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corroded-hellfire · 1 year ago

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no bc cockwarming with older!eddie is soooooooo

Oh I agree 100%. It’s something I need in my life but I guess I’ll have to settle for only having it in writing. Older!eddie my beloved 😍

Warnings: older!eddie, smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral, m receiving, cockwarming, brat and brat tamer

Words: 3.3k

Eddie was never a sports fan. Never interested him, never played nor watched. His needing to be home to watch a game had never been an issue you’d had to deal with in your relationship. So, when the day comes that Eddie is more focused on something that’s on the television than you, you’re not having it.

It’s a Saturday night and the two of you had finished off the pizza that you’d ordered, and you’d gone to take a shower. Halfway through your time spent in the steam, you start to feel a little lonely and wish your boyfriend would join you. Calling his name a few times doesn’t seem to work, even though the walls are thin in his trailer. With a pout, you step out of the shower and wrap a fuzzy towel around your body. Still dripping little droplets of water on the carpet, you pad down the hallway to see where your man is. Nothing Else Matters is coming from the television, and you find Eddie sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand. You’ve heard enough Metallica through him to know that’s what’s on the tv, but you’re not sure what he’s so transfixed on.

“Whatcha watching, baby?” you ask.

His eyes flit briefly over to you before returning to the screen. “Metallica documentary.”

“Oh.” You take a few steps closer to the couch and cock your head to the side. “Didn’t you hear me calling for you?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. You okay?” Eddie’s words are very monotone. You don’t doubt that there’s real concern for you there, but he couldn’t sound less enthusiastic if he tried.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just wanted some company,” you say coyly. There’s no reaction from your boyfriend. Figuring you’ll make it plain as day for him, you drop your towel, leaving your naked body on full display. He turns his head towards you, his eyes staying on the television until the last moment, then flickering your way as well. Arching an eyebrow, Eddie pats his jean-clad thigh and looks back to the television. It’s not exactly the reaction you were looking for, but you’ll take it.

You stroll over to him and perch yourself in his lap. His hands rest on your hips, but he tries to look around you at the television. Your gaze is trained on him, not quite a glare but only a skosh softer. Eddie either doesn’t notice the way you’re looking at him or he doesn’t care. So, you rest your hands on his shoulders and gently press your nails into his t-shirt covered skin, adding pressure bit by bit until he frowns and meets your eye.

“Ow, babe,” he says. “What was that for?”

“You haven’t looked at me once since I sat in your lap. Am I bothering you?” It’s hard to keep the snark out of your voice, even though you’re aware you sound like a petulant child.

“No,” Eddie says with a soft sigh. “I just want to watch this documentary. I haven’t seen it, and you know Metallica is my favorite.”

A groan tumbles from your lips as you drop your head forward and rest it on his shoulder. Cold water drips from your hair onto his neck, sending a shiver throughout his body.

“You want a blanket?” he asks.

His words have you jolting upright and, this time, full-out glaring at him.

“You want me to cover up?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Eddie says, suppressing an eye roll – he knows it will only make it worse. “You just got out of the shower, aren’t you cold?”

“A little,” you say. “So warm me up.”

“Babe, this is over in an hour, can we just–”

“Fine.” You move to get off his lap, but his large hands keep you pinned in place. The overly cheerful voice of a woman trying to sell some new workout video comes from behind you and it makes you huff. “So now that there’s a commercial you’ll pay attention to me?”

“You’re being a real brat, you know that?”

Your eyebrows pull together as you frown at him. “I just want to get some lovin’ from my boyfriend.”

“Oh, baby,” Eddie says with a sigh. “So desperate for my cock, huh? Be a good girl then, get on your knees.”

With how fast and hard your knees hit the threadbare carpet in the living room, Eddie suspects you’ll either have bruised knees or rug burn. But you don’t seem to mind one bit as you stare up at him with wide, eager eyes. Your hands immediately fly to Eddie’s belt, and you’ve undone that and his zipper in the short few seconds it took Eddie to lift his hips so you could slide his jeans and boxers down.

It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen it—or stroked it, licked it, sucked it, had it inside of you, etc—the sight of Eddie’s cock still gets you immediately wet. The promise of the pleasure that he’s going to bring you.

Being eye level with Eddie’s semi-hard cock has you licking your lips in greedy anticipation. Not able to wait one moment more, you lean forward and wrap your hand around the base of Eddie’s cock. His pubic hair brushes against the side of your hand with every stroke.

You push yourself up on your knees so you can let some saliva drip down onto Eddie’s cock, making it easier for you to work your hand over it. A groan slips from your lips as you eye the bead of precum gathering on the tip.

As if based purely on primal instinct, you lean in and run your tongue flat over the head. Eddie’s thighs tense around your head as you savor the salty tang that coats your tongue.

You’re tempted to tease Eddie but with him already accusing you of acting like a brat, he might not let you suck him off. It’s been the toughest torture you’ve ever had to bear when Eddie makes you watch him get off all on his own.

Not willing to take that risk, you engulf the head of his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip. One of Eddie’s hands rests on the back of your hair, not pushing, just lying there. It puts enough weight on your head to make you sink a little further down on his cock.

“Good girl,” Eddie drawls out.

The praise does nothing to help the wetness that feels as if it will drool down your legs any second. You bob your head, taking a little more of him in each time you go down. Tears annoyingly pool in your eyes and you blink a few times to get them to roll down your cheeks; nothing is going to distract you from giving Eddie the best head you can. Just as you’re about to take him into your throat, Eddie’s fingers dig into your hair, rings lightly scraping against your scalp, and he pulls you off of him.

A whine of protest reflexively flies out of your mouth at the loss. Your brain hardly has time to wonder why your boyfriend pulled you off of him before he tugs your head backwards so you’re looking up at him. His attention is not on you though, it’s back on the television that you hear once again playing music you recognize as Metallica’s. Eddie is looking straight ahead, not sparing you a glance as you pout up at him.

“Get up here,” he orders as he drops your hair.

“What?” you ask. Using the back of your hands you wipe the tear streaks from your cheeks and the saliva that managed to leak out of your mouth.

“Get. Up.”

You push yourself up on unsteady legs and Eddie groans in irritation as you block his view of the television. A strong hand grips your naked waist and pulls you forward until you’re tumbling into his lap.

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Eddie’s voice is low and husky, the dominance in it sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re going to sit on my cock and keep quiet until this show is over. If you’re good, maybe you’ll get rewarded. If you’re a brat, you can get yourself off tonight. Understood?”

“Yes, Eddie,” you reply, hardly above a whisper.

Making sure to lean your torso to the side to keep out of his way, you straddle Eddie’s hips and reach behind you to line his cock up with your entrance. Slowly, you start to sink down on him, the initial stretch leading you to let out a low moan.

“Shhh,” Eddie chastises, never taking his eyes from the flickering screen behind you.

Teeth gnash into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood to keep yourself from making any other noises. Tense fingers dig into Eddie’s black t-shirt clad shoulders as you fully seat yourself on his lap. After you’ve given yourself a moment to adjust, you start to lift yourself up again, but Eddie immediately slams you back down.

A sharp whine is forced out of you, and you grip the cotton material of Eddie’s shirt in your fists.

“Wha—” you start to ask but Eddie cuts you off.

“You’re going to sit here, completely still. You’re not going to move around or make a sound.”

You drop your head forward and rest your forehead on Eddie’s shoulder as you let out a small whimper. This is pure torture. Being so close to everything you want, but not allowed to rock your hips to make the dream a reality.

Metallica music continues to play behind you and when you glance up at the older man, he has his entire focus on the show. You almost slip up and let out an irritated groan, but you know you’ll regret it if you do.

A few minutes pass by but it feels like an eternity as you just sit there, half listening to the loud metal music coming from behind you as you slump against Eddie’s body. Just as a song comes to an end and yet another journalist begins to talk on camera, Eddie’s hips shift, causing him to move inside of you. The unexpected jolt has you gasping and burying your face into Eddie’s neck.

“Relax, I’m just making myself comfortable,” he says.

You highly doubt that but keep your thoughts to yourself as you try to calm your body down again. Eddie’s a little shit and you’d put money on this being only the first time he messes with you, looking to see how far he can push before you push back. Sure enough, just as you’ve let your guard down and let your mind wander, there’s a sharp smack to your ass. The sting makes you jump, and Eddie’s hands instinctively move to your waist to steady you.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “My hand slipped.”

He’s full of shit and you both know it. Eddie’s playing dirty now and you have to think of a counterattack. Anything too obvious and he’ll make both of you get yourselves off tonight, so it has to be subtle.

Moving slowly so as to not interrupt his television time, you curl against his chest so he can feel it when you expand your lungs and let out a silent yawn against his neck. As you yawned though, there may have been clenching of your walls around his dick. You feel more than hear the growl that reverberates through his chest. Now when you bite your lip it’s to keep the smile off your face.

You peer over at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall and see that this documentary should be over in about fifteen minutes. So close yet so far. The chill from your still wet skin is starting to settle in as well, which is going to make this quarter of an hour tick by even slower.

Thankfully, the end of the show has some of the Metallica songs you’re more familiar with, so it gives you something to listen to while you wait for this test of wills to be over. With five minutes left you feel yourself getting antsy. Eddie just said until the documentary was over, right? Does that mean the second it’s done he’s going to start fucking you like you’ve been craving for what feels like hours now? Or will he be a prick some more and pretend like he doesn’t know what you’ve been waiting for this whole time. You’d place your bets on the second option. Eddie never turned down an opportunity to be a pain in the ass.

The last song fades out and the show is over. You immediately sit up and look at Eddie with wide eyes. You did it. You had done what he asked of you and now you get your reward, right? Right?

As nonchalantly as you’ve ever seen him, he raises his arms up over his head to stretch out his back and abdominal muscles. Usually, you’d take the opportunity to stare at his tummy when his shirt rode up, but with his cock literally inside of you it feels like a moot point.

“Eddie,” you say. It’s not quite a whine, more like a poke—a nudge.

“Yes?”

He was going to drive you insane one of these days.

“It’s over, right?”

“It is.”

“So…?” you trail off.

“So, it was pretty good. Wish they had more metal documentaries like that.”

You’re two seconds away from putting your hands around Eddie’s throat—and not in the way he sometimes likes.

“And I was good too, right?” You’re practically batting your eyelashes at him, and it takes Eddie a moment to compose himself enough not to laugh.

“I guess you were.”

“So…” you drawl as you lean in to press soft kisses against the side of his neck. “Do I get my reward then?”

“What is it that you wanted, baby? Was it this?” Eddie rolls his hips up against yours and your eyes flutter closed at the feeling.

“Y-Yes,” you manage. “Need you, Eddie.”

“God, I love when you get all needy for my cock. Should I make you beg for it?”

He knows you will if he demands it. Eddie enjoys moments like this when he’s in full control, knowing you’ll do whatever he wants. That his cock drives you so wild that you become putty in his hands. It makes a nice change since in every other aspect of your relationship you have him wrapped around your little finger.

“Please, please, Eddie,” you whine, fingers grasping at the front of his t-shirt.

Eddie takes in your pouted lips and your widened eyes. He can’t help but smile at how utterly adorable you are; but somehow still the sexiest woman he’s ever met.

“Alright, baby,” Eddie finally acquiesces. He reaches up and cups your cheek in his hand. Slowly and delicately, Eddie swipes his thumb right below your bottom eyelid. “Take what you want.”

The permission unlocks an energy reservoir you weren’t aware you had as you place your hands on Eddie’s shoulders for balance and push yourself up, almost letting his cock slip out. But at the last moment you lower yourself back down, the two of you moaning in tandem as he bottoms out again. You set a relentless pace as you begin to bounce on his cock. Eddie’s eyes hungrily watch your tits as they bounce along with you, providing your boyfriend with double the pleasure.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans and drops his head back against the couch. Teasing you was definitely worth it with the way you’re taking his cock for all its worth.

Your hands move up Eddie’s shoulder and slide around to tangle your fingers at the dark curls at the base of his skull.

“This what you wanted, huh?” Eddie asks and pauses to catch his labored breath. He can feel how wet you are and that tells him this is exactly what your goal was. “Needed to have me deep inside of you.”

“So deep,” you mutter with a nod.

“Mm, what would you do without me, baby?” Eddie taunts, lifting his hands to massage your breasts.

“God, I would die.”

Eddie chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Nobody could make you feel as good as I do. I know.”

“Uh huh,” you pant.

Eddie notices your movements becoming slower, the strength draining from your body. Persistent woman that you are, you keep going, moving up and down to take what you want. One of Eddie’s arms snakes around the small of your back and the other comes up to cup your cheek.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” he says softly. Eddie turns to lay you down on the weathered couch and slides an old throw pillow beneath your hips. A loud whine of protest comes from deep in your chest when Eddie slips out of you as your positions change. “Love how desperate you get for me. Only me who gets to see you wrecked like this. So fuckin’ hot.”

