#can just SEE the thought bubble of horror as a dog above dusts head

[triglycercule]

horror's jacket fluff has probably accumulated so much DISGUSTINGNESS over 7 years in it that it's managed to acquire it's own signature Dog Smell (TM). however i think this would be a prime opportunity to pet him and then get some of that disgusting smell on you because for some reasons Dog Smell is just unavoidable when you pet a dog with a lot of hair

he'd hate it but awww awww whos a good boy (ﾉ´∀｀*) whos a good boy (*≧∪≦) YOU ARE!!! awww so cute you didn't commit all those murders against innocent people you were innocent (￣▽￣)／ such a good boy!!!! (gets beheaded) (he got too embarrassed)

[applsauss]

Pilot | War-Tober #28

Description: Home looks different from up in the sky.

Fandom: The Pacific


Pairing: RV Burgin/Reader

Word Count: 900+

Warning(s):  None.

From way up in the air, the fields of home are familiar in a way that makes Burgin’s head work for it. At first glance his eyes can glaze over the landscape, write it off as foreign, but then his brain catches up and he realizes what it is he’s seeing. The plane tilts to the left, and he’s flooded with peace all at once when he spots his house, the white sheets billowing on the clothesline and the barn doors propped open.

There’s something to be said for belonging, wholly, to one place. It settles like dust in his bones, fills his heart with some form of contentment marines are quick to laugh off as quaint -- But Burgin feels it with his whole being. His homeland is green and flat, with a sky bluer than blue and the shadows of clouds laid flat and bare across the rolling hills, chased by the smaller, darker shadow of the little red crop duster you pilot.

The plane’s propeller buzzes like an insect in front of him, and Burgin is wary not to stick his head too far over the edge, but the wind rushes past him and tangles its wayward fingers in his hair. You try and shout something at him, but your words are stolen by the wind. Burgin grabs hold of the edges of his seat, then turns his body to face you. “What?”

“I said,” you annunciate with intent. “Do you want to do a barrel roll?” The horror on his face must have been apparent because you laugh loudly, then say, “don’t worry, RV. It was just a joke.” 

Burgin shakes his head, then sits back down in his seat facing the right way. You continue to fly the little plane in wide turns, swooping low twice over his family’s farm before you direct the plane up higher into the sky. 

Immediately, the temperature drops and Burgin is freezing in a way he hasn’t been for a very long time. The feeling is so alien to him he’s almost surprised by it. Faintly, he hears your whoops of joy being stolen from him by the wind once again. You pass through a couple clouds, setting the plane at a swooping incline that makes Burgin’s stomach drop. Then you slowly bring the plane lower and lower till you’re directing it towards a little strip of trees by a stream a couple miles away from either of your family’s properties. 

You land the plane gently, though the wheels bounce and bob in the grass, making Burgin grab hold of his seat and white-knuckle the leather. Eventually you bring the plane to a full stop and Burgin follows you out, body feeling strange as soon as he steps onto the ground, like he should still be up in the sky. 

You pull your arms above your head and stretch while he squints up past the sun and marvels at the clouds you just flew him through. They are monstrous in the sky, bigger than any battleship he’s ever been on. It brings a smile to Burgin’s face, the thought of what the two of you must’ve looked like, dodging clouds.

With a dramatic huff, you flop onto your back in the shade of the plane, and Burgin quietly sits next to you, enjoying the peace. A couple yards to his right, the stream bubbles and a row of poplars rustle in the breeze. It’s hot though, smack dab in the middle of the dog days, and so as the chill dissipates, Burgin begins to sweat. The plane is like a heater behind him, but the sun is even worse. He pulls his legs to his chest to keep them out of it.  

After minutes of silence, you sigh loudly and Burgin’s attention is brought back to you. You’re staring pensively up at the clouds as they rove the sky, at the whims of the wind. Your brow is furrowed and the sight makes a soft affection flood Burgin’s chest, warm and sudden and more than welcome, like a longing for home. He wants to lean over and press a kiss right to your forehead, and for the first time in his life, he lets the want roam freely about his mind; there isn’t a war to keep him from daydreaming anymore.

“Do you ever... think about all our friends, RV?” you ask hesitantly. “You know, they’re all gone, off to college or married. Do you ever just wonder what you’re doing? If you’re even where you’re supposed to be?” You’ve obviously thought about this for some time, but Burgin doesn’t feel like he knows how to be worried anymore. 

He stares at your face and thinks of all the expressions he’s seen you make, of all the ones he can draw out of you, of the way you laugh at him and how you shout with joy when you’re flying. “No,” he says earnestly. He’s been to war and he’s returned from war and now he knows exactly where he’s supposed to be, and he won’t ever leave that place -- home in Texas and by your side. 

You turn sharply to look at him, but find something on his face that makes you pause. He knows he’s looking at you like you’re the sun in the sky and he doesn’t bother hiding it. You flick your eyes away from his, a shy smile playing at your lips and Burgin knows for certain he’s in love.

Masterlist | War-tober Prompts | My Schedule

[heavenbarnes]

i don’t love him but he’s here and you aren’t

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader x Bruce Banner

Warnings/Contains: drug use (marijuana, so please don’t read if this makes you uncomfortable), age gap, unprotected sex, if you squint it’s cheating, mentions of death,

Word Count: 2,350

Request:  Okay.... weird request..... but like,,, smoking then getting freaky aka lazy high sex with Bruce. Normal, or Endgame!Bruce, anything works. Please, I'm dying over here

so i decided to take this request and make it bucky x reader also, but it’s post!snap. this completely disregards most of what happened in endgame, and i essentially re-wrote the film. i just decided to make a ridiculously dramatic piece and borderline nonsensical piece, cause it’s quite wordy x

Think of what your city would sound like if you removed half of it’s inhabitants. She could confirm for you, it sounds like a graveyard. Those left behind unable to find the strength to make a sound.

The ones that do make noise, it’s like a haunted cry for those they lost. Building after home, after school, after car left empty. Like a dog awaiting it’s owner to return home.

She sat on the fire-escape, looking over the city. The lights still shone, half the cars still rumbled. Her solemn gaze cast its way from building to building. This spot, all the way up here, felt like the only place she could escape.

She couldn’t leave the tower any longer, without being hounded by questions and cries. “Where is my son?” or “Why aren’t you doing more?” or “Do you know what it was like?”

That one stung like nothing other. Did she know what it was like? Did she know what it was like? Dig deeper, keep asking, keep wounding. What they should’ve asked, it’s right there.

“Do you know what it’s like to lose someone to the snap?” Can you imagine how that feels?

She kept her head down when the question was asked, she shut her mouth and pushed through the people. She ignored the sound of unanswered questions, the sound of accusations spat at her.

She didn’t dare answer, answering meant accepting. Accepting that, yes, she did know how it felt.  

She knew exactly how it felt to hear her name leave his lips, like a cry for help. She knew how it felt to turn as quick as she could, in time to see him fall to his knees. She knew how it felt to watch the only person she ever loved turn to dust. She remembers it like it was last night.

“Steve! (Y/N)!” She heard it like a bullet whistling past her ear.

She’d never moved so fast in her life, scrambling to turn towards the source of the noise. She saw him there, gun tumbling towards the earth. Knees following suit.

She opened her mouth to scream, but he was gone before she knew it. She watched the body she’d mapped with hands and mouth, break away like clusters of stars.

How can someone be there one minute and gone the next? 

By the time Steve made it to her, she was a heap of what used to be, only cradled by the ashes of the man she loved.

Her eyes found their way to her Captain’s, silently asking for help? For forgiveness? If you can’t save the one you love, can you save anyone else?

If you can’t save the one you love, can you save anyone else? 

That’s what it felt like those people were asking. There wasn’t sympathy for the Avengers. No, “we’re sorry you lost your loved ones, too.” Only, “if you can’t keep your own safe, how can we trust you with ours?”

So she hides on the fire-escape, this way she is able to watch the city but she can’t be touched by it. She feels safe so high, she only feels safe when she’s high.

The lighter sparks and for a moment it blends in with the other lights, makes her feel less alone. The water bubbles in the confines of the glass, before the smoke makes it’s way deep into her lungs. As she exhales, it looks as if the city rests in the clouds.

If she could’ve picked up her city and hidden it deep within the clouds, she would’ve. She would’ve kept it safe, she would’ve protected the people that looked to her for safety.

Mother’s wouldn’t be without children. Husband’s would be with their husbands, wives with their wives and visa versa. Best friends would see each other again. She could pick the people up, like petals in a storm drain, and set them aside to safety.

She knew at the end of days she’d ask “have I done enough”, and for a while she thought she could answer with a solid confirmation. Now, the lines are muddy and she can only ask “have I done anything at all?”

“Please tell me you aren’t playing the blame game?” A tired voice came from behind her.

She turned her head to the right, resting her chin on her shoulder. She didn’t attempt to keep turning, she knew who it was. Turning back to her front, she brought her lips back to the glass. 

Bruce took silent invitation to join her perch outside. He was never a fan of heights, but he felt safe in her presence. He felt her arm at his side, offering him the glass vessel that was sure to set their minds at ease.

Bruce felt it too, the shame and regret from that day deep in the jungle of Wakanda. All of what they could’ve done better, who they could’ve saved. When Bruce joined the Avengers, he always hoped the pain they suffered wouldn’t translate to the innocent people on the streets.

He looked at her profile, watched her glossy eyes dart to every corner of the large space in front of them. He was taken back to that day, the sounds of her cries, when what was Bucky ran through her fingers like sand. He was taken back to the pain, he didn’t have anyone to feel that way about him, he shouldn’t be here.

The feeling of the smoke taking over his senses helped to loosen his muscles, helped to put him on a different plane. One where he could do something, anything. He could make things better. His physical form was, unfortunately, still existing on a plane where he hadn’t done enough.

Bucky Barnes has a beautiful girl who spends every waking moment reliving the moment he was taken from her.

Bruce Banner has a cold side to his bed and his own right hand.

Don’t tell him that everything happens for a reason. He shouldn’t be here.

“Do you think they’ll ever forgive us for everything we didn’t do?” She asked quietly, taking the glass back into her hands.

“If we can find a way to do it, then I suppose they will.”

“Do you think we’ll find a way to do it?”

“One where we all come out the other side? It’s slim but not impossible.”

“I know I joined this team with guaranteed martyrdom.”

Bruce let her words sink in as they passed the smoke back and fourth. She isn’t supposed to know how bad things get, yet. She is supposed to dream of weddings, white pickets, backyard barbecues. 

Instead she dreams of dying, for a good cause, to see him again. She knows better than anyone, how bad it gets, how bad it hurts. She knows that if she gets any salvation, if she catches any break, it’ll only be from the sweet release of-

“Death isn’t an option, nobody dies and we bring the dusted back.” The herb in his hands made him feel superhuman, more than he already was.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

She looked at him, for the first time since he came out here, she looked into his eyes. They looked like her own, a little red, just a bit watered. 

“I admire your optimism.”

“And I admire your durability.”

She took in a deep breath, one that wasn’t to inhale smoke this time. They’d passed it back and fourth so many times, it was getting to the end of the tether.

“What do I have left if not an inch of strength?”

“Half a team that needs you more than you give yourself credit for.”

She continued to gaze into him, past his eyes and into him. She saw a different pain in him. She’d been analyzing her own so long, she forgot what to look for in the others. She felt the heaviness in her own eyelids, and then she felt the need to move.

To move different, to roll about someone else’s sadness, growing tired of her own. She was so accustomed to her own sadness, she was crawling in her skin. She wanted nothing more than to put on someone else’s, live different for a moment.

So when she had Bruce’s hands in her own, on the plush of her carpet, she felt different. She felt as if she’d stepped out of her own bones, to jump his. She felt at home in his arms, just a home she hadn’t been to for a while.

Like opening your front door when you’ve been somewhere else for a while. It was going to take some time for this to start feeling normal. And how much time did she have? Was she willing to give?

With the pull of her eyelids, she felt the pull towards him. The angels telling her to rest her laurels with him. To step out of the ashes belonging to another, to rise as the phoenix here and with this man.

This man, with the olive skin that bares lines of success and failure. The man, with the rough hands from solving the worlds mysteries. The man, who smells like knowing your worth and knowing your horror.

The man who knows too much.

The devil lies in knowing the color that kills, the color he know all too well how to turn. Lies in the 7 PHDs, that each teach him what to be afraid of. Lies in knowing the outcome of impending actions, but not running from them.

He brought her down to the ground with them, forgoing the bed, back to floor to lay with the dogs. He knew how to run with the wolves, and he knew what they’d do to him if he stayed too long.

Thankfully the smoke in his brain was able to wrap his thoughts in a warm towel, bundle them up and deliver them to the back corner of his brain for the time being. He had company, and she smelt like flowers and freshly washed clothes. She was real and she needed attention.

So joining their two bodies at the waist wasn’t in need of debate. It seemed the most righteous thing they could do at the time. She sat a top him, and from the angle, the light above her head was nothing more than a golden halo. 

Did that mean she was finally glorious, and without sin? Or did the universe know more about martyrdom than Bruce had realized.

He had to find himself deep within her, she held the secrets and he couldn’t get deep enough. His arms wrapped around her back, bringing her chest flush to his. He thrust his hips up, finding any chance to become one with her.

She was the fountain in which you got penance, the vessel to drain all unjust actions from our world. Bruce was able to bathe in her tide, was he as grateful as he could be?

No, which was why he turned their bodies, laying her back gently against the carpet. Her eyes slowly opened, reaching out for the man above her. Bruce brought a hand to her soft skin, rolled it about in his palm. Would he always remember how delicate she felt?

She looked pure again, like a girl who didn’t know how it felt to have her joy snatched straight from her. She looked blissfully unaware of life’s cruelties. Bruce got off on the idea that she might’ve been whole again.

But she wasn’t, which was why she was full of him. With each rock of his hips into hers, every spark that ignited from the friction between them, she was having a real void filled with false hope.

At least the cries from her mouth were real. The way she said his name was undoubtedly real as it coiled up inside his stomach. Her fingers sliding up his chest, nestling in the thick hair, that was about the most reality Bruce had experienced in a while.

He watched his mind wander away from him, escorted on the purest white cloud. His consciousness went right after it, eager as anything to see where the smoke of the night could take him.

To Bucky, he was loudest that night. He was louder than her moans. Louder than Bruce’s deep breaths with each thrust. He was louder than the blood rushing in their eyes.

How did Bucky hold her when they made love? Cause that was what they did, they made love and it wasn’t on the floor only after she’d had enough smoke to sedate upstate New York.

How did Bucky fuck her? Did he lift her hips to ensure it was the most pleasure she could receive? Did he run his hands the length of her body to remember what she felt like? 

How did Bucky speak to her? He must’ve known the exact things to say, when to speak, how to speak. He would’ve made more of an impression than Bruce is.

But it seems to be doing the trick, the way she brings her arms to his back. Her half-crescent nails sinking into the tight muscle of his shoulders. Her lips next to his ear, as she whines his name.

And he feels the ultimate tide washing over him. It came in the form of her orgasm finally reaching the entirety of her, cascading onto him. He caught the bug, feeling the heat draining from him as he lurched forward.

Like the ghost moving through him, in the moment he had become Bucky. He knew how it felt to take the blessing on the floor of a dimly lit bedroom. 

As they lay together, coming to their own conclusions, they chose to forfeit thinking. It was better to stay in a mindless state, rather than accept what they’d come to realize.

She was the type to remember forever, she might get by, but she’ll be there when you get back.

He was the type to help you get back, so you can slot right back in where he longed to belong.

[romancemeyamato]

24 Hours with Negan (part 3 of 5)

Negan's right, in this hellish landscape there is no happy ending. But as the two of you begin to see the silhouette of an old house in the distance, you think to yourself 'there can be happy moments.''

The sun has nearly set already, and you grip your axe handle tightly, prepared for whatever comes next. The sides of the house are overgrown with weeds and shrubbery, making it impossible to look through the windows. Negan doesn't say a word to you, but you effortlessly fall in step behind him as you both round the house. With a swift hard kick, Negan knocks the front door open and you both take a moment to listen for walkers. When you're both sure you don't hear the growls of a mass suicide pact, you step in to begin clearing the rooms.

He looks at you and nods towards the upstairs, while you silently agree and begin moving through the lower level. The first room your in- the living room- is obviously clear. So you move on to the kitchen. It's kind of funny, before the fall of humanity, you used to think open concept living was overrated and stupid. 'A gimmick in those stupid house shows my step mother used to watch.' Open concept may look stupid, but at least it makes the walkers easier to find.

You search beneath the kitchen table for crawlers, and then the lower cabinets for any lurkers. You know enough to know that walkers could be literally hiding anywhere. You sigh in relief as the kitchen is cleared, and move on to the guest bathroom. From the guest bathroom you move to the dining room, once again checking beneath the table and behind the thick fancy curtains. You've checked every door, and there doesn't seem to be a basement so you make your way up the stairs to find Negan.

When you reach the top of the steps Negan meets you. "It's all clear up here," he says, but then he points Lucille toward a little rope hanging from the ceiling. "All except there."

'The attic,' you think, following Negan over to it. He taps Lucille against the ceiling and immediately you hear a shuffle.

"Ah, shit." Negan tightens his grip on Lucille and motions for you to pull the attic cord. Dust and debris spill down from the attic, and you gasp in horror as Negan suddenly closes his eyes.

"Fuck!" He shouts, wiping his face. Clearly something isn't right, but you can hear a quickening shuffle making it's way towards the opening. Negan's head's still turned away and it's all happening so fast.

You hear it getting closer, closer, closer- and suddenly a little gray body falls through the hole. You swing your axe handle with all your might, sending it crashing against the hall wall. Without hesitation, you bring the handle down twice in rapid succession, crushing the tiny skull. It's then that you notice that this walker was just a child before it turned- probably no older than three. You feel sick at the thought, but Negan seems absolutely tickled.

"HOLY HELL! You just hit that little son of a bitch like piñata!" He's shaking his head in disbelief, "I've never seen a walker fly across a room like that before, that shit was hilarious! You really are a savage!"

"Which room was the kids room?" You ask, ignoring his chuckles. That seems to sober him up, and he points Lucille towards the room at the end of the hall. "Thank you," you say, scooping up the tiny corpse. As you do so you hear Negan climb the attic ladder, presumably to finish clearing.

You lay the tiny body down on it's bed, and bring the covers up over it's head. You don't mind killing walkers, but the child walkers still give you giant helpings of sadness. You can't help but feel as though children should somehow be immune to it all.

You hear a gentle knock, and Negan steps in. He stays silent for a moment, watching you. But you don't know what to say. You want to tell him that babies are innocent, they don't deserve the cruel things the world has to offer, that your brother didn't deserve any of the cruelty he received. But you don't need to tell him to know what he's going to say. No happy ending. To your surprise however, Negan places one of the stuffed animals on the bed. He lets you mourn, even if it simply consists of sitting in silence. And when the last of the days sunlight finally begins to fade you both leave the room together.

In the kitchen, Negan starts a small fire in a tin pot. It doesn't do much to illuminate, especially since the moon is full and bright. But you watch him work in silence as he opens a can of shredded beef and warms it over the fire. He takes a few bites before handing you the can.

The meat isn't bad, especially if you ignore the dog face on the can. 'At least they fed their dog the good stuff,' you think. It's not like you're above eating it, and you've certainly eaten worst. You're just glad your stomach isn't twisting in hunger anymore.

You take another bite, and suddenly you feel a small chuckle bubble out of you.

"What's got you laughing over there," Negan asks, reaching for the can.

You can't help it, you're full blown laughing now. Clutching your sides, tears streaming down your cheeks- the whole nine. And you hear Negan chuckling in both amusement and confusion.

"You w're right," you manage to say between fits of laughter. "It did look like a fuckin piñata!"

Negan joins you in laughter, nearly choking on his bite of food. "Jesus Christ!" He says, wiping a hand over his face. You don't remember the last time you laughed this hard, and it feels good to just feel the pain of a good laugh. But then you feel something else too. A fluttering in your chest at the sound of Negan's laughter. It rumbles out of him and soon you feel your laugher fading as you watch him instead. Laugh lines crease the corners of his eyes and down along the sides of his brilliant smile. You know you're staring but you can't seem to look away.

"You're my kind of girl," he tells you, talking another bite. He goes to hand you the can but the look you're giving him stops him in his tracks. For a moment he just stares back at you, his tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. He quirks an eyebrow. The longer you stare the more it feels like your insides are heating up. You don't really know what you want to do, but the urge to do something is eating you up.

"Negan-" you start to say, but you're instantly distracted by the most beautiful sound.

*DRIP*

You both turn towards to the sink, where a single drop of water has escaped from the faucet.

