, sometimes a little too much. It didn’t go unnoticed that he was extra smiley when attractive women came in. You wondered if flirting was a sales tactic.

It made you uneasy and you tried to reason that he was just being nice and wanted their business. Then again his phone was still always going off with text messages. You didn’t like it, knowing that he was still communicating with who knows how many women, but whatever was between you was still new and undefined. It took a lot to remind yourself you are not his girlfriend.

It sure felt like you were though when later that night you were cuddling together on his couch watching a movie. It felt like old times when you were together, having movie marathons and throwing popcorn in each other’s mouths.

Lance was warm and soft, and yet you felt the definition of his toned abs as your arm stretched across his stomach. Occasionally you would look up towards him with the urge to straddle him and bury your face in his neck but you kept yourself in check, stealing kisses instead.

Neither of you realized you had fallen asleep until the morning. You groaned uncomfortably, sitting up and slowly moving your stiff neck around. Yawning as you rubbed your tired eyes you finally opened them, looking around you realized that you weren’t in your hotel room but in Lance’s house. He was beside you leaning against the corner of the couch with one leg on the cushions and the other dangling down.

You got up slowly, tiptoeing to the powder room. After washing your hands you opened the small medicine cabinet, hoping to find some toothpaste or mouthwash but it was empty. You let the water run, cupping your hands underneath the stream to bring to your mouth, swishing it around in the hopes it would wash away some of your morning breath.

Using a tissue you tried to clean up your mascara that had actually stayed put until you unknowingly rubbed the sleep from your eyes– you needed makeup remover. Rolling your neck again you heard things crack, you needed a massage, and with another big yawn you definitely needed coffee.

Settling back on the couch you watched the rise and fall of Lance’s chest as he peacefully, yet uncomfortably slept. The sleeve of his t-shirt bunched up revealing his toned arms and a prominent vein that ran down his bicep, it was mesmerizing. Watching Lance sleep was cute but the day was just beginning and so he needed to wake up.

You whispered his name softly but Lance didn’t stir. Moving closer, you spoke again, your breath falling softly against his skin, “It’s time to wake up Lance.” He took a sharp breath in, peeking one eye open and cracking a smile. “Good morning gorgeous,” he said in a raspy tone.

He pulled you against him, asking how you slept and offering to work out the tightness in your neck after you told him how it felt. “Maybe later,” you winked.

Lance asked if you wanted to take a shower which sounded nice but the prospect of changing back into the clothes you had worn all day yesterday and then fell asleep in was not something you wanted to do. Lance got up and stretched, his t-shirt rising to reveal part of his tan stomach and you couldn’t help but stare.

“Try not to drool on the couch, okay?” he joked, kissing your cheek before going upstairs to shower.

You made coffee for yourself and readied a cup for when Lance was done, scrolling through your phone as you sipped the warm brew to pass the time. You waited about ten minutes after you heard the shower stop before bringing the mug upstairs, knocking on Lance’s bedroom door.

The door opened and Lance stood there shirtless with a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his insanely chiseled hips. Never, ever did you think the skinny boy next door would achieve the cuts on his body that would melt you down like ice cream in the sun.

He turned to grab the coffee and your eyes were drawn lower to the large chunk of his infamous tattoo sticking out just below his navel. The thought of his “gold” made you giggle and yet you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

Lance thanked you for the coffee, or at least you think he did, you were too busy licking your lips at the sight of him to have acknowledged any other senses. You let him finish dressing alone, knowing neither of you would have made it to the center otherwise.

Heading back to your hotel first Lance sat on your bed as you took a shower, only washing your body quickly as time seemed to get away from you earlier. Makeup was minimal, your hair was not looking its best but it’s nothing a little product couldn’t fix. The bathroom was small and fogged up and you did your own gymnastics to change into clean clothes without stepping on the wet towels. Opening the door you collided with Lance’s hard body.

“They did it!” He was smiling proudly and your confused face searched his for more answers. “The committee, I’m back!”

You threw your arms around Lance congratulating him with a hug. He wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you up and spinning around. When he stopped it felt like everything around him stopped as well. Sunlight from the balcony was shining on your face, its soft glow highlighting the beautiful color of your eyes, sparkling with happiness, to your smile, wide and proud. You were proud of him and he was elated. For the first time in a long time Lance was truly happy.

Lance kissed you, tasting the sweetness of your lips, the mint mouthwash that lingered on your tongue. He deepened the kiss, swallowing every moan and whimper he pulled from you. Letting you down softly he held you against his body, not wanting to let go of this moment.

His phone began to buzz again and you moved to grab your heels. An announcement from USA Gymnastics was released and Lance’s Twitter had begun to blow up again from fans congratulating him to his former teammates and students praising the appeal.

Lance was all smiles as he drove to the center and you were slightly hesitant but had to ask if you could get a quote from him to write something quick for ESPN. The Associated Press had already retweeted the press release and Lance begun making arrangements with the local news but it would mean a lot to you (and your editor) if you could be the first to publish with a direct quote.

Lance had agreed and after arriving at the center and being nearly tackled to the ground by Laura’s enthusiastic hug you and Lance went to his office where you pulled out your laptop. You already knew what this appeal meant, the bigger story behind it; Lance wanted to make his mom proud again. Not that he ever lost it, Dorothy was always proud of her son, but he felt he wasn’t deserving of it after his win turned him into a Grade A Asshole™. You wanted to save that story for your main article so instead you asked about the future.

The appeal meant Lance was reinstated as an official USA Gymnastics accredited coach which was excellent news for Tucker Gymnastics but what about Lance?

Reinstated gymnast Tucker claims “I would love to coach the National Team!”

That was the headline for your article and yes it was 100% click bait but that’s how the news is today you carelessly shrugged. When you asked about the future Lance did say if given the opportunity he would love to coach the National Team again but for now he’s staying put, more than happy to be where he is provided the building blocks to future gymnasts right here in Spring Hill.

More customers entered the gym thanks to the buzz and Lance told you a local news crew was on their way. You quickly reviewed your article and sent it off to Sue, leaving a message on her voicemail as well to let her know the urgency.