As Eddie pushes himself back into your soaked, throbbing pussy your whines turn much more pleasurable. Your boyfriend holds onto the arm of the couch behind your head and uses the leverage to piston his hips.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you cry.

“Too much?” Eddie teases, slowing his hips. “Should I stop?”

“Fuck, no.”

A cocky smirk grows on the older man’s face, a breathy chuckle coming from him at your vociferous reply. His hips pick up speed again, just as eager to please you as you are to be pleased. The arm that isn’t holding him steady against the couch runs over your tits, up your neck, and his fingers meet your lips.

“Open.”

You let your jaw drop, letting Eddie slip his middle and forefinger into your mouth. Just as you did to his cock before, you swirl your tongue around the digits, the feeling of something in your mouth only making you feel that much fuller. Reluctantly, you let Eddie move his hand when he starts to pull away, but not before letting your bottom teeth gently graze against the pads of his fingers.

Eddie’s hand dips down between your bodies and rubs tight circles over your clit. The added stimulation has your muscles tightening, that familiar buildup soaring in you. Your right hand clutches Eddie’s arm, the grip hard enough to leave bruises that will linger for the next few days.

“Eddie, fuck.”

“That’s right. Cum for me, princess.”

“W-Wanna cum with you.”

He dips down and trails hot kisses from your chin, all the way down your throat.

“You’ve been naked for the past hour,” he mumbles against your sweat covered skin. “Never mind how long I’ve been inside of you. You really think I’m gonna be able to last much longer? Come on, baby. Cum for me.”

The urging is all you need before letting your orgasm wash over you, back arching off the couch, and pressing your tits against Eddie’s shirt. The clenching and fluttering of your walls around him has Eddie following right after you, spilling into you and filling you up. Wanting to make sure you take every single drop, Eddie fucks his cum into you even after his orgasm begins to wane.

The weight of Eddie’s body pressing on top of yours is exactly what you need in the moments as your bliss fades away. Contentment fills the both of you as you breathe together, both sweaty and satiated. Eddie uses the last of the energy he has left to lift his head and press a few kisses to your shoulder.

“I love you,” you whisper, reaching up to move some of the hair that’s sticking to his face. “I’d apologize for being a brat, but it turned out to work pretty damn well.”

“You are a brat but I’m good at handling it,” Eddie says with a soft smile. “And I love you too.”

“I feel like I need another shower,” you say, your sticky skin feeling attached to Eddie’s.

He looks up at you with those doe eyes and a cocky smile.

“Want some company?”

#eddie munson #older!eddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #request #roses collection

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sahestatellc · 1 month ago

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mwexodusofficial · 4 days ago

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Chapter XXI: Magna Victoria

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(Music: "April", by Caravan Palace)

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Night arrived. The Magna Victoria was soon to begin.

The moonlight illuminated the sprawling landscape, hueing it in shadowy indigo and silver, the distant and innumerable stars beyond casting a celestial shimmer over the terrain. At the heart of this stage stood the Epocha Villae, a gargantuan, behemothic estate whose silhouette dominated the horizon, a masterwork of epic architecture that seemed virtually carved from the dreams of another era. Its towering spires and sweeping arches glowed faintly under the moonlight, its alabaster surfaces reflecting an ethereal luminescence that hinted at immortal beauty and planet-encompassing power. Encircling the villa were miles upon miles of meticulously curated greenery—rolling meadows that seemed to ripple like waves under the night breeze, dense and lively forests whispering ancient secrets, and cascading, winding rivers that sparkled like liquid silver, threading their way through sculpted valleys and terraformed earth. Beyond the natural beauty, distant mountain ranges loomed, their craggy peaks dusted with snow that shimmered faintly in the moonlight.

Yet, this idyllic setting contrasted starkly with the distant mega-platforms visible on the horizon, colossal structures towering into the sky like modern-day Babels. Each platform was a world unto itself, housing billions of citizens stacked layer upon layer over each other. The topmost platforms sparkled with neon lights from luxury residential zones and extravagant commercial districts, the middle layers bustling with industrial might and densely-packed infrastructure—mega-factories producing the lifeblood running underneath the futuristic world of Canaris. From a distance, these platforms seemed harmonious, a symphony of human ingenuity and futuristic aesthetic; yet the closer one imagined them, the more their labyrinthine chaos seemed inevitable.

The Epocha Villae itself was humming with imperial opulence and passionate socializing. Its sprawling grounds hosted tens of thousands of the most high-profile figures of Canaris, and visitors from abroad in the immense colonized areas of the galaxy. Emissaries wrapped in silken robes adorned with sigils of ancient and thriving houses mingled with warlords clad in polished Achilles armor adorned with trophies of conquest. Presidents and diplomats in sharply tailored suits and dresses exchanged measured pleasantries, their smiles hiding malicious and endless pursuit of personal and grand ambitions. Their entourages swirled around them like hummingbirds, each member a carefully chosen piece in the greatest games of power—advisors with unreadable expressions, bodyguards scanning the crowd like predators, and aides whispering urgent updates or offering flutes of golden, fizzing champagne. Conversations were a tapestry of languages, accents, and dialects, interpreted and translated by Universal Language Translators (ULTs) attached to the underside of every individual's jaw with small speakers leading up to the insides of their ears. Beneath the laughter and clinking glasses lurked countless agendas—alliances being forged in shadows, betrayals being plotted under the guise of camaraderie, and fortunes changing hands with a single whispered promise.

The villa's grandeur was shaded, almost suffocated, by its daunting and vast security measures; It stood as a fortress as much as it mirrored a palace. Soldiers, clad in matte-black combat gear bristling with advanced weaponry, manned checkpoints fortified with massive iron walls and hand-held scanners for identification of those entering the estate. Their eyes were cold, their gazes unyielding, assessing everyone who passed as if they were the next receiver of a bullet. Helixads hovered silently in the night sky like predatory birds, thermal imaging cameras surveying scrupulously across the miles of grounds. Gun emplacements, concealed in artfully crafted outbuildings, bristled with automated tracking movements and eerie precision, prepared to unleash devastating firepower at a moment's notice. The air was ripe with tension, the weight of recent events pressing down on the villa like an unseen typhoon.

The heightened security measures were no act of paranoia; they were a necessity. Only a few days ago, Captain Hawkes—the Icon of Canaris—had narrowly survived an assassination attempt. The memory of it lingered in every tightened patrol route, every additional layer of reinforced steel, and every wary glance shared between patrol guards. The villa was no longer merely a stage for the elite to play their games of power—it had manifested into a symbol of Canaris' change in direction; from decadence and relaxing innovation to menacing and subtle preparation for another war campaign- especially since the populace was in an uproar over the attempted assassination by the Danze Imperium.

It had been roughly a year and a half ago since the last Magna Victoria was held, when Admiral Oslo Barca fought alongside the Atriarchs during the war campaign against the Danzian Offensive of 2282; barely repelling the daunting onslaught from their historical nemesis. With Canaris set on finishing the Cosmic Highway lane connecting FTL waypoints directly to Nova Terra, allowing mainstream, safe travel between the two planets, there were naturally many planets and nations who wanted to take advantage of the unholy amount of power and wealth Canaris was set to receive in the coming weeks.

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(Ambience: "Baroque Noble Party", by Michael Ghelfi Studios)

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Hawkes had Curly, Anya, Swansea and Daisuke dressed to the absolute nines, but kept the outfits humble enough that they would not attract unwanted attention from any unsavory or too prominent of individuals from amongst the crowd of tens of thousands of the highest echelons and foreign emissaries that would be attending tonight. Their families, as well, were invited to attend and mingle with people who were eager to secure their generations with insurmountable wealth and prosperity.

"Just enjoy yourselves, alright?" Hawkes briefed quickly as he worked between the four of them with the haste and preparation of a frittering parent, ensuring their suits (and Anya's dress, especially) were perfectly aligned, pristine, and free of imperfections. Before a galaxy-grand display of Canaris' massive ego was placed on a magnificent showcase, Hawkes wanted his family to look absolutely marvelous, yet muted with humility in the same breath. His painstaking demands to Canaris' greatest tailors had paid off.

Ah, you all look so magnificent, he wondered subconsciously as the rest of his brain puttered with the profiles of those attending the Magna Victoria. Ahhhhhhhh....... you are just more b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l to me than the entire, utter, whore-filled whole of this shit-fucking-rock. I could never extend the form of my regret, that the stars did not align us all on the same planet, in the same childhood together. I would have loved to have been your playmate.

King Belfrin of Amitash; Monarch Ulyssa of Biralya; President Weiss of Olima; the list of disgustingly powerful rulers soon to enter Canaris airspace was staggeringly worrisome, but it was an opportunity to ensure there were no lurking threats or slippery bastards looking to take advantage of the situation that Canaris was set to enter itself into- that being the finished construction of the Cosmic Highway linking Canaris to Nova Terra. It was only fitting, then, that Hawkes was feeling a swell of ethereal pride in himself and affection for the Tulpar crew. His obsessive infatuation with these four was tied, symbolically and literally, to the rebirth of his own life. Unknowingly, he had surrendered his past thirty years of raw, human, cold-blooded experience in exchange for this yearning, budding hope for a paradisiacal future with these four, whose situation seemed almost tailor-made to appeal to him and his past life, specifically.

Divine intervention. He just could not get that word out of his head. God decided to intervene now? After all the billions, upon billions, upons billions of souls that died screaming over centuries? Did this contravene free will? Or was this a show of love, that when humanity reached its furthest depths, they could still depend on their loving Creator to provide them solace?

It was not as if Hawkes did not feel a mountain of animosity and resentment; he'd carried this rage, over the course of his entire life- from the very moment he gained sentience, to this very moment he stood before those he considered his only family, living or dead.

Family. Family. Family-

"I wanted to ask you all a... a question, if you will, after the end of this little event," Hawkes said with quivering lips and unfocused eyes; suddenly growing insecure and sheepish as he realized how utterly foolish he'd been to familiarize them as if he'd known them their entire lives, without even seeking out how they felt.

Why? Why was it so hard to ask? Oh.

Thirty years of nothing except ordering others around, mutilating, maiming, torturing, killing enemies, manipulating and lying and scheming day after day, after day. Now that he was trying to recall memories of times like this-

There were none. There were absolutely... none. A mound of stress and onsetting internal terror ravaged his body for a horrific few moments; a spiritual crisis that his life was going to be filled with nothing except a long history of atrocities and hate before he died the same way he came into this world; that he would only be lauded and idolized by strangers and deviants as the mass-murderer he was, instead of... instead of... loved by a close group of people. A family.

Curly immediately noticed that Hawkes had frozen on the spot, knelt on one leg to equalize their heights; his skin was visibly perspiring sweat, and his expression was one that Curly knew all too well-

Existential panic. Curly had experienced the same on the Tulpar; so did Swansea, so did Anya and Daisuke. They had seen this face mirrored in everyone else' when that decommission letter was read out by Curly.

Hawkes was a most intimidating figure even after the 2 months the crew had spent with him- and with all the mental and spiritual horrors that were assailing the four of them every single day -especially that blinking glimpse of beyond- they hadn't formed concrete opinions or relationships with Hawkes, even if they were endlessly grateful to him for his immeasurable deed of returning them to life- a concept they had yet to fully wrap their heads around.

But even then, being saved by a person didn't equate to a fully fleshed-out relationship. What this was, was the culmination of several chaotic factors, meshed together and incessantly spewing out emotional, spiritual, and mental pandemonium, cascading constantly against one another in an endless domino effect. None of them really knew how they felt about the other in this five-person friendship; outside of those like Swansea, Curly, and Anya, whose minds had cemented their past life yearnings for those they were closest to. But that didn't mean any of them didn't want to get to know their savior and patron far more; it was simply a matter of emotional distancing, rapidly unfolding events, and the myriad of other cluster-fuck situations that kept developing.

Curly placed one hand on Hawkes' shoulder, gently, for once feeling a bit free of the lurking, long-standing guilt that reared its ugly head at him every morning he awoke in this second life.

"Hey, bud," Curly murmured, tired eyes filled with unending gratitude and passionate goodwill. "None of us have talked much or, spent much time with you. And you're invested in us. We see that. Do what you need to do tonight, we'll enjoy ourselves. Then, I don't know, we can... go on vacation somewhere across this platformer world, heh."

Hawkes laughed as he perceived the joke, then immediately came back to his senses and understood he was losing his composure- reasserting himself and his features almost instantly and smiling gracefully at Curly; much to Curly and Anya's bewilderment.

"Thank you. I-"

"As long as there's a beach there!" Daisuke interjected. "I haven't seen a beach in so long!"

"And..." Anya spoke up softly. "You said something about... moving here? Our homeworld is... we do not live great there."

"Ditto, Anya," Swansea remarked. "I've spent more than enough of my career trying to make ends meet for my family- I want a piece of this little paradise you got going here!"

Hawkes looked between them all with a sense of rising jubilation.

"Of- Of COURSE!" He proclaimed a little too loudly, filling the room with the deafening boom of his voice. "Whatever you wish, where you want- I'll make it happen!"