"Oh shit," Negan watches in awe as he turns on the tap and a stream of water comes gushing out. Its brown murky color soon turns clear.

"Well water," you say in astonishment, "Oh my God, I'm going to shower!" You feel like you could cry from excitement. You turn to run up the stairs to the master bathroom, but stop suddenly. "Do you mind if I go first?"

Negan seems surprised by the question. "Not at all, darlin," he says softly.

You smile joyfully and run up the stairs, already halfway undressed before you get to the bathroom. The master bathroom's got a pedestal tub and a large stand-in shower, but you don't care. You just want the grime of earlier to be washed off of you. You step into the shower and even though the water's cold and smells a bit like rust it's the best feeling in the world right now. An old bottle of shampoo is sitting in a cubby, and you pour it generously into your hair. The bottle says it's supposed to smell like vanilla milk and papaya extracts, and you don't even know what that means nor do you care because you could be in heaven for as good as you feel.

From the filtered moon light coming through the large window, you can see the blood stained water circling the drain. You wash and scrub your entire body, under your nails, behind your neck and back, and- like your dad used to say- the pits and slits. Soon the water's running clear and you're shivering so you step out to search the closet for some clean clothes. There's not much to choose from, it seems whoever lived here before was not your size. But you find a pair of loose jeans and long sleeve tee. Over the shirt you throw on a short sleeve and pull out a jacket. You see a scarf tucked in the back of the closet and decide to pull that out too. You toss the jacket and scarf on a nearby chair, deciding you'll wear them tomorrow.

When you finally go back downstairs Negan is sitting on the couch, illuminated by his small fire in a pot, and writing in a notebook.

He looks up at you and smiles. "Saved you some peach cobbler in a can."

"Thank you," you say happily, taking the can from him. You sit on the sofa beside him, pulling your legs beneath you. As you take the first bite of sticky sweet pie in a can you can help but sigh in happiness. You rock gently back and forth, savoring each bite.

"That good, huh?"

"Oh, yeah," you tell him, scraping the spoon against the inside, trying to get every drop.

Negan just chuckles. "Good. I'm glad." He places his notebook down and reaches into his bag, "c'mere. Let me see your shoulder again."

You turn towards him, but this time when you show him your shoulder he's surprisingly gentle.

"Just some Neosporin," he tells you, pressing the sticky salve into your skin. He lets his thumb ghost over your scratches, carefully looking for any sign of infection. Then he gently presses on the skin around it. The rough pad of his thumb grazes over your collar bone and you can't help but shiver from his touch. He must notice because he shifts closer, letting his hand move up your neck. You lean into his touch, and when he leans closer you're absolutely sure he's gonna kiss you.

Instead he presses his forehead against yours. "I ain't a good man, baby doll," he warns you.

"You could be," you tell him, breathless. You know you should feel shameful saying it, but the words spill out anyways. "I'd follow you."

For some reason Negan pulls away. He seems torn, running his tongue over his bottom lip as he thinks. "(Y/n), I- I want you to find your mother. Don't get hung up on a guy like me."

He places his belongings in his bag and stands. "I'm gonna go clean up, kid. You should get some rest."

You watch him as he walks away, your heart pounding from both excitement of him being so close and the slight embarrassment of being turned down. But still, even though he's walking away, he pauses for a moment and it doesn't feel like he's telling you no. You realize as he disappears into the bathroom that what happens next is up to you.

[If you choose NOT to have sex with Negan, go to chapter 4.

If you DO choose to have sex with him, go to chapter 5.

They will be two completely different stories so if you're feeling really adventurous read both!]

[mariposalass]

That Wascally Scorbunny!

Plot: Mari finds herself adopting another Pokemon into the family and the PokeBirds are not ready for it to come this quickly!

Notes: Thanks to @husband-of-lucoa sending me a link to his story of Marina adopting a Sobble and the announcement of Pokemon Sword and Shield coming to the Switch, I decided to write about how a Scorbunny sneaked her way into Mari and her family & friends’ hearts.

Tags: Any possible spoilers for Pokemon Sword and Shield, insert all known Elmer Fudd and Bugs Bunny/Looney Tunes jokes and references, bunny hi-jinks, PokeBirds being so awkward, pet adoption

It was quite a long whole day of work for Mari as she plopped down onto the couch of her living room exhausted from having to deal with mischievous young ones causing havoc in the Daly City Public Library one late afternoon. She was now hoping that the weekend will come sooner so she can relax from the unnerving attitude of those naughty teens earlier. A plate of carrot sticks and a small tub of hummus on hand, she blissfully munched on some sliced carrots dipped in hummus: what an ideal of a lazy day indeed. Well, it would’ve stayed that way if it weren’t the PokeBirds making a fuzz over a shaking bush at the backyard. Hoots, chirping, and squawking were grinding down her patience more than she could bargain for as she begrudgingly got up and went outside, with her carrots and hummus on hand.

“Tor-chic? Torchic, Tor?” Torchic was rotating her head left and right out of curiosity at what was hiding behind the bushes.

“Pip-lup, pip lup lup!” Piplup tried to snap her out of her gaze at the bushes, getting fed up of everything happening that day.

“Rooow-let?” Rowlet hooted in.

“Alright, you guys: what’s the whole fuzz behind those bushes right now?” Mari asked the bird Pokemon as soon as she got to the backyard garden, “I couldn’t relax with you guys being worked up over some noisy bushes.”

The PokeBirds went silent without arguing with their owner before she took her sights on the bushes and inquired them again, “Let me guess: It’s either Scooby is having a freak out or some stray animal decided to turn this part of the backyard their new home, right?”

Neither Pokemon could give her the answer she needed, so she decided to pick up a random carrot stick and got down to one knee, beginning to wave the stick at the bush to see what kind of creature is hiding behind the bushes. What she didn’t expect was that a tangerine nose poked out from the bushes, sniffing at the carrot stick she was holding onto. The next thing she knew, a pair of incisors snatched the carrot stick away from her grasp, shocking her and the PokeBirds in horror as they heard loud carrot munching from the bushes.

After what seemed to be forever, something white jumped out of the bushes, causing Mari and the PokeBirds to back way for safety as the mystery creature landed on the grass, coming to a screeching halt with burnt marks with small flames on the trimmed grassy ground. Right in front of their eyes was a mostly white furred bunny with orange and black eyes, whisker-like fur jets, and orange & yellow markings on the ears, on the collar, above the nose, and on & beneath the feet. But this was no ordinary rabbit, even in Pokemon standards for this one had slender arms and legs to boot. That rabbit Pokemon was giggling, rubbing their nose before the eyes spotted the inhabitants of the house.

“Scor-bunny!” the rabbit creature cried as it gazed upon them, judging from a noticeable feminine voice, Mari did guessed that this particular bunny might be a girl.

“Piplup! Lup, lup, Pip-lup!” Piplup was starting to lose his patience at the mischievous rabbit-like pokemon that he tried to use Bubble Beam at it, only for the rabbit to jump around them for the giggles.

“Row, row-let!” Rowlet twisted his head as he was trying to catch up with the fast jumpy rabbit Pokemon.

“Torchic, Tor!” Torchic was guiding Mari to the scorch marks the intruding rabbit made upon landing which confirms the fact that this rabbit was a Fire type like her.

“A Fire type Rabbit, you say?”  Mari mused on the thought when the rabbit made a friendly pounce on her with Torchic startled by the action.

The Rabbit Pokemon was looking at her in the eyes, just begging for some love, and that was honestly a scary thought for her: taking care for a bunch of rowdy bird Pokemon, a sassy kitten, and an easily chickened out dog is one thing, but having another pet Pokemon into the household is already asking for too much trouble. Besides, how would Scooby and Marie react to this stranger being in the house? What about the PokeBirds: they too want as much attention from her as well.

Sill, she couldn’t bare to stray her eyes away from the cute act this bunny is doing onto her nor she has the heart to say no to this adorable bunny Pokemon that she began to stroke the rabbit on the head like she would for a cat or a dog: She even let the bunny to have some of the carrot sticks and hummus as a peace offering, leaving the PokeBirds horrified by the sight since they were expecting her to freak out by this intruder. This was giving them a scary thought: neither of them was expecting her to be THIS friendly to a wild Pokemon without being caution and thought that she should give up the rabbit to someone else who can take care of this thing.

But alas, Mari has made her decision: she was going to keep this energetic Scorbunny regardless of what they think now and they have to get used to her high energy for the rest of their lives. It was shocking to see that attitude from their owner towards any wild or stray animal or Pokemon right away, and they thought that the others would be more skeptical about this newcomer than Mari would ever be in this situation. As it turned out, they were woefully wrong.

When Harry, Philip, Kirby, and Kairi got back home with Issa coming for a visit, they soon came up close and personal with the Rabbit Pokemon, and her bubbly personality & charm soon tugged on their heartstrings so much that they couldn’t resist her instantly. This went on for days as more of Mari’s circle saw and befriended Scorbunny, which left the PokeBirds in the dust, fearing that Mari was starting to forget about them in the process. And yet Scorbunny noticed the gloominess in their bird faces that she hopped into action and offered her friendship to them. Torchic, sensing some possible camaraderie with a fellow Fire type Pokemon, took the offer with no hesitation, and Rowlet, while reluctant that his feathers and leaves could get burnt by her feet and enthusiasm, accepted her as a new friend as well.

This left Piplup stuck between a rock and a hard place: he was getting fed up of her antics and high spirits at times, but he didn’t hate her at all. What’s more is that fire gets drenched by water, so that was too much trouble to ask for. Still, Scorbunny didn’t care much for type weakness/strength anyway and reached out her paw to him. Unsure of what to do at this point and with Mari taking full notice of the internal struggle within him along with everyone else, Piplup reluctantly lent her his wing and soon got shaken quickly by her enthusiasm more rapidly than a shaken cocktail drink to his surprise before she dropped him on the floor and quickly noticed her error upon seeing a really dizzy Piplup on the floor at her sight. Soon the Pokemon then began to play around as if none of the previous awkwardness never existed between them at all.

Mari giggled and smiled at the sight of her pet Pokemon having a blast with each other so much, and while she is aware that it will take a while for the PokeBirds (and Scooby & Marie too) to get along with their new friend immediately, she can see the strong bonds they will and the great memories they’ll have, fully evolved or not…

The End

[marjiandco]

Raiku slides to a halt, scuffing his new boots against dirt and mud. Sweat falls into his eyes as he chokes out something between a cough and a gasp. He lowers his drawn bow a fraction. How did they not see an attack coming, let alone by such a large force? 

He narrows his eyes against the dark haze of dust and smoke, catching black metal men chasing after their woefully unprepared resistance forces. Hope the others will catch up with me soon, Raiku thinks. His heart, already beating so hard against his ribs jumps into his throat at the sight before him. He can’t wait; Y’shtola lay flat on the ground as a garlean in heavy armor points his longsword at Lyse.Must be their Viceroy...gods he’s tall for a hyur. Raiku exhales slowly; at least has the element of surprise. There’s a familiar reedy snap in his ears as his arrow flies true.

It doesn’t hit. Raiku blinks, and blinks again. How…? The Viceroy manages to twist his wrist and cut the arrow in twain near the hilt of his sword. His eyes widen as a flash of doubt crushes his abdomen. I can’t do this. He faces dangers everyday with Marji at his side,but he has not seen her since Ilbard’s fall. The Viceroy in front of him turns in the slow nature of a predator. An overwhelming feeling of loneliness washes over Raiku, the beginning of fear bubbling in his stomach. He shakes his head and takes another arrow from his quiver and pulls back on the bowstring. The garlean’s grotesque mask stares down at Raiku, the edge of his sword low enough to graze the ground. Even from far away Raiku hears the distinct rasping of metal fingers tightening its grip.

Raiku sucks in until his lungs hurt and shouts “I am the warrior of light.”

A deep, hollow voice rumbles beneath the mask. “You are not worthy of me.”

The viceroy’s voice rattles in Raiku’s mind as a bead of sweat drips from his chin. Why am I mimicking her? An image of his friend pops up before him. A woman immovable from the battlefield and willing to fight like a wild animal against her enemies. He used to think he could do the same but watching the man before him makes him realizes what it’s like to see Marji from the other side.

“Release them and leave this place!” I can’t be next in line as champion what in seven hells am I doing?

He waits for a response from the garlean, but he does nothing. Fires from the war tents drift nearby, and for a moment Castrum Preatorium flashes in his mind. Raiku grits his teeth and curses to himself. He feels the string grow taut in his hand and aims at the garleans neck. Another to his elbows, his ankles. Anywhere that was vulnerable yet each time the viceroy avoids his arrows or worse cuts them away.

The man takes a step towards Raiku. Raiku bounces on his toes, his quiver tapping against his shoulder blades. The viceroy pulls his hilt near his head and crouches. Raiku freezes as his heart sinks. He knew he didn’t stand a chance. He knows It doesn’t matter what his opponent is going to do; it will be overwhelming. He needs help. Oh gods please be here soon. The smooth wood of his bow runs against his callused fingertips as it falls to the ground. The Viceroy leans back. Raiku drags his hand to his ear, feeling for his linkpearl. Rough metal gives way to a small plasticine button. He presses down.

Click!

The viceroy pushes off.

Click!

The Garlean closes the distance by half.

Click!

It’s their channel. Perhaps she’ll listen this time. The viceroy towers above him and swings his blade.

“Marji-” is all Raiku manages to say.

********************************************************************************

Not far away, just beyond a jagged outcropping of hills a blue and white dog was sprinting towards Rhalgr’s reach. On its back, a grey miqo’te lets out low whistles to urge her war dog onwards towards the explosions and sounds of battle. She reaches into her bag and pulls out her wooden mask, careful to make sure the horns don’t knick her ears as she puts it on.

“Hurry Mavi!” She shouts.

She must be far from her families encampment by now, but Azeyma knows she can’t just hide when the scions are in trouble. She feels it in her bones thanks to the echo. She spits on a rusting magitek aircraft as they pass it by. Her father will be furious when he wakes, but her brother Ooji’a will let him know. Hopefully he’ll let him know. They round a corner and her war dogs yelps. Pandemonium stretches out before them; fires, tents boiling to ash, people running to and from battle. She jumps off her dog, giving her a quick pat on the back as Mavi whimper-barks.

“It’s okay girl.”

She unhooks her book from its holdster at her side, grabbing a well worn green tag and summons her Garuda-egi. Her dog points her nose towards it, rigid but otherwise does not move. The egi cackles and Marji feels a familiar sense of malicious contentment from it. She has long since been used to the things chaotic nature, and keeps hold on the mental tether between them with ease. Marji climbs back onto her dogs back, curling her fingers into her dogs fur and relaxes at the rumble beneath.

“Okay let’s-”

“Marji”

Her blood turns to ice and a wave of nausea rolls over her. Her vision blurs and feels herself slipping off her mount but she clings onto consciousness. Her vision mixes in with a memory of a small red haired lalafell being viciously kicked several yalms away, smashing into a pair of dilapidated pillars behind him. His breath is knocked from his lungs and he struggles to his feet. His bow is far from him now, but a brute of a man in garlean armor marches for him. The lalafell takes an arrow from his quiver and cracks it over his knee, tossing the feathered end aside as he pushes himself to his feet. He waits until the Garlean is close and dives beneath the sword and ducks behind the pillars. The garlean says nothing and with untold strength cuts the pillar in half. The lalafell has no time to scream. He flings himself to the left of the rubble, slamming headlong into an armored fist. A sickening crunch from his nose fills in Marji’s head as the force sends him off his feet towards a stream.

Marji’s vision clears. She bares her fangs as a high, clear war cry barrels through her lips. Her hound howls in return and sprints into the foray.

*******************************************************************

Raiku rolled to a stop on his stomach, hoping to pass out. A single moment of rest for twelve’s sake. One of his eyes has swollen shut. He felt something broken and stabbing in his chest. Air snakes into his lungs in haggard gasps as he felt his throat thick with blood and bile. He hacks out red spit that dribbles from his bottom lip. Funny, he thought it’d be more noble to have himself torn up, like in his stories. Instead it's just an endless string of snot and blood. He drags his hand underneath his body and pushes himself up onto his knees and coughs again, causing agony to rack his body with each breath. His bow lay far from him and his arrowhead in the pile of rubble he narrowly avoided being under. He just has to last until help comes. Right? He wraps an arm around his abdomen.

He sees the Viceroy’s shadow before he heard him. Eyes wide and unmoving, he watches the shadow lift its sword high overhead. He was going to skewer Raiku like a pig at roast. Raiku musters all his strength and tosses himself out of the way of the attack landing painfully on his side.

“You just can’t seem to stay still.” The viceroy sounds almost bored.

Raiku looks back at the man in wonder. Not a scratch on him? In the middle of a battlefield? Raiku has to get away. To flee. He tries to get up and yells in pain. He twisted his ankle, he can’t. His eyelids flutter. He crawls on hands and knees towards the water, sluggishly thinking he could swim away. He didn’t make it two ilms before a metal hand latches onto his back leg and drags him back. Raiku digs his nails into the dirt and let out a hoarse cry before he’s flipped onto his back.

“Pathetic.”  

The Viceroy let go of Raiku’s leg and picked up his boot and stamps down on Raiku’s belly. Raiku scratches and claws at his boot like a rodent caught in the talons of an eagle. The garlean once again raises his sword high above his head and Raiku watches in horror. The viceroy swings down and Raiku closes his good eye.The sword does not penetrate him. In fact, the man’s weight was damned near lifted from his body. He drinks in air as a green blur shoots past him. He raises his neck to look, and saw the blurry outline of a black and white haired miqo’te in blue armor.

“‘Bout time you showed up.” He says, letting his head fall to the ground.

********************************************************************************

Marji crouches in front of Raiku, nails digging into her book and eyes glowing bahamut’s blue. She gives Mavi the vocalization for protect, pointing at Raiku. Her hackles raise and he bends her head low over the beaten lalafell, teeth gnashing. Marji takes a few steps to the side, hoping to draw the Garlean’s attention away from them. Behind her she hears her father’s dog dig its nails into the dirt and the familiar tinkling sound of healing magicks. Her brother decided to tell him after all.

The viceroy chuckles, cracking his neck. “Your friends were a disappointment, but you? I think you’ll entertain me.”

Her skin crawls at the artificial honeyed voice of her opponent. “Leave this place.” She snarls.

They fight, and Marji has seen plenty of fights. Big and small, her and her opponents would dance until she find herself standing over them, but this time? The Viceroy has this cold veracity she’s scarce encountered She has to continually keep on her toes, jumping back and forth to avoid his swings of his sword. Her attacks did little, if she even has time to charge them at all. She flees as far as she can while keeping the Garlean’s attention; just far enough to meditate and call forth the rage of her bahamut’s trance. Easy, when your closest friend lay bleeding because of you. She bellows out an unnatural roar, her back bending far enough to near snap her spine before coming back upright. She’s floating, her toes skimming the ground as she unleashed her most powerful spell: deathflare.

A blinding wave of blue light erupts around the garlean, burning the ground beneath his feet. She keeps hold of it as long as she dare strain her aether. As the plume of light turns to smoke she falls to her knees panting. She looks up in horror as he steps out of the superheated aether as if it was merely wind around him. His armor isn’t even singed. She pulls at the mind-tether between her and garuda and has her use an enkindling spell, jumping back to her feet to call and instruction but the viceroy cuts her summon down, turns his head, and rushes at her with unnatural speed. Marji  twists herself in an attempt to jump out of the way.

“Pity you could not have stayed around longer, Champion of savages.” He whispers into her ear, cutting his sword across her arm and back.

A blinding white light burst behind her as his sword made contact. She’s thrown 20 yalms away and lands wrist first into a crumpled heap. Her back burns from lacerations, but otherwise she’s alive. Zenos froze in his final position as the tip of his sword fell into the mud beneath him. He stares at it for a moment as Marji staggers back to her feet and slips back down, bracing her elbow against her knee.

Zenos looks down at his hilt and let’s the sword fall from his hand.

“Pathetic.” He spat once more.

Without looking at her, he leaves the area, calling a blonde haired soldier to follow. The resistance fighters froze, unable to will themselves to chase after the Garleans. If their Warrior of Light can’t hurt him, who else can? Marji clumsily lifts herself to her feet, pushing past Raubahn’s inane questions to check on her lalafellin friend.

She gives a low whistle and points behind her for Mavi to leave Raiku’s side. He was still unconscious.

“Is he going-”

“Yeah but he’ll need more than me to sort him out.” Ooji’a says.

J’baro rushes to her and pulls her into a one armed hug, keeping her from falling onto her friend. “Then bring him into the infirmary!” She commands.