Cameras were there to capture Lance talking about how thankful he was to be reinstated. You smiled with adoration as you watched him answer the reporters as you kept your distance off to the side. Apparently you were not far enough as you thought, finding out when your mom called you.

“Honey did I just see you on TV with Lance Tucker?”

Oh boy. “Wait, you’re back?” you said, ignoring her question.

“Yes we got in this morning and as I was loading the washing machine I heard the report and then there you were! Lance is your assignment… is that why you didn’t tell me?” she asked, knowing the answer already.

You hummed your answer, worried she might be upset with you for holding back but instead she asked how you were.

“Good actually, better than expected,” you paused to take a deep breath before hesitantly admitting, “We worked things out actually.” You heard her worried exhale through the phone. “Mom it’s okay, he apologized, I apologized. We’ve moved on, we’re adults now.”

“Just be careful sweetheart,” she said.

You changed the subject asking about their cruise to which she replied she would tell you another time. She wanted to unpack and go through the mail first before she could relax.

“Oh, before I go I almost forgot, I got a message from Dorothy… no wonder,” she mused. “I’m so sorry to hear about that. When I called her back the nurse said they were leaving for the hospital.”

“What? When?” you panicked.

“About an hour ago.”

You hung up quickly, running to find Lance who was in the middle of an interview. Apologizing to the reporter you interrupted, pulling him aside and whispering for him to check his phone. There were four missed calls from Nadia along with a text, leaving details of the hospital they were going to.

Doing his best to keep a neutral face Lance apologized to the reporter for having to end their interview so abruptly. His jaw was tense but he was doing everything he could to keep his emotions together, his mother’s health and privacy were no one’s business.

Lance sped away towards the hospital with you, his hand laced with yours as you gave him comforting squeezes until you arrived. Dorothy was in the emergency room with Nadia patting her forehead with a damp paper towel. Lance rushed to her side, grabbing his mother’s hand and kissing it as he tried to get her attention.

Dorothy was delirious and slightly dehydrated so she was hooked up to an I.V. for fluids. The small room was cramped with the three of you surrounding the bed so Nadia left to tell the nurse’s desk that Dorothy’s son had arrived. Lance sat in a chair, still holding Dorothy’s hand and you stood behind him, hoping you were comforting him as you rubbed his shoulders.

“It’ll be okay,” you said, knowing full well you had no idea if it would but you hoped so.

With tears in his eyes Lance replied, “What if it’s not? What if this is it?”

He choked on his words as his hand sought yours on his shoulder. As the machines beeped steadily silence hung uncomfortably thick in the air.

Waiting was the worst. Nurses had come in sporadically to check Dorothy’s vitals. Nadia had left to bring back snacks and drinks. Lance wasn’t hungry, his stomach was twisted into knots as he watched his mom, but you insisted he at least have a sports drink; there was no need to have him get sick on top of this.

A doctor finally came in to say he wanted Dorothy to be admitted upstairs. Another hour had passed by without anyone coming to transport her so Lance decided both of you should leave. “Nadia do you mind driving Y/N back to her hotel?”

“I can stay, I don’t mind,” you said.

“I know but you shouldn’t have to. It’s gonna be a while to get her up there. Plus I want to speak with whatever doctor will be in charge.”

His eyes pleaded for you to go. This was his burden he felt and even though you wanted to stay he would prefer you didn’t.

“Keep me posted, please,” you asked.

You rubbed Dorothy’s hand, saying goodbye to her though you weren’t sure if she could hear you or not. You hugged Lance, pecking him quickly on the lips before leaving.

You were worried sick the rest of the day, checking your phone constantly for updates. After getting out of the shower you saw Lance had texted back, Dorothy was in a room, was given a second bag of fluids and Lance was still waiting to speak to the doctor.

Your stomach grumbled, loudly yelling at you since you hadn’t eaten any real food in a while. You threw on clothes and went two blocks down to Hooter’s, the closest restaurant within walking distance. Sitting at the bar you ordered a beer and wings. Watching the Yankee game you were reminded about confirming your schedule with Aaron Judge’s agent. It suddenly hit you that this– being in Spring Hill, being with Lance Tucker, this was temporary. Your job was travelling but your home was New York, right?

Taking another swig from the bottle you tried to avoid having an existential crisis in the middle of the restaurant. This was a conversation for another time and right now Dorothy’s health was more important. Lance hadn’t texted in a while and you hoped no news was good news.

With a full belly you enjoyed the cool night’s air on the walk back to the hotel. Changing into a tank top and your favorite pineapple print pajama bottoms you couldn’t stay focused between flipping through the limited channels on the TV or mindlessly scrolling through your phone so you forced yourself to go to sleep, hoping that rest would help calm your mind.

Your phone woke you up and you saw Lance’s name, swiping quickly to answer his call. His voice was shaky as he asked if he could see you. Apparently he was in the parking lot and in no time was at your door. His eyes were bloodshot, his nose red and sniffling and you opened your arms to him immediately.

PART 12

[alchemisland]

The Moors Mutt - II

https://www.wattpad.com/676844776-the-moors-mutt-ii

II. Limbo

Rising early, if rising it was and not merely stirring from a wakened restive state, I walked a barren stretch. At pale dawn birds like Aztec idols flighted at my stirring. Cold light stained the pasture either side. Sleepshod, the road to Cairn Cottage found me quiet company. Even the tinkers were not yet to the road in their triskeled wagons.

When the machine architect of our world was in infancy, men of old, men of renown, used more than sight in their primitive observations of our world. Already we, we as mankind, had realized what appeared as reality was deeper yet than simple tangibility. Further back towards the chaotic and infinite churn of the burning epoch, when mankind had not language to manifest destiny and lived subordinate to Echidna's descendants still fearsome on the plain, parts of the brain which one day became memory centers first stirred to life, elongating the possibility of human memory. Scent still is brother to memory.

The air was heavy with scent when I relinquished vision, only for a short time, and let wind corral me. The breeze carried faint lavender.

A pebbled stretch I crossed stirred a memory of my late father and a codex of heroic tales he purchased, whose high adventure stirred me like nothing prior. At six, maybe seven years old, tales of old Arabia appealed greatly. Fabulous kingdoms wrought of yellow stone against a tangerine haze, swirling tarot sun bemused of countenance, scorpions armoured like chargers sending rodents to their redoubt, the cloying madness of it all. I visited them in dreams, jumping from the path of unruly camels, watching the impenetrable waves humbly part in the wake of Royal palanquins.