The faces of the four filled with excitement and giddiness at the prospect of living lavishly with their families on this planet that was fathoms more advanced and luxurious than the various rocks they all hailed from.

"Deal's SEALED, then!" Swansea cheered, smacking Daisuke on the back roughly. "Drinks and feasting, posthaste, Sunshine!"

As Swansea and Daisuke walked off to join in the mingling around the estate, Curly and Anya were gazing intensely at Hawkes, who was growing somewhat discomforted as they seemed to size him up and down.

"Wh-What is it? Heh, is my beret fucked up?"

"Are you alright?" Curly suddenly asked him, to which Hawkes spluttered for an answer, completely caught off-guard by the sudden concern on their faces.

"W- Yes, of cour- I- we're supposed to be enjoying tonight, guys!"

"Hawkes," Anya said with furrowing eyebrows. "We've been through this for eight months. We know what 'hurt' looks like."

Hawkes struggled to keep the facade on his face, and in his self-antagonizing conflict of the past versus the future, his mind careened with frustrated rage-

"I will meet with you both on the balcony in a little bit."

Curly and Anya were visibly frightened by the shift in tone from Hawkes, looking at each other with growing worry-

What the FUCK do you think you're doing?! Hawkes raged desperately and indignantly at himself.

"I..." Hawkes replied weakly, crackling voice. "I'm sorry, that was..."

Utterly ashamed of his behavior, Hawkes tipped his beret respectfully and marched away, humiliated at the messy interaction. I must be a child, still! How have I forgotten the basic art of conversation?!

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"Oh, that dog is so cute!" "What pristine fur!" "And he's so soft!"

Emile was beaming with joy as dozens of attendees walked up and admired the noxiously innocent brown-black patterned German Shepherd happily soaking in the attention. Trailing behind was Marcel, Wataru, and Elliot- the last of whom was spending his final night in Canaris before heading off to the Tylahar Research Citadel to continue his work on Dark Matter weaponry (under the highest form of security and scrutiny, as Hawkes did NOT want any of this information to leak out).

"What's his name?" One of the attendees inquired.

"Hercules!" Emile proclaimed proudly, placing hands on hips and striking a heroic pose next to the obliviously gleeful Hercules; to the immediate applause of the onlookers.

"A strong name!" One of them commented, noticing that the Shepherd was subtly eyeing the group in front of him with trained, unwavering onyx eyes that gleamed with veterancy. "And a Combat Support Animal, too, if I'm right?"

Emile smiled and nodded plentifully.

"Unfortunately, he didn't pass the final test of the Combat Trials, so he didn't get to become a bomb dog. But he makes for the best Combat Support dog I could ask for, and I think I'm much happier he's not sniffing out explosives!"

The onlookers chittered with laughter, entertained by the minor spectacle in front of them.

"Ah, Emile Meuniers!"

Emile turned their head to see a magnificently-garbed and tall older male with hazel eyes, gray hair and a circle beard elegantly making his way over to the group with a small entourage of bodyguards, scribes, advisors, and caddies. He came up to Emile, offering a hand to shake with a gentle smile lining his face as if it were wholly natural.

"Sarelius Ampertania, in your stead. It is a pleasure to meet you. I see you have brought your friends as well-"

Sarelius' gaze scanned the three individuals behind Emile, profiling each of them according to the records he had stored in his mind, before quickly turning his attention back to a blushing and grinning Emile.

"Same to you, Mister Ampertania-!"

"Oh, please! Call me Sarelius!"

Emile bowed a combed and refined head of hair respectfully.

"Of course, Sarelius. I was excited to hear about your role in the Canaris Rescue Dispatch program, and even more so when you told me you had a spot available!"

Sarelius raised his glass in celebration, showcasing another keen smile.

"Why, of course, Emile. Having suffered a near-catastrophe with my own family being stranded, years ago, I felt it was a calling to me after news of the Tulpar's crash became mainstream."

And it's a great program to get charity tax rebates, Sarelius thought mischievously.

"So, Emile," Sarelius continued sleekly. "We can discuss your role onboard this program later in the evening. Tell me of your experiences aboard the Argonaut!"

Wataru and Elliot, meanwhile, had ventured around the lively halls of the massive estate, taking in the rich atmosphere of superior luxury and overwhelming decadence.

"I don't think I'll ever be in a place this fancy for the rest of my life," Wataru remarked, eyeing the jaw-dropping fashion of those passing by and the ethereal design of the high-end villa.

"I can hear the money," Elliot replied. "Let's find the tables with food on them; we'll get to taste cuisine worth more than our lives."

As they passed through the crowds, an older man with a slightly pudgy belly, aviators and slicked-back gray hair bumped into them, to which both parties apologized.

"Hey," The older man said. "Would you happen to know where I can find the Captain Hawkes? I heard he'd be at this banquet and I wanted to pitch a fantastic opportunity to him!"

"Oh, uh" Elliot was about to give directions, then regained his sense of self-awareness in realizing that he was, in fact, blind since birth. "Uh, Wataru here can help you with that!"

"Oh, yes," Wataru stumbled to answer. "I, uh, I believe Captain Hawkes was back that way, if I recall correctly."

"Thank you!"

As the older man suddenly walked by, Wataru's head immediately began comprehending the individual she just saw; and almost instantly swiveled her head in a break-neck fashion.

"H-H-Hoooollyyy-!!!!" She began to quake in awash awe. "Th-THAT'S THAT FAMOUS GUY!!!"

"What?" Elliot asked; again, blind. "Fuch are yuh talkin' bout?"

Wataru was desperately trying to communicate her growing exhilaration. "THAT WAS THE FAMOUS DIRECTOR-"

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

Hawkes watched as his family mingled with their families and the various individuals that approached them, lauding them for their bravery in surviving such a terrible situation while simultaneously being offered several different books, TV shows, and movie deals by the hour. To prevent them from being overwhelmed by this, Hawkes assigned twenty plainclothes officers to keep people from crowding them, either redirecting attendees, engaging in forward conversation, or occasionally having to order onlookers to give the Tulpar crew space to breathe and enjoy the atmosphere. For right now, Hawkes just wanted to head to the balcony and enjoy a few moments of-

"Captain Hawkes!"

Weary and exhausted from the constant irritation of new encounters, Hawkes simply craned his head to peer at-!

"Oh. Wow. Erikad Moerno." Hawkes commented, speaking to the galaxy-famous movie director that had called out to him; an older man who had started scriptwriting first, then made his way into directing and producing films. His media was insanely novel, switching between gut-wrenching comedies and universally-compelling dramas, to heart-rending tragedies and grim, gruesome renditions of historical events. Hawkes' remark left a wide smile on Erikad's face, as he shuffled his hands in a physical tic.

"Captain Hawkes, I am honored you know of me!"

Hawkes tipped his beret in respect.

"I have. I watched your rendition of 'Pogmon's Exodus'. I believe you portrayed the Cull of Yalnir very... realistically. Even for me, it was gruesome to watch."

Erikad nodded plentifully, honored deeply and utterly excited that one of the most terrifying and awe-inspiring figures in the galaxy was praising his work.

"W-Well, I am humbled beyond words, Captain Hawkes! And on that note, I wanted to run an idea by you."

Hawkes nodded, waiting for the director to speak his piece.

"In regards to the Tulpar stranding and rescue, I was looking to create a cinematic film on the Tulpar's crash and stranding, and eventual rescue by the Argonaut. While I'd heard from the news broadcast that the Tulpar had been annihilated-"

"Yes, I deeply look forward to seeing those scum at Pony Express dead by the end of judicial sentencing," Hawkes commented abruptly and maliciously, face contorted in animated and momentary violence, made complacent and calm by Erikad's verbal and frantic agreement; the aggressive, authoritative and radiant reputation of this legendary commander was not diminished in the slightest when Erikad met him.

Oh, by the stars! Erikad thought woefully to himself, filled with a giddiness only a creator of things could ever possibly empathize with. How I would give half the galaxy to have you play a role in one of my films!

Not that he expected such an honor to present itself; without a doubt in his mind, Hawkes had a hundred-thousand-million things to do that took priority over Moerno's little pet projects. Yet still, Erikad was blazing with imagination and thoughts of audience-gripping characters that would embody the soul of this living icon standing before him, glowing with the dueling auras of a cold-blooded murderer and a living saint- for his people, at least.

"Much agreed. So, I don't want to waste any more of your time tonight, Captain- you have done me a great service already in tolerating my presence. What do you think?"

Hawkes rubbed his chin for a moment to deliberate. He really liked this guy's personality. Whereas half this room either loved him blindly or was scared shitless, and the other half was scheming against him or planning to use him to further their own gains- this fine fellow was doing Hawkes the service of actually engaging in normal conversation.

"I'll greenlight it if I ask those four and they agree to it. And I don't believe you are wasting my time- if anything, I think you should accompany me for a few hours if your time permits it."

The director beamed with absolute pride and joy at Hawkes' reply, pressing his left hand to his chest and bowing deeply.

"I would be honored to stay by your side for however long you wish! I hope you don't mind if I occasionally rant about story ideas, of course."

Hawkes laughed genuinely, growing to appreciate this movie director more by the minute. "I would say the same of myself in other matters."

"D-Director Moerno!!!"

Hawkes and Erikad turned their heads to see Wataru and Elliot sprinting over, occasionally bumping into passing attendees before pulling up with sweaty demeanors. Wataru recomposed herself, beaming with a wide smile and radiating with excitement.

"O-Oh, and Captain Hawkes, good day to both of you!"

"It's night-time." Captain Hawkes said with a slight grin; he never missed the opportunity to beat this horse deader. He also appreciated that Wataru and Elliot were one of the few non-military combatants onboard the Argonaut II who treated him like a human being and not the raging, blood-lusting monster he ever-presently was.

"A-Ah, of course! I-I just wanted to speak to Director Moerno, i-if that was okay!"

Hawkes nodded his head.

"I'm not gonna be the one stopping you from talking to anyone here- except, you know. But you get it."

Wataru nodded fervently, turning to Moerno with giddy excitement. Moerno tipped his head in respect and deference to the young and positively-shining woman before him- he lived to see the excitement and affection that emanated from the faces of fans.

"Director Moerno! What you did with 'Last Chance', adopting the popular fiction into a screenplay, was absolutely magnificent! Their personalities were so fleshed out, and their dialogue- uuuuggghhh, it was AM-AZ-ING!"

"Well thank you... apologies, madam, I didn't get your-"

"Wataru! Wataru Fuwafu, sir!"

The fuck? Hawkes wondered. I didn't know that was her last name. Who carried that family name, a fuckin' Japanese cat cafe owner?

Moerno bowed his head again, his joy compounded by the fact that this fan actually knew what they were talking about and mirrored the excitement to come with it.

"I love to hear that. Please, tell me more!" He said, and Hawkes could see by this point he was clearly gouging the poor girl for more praise about his film.

You ego-feeding bastard, Hawkes thought with a smile he couldn't hide on his face. He noticed Elliot idling nearby, listening to the conversation casually as his broken pear-green eyes stared pointlessly into the distance. Hawkes moved past Wataru and Moerno for a second, wanting to speak with Elliot before he departed for Tylahar Station tomorrow.

"Elliot."

Elliot's head tilted in acknowledgment of Hawkes' presence, keeping the rest of his body intentionally still to (what Hawkes inferred) seem like some kind of action movie protagonist.

Woah, we got a badass here, Hawkes amused in his head. "Alright, Lawrence of Somalia, I need to clear some things by you before you bugger off from Canaris."

"Alright."

"Don't be a smartass, because I'm gonna say some things that sound insanely cliche."

"Alright."

"...I'm serious."

"I said alright!"

Hawkes looked around, leaning in and covering his mouth with his hand as he spoke.

"...Then let's go over it one last time, so I don't find you chopped up in the back of a dumpster by a bad actor. You'll rendezvous with Rudy, he'll take you to the transport pod, which will take you up to the Paralus for the send-off. Don't mind their culture, they like to vote a lot and hold elections, just focus on your research; you won't have to worry about anyone on that ship leaking any information you happen to be working on, they were chosen by me personally. When you get to Tylahar Station, you will dock at Port E-9, and meet with a woman who will refer to herself as 'Vexahelion'. She will escort you to a set of rooming quarters located right below the bridge of the station."

"I see... couldn't have all this been sent in an email?"

Hawkes stared at Elliot with dead eyes. Having the gall to pull this shit while also citing an archaic form of communication layered over an even more archaic joke (terms that only someone as knowledgeable as Hawkes could know about 200-year-old history) was something that simultaneously impressed Hawkes and enticed him to smack the back of Elliot's head so hard his defunct optic orbs would pop out the front of his head.

"Do you not want your vision fixed, Elliot?" Hawkes asked, suddenly realizing that he was mentally bullying someone who was willfully choosing blindness on a planet that could fix practically everything about a human being. Elliot smiled and tipped his head in appreciation.

"I like the gesture, Captain. But I am simply too used to this lifestyle of mine to ditch it for a new perception of reality, when reality isn't even reality anymore."

"That's rather poetic. Keep your blindness, then."