[borkasaurusrex]

*snuff - TAPE 001 / "Cecillian Heights" / 28 OCTOBER

(so uh HIYA there, Ellie here! This amalgamation of spooks was originally an experiment I wrote around Halloween time last year. It was to see if if I could take a horror-esque found footage thing, and translate that whole feel and business well through a short story. Unfortunately, I pretty much quit halfway through and tucked it away, never to be seen again... ‘till NOW! Thanks to the reassuring words of a friend (*wink* *wink*) I’ve blown the dust off this failure and, almost 3 months later, it’s ready to GO! While the original story was supposed to just be an one-shot, I’m convinced there enough potential here to have a series going! (assuming it’s not as janky as I think it is, anyway) But yeah, please, give it a shot! Sure, it’ll take ya like over an hour to read this chunky boy but I would REALLY love it you’d try it out sometime anyhow!

Cheers ~ ~ ! )

[RECORDING  • ]      

The video starts, displaying a wide-shot of some sort of bedroom: light, beige colours on the walls, darker shades for the floor below. Brown furniture accented, rusted bunk bed a light shade of blue. 

You know, standard stuff.

In front of the room (and, more importantly, the camera) is a man. 

Well, no, not exactly.

A teenager, maybe. Young face adorned with  Asian features, shoulder-length black hair above open grey flannel.  His legs (and everything below the chest) are out of view.

The man, boy, whatever, clears his throat. Then, he speaks:

"My name is Laurence Dexter. And... this, is my video diary."

He doesn't say that last bit with confidence.

"My parents said this would, uhm, help with organizing my thoughts and emotions, as well as having a way to make the memories last. Helping my speech skills, too, would be a, uh, helpful side effect..."

Laurence clears his throat again, adjusting his collar. 

"Today's the day of a very important - "

He stops himself.

" - ah, actually... no. Tomorrow's the project, not today. I'm attending college right now, just... not in any classes. Yet, I mean. Just one more lecture today and... well, I dunno. Might go out later, maybe, or I might not, depending on how long the class goes on. You know how school is..."

Awkward silence, uncomfortable eyes and all. He takes a quick sip from a nearby water bottle and continues:

"Yep, CHC... jealous, huh?"

No response.

"Uh, yeah. Anyway, I, uhm, should get ready. Class is about to start and, you know... don't want to keep them waiting. Right?"

Again, nothing. Laurence sighs, picking up the camera. He holds it high, showing off his good side as well as his room's impeccable carpet. 

"Oh, uh, do you want a tour of the place? I mean, I don't want to go out like this... but, hey. I can show off the rest of my dorm, can't I?"

The camera sways mildly, showing off the depressingly unremarkable dormitory. The voice of its carrier whispers from behind:

"Over here we have a closet - well, one of them, I guess. This one has towels... I think."

Further in the room the shadows are dark, obscuring most of the finer details. Door outlines are still present.

"Over there at the end's the bathroom... don't think I have to explain to you what that's for. Annnd there is another closet, a spare,  probably, for my 'future' roommate... and across from there is I thiiink - "

"BOO!" 

A voice erupts from behind, the shock loosing Laurence's grip as the camera takes a tumble onto the carpet below with a soft thud.

Blackness. Darkness. But not silence, if the sudden burst of bubbly laughter from above is anything to go by. 

And, after, a familiar voice:

"Evie, don't do that!"

His ambusher lets out a high-pitched giggle.

"I didn't mean to make you jump, promise!"

The audio omnidirectionally crackles as it's lifted up, view blurry but slowly coming back into focus.

"Why don't I believe you?" Laurence asks, features distorted by motion.

The camera turns to a new face: pale, round, with large grey eyes thickly defined by eyeliner. Beneath, her mouth turns up in a coy grin.

"Iiiiiiiiiiiiis it because I'm your bestest friend in the existence of ever?"

Behind the screen, Laurence chuckles.

"Maybe. I guess I should know your shenanigans well enough by now, huh?"

Evie's smile grew as he said that. Our flannel-clad hero shifts the camera, zooming out.

"How did you get in here anyway? You're not moving in here until Sunday, aren't you? So... you shouldn't have a key, not yet, anyway..."

Giggle. A small one, like its owner.

"Hmph... I gueeeess I must've found one..."

She smiles at the camera, swinging her arms impishly. Laurence's not amused.

"Alright, where are they?"

"... Where's wh - ?"

The view swings around, towards an ajar closet. Darkness makes it difficult to see anything, but not enough to shadow completely... such as the silhouette of a crouching man's head, for example.

"SVEN!"

The figure slumps into the sunlight, holding out his hands as if he was caught. It reveals a young man, pale-ish, jet black hair slicked up in wavy spikes. He lets out a goofy grin.

"Hey, that's mein name!"

Sven's voice is noticeably accented. German? Austrian? Japanese, maybe. Somewhere in that basic ballpark.

The teenager climbs to his feet, Laurence zooming the camera out.

"And, if you did what I think you did, the door fee will be yours too."

"Ahh, it's just some cheap lock. Ol' Man Shitters won't care. "

"I'm pretty sure if one on the security guards come around and sees the door's lock broken, he'll do more than just - !"

"Ay ay aaay! Picked, not broken. There's a difference!"

The view doesn't break, neither does Laurence's silence. Sven shrugs, innocently.

"What? It's true..." Sven whispers, leaning against the closet door. 

The camera shakes as Laurence moves towards the bathroom, past his smirking friend, shuffling unpredictably. 

"'What ya doin'?" Sven asks, voice muffled from behind, "'Ey Dex, I'm talking to you!"

Likely ignoring him, he continues until he reaches the (probably) wooden door, hidden partially by darkness and nearby posters and family portraits. Laurence's hand appears from below, turning the doorknob. Obviously, he opens it.

On the other side is a porcelain bathroom, bare and boring, almost flawlessly clean... besides the dusty black combat boots resting on top of the oaken sink, anyway. Its owner leaning back in the toilet, however, is a bit cleaner; their black hoodie borderline impeccable, their intentionally torn jeans of similar colour the same. They uncross their arms, smirking with sass.

"You're out of bagels, scrub," she says, voice surprisingly rough.

The camera zooms in closer to her face, going shoulder length, just like their electric blue hair. 

"Why would we keep bagels in here? It's a restroom, isn't it" Laurence asks.

Her grin fades.

"Yeah, whatever..."

The camera stays in place for a series of uneasy moments, the pale female staring at something off-camera. Probably unimportant.

"I don't like it when you guys come over uninvited, you know that," Laurence says. "So, why do you keep doing it? Huh?"

She scoffs loudly, not making eye contact. The cameraman sighs.

"You can't keep doing this. We need to address that."

"And you need to get that stick out of your ass, Dexter. Maybe we should 'address' that instead, huh?"

Silence. The awkward type.

"Jezebel, is there something you need to talk about?"

She turns around, pushing up her glasses.

"No, I'm just... just tired, that's all," she says.

"Tired of what?" Laurence asks.

She grins the same as she did only a few moments ago.

"I don't know; I was hoping by now I would've found out already..."

After a brief bit of pattering from the hallway behind, the camera zooms out considerably, just in time for the rest of the group to make their way into the room. 

As the hyperactive Evie is making small talk inaudibly near Jezebel's throne, Sven struts ahead, staring directly at the lens.

"Did ya talk to Jizzie?" he asks, hand on hip.

"Yeah, kind of," Laurence responds, "She seems...  stressed. I was hoping I could speak to her a bit more, actually, before I forget. So, uh, if you don't mind - " 

"Actually, I do mind," Sven grins, "We've got a full day ahead of us, man. If you want to play therapist with the human equivalent of a crocodile, do it on yer own time, 'kay?"

He turns around, but not before Laurence calls out, "Wait, what do you mean "we've got a full day ahead of us?' I have classes I have to go to, you have classes to go to. We can't just - "

Sven stops, tutting. "Change of plans. We're, uh, going out to lunch. Cap'n's waitin' outside."

"Oh," he adds, "And turn that camera off, Dex. You look ridiculous."

"I, uh... oh, okay," Laurence mutters, the camera's view swinging down to the floor. 

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY] 

~-~

[RECORDING • ]      

The video starts, displaying what looks like the backseat of a messy van, everything but its occupants some various shade of brown. The camera, and car to some degree, rock back and forth, probably driving down some bumpy road. The camera pans around briefly, showing to the left is Jezebel, staring absently out the window, faint punk music leaking from her earphones. 

The view suddenly shifts right drastically, onto the smiling face of Evie. 

"Can I try?" she asks, excitedly. 

"I, uh, I don't know if that would be - " Our cameraman tries to say, stuttering, but stops as Evie begins to pout, making whining puppy-dog noises. 

"Awww, pwease?" she begs, face close to the lens.

"- uhm... okay, okay, fine. But please, don't break - " 

"Ah, don't worry about it! I won't, promise!" she says, taking the camera, view jerking fiercely. It slows to a calm, coming to a halt on a zoomed-out Laurence. 

"Hey, c'mon, smile! You're on caaaamera!" Evie says singsongy, zooming in further on her friend, his face smiling nervously, hand on back of head.

"Hehe," he chuckles, "You're doing great, Evie, but... if you don't mind, can I have the camera back no - ?"

"Hey, hold up!" a familiarly accented voice from off-camera yells, "You've got the camera? Pass it up, girl, c'mon!"

Everything wrenches around violently, audio scrunching loudly as only faint chestnut brown blurs can be seen. After a moment it steadies, showing an outstretched road from behind glass, a dusted dashboard below it, a small blonde bobblehead in blue jerking about on top of it with a big ol' thumbs up. 

"Heyheyhey, give that - " Laurence tries to say off-camera, but if falls on deaf ears.

"'Ey Cap'n, smile!" Sven mimics Evie, panning to the left, "You're on caaaamera!"

The view shifts towards the driver: a big man, made even bigger by his puffy khaki jacket. His skin is tan, anchor goatee and quiff a faded shade of black. He glances towards the camera briefly, annoyed. 

"Not if I throw it out the window first..." the man turns his eyes back at the road, growling.

"WoahwOAHNODON'TDOTHAT," Laurence yells from behind, camera jolting hard.

"EYEYEYEY, I'M NOT DONE YET, MAN!" Sven almost shrieks, lens shaking so ferociously that everything becomes a pale blur. 

"COME ON, DON'T BREAK IT!" 

"I'M NOT GOING TO BREAK IT, DUMBASS, I JUST WANNA - "

"JESUS CHRIST YOU TWO, I'M DRIVIIIING!"

The sound crackles like mad, vague silhouettes of people and things barely visible through the chaos.

 And suddenly... a sharp click!, and everything goes black.  

[/STANDBY] 

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, showing the inside of what is undoubtedly a Halloween store. Various packaged costumes (all adorned with awkwardly posing skimpy women) line the shelves nearest, a large "spooky" sign above reading "Look what's NEW!", barely visible through dim lighting. The camera pans around, the tightly packed aisle ahead empty, except for a particularly giddy teenage girl anyway.

"Oh!" Evie gasps, pulling a cheap bow tie down from a shelf, "Hmm... d'ya think I should use this black tie or - oh! - maybe that one could work too ...!"

"Doesn't it need to look like a bat? The tie, I mean," Laurence says off-camera.

"Yeah, but... well, I was thinking," Evie turns around, eyes down in thought, her bright hair the exact shade of the orange decorations behind. "Could we use one of these, like, to start, and make the whole thing from there?"

Laurence pauses. "... Probably not. It might just be easier to make it from scratch, if you really think about how long it would take to work from something like, well, that...," Laurence's hand pointed at a nearby accessory. "I'm sure Jezebel could whip something up before Halloween, if you ask nicely..."

"hEY, I don't do requests!" The view jolts up, Jezebel suddenly towering behind her far-shorter friend. "Commissions, though... I might be down with."

"Speakin' of "gettin' down", guess what I found in the back?" Sven pops out from behind, spangled (and still tagged) top hat on his head. "C'mon! Guess!"

Jezebel's eyes narrow. "What? Your dignity?"

"Hah!" Sven pats her arm. "Close!"

"Oh OH! Lemme guess!" Evie raises her hand tall, barely high enough to reach Jez's shoulder. "Is iiit... hmmm... maybe! Oh, wait nonono, that wouldn't be in this kinda store... oh! Maybe it's = !"

"It's a condom," The large Latino man from before appears from behind,  arms carrying dozens of bags, coats, and packages, high enough that it almost hides his jacketed chest. "Lots of them, actually."

"Dammit, Cap'n!" Sven gasps, putting a hand on his chest dramatically. "I thought we were friends, better than this! How could you betray your dearest comrade, after everything we've been through?"

The man, Captain, shrugs. "Guess I was bound to at some point. Nothing personal."

Sven laughs loudly, slapping his larger friend's arm. "Ah, of course it's not! It's... how do you say it? Collateral damage?"

"It's more like "altruistic homicide", but whatever works for you," Captain turns around and begins walking off, Sven hurriedly following behind. Evie even rushes off after them, leaving two behind.

Jezebel cranes her head to the side, visibly put off as she stares forward.

"Why do you have that thing out?"

"Huh? What thing?"

"You know 'what thing'," she says, crossing her arms, "The camera."

"Oh. Well... it's uh..."

"Turn it off, Dexter."

"Oh." The camera dips downward, to a white tiled floor. "Okay."

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY] 

  ~-~ 

[RECORDING  • ]    

The video starts, displaying the sunny exterior of a vertical (albeit slightly lopsided) building; one which, judging by its colour scheme and pictures on the windows, is a pizzeria. 

The view is shaky, uneven, as they begin to pace closer to the door, all but the biggest member, the smallest, and the cameraman of their posse absent from view, the other two clutching their coats close as a shield from the harsh autumn air.

"Do you think they still have that...uh..." Laurence's voice mutters,  "What was it called again? Kooky bread?"

A coarse laugh explodes out of Sven, an elderly man strutting nearby's eyes widen in shock.

"KRAAAAAAZY BREAD! You gotta say it like that. Like that one ad did. The one with that weird shite in it."

"Oh!" Evie's voice pips from behind, "You mean the one with, uhm, the wrestler, right? The silly one with the... taco, on his head? Yeah?"

"Ja, the wrestler! I remember the one! Seems strange to have a pizza ad with some sorta Rey Mysterio wannabe taco dude in the center of everythin', but eh," Sven chuckles, "At least the bread's sick..."

Jezebel groans. A leather-clad couple with matching scarves walking into focus, disappearing just as quickly. 

"Ugh, your taste is sick," she tucks her head away, whispering under her breath, "At least have standards, Jesus tap-dancing Christ..."

"Ay ay, just 'cause I have the best palette in all the werld doesn't mean ya have to be jealous, now does - ?" Sven stops, turning himself towards the camera, noticing that he's being filmed. He grins widely, the doors of the pizzeria (the name "The Hairy Italian" barely visible through the smudged glass and obnoxious font) directly behind. 

"Ya gettin' my good side? Ah, who am I kiddin'..." He shrugs his shoulders. "I've got nothin' but good sides..."

Jezebel turns her attention forward, hand on hip. "So, what's with the whole recording-everything-we're-doing thing that's going on? Are you, like, bored, or maybe just practicing your Ashton Kutcher impression? It's bad, if that's what's going on. Try being a lil' more punchable next time, if you really want to own the 'Asston Aesthetic'.."

Captain and Evie slip slightly into view, the former muttering, "He might just be trying to record our lives. Maybe." He looks annoyed, at the prospect of waiting so long and probably half a dozen other things.

"Why?" Sven asks, "It's garbage."

The group goes silent. Jezebel and Captain give each other a sideways glance, smirking. "True..."

With a wide shot, the pizzeria's front doors open, the portrait of a typical American family leaving. Sven, being the closest, holds the door open to them. With his messy eyeliner and general look of mischief, it's no surprise the closest he got as a "thank you"was a strained grin.

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY] 

~-~

[RECORDING • ]    

The camera jolts to-and-fro fiercely as Laurence slides into the booth, becoming still as the last of the group takes their seats around the (fairly) dirty table.

"So," Sven breaks the silence, propping up his elbow, "A toast? To the hopes of a truly terrifying Halloween?"

"Kinda hard to toast without drinks, surprisingly," Jezebel says lightly.

"Aaah, you're right!" Sven exclaims, waving his hand high in the air, "'EY! CAN WE HAVE SOME SERVICE, PLEASE?!"

A large (seemingly Hawaiian) man wearing the Hairy Italian's red and green uniform slowly strolls into view, looking on the verge of face-palming.

"Zeppeli wants you to stop doing that," the waiter practically croaks, "He says if you do it again he'll castrate you with an used pizza cutter. He sounded quite serious this time."

"I'm sure he did..." Sven chuckles, looking around the table, "Ya mind if I order this time, lads?"

Evie shakes her head smiling, while Jezebel looks a less on-board with the idea. "Whatever..."

"Alrighty then, we'll do a 16 inch Forrest Fire Supreme, add jalapenos. And then extra jalapenos too 'cause we're hardcore like that," he says the last bit with a cheeky smirk, "Oh, and four Wild Weasleys, to wash those flames down... oh, and a vanilla milkshake. For the milkdrinker."

"Asshole..." Jezebel mutters under her breath, to which her Germanic friend let out a quiet chuckle. The waiter looked down at them stoically.

"You know I'm not allowed to serve minors alcohol, Bernstein," the waiter grumbles.

"Well, uh, what if I sweet talk ya? Or let you look at my meme collection?"

"I'm interested in neither of those things."

"Aw, c'mon Gordon!" Sven turns up his eyebrows. "You let us get 'em last time..."

"Reason's simple. Zeppeli wasn't here." Gordon puts his pad back.

Sven cranes over, close enough to the waiter that they look on the verge of kissing. "He doesn't have to knooow ..."

Gordon stops, staring down at the floor and back up to his table. He sighs. "You better tip me extra for this..."

"Aw, thanks dude! You're the best, ya know that?"

"Blow your rectum off, asswipe."

Chuckling to himself as Gordon steps out of view, Sven turns back to his friends... and smiles. "So. What about that toast, huh?"

"Still no drinks, dumbass."

"I know, I know!" Sven leans forward, cupping his hand as if gripping a mug. "Doesn't mean we can't give ourselves a drink in spirit, now does it?

Jezebel places her hand on her forehead, eyes narrow. "Fucking Christ, you're stupid."

"Hey, I don't hear a 'no"!" Sven exclaims, jerking his cupped hand forward and making a clank! sound with his mouth. Jezebel groans.

She looks to her side, directly at the camera with a sour look on her face. Almost immediately, the camera pans downward to the seat of a beaten red booth and part of Laurence's jeaned thigh.

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY ]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, a grungy sidewalk ahead made only more so by the grey sky and clouds from above. The camera pans up, enough to see a very large facility: a school, coloured in a way so monotone it makes the lone, faded American flag waving desperately nearby in the wind look saturated by comparison. As the compound approaches, dozens upon dozens of students rush about to get their tasks done, a lot going into the building itself, where an engraved slab of marble reading 'Cecillian Heights College' can barely be read through the crowds and taupe air. 

The view shifts around slightly as it steps onto the campus, faint chatter and laughs can be heard but a loud cough erupts from behind, causing our cameraman to stop.

"Well, here we have the city's shinin' jewel," Sven announces as he walks into view, arms up for dramatic effect, "CECILLIAN HEIGHTS COLLEGE! Truly, a marvel to behold."

"Considering this place's rated the 23rd worst school in the States, it really shows how much the Abodes got to offer..." Jezebel mutters, off-camera.

"True, true," Sven nods as the group continues, strolling down the main sidewalk towards the school's front doors. No one seems to pay them any mind; if they know they're being filmed, they don't really seem to care. 

Sven clears his throat, pointing vaguely left. "'Kay, so... the main library is over theeere, maybe? I've never been there, so I dunno..."

"Surprise, that." Jezebel scoffs.

"The more artsy-fartsy lecture halls are over that way, somewhere..." Sven continues, "And the theater, cultural center, and hipster caves are right there, behind Cecillian Height's very own College Crazy..."

Zooming in, the camera stops on a single hooded figure standing on a wooden crate in front of the rightmost building, waving his arms around dramatically as if conducting some sort of invisible ensemble. Sven can't help but snicker.

"What do you think Amos is talking about today?" Captain asks, beanied head barely in view.

"Bullshit, probably," Jezebel says, "Like every preacher, if we're being honest."

"Ayyyy!" Sven laughs, giving her a fierce high-five.

The camera begins to bob as they continue moving again, passing by dark hedges and various chipping statues. Just as the university's large, unnecessarily regal entrance door comes into view, a hoarse voice can barely be heard, vivid and raving. It is Amos the preacher, and his sermon can be heard:

"The Ancient Eye speaks to me, my companions. Yes, it speaks to all of us, if only one chooses to listen! It speaks thus, of the Prophecy Child once more! She denies the Winged Prophet, claims his presence is that which is wicked. But oh, my brothers, how the opposition is the truth..."