Their heroes were unlike our knights. More often broody boys who preferred quill to falchion. Brooding teenagehood made me relish the stranger stories, tales without lessons existing solely to unnerve, speaking on the bleak lives of Tartarian wizards. Older, into adulthood, I came to enjoy Greek tales most. The tragedy of Ajax in his lover's plate leaking on the golden sand moved me. Waves, caressing the moored fleet in passing, bursting against the shale where the pyre burned. Since, when I hear crunching pebbles, I think of soldiers marching on the beach at Troy.

I heard the crunch of a trap and waited hopeful until the crude plume fixed atop the horses head appeared like the mantle of some deposed pagan lord. Ixion's disc four times divided had been fixed to bear this chariot. Its trundle ground debris to powder. I hailed the man, a being of wind, every strand of hair or cloth lank enough to lift stood in disarray. A peak stole his brow, but a smile waved me aboard. He never spoke, though carried me within shouting distance of the manse.

Inside chaos reigned. Lady Sizemore's estate was measured first in paper, not coin. Hundreds, thousands of jaundiced sheets, all in disorder busying every surface. Before a single coin changed hands, a great many hours I spent hauling boxes, within which were more boxes where spiders large as potatoes spun temporary wonders above the invoices.

I wonder what effect prolonged tedium has. Such thoughts are entertained in the avoidance of work that should never be given lucid credence. An entire day dedicated solely to translating letters in incomprehensible cursive, it felt ridiculous. My mind, perhaps reflecting its surroundings, felt dulled, unfocused. So long I stared, when I pried my eyes I found feint margins plastered across reality.

The previous night's visitations I had pondered, ultimately chalking to anxiety. Nothing substantially portentous. Unfortunately, another day was required before I indulged my cryptozooligcal fancies.

*

Darkness in ravenfeather arrived prematurely. I gathered my belongings, wondering where the time went, then ran to the track and the sounds of the the last husbandmen bound for Sperrin. I found easy passage. Too easy perhaps; I was cursed to endure indignity on a wagon halfheartedly scraped of its stinking contents; with my legs lolling over the side, I was soaked in every splash. I arrived back mud-caked, a shambling golem. Lar tended bar. I wondered had he stirred in my absence. Anticipating my thirst, two mugs were set.

I dropped my satchel, enjoying relief akin to weightlessness by contrast, and we drained tankards like soon-to-war Saxons, speaking of weather. I asked had anyone noteworthy visited, mostly from politeness. When asked had the room served, I replied it had done so more than adequately. Again, politeness.

Not wishing to seem overeager, I spared him my dream. If the tale was relayed to me, I should say how convenient the very man hoping to find the beast would experience a vision.

Besides, in the unlikely event we found a mangy badger after I'd described a prehistoric horror.. perish the thought.

'Do we depart tomorrow?' Lar grunted, pretending to clean.

'Short delay actually. I'd have said from the doorway, only for the ale calling. Alas, labour remains. My charges lust for satisfaction. They are at Rome's gates! Distant cousins write in droves. By air, land and sea their letters come, squeezing through grates, shimmying down chimneys. Forget the beast, if they find me I'm dead.'

'We sank tankards enough last night. I've seen folks pale on the dizzy morning after the night before. If this delay is to spite me, let me allay concerns, I'm the man for this job. We're the men for this job.' He shot a glance at Fergus, a pale lance cleaving his brow.

I looked to my empty cup then longingly at his selection. Lar fingered a cask, but reached further back and took another instead.

'My god, man. Boil a pot and toss it down your trousers. No such notions occurred to me. We're expedition mates! I didn't make a dent in the work, really.' I raised a silencing finger to hear the splash of ale. 'There you have it. Mystery solved. If the mystery of the beast is this easy, we're laughing.' I inhaled its aroma. Fruity, potent, sickly almost. 'This expedition diary I mean to publish, any thoughts?'

Lar's measured tone returned. Careful as a tiptoeing sinner, he asked 'You good?'

I smiled. 'Only Ben Adhem saw the book, ask him.'

Lar stove the ashen helm crowning his cigarette, plunging the embers into the cold bronze bowl. 'At writing.'

'You should say! I tease, I tease. To answer your question, yes is the answer. Humbly, in my hand, the pen is like the master mason's chisel, from whence grand cathedrals spring forth from their less divine constituent parts.' Lar was fumbling for his tobacco already and I thought what small use that vice would be in peril.

'I'm convinced.' Lar spoke quickly, stumbling over the words to get them out. I took no offence at his zeal to change the subject. 'Do you have a manuscript at hand?'

'Not with me, unfortunately.' He stifled a sigh of relief. 'Upon returning home one story heavier, I'll ensure you receive signed copies of every one. I'll sing them My favourite tub of Lar. Yours literately, Beastman. That way you'll know it's me.'

Lar's ale, a home brew, was a swift agent, promising to travel from your mouth to the toilet's in twenty minutes. I joked he might patent it for a medicine. Call it the Midas touch. Everything it touched turns to gold: toilet seat, floor, shoes if you weren't careful.

I spied Fergus. His thumb led a blunt edge across the ribbed bark of a sprig, from which he had carved two lidded eyes and a pursed mouth.

Lar lit a cigarette from the flared end of the last, then discarded it on the ashen pyre.

Lar had to raise the hatch spoiling any hope of a dramatic exit, but I hovered over the stool while I spoke. 'Departure two days hence, on the strict proviso no unpleasant libel suit comes once the story hits print. Rest assured, I'll include nothing untoward, but I reserve the right to artistic licence. Print the myth.'

'Libel is a city crime.' Anticipating my desire, Lar walked while he spoke. I mirrored his step, slipping through the open portcullis to sleep, perchance to scream.

*

Lying in bed, I wondered what to include in my chronicle; exciting details only, or every charged exchange? Nobody asked how the shipwright felt constructing thousands of ships without prior notice. They only wanted Achilles. The reader will concede, I have included much of the mundane.