"That's a harsh way to put it."

"Personally, I wouldn't take that." Said Marcel, popping up in the midst of the conversation.

"Personally, I'm glad I was blind at birth and not scarred like the Joker from The Dark Knight."

"How would you know that if you're blind, farseer?"

"Because I have references."

"The only references you have are footnotes and Holopedia links."

"I don't wanna see you fucknuts for at least two hours," Hawkes said dismissively with disgust, jutting a finger at both of them and about to exit the room when he realized he was ditching Moerna after asking him to accompany his side for the next few hours; right as he had thoughts of checking on Curly and Anya.

"Aw, FUCK!"

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(Music: "Did Somebody Say Hip Opera", by Latto & Christina Aguilera)

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"Oh. My. God." Swansea salivated as he reviewed the hundreds of arrays of otherworldly dishes spread across a fine arrangement of banquet tables, along with Daisuke dancing in rhythm to the myriad of song choices playing over the speakers in the grand chamber they were idling in. There were plenty of animated characters equally enjoying the music, whilst others stood together in groups and chattered casually as their eyes gazed over Swansea and Daisuke, no doubt whispering about the Tulpar's rescue and the galaxy-wide fame it had gained from its inception.

"Fajitas, Ciabatta, Tiramisu, Roast Duck, Carbonara- OhhhH!!!!! THEY GOT GYOZAAAAA!!!!" Daisuke went completely ballistic as he reviewed the mouth-watering selection of dishes. Swansea's face contorted with shock and bafflement at the sudden barrage of culinary knowledge Daisuke just displayed.

"Were you hiding this information behind a fortress of ignorance?"

Daisuke tilted his head in curiosity, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

"What information?"

Swansea huffed, looking around the room like he expected someone else to huff along in outrage with him. He was somewhat miffed that Hawkes wasn't magically standing nearby to pelt Daisuke with another ice ball- he had quietly enjoyed that little mischievous interaction.

"This food knowledge, genius." Swansea chastised him. "Sure didn't talk about that at all on the... during your tenure under me."

Daisuke shrugged, a hint of deep-seated trauma resurfacing in his eyes.

"I... There wasn't really much to eat on that ship, so I didn't think to bring it up."

Swansea gripped the table to his left, trying to channel his rage into something that wasn't living and breathing. How badly he wanted to kill that scum-fuck Jimmy. Every single day he'd woken up since the skirmish with the SCR, he relished in the physical and mental memory of slamming hard objects against that ratty cunt's limbs.

If it wasn't for that selfish piece of dogshit, Daisuke would have likely been back home, having finished his internship and eating luxury dishes with his well-off family. Instead, this poor bastard had to suffer a world of trauma and terror for eight long months, before dying in a brutal and awful way.

The only possible upside to this shit-swirling maelstrom we suffered is that we're getting royal treatment for the rest of our lives, Swansea thought in a twisted optimistic manner. All of that pain and terror and horror and misery... it wasn't for nothing, after all.

"Well, don't reminisce on that bullshit!" Swansea lectured Daisuke, smacking him on the back and pushing him towards the banquet table. "Start chomping down! Which first?"

Daisuke eyed the arrangements, eventually settling on the Gyoza he mentioned earlier. As he was about to reach for it-

"Oh!" He exclaimed sadly as an unwary passerby took the plate from the table and started picking off the gyoza to eat-

"Good lord!" The passerby cried out as a gold-inlaid female cyborg snatched the plate from him, her augmented eyes scanning his demeanor from top to bottom.

"Sir Ipius, the Captain has directed me to permit the Tulpar crew to enjoy this banquet. Please proceed to another room of the estate to facilitate your wants."

Sir Ipius, a foreign diplomat from the nation of Olima, seemed offended at the action of his plate being ripped from his hands and the forward implication he would need to find another room entirely to wine and dine.

"This is downright disrespectful!" Sir Ipius fumed. "While I understand the Captain wishes to spoil them, I do not believe that warrants such a rude response or flighty ushering of my presence to another room!"

Muse set the plate down and seemed about to respond, when her eyes focused on something behind Sir Ipius and widened, her demeanor suddenly changing.

"I understand your concerns, Sir Ipius. The East Wing has a variety of dishes that will be to your liking, but I would strongly urge you to comply with-"

"Enough! I will not be lectured by a half-human!"

Muse was entirely uncaring for the insult (she'd been called far worse), as there was a more worrying matter imminently at hand.

"This is a banquet, for God's sake!" Sir Ipius continued fuming at Muse. "It's not as if there won't be a hundred new plates on the table by the time I'm finished with one! I would request that you inform the Captain that-"

"I am sorry, you will have to tell him yourself."

Sir Ipius seemed to falter in his words as Muse uttered the sentence. "W-What? What do you mean?"

"Hm."

Ipius immediately turned pale-white as he heard the loathsome, booming grunt of the unmistakeable individual standing only a few feet behind him. He turned around, immediately surfacing a nervous smile as the seven-foot renowned walking terror, flanked by Erikad Moerna and two randoms, glowered at the Olimai diplomat.

"No, go on, Sir Ipius. I was intrigued by your righteous declarations."

"Uh- I, I wasn't meaning to-"

"Get the fuck out of my sight, boy."

A middling noble diplomat was absolutely no match, mentally, against the Icon of Canaris, simply clearing his throat and apologizing, before steadily walking out of the room with thrown glances behind his shoulders in fear that Hawkes would turn around and ragdoll him against the nearest furniture. Hawkes' face rapidly morphed into one of jubilation and warmth as his eyes came across Daisuke and Swansea, who had watched the entire interaction and were somewhat off-put by the ultra-celebrity treatment Hawkes was providing them.

Oh my GOD! Moerna thought to himself. He grows more animated by the second! Fuck conventions, I MUST cast this man in at least one feature film!

"I, uh, appreciate that, Hawkes!" Daisuke said gratefully. "But I didn't really mind if he took the Gyoza plate!"

Hawkes smiled from ear to ear, glad to be around Daisuke's positive and passionate energy once again. "Don't worry, Daisuke," He replied simply. "I minded."

Swansea smirked at the response, grabbing a hand-food dish from the banquet and chowing down on it with the vigor of a dead man brought back to the land of the living.

"Are you guys enjoying the meals?" Hawkes asked them, and Swansea jabbed a thumbs up while Daisuke gracefully plucked pieces of Gyoza from his plate and plopped them in his mouth, moaning in utter euphoria as the immaculate juices flowed through the taste buds of his mouth.

"I don't think I wanna leave..." Daisuke muttered, thrown into a mental crisis as he pondered the terrible thought of never being able to dine on this food again. Hawkes guffawed loudly, slapping him on the back encouragingly and nearly sending Daisuke toppling over the banquet table.

"You won't have to!" Hawkes replied cheerily. "You're all living here now, right?"

Daisuke nodded, though seemingly unsure- which immediately sent alarms off in Hawkes' head. There was no fucking way in hell that Daisuke wasn't living on this planet.

"I've already spoken with your parents, Daisuke," Hawkes stated truthfully. "And they seemed to have jumped on the opportunity. They'll have new jobs, massive pay raises, and some luxury estates I toured them through on the upper layers of Canaris."

Even with all of that listed, Daisuke still seemed depressed.

"Yeah, I get it, but... I'm gonna miss my friends and relatives."

"Don't need to worry about that, I did the same for them, same with the social networks of Anya and Swansea, as well."

"Wh- Damn, actually?!" Daisuke said in utter bewilderment. "That easy?! Everyone's just... ready to move like that?!"

Swansea swished his glass of bourbon before downing it, pouring another double for himself.

"This lunatic has the tongue of a snake-oil salesman and the brains of Einstein," Swansea muttered in resignation. "Got every one of my stubborn-ass uncles, aunts, nephews and nieces to sign moving contracts within a few days."

Daisuke's jaw dropped to the floor as he heard confirmation from Swansea.

"You KNEW?"

"Of course I knew- I was the one who asked him to get them all over here! We got unlimited wealth thanks to this piggybank-" He said, jutting a finger at Hawkes, who bowed respectfully. "-So I'm capitalizing on this opportunity! Why the fuck wouldn't I?!"

Daisuke felt like his head was swirling- so many rapid changes in his life, one after another, after another. After the slogging 8 months spent on the Tulpar, it felt so surreal that any of this was even happening to him.

"W-Well..." Daisuke muttered. "I suppose... this calls for another round of Gyoza!"

While Daisuke dove into two other plates of Gyoza placed down on the table by passing servants, Swansea was dining on a plate of pizza, eyeing the two randoms behind Hawkes.

"You two his entourage?" He asked them with a mouth full of cheese and tomatoes, and the two of them quickly bowed in deference.

"N-No, Mister Swansea!" Wataru spluttered- the painstaking hours of Hawkes grilling dozens of members every day on the Argonaut about avoiding interactions with the Tulpar crew unless ordered was drilled into her like clockwork at this point. It was the primary reason why no one in the Argonaut went out of their way to try and speak with them. Hawkes had been... particularly aggressive about his insistence on none of them meeting with the Tulpar crew, that she immediately started growing nervous when she merely bore the sight of them. "I- We're just some Argonauts!"

Swansea eyed both her and Elliot, raising an eyebrow before continuing to munch on his delectable meal. "Well, gotta be the same as me, then. Food is energy, money is blood. Take advantage of the situation you're in, and eat until your stomach is about to burst!"

Wataru nodded, enlightened by Swansea's short synopsis on the meaning of life. She eyed Hawkes to ensure she wasn't stepping on any toes, and was relieved to see him nod in approval of the interaction. She walked around the table, accompanied by Elliot, and started conversing with Swansea and Daisuke.

"So..." She muttered, entirely unsure of where to start. Daisuke noticed her hesitation and took the initiative.

"You know, it's pretty nice to talk with someone outside of the Tulpar!"

Hawkes guffawed out loud at the entirely tactless reply from Daisuke, watching in enjoyment as Swansea turned accusatory eyes on Daisuke in the midst of eating a gold flake-covered chicken wing.

"I'm sorry... it's pretty nice for YOU to talk with someone outside the Tulpar?! WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW HOW I FELT, SUNSHINE?!"

Daisuke laughed nervously as Swansea began to lay into him about the many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many times he was assailed by Daisuke's brilliant stupidity. Both Wataru and Elliot seemed aptly entertained, and Moerna had frantically pulled out a notepad and pen to document the interaction between Swansea and Daisuke with religious fervor. Hawkes took this opportunity to depart from the group, giving no shits about his assuages to Moerno of accompaniment, but linking up with Muse to issue a quick order.

"Well done with that Olima cunt. Go and keep an eye on Curly and Anya, you can enjoy the night as long as you keep them in your eyesight."

Muse nodded robotically, proceeding through the waves of attendees to her objective. Hawkes took a moment to appreciate how efficient Muse was at accomplishing the tasks he'd given to her. Someone who had saved the life of him, of all people, ought to receive upgrades befitting of such a heroic and robust individual. For a brief moment, he felt a small aching desire to pry into her brain and discover more about her origins- but he knew there were other fucking issues to attend to.

Curly and Anya, meanwhile, were walking through the more remote areas of the estate, at Anya's request; although she felt more comfortable in heavily populated areas (after the isolated and remote environment of the Tulpar scarred her immensely), she wanted to enjoy this time with Curly; he'd been so occupied with training on the Argonaut, and her focusing on medical studies for the spot Hawkes had gotten her for the Canaris Nursing License Exam coming up in 1 week, that neither of them had spent too much intimate time together.

"Are you still in disbelief?"

Anya raised her head to Curly as he posed the question to her suddenly.

"What do you mean?" She asked, as their shoes clicked along the pristine flooring of the hallway they walked through, with a magnificent view out the right-side wall window showcasing the gorgeous landscape outside.

"I mean... has reality set in for you yet?"

Anya turned her eyes downward, and Curly was left staring at her eyes; and the sunken bags around them that so aptly mirrored the ever-present trauma riding around in her mind. Everytime he set his eyes on her, those waves of guilt came like beckoned whales, splashing through his psyche and crashing down on his mental state frequently.

He felt responsible. He was responsible. He had screwed her over not once, but twice in a major way, and he couldn't stop reminiscing on those two terrible events every minute he was wandering around this estate.

"It... It's starting to feel like... almost normal again," Anya conceded, twirling her hair with her right index finger as she confessed her honest feelings. "I've felt a lot different. I've felt like I've changed in a lot of ways. But, I mean... this is... this is much better than anything I could have asked for. This is paradise, to me. I can't really... find it in myself to be depressed all the time when I was given so much. And you..."

She turned her eyes to Curly, revealing droplets of tears fomenting at the base of her gleaming brown eyes. "I can't believe you're... you're healthy again. Every month in that awful place... I was just... just staring at you... wondering why... but it all makes sense now. I couldn't be more relieved to be rid of that terrible ship. And... hah... look where we are now! Paradise!"

Curly surfaced a struggling smile; having an intrinsic feeling inside him that this truly was paradise; because he had failed as the Captain in saving their lives- and so it had to be done through divine intervention and a far superior leader and caretaker than him.