"I like him," Evie says, off-camera, "He seems nice."

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY] 

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, view almost completely blocked except for a sliver of sight, showing off what looks like a rather drab lecture hall. The camera shifts slightly forward, the tops of several students' heads coming into view. Barely over those heads, though, on the floor of the hall is a scarcely visible man dressed in a trench coat. He gestures to the board behind him, a basic slide on display but unreadable. He turns around slowly, the frame bobbing too much to see his face clearly.

"And that's where we come to your assignment. Think of it like... your own personal documentary. While I'm sure it will not be quite on the same level as the works of Vertov or the others, there might be some shining gems among the drabble," he brushes his long brown hair out of his face, continuing, "As this is meant to be more recreational than professional, the rubric you should have on your desk is far more... pliant, than some other projects we will be doing later this year."

The slide changes, still mostly unreadable except for its header, reading 'Local Legend'. 

He continues, "As Halloween is right around the corner, I would prefer you to step aside from merely natural myths and go for the more... "supernatural". Although, honestly, I, the school, and your close family and friends would prefer your project to be more 'Albert Fish' than 'Long Pigs', if you understand my meaning - "

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts in darkness, overwhelmingly loud pop music playing so high that the audio crackles and heaves with every bass drop. Coming up from the darkness, the camera shows a dimly lit room, multicoloured lights barely illuminating the sea of dancing people. The view bobs ahead, slowly at first, but gaining speed as a familiar face is seen among the crowds: Sven, who's visage is mostly concealed by a red Solo cup. He throws it down furiously, waving his hand high above his head as he sees the camera inch closer. Sven laughs loudly, cutting over the silence as the track dies down and a new one begins.

"DEX! Oh Jesus-H-Christ, dude, now my boner's rippling!" He yells over the music, bare arm tightening on a (frankly uncomfortable) Middle Eastern teenager, dark eyes alight with confusion and curiosity.

"Dex, Dex, I want'cha to meet meh boy," Sven giggles, putting his head on the guy's shoulder. "Y'don't mind if I call ya "meh boy", do ya?"

"No... not at all," the boy replies softly, sticking his hand out, "I am Pallab. It is good to meet you, Dex. Or, uh, would you prefer 'Dexter'? Or 'Laurence', perhaps?"

A paler hand comes from out of frame, shaking his. "Same here. Oh, uhm, and Laurence's fine..."

"Annywaaays, enough sittin' 'round..." Sven stands up quick, on the verge of toppling over if not for his friend's hand. "We got busy-ness to take care of! AHVENGERS ASSEMBLE!"

Nothing. He scoffs, shrugging his free shoulder. "Guess we gotta do this the ol' way of fashion, then..."

Sven shoves past the crowds, diving deep out of sights. Pallab rushes off after him, whispering under his breath feverishly. Of course, Laurence follows.

Moving slowly through the crowds, politely pushing people aside or slipping between what few cracks could be found, he enters an opening: what looks like a snack table, a few people scattered here and there but far emptier than before. Sitting underneath a dimly lit red light is Jezebel, trying to chug her drink fast while Sven is plastered to her side, talking wildly as Pallab is trying desperately to keep his pal's balance. Sven's eyes widen with surprise as the camera comes close. He punches Jezebel's arm playfully, spilling her drink oh-so slightly.

"'Eeeeey, Dex, lookit who I found!" he shouts, shaking her shoulder. Saying she is irritated would be an understatement.

"Hey Dexter," Jezebel says, turning to her side, "And, uh... hey, you. Who are you, anyway?"

"Him?!" Sven yells a bit too loudly, shoving his friend forward, "T'is is Kabob! He's my special boy."

"My name is Pallab, actually. It is good to meet you," he says, holding his hand out.

She shakes it, smiling. "Yeah, don't worry about him. He calls me 'Jizzebel' sometimes accidentally, so don't think too hard about it."

"... You think that's an accident?" Sven laughs out loud, Jezebel pretending to ignore him.

Pallab smiles politely.  "What is your name, then?"

"Oh, sorry," she replies, "I'm Jezebel. Jezebel Duclaud."

He stops for a moment, looking lost. "Is... Is that your real name?"

She ignores him, taking a long drink.

The song changes, as does the conversation: "By the way, just, y'know, out of curiosity..." Jezebel says, voice barely audible over the Justin Timberlake track, "Laurence, why are you... well, here?"

"Like 'at the party here'? Or just in general?" Laurence asks.

Jezebel smirks. "Just the first one, for now."

The camera shifts, Laurence's hand barely in view. "Evie says she gave her phone to you at the Halloween store earlier and... well... she kinda wants it back. Not that I'm implying you took it or anything, just - "

"I get it, I get it." Ruffling in her pockets, Jezebel slowly takes out a phone by its earphones, the whole thing covered by a thin orange case with a chibi of a speedy Englishwoman on it, the print giving a lil' cheeky wink.

Jezebel hands it to Laurence sighing. "Of course she plays Tracer. I mean, it should've been obvious..."

"I MAIN GENJI, IF ANYONE CARES ~ !" Sven shrieks over the music.

Pallab takes his hand off Sven, looking confused. "Who's Genji? Are they from The League of Legends? I don't know much about video games but I have grasped enough from YouTube to - "

"We need to have a talk. Later," Sven says with fake anger, overdoing it just a bit.

"On the topic of, uh, talking, I wanted to ask you guys if you wanted to maybe do the DVP project together?" Laurence asks, "I mean, Mr. Davidson did say we could work in groups..."

"Project?" Sven asks, confused, "What project?"

"The urban legend thing, dumbass," Jezebel answers.

"Aoooh, right!" Sven snaps his fingers. "Uh... that'ta thing..."

"You all have the same class together?" Pallab questions, looking around. Everyone ignores him.

"Did you... uh... have anything in mind? That you wanted to do?" Jezebel asks, gripping her forehead.

The camera shifts slightly, as some people stroll across the screen, laughing loudly. "Uh yeah, I do. What about the Borhaven Beast?"

"... the what?"

"Yeah, you're right, that might be stupid. Maybe the Collapsed Bridge then. Y'know, the one near Coch? Or something local might be better, do you think?"

Jezebel closes her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath. "I dunno. You decide."

"What? You don't care?" Laurence asks, to which she shakes her head softly.

"I... uh... do whatever you want, Laurence. I'm... like, not really up to brainstorming right now..."

The music shifts to something a bit more akin to the classics, as Jezebel puts her head back and closes her eyes fully this time. Sven and his special boy seem to have disappeared at some point. When, though, that's the real mystery.

"Tell Captain to help you out, okay? He likes... stupid things..." she mutters, knocking a lone cup over with her boot.

The camera stays there for a moment, as Jezebel curls up as best she can in a metal chair. After realising he's not going to get anywhere, the view shifts downwards, becoming as black as it was before.

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, the faded beige and greys of a bedroom familiar, as the camera zooms out to show off Laurence's dorm. Stacks of brown, beaten boxes lay stacked up near the corner, a heaving giant of a man throwing a box down next to the others. He looks confused, wiping sweat from his beanied brow.

"Why are you recording me?" Captain asks, only for Sven to jump up from behind him like a wild jack-in-the-box, grinning madly.

"For the project! Duh!" the shorter man says, grabbing as much of his friend's shoulder as possible, "If we're doing a documentary Blair-Witch-style real horror show here, we need to record everything! And I mean, everything."

"You film me while I'm in the shower,  fucker, you'll see what happens..." Jezebel, lounging on the nearby bottom bunk, draws her thumb across her neck, gritting her teeth. Sven howls with laughter.

The view pans right as the door lets off a loud thud!, making Captain jump.

"Oh fuck, oh shit..." he stumbles quickly towards the door, swinging it open. From the other side a box is carried in, its carrier too short to see behind, but their voice gives it away.

"Oh my gosh, that could've gone sooooo bad!" Evie gasps excitedly, as Captain sighs in relief. "I mean, if I got two boxes this time instead of only one, I would've, like, fell over, huh? Just like 'Oh, I wonder where I'm gonna put this poste - splat! Ooooh, I just got chills... ~"

"At least that's all you got," Laurence says, zooming in on her, "I would have bruised something, if not worse..."

"Aww, I'm sure you'd be great!" she giggles, trying to grasp her box a bit better but it slips out her fingers, hitting the floor hard, resulting in a loud smash!

"Oh," she whispers, covering her mouth, "Whoops."

As Sven helps her salvage what little of the box's things as they can, Captain walks forward into view, crossing his arms. "I think I got it," he says, brow sweating.

"What?" Sven asks, back turned, "Herpes?"

Captain closes his eyes, taking a breath before continuing. "The Borhaven Beast. You know, as the subject. Of our project. The DVP one, I mean."

"Didn't I suggest that yesterday?" Laurence asks, as Captain takes a heavy plop onto a nearby office chair.

"Do you guys know about the Beast? Laurence does - " Captain grunts. " - obviously. The rest of you?"

Jezebel pokes her blue hair into view, her voice accented with a sneer, "The rest of us what?"

Captain sighs. "I'll take that as a "no", then..." He scoots his chair up to the nearby office desk, going on its computer until a browser can be seen, black but unreadable.

Taking a deep breath, Captain reads: "'The Borhaven Beast is an mid-western America urban legend, one that is newer than some legends but still dates back to the 1800s in some records. The myth goes that an older woman, obsessed with mortality and death, wished to avoid the latter entirely. And so, on her death bed, the Devil appeared - "

"Wow. A bit eager, aren't ya Satan?" Sven snorts. Captain ignores him.

" - the Devil appeared, offering her a deal: for every drop of blood she consumed of her fellow species, a day would be restored to her lifespan. She agreed, slaying her bedmaiden and drinking her whole. With her essence and bodily fluids filling her eager form, she hid the corpse within her very self, devouring it whol - "

"Uhhm, you might want to cover your ears or something, Evie," Laurence mumbles, turning the camera towards her, "Don't want to give you nightmares, right?"

"I already have those, silly!" Evie smiles, pulling her legs up in a cross, "I'll be fine! I like stories!"

"Can I continue, please?" Captain asks, brows furrowed. Evie nods.

The camera pans back over to our storyteller, zooming in close. " - it whole. The woman's body seemed to grow younger, but not necessarily youthful. Strength returned, she fled. Over the course of five months hundreds of women, men, and children disappeared from the city, striking fear and despair over its occupants. The handfuls who were left formed a witch hunt, going after the only citizen absent from their party: the woman. They ambushed her home and, in great fright, she fled to the woodlands. She escaped to a ashen cave, one which she hid the bones and inedible components of the victims she consumed. To her dread, however, the hunting party located her hideout and, in a determined flurry, caved in her hideout utterly, trapping the foul woman within for all eternity."

"As time went on," he continues, "so did her hunger until, in an act of desperation, tore her own skin from her back asunder, and feasted upon the blood which dripped from it. The blood, due to her very own corruption, twisted and mutilated her flesh, mutating the once-beautiful vixen into a grotesque demon-being. With only herself to feed on, she awaits those who can free her from her tomb, one which, according to legend, is located in Cecillian Heights' very own Deep Woods. Is it mere fear-mongering to disapprove Satanic involvement, or perhaps something even more sinister...?"

Silence. Captain looks around, smirking at first but that goes away quickly. He shrugs, looking defeated.

"Or maybe it's just stupid bullshit told to keep kids from fucking around in the woods at night. Still, it's more interesting than any other local legend we have. Unless you guys want to do a video on the Blue Trees of Misery?"

"Blue Trees of Misery? What's that?" Evie asks.

"Aren't those just some trees some dumbass spray painted behind the morgue in Coch?" Jezebel asks, looking at Sven, "Didn't we do that?

"New Years, 2014." Sven sighs happily. "Good times."

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, camera jerking to-and-fro as they walk down a lone sidewalk in what appears to be in front of a bank. A single man strolls out, briefcase in hand.

Jezebel walks out in front, Sven and Evie right behind. The bespectacled girl waves her arm above her head, shouting, "Hey! You! Excuse me, but we're college students working on a Halloween project and really need some interview-style stuff to prove our subject is... uh, legit. What do you know about the Borhaven Beast?"

The business man runs his hand through his hair, looking annoyed. "Not much. Just some hocus-pocus bull parents tell their kids, right? Nothing less, certainly nothing more..."

A soft smack! can be heard, and so can Captain. "See? I told you."

"Now, if you'll excuse me..." the business man practically darts out of frame, leaving Jezebel alone. She sighs.

"Ah shit," she says, "And I bought a cool microphone and everything..."

"Should probably, I dunno, use it on the next dude, huh?" Sven says, "The last thing this shitshow of a documentary needs is for our very own narrator sounding like fuckin' garbage, right, Dex?"

"... Huh?" Laurence almost whispers, shifting the camera down to the sidewalk.

Click!

The video starts, camera wideshot on a rugged looking man in flannel, face tough and worn.

"So, what have you heard of the Borhaven Beast? Any... rumours, sightings, mysteries, maybe?"

"I don't know what you're talkin' 'bout," the man growls as he walks out of view. It pans to Jezebel, hands on hip and microphone, shaking her head.

Click!

The video starts with an older woman in a shoulder-view shot, wearing a suit like the first but far more worn.

"Yeah, I've heard a good deal 'bout 'em," the woman says, "Monster beast that wears its skin like a cape, that it does. Even heard 'em say that the devil sometimes wanders int'a neighbahoods come nightfall with the harvest moon sponked right in the dark, pluckin' bad boys and gals from their beds... eats 'em whole, leavin' the bones and stuff scattered 'round the yards... y'know, scary stuff..."

Click!

The video starts, what looks like a homeless man lay sleeping on the sidewalk, head leaned on a bag of garbage. A wooden stick appears from off-camera, stretching slowly across until it lightly pokes the man's thigh.

Nothing happens.

They poke a little harder. The man's eyes jolt awake. He lurches up, making an inhuman sound like a billowing scream.

"SHIT!" Sven screams, the camera going fucking nuts.

Click!

The video starts, camera wideshot on a much younger looking fellow, a ginger teenager. Behind him looks like the fuzzy visage of the Hairy Italian, suggesting a break.

"The one time I've ever seen it, the Beast was, well, pants-shittingly terrifying," he says, "I would know, it had that effect on me. Hard."

"Tell us about it," Jezebel says, off-camera.

"Well, I was... nine, I think?" he says, shifting uncomfortably, "It was late, really late, and I heard this... weird scratching, from downstairs at the back door. The neighborhood had tons of strays walkin' around, though, so I didn't really think much of it... 'till the howling started. Once it started, man... well, it was awful. Like, imagine the worst, most awful thing you can think of, and multiply that by cancer."

Jezebel coughs. "Sounds pretty bad."

"It does, right? Well, yeah, I was pretty scared back then, but I wanted to know what was makin' the sounds. I needed to know. So, I went to the bedroom window, grabbed the curtains, and, prayin' for my life, pulled them open."

"... What did you see?" Jezebel asks.

He frowns, looking straight into the camera. "Nothing."

Click!

The video starts, camera wideshot on another older woman, sitting on a bench right next to a takeout bag of KFC. 

"It's grotesque. Some sort of abomination of man, one that, while not a demon, is absolutely-without-a-doubt demonic. It's... it's something else. It's not a "beast"... it's evil."

Click!

The video starts, the camera shaking violently as the homeless man from before is trying his absolute hardest to run away, the group trying desperately to catch up behind him.

"I'M NOT GOIN' TO DIE YET, D'YA HEAR ME!?" the man screams, hauling ass hard, "NOT NOW, NOT EVER!"

"WE'RE NOT GOING TO HURT YOU, JESUS!" Jezebel yells, off-camera.

Click!

The video starts, camera close up on a middle-aged man's face, eyes distant but somehow alert.

"The people of this city don't believe it's real. They think it's myth, it's superstition. Some idiots even worship that thing, can you believe that?" he sneers, "I know the truth. You'll know the truth, soon enough...

It zooms in closer, the man's worried expression filling up the screen. He gulps.

"... You'll all know, heh, I reckon..."

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, camera a wide-shot of the dorm from before, in what looks like from the bottom bunk bed's perspective. Captain is in frame, sitting in the desk chair from before, deep in thought.

He shifts his weight, the chair making a low squeaking sound. "So, the Borhaven Beast have a cult. You guys knew this about this?"

"Like, a cult following?" Laurence asks, off-camera.

"No, I mean a legit actual cult," he says, turning around to face the computer, "They're called the 'Bridge Beyond'. Small group, formed around nine years ago or sometime around that. Founded by their current leader, Treton Hewitt. They seemed wacked out of their fucking minds but they know a lot about what we're looking for. Should we give them a call?"

"You think some delusional cultists have a phone number?" Jezebel asks, also off-camera.

"I know they do. It's right here, on their home page," Captain says, pointing to the screen, "Local number too, so it's not anything shady like a disposable one."

"What are you waiting for then?" Sven questions, popping into frame, "Let's ask them some shit!"

Captain takes out a bogstandard smartphone from his jacket pocket, dialing in a series of numbers and putting it to his ear, a faint ring...! ring...!  can barely be heard. He opens his mouth to say something until his eyes dart open, leaning towards the receiver.

"Oh! Uh, hello there. How are you?" he waits a few seconds for a response, but obviously doesn't get any. "Well, me and my friends are doing a Halloween project about local legends here and decided to focus ours on the Borhaven Beast. I... uh, yes, I'm being serious... uhm... yeah, I get it... well... uh, look: we just want to maybe talk to one of you guys. You know, find out the truth of the legend by the, uh, experts... I... uh, yeah, I understand. No, don't worry, I've got it... alright, cool. Thanks."

He hangs up, slipping the phone back in his pocket. He looks up, smirking.

"Uh... guess who's got a Starbucks date with a cultist?" 

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, camera shaking mildly in what looks like Captain's van. His head can just barely be seen in the driver's seat, Sven right next to him, talking about something inaudibly but passionately. The car jerks to the side hard, Evie making a soft squeaking sound off-screen.

Sven turns around, seeing the camera. He grins, slicking his hair back. "Und so, after a chat with the head of a murderous cult, we travel to meet him personally, unaware if we'll ever come out again, alive, or dead..."

"... You know you're not the narrator, right?" Jezebel asks, view shifting to her on the left, "I am. Remember?"

"Yeah, of course," he says, panning back to him, "Just tryin' to set the mood, that's all."

She sneers, as the van comes to a harsh stop, causing Sven to bob forward and almost slam his head against the windshield. Almost. "Well, here we go!" he shouts loudly, thrusting open his door and leaping out. Captain does the same.

The view shifts harshly as Laurence gets out the car, dark at first but the bright sun above takes the camera a second to readjust. It jerks upward, as they began to move towards a large brick building, accented with green and and black, bold white letters spelling STARBUCKS COFFEE below a row of metal lights. The group, ahead of Laurence, make it to the door first, Evie staying behind the rest to hold the door open for her friend. Laurence steps through, camera shifting to her pale, smiling face.

"Thanks, Evie," Laurence says, as her grin grows.

"You're welcome!" she exclaims, grabbing Laurence's arm and dragging it into view, "C'mon, Laurie! They're gonna start already if we don't hurry up. Let's gooo!"

She jerks him forward, trying to keep the camera as still as possible while being dragged by a 5 foot tall girl in a crowded coffee shop. They shove past groups of people, making their way through the rich brown coffee shop until they reach an opening, the rest of their group starting to take seats at a table near the back, one with an unknown brown-haired stranger. As they walk closer, Jezebel leans over from behind Captain, gesturing forward.

"Are you recording?" she asks. Laurence must have nodded, as she takes her custom microphone out of her sweatshirt pocket, plus a crumpled up paper that unfolds to show what looks like notes. She closes her eyes, drawing in a breath... and begins.

"We're here with maybe our most prized interview yet. The expert, no, master, on everything to do with the Borhaven Beast hands-down. Ladies, gentleman, and everything between and beyond, I present you: Treton Hewitt. Anything you wanna start with, Tret? You don't mind with me calling you Tret, do you?"

"No, not at all," he, the man smiles, leaning back in the wooden chair. He looks almost ageless; definitely younger, but not anywhere near the age of the students. He adjusts his overcoat over his chest, almost like he's trying to tighten it. "Although I ask, if I may, to call me by Mr. Hewitt around our peers, or the Overseer, actually, would be better."

She silently chuckles, not able to help herself. If Treton notices, he doesn't react. "Let's start off with something I'm sure a lot of people are wondering right about now," Jezebel continues, "Why worship, well, a myth? Some local legend meant to frighten children late at night? It seems a bit... what word did you use, Evie? Silly?"