Well-oiled, I slept easily. Set like a star I saw things past, dark present and murky future, useless without chronology, stifling their prophetic nature. The beast came again, shaking the ground.

Waking, it seemed I fell to the mattress from a height. Not far enough to endanger, but enough to worry the springs. I lurched, took my journal from the bedside locker, levered its purple tongue to split its leather cuirass and let it whip to a clean page.

One mark on the opposite face demanded attention. A black circle, subtle as a bearded chin, formed by the swift fury of a graceless wrist, its blackness total.

How strangely the lines blended. One moment a nest of fastened rat tails, one mark indistinguishable from another, the next a clear set of growing rings. In its swirling centre around the maelstrom's eye, the paper tore with the fury of the quill.

I found the pockmark on every page. Someone strained greatly to make an impression so indelible. First I thought Fergus with his ham hands, unknowingly forcing the nib through the page. When he had the chance, or the notion? It seemed unlikely. Throughout the workday it was with me, resting once for a moment unattended on the desk.

Despite concerns, I knew no progress could be made at this hour. For now it seemed safe to be about my duties without much extra precaution. I returned the journal, pulled the duvet across my shoulders and turned to sleep, when suddenly a violent jolt racked the shutters so fiercely they juddered back into place with a great thunk.

I winced toward the disturbance and found mocking empty blackness. As my head sank back into the pillow, a shuddering pulse shook the building. A rippling seismic attack. Unlike quakes from within, which sally in waves, this was a single detonation, like a dying star; one magnificent shockwave that stirred everything in the world at once, only for a moment. I stemmed panic, falling to courageous platitudes that would embarrass the most shameless Kipling-mimic. Without panic, I deduced more likely my head sharply turning had disturbed my equilibrium, giving the walls the appearance of motion. As if in answer to my doubt, dust sprinkled from the rafters.

Nothing else came. I waited, steeled. I pretended to be brave and at some indeterminate point, felt into a brave slumber.

*

Lar, blackbird that he was, rose early. He emerged from the fugue state that best pleased his constitution and stretched, his wingspan filling the alcove.

He found me in my linen cell, bewhaled as Jonah.

'Terrible day.' He drew the shutters. I pulled the sheets down over my face to the sight of Lar's stocky silhouette in the dirty light. Tapping his pipe twice on the sill, he plonked one cheek on the ledge and struck a match. 'Anything you want from town? I'm going to get supplies. I should be away most of the day. There won't be a return trip before we go. Speak now or forever hold your peace.'

'Ambulo in pace.' I tapped my journal, 'I have everything.'

'Do you have a mac?' The rain beat harder.

'No, we're English, some Irish. Although I heard tell that a distant branch traded their roses for thistle stalks.'

Lar shuddered, ill-humoured before midday, despite protestations he needed no proper rest. 'I mean a waterproof.'

'Oh give me credit. That's humour.'

'We in the smiling countryside call it idiocy. There's a time for revels. Unless you've been up all night, dawn isn't it.'

'I don't have one and I'd like a loan if that's what you're asking, thank you. I didn't sleep well now you mention it' I tossed my feet onto the cold ground and felt for a sock.

Lar watched the rain spilling in romantic sheets. 'You'll need an ark to get back. It's like a bog when it rains. No one will be able to get you. Not me, not the constabulary, nor anyone else. If the weather worsens, make sure you get back in time. Otherwise, everything will be closed until further boatice.'

'Boatice?' I said.

'Now that is humour. Rain, boats, further notice. Get it?' Lar left more spritely than when he entered.

[alive-ceramics]

✔️ Exquisite companion for morning cacao, through day water and evening herbal tea ✔️ Authentic kintsugi technique using urusi laquer and bronze powder (Cu, Fe, Al, Zn) ✔️ Yobitsugi ( 呼び継ぎ “borrowed patches”) This mug contains parts of other handmade ceramic mug ✔️ Epoxy glitter eye inlay ✔️ Real gold Which leads us to Golden Rules: 💎 No Microwaving 💎 Hand Wash Only 💎 Do not heat over 100C please: urusi laquer is ok with hot water, but boiling one destructs it #kintsugi #金継ぎ #呼び継ぎ #yobitsugi #modernkintsugi #newkintsugi #yobitsugistyle #モダン金継ぎ #aliveceramics #aliveceramics_kintsugi (at Russia, Saint-Petersburg) https://www.instagram.com/p/CWOZlK4j-dw/?utm_medium=tumblr

[reymallari]

Celebrating a Memorable Wedding During the Lovely Colors of Autumn

Autumn weddings are an excellent alternative for those with limited financial resources and even better for people with unlimited riches. Because the height of the wedding season often runs from May to September, planning your wedding for a date outside of this period gives you a greater chance of receiving a lower price from the wedding experts you employ.

Indeed, an autumn wedding gives you a greater chance of getting your first choice of wedding experts, which might mean finer wedding flowers or a more magnificent wedding cake than you would have been able to afford otherwise.

The Elegance of Autumn Weddings

Similarly, the fall wedding season is a beautiful time to celebrate your marriage and your new life as husband and wife. With the chaos of summer behind you, the fall season provides fresh chances for gathering friends and family for a wedding celebration you will remember for many years to come.

Furthermore, an October wedding not only looks and feels different from a typical June wedding, but the contrasts themselves can make your wedding celebration extraordinary. For example, Autumn's rich yet subtle hues allow the florist to create the warm, inviting, and even beautiful wedding ambiance that every bride dreams of.

Consider the elegance of crystal in front of a roaring fire or flickering candles, framed in the rich colors of autumn, as you and your new husband celebrate your new marriage.

Celebrating a Vibrant and Beautiful Weddings

Autumn, the most beautiful and bright season of the year, arrives just before the bone-chilling winter sets in, with a slight bite in the air. A season with an earthy vibe, bright and enlivening hues may be seen everywhere, from fading dry leaves to different fruits and flowers.

Autumn weddings may be one of the gorgeous weddings ever if adequately prepared, with the correct colors and decorations. While there are many fall wedding themes to select from, autumn is linked with fading leaves. Thus autumn leaves make an excellent autumn wedding theme. To begin, you can choose fall leaves themed wedding invitation cards and table cards. The wedding site can be adorned with artificial dried leaves, flowers, and berries, as well as satin ribbons and bows.