A strong sense of envy and jealousy pervaded Curly at times, when he interacted with or glanced Hawkes in passing. Having the respect of his crew, being lauded for his many accomplishments; forthright, confident, zealous, passionate, charismatic, strong...

It made Curly constantly feel inferior, both as a former Captain and a human being. Even the event that was being held today was to celebrate the rescue of his crew caused by his fuck-ups. It hurt. It fucking hurt to know, to have spent all that time suffering on the Tulpar, just to know he had created that horrid situation because of his terrible foresight and decision-making.

And he knew who would be the first person he'd ever murder if he EVER saw him again. He almost yearned to hope that Hawkes lied about Jimmy's death; that he was still alive, suffering somewhere far away- a place Curly would track down and find just for the highest euphoria of wrapping his hands around Jimmy's throat and s-q-u-e-e-z-i-n-g until his skull popped like a Piñata.

He had never hated someone in life as much as he did Jimmy. Never, ever before. This would be a rage Curly would have to hold onto for a very long while, if or until he found that dredge-filled bastard and split his skull into a million pieces.

"What about you?" Anya asked Curly with a slight grin. "Are you liking our... current scenario?"

Curly let out a dry chuckle, never to reveal his true thoughts to Anya, taking a sip out of his wine glass before speaking wholesomely.

"I couldn't have imagined a better scenario, Anya. I have everything I could ever want walking right next to me."

Anya blushed and smiled with a pure gaze, wrapping her arm a little more tightly around Curly.

"Ditto, Grant. Oh! I didn't tell you yet- I spoke to Hawkes and he said he could get me started as a Nurse Practitioner onboard the Argonaut for a year, and then I could transition into hospital work on Canaris!"

Curly huffed in excitement, pumping his fist in celebration of Anya's small but meaningful success.

"That's awesome to hear! And, a bit coincidental. He offered me the position of Third Officer onboard the ship for the same amount of time- a year. Said it'd take a while to learn all the different tasks, protocols, and panels. Promised to... get me set up as the... commander of a merchant freighter."

The two of them went silent for a moment, soaking in the ambiance of the lofty environment. Curly was unknowing of Anya's thoughts, but he was desperate to walk on eggshells with wording. He, himself, was thrown into the hellscape of his past every time particular words were mentioned. It was an awful feeling, to know a number of terms, phrases or sentences could simply attack his mental state at any time whatsoever. He never wanted Anya to feel like that- and everytime he reflected on those moments where he spoke carelessly around her, where he disregarded her mental state, her feelings, her motivations and dreams and fears and doubts and anxieties and insecurities and fears... it felt as if a little piece of his soul were broken from the whole and sent into the ether, given to the afterlife as payment for returning the opulent other half to him.

"I think he's trying to take us hostage." Anya quipped, to which Curly laughed out loud.

"I might agree," Curly replied playfully. "I've never enjoyed being kidnapped this much before."

Anya laughed again, sighing in relief as she felt a flood of dopamine rush to her head- it had been such a long time since she'd felt the joy of laughing.

"I hope he's enjoying his night as much as us," Anya commented wistfully.

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

(Music: "Sun", by Adrián Berenguer)

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Hawkes was not enjoying his night that much. Aside from his brief hang-out with Swansea and Daisuke (who had hopped around the estate drinking and gorging themselves on the luxuries offered) as well as the little interaction with Moerno, Wataru, and Elliot; Hawkes was now caught right in the middle of a meeting between the Atriarchs and Yusei, who was simply exuberant with passion as he caught himself between his complete idol and the target clients for this negotiation over the Qazzar Mining Colony.

Hawkes looked around in approval as he saw attendees kneel, scrape their heads against the ground, and bow as deeply as humanly possible when they passed by the presence of the Atriarchs. No matter how lenient Canaris was when it came to foreign trespasses, whether verbal or physical- all of it was dust compared to the axiomatic acquiescence demanded of literally, without exception, every single sentient being that gazed or was within their presence. Rulers, warlords, fiendish demons, heroes, icons- absolutely, utterly, unchangeably, without exception.

To do otherwise was unthinkable for all those on the planet and in orbit around it. To even disrespect an Atriarch of Canaris meant the annihilation of the individual on sight, and horrific consequences for all those associated, along with the planet or nation they hailed from. Such was the culmination of a hundreds-billion-strong world that worshipped their martial leaders.

Nonetheless, the gall of the Atriarchs to stand in the middle of the Epocha Villae with not a single... bodyguard... on standby... was just appalling to Hawkes' nature as a military commander, yet simultaneously astounded him to another degree.

You would go this far to try and impress me? Hawkes thought, his infinitely analytical mind having already computed that this was the galaxy-brained version of a romantic move toward Hawkes; forget exposing one's body in public to their crush, this was exposing one's life to a potentially violent death by one, dozens or hundreds of infiltrated assailants.

Tch! Hawkes thought dismissively. They are taking advantage of resurrection. A whole planet of people would pray until their bodies crumbled to dust for their return. This isn't that impactful... though it is... endearing and... a bit arou-

FOCUS! He barraged himself aggressively.

Still... it bothered him instinctively to see the people he was ingrained to defend to his life's end and beyond, simply flaunting their ethereal exteriors to the abhorrent, disgusting, filthy-pudgy foreigners that tracked the mud from their devolved planets onto the most sacred grounds those near-xenos were permitted to walk without a mountain of permits to do so. Hawkes' eyes darted around the swathes of open grounds in the terraced open lawn they were wandering, seeing the hundreds of Canarii legionaries blending with the pitch-darkness of the background, eyes gleaming with murderous rage at the very thought that any of these piss-ant attendees would breathe harshly in the same direction as their god-emperors.

"Beyond words," Yusei began, bowing his head multiple times frenetically. "It is the deepest honor to be in the presence of Your Majesties."

"You just spoke words," Hawkes quipped, this time drained of the humor and left with the abrasiveness. The Patriarch giggled at Hawkes' immature response, utterly enjoying being around the one person that treated the Atriarchs like normal people.

The Matriarch smiled gracefully, her intentions entirely unreadable.

"We are humbled by your deference. We are aware of the business you have come to conduct, so allow us to hear your offer." She voiced vociferously.

"Don't attempt to fuck us," The Patriarch asserted hawkishly. "Your planet is leagues beneath our military might. Our retaliation of disrespect is far more brutal than your desire to s-s-seek to undermine our cunning."

Yusei uprighted himself, shooting a quick glance of unsettling obsession at Hawkes before darting back to the Atriarchs and nodding his head in understanding, having been well-briefed in how the Atriarchs would assail him with the 'good cop, bad cop' routine dialed to a thousand-fold.

"Of course," Yusei acknowledged, beginning his negotiations with a silver tongue and devilishly quick-thinking mind. "After reconsidering the pricing range and budget with my confidants, I would like to pitch to you, the shared mining rights to the Qazzar Colony, for three-hundred and fourteen billion Yenar."

W-What the fuck? Hawkes thought in slight panic. 2 billion Denarii, nearly??

"And, uh," Hawkes interrupted the conversation between Yusei and the Atriarchs. "How often do you plan on paying that for such mining rights?"

"Monthly, Captain Hawkes-"

MONTHLY?! Hawkes pondered viciously. Monthly. 24 billion Denarii every year, added to the treasury of Canaris. Holy... shit. Wait, that seems like a-

"Is that it?" The Patriarch asked cynically. Yusei bowed his head a bit more hesitantly this time, signaling an intent to share more information. He was sweating bullets in a matter of seconds, seemingly frightened to provide the next tidbit of news.

"Draenor would also... like to request a one-time business transaction of your most physically-defined Canari males-"

"Excuse me?" The Matriarch uttered, fixing a gaze on Yusei that nearly led to a complete ambush by several Legionaries at a half-second's notice; this was as close to the line of disrespect as one could get with a Canari Atriarch- not only attempting to purchase Canari citizens and pervert the art of negotiation to the one culture that treated such deals like bond; but then disrespecting their worshipped rulers by bringing such a crude prospect to the most lauded and hailed figures of an entire planet of combat-ready individuals; suchwas worthy of far more than mere execution by gunshot.

"I-I will be sure to relay the refusal to my patrons!" Yusei insisted fervently, losing the levitation and simply bowing at the feet of the Atriarchs. He'd had no choice but to ask the question, at the absolute demand of his planetary rulers; but he knew more than enough about Canaris' culture from the vast amount of study and in-person interactions he'd had with Canari over the last 5 months.

"If you never bring up that second slave-fuck conversation again," Hawkes hissed at Yusei. "I think your primary proposal is... a sufficient prospect."

Yusei glanced up at Hawkes in pure awe, grateful past any lexicon in the world for Hawkes potentially saving his life with his mere imposition into the conversation. The Atriarchs, almost accordingly, nodded in understanding of Hawkes and his intentions; they had already done the calculation in their head and knew they would receive a considerable profit margin from this temporary deal.

"Sufficient it is." The Patriarch stated simply, rather uncaring for the provocations of business negotiations. The Matriarch looked to Yusei, her eyes flashing up and down his body like a cold, heartless scanner. In the end, she said nothing, yet her eyes showed a sense of skepticism and distrust about Yusei.

"Well then, I shall trouble you no longer," Yusei said with more than a tinge of nervousness at the end of this conversation, bowing one last time with his arm-robes clasped together, then darting off; flashing one last appreciative and ever-inflamed glance toward Hawkes.

"Absolute anomaly," Hawkes muttered, before turning his attention to Marcel; a Supply Technician he'd come to associate with the rest of Elliot's little boxcar rascals. A loyalist at heart, which Hawke always trusted in an Argonaut, and a grim past that he could empathize with. It seemed, at the moment, that Marcel was indulging in the drink and spinning tales of the glorious journey he'd gone on the Argonaut to rescue the Tulpar crew, mixed in with bits of action and drama.

"You wouldn't BELIEVE what we saw after those gates opened!" Marcel asseverated to the intrigued onlookers. "The bodies of those dumb bastards, scoured across the halls like torn pages and cat-scratched furniture! Half the work was done by our garry officers, and the other half had the displeasure of meeting the Captain himself!"

The onlookers, many of whom were interested Canari nobility, laughed and nodded in visceral agreement with the tailored story Marcel was regaling to them at length. Hawkes himself was enjoying the way Marcel relayed the story so bard-like, and stood around for a bit to listen in, hardly able to blend in with the rest of the crowd due to his size, but deeply appreciative to see that his fellow Canari (even if the foreign visitors weren't) were treating him with deference and silent appreciation, not spending too long to gawk and gaze at him like some gorilla in an enclosure.

At least with this, Hawkes thought to himself wistfully. I feel like I'm nobody important. That's... a great feeling to have, sometimes. I just want to blend in, enjoy the culture, the fun, the amusements.

I want to be human, again.

#mouthwashing #oc #curly mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #original character #anya mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #writing #nurse anya #scifi

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vitrumwindowscladdingshrouds · 2 months ago

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marmolesegypt2132 · 22 days ago

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Sunny Dark Egyptian Limestone

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nemo-of-house-hamartia · 2 years ago

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In The Heat of the Moment Chapter 4 - Homeward Bound

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3

Words Count: 7981

Warning: None

Dorothea

January 1868, London

The first thing that hit Dorothea was the smell: abhorrent, a stinging stench, almost choking in its miasmic pungency.

Phillip had warned her that it would have been a shockful amalgamation of foul odors, but at first, the young woman had deemed her cousin, with his penchant for the dramatic, exaggerated in his assertion.

Now, as she wrinkled her nose with barely masked revulsion painted on her otherwise delicate features, she found herself thinking that, mayhaps, her cousin hadn’t been dramatic at all.

Her sensitive nose had grown so accustomed to the fresh clean air of the surrounding forest of Sturefors, in Sweden -her mother’s ancestral home- that breathing the less-than-salubre air of London felt like a slap to her face and an execrable invasion of her nostrils.

Making sure no one would hear her, Dorothea allowed herself to let out a sigh, barely audible, yet lingering like haze in the cold winter air.

She had known she would miss Sturefors Slott the moment she had set foot in the carriage her mother’s family had prepared for her to bring her to the southern part of the country, where she had taken the ship that had brought her back to London.

Sturefors Slott -despite its name- wasn’t truly a castle as they intended them back in her beloved England, with their towering stone walls and turrets, built during the early middle age to protect the Lords and their people from the barbaric invasion; rather, it was a Hall, elegant and refined if modest in its appearance, nestled within the soft embrace of an endless vastness of evergreens and a clear lake, just outside the door.

Closing her eyes, she wished she could fool herself that it was not smog what she was breathing, but the fresh tingly scent of crushed pine needles and musk and balmy resin.

As she allowed herself to glide through her most recent memories, all she could see was the residence’s walls painted in a soft pale shade of yellow and white, in a way that made them resemble one of those Austrian pastries her father had always been fond of ever since she could remember; she could see the small artificial pond, sitting right in the middle of the small baroque garden, where waterlilies grew aplenty and birds would come and swim at their leisure; the orangery and hothouse, where she had spent countless afternoons reading during those chill summers, surrounded as she was by the delicate perfume of the flowers in bloom.