"Yeah, silly," Evie repeats softly, off-camera. Treton smiles vaguely towards her direction, returning back to Jezebel almost instantly. "Could not the same thing be said of other religions? Christianity, Islam? Their gods were never truly seen, only their effects... and their prophets. And like Jesus or Muhammad... I am here. The One Above gave me the sight to see my mission, to lead their disciples unto their embrace... and so far? I have delivered, undoubtedly. Unlike "God"... that it not fiction. It is fact."

He goes silent for a moment, staring off into the ridges and grooves of the wooden table. Jezebel clears her throat, looking down at her notes. "It says here that your cult - "

"Disciples," he interrupts, "We are disciples of the Higher Plane, not a cult."

"... alright then, your "disciples" don't call it the Borhaven Beast, do you?" she continues, "You call it the... "One Above", is that true?"

"It is," Treton answers, running his hands through his slicked-backed hair, "The title this city call them... the One Above is no "beast", they are a being of the Higher Plane, a realm undetectable by the mortal eyes or senses... they are far beyond what we as humans can comprehend. In order to pass into the true afterlife, one must exercise discipline, and strip themselves of human wants and desires. They weaken us, removing the spiritual bond we all possess the capacity for but rarely achieve. That is what we do. It is what we practice. It is.. us. And you too, if your eyes open truly."

Jezebel laughs awkwardly under her breath, looking visibly uncomfortable. "Heh heh, okay.  Well, not that much more in here except a few... smaller stuff. What's a day in the life like for a disciple of the... God Above?"

"The One Above," he corrects harshly, sitting up, "And, as I said before, we practice purging ourselves of human errors. For example, everything is organised perfectly, and without fault. Our clothing rules are lenient, but must follow a set of guidelines or risk imperfection. The facilities must be cleaned a certain way, using specific brands or often without them altogether. Interactions with fellow disciples can be friendly and fun but not to the extent of becoming overly-emotional, as base emotions are, as figured, overwhelmingly human. Even our meals have to be served a certain way, using ingredients certified and chosen for us, removing any chance of blunder. We take this all very seriously by the way, if that is not at first obvious. We kicked out a disciple a few months ago, actually, for preparing three extra strips of bacon than what is standard for morning meals."

"... You're joking."

"No. As I said before, this is serious," he explains, "Excess is, of course, human, and humanity is not tolerated by the Higher Plane. Even if the excess is of something as tasty as, say, bacon, this was not acceptable by any means."

"You lot eat bacon?" Sven asks, barely in view, "Aren't cults like all vegans or something?"

"Of course we allow bacon," he says, smiling, "We are not monsters."

Jezebel mutters something inaudible. Treton's smile wavers a little.

"How about we show you?" he asks. A bit of silence for a moment, with his eyes darting between those seated.

The frame shifts slightly to Jezebel, who asks, "... show us what?"

"That we are not monsters," Treton replies, camera moving back to him, "You see, as a... well, fairly new religious formation in the 21st Century, we are constantly under siege by the nonbelievers and their taunts, fueled by nothing but untrue rumours and assumptions based entirely around stereotypes. This... project, of yours. It could prove to these toxic individuals exactly what is going on within our people, clean of the poison and filth of the misunderstanding... please. Please, be our guest, just for a day! That is all we, the disciples, ask of you. Please... please!"

Silence. Only for a moment, though, as Jezebel breaks it.

"... Okay," she murmurs, camera zooming in on Treton's wide grinning face. "Alright, fine. We'll... uh, go. What time would be good for you?"

He doesn't reply. Instead, closing his eyes, letting out a heavy breath of relief, "... Finally..."

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, camera shaking as they approach a large beaten brown van, various logos and similar prints stuck to the sides and back, the only visible one near the front, its font and look resembling an early Fallout logo. Still, due to the darkness of night and the huge lack of lights outside, it's difficult to tell. As they get closer to the van it beeps softly, as Captain walks into view, pulling out a pair of keys and making his way to the back. Jezebel moves into frame, towards the seen passenger door and swinging it open, revealing what it undoubtedly Captain's van.

"You want to squeeze between Laurence and Evie, dude?" she asks, looking at someone off-camera.

"I'll just jump in the back, thanks," Pallab from the party steps in view, arms crossed.

"You do know there's, like, no seats back there, right?" Sven asks, off-camera.

"Oh," he mutters, "I guess I'll sit between the two you said before, then."

"Coolio," Sven grins. "Evie, do your thing."

"Alrighty!" Evie quickly walks into view, jumping into the van and scooting as far right as she can. She waves her arms in quickly, yelling something that gets cut off by the sound of the back slamming shut. The camera shakes wildly as Laurence gets into the car, everything muffling intensely for a few seconds until it, slowly, turns to the left, just in time to see Pallab pulling himself in, the lights and bare silhouette of Cecillian Heights College in the background. He's practically squishes up against the camera, as a soft click! can be heard from below.

"Sorry... I hope you're not claustrophobic," he whispers, as the sound of more doors shutting explodes from the left.

"Me too," Laurence chuckles awkwardly, as Pallab pulls away, just in time to see Captain and Sven in the front seats, throwing on their seat belts and slamming their doors to a close. Everything slowly goes dark as the car revs up to a start, the faint dashboard lights barely offering anything.

"Is everything ready? Does everybody got their bags?" Captain asks.

"You put them in the back, stupid," Sven says, to his right.

"Ah... right."

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts in darkness, passing lights from outside giving little illumination. Jezebel takes her phone out, barely visible from behind Pallab but enough to shine out a bit.

The camera turns to the front as Sven pokes his head out from ahead. "You guys want anything? There's a Mickey D's at the next exit and I need an excuse."

"Mickey... Mickey what?" Pallab asks, the view shifting towards him but quickly back towards the front.

"McDonalds, Kabob. Uncle Sam's best friend," Sven snickers. "SO! Any requests?"

Click!

The video cuts ahead, camera panning from the left, Pallab asleep. Faint generic metal music can be heard from the front, but it gradually begins to fade out. Jezebel can't be fully seen but it looks like she's tapping her fingers on her thigh, to a completely different rhythm.

"Well, sounds like your turns over, Cap'n," Sven says, view shifting rapidly to their side of the car, "Who gets to rock out now? Kebob?"

"I think he's asleep," Laurence whispers softly, zooming in on his snoring face as if to make sure. Sven laughs.

Click!

The video cuts forward, camera vibrating as loud dance music explodes from out of the speakers, Sven juking and jiving in his seat, while Captain dances with his shoulders as much as he can without taking his hands off the wheel. The track goes silent, Pallab rolling over in his sleep. It continues almost half-a-second later, returning just as strong.

"Who are these people? I just woke up in my, underwear ~" Sven sings, along with the track, "No liquor left on the shelf, I should prob'ly intro-duce myself ~"

"You shoulda seen what I wooore, I had a cane and a, party hat," he sings, waving his hands around wildly, "I was the king of this hooologram, where there was no such thing as getting out of haaaaaand ~ !"

The camera turns to the right as Evie sings along too, "Memories tend to just pop-UP, drunk pre-meds and some rubber gloves, five thousand people with design-er drugs, don't think I'll ever get enough ~ !" They harmonise surprisingly well. "Don't think I'll ever get enough!"

View shifts back just in time for Sven to do a fake air guitar, and then for the beat to drop, "CHAMPAGNE, COCAINE, GASSSOLINE! AND MOST THINGS IIIINBETWEEN! I ROAM THE CITY IN A SHOOOOPING CART! A PACK OF CAMELS AND A SMOOOKE ALARM ~ !"

Jezebel joins in, her voice drowned out by the others yell-singing but still noticeable, "THE NIGHT IS HEEAAATING UP! RAISE HELL AND TUUURN IT UP! SAYING, "IFYOUGOONYOUMIGHTPASSOUTINADRAINPIPE ~ "

"OH YEEEAH ~!" Sven screams.

"Don't threaten me with a good time!" Laurence finishes, and everybody laughs loudly. Sven pats the shoulder of his friend who's trying desperately not to fly off the road from his extensive grooving.

Click!

The video cuts forward, all is silent as a light acoustic track is playing in the background. The camera stares idly out the window at the passing signs and faded ads, a large green sign speeds past warning that forests were ahead, and to be careful. The view jerks to the right drastically, coming really close to Evie's face, zooming out as she held a capped cup with 'McCafe' elegantly printed on the side.

"Ya want some?" she asks, gesturing towards her beverage. Laurence must have shook his head, as she smiles sweetly to the side, mumbling, "Oh. Okay."

"EVIE!" Captain shouts from off-camera, startling her slightly, "It's your turn, princess."

"Oh, OKAY!" she jumps up from her seat as best she can with her seatbelt still on, stretching herself to the front as she ruffled through their collection of CDs.

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, the camera shaking slightly as the van comes to a slow stop. And, after a few seconds, the car's engine shuts off with a strained silence, the lights coming unexpectedly back on. Almost everyone's doors are slammed open as they all rush out of the van, Pallab blinking his eyes awake as he turns around slowly, looking confused.

"What... where did everyone go?" he asks, yawning.

"We're here," Laurence mutters, camera shaking intensely everywhere as he makes his way out. His shoes hit the ground with a low crackle, the view panning upward, showing a long, spiraling gravel driveway down to a lone log cabin in the near distance. With the dark particularly dark night and the full moon above, it looks rather ominous.

"Hey Dex!" Sven shouts from the back, Laurence shifting the camera towards his direction, as the Germanic boy is heaving luggage out from the back, Captain at his side. "Ya gonna help us, man?"

Laurence pauses. "No."

Sven tries really hard not to smile, as Captain pulls the trunk shut. "At least he's being honest," the latter whispers under his breath, walking away.

Laurence turns back towards the front of the van, Jezebel and Evie waiting. Captain comes out from behind, leading the way towards the cabin, and the rest of the group follows. Their footsteps crunch against the gravel and rocks underneath, scene shifting to the side to show off the massive trees encompassing the area, so high the cloudy sky above can barely be seen. They continue walking, Sven and Evie's voices in the background, the camera panning around slowly to capture the flora and zooming in on any dark crevices or shadows. The view pans back to the group as they reach the door the log cabin, it completely bare aside from a lone rocking chair on its patio, opened boxes piling high to its left.

"I wonder what mailmen think when they ship shit out this far," Jezebel whispers from off-camera, "You ever think they just, I don't know, make up some excuse why they couldn't complete that order? I know I would..."

"'Uh, yeah, sorry boss that I couldn't get that Amazon order from the Heights delivered today. It's just that, y'know, I came to a creepy-as-all-the-fucking-fucks cabin in the middle of the goddamn woods and though: hey, is a minimum wage job I secretly hate really worth my life?'" Sven acts out, impersonating a nasally teenager, "No? I didn't think so either!"

"Quiet," Captain whispers, as he steps onto the patio and, without putting down any luggage, knocks on the front door heavily. Nothing. Just silence, as he looks back to the group, brows furrowed.

"Huh. Maybe this was the wrong addr- " the front door explodes out before him, cutting him off as Treton Hewitt appeared from inside, the warm light behind him illuminating them all.

"Ah, I was wondering what was taking you all so long!" he exclaims happily, "What was it, anyway? Traffic?"

"You could say that," Sven replies, sipping from his McDonald's cup.

"Yes, but regardless! You must all be so cold out there! Please, come in, come in!" Treton waves his hands inside, as he dips back into the cabin. Captain shrugs, walking in too. Evie follows him quickly, as does Sven, and Pallab. Jezebel stands outside with Laurence for a brief second but sighs, mumbling something to herself as she strolls inside to join the others. Turning briefly back to the van, in what looks so far out now in the dark woods, he rotates back, and goes in.

  A sharp click!, and everything goes black.  

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, the warm oranges and browns of the house a stark contrast of the dreary black from outside, the walls very intricately but sparely decorated. The camera pans to the left as the group explores the kitchen, decorated homely, as if done by a grandparent. Treton walks into view, smiling as he checks on a pot resting above the stove top.

"I am sorry that supper is not quite ready yet," he says, sounding nervous, "James was meant to have complete it an hour ago, but I suppose he must have had other matters to attend to."

"Is James... a 'disciple' of yours?" Jezebel asks, leaning her shoulder on the counter top.

"Ah yes! Yes he is," Tret says, taking out a spoon, "One of my best, in fact, perhaps the one best suited to becoming the Overseer after I, well, pass." He dips the utensil into whatever is cooking, taking a steady sip. "He is upstairs with the others, performing evening prayers. A bit late, I know, but we did have a busy day."

"Really?" Jezebel asks, "What kind of things did you do tod - ?"

"Almost done now," he cuts her off, "It should not be too much longer and then... we will have a delicious supper whipped up for you in a jiffy."

"Ahha, that's uh, real great and all, but we kinda already ate," Sven says, chuckling awkwardly.

"Ah! But you have never had something like this, I reckon!" Treton exclaims, taking out a ladle and stack of bowls, "The Bridge Beyond secret recipe ~ "

"Sounds, uh, tasty..." Captain grumbles.

"It is!" Treton dumps a healthy amount of what looks like stew into five bowls, taking each one individually and placing them in a circle around the nearest round table. "There! Now, while I would usually restrain from starting a meal without a host, I feel that I must join my fellow brothers in prayer. Please, do not worry, I will send James down to... ah... answer any quick questions, and to show you to your sleeping quarters for the night."

He rushes towards the stairs, almost sprinting up as he shouts, "Oh, and please! Do not worry about cleaning up after yourself! As long as you are here, we will take care of you! Bless you all!"

The group stands in silence for a few seconds, looking at each other oddly. Evie breaks it, tilting her head to the side. "Well, I dunno about you guys, but I'm still kinda hungry..."

"Yeah, same," Sven says, pulling out one of the table's chairs, "'Sides, someone's gotta try this shit to make sure it's not poisonous."

The rest of them begin to relax a bit more as Sven and Evie take seats, Captain sitting down himself and Jezebel waiting a moment before joining them, checking her phone. Laurence turns the camera towards the stairs, cloaked in shadow, with ripped newspaper articles clipped to to parts of the walls. Unknown voices and chatter can barely be heard from upstairs, Treton's voice, while quiet, can be heard above them all. Whatever they are talking about, though, is not possible to hear.

"Sounds like there's a lot of them upstairs," Laurence thinks out-loud, turning back towards his group.

"I dunno, I bet Cap'n could still take 'em all out with one punch," he grins, socking the larger man's shoulder, "What'cha reckon?"

"Mhm," Captain mumbles, mouth full. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, putting down his spoon.

Laurence steps closer, pulling a chair out. "How does it taste? It's not... like... actually poisonous, is it?"

"If it is, I'm fucking done," Captain says, drinking the broth straight from the bowl.

"It's really good, Laurie!" Evie exclaims, chewing, "It's sweet, but, uh, kinda gamey too..."

"Veal," Captain puts his bowl back down. "I'm pretty sure that's what it is. I'd bet my hat on it."

"Ugh, no thanks," Jezebel sneers, scooting the bowl away.

"Hey, guess that's just more for me, then," Captain says, pulling her bowl towards him.

"Veal?" Evie asks, curious, "What's that?"

The sound of a slam! from the upstairs door echoes through the room, as well as the a soft patter-patter from the stairs behind. The camera shifts around just as a man walks down, one who looks similar in stance and build to Treton but who's face is completely different, skin a sickly yellow-grey colour but beyond that fairly healthy looking. He waves at the group, particular Laurence. He doesn't smile.

"Well, howdy hey there!" the man shouts, walking into the kitchen. His voice is high and heavily accented, straining a bit near the end, "What do you all think of the stew? I made it myself!"

"Did you use veal?" Captain asks, looking up at him as he passes, "In the soup, I mean."

"Yep! I made it myself!" he says again, turning his overalled back to him, "Treton is usually quite stingy when it comes to ingredients, but we both agreed that today is a special day, and therefore deserves special stock! Right?"

"You're James, yeah?" Jezebel asks, turning towards him, "Can you answer some small questions for me about your... uh, group? I'll be quick."

"Yes, I am!" he - James - says, turns back around, pulling the head chair of the table out and sits down with a low huff, "And sure. Ask away."

"When did you join the Bridge Beyond? Was it, recent? Or have you been here since he beginning?"

"Oh no no no," James mumbles, the camera zooming in on him shoulder-length, "I have been here for a very long time, since the beginning. It has been a great time, a, a good time, a fulfilling time. For me, and my brothers all."

"Do you ever regret coming here?" Jezebel asks, off-camera, "What about your family? Do they know you're here?"

"What do you mean?" James replies, "My family are, is, here, the disciples are my family know. And yes, they do know I am here, believe me!"

He laughs loudly, leaning back far in his seat. He wipes his eye, still chuckling. They're dry.

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, pitch-black at first but activating [Night Vision] changes that, what looks like a an old fashioned bedroom is lit up in faint greens and white like a specter, assorted furniture lined against the walls, from their looks they were probably made before America was independent. The camera is low and, after panning oh-so slightly down, it looks as if its cameraman is laying down on a bed.

A blur appears as someone plops down on the bed beside them, their face blurred at first but slowly reveals Pallab, wearing a tank-top with some sort of initials on it. He shimmies a bit as if to get comfortable, lightly fluffing the pillow and slipping it below his head. 

He looks slightly above the camera, as if not aware it's even there. "Well, guess you and I are sleeping together."

"Seems that way," Laurence whispers.

"So, if you don't mind me being, uh, a bit blunt..." his bunk-mate says, lowering his voice as he got the message, "... what is the deal with that one girl? The one with the orange hair?"

"... Evie?" Laurence asks.

"Yeah... I think. Is her hair actually that colour, or...?"

Laurence laughs softly. "No, she dyes it. Well, I mean, kinda, actually. Her hair is orange naturally. Evie just dyes it a lot. She likes... bright colours."

"Ah, I see," Pallab wiggles a bit more, trying to get comfortable. "Is she... your sister?"

"What?" Laurence asks.

"Your sister," he repeats, "You two seem a little too close to be just... friends."

"She's more; my best friend. We've been that way since we were little," Laurence explains. 

"... theeen, why is the College letting you both staying in the same room?" Pallab's brows furrow. "Isn't that against the school rules? Boys and girls sleeping together?"

"Well... not technically," the camera is bumped slightly, raising the view up. "And besides, Evie's aunt convinced the College Principle to let it through without any complications... he owed her a favour, I think, and didn't really see anything too wrong with it. She gets nightmares easily, like, really easily, and I'm the only one usually who can calm her down."

"Nightmares?" Pallab asks, "What kind of nightmares?"

"Scary ones," Laurence says bluntly, shifting the camera back to its original position, "I don't like to talk about it, and neither does she."

"Oh, okay..." Pallab looks down at the mattress awkwardly, for only a moment. "So... how are the people like at campus? I know it is your first year and all but I figure you must know a bit about the people. You've lived a lot of your life here, right?"

"Right..." Laurence mutters, "And, uh... they're usually pretty good. Since the Abodes aren't as... well, safe as the rest of the cities nearby we usually don't - "

"Wait, I will, uh, let you finish... but I am confused," Pallab interrupts, "I hear some people around the school use that term before. 'Abodes'. What do you mean?"

"Well, it's a bit like a codename, yeah?" Laurence says, "The Roads, the Chodes, the Abodes. Calcheri Valley, Coch, and Cecillian Heights. Someone's uncle or something came up with it years ago and a lot of locals from here and those other places use it sometimes."

"Oh," Pallab yawns, nodding. "I... uh... well, continue. What you were saying before I interrupted you."

"So, the people here are pretty good for the most part. Usually trashier than the Valley but more, uhm, modest than Coch. Well... for the most part," Laurence takes a moment. "There's this one girl, and uh... I don't even know if I should be talking about this, or..."

"Go ahead," Pallab insists, "I am part of your group now. I should know these things."

Laurence takes a heavy breath, and continues, "...so there's this girl, called Abigail. Abigail Taylor. She exchanged from the Valley a couple years back, won some big awards in an Art contest and thought she was really something special, right? And so Jezebel was also an artist, still is actually, and also a part of the school newspaper at the time. Now, Jezebel thought her paintings were trash, just garbage, and said that in a review column she did in the paper. Abigail Taylor's response was... oh boy. It wasn't like a rant, or screaming, or anything noticeable, like what Jezebel thought. No, instead she did really small, tiny acts. Like sabotaging her chair in the cafeteria, slipping notes in her locker that just said these really nasty things, even, hell, smashing all the computers in a lab and framing it on Jezebel, somehow - "

"Really?" Pallab asks, bewildered.

"Really," Laurence stresses. "Well, Jezebel is... kinda bitter, and easy to tick off, if you haven't noticed already.. So, when she found out who was behind all that, she got Captain and Sven together with her, found out where Abigail lived, and tracked her down. They had a camera with them, and, peaking through her windows, saw Abigail and her boyfriend just... pounding it. They, my unfortunate friends, uploaded this to YouTube and just let people go wild."