The couple might pick their wedding attire in nourishing colors of brown, burnt orange, rust, and so on for a Fall Leaves-inspired wedding. Indian Wedding Outfits such as an enormously flared Bridal Lehenga Choli or a stylish Wedding Lehenga Saree embellished with a liberal touch of beautiful decorations such as sequins, zardozi, zari embroidery, and so on. Grooms can appear royal and distinctive by wearing Indo-western Suits, Jodhpuri Suits, or stylish Wedding Sherwanis embellished with elaborate workmanship. Finding the best wedding package online is the answer if you want to have a stress-free wedding preparation.

Tips for Making Your Guests Happier

Autumn is one of the most beautiful, fantastic, and romantic seasons of the year. The ideal weather combined with the changing colors of the leaves makes for a stunning background for the most romantic event in anyone's life - a wedding. Of course, to make the most of your fall wedding, everything must be in keeping with the season. Here you will find wedding favors to give to those who will be wishing you well on your big day. However, the days of putting stale almonds in an organza bag are over.

You should create something that represents you and your spouse, something that fits along with the theme of your wedding, and most importantly, something that will not wind up in the trash can. Here are some fantastic fall wedding favors that everyone at your wedding will adore:

• Dark chocolate

Chocolate's deliciousness is irresistible! Aside from that, chocolates are appropriate for the season. If you want to use chocolates as fall wedding favors, seek leaf-shaped milk, white, and dark chocolates that are elegantly wrapped in green, bronze, gold, or bronze, or any other hue that depicts autumn.

• Seasonings

The seasonal cuisines and flavors offered are some of the most significant and most anticipated aspects of fall. Consider a bottle of maple syrup, honey, apple butter, or marmalades in a gift basket. It is one of the most unusual fall weddings favors you could give to your guests. Furthermore, these condiments complement the fall theme of your wedding!

• Cocoa, coffee, cider, and tea are all available.

Giving your guests a plastic cone or basket loaded with your favorite hot drinks in the fall season is also a fantastic autumn wedding favors suggestion. Layer cocoa, coffee, cider, and tea, then top with powdered milk, sugar, cinnamon, and marshmallows to complete the fall taste. Tie a lovely ribbon around the plastic cone or basket, and don't forget to include a brief letter with instructions on how to combine it. It's also a good idea to have a mug with your wedding photo on it.

• Bookmark in the shape of a leaf

Autumn is frequently regarded as a romantic muse by poets and authors. As you begin a new chapter in your life during this lovely season, a leaf-shaped bookmark is an excellent way to share your happy tale with your guests.

• Cookie Cutter in the shape of a Leaf

Autumn usually leaves people with lovely memories, and it would be a fantastic idea if you could do the same by giving your guests something that reminds them of one of your favorite experiences. Cookies are an all-time favorite, and if you gift them a leaf-shaped cookie cutter, you and your partner will be remembered forever!

Finding the Perfect Dress for Autumn Wedding

Finding the ideal fall wedding gown is one of the essential aspects of wedding preparation. After all, the wedding gown is the focal point of any wedding celebration, and finding the ideal wedding gown is probably the essential task every bride-to-be must do.

Fortunately, there are many various types of wedding gowns on the market and several places to locate the right dress for the big day.

There are wedding gowns suitable for every type of wedding, from the most informal to the most traditional. Of course, it is essential to customize the dress for the event and purchase it properly. Whatever sort of wedding ceremony you are planning, chances are there will be an autumn wedding gown that is appropriate at one of those vast wedding gown warehouse stores or outlets.

There are also many alternative possibilities, including the local dressmaker, for those who prefer a more personal touch in their fall wedding gown. Many brides-to-be appreciate the personalized attention that only a custom dressmaker can give, and bespoke fitting may also be a significant benefit.

[makeupbypiaw]

Happy Friyay my beautiful peeps 😘❤ Love this look 😍 I of course used the #2021weeklypalette of this week ❤ 🌅 | EYES @pretty_vulgar Eyeshadow primer 🥰 @jeffreestarcosmetics Jawbreaker palette (wow, suck, tasty and lemon drop) 🥰 @toofaced Better Than Sex mascara 🥰 @ebay Lashes 🥰 @nyxcosmetics Control Freak Brow Gel in Clear 🥰 @goshofficial Brow Sculpting Fibre Gel in Chestnut 🥰 @lhcosmetics Mood Crayon in Happy Mood 🥰 @lordandberry_official Line/Shade Eye Pencil in #225 Bronze 🥰 🌅 | FACE @qmsmedicosmetics Active Glow Tinted Day Cream 🥰 @jeffreestarcosmetics Magic Star Concealer in C8 and Magic Star Setting Powder in Beige 🥰 @illamasqua Beyon Veil primer and Beyond Powder Highlighter in OMG 🥰 @toofaced Chocolate Soleil Medium/Deep Matte Bronzer 🥰 @w7makeupuk Powder Blush in Nude 🥰 @nyxcosmetics Gotcha Covered Concealer Pencil in Deep Rich 🥰 🌅 | LIPS @colourpopcosmetics Liquid Lipstick in Mug Shot 💋 #makeupbypiaw #cosmetolegist #selftaughtmua #selfie #hoodedeyes #nojoke #makeuphasnoage #nofilterneeded #makeupover55 #makeupisfun #maturemakeup #beautyover55 #greyhairbeauty #veganfriendly #crueltyfree #vegan #ageandbeauty #maturebeauty #plussizebeauty #makeupislife #makeupismagic #makeupat57 #makeupcomunity #makeupladies #makeupdolls #makeupfam #dowhatyouwant https://www.instagram.com/p/CNczopmpq4M/?igshid=1k92ia1e4bj61

[ellaofoakhill]

Frog Legs Soup, Part Five

The last time Meline saw a fairy horse was two thousand years ago. This stallion was the colour of black walnut, and he let out a snort the instant Ella entered the stable. He was well-muscled, and must’ve been a full palm at the shoulder.

“Coarser,” Ella said, using a voice Meline saved for only the smallest children, “Mama’s here!” She sauntered to him and started rubbing him all over. “Who’s a good boy! Who’s a good boy?”