The complete peace that place provided was one of the reason why it was always guaranteed that she would be found there; but alongside that motive, also the fickle hope that, somehow, being surrounded by all those familiar scents might help quell the melancholy and yearning, she oftentimes felt in her young heart, to see her family soon.

As she raised her eyes to glance at a ferry passing by them- one belonging to her father’s commercial fleet, judging by the men clad in red that shouted on the decks, and the wolf painted on the funnel spewing out a dark, choking smoke- she wondered at what price that melancholy was finally about to be abated.

In Sturefors, she had known a freedom she never felt while in London, with her mother’s protective wings always looming over her and her father’s ever watchful gaze constantly following her, even while not being physically there; like Eva with the Apple in the Garden of Eden, she had tasted the fruit of a far greater independence she had ever dared to dream, a complete sovereignty of her own self she had never experienced ever since she had memory.

“Those days are long over, Dora. You are back home, now,” she thought to herself, sighing again, before straightening her back and tilting her chin up, as she gazed upon the industrial city opening up in front of her, studying at it with uncertain eyes.

Her home.

London, the Centre of the World.

The city had changed ever since she had left it in 1865, almost three years prior: cluster upon cluster of new factories had been built in the industrial neighbours, and even from the river she could see the enormous luminous signs bearing her family’s name or her father’s own wolf crest black on the walls of red bricks, the eyeless predator towering over the buildings that faced the Thames, its watchful gaze the same her sire’s.

So many changes.

So much to get used to once again.

As she let her eyes wander, she felt a small leap of reassurance in her heart when she caught a glimpse of the city’s historical landmarks, the towering height of Big Ben, his belfry raising high against the late afternoon sky, a familiar sight amidst all that chaotic maze of buildings veiled by a haze of smog.

This was indeed her home.

“And yet,” she thought, calling upon all her considerable will not to let the tears that prickled her eyes run free on her cheeks, “It does not feel like it any longer.”

With a subtle gesture of her hand, she tried to brush away the tears away, before anyone could notice, and trying to compose herself, she let her gaze wander around some more and touch the buildings at the side of the river.

She looked at the tiles and doors and windows, bringing her eyes up where the roofs and chimneys sat and let out their nauseous smoke that rendered the air impossible to breathe.

All of sudden, she stopped in her wandering, feeling that her gaze had been returned.

And it had been.

Someone - at that distance a mere silhouette- had moved with switf movement from behind the cover of red bricks, and without hesitation, had jumped from a chimney to the other, graceful and secure in their movement like a cat.

She narrowed her eyes, bringing one gloved hand to her forehead to shield herself from the last rays of setting sun, trying to make sense of what she thought she saw.

Could it have been a trick of the light or the fatigue of the journey that was finally starting to take over her mind?

No.

She was sure of that.

“Ditte, vad hände? Det ser nästan ut som om du har sett ett spöke!”(Ditte, what happened?It almost looks as if you have seen a ghost!)

Dorothea kept looking up the roofs, half hearing what the woman that was approaching her was saying.

“Sassa, såg du det?”(Sassa, did you see that?) she blurted out, pointing with her finger.

“Vad såg du, min kära?”(What did you see, my dear?) Astrid, a cousin from her mother’s family, that had took upon herself to chaperone Dorothea safe and sound to London, looked intently and raised an eyebrow when she saw nothing.

Dorothea looked again, but whoever was jumping around like a miscreant was clearly gone.

“Någon... som hoppade runt? Jag svär, jag vet vad jag såg, eller så heter jag inte Dorothea Marianne Starrick!”(Someone...who jumped around the roof? I swear, I know what I saw, or my name is not Dorothea Marianne Starrick!)

The woman gave her a long look, her lips pursed together in a thin, austere line.

“Herre Gud, Ditte, det är inte så en ung dam i din ställning ska tala! Jag visste att Minna var benägen till fantasiflygningar, men jag trodde aldrig att du också var det!” (Dear God, Ditte, this is not how a young lady in your position should speak! I knew Minna was prone to flights of fancy, but I never thought you were too!”)

“But I know..what I saw…” she murmured back in English, lowering her head in shame at her cousin’s words.

“Där, där, min kära, ta dig samman! Denna smutsiga luft måste ha spelat dina ögon ett spratt.”(There, there, my dear, pull yourself together! The dirty air must have played a trick on your eyes) The woman said with a condescending tone, caressing a wayward strand of silvery blond hair away from Dorothea’s cheek. Then, she turned to look at the houses built parallel to the river with barely contained disdain. “Säg, Ditte, hur kan man bo på ett sånt här ställe undrar jag?”(Say, Dora, how can you live in a place like this, I wonder?)

Shaking her silvery blond ringlets, Dorothea tried with all her might not to sigh in exasperation, her jaw tensing as she turned to look away from the woman that had just spoken to her.

There was no use trying to reason with her.

But she knew what she saw.

“I can live in a place like this because I was born here, min kära. But pray tell me: what happened to all the good propositions of speaking only English from the moment we left Gothenburg?” she answered, putting an emphasis on the English name of the city.

Astrid brought her perfumed handkerchief to her nose, as her periwinkle eyes filled with tears from the disgust the vile air was causing to her poor nose. She stared at Dorothea for a moment longer than necessary, a wrinkle appearing on her brow, as if she was fighting the natural impulse to rebuke in her native language out of spite.

“Very well, Ditte,” she finally conceded, switching to an heavily accented English. “I am going to be here only for a few weeks anyway, I can afford to do that. For your sake, if anything else,”

“Your effort is oh so deeply appreciated, Sassa,” Dorothea pursed her lips, trying to drown her annoyance in a sweet, if tense, smile of gratitude.

However, much as ever, she had to contain the impulse to roll her eyes at Astrid’s tone and words; if caught, it would have earned her a reprimand and a tirade once in front of Mother and Father, and the last thing Dorothea desired was to have her return to London being soured by the constant complaining and nitpicking her older cousin was known for.

Deciding that she had given the woman far more attention than she deserved, Dorothea took a few step away from Astrid, leaning against the handrail that faced the side of the city where the Clock Tower was and tried to distract herself by looking at the busy stream of ferries in front of her.

But melancholy crept again into her heart. If only Minna, Astrid’s own younger sister and Dorothea’s closest companion in Sturefors, had been the one to be allowed to accompany her back home, maybe the journey would have been less grievous, if anything because she could have retained with her some of the happiness she had felt in Sweden.

“My my, isn’t Astrid a charming choice for a chaperone? Are my ears deceiving me or is the Lady Ankarcrona complaining yet again, Dora?” she heard a young gentleman addressing her thoughts, as if on an invisible cue.

The tone was conspiratorial, yet affable in cadence, and the velvety quality of his timber did nothing to hide the sharpness of his silver tongue.

“With extreme passion, I dare say,” she giggled, for the first time since leaving Sturefors.

Dorothea turned to to face the tall, handsome blond man that was approaching her with an imperious gait that well suited his authoritative appearance.

Philip Edmund Starrick, her first cousin on her father’s side, older than her by only a handful of years, was doing nothing to hide the condescension from beaming in his deep eyes, but when he turned to look at Dorothea, his gaze melted into a mischievous look, as a warm smile stretched on his lips.

Dorothea reciprocated with an impish smirk of her own.

“If you were to ask me,” he said, doing nothing to lower his voice,”If she applied all that passionate effort into something other than making everyone else’s ears miserable with her constant twaddling, her husband would not go looking for a nicer company among the valets of the house,”

Gaping in disbelief, Dorothea leaned over to glance behind his shoulder, to make sure that Astrid hadn’t heard his words.

“Mind your words, Pip! How could you possibly even know about that?” she muttered.

He winked at her, his smirk widening even more.

“It is my job to know what is going on around me,”

“In London, maybe,” she chuckled, poking his ribs with her elbow. “But not in Sweden,”

“Sometimes it is indeed hard not to perform one’s job, especially if that someone is considerable remarkable at doing it ,” he chuckled, leaning in so that he would be able to whisper without anyone hearing them.

“Ever the paragon of humbleness, I see,”

“False modesty is for mingling peons and the church ministers who have time at their hands. I have little patience for it, and much more interest in the fruits my job brings; Speaking of, my darling cousin, I couldn’t help but hear voices about how eager young Master Daae was to instruct you in the art of the violin, during your sojourn in that desolated farm they dare to call a Hall. “

Dorothea gaped once more, opening and closing her mouth as a look of profound abashment found its way on her face. She wished she could stop the blushing that prickled her cheeks at the insinuation Philip had purposely left hanging in the air, founding herself unable to.

She gave him a piercing gaze, tilting her chin up in a silent challenge of wills.

“ I haven’t even set foot in London, and you are already enquiring about businesses that are none of yours. Gustave was my teacher, and nothing more than that,” she whispered, glaring at him. “And you might insinuate all you wish, but my conscience is at peace. My conduct at Sturefors has been nothing less than impeccable.”

Phillip raised an eyebrow, giving her a look that spoke aplenty.

“Not even for a moment has the thought crossed my mind. I am well aware you are a paragon of virtue, cousin dearest. He did fancy you, however, or so I had been told,” he added. “He indeed had the insolence to send you letters with flowers, as well as paying constant calls to you, and invited you for frequent walk together, sometime…unchaperoned?”

Dorothea narrowed her eyes, not liking for a moment that last insinuation.

A realization came to her mind, and irritation found a way in her voice.

“I have nothing to hide nor to apologize for. Who spied on me while I was at Sturefors, Phillip? Was it Father that told you to follow my every step? Or Mother, Heaven forbids?”

Chuckling, he took a step closer, leaning against the railing.

“No need to fret or get yourself into a state, cousin. Neither Uncle Crawford nor the Countess had their hands in this. I am at liberty to say it was in fact my own doing.”

“What for, may I ask? Do you think me so inept that I am incapable of properly take care of myself?” She furrowed her eyebrows and gave him a stern look, crossing her arms against her chest.

The young man gave her a long look, as silence hung between them, a silence Dorothea couldn’t truly decipher. All it did was rendering her more aggravated with each passing moment. Wasn’t she at liberty to have companionship but the one approved by her family?

“As your spies have most likely already reported to you, my good flibbertigibbet, all that Gustave sent me -all he ever did - was to politely express his respect and devotion toward a friend and fellow connoisseur of the art of the violin and singing. It was done in perfect accordance to all rules of propriety and decency, as my Lady Mother has instructed me to,” Composing herself, she wrinkled her nose as her face morphed into a mask or haughty disdain. “As for what you refer as “fancying me”, Mr. Daaé fancied my competence in playing and composing melodies, and in my voice when I found appropriate to accompany his violin. I assure you, he did not want-“ She faltered for a moment, a sting in her chest where her heart was. She cleared her throat from the lump that had formed there, before regaining her word.“-whatever interest he might have shown toward me, it was not personal at all, but merely connected to all that I had to offer as an artist in my own right.”

Phillip didn’t answer immediately, keeping his thoughts to himself as he observed his cousin with an intense look in his eyes.

“Do I hear a certain vein of disappointment in your voice, Dora? Did you wish for him to acknowledge you in a more,how to say…womanly fashion?”

“I-“ the young woman’s face flushed, her cheeks turning a scalding hue of red that could rival the one of the garment she was wearing. “This is not the place nor time to discuss such matters, Phillip. On my word, your boldness had grown bigger than your ego, and that in itself is an accomplishment. I have no idea what you are insinuating, and I surely hope you did not report a single words of this postulation of yours to Mother and Father? Because I shall not accept any besmirching of my own reputation from no one, yourself included, cousin,”

Dorothea felt her heart thundering against her chest, where contempt and mortification took turn in mocking her.

When she saw him still standing, still observing her with those piercing eyes that had nothing to envy to the winter tundra in the North, with no intention to utter a single word, Dorothea felt dejected.

“It matters not,” she murmured, turning again to face the river. “Not now, not ever, because nothing more than friendship dwelled in Gustave’s heart. He did not know who I was -what I am- and even if he had, nothing would have changed. At all.”

How to explain that the companionship Gustave had offered her had proved to be both the greatest of comfort and the bitterest of yearning, and not reciprocated in the slightest? Her young heart knew all to well what her fate was, where it lead her.

A nightingale in a golden cage, that’s how she felt.

Unable to soar against the dark vaults of the sky, forever locked in the maze that was her reality.

“I could very well have hoped to have Brave Lancelot coming at my window and whisk me away to Camelot, and my chances to find a companion worthy of Mother and Father’s approval would have been the same,”

Phillip let out a small chuckle.

“Now now, you are being rather unjust toward our Mr. Daae. Sir Lancelot would always have an unfair advantage compared to any suitor that might end up asking for your hand. He can very well be considered family at this point,”

Dorothea allowed herself to let out a giggle, her aggravation slowly subduing, as it always did with Phillip.