"... and did it work?" Pallab asks, "Did she get revenge?"

"People still tease her about it today, Pallab," Laurence says, "You can't get nasty with a football allstar and a statue of Jesus and expect people to forget about it easily. You just can't."

"Wow..." Pallab lays back, pulling the covers up to his chest. The camera surprisingly stays up. "...when did this happen? Middle school?"

"High school, actually," Laurence corrects, the camera's audio crackling, "Around the same time Jezebel and Sven were dating, actually, now that I think about it..."

Pallab looks at him, confused. "I thought Sven was gay...?"

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, and, judging by the light filling the rooms through the open windows and everybody up and about, it's morning. The camera pans around the room slightly; Sven is struggling into a pair of jeans probably way too tight, Evie trying desperately to help him but can't, Captain and Pallab sitting on the former's bed talking out of range, and Jezebel, who walks center frame, zipping up her sweatshirt quickly. 

"You ready?" she asks, putting on her glasses.

"Yeah, I'm ready to go, if you are," Laurence replies, zooming in on her slightly. Just barely out of view Sven trips over his pants leg and topples to the ground hard, Evie jumps back in shock with her hands over her mouth. Jezebel smirks.

She walks ahead of the rest of the group, swinging the almost antique door open and looking back. "Hey, nerds! I'm heading out without you!"

"AH SHIT JUST A SEC," Sven shouts, pulling his pants to his waist with a huff, "YA BETTER NOT EAT ALL THE BACON YOU JIZZRAG!"

Evie gasps in joy. "There's bacon?!"

"Smells like it," Sven grins like a wolf, dashing off after Jezebel, who's already made her exit. Evie rushes after him, yelling, "C'mon Laurie! We'll miss breakfast!" before disappearing with the other two. 

Laurence turns the camera to Captain who's finally decided to stand up. He looks forward, putting his beanie on tightly. "Well? What're we waiting for?"

Pausing for a second as Captain walks closer, Laurence mumbles, "... Where's Pallab?"

"Who?" Captain strides across frame, leaving the same way as the others.

Laurence sighs quietly, to himself.

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, blurry and distorted at first but fades to oranges and browns. The camera turns upward, shakily walking down a corridor into the kitchen from the night before. The table is set and decorated now, wooden dishes and utensils laid out on checkered tablecloth. Instead of Treton is a large, wide man is in front of the stove top, strained flannel and what looks like a baseball cap his attire. As Captain takes the first step into the room, the man turns around quickly, as if startled. His face is muddled but warm, with a large- smile under a bushy beard. He waves his hand close, using the other to open an oven.

"Ahh! Good morning, lads! I'm just..." the man stutters for a second, wiping his brow, "Just... grub's almost done ! Take a seat and I'll give ya a plate, c'mon there..."

None of them move. He stops what he's doing and tries to give a reassuring smile, waving his hand again. "Hey hey, don't be shy! Get'r 'ere... Christopher's meh name, I... well, handle wood workin' and that sort of thing. I'm no stranger."

Evie steps out from off-camera, jerking her head towards the table, giving a soft smile, "C'mon guys; let's sit down! We don't wanna be rude..."

"Yes..." Christopher repeats, slowly taking a long tray out from the stove, "... Don't want... want to be rude, now do you? 'Sides, breakfast is ready!"

"Oooo!" Evie claps her hands together happily, sitting down almost immediately. "Whad'ya make, mister?"

"'Mister'..." Christopher mutters under his breath, chuckling deeply, "Heh, that's cute. Oh, I made y'all some... some bacon. Y'all like bacon, don't you?"

"... you made sure you didn't cook too much bacon, did you?" Jezebel asks from off-camera, it zooming in on Christopher's face, "I hear your cult's awfully stingy about that sort of thing..."

"Disciples. We are disciples of the Higher Plane, we are not a cult," Christopher snaps, "And... yes, we, uh, make sure to keep our meals without spares... and our hobbies, activities, and lifestyle in total... excess is, of course, human."

"So, what are you saying?" Jezebel presses, "You're not human? Then what are you, 'Christopher'? Huh?"

He pauses for a second, angered at first but calming slowly down, responding with a smile, "You should eat now. We can talk, later, while I'm gathering logs for tonight. That'll be better, right? That will be fine. Now sit down, if you can. I didn't toil over a hot oven for an hour just for you all to be standin' there, did I? Well, c'mon then, get!"

The view zooms out as the rest of the group heads for the table, pulling out chairs and trying to get comfortable. As Laurence moves towards the rest, Christopher's face becomes confused, almost agitated.

"Put the camera away," he growls, putting a grimy knife in the sink, "This is time for eating, not filming."

"Oh. Alright, sorry..." Laurence mutters softly, the camera points downwards and begins to fuzz and distort again. 

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, bright and misty, as it shows Jezebel and Christopher walking through a sparse patch of trees, the tall pines surrounding the group and the raw sounds akin of a forest. Christopher turns around briefly, checking the axe on his side. He began to pick up his pace, Jezebel and Laurence walking quickly after him to avoid being left behind. After breaking into a grassy clearing, cloudy grey sky just barely in view, Christopher stops, looking up.

"Heh. Looks like it might rain tonight, aye?" he announces, hand covering his eyes from the sun.

"Probably not," Jezebel responds, her back to the camera, "It never rains this late in the year. Not anymore, anyway."

"Why not? Why did the rain stop, you think?" Christopher asks, starting to walk again.

She takes a big step forward and strolls right behind him, Laurence following her as fast as he can. "Hmph, the hell I know," she replies, "With how the environment's being fucked in this day and age, it doesn't surprise me the weather here's changing too. It's to be expected, really..."

"You don't actually believe that global warming is real, do you?" he asks, turning his head, "It's stupid. Liberal nonsense."

"... Do you expect me to agree?  With you?" she asks, leaves crunching underneath her boots.   "Someone who worships a Dark Souls boss like it's a god or something...?"

" - I don't "expect" you to do anything," he responds, "Just listen... and respect."

"... Why?" she asks, ducking under a tall branch.

"I'm your elder, aren't I?" he continues walking without another word, Jezebel looks back to the camera and giving a frustrated shrug. They walk for what seems like a while, snapping twigs and flora underfoot the only audible sounds. 

Christopher breaks the silence, looking back suddenly and stopping in his tracks. "... What's a Dark Souls?"

"It's, uh..." Jezebel stops too, looking down as she's trying to explain. Christopher looks at her with an odd look on his face.

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY] 

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, the surrounding trees and familiar sounds the same as the forest before. But the camera is now filming closer to the ground, shifting slightly back and forth between Christopher and Jezebel, who are seated on the dirt of the forest floor, the former fiddling with a small twig in his gloved hands.

Christopher puts the stick down, continuing from when the film was on standby. "- gonna wake up soon. Tonight, I reckon, if we're lucky..."

Jezebel gives him an sideways glance. "... Who's going to wake up?"

"Why, the One Above, o'course," he says matter-of-factly, "We've been studying the movement, studying the stars, and the cosmos. They tell us it's almost time. Almost. We've, uh, been waiting for this for a very long time, so excuse my excitement."

"It's just..." he continues, eyes alight like an eager child, "... they have been in slumber for so long, all this time, and I actually get to set my eyes upon them, in my lifetime! Can you believe that?! Not many religions get that honour, no, no they do not...it's... well, rather special..."

He smiles idly to himself, Jezebel looking straight at the camera with an uncomfortable face.

Christopher snorts loudly, propping his knee and forcing himself up, only his jeaned legs now in frame.

"Now, uh... are you two ready to head back? It's getting dark..." he asks, camera panning up to his bearded visage. Christopher's eyes wander and connect with the camera, then seconds later his mouth twists into a faint scowl.

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, back in the bedroom the group slept in on the night before. Most of them are on the beds, either on some device or staring at the walls; no ones talking. 

Evie sits up from the very back, bored at first but eyes widen when she sees the camera. She opens her mouth to say something but with a loud slam! the door flies open, panel shifting just in time to see James, overalls on tight and smiling broad. 

He cranes his head in slowly, almost deliberately ignoring the camera. "Howdy guys! Good evening, by the way! I've got something to tell ya."

"Treton says it's time," he continues, licking his lips, "He's waiting for ya all, near the front of the Deep Woods. It's gonna happen though, so ya better get a move on soon, unless ya wanna miss it - "

"Miss what?" Evie asks, off-camera.

"Why, the Awakenin', of course!" James replies, walking back into the hallway, "The One Above comes tonight, it's the 126th anniversary of its slumber, don't ya know. Didn't Christopher tell you?"

"Yeah, he did," Jezebel says, camera panning to her, "How do you know that?"

"Uh... I guessed," James mutters, disappearing behind the door, "Well, go on! Don't want go keep the Higher Plane waiting, do ya? Oh, and don't worry 'bout a car or anything, Treton help you through! I'll catch up to ya all, Christopher too!"

The sound of his footsteps slowly fade away, a low slam! from the front door echoing through the group's silence.

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, shaky, panning up to see legions of trees and bushes, obscured by thick darkness. A line of light glows out of the dark, its holder standing directly in front of the camera, flashlight in hand. The figure turns around from the shadows, light from below illuminating his, Treton's, face.

He smiles, moving his gaze towards the camera. "There. I was wondering whether the spares would work or not... well, glad that they do. Well, let us head out now, not much time left. Oh, you recording?"

He walks away before Laurence could answer, Jezebel cutting into frame and following directly behind. Her foot hits a loose branch, causing her to almost trip but she catches her balance just in time. Treton scoffs loudly, not stopping.

"Careful of twigs and things, it is dark tonight," he sighs, looking up at the moon through the trees, "Especially tonight."

"So... what's so special tonight?" Sven asks, off-camera, "It's your... what, anniversary? Congratulations, dude."

Treton laughs, stepping carefully over a large stone. "Not mine, child. The One Above, them, tonight is the very same night that they slumbered, only 126th years ago. They told me... they said that, come dusk, they will awaken, and... well..."

"Well?" Jezebel asks, almost smacking her face on a branch, "Well what?"

"We are... a bit late," he says, almost sadly, "Never the less, this will have to do. This will have to do..."

Treton mutters to himself something inaudible, Jezebel craning her head back, mouthing 'Weirdo...'. Ducking under a large patch of leaves, Treton disappears into an opening. Jezebel follows, and so does our cameraman.

On the other side is a very big clearing, trees circling the area, almost guarding the lone cave in the center. Multitudes of boulders and rocks cover its entrance. Moss, vines, and, as the flashlight reveals it better, assorted insects entangle the stones. Treton places the flashlight down on the floor, rolling up his coat's sleeves.

"You kids ready?" he asks, picking a rock off the pile.

"... Ready for what?" Jezebel asks, head blocking the view.

"To open the entrance, of course!" Treton throws the rock to the ground, picking up another. "These boulders won't move themselves, will they? Well, come on, now! Give me a hand; two, if you can spare it..."

At first they just watch him in silence, Jezebel giving the camera a 'you have to be kidding' look. But... she shrugs, pushes her glasses up, and stands beside Treton, getting a good grip on a bigger rock and pulling it out with a low huff. Sven stares at them, surprised.

"Wha... I can't believe this..." he whispers, looking back at a barely-visible Captain, "Jizzie doing manual labour? Heh, never thought I'd see the day..."

"Get over here and shut up, stupid," she grunts, throwing another rock down. Without another word Sven bounds towards the two, helping them. Captain steps lightly into frame in disbelief, as Evie and Pallab jumping out from behind him to help the others. Defeated, the big man shakes his head, walking over to the rest, who've already done a good job at clearing out a small hole.

The camera zooms in close, panning on each of them individually until stopping on Jezebel, who looking directly at the lens, annoyed. "Why aren't you helping?"

"My hand's full; I'm recording," Laurence responds.

"... What about the other one?" she asks.

The camera stops swaying and becomes rigid, "It's... uh... busy."

She scoffs, wiping sweat from her from her blue bangs, "Humph, lazyass..."

A few moments of silence go by, as the hole they created becomes more of a child-sized opening at this point. Evie makes a grunt off-camera, then saying, "So! Uhm, Mr. Treton? What's going to happen after they wake up?"

"Oh, good things," he replies, also off-camera, ""Great things, fantastic things, marvelous things. Their followers, us, will leave our human vessels and ascend to the Higher Plane, to begin our true lives under their watchful eye." He lets out a happy sigh of relief, camera panning to him, kneeling beside the hole they made.

"Well, this should be fine enough," he whispers, getting down on all-fours, crawling through the opening and disappearing into it almost immediately. His voice echoes from within, "Come on in! It is far less dusty than I thought..."

Sven shrugged, plopping onto his belly and making the crawl too, shouting in, "So if your lot gets to the High Plains or whatever, what happens to the rest of us? Huh?"

Even from in the cave, Treton's chortle is loud. "Simple. Armageddon."

Jezebel kneels down, rolling her eyes. Whispering what sounds like, 'Of course it is...' she slips in, leaving sight. The camera pans to Evie, who's looking down at the hole, mildly confused.

"... like the movie?" she asks softly, mouth an 'o' shape. Laurence laughs awkwardly.

"Let's get in there, Evie. We can talk about this later," he says, and she smiles back, getting down on her bare knees and plopping onto her belly, slipping herself in.

"Hmpmm... I liked that movie..." she mutters under her breath, entering the cave.

Shifting to Pallab, he shrugs, jerking his head down. "You first."

The camera pans down harshly, towards the rocky mounds his group made.

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, camera panning up to a rocky clearing, everything coloured a dull stony brown, until Jezebel's hair comes into frame, then it begins to follow her. She steps farther into the cave, Treton appearing from behind an opening at the very end, flashlight shining from inside.

"Come in. I would like to show you all some friends of mine," he says, going back in.

Jezebel turns towards the camera and rolls her eyes, following him inside. Sven steps in after her, Laurence the same, passing over a rocky wall and into pure darkness. Someone stumbles, catching themselves on the walls.

"Tret!" Jezebel yells out, voice echoing, "What the fuck, where's the light?"

No response. She curses under her breath, stumbling with something as Sven and Pallab mutter to each other. With a soft click sound a dim light emits from the back of the room, Jezebel becoming illuminated albeit shadowed by her phone's light. She opens her mouth to talk to the camera but stops, frown growing as she tilts her head sideways.

"... Laurence?" she mumbles, hands shaking.

"What?" he asks, zooming in on her troubled face, "What's wrong? Where's Treton? Where's - ?"

"Jesus fucking Christ Dex bEHIND YOU!" Sven yells from off-camera. The panel turns widely behind and stops on a tied-up, decaying human corpse.

Laurence jumps back, shouting something unintelligible as Evie screams. The camera swings to her, as she backs up from another body behind her, skeletal jaw torn off and resting next to a third body on a dried pool of blood. Panning around, more corpses are caught on the film, almost a full dozen in varying degree of decay lining the walls around the circular room, the freshest's blood still wet on its ruptured cranium. Evie shrieks in terror again, wanting to run away but too scared to move her feet. The rest must be the same.

"Oh my God..." Sven whispers, clutching his head, "Oh my Goooood..."

"What are these?" Pallab asks, shaking his shoulder, "What is going on? Sven!"

"This is like some serious spooky kabuki shit, man," Sven croaks, slipping down a wall until he hits the floor, "It's like the fuckin' Blair Witch Project in here, FUCK ME...!"

"An odd request," a voice grunts from the end of the room, camera darting that direction to show Treton standing there almost proudly, in front of a ritualistic intestine circle on the floor. "But, I mean, if you insist..."

"What the fuck is this?" Captain asks, camera zooming in on Treton's face, "What do you think you're doing?!"

"The One Above asked for fourteen meals and I, being the kind soul I am, over delivered. Oh well." his smile twists, becoming sinister. "I do not think they will mind extras."

"DUDE WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK ARE YOU SAYING RIGHT NOW?!" Sven screams, voice cracking. Treton's grin only becomes wider.

"It is time. I have been a good servant of the Higher Plane, I have been a good host to you all. Now... I am afraid... your "school project" must come to an end."

The camera zooms out as Treton turns his back to the group, taking a vial from his side and sprinkling red dust onto the circle, whispering foreign tongue under his breath. As he continues the ritual the rune begins to become a dark scarlet, the organs surrounding it coming together and squashing together into some sort of fleshy pile. The camera bumps slightly as it turns around, Jezebel's frightened face taking up the frame.

"Let's go," she whispers, releasing his shoulder and running out. Captain gets the hint and follows her quickly, Pallab trying to pull Sven off his ass as Laurence does a quick jog towards Evie, her face bright red, tears streaming out her eyes. His hand comes out from below and grabs hers, him saying, "Come on, Evie. We're going."

She nods, sniffing. He helps her to her feet as the two leave the way the others did, camera bobbing too much to see anything but brownish hues. The chants from the room behind grow stronger, a soft rumbling starting but growing into something fierce, view shaking intensely as what sounds like an earthquake erupts from all sides. It gets worse and worse as the camera stops, and slips from Laurence's hand, hitting the stony floor with a loud clank!  As if on cue, the rumbling stops, the chants go silent. The camera, filming nothing but a corner obscured by stones, lays still. It jerks upward as it is picked up, everything too muffled to see anything.

And then, from the silence, explodes an impossibly loud, inhuman scream.

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, camera shaking intensely, audio crackling tons. What little can be seen looks like the Deep Woods from before, pitch black but silhouettes of trees barely visible.

They stop for a second, the camera still but swaying, turning back as a horrible howl can be heard from behind. It pans back around to the group, faces terrified, all eyes full of fear.

Evie gasps as she holds back tears, Pallab trying to take out his phone but struggling.

The camera zooms into Captain's face, which, out of them all, seems the most calm.

Tears wet the corner of his eyes, jaw clamped tight. He brushes his jacket sleeve across his face, closing his eyes and whispering under his breath.

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, shaking, trying to focus on a close-up shot of Sven. His back is to the camera and, as he turns around the shot zooms out, the lot back in the bedroom they stayed in the night prior. Throwing a backpack to the ground, Sven pulls out the drawers of a nightstand frantically, yelling, "It's not here! Oh my God, where is it? Where did it go?!"

"Did you not have the keys?" Pallab asks off-camera.

"No, I left 'em here while we were gone!" Sven replies, smashing his fist against the wall, "FUCKING SHITBAG, I CAN'T FIND IT, GODDAMMIT!"

"But if we don't have the keys, then...?" Evie whispers off-camera, voice shaking with fright.

"We could - oH JESUS TAP-DANCING CHRIST!" Jezebel almost screams, camera whipping back to her near the door, leaning over the nightstand.

"What?" Captain asks besides her, "Is that fucker here?"

"His keys are RIGHT HERE, dumbass!" Jezebel turns around, a pair of sterling keys dangling them from her finger. Sven bounds out from the side, grabbing the car keys and jamming it into his pocket.

"Alright, now that we got those, we can go - !"

"Wait," Jezebel holds up her hand, cutting him off. "I... I want to go upstairs."

"WHAT?!" He screams, looking at her like she's insane, "Are you stupid, Jizzie? What if HE'S - "

"He's not here yet," she cuts him off again, "We would have heard the door open, right? Besides, we HAVE to go up there. I mean, do you expect the cops to believe five college students about a fucking murder CULT without any evidence? Like, don't you think that... you did call the police right? Guys, didn't you?"

"On it," Captain mutters off-camera, followed quickly by a dialing tone.

"But as I was saying," she continues, "He could have damning as FUCK evidence up there, in his bedroom or whatever it is. We HAVE to check. What if he turns this all around and blames it on us, huh? What then? Who're they gonna believe? Huh?"

"He wouldn't... right?" Sven asks anxiously, "Like, even if we did go up there, what if he catches us?"

"He won't," Jezebel swings the door open, taking a step into the hallway. "Not if we hurry, anyway."

She walks out and disappears.

"Wir werden alle sterben..." Sven whispers under his breath, as walks out after her.

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, sight impossibly dark until a door directly in front opens, light flooding through as a figure steps into the room which, judging by their height and immediate silhouette, is Jezebel.

"Jesus..." she whispers, the camera following almost directly behind, angling over her shoulder to get a better sight of the mustard-yellow room. It was barely bigger than their bedroom downstairs, yet somehow twice as messy, assorted boxes and containers thrown everywhere as if in a hurry. Despite being a bedroom there was no bed; only a closed closet, and a desk with chair. Jezebel cautiously walked across the room and in front of the closet, pulling it open with a low creak from its joints. Inside the dark space is even more boxes, though mostly closed and stacked in piles.

Jezebel picks one of the lighter boxes up carefully, giving it a quick shake and squinting when it made no noise. "Hmm... what do you think are in these? Huh?"

The camera turns to Captain, who's leaning over the desk chair, not moving.

He whispers, "Guys... you need to see this."