Coarser nickered in a way that sounded suspiciously like “I are!”

“Yes, you are! Yes you are, you big, strong boy!” Meline shoved a knuckle in her mouth.

Ella eventually braided his mane and tail, then checked him all over. “Good good, you’re standing firmly on your back left now, my fuzzy boy!” she slapped his hindquarters, and he turned in a circle. He saw Meline and walked toward her as Ella grabbed saddle and tack from where they hung on the wall. She also grabbed several large pieces of cloth.

“He’s quite safe,” Ella said as she walked over. “Unless you get between him and an apple slice. He’s a greedy boy!”

Meline tentatively held out a hand. Coarser took a step forward and back, gave her hand a few hearty sniffs, and snorted. His breath smelled of honey and nutmeg. He shoved his muzzle into Meline’s hand, and with a smile on her face she petted him. Ella handed her a brush, and she teased his fur while Ella saddled him. It was quite coarse; not like bristles, but it was only fuzzy in Ella’s imagination.

Ella put on his blanket and the cloth, which was stonemail barding, and his saddle. She took a cloak from the wall, along with the bag of iron powder. “Put this on,” she said as she handed the cloak to Meline. It was also stonemail. “It should protect you from the worst of the fence.”

Ella threw the bag of iron powder over Coarser’s shoulders, and cupped her hands so Meline could climb up.

“Can he handle all this?” Meline asked as she took the help. Coarser huffed, reached back and gently smacked his muzzle against her leg, then stomped with all four hooves. “Nevermind.”

Ella snorted. “I think he likes you already.” She vaulted into the saddle behind Meline. She’d changed into a green gambeson with a white oak tree on a hill. Her sword was slung across her back, and a silver horn hung on a strap across her chest. “But then he is a clever boy.” Said clever boy pranced on the spot.

“That she-snake…” Meline said.

Ella snorted again. “If Tham is wise, she won’t show her scaly hide this side of my fence until she sheds it. Now…” The stable doors were open, and the night was young. “Will you use your magic to speed us on our way? Or do you need it for the potion?”

Meline nodded. “I probably will need it; it’s a fairly complex potion I’ve never made before, and I need to be certain the ingredients combine properly.”

Ella leaned forward in the saddle, pushing against Meline. “Then let’s be off!” She whistled, high and fierce, as Coarser sprang forward. They were flying across the yard before its echo faded.

The wind was up, out of the west, and Meline could see thunderheads above the pines, their edges silver in the moonlight, their hearts like black iron. Not a good sign, she thought to herself. Sheet lightning crackled through them, and thunder was dull on the air, though still mercifully far-off.

In a few heartbeats, they were at the fence. Meline pulled up the hood of her cloak and lowered her head. She felt an oppressive weight, and her head, hands, and calves throbbed. Even Coarser seemed to slow.

And then they were past.

Meline felt Ella straighten in the saddle behind her, and turned her head. Ella raised the horn to her lips, and sounded it. The air rippled, the wind about them calmed, and the voice of the horn, low and beautiful, carried far longer than it should.

Coarser raised his head, roared, and his body stretched beneath them. The pasture flew by. Gradually, the wind returned, and the storm began in earnest. Slowly at first, a drop here, a drop there. Then a bolt cracked the earth and shook the air, and the rain began to pour.

Anyone believing a heavy rain is nothing serious has never been three inches high. Ella’s cloak protected her, but even so each drop struck Meline’s back like a hammer. The blows soon

eased up, and she turned just enough to see Ella had risen in the saddle and was arched over her.

“Thank you!” she hollered over the storm, but she wasn’t sure Ella heard. Water was pouring off her.

In what seemed either a very long time, or a very short time, they crested the final rise, and Meline saw the berms either side of the pond, and then her own wild rose.

“Ella!” she called, and pointed. Coarser turned, and Meline felt her heart lighten as they pelted for home.

Coarser slowed as they drew close, and then the boughs of Wild Rose were over them. Ella was off Coarser in a moment. When Meline tried to dismount, her legs wobbled like jelly.

“Coarser, could you sit please?” Ella said. At once, Coarser lowered himself so his belly was touching the ground, and Meline would’ve flopped out of the saddle if Ella hadn’t caught her.

“Thanks again,” Meline said as she struggled to her feet. Ella took one arm over her shoulder, chuckling the whole time, and helped Meline to her door. Meline fumbled for her fairy key while Ella called Coarser over.

In a moment, the door was open. “Sorry for the mess,” Meline said. She paused to utter a word of power. Her quartz crystal lamps bloomed to life, giving the room a soft white glow.

Wild Rose was simple, though well-made. The kitchen and dining area were a single space. One whole wall was books, another was cupboards, shelves, and drawers. Herbs of all

kinds hung from the rafters. The table further from the door was her worktable, with a large bronze cauldron recessed into one side. One door led to her root cellar, another to her sitting room. To the right was a stairway leading up to her bedroom.

Meline undid the clasp of her cloak, and hung it on a hook. “I’ll be down in a moment with dry things.” Now she was home, Meline felt the potioneer in her quicken. The hard part was done; the rest was up to her.

She was up the stairs, changed, and down again with dry clothes and towels for Ella and Coarser. “Don’t eat those,” Meline said as she saw Coarser sniffing at dried dogwood berries. He jerked his nose away like he’d been stung. “Not poisonous, but I need them.”

“How can I help?” Ella said as she took the towel Meline offered her.

“For now, get dry and get changed,” Meline said. “This floor is warped enough. I’ll have a fire going so our clothes can dry.”

She took a mug from beside the fireplace, and lifted the lid. A small coal smoked inside, giving off a faint red glow. Satisfied, she went around to her back door, and grabbed wood slivers, grass fibres, and bird down. She piled it all in the fireplace, then took the cup and set the coal on the kindling. She knelt, took a deep breath, and blew a warm, gentle breath over the coal. It glowed brighter. One more breath, and it caught. Meline added bigger and bigger twigs, splinters, and grass blades, until she had a merry blaze going.

“We’re pretty well dry,” Ella said. Meline turned around. Her undershirt was definitely too narrow in the shoulders for Ella.