“I might have driven my father out of his mind with all my jibber-jabbering about the Knights of the Round Table and their quest.”

“Him and everyone else in the Order. All the letters you had the Old Bear write for you, asking noble Lancelot to come and rescue us all from the dragons that were threatening your Father,”

He chuckled at the memory, before speaking again, this time, reciting some verses.

“His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;

On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;

From underneath his helmet flow'd

His coal-black curls as on he rode,

As he rode down from Camelot.

From the bank and from the river

He flash'd into the crystal mirror,

'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:' by the river

Sang Sir Lancelot.”

“The Lady of Shalott,” Dorothea murmured, her smile growing wider. “Have you perchance seen reason and read the poem, finally giving our good Lord Tennyson the praise he deserves ?”

Phillip adverted his eyes, his mustache quivering as he held back a contemptuous snort.

“Well?”

“Mayhaps.”He conceded.

She kept her eyes fixated on him, cocking an eyebrow as her smirk widened the more he avoided her gaze.

“Fine. I’ll admit to it, you impertinent pest! This past winter, Cip and I might have spent the evenings perusing some of your books because we missed hearing your voice reading story to us, and Charlie was adamant we went through “The Lady Of Shalott” at least once per week because he knew it’s your favourite. I swear to all the Heavens, he was more punctual about this reading than he was to attend Mass,”

“Let us always be thankful for Charlie and his sensitive decisions. If we wereto be left to your devices, you would have us read something that would make my father’s hair turn white and my mother’s poor heart fail,”

Phillip rolled his eyes, but cannot hid his smile. “Preposterous. I do not know where you get all these ideas.”

Then, all of sudden, Dorothea felt Phillip taking her hand in his in a gentle gesture, and brought her palm against his cheek. Gone was that quick moment of mirth, to leave place to a far somberer one. The calculating light had all but disappeared from the young man’s eyes, leaving place for a warm compassion she had not seen in many years.

“Forgive me for my actions and words earlier, cousin dearest. I..might have been in the wrong with my own conjectures. I did not mean to bring any harms nor sullying to your conduct while away.”

Dorothea gave him a small smile that did nothing to hide the sadness in her eyes.

“Did Charlie agree with your vision? Did he support this decision? And be honest with me, Phillip: I cannot abide any falsehood to be thrown to my face. Not from you.”

The young man shook his head with a smile.

“Cip was adamantly against me intervening. He knew you would have not approved, and that I had no right to do something like this without you being in the known,”

“At least someone in our family still retains some trust in me and my endevours, I am glad to see,”

And yet she knew in her bones that, if Charlie was aware of Phillip’s intentions, so would her father. She knew that Phillip alone couldn’t have the authority to order her to be followed in Sweden. Not without the giveaway of someone higher than him in authority.

And only two people had that kind of prerogative within the Order.

But which of them, she could not fathom.

“Do I have your forgiveness, cousin? I cannot bear to know you are aggravated with me,” She heard Phillip ask her, his voice now warmer.

She raised her eyes to look at him, and saw the same honest glint he always had as a child when he knew one of his prank had taken things too far and he would be in trouble.

She let out a sigh, giving him a tiny smile.

“ I cannot bear to be mad at you for too long either, you know that, Pip,”

“All I did, I did with the best intention and your well being in mind. I was worried about you,” He continued. “The Swedish Rite does not act as your father would, as the British Rite would, and it was only concern that had moved my hand to extend my authority in Sturefors. And after all that happened at the Manor that year, I-”

Dorothea brought her fingers to his lips, in a delicate but firm gesture, her gray eyes silently pleading.

“Say no more, I beg of you, Phillip. For the love you say to bear me, do not open this door. Let me keep the peace I found in Sturefors for just a little longer.”

The man did as he was told, and stopped talking, not without feeling his own heart growing heavy at the seriousness painted all over her face. So much had changed since the day she had been sent away, loaded on that ship, away from her family, alone in the darkness of the north.

And he couldn’t help to think that, while having changed in appeareance, while having become even comelier than she was when she sailed away, Dorothea had not regained any of the innocence that she had lost that godforsaken night. Where once warmth and good cheer dwelt in her silvery eyes, now an hollowness remained, a desolation that made his blood boil.

The spectre of fear still lingered all over her, attached to her like a tick to the coat of one of his hunting dogs, sucking away at all the joy she once had as a child.

His heart broke at the memories of what once was, but kept his silence, as promised.

“There you were, you two,” a squeaky voice took them away from their conversation, and both cousins turned to look at Astrid, strutting toward them with small, rapid steps.

“I dare say, Mr. Starrick, is this the way to welcome a foreigner in this country? I was under the impression that the Starrick were amiable people, from what I gathered from my cousin here and her behaviour, but now I have to assume that it was my Aunt’s teaching to her daughter rather than the staple of her father’s family education.”

Dorothea had to silence the chuckle raising in her throat at the sight of her cousin rolling his eyes so much, she was sure he could see the back of his own head.

Not much could faze Phillip or break his composure, for he was known to be one of the most bewitching men, but being around Astrid had been proving quite the trial on his nerves ever since they had crossed the border where the Thames met the North Sea.

Nevertheless, the Master Templar’s expression morphed from aggravated in a mask of charming gallantry, with an easiness that came from constant practice. He took a few steps away from Dorothea and reached for the Swedish woman, looking straight into her violet eyes.

“Why, dear Astrid, you hurt my heart with your unjust words. What can I do to prove to your genteel spirit the extent of my family’s “amiability”?” he said, taking her hand in his with delicate touch, allowing his thumb to caress the back of her gloved hand. Astrid held her breath, too stunned by the young man’s boldness. “I assure you, us Starricks can be most…cordial, when given the chance,”his voice now a sultry husked murmur, almost a caress to the ears. “Just say the word, My Lady, and I will make sure to show you to what great extent us Starricks know how to make a respectable woman such as yourself feel…welcomed”

Dorothea’s eyes bulged as she silently put a greater distance from them, reaching the opposite side of the deck and making sure not to be within earshot.

She had heard enough, and she had no intention to bear witness to her cousin’s own trifling, even less so with that trifling being directed to Astrid. She was not one to admire demonstration of affection in public, preferring to read about it in her books: if one were to look upon two lovers exchanging their deeds of love, she would find herself blushing and wishing to be as visible as a spectre. Modesty and propriety lead her actions, and while being a young woman yearning to find love of her own - or, affection at the very least - she dreaded the idea of showing that love to anyone but her proper husband.

How could Phillip behave in such manner with so little concern of who might be bearing witness to his action, she could never understand.

Trying to distance herself from that lingering feeling of uneasiness, she raised her eyes once more, hoping to be able to see again a glimpse of the jumping figure she had seen earlier.

She knew what she saw.

Byron, so dear to her heart, oftentimes praised her for her grounded intellect and her propensity to not let her emotions drive her best judgment.

She allowed herself to gather strength from that, when she decided that she had indeed saw a figure looking back at her, before disappearing in front of her very eyes.

But what was it?

Or rather.

Who?

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

The moment the ferry’s gangplank touched the dock, was the moment that truly marked the end of Dorothea’s journey from the North.

But all melancholy and sadness at the lost liberty seemed to melt away, like snow in summer, the moment her eyes found the blond man that was awaiting for her close to the pier, his face almost a mirror of her own.

Charles Magnus Starrick was standing tall and straight as an arrow, waiting for her, his round playful face just as amiable as she remembered, and his smile as warm as the gentle summer sun. She couldn’t help but think how much it contrasted with the much soberer faces of the flock of Templar agents surrounding him. He had always looked out of place among the Templars, almost as if he did not belong, and yet, his authority, while not as great as Phillip’s, was never disputed.

“Charlie! Charlie!” she called at high voice, waving her hand at her cousin.

“Ditte, show a little restraint! This is not how a Lady should behave,” she heard Astrid’s reproach in her ear.

Dorothea tried as much as she could to maintain the elegant composure of her usual pace, but the child-like joy at seeing her cousin’s sweet kindhearted smile was so great, she couldn’t help herself from hasten and almost fly in her cousin’s open arms and hug him as tight as her own strength allowed.

“Darling Dora, welcome back home,” Charles whispered against her hair, reciprocating the tight embrace.

“I missed you so much, Cip!” she whispered back as joyful warmth spread in her whole chest. “All your letters kept me so much company in those long winter nights where I could not be with you and Pip!”

“You were equally missed, Dora, I assure you! Oh, but do I dare say: did you become taller since the last time we saw one another? Or maybe my darling cousin has been lured by the Erlking and the one in front of me is but one of his elven vassals? Wait! Let me see for myself, I have an infallible method to know if it is indeed my darling Dora!”

Dorothea giggled, shaking her ringlets as Charlie started to count the freckles on her cheeks.

“Ah,Yes! They are all there! It is indeed you, cousin dearest!” and before she could answer, she was wrapped in another bear hug.

She had to call upon all her strength not to shed tears of joy at the relief that she felt back in arms that had hold her ever since she was a toddler.

She was home.

She was truly home now.

“Here she is, brother of mine. Delivered safe and sound, as I promised, “ they heard Phillip’s voice come from behind them, as he strutted down the gangplank while carrying one of Astrid’s luggage.

Charles took a timepiece out of his pocket, and cocked an eyebrow, as a smile appeared on his face.

“And with only fifteen minutes of delay from the advised time. I daresay I am almost impressed by your efficiency, Pip, albeit your delay cost me a whole round of beers with the men.”

“The nerves you got there, brother! I thought that by now you knew that when I say something, I deliver my promise. And it is not as if I had a way to make that godforsaken piece of scraped metal go any faster, even if I wanted to,”

“I wouldn’t have been surprised if you decided to commandeer it and cause mayhem across the Thames. You surely would have made it on the evening papers, I can already hear the titles echoing in the streets: “Gentleman of dubious background causes an halt to the viability of the river to deliver precious cargo unscathed,”

“Do not even jest on this, brother: the Old Bear and Uncle Crawford would have had me hanging by my breeches, if I dared doing such mischief,”

“Oh, to be sure. But I have a feeling that our Dora here would have had her fun,” he said, winking at the young woman and causing her to giggle.

She was ready to answer with a jape of her own, but once she felt the gaze of the small flock of Master Templars on herself, she quickly tried to regain her natural decorum.

She would never forgive herself if she were to stain her father’s reputation with a less than impeccable conduct, especially in front of all his subordinates.

All of them were wearing dark garments in the finest cut and on their short capelets, the red Templar Cross stood almost flamboyant against white fabric.

Even Charles, not one to showcase his appurtenance to the Order, was sporting the formal attire, and Dorothea could have not felt more honoured to know that he had done so just to welcome her.

She brought a hand to the cross tied around her neck by a silken red sash, caressing the engraved enamel with tender affection. It had been the last gift her father had given to her before she left.

She thanked her forethought for having decided to wear it during her journey back home: what kind of impression would have she given to the other Master Templars, if she, the Grand Master’s own daughter, were not to wear the symbol of the Order itself?

But, despite all intention of propriety being on her side, she couldn’t stop herself from tiptoeing to have a better look around her, trying to find other familiar faces among the much soberer ones that were standing guard around them.

“Where is Father? And Byron?” Dorothea asked, her lips forming a small pout of disappointment when she couldn’t catch a glimpse of Byron’s caring eyes or her father’s solemn face.

“The Grand Master and Lord Harrison have been….held up by an unexpected nuisance that needed to be dealt at once, I am afraid,” said Charles, sharing a knowledgeable glance with Phillip.

Dorothea’s own features turned to ashen, all colour leaving her face when looked in her eldest cousin’s eyes.

Even without a word being said, she knew precisely what the nuisance was.

“Assassins? In our dear London?” she whispered in disbelief . “Has our beloved City of Light become an abode of chaos and ruffians in the three years I have been away?”

“You needn’t to concern yourself, Dora.” she heard Phillip murmur, his lips twisted in a disgusted grimace.

She narrowed her eyes, not entirely reassured by Phillip’s word, before turning to face Charles.

“Is it true?” she asked, a tinge of authority in her normally soft voice.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes running from her face to his brother’s, and more than ever, he looked like a tiny mouse trapped between affection and duty.

"I am afraid…I am afraid to admit that in the last few months there might have been more…”chaos” than foreseen,"

Dorothea shook her silvery ringlets, a look of incredulity on her face.

“Impossible. Father has held the reins of London since before I was born, and no assassins has ever dared to even cross the threshold of the city. He never mentioned anything in his letters to me. Byron never did, either.”

“I told you already, Dorothea: you needn’t concern yourself with this. It is being taken care of.” Phillip said, his tone final as he shared another glance with his brother, a silent command written all over his hardened face.

Dorothea felt her heart sink, just for a moment, before determination found a way through her bones.

“Be as it may, Pip. Keep your secrets and I will keep mine. Two can play this game. But I swear they won’t be yours much longer,” she thought, letting her features to settle back in an expression of neutral calm.