"Wait, what do we - oh SHIT!" Sven yells in surprise, as Captain spins the chair around.

On the chair is two fleshy folds of skin, hair and bone, one almost yellow, the other far hairier.

"What - what the fuck are those?!" Sven asks, camera zooming on the grizzly discovery.

"They look... I mean..." The camera zooms out as Jezebel steps into frame, leaning over to take a closer look. "I think they're masks."

"Oh! So they're not... like, actually real then, right?!" Evie asks off-camera, voice frantic but relieved.

"No, they look pretty real..." Jezebel mutters, grabbing the sallow mask by the hair and pulling it upwards, "Actually... wait... hey guys, am I just fucking nuts, or does this look like that weird dude from last night? The one who we interviewed, remember?"

"James?" Laurence asks, off-camera, "But... that can't be James, right? Why would they... do that to one of their own guys? He didn't seem like he deserved this."

"What, did they scalp the guy of something?" Sven asks, coming into frame behind Jezebel, "Or skin 'em, or whatever."

"No, I don't think so," Jezebel answers, holding the second mask up, "And look: this one looks like that one redneck we were with today, out in the forests, y'know? If they skinned him today wouldn't the skin feel... I dunno, fresher? I mean, I'm no Buffalo Bill but shouldn't the skin look different if it was only removed tod - ?"

"DON'T TOUCH MY FACES!" A voice screamed from behind, the camera whipping around so fast it almost fell down. Standing in the hallway was Treton, dried blood caked on his clothes and hands, face alight with rage. "I mean, please, put them down. I spent a lot of time on those."

"What did you fucking do?!" Sven yells, from off-camera. Treton chuckles, taking a step into the room, the light making the blood on him look especially red.

"What did I do?" he repeats, camera following as he strolls over to the desk, Jezebel and Sven keeping their distance, "Well, I have opened the door to the Higher Plane. After all this time, preparation, and hard work... I have thrown open the gates to heaven."

He smiles widely, pressing his back into the window behind him. The camera pans over the left, showing off the confused and worried faces of his audience, staring in silence.

Sven steps ahead in front of Pallab and Evie, fists tight. "What did you do to Christopher and James? Huh? Did ya kill 'em off 'cause you wanted all the glory to yourself, ya psychopath?"

"That term is highly outdated, my young friend," Treton replies, off-camera, "And of course not. They did what they had to do. They... well, fulfilled their purpose."

It zooms in on Captain, face stoic. "They're not even real people... are they?"

The camera swings back to Treton, his wide eyed snickering is answer enough. "They were, at one point. Not anymore though, they merely give me materials... for my masks... and my meals..."

"HOLY FUCK, YOU'RE SICK!" Sven screams off-camera, to which Treton stops laughing. Not smiling, though.

And then, through the whimpers and chuckles, a faint animal-like screech can be heard from outside the walls, faded but oh-so close.

"To be among the countless fools wandering as a flock without a shepherd is the real sickness, my friend," Treton says, holding his arms out, "But... you will see. Oh bless me senseless, you will see...!"

Pallab pops suddenly into frame like a blur, the svelte teenager  grabbing hold the cultist and pinning him against the window, the force enough to shove the dirty pane ajar with a loud squeak. Sven and several other voices begin yelling at him to let go, but he's having none of it.

"Kabob, buddy, quit it!" Sven yells above the rest, hair barely in frame, "Ya just can't shove him out the window, dude! We need him for the cops and shit!"

Pallab shakes his head, Treton's grin growing wider. The former, back to his group, says, "The police do not care. They never care. We should take this into our own two hands."

"What the FUCK are you talkin' 'bout, dude?!" Sven yells off-camera, the wind from outside picking up. Pallab faces the camera, hair blowing wildly, obscuring Treton's face. 

Pallab's expression steels. "Sven, this is exactly like what we talked about earlier, yes? Do you not remember when we said that the "higher ups" cannot decide our fates for us. You remember that, yes?"

"I was talking 'bout Ol' Man Shitters not letting us smoke in the rooms, dude, not something like this!" Sven shouts off-camera, voice cracking near the end. "I was being... uh... oh fuck, what's the word?!"

"Hypothetical?" Jezebel asks off-camera.

"Yeah, I was just doing that! Now, Kabob, if ya can just, y'know, release the crazy cult dude and walk back over to, uhm, us, then we can tie the fucker up and maybe even see if we could - "

The window behind Pallab and Treton explodes, glass and debris flying everywhere as the camera lurches fiercely back, and everyone begins screaming. Laurence - and the camera - fall to the floor hard, landing on their side with a audible thud! It turns just in time to see a large inhuman looking hand - nay, a claw - dig its nails into Pallab's back, tearing open the silk and skin, splattering it and the surrounding walls in a rain of spurting blood. The frame blurs out, frantic audio crackles cloaking everything but faint animalistic growls. With the impossibly fuzzy visuals and silhouettes of teenagers skittering away in fear, their distorted screams became just that much more apparent, with Triston's laughter the loudest of them all.

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

 The video starts, camera shaking viciously, as a faint ray of light coming from behind and shines out into the darkness, Captain's van barely visible up ahead from where they parked it the night before. The goateed man rushes into frame, surprisingly fast considering his size, taking out the pair of keys from earlier and jamming it into the car door, fidgeting for a second until with a low bleep!, the lights from inside glow to life and his door swings open. He leaps in as the camera zooms out, Jezebel popping in front of the lens, waving her hand furiously. "Jesus, Laurence, get in the car!"

Without a response, Laurence practically sprints around the side of the van to its side, the camera bobbing so much that the visuals and sound muffle like crumpling a plastic bag. It repositions back into place as Laurence's hand comes out from below and pulls the door open, and he throws himself inside. The view shifts awkwardly for a second as he struggles to get his seatbelt on, everyone lurching forward slightly as the car begins moving. Moving to the left Evie comes into view, face red and sobbing loudly, balled fists covering her mouth. Jezebel's behind her, obscured by the former, but obviously shaking.

"I-Is... is P-Pallab...?" Evie asks, eyes wide. The silence she gets is answer enough. She starts crying harder.

"It's okay, Evie..." Laurence says, reaching a hand out and placing it on her quivering shoulder. "The police are gonna help us out. He still might be out there, actually, if you think - "

The car lurches furiously, Evie and Sven screaming as everything loose gets thrown onto the floor. Laurence turns the camera towards the front of the van, where Sven is leaning over, trying to look behind Laurence with fright in his eyes. "Dude... oh fuck, oh Jesus Christ, NO!"

Everyone begins to panic, voices frightened and wild. Laurence spins the camera behind him and towards the rear window. Everything is almost pitch black, but the small amount of light coming from the rear lights just enough to see a spindly, lumbering silhouette on the road behind them, movement erratic, almost alien. 

"Fucking Christ..." the camera turns over to Jezebel, who's sitting up enough to be seen over Evie's shivering head. "It's following us..."

Evie closes her eyes and covered her ears with balled fists, whimpering, "Laurie, I don't wanna die! I just wanna go hooooome!!"

Laurence shakes her shoulder, trying to get her to stop. "Evie, stop that, we're not going to die! And we'll get home, I promise, okay?!"

She shakes her head timidly, face wet with tears. Jezebel's expression, however, steels.

"Guys, I know this might sound stupid, but I have a plan," she says.

She takes a breath, and continues, "That... thing is chasing us right now, yeah? Well, I was thinking... what if we somehow found a way  to - ?"

The entire van lurches forward ferociously, the car pitching sharply from side-to-side and Captain unable to stop it from spiraling out of control. Everyone begins screaming, camera crackling like crazy, until it lurches chaotically out of Laurence's hands, spiraling in hues of brown and grey, audio crackling omnidirectionally. Before it could hit the ground, a massive crash! shatters through the air, the sound of glass smashing and crushing steel overwhelming until the camera hits the black floor with a muffled thud!

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

~-~

[RECORDING • ]

The video starts, camera laying out its side, view distorted and damaged. It looks like it's laying on the street, broken glass and bits of metallic debris sprawled across the ground ahead. What sounds like a car alarm is blaring loudly over-and-over again, so much so that a faint whimpering nearby is almost drowned under it. 

The camera shifts slightly as it's picked up from the ground, shaking. It turns around slowly to a shoulder shot of Laurence, fresh blood on his flannel and hair, expression alight with fear. In his lap, barely visible, is Evie, who's pale face is mostly unharmed but unconscious. She isn't moving.

He looks behind him, almost desperately, everything like a black plane with only the faint flicker of crimson car lights from behind, only somewhat illuminating the sprawled bodies lying still nearby. 

He looks back, eyes staring deep into the camera. A siren can be heard from the distance, police probably, but it's faint. Far off. Not anywhere close now.

The boy in bloody flannel clears his throat. Then, he speaks:

  "My... my name is Laurence Dexter..."

A straggly silhouette rises from behind him, impossibly large compared to his frame. But, even from the outline, it is clearly shiny with blood, large split flaps of skin coming down from its back like a fleshy cowl. It bellows out a nightmarish scream.

"... And this, is my video diary."

He didn't say that last bit with confidence.

A sharp click!, and everything goes black.

[/STANDBY]

[bananniewrites]

An Odd Game of Charades

Princess Genevieve 3/?

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

The two thieves stopped at the edge of the woods, hunched over and panting like dogs. “Okay,” the first breathed, “okay, I think we lost ‘em. You good?”

The other nodded. “Still got the goods?”

The first held up a sack and the messenger bag, then gently scooped the mouse out of his breast pocket and presented it in his palm. The mouse was rather frazzled, being bounced around in a pocket, hanging on for dear life to not fall out. The thief had taken the mouse from the wizard’s lab, but what he didn’t know was that he wasn’t just a thief anymore— he was an accomplice to the escaped prisoner, Princess Genevieve.

Genevieve had tried to escape, but accidentally drank the wrong vial and turned into a white mouse. The vial, ironically, was supposed to be used to poison mice. On the thieves’ great run, Gen wondered if Clara forgot to take it out, as it would’ve been more useful for her (being scared of mice). She glanced between them. Not exactly her vision of a knight in shining armor, but beggars can’t be choosers. 

When the thief presented Genevieve in his palm, his partner looked at him, skeptical. “A mouse? What do we need a mouse for, Rowan?”

Rowan slumped. “You really have no imagination, do you, Matt? This little guy was found in a wizard’s office. Think about that for two minutes and tell me you don’t want to show him to the world.”

“So he’s a lab rat. So what?”

“‘Lab rat’? First of all, he’s a mouse. Second, he freaking nodded at me! It means he’s got… er… what’s that word?”

“Disease?”

“Sentience! Idiot. He thinks like a human! He can understand us! In fact…” He set down Gen and began tracing letters in the dust. “Maybe he’s got himself a name. He can just hop on the letters and spell it out.”

Gen was feeling much better now that maybe she had a chance to explain what was going on. If she could spell her name, maybe they could also stop calling her a boy. But should she? If she told them who she was, would she be ransomed or returned? Would they even believe her?

“Right, you update your resume for the nut house while I find firewood,” Matt sneered, then walked into the woods. 

Rowan harrumphed and glanced down at Gen. “You know I’m not crazy, right?”

Genevieve thought for a minute, and got an idea. She dug her hand in the dust, then dragged out three small words: “wait for Matt”.

“Of course!” Rowan cried. “Then I can prove that I didn’t teach you anything, that this is all you! Ooh,” he realized suddenly, “I should help make the fire. It’s getting dark.”

So Rowan left Gen to further ponder what to tell the thieves while they brought scanty amounts of sticks, piled them together, and used Clara’s flint to spark a tiny flame to feed. They ate Clara’s rations for their dinner, and fed some to Gen before turning their attention back to the alphabet Rowan had traced. “So,” Matt started, “Rowan thinks you’ve got a name?”

By now, Genevieve had come up with a plan. She nodded and hopped on the alphabet while Rowan spelled: “G… E… N. What kind of a name is ‘Gen’?”

“I believe it’s pronounced like a ‘j’,” Matt corrected, eyes wide at the extraordinary rodent. 

“Wait, you’re a girl?”

Genevieve nodded. She hadn’t spelled her entire name to avoid tipping them off. She continued to trace pictures in the dirt: a stick figure, a plus sign (for a moment, it was mistaken for a ‘t’), then a vial. This shape was trickier to understand: she made a very deep ‘U’ then drew bubbling circles above it. When Matt fished out one of the potions, she confirmed his guess. She drew an equal sign, then sat at the end of the equation, her arms spread wide. 

“So if I’m getting this right,” Rowan guessed, “you were a human at first, then the wizard made you drink a potion that turned you into a mouse?” She shook her head and pointed at herself. “You drank it? You meant to be a mouse?”

Gen was about to write “accident”, but she wasn’t sure if this would clear anything up, so instead she went with “wrong potion”. A chorus of “ohhh”s rose up. 

“Well, what do we do with her now?” Matt asked. “Is she going to change back? Does she need to go home? Does she come with us?”

Rowan sighed. “I think it’s too early to make any decisions. We don’t know if Gen’s like this forever, and even if we can put on some sort of show, nobody’ll be in the square right now. We’ll have to wait till morning. If she turns back, we’ll just see if we can get her back home. I’m turning in for the night.” He picked up some of Genevieve’s underclothes and draped them over the mouse, then laid himself down and waited for sleep. 

Genevieve was happy enough to snuggle into her enormous, soft underwear. By the fire, it was warm, and soon she drifted off. 

She dreamed that night. She saw a knight from her kingdom battling his way into the fortress. He fenced away two soldiers, but never made it to the entrance before being peppered with arrows. Then Genevieve herself, raising a sword, charged into the fray on horseback. For Clara. The horse reared; Gen tried to hold on but slid off the back end and fell, her sword clattering away from her. A soldier raised a spear, and just as it was brought down on her, she woke up shaking. 

She found that the world was not so big anymore, and when she wrapped her arms to hug herself in fright, she had knees to bring to her bare chest. She examined her arms and felt her face. Yes, she was back in her own body. The moon was as bright as the sun and in the highest point of the sky, bathing everything in a pale, ethereal glow. The fire was a pile of coals, glowing scarlet. Crickets chirped frantically, and somewhere, a lone night-bird sang full of hope. The woods remained dark, untouched by the moon and unwilling to reveal its secrets. 

Genevieve stood up and gently shook out the dust out of her clothes, afraid to wake the still-sleeping thieves. She would easily make her way into the village if she waited, and from there she could make her way to the castle. But these men were likely wanted by the Orcs. They’ll probably be in the village looking for them, and her. And what if the thieves should recognize her face? Would they still bring her to the castle, or would they keep her until the kingdom paid them? She had to remember that they stole Clara’s bag to sell its contents; she couldn’t guarantee that they’ll let her go without thinking of some sort of contribution. They weren’t that stupid. And yet... 

Rowan had understood her. He made the effort to get to know her. And Matt was the one who suggested taking her home, and Rowan had agreed, but they expected some village kid, not the princess.

In the corner of her eye, Genevieve spotted multiple torchlights in the distance, steadily coming closer. Instinctively, she shook the shoulders of Matt, then Rowan. “Rowan! Matt! Wake up, they’re after us!” She slung the bag over her shoulders and shook them again, and they roused in confusion. She pointed towards the torchlights and whispered, “someone’s coming!”

They saw the lights and rose quickly to gather their things. Matt muttered, “why go all this way for some magic stuff and a mouse?”

Then Rowan got a good look at Genevieve, now human, and his face grew tight with horror. “I’m starting to get an idea. Come on!” He took her arm and the scruff of Matt’s neck, and together, they sprinted further into the woods.

About half a mile in, they paused to catch their breath. “Matt,” Rowan gasped, “we’ve… we’ve got the princess. That’s why… why they’re chasing us.”

“Maybe we can hold out-?”

“No! No, no, no, that’s-that’s suicide. I hate to say this, ‘cause I don’t want to leave her alone, but… we might be better off without her, and vice versa.” He turned to Genevieve. “Okay, if you keep going in that direction, you should eventually reach the next village. People have seen… things in there, especially at night, so just keep running and you should be fine. Here,” he unclipped the sheet he wore as a cloak and threw it around her. “It’s been a pleasure, Your Majesty. Stay safe.”

Gen was shocked to be called by a formal title, as it was so rare to meet people who would call her that. She managed to mumble, “thank you.” Rowan and Matt bolted in the other direction, and Genevieve yelled after them, “God bless you!”, because that’s what people always said before they left. But as she ran deeper into the woods and the more she thought about it, the more she really meant it.

[immortalpen]

Beauty and the Beast

I love love love Dan Stevens, and can’t wait to see the new Beauty and the Beast... also my fav animation. In celebration... a little Karoline take on the tale... to be serialised here

Caroline Forbes hated her job. It sucked. There was no denying it. But, it wouldn’t be forever, she told herself as she loaded the deliveries in the van and pulled out her checklist and addresses, all carefully sorted in route order on her tablet. She slammed the door to her battered ride and slid into the driver’s seat. Some way to spend your 21st birthday, she though sourly, as she slid on her sunglasses and flipped the radio station on.

At least there’d be dinner and drinks, lots of them, legal drinks, for once, later this evening. She pulled out of the depot parking lot and started to make her way to the highway, along mains street, peeping the horn at her friend Matt, who was outside his bar, unloading kegs, his tight shirt clinging in all the right places. She rolled down the window and whistled as she drove past, giving him a wave as she sped down the same street she had driven a million times. Yep, it was pretty depressing to still be stuck in the same small town she’d grown up in at 21 years of age, but hey, she had a plan. She was getting out of here, it was just taking a little longer than she’d planned.

Hitting the highway, she accelerated, winding down the window as she went, letting the hot dusty Virginia air stream up her arm and ruffle the curls that lay around her shoulders. Feet tapping to the music, she followed her route on autopilot. Yep, Matt had looked GOOD, she mused, but been there down that, and a birthday backslide didn’t seem the best idea.

The morning passed into afternoon as she wound down an endless procession of familiar streets, avoided all too familiar dogs, shut countless screen doors, gates and parked up on countless curbs, no wonder her suspension was shot. She ate lunch in the truck, quickly downing the chicken salad sandwich she’d brought with her and then enjoying the sharp bubbles of the bottle of coke. She’d parked at her favorite layby, where she had an uninterrupted view of the local waterfalls, really rather beautiful, she thought sentimentally, already imaging the day when shed think about them nostalgically from some distant and no doubt exotic local she would call home in the future.

 Lunch over too fast, she dusted off her denim cut offs and tank that displayed her toned stomach and slim shoulders, just enough. She had a great tan this year, from dedicated lake time, and she was going to show it, while she was still young enough to enjoy it.

 She had planned to wrap up the working day early, so she could get home and pamper a bit before the big night. She tried not to say it sarcastically in her head. The Grill was the best that Mystic Falls had to offer, and she should appreciate that her friends were all going to be making an effort to come, just for her.

 Taping her tablet, she saw that she had reached the end of the list, and felt a surge of anticipation for being done, as she hastily tapped the address in, and started to follow the route. The radio played on, a more melancholy tune, and she felt it in her soul as she drove along a long, winding road, with wisteria brushing the top of the car as she went, the late afternoon sun slanting in trough the windscreen, dazzling and warm, its last hurrah before the night. The trees around the road started to drop into shade, as the sun dipped below the horizon, and Caroline glanced back at the route, wondering how far this parcel was going, her elation at almost being finished dimming as she realized how far she’d have to drive back.

 “In 200 yards, turn left” the satnav instructed, and she slowed to follow. She hadn’t seen another car on this road at all, ever since she had turned off the highway some 15 miles back, and the forest was thick around her now, the failing sunlight barely penetrating the dense evergreen foliage on either side of her.

 She braked as she reached the turn, and blinked at the address. There were 2 stone pillars marking the driveway of a property, on the left side, that looked like they had stepped out of a gothic novel. She wondered how she had never managed to drive this road before, never mind seen this particular driveway before, as she indicated and turned onto the small dusty road.

Slowly driving up, she carefully followed the curves of the driveway, seeing a grand garden unfold before her. As she crested a hill, she glimpsed the house. Eyes wide, she took in the grand and sweeping architecture. It wasn’t a house, it was a mansion, or maybe even a castle. There were turrets and stone balconies ringing the top floors, and a massive, steel bound front door took up half the front. She could see endless windows, glistening in the twilight as she pulled to a stop, half wondering if this was the type of situation where she should use the back entrance or something. She hadn’t spied a mailbox anywhere, and anyway, the parcel was signed for delivery. Catching herself gawking up at the impressive structure before her, she pulled herself together and grabbed the oblong box beside her and opened the door, grimacing as the rusted hinges let out a loud squeak.