“Right, if you could get the clothes and towels hanging over the fire, I can organize things for the potion.”

Meline took out bowls, cups, spoons, knives, scissors, mortar and pestle, and her old rowan cutting board. She grabbed waxing gibbous moonbeams, flour from the seeds of the lilypad, horsetail stems, hair from the water strider, boatman’s eyes, and a stale mosquito egg.

“Clothes are up and drying,” Ella said.

Meline looked. Nothing was hanging so low as to burn, and the lines and pins were properly secured. “Good.” She grabbed her book and opened to the recipe she’d copied from Old Frogger’s Almanac. “Take the thimble by the cellar door and fill the cauldron up to the top mark with water from the cistern.” Ella’s footsteps hesitated a moment, and then she was moving.

Meline began prepping ingredients. As her hands began the familiar chopping, cutting, and pulverizing, she drifted into her work.

She jumped when the first thimble of water sloshed into the cauldron. Ella was already turning away, but Meline swore she saw a fleeting smile on that face. She shrugged, and returned to her work.

She thinly sliced the moonbeams lengthwise, and pulverized the horsetail stems. She cut the hair crosswise, and squeezed the eyes for their jelly. She shook the egg nine times, and mixed it with the flour and jelly. She added them all to the cauldron, took out her paddle, and stirred. As Ella added a last thimble of water, Meline held up a hand. She stopped stirring, and

passed the paddle to Ella. “Three counter-clockwise to nine clockwise,” she said. She put a wet mask over her mouth, and a mask over her face. She put on the cloak Ella had lent her, though backwards, and tied it back with string, like an apron. She put on a pair of thick gloves, and motioned for the paddle back. Ella gave it, and as Meline stirred she said, “Put a mask over your mouth. Go measure the iron powder. Empty the cups into the cauldron at a slow, steady pour.”

Meline tried to ignore the iron as Ella tipped it into the cauldron. Three counter-clockwise, nine clockwise. Her arms burned and cramped, but she refused to stop stirring. Three counter-clockwise, nine clockwise. Ella kept pouring in a steady stream, fine as flour, but heavy enough it left hardly a cloud. Three counter-clockwise, nine clockwise.

Meline didn’t know when she’d begun to sing. It was a tune older than the mountains the hills had worn from. Older than the thousand thousand fairy songs that had dressed it over the ages. Older than words.

She hardly noticed the crystals brighten, or the iron sickness fading from her bones, and noticed not at all the look Ella was giving her. All she saw was the steady ebb and flow of the potion, and the gentlest red light as it began to glow. No, not glow. Sparks danced in the potion, ignited by the song, in time with the rise and fall of Meline’s voice.

When her arms could stir no more, and she could sing no more, Meline stopped, hanging for a moment over the cauldron before she sagged backward.

Ella swept forward, grabbing her before she could fall into the fire. Meline was asleep before Ella carried her to her room.

 Three hundred new froglets hopped out of the water the next evening, thanking Meline and promising her as many flies and mosquitoes as they could catch. Ella stood back, and spoke with Vedris as Evelyn helped Meline administer the potion.

The job done, Meline promised she’d see Evelyn and Vedris later that night to tell them her whole adventure. As they reached her front door, Ella turned to Meline. “I must be returning home,” she said.

Meline nodded. “Oakhill needs its lord.”

Ella smiled. “My apprentice does, anyway. Havel knows his way around the tools, but he overreaches himself in his enthusiasm.”

Meline shrugged. “I hope you’re not too hard on him.”

Ella sighed. “He is only six hundred, after all.”

Meline shook her head. “So young.” There was a pause in which Meline regarded the distant cairns. “Have you ever been to Oak and Stone?”

Ella paused, about to mount Coarser. “I’ve heard of it. A weasel I know travels that way now and again, and brings back tea and spices for me.”

Meline twisted a lock of her hair. “I’d love to show you around. And maybe buy you dinner or something? To repay you for all your help. And maybe introduce you to some of my other friends.”

Ella looked surprised. “It would be my honour.” She hesitated a moment, then bowed, took Meline’s hand and kissed it in one fluid motion. There was mischief in her smile. “I await your invitation.”

In another fluid motion, Ella was in the saddle and off, Coarser’s legs stretching out over the pasture, carrying them away.

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

‘The Christmas Caper’ Chapter 6: Your Eyes Look Like Coming Home

Prologue | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5

FFN | Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

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                It was the loud conversation that woke them first thing in the morning. Molly opened her eyes, surprised to see herself tangled up with Sherlock, but the memories came flooding back soon after. She lifted her head enough to be face to face with him, finding him with a sultry smile.

                “Good morning, Molly Hooper.” His low voice reverberated through her. He brushed her lips with his, clearly enjoying himself.

                Molly traced his bare chest with her finger tips. “Are you going to wake me up like that every time?”

                He nuzzled her nose against his. “Mm, if you wish.” Sherlock pressed another kiss to the tip of her upturned nose. “What do you think? Should we go downstairs, and act as if nothing happened?”

                “And disappoint everyone? I don’t know…” she replied. “…Though it would be quite the surprise if we kept it under wraps for now.”

                “Indeed,” he smiled in agreement. Leaning over his side of the bed, he grabbed the satin black nightdress off the floor and handed it to Molly. “I think you’ll be needing this”—his eyes bore into hers—“especially for future occasions.” Sherlock gave her a sly wink, before getting up to find clothes for himself.

                Molly took a moment to indulge herself and admire his form before slipping her nightdress over her head, but where were her—ah! A sigh of relief escaped her when she spotted her knickers on the floor. After slipping them back on, she approached Sherlock and raised herself up on her toes to give him a chaste kiss on his cheek before stealthily sneaking out of his room and into hers.

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                Mrs. Holmes slapped his hand away from the chelsea buns. “Mycroft Holmes, don’t you dare! Save some for your brother.”

                “If he ever gets out of bed,” he grumbled.

                John laughed as he fed Rosie. “You two have the worst sweet tooth I’ve ever seen. A family trait, I take it?”

                “They come by it honestly,” Mr. Holmes remarked in amusement. “I’m lucky my wife loves to bake.”