“Very well, cousin. I shall probe no longer. I will not lie that I am saddened in not finding my sire and Byron here,” she murmured with polite courtesy, folding her hands together. “But if it is true that disruption has reached our fair city, I am most reassured that the Grand Master is taking the due steps to ensure that no Assassin will dare to ruin his work.”

Charles let out a nervous laughter of relief as Dorothea stirred the conversation.

“Cousin dearest, allow me to say that none is more disappointed than them in being unable to welcome you in person after your long absence. Nevertheless, they wanted to be sure that their presence would be with you, despite everything.”

With a small nod of his head, Charles beckoned one of the henchmen standing behind them to come forward.

Dorothea turned and exchanged a glance with him, and for a moment she found herself wondering where she had seen him before.

His face seemed familiar, with the neatly stilled whiskers and short trimmed beard framing his face and a lock of dark, unruly hair brushing over one of his temples.

He was very pleasant to the sight, to be sure, but what caught Dorothea's attention was the subtle glint of mischievousness in his grey eyes, hidden just beneath an apparent playfulness.

Before she could ask any questions, the man did as he had been told and produced a small box and a bouquet of pink soft roses.

She smiled to herself at the sight of those gifts: she knew the flowers were from her mother’s own hothouse and the small box was from Byron himself. With a small thank you, she took them with gentle hand, promising herself to open the box once alone in the privacy of her own rooms.

"I took upon myself to make sure they were to be delivered to you in person, Lady Starrick"

Dorothea raised an eyebrow.

"That is very kind of you, Mister..."

"Markus Barclay, My Lady," he murmured with a bow. “I work underneath Lord Harrison the Eldest himself, and I was given order to attend to all your needs in his absence. I am yours to command,”

Squaring her shoulder and straightening her back, she nodded with solemnity.

“Very well, Markus. I want you to oversee that the Lady Astrid Ankarcrona is to be brought safely to the Grand Master’s residence and that she is settled in the most comfortable of the rooms within the Manor. She is an esteemed guest, and she will be treated with all the honours due to her station.”

“Consider it done, My Lady,” he answered, raising his face and looking straight at her without hiding the smirk that touched his lips.

Something about his demeanor caused an uneasiness to stir within Dorothea’s chest and this, along her inability to focalize why she thought she had seen him before, left her in complete diquiet.

When the Master Templar left to do as he was ordered, Dorothea turned to face Charles, a tired smile on her face.

“Will you accompany me home, Cip?” she asked, trying to hide a small yawn. “I think the journey might have taken its toll on me, afterall,”

Charles took her hand in his and brought it his lips with gentleness.

“It will be my honour to pick up from where Pip has left off,” and with a swift gesture, he beckoned for the other Master Templars to take care of Dorothea and help her to her carriage.

Waiting for his cousin to be far enough from where he stood, Charles approached Phillip, careful to lower his voice.

“Have you told her anything about what Uncle Crawford has in plan for her?”

Phillip shook his head at his brother, as they both stayed behind, looking as Dorothea was giving directions to the ones helping her.

“No. I-“ He hold his silence just a moment longer than necessary, weighting the word he was about to say. “I didn’t have the heart to see her smile wane. She had found some peace while in Sturefors. I let her keep it. But I will not lie to you, Charles: I wish I could offer her the same peace here,” he murmured.

Charles raised an eyebrow.

“Now I undestand your need for secrecy. But I never thought you as a sentimental, brother,”

Phillip shook his head with impatience.

“This has nothing to do with me being sentimental. But after all that happened that night, I was afraid she would not smile ever again,”

“The Assassins have paid aplenty for that,”

Phillip cocked his eyebrow, his face now severe, a quiet question in his eyes.

His brother return his question with a smile so cold, so devoid of any of his usual kind warmth, it left Phillip with a feeling of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach.

“Frye is dead.”

“The perpetrator?”

“The Leviathan, of course. He has left nothing in his wake, not even a body for his children to cry on,” Charles said, his voice grave.

Phillip stood silent for a moment, with the loud chattering of people filling his ears. But nothing could deafen the thumping of his accelerated heartbeat.

Finally, he spoke.

“That’s not enough,“ murmured Phillip. “Not nearly enough. Not after what he had done. The ripples of that bastard’s actions have left more than one broken. His death alone is not enough. Is the Leviathan satisfied and his revenge finally accomplished?”

Charles let a small smile appear again on his lips, just as cold as the one before.

“No.”

At that answer, Phillip's own lips stretched in a vindictive smile, a reflection of his own brother’s.

“Good. Then we know what to do next.”

“Pip! Cip! It is time we go!” Charles and Phillip turned their head as they heard their cousin calling them from the carriage window. “ Are you are not coming with us, Pip?”

“I wish I could, cousin dearest, but alas, we need to part ways here, for my services are needed elsewhere.” He smiled, as he approached the carriage and took his cousin’s hand in his, bringing it to his lips in a parting gesture.

“Will you be attending to the Lady Astrid, cousin?” she teased.

Phillip rolled his eyes, shaking his golden ringlets.

“God forbids I have to spend another minute with that woman. If I wanted to hear someone nagging in my ear all day, I would have asked Father for his services. He has years of experience and a disdain that rivals no other’s. No, dearest, I am bound toward other purposes. Duty calls, as it always does for me,”

Dorothea’s smile couldn’t be but a melancholic one at those words.

“So soon? The time has flown much faster than I wanted to. What will I do without your pestering chatters, I wonder?”

Phillip’s face turned into a mask of disdained, but his eyes were smiling at her.

“Preposterous. I daresay, you have grown far too bold for your own good, cousin dearest. No, you will have to do with Cip’s own chattering, I am afraid. But,” he added, as he smiled to both her brother and Dorothea, “ I leave you in good hands,”

“Oh, I know. The best hands indeed,” she replied, returning the smile and holding Charles’ hand in hers.

“Now go, before your Lady Mother starts worrying for your late return. I shall call on you tomorrow, first thing in the morning,”

“ I count on that, cousin,” she murmured, not truly wanting to let go of his hand.

Not after three years without her family.

He squeezed her hand three times, a silent gesture she understood immediately.

A promise.

And Phillip had never failed to keep his promises.

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

The pub was loud, messy, chaotic with its patrons busy gulping down pints after pints of what could be considered the foulest beer available on the market.

And yet, its despicable taste seemed to do nothing on the one gurgling it down as if it was water, as the rowdiest of songs accompanied their time sitting at those squalid tables.

Among those people, two men sat in front of one another, barely looking at each other in the eyes. The oldest one, built like an ox, with a sour face and brutish hands that could snap an arm in two without any effort, was busying himself with the food served in front of him, while the youngest one, leaner in his figure and more elegant in his demeanor, could barely keep his own meal down.

“The little Countess has returned, at long last” he murmured, trying to distract himself from the queasiness in his stomach.

“So it seems, my friend. Ain’t so little anymore, though, I’ve been told. All grown up.”

The youngest of the two pursed his lips, an uncomfortable light in his eyes.

He didn't want to be there. At all.

“Come on, eat somethin’, will ya? You look like you’re goin’ to faint, if you so much dare to stand up. Eat. It’s on me, this time.”

“No, thank you,” the youngest murmured through gritted teeth.”This...grub does not sit well on my stomach,”

“What a sissy. Well, suits yourself, mollycoddle. I, for once, have never been one to love wasting a good meal,” and without ceremonies, he took the plate sitting in front of the youngest man and started to scarf it down as if it was his last meal.

“Hasn’t anyone taught you any manners?”said the young man, barely concealing the disgust on his face.

“Aye, me mom. She tried when I was a younglin’. Didn’t quite work out, my brother was much better material for her to work with. But what good are manners anyway? No need for them durin’ a brawl in the street.”

“If you say so…”

“Let’s talk about more important things, shall we? Is the Grand Master still set on his plan? Is she to succeed him, when the time comes?”

“How should I know? I am not in Starrick’s mind.”

“Indulge me, lad,”

The young man sighed, crossing his arms against his chest.

“There might be this possibility, yes. Nothing has been decided as of yet.”

“Bollocks.” said the other, curling his lips in disgust.

“Facts.”

The oldest of the two spit on the ground.

“Don’t fuck around with me, you ninny. I can’t believe Crawford Starrick would do somethin’ so stupid. He has enough foresight to know that it would be a catastrophe for the Order.”

“He might be in possess of knowledge about her that we cannot foresee. When he comes to his daughter, the Grand Master is most secretive,”

“Horse’s shite!” he said, slamming his hand on the table. A few people turned to look at them but hastily ignored them when the older one glared at them, his mouth the snarl of a bulldog.

“Would you care to lower your bloody voice?” said the youngest one."Mind my words, you are the paragon of discretion. It's a miracle all of London did not hear you!"

The young man grabbed the pint in front of him, and chugged down the alcohol, hoping it would wash away his nervousness. His eyes darted all across the room, hoping to not meet anyone familiar. The trouble he would be in, if he were to be found in such company, would be beyond repair.

“That’s an absolute pile of shite right there! “See somethin’ in her”? There is nothin’ to see there! All I’m seein’ is a father too blinded by his love for his child and his own desire to create a dynasty through her!”

“Maybe so. But you forget her father has personally overseen her initiation in the Templars ever since she was but a babe in arms and her mentor is none other than the Leviathan himself. She is a Starrick. I would not do the mistake to discount her on the account of her sex. And young she might be, but she resembles her sire more than you can imagine: there is steel hiding underneath that silk. Do not let yourself be fooled by anything else.”

The other grinded his teeth as he leaned closer to the young man, his face splotched by red stains of seething rage.

“Bah! All you have are conjectures and hyphothesis, nothing more than that! It can’t happen. The Order won’t accept her, just because she's his daughter. She's a woman! She belongs to the house, opening her legs for her husband as he sees fits and whelping as many little bastards as possible. She can’t be made anything else than what she is! We need someone strong at the helm of this ship.”

The younger one looked at the elder man, an inquisitive look in his cat-like eyes.

“And what do you propose we do to stop this? Kill her? Kill HIM?”

The brute hesitated, long enough for the younger man to know that, even blinded by rage, he would not act in haste. They needed a valid reason to justify any action taken, lest they were to become a target like the one they were set to control.

“That’s what I thought,” the youngest one finally said, after the long pause. “You will find that patience, my friend, is a virtue not to be discarded in favour of a hasty approach. We shall wait in the shadow, as we have always done, and seize the moment when the right window of opportunity opens. London is already in chaos as it is, with the Assassins rearing those bloody heads of theirs and causing ruckus all around the city. Those blasted Frye twins are an annoyance we need to take care of now, before this annoyance starts veering into dangerous territories.”

“Ethan Frye's bastards?” said the eldest one. “Had they learned nothing from their father’s death? Are they trying to meet the same end he did?”

“Mayhaps.”

“Wasn’t aware those assassins were a family of suicidals,”

“More like children playing with fire. But a fire that need to be quelled at all costs, nevertheless,”

"The challenge is that they’re unorganized. Chaotic. There's no plan or pattern behind their action and this makes them dangerous. Rumors have it that the Frye lad’ve been fightin' at the pits: the lad packs a mean punch.”

“Nothing that will worry you, I assume?”

“Are you jokin’,? Me and my brother will make a pulp of him, as soon as our paths cross. And trust me on this, ninny, they will cross. Wish I could do the same with the Starrick girl. Hell, I’m a gentleman myself, and would be gentle with the little poppet,” he murmured, leaving the promise hanging between the two of them. “That little neck of hers can’t be too hard to snap. A twig in my hands.”

The younger man’s mouth curled in an expression of disgust.

“You will do nothing of this sort. We have to let the Grand Master take care of this, before striking." The young man took the moment before speaking again, weightung his words with moderation. "Kill the young lady, and you will kill Crawford too, in spirit if not in body, and we do not want that. Not now, anyway. The assassins need to be dealt with first, and for that, we need the Grand Master. We need to destroy the Brotherhood, or what remains of it. Then, we shall take care of Crawford Starrick and his daughter."

The eldest one gulped down his entire pint of beer, slamming it against the table once done. He smiled, but there was no warmth in his light eyes.

"What are we waiting for then?"

[PREVIOUS CHAPTER - “Confrontation”]

[NEXT CHAPTER - “Awakening of the Hunter” ]

omg, could it be true??? THE 4TH CHAPTER IS FINALLY DONE AND UP??

Seriously, I don’t know what possessed me to finish this, but I just sort of did?

I missed working with my Starrick family, and so I started to read again the chapter, and before you knew it, I basically added 3k words to it today, and just finished it.

Well, as said in the previous chapter, we are finally back in 1868, so finally we have the chance to move around through London with Dorothea :D

I hope you will like this, I know I will be needing a long nap lol

also, a huge thanks to my dear @susann- noir for being my beta reader and helping me through! you have been immensely kind, I appreciated your help so much <3.

Hope you will like it!

--Nemo

#Assassin's Creed #Assassin's Creed Syndicate #Jacob Frye #Crawford Starrick #Dorothea Starrick #Phillip Starrick #Charles Starrick #In The Heat Of The Moment #my ocs #Nemo Writes #ocfairygodmother

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