 Her boots crunching in the gravel as she approached the front door, wondering for a moment if anyone was home, as most of the windows were dark. A crow called out overhead, a sudden caw in the the darkness of the forest to her right, and left, come to think of it, it seemed this place was completely surrounded by forest. That’s not creepy, she told herself as she climbed the stone stepped, and was confronted with a brass door knocker bigger than her head. It was oddly shaped, she thought as she grasped it, lifting it, with a little difficulty, and dropping it, hearing the loud thud ring through out. It was like a wolf, well, it had a muzzle, and fangs, except the front canines were way longer than necessary for a wolf, totally out of proportion. Another strange thing was the eyes and forehead, they weren’t even vaguely dog like, but human. A man’s eyes stared out above the snarling muzzle. Shifted her eyes away from the weird door knocker, she listened carefully for sounds of life inside the mansion.

As she stood there, she became aware of the absolute silence, even as her skin prickled all over, with that curious sensation of being watched. The nape of her neck buzzed, the tingling feeling spreading down her back, as she turned around to look behind her. Her truck sat quietly, reflecting the last of the light from the day in its windscreen. The garden was empty as far as she could see, and then the woods began, dark and deep, they were too far away for anything to be watching her from there. Even as she thought it, she felt that feeling of being watched intensify as she gazed into the dark space beneath the trees, almost as though her eyes were being pulled to it, as though it were calling her name…_ _

 Caroline….

 The bolt of the door being slid back jolted her out her reverie, and sending her heartbeat crashing. Turning around, her cheeks flushing with fright, she found herself staring into space. The door was ajar, but there was no one there, and she looked around puzzled. Surely someone had opened the door, but there was no one in sight, and she peered into the limited view of the hall.

 It was huge, and cold looking, decorated in exactly the old worldly opulent style she had imagined from the outside. Her phone chirped in her pocket, and she pulled it out instinctively, glancing quickly at the screen.

 “Can’t wait for tonight, cocktail Caroline already created” the message from her best friend Elena read. She smiled, quickly texting back several emoji’s, before stuffing her phone back into her pocket and shifting the box under her arm.

 “Caroline…’

She looked up sharply.

 “Hello? Is someone home? I have a delivery that needs signed for” she called, feeling the hair on her arms prickle. There was something definitely creepy about this place, she thought as she rubbed her pimpled flesh on one arm, and jangled her keys as she wondered what to do. Yeah, so she was supposed to get a signature, but hey, one out of 19 wasn’t bad for a day’s work. The perfectionist in her cringed at the thought of leaving without finishing up properly, but the other part, the gut instinct part, told her to forget it and get going.

 Deciding, she spun on her heel, heading back to the truck. The gravel again crunching in the unnatural silence surrounding her. She suddenly noticed how dark it seemed to have gotten. She pressed the button to unlock her car, and frowned as it failed to work, hardly surprising as it failed to work about half the time.

 “Excuse me?” a voice called, and Caroline froze, a cold sweat breaking out in her palms. Her heart in her mouth, she turned slowly around, unsure what she would see.

 “Is that package for us?” the voice continued, and Caroline felt heat rise to her cheeks. Standing in the door way was a tall, terribly well presented lady, wearing a white skirt suit and pearls. She looked regally down on Caroline and her shorts and tank top combo. Caroline felt her face redden as she realized how carried away she had gotten, how freaked out she’d let herself become, over nothing. No more horror movie marathons she told herself sternly as she climbed back up the stone steps.

 “Yes, I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone was home”

 “I do apologies, I’m sure one of my sons must have opened the door and then wandered off distracted, young people can be so easily distracted, nowadays.” The lady said, as Caroline nodded vaguely, wondering how young the son was. She hefted the box and held it toward the lady.

 “Here you go, this is all, and if I could just get a signature that would be great” she looked up in surprise as she saw the woman before her step back instead of taking the parcel.

“Shall I… just put it here?” Caroline asked, feeling awkward as she held the box in her hands, wondering why the woman didn’t take it.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I can see its for my son. If you could just give it to him, that would be best” she was saying, as Caroline frowned.

“It doesn’t really matter, I trust you to give it to him, I just need someone to sign for it” She explained, as she bent at the knee to prop the package beside the door.

“Please, it might be fragile, I can sign, if you can just give me a moment to find a pen”

“Oh! I have one right here” Caroline said, as she patted her pocket for her trusted signing pen.

“Yes dear?” the lady asked, as Caroline frowned and patted her other pocket. It was empty, they both were. She never forgot her pen, she thought as she shrugged apologetically.

“I’m sorry, I seem to have left it in the truck, I’ll just run and get it” she said, stopped as the lady before her let out a tinkly laugh, as pure as silver bells.

“No need child, I am sure my handbag is just inside, if you can just bring the parcel, for my son, I will fetch a pen” Before she realized it, the woman was ushering her forward, her hand on her elbow, pulling her toward the threshold of the house. Caroline hesitated, before her foot crossed the thick silvery looking beam embedded in the floor, that strange nervousness taking over again.

“Come on dear, we don’t have all day” the voice was right by her ear now, and Caroline stepped forward, her boot connecting with the marble on the other side. A cold feeling slid over her as she stepped fully into the impressive entrance hall, turning to watch the lady enter beside her.

 She blinked.

 The lady was gone.

 She wasn’t behind her, or beside her anymore. That prickling returned, licking up her neck and back in flames of fear. The door was shut. She almost did a double take as she stared at it.

“Hello? Erm, Mrs…. Mikaelson?” she called, as she glanced down at the parcel in her hands. Nothing, no response, and a deep silence seemed to have fallen, broken only by the loud ticking of a grandfather clock at the end of the hallway. She swallowed, her heartbeat was jumping all over the place.

 “I’m just going to leave the parcel here… it’s fine” she called, her voice sounding fearful and small in the huge space.

 “Caroline…”  

 She spun around again, expecting to see someone behind her, the voice almost seemed to have whispered in her ear.

“Who’s there?” she whispered back, and felt something like panic close up her throat. Get a grip Forbes, she told herself, as she turned back to the door. I’ll just open the door, and leave, no need to make a drama about it, she told herself, and was almost able to keep that determined calmness until she reached out to the door.

 Smooth unblemished wood met her fingers. No handle. No lock, nothing that indicated how it opened. She felt the panic succeed in closing her throat and she coughed hard, her chest feeling like it was on fire for a few moments.

 “Caroline… come to me”

 She spun around, clutching the parcel against her chest, for what meager protection it offered. Her heartbeat was clanging in her ears now, and every breath seemed deafening in the silence.

 “Who’s there?” she called. Suddenly, she felt a vibration against her hip, and almost sobbing with relief, she remembered her cell. Pulling it out, she saw the colorful display, her friends having a picnic in the park 2 weeks ago, glowing bright against the rising dark of this house, then her heart dropped. Low battery. She quickly pulled up her recent calls and rang Matt. Waiting in silence, she heard the phone start to ring on the other end.

“Pick up Matt. Please please pick up” she muttered as she looked anxious around. There seemed to be a million shadowy corners in this tomb, she thought as her eyes glanced from one floor to the next.

“Hey, this is Matt, you know what to do” his voice, initially filling her with relief, was short lived as she realized it was his voicemail.

 “Good evening. You look a little lost”

 The new voice, male, English, seemed incredibly familiar to her for a moment, as she dropped her phone to her side and spun around.

 He stood in the doorway of a room just to the right of her. He was outlined by a soft red glow, alive and flickering, behind him, the only light she’d seen in the while place.

 “I… I’m delivering a package” she said, her voice sounding strange in her ears.

 “There was… a woman, she let me in, and then she… she left” Caroline explained, as the man in the door way shifted forward, and a shaft of the rising moonlight fell through the window and over the hard panes of his face. And what a face, Caroline found herself thinking. It was all artistic hollows and chiseled lines. The darkness seemed to paint his features, a strong brow, strong chin, a full mouth, and eyes that seemed to stare right through her.

“How rude of her, can I help?” he asked, his culture voice snaking around her feet, tugging them into motion, before she was quite sure she was moving.

“I, I just need a signature” she whispered as she drew closer. He stepped back, gesturing to the fire lit study behind him.

“I’ll just fetch a pen” he said, and turned, striding confidently into the room, and going over to the huge wood and leather desk that dominated one wall. Another was taken up with a huge fireplace, so massive she could have stood in it without bending, and the rest were books, shelves upon shelves of them.

She turned on the spot, looking at the leather bound spines around her. She felt suddenly so tired, as though she had run a marathon.

“Where can I sign” he asked, as he approached her her. Seeing him in full light, she took in his azure eyes and burnished golden hair, slightly curled, and his lips, pink, full. She tore her eyes away, as that same mouth turned up in a smirk. She was staring at the poor guy like he was a steak and she’d been on a juice cleanse. Yes, he was ridiculously attractive, but don’t drool, she told herself strictly, as she held out the parcel. His smirk deepened for a moment, almost as though he knew what she was thinking, before he reached out and took the box from her, using it to lean on to sign the paper slip.

“Is that all?” he asked, his long fingers passing over the delivery slip. She nodded, as she took it, biting her lip as his finger tip touched her wrist and a bolt of electricity went up her arm.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and she found herself looking up into his face, and then, meeting his stormy blue eyes, unable to look away.

“Yes, that’s all. Sorry for the delay”

“It is I who should apologies” he said, and for a moment, a look a lot like compassion passed across his aristocratic features.

“Well, thanks then” she said lamely, as he turned his head toward the fire, and took the box over to the desk. He stared down at it, and she realized she was about to embarrass herself again. Gathering her wits, she turned and started toward the door. She really needed a birthday drink now, she thought, as she resisted the urge to look back and see what he was doing.

‘Oh, do you think you can show me how to open then door, I’m having a bit of a blonde moment, and can’t seem to figure it out” she said, with a laugh, looking back and seeing him standing leaning against his desk, the box laid out before him.

“I’m afraid not Caroline.” He said, and she felt all those fearful instincts from before some slamming back into her, her adrenaline spiking.

“How do you know my name?” she asked, clenching her fists tightly.

He watched her a moment, making a leisurely survey, his smile deepening as he surveyed her from head to toe, an almost predatory gleam brightening his eyes. He gestured causally to the parcel.

“Its on this box” he said pleasantly, even as she frowned, that sleepy feeling, heavier than ever.

“What do you mean?” she asked, stepping forward, feeling the lightest sway in her step. He picked up the box and started toward her, and she stepped back automatically. He watched without feeling.

“You’re afraid of me. That’s good. It’s smart Caroline. I’m impressed” he said, as she felt hope slid away, her mind suddenly calculating the improbability that she’d be able to get to the door before him, never mind open it.

“What are you talking about??” she cried, feeling tears start to sting her eyes.

“All in good time, sweetheart. Now, aren’t you going to say thank you?” he asked, arriving before her, the box in his hand, the other reaching up to cup her cheek, as she felt as though her body was frozen to the spot, unable to react, unable to believe what was happening.

“Thank you for what??” she asked, as her eyes dropped to the box.

“Your birthday present of course. Happy 21st birthday Caroline.” He murmured, as he placed the box in her hands and she stared dumbly at the label, where her name and address was written out in spidery script.

“I’ve been waiting for you Caroline. Welcome home.”

[marjiandco]

The first to fail

(TW: mentions of blood, violence)

Raiku slides  to a halt, his drawn bow idle near his abdomen. Sweat falls into his eyes, muscles aching from the previous battle with wolf-like men and their Garlean masters. How did they not see an attack coming, let alone by such a large force? He narrows his eyes against the darkening haze of dust and smoke, wondering if the others will catch up after he slipped away from the Ala Mhigan-born pilus. He can’t wait for them though; Y’shtola lay flat on the ground as a garlean in heavy armor points his longsword at Lyse.Their Viceroy...gods he’s tall for a hyur. Raiku exhales slowly; at least has the element of surprise. There’s a familiar reedy snap in his ears as his arrow flies true.

Raiku blinks, and blinks again. How…? The Viceroy manages to twist his wrist and cut the arrow in twain near the hilt of his sword. Raiku’s heartbeat rises to his throat and a thought flashes in his mind. I can’t do this. He faces dangers everyday with Marji at his side,but he has not seen her since Ilbard’s fall. An overwhelming feeling of loneliness washes over him, the beginning of fear bubbling in his stomach. He shakes his head and takes another arrow from his quiver and pulls back on the bowstring. The garlean turns his grotesque mask and drops his sword to his side. Even from far away Raiku hears the distinct rasping of metal fingers tightening its grip.

A deep, hollow voice rumbles beneath the mask. “I know you are not worthy of me.”

Raiku sucks in until his lungs hurt. “I am the warrior of light.” His voice rattles in his mind. Why am I mimicking her? “Release them and leave this place!” I can’t be next in line as champion what in seven hells am I doing?

He waits for a response from the garlean, but he does nothing.Fires from the war tents drift nearby, and for a moment Castrum Preatorium flashes in his mind. Raiku grits his teeth and curses to himself. He feels the string grow taut in his hand and aims at the garleans neck. Another to his elbows, his ankles. Anywhere that was vulnerable yet each time the viceroy slices his arrows with a lazy flick of the wrist.

The man takes a step towards Raiku. Raiku bounces on his toes, his quiver tapping against his shoulder blades. The viceroy pulls his hilt near his head and crouches. Raiku freezes. He knew he didn’t stand a chance. It didn’t matter what his opponent is going to it would be overwhelming. He needs help. Oh gods please be here soon. The smooth wood runs against his callused fingertips as it falls away as he drags his hand to his ear. The Viceroy leans back. Raiku feels for his linkpearl, the metal giving way to a small plasticine button. He presses down.

Click!

The viceroy pushes off.

Click!

He’s closes the distance by half.

Click!

It’s their channel. Perhaps she’ll listen this time. The viceroy towers above him and swings his blade.

“Marji-” is all Raiku manages to say.

********************************************************************************

Not far away, just beyond a jagged outcropping of hills a blue and white dog was sprinting towards Rhalgr’s reach. On its back, a grey miqo’te lets out low whistles to urge her war dog onwards towards the explosions and sounds of battle. She reaches into her bag and pulls out her wooden mask, careful to make sure the horns don’t knick her ears as she puts it on.

“Hurry Mavi!” She shouts.

She must be far from their encampment by now, but Azeyma knows she can’t just hide when the scions are in trouble. She feels it in her bones thanks to the echo. She spits on a rusting magitek aircraft as they pass it by. Her father will be furious when he wakes, but Ooji’a will let him know. They round a corner and her war dogs yelps. Pandemonium stretches out before them; fires, explosions, people running to and from battle. She jumps off her dog, giving her a quick pat on the back as Mavi whimper-barks.

“It’s okay girl.”

She unhooks her book from its holdster at her side, grabbing a well worn green tag and summons her Garuda-egi. Her dog points towards it, rigid but otherwise does not move. The egi cackles and she could feel a small sense of malicious contentment from it. The woman has long since been used to the things chaotic nature, and keeps hold on the mental tether between them with ease. Marji climbs back onto her dogs back, curling her fingers into her dogs fur and relaxes at the rumble beneath.

“Okay let’s-”

“Marji”

Her blood runs cold and a wave of nausea rolls over her. Her vision blurs and can feel herself sliding off her mount but she clings onto consciousness. Her vision mixes in with a memory of a small red haired lalafell being viciously kicked half a malm away, smashing into the dilapidated pillars behind him. His breath is knocked from his lungs and he struggles to his feet. His bow is far from him now, but a brute of a man in garlean armor marches toward him. The lalafell takes an arrow from his quiver and cracks it over his knee, tossing the feathered end aside as he pushes himself to his feet. He waits until the Garlean is close and dives beneath the sword and ducks behind the pillars. The garlean says nothing and with untold strength slices the pillar in half. The lalafell has no time to scream. He flings himself to closest side he can and slams headlong into an armored fist. His nose gives a sickening crunch as the force sends him off his feet towards a stream.

Marji’s vision clears, and she gives a war cry as her hound howls in return.

*******************************************************************

Raiku rolled to a stop on his stomach, hoping to pass out. At least for a moment. One of his eyes has swollen shut. He felt something broken and stabbing in his chest. Air fills his lungs in haggard gasps as he felt his throat thick with blood and bile. A heavy cough racks his body and red spit falls from his lips. Funny, he thought it’d be more romantic to have himself torn up, like in his stories. Instead its just an endless string of snot, bile, and blood. He drags his hand underneath his body and pushes himself up onto his knees and coughs again, causing agony to rack his body with each forced breath. His bow lay broken somewhere, and his arrowhead in the pile of rubble, but he just has to last until help comes. Right? He wraps an arm around his abdomen.

He see’s the Viceroy’s shadow before he heard him. Eyes wide and unmoving, he watches the shadow lift its sword high overhead. He was going to skewer Raiku like a pig at roast. Raiku musters all his strength and launches to the left, landing painfully on his side.

“You just can’t seem to stay still.” The viceroy sounds almost bored.

Raiku looks back at the man in wonder. Not a scratch on him? In the middle of a battlefield. Raiku has to get away. To flee. He tries to get up and yells in pain. He twisted his ankle, he can’t. His eyelids flutter. He crawls on hands and knees towards the water, sluggishly thinking he could swim of all things. He didn’t make it two ilms before a metal hand latches onto his back leg and drags him back. Raiku digs his nails into the dirt and let out a hoarse cry before he’s flipped onto his back.

“Pathetic.”  

The Viceroy let go of his mangled leg and picked up his boot and stamps down on Raiku’s belly. Raiku scratches and claws at his boot like a rodent caught in the claws of an eagle. The garlean once again raises his sword high above his head and Raiku watches in horror. The viceroy swings down and Raiku closes his good eye.The sword does not penetrate him. In fact, the man’s weight was damned near lifted from his body. He drinks in the air as a green blur shoots past him. He raises his neck to look, and saw the blurry outline of a black and white haired miqo’te in red armor.

“‘Bout time you showed up.” He says, letting his head fall to the ground.

********************************************************************************

Marji crouches in front of Raiku, nails digging into her book and eyes glowing bahamut’s blue. She gives Mavi the vocalization for protect, pointing at Raiku. Her hackles raise and he bends her head low over the beaten lalafell, teeth gnashing. Marji takes a few steps to the side, hoping to draw the Garlean’s attention away from them. Behind her she hears her father’s dog dig its nails into the dirt and the familiar tinkling sound of healing magicks. Her brother decided to tell him after all.

The viceroy chuckles, cracking his neck. “Your friends were a disappointment, but you? I think you’ll entertain me.”

Her skin crawls at the artificial honeyed voice of her opponent. “Leave this place.” She snarls.

They fight, and Marji has seen plenty of fights. Big and small, her and her opponents would dance until she find herself standing over them, but this time? The Viceroy has this cold veracity she hasn’t encountered. She has to continually keep on her toes, jumping back and forth avoiding his swings of his sword. Her attacks did little, if she has time to charge them at all. She flees as far as she can while keeping the rest in her sights; just enough to meditate and call forth the rage of her bahamut’s trance. Easy, when your closest friend lay bleeding because of you. She bellows out an unnatural roar, her back bending as far as it can go before coming back upright. She’s floating, her toes skimming the ground as she unleashed her most powerful spell: deathflare.

A blinding wave of blue light erupts around the garlean, burning the ground beneath his feet. She keeps hold of it as long as she dare strain her aether. As the plume of light turns to a plume of smoke she’s fallen to her knees and panting. Yet, he steps out of the superheated aether as if it was merely wind around him. His armor was barely burned. She pulls at the mind-tether between her and garuda and has her use an enkindling spell, jumping back to her feet to call and instruction but the viceroy cuts her summon down, turns his head, and rushes at her at a speed no man his size should have. Marji  twists herself in an attempt to spin out of his way.

“Pity you could not have stayed around longer, Champion of savages.” He whispers into her ear, cutting his sword across her arm and back.

A blinding white light burst behind her as his sword made contact. She’s thrown 20 yalms away and lands wrist first into a crumpled heap. Her back boils from lacerations, but otherwise she’s alive. Zenos froze in his final position as the tip of his sword fell into the mud beneath him. He stares at it for a moment as Marji staggers back to her feet and slips back down, bracing her elbow against her knee.

Zenos looks down at his hilt and let’s the sword fall from his hand and spat.

“Pathetic.”

Without looking at her, he leaves the area, calling a blonde haired soldier to run after him. The others were frozen or wounded, knowing that if she can’t hurt him, who else can. She clumsily lifts herself to her feet, pushing past Raubahn’s innane questions to check on her lalafellin friend.

She gives a low whistle and points behind her for Mavi to leave Raiku’s side. He was still unconscious.

“Is he going-”

“Yeah but he’ll need more than me to sort him out.” Ooji’a says.

J’baro rushes to her and pulls her into a one armed hug, keeping her from falling onto her friend. “Then bring him into the infirmary!” She commands.