                “You’re lucky I love you,” she shot back playfully. “I remember there was a period where I had to keep him off the sweeties, and dear God, was he ever so difficult about it.”

                Laughter erupted around the table.

                “I don’t bake, myself, but I understand your struggle,” Anthea confessed. “I’ll bring Mycroft a sweet treat every now and then, but I always have to limit how often I do so.”

                “Can we not?” Mycroft asked in annoyance.

                Sherlock appeared in the doorway, making his way to the coffee machine sitting on the counter. “Morning.” He was in the midst of adding two sugars when Molly showed up.

                “Good Morning, everyone! Morning Rosie!” She kissed the top of her goddaughter’s head, and began getting herself a cup of coffee as well.

                Mycroft grinned mischievously. “So, how was the intercourse last night?”

                Everyone at the table dropped their jaws, and Sherlock choked on his sip of coffee. Molly’s eyes widened silently asking herself how he figured it out.

                “Well, the two of you seem rather uncharacteristically happy this morning, but of course I couldn’t help but notice that Doctor Hooper has a rather noticeable love bite on her neck,” Mycroft observed.

                Molly, red in the face, clapped her hands together. “Oh-kay, that’s it, no making deductions before lunch.” She then reached up and felt around for the love bite, and sure enough, it was there. At least she left her hair down so it wasn’t fully noticeable. Giving an awkward smile and nervous laugh, she said, “I’ll be right back.”

                “Tell me, Mycroft, was everyone teasing you so mercilessly, you had to embarrass Molly in order to throw attention off yourself?” Sherlock reprimanded his brother. He set his mug aside and left the room.

                “He’s right, you know,” Mr. Holmes spoke up.

                “That was a very naughty thing you did, Mikey. You should apologise,” Mrs. Holmes added.

                He sighed, knowing he was in the wrong this time. Anthea didn’t say a word, but the glare she gave him told him enough. “Yes, mummy.”

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                Molly was attempting to cover up the love bite when a light knock sounded at the door. She took a deep breath. “Just a minute.”

                “It’s me, darling,” Sherlock told her, opening the door enough to slip through. He approached her and gathered her hair in his hands to help her see. “Are you alright?” He could see her smile at him in the mirror.

                “I’m fine—I was just caught off guard,” she told him. “Of course everyone was going to find out sooner or later, but I never thought it would be in that manner.” Molly added the last bit of powder needed. “I don’t know how we missed this being here.”

                Sherlock gave a light chuckle. “There’s always one thing. Sorry I got so carried away.”

                “It’s alright,” she assured him, setting down the brush. “There, hardly noticeable.” Molly felt her hair fall in silky waves as he let go, and turned towards him. “Thank you for checking on me.”

                Before he could answer, another knock sounded at the door. Sherlock opened it to an uncomfortable Mycroft.

                “Hello, yes, I, um, wanted to apologise for my behaviour,” he stammered. “It was rather distasteful of me, and I hope you can forgive me—both of you. I am rather glad the two of you finally caved.”

               Molly smiled kindly. “You’re forgiven, Mycroft.” She glanced toward Sherlock who didn’t appear to be in a forgiving mood. Just as she did at Rosie’s christening, she lightly elbowed him.

               He sighed. “Fine. You’re forgiven. I suppose if it hadn’t been for your inane idea, we wouldn’t have gotten this far so quickly.”

               Sherlock’s mobile rang.

               “Rupert? Are they ready? I’ll be right over.” He slid his mobile back into his pocket. “I’ve got to run an errand in town—I’ll be back quickly, promise.” With that, he kissed the top of Molly’s head, and darted out the door.

               Mycroft furrowed his brows. “Any idea what that was about?”

               Molly only answered with a shrug.

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               Christmas Eve was upon them in what felt to be only a matter of moments, the day having passed by so quickly. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had everyone gather in the sitting room where the fire was crackling and the tree was sparkling with its fairy lights reflecting off the decorative baubles. It was time to open gifts. Of course, when their children were young, they waited until Christmas morning, but ever since they became adults, it was always on the eve of Christmas.

               One by one, they went around the room starting with Rosie. And then it was Sherlock’s turn, but instead of opening his gifts, he produced one from inside his jacket pocket. It was a small rectangular box perfectly topped with a bow made of ribbon.

               “I think Molly should go first,” he said whilst smiling at the woman beside him.

               She laughed nervously. “I didn’t get you anything, though.”

               Sherlock shook his head. “Nonsense Molly, you’ve given me everything.” He encouraged her to take the gift from him.

               She obliged out of curiosity and pulled one end of the bow to undo it in one graceful motion. The lid was removed next to reveal a gorgeous pair of earrings; antique bronze finish, inlaid with blue fire opal in the center with Swarovski crystals surrounding it. The shape made them look like bright stars in the night sky. The blue fire opal with its varying shades of blue and green reminded her very much of Sherlock’s eyes. “They’re beautiful,” she remarked. “Sherlock, thank you.”

               His smile reached his eyes which crinkled at the corners. “I’m glad you like them, Molly.”

               “I love them.”

               “I love you.”

               “I love you too.”

               John cleared his throat, worried that they may have forgotten there were other people in the room. The blushing of Molly’s face confirmed that for him.

               Mrs. Holmes looked on in awe of her son and Molly. She was truly elated over their reconciliation.

               Loud conversation continued throughout the room. Molly now wore the earrings which gleamed when the light hit just right. She was playing with Rosie on the floor and was surprised when Sherlock settled down beside her. He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple as he held on to one of her hands.

               Molly closed her eyes at his touch.

               “Perhaps,” he spoke softly to her, “next year I could give you a ring.” He smirked when he heard her intake of breath.

               She decided to tease him a bit. “Perhaps I say no.”

               Sherlock kissed the spot below her ear, his breath hot on her skin. “Oh, you wouldn’t dare,” he replied playfully. Her eyes locked on his now, both their hearts thrumming wildly in their chests. Despite the audience they no doubt had, he kissed her, smiling against her lips at her enthusiastic reciprocation. It didn’t last nearly as long as he wanted. Touching his forehead to hers, words he said years ago came bubbling to the surface. “Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.”

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Molly’s Earrings (can be bought from Taylor Swift’s Merch Store here)

[indiantiquest]

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