#consider she is going to ask for a pay raise if he touches the artifacts

[ofspvrta]

"Your contract just felt like it was right in my wheelhouse." Her next destination was Spain anyway, so getting paid to go where she was already headed was a bonus, but this honestly had proven to be more valuable than she imagined. Vittorio was already proving to be great company so at least she didn't have to make this journey alone.

"As am I. Trust me, it's not a conversation that comes up around other mercenaries. They see something old and valuable looking they usually just contemplate where they can sell it for the most coin, not exactly the best conversation." She caught the tone shift, but she wouldn't prod him on it unless he wanted to discuss it. Some sorrows were not meant to be shared, especially with a relative stranger. "Very true, but it is a tale as old as time. Many would have to wish to change at once for it to truly be viable." Even the First Civilization were guilty of such foleys.

. "I should be honored that you'd choose to agree to work with me, then," Vittorio replied readily. His tone was earnest, his smile genuine. Good help that wouldn't kill you in your sleep was hard to find, and even if they were still in the early stages of knowing each other, Vittorio felt something of a kindred spirit.

. "And for that I am grateful!" He laughed, bright-eyed and wide smile. "My uncle Renzo and I could speak about it for hours, I miss being able to." The touch of melancholy only lasted a brief moment. If there was a man who understood Vittorio better than anyone, it was Renzo. But, as much as he missed him, he would not dwell forever. "Ah, Man is adaptable, though. We can change at any time we wish. It is only making people wish to change that is the trouble."

[bumblesimagines]

Forgotten Fairytale

Part 2

Request: Yes or No

I'm not afraid of this series not becoming as well loved as Green Thumb and I don't expect it to be popular. I've had the idea stuck in my head for a while and I'm getting it all out.

~

You looked over the artifacts the school had stored. You gave a small scoff, shaking your head as you noticed things that didn’t belong in a school.

“They call us thieves and hoarders yet half this shit was stolen off a corpse.” You muttered, stopping in front of a glass case protecting a sword.

“I wouldn’t suggest stealing that. It’ll be obvious.” You turned towards the redhead, sighing and tilting your head as she walked towards you.

“You’re a pain in the ass.” You looked back at the sword, eyes raking over it. 

“You know what this is?” You asked. Hope stood beside you, looking down at the sword. She shook her head, pursing her lips slightly.

“A man named Lord Jameson Wraith owned this sword. He was… a hunter of sorts and specialized in killing dragons. When he stabbed this through the chest of a dragon, the sword would light up and the dragon would burn from the inside. A gruesome, slow death. We were hunted like all others but it wasn’t just to protect humans. We were hunted for our meat, our teeth, and our scales. Humans declared war on us and when we fought back, we were erased from everyone's minds and deemed fairy tales where we continue to be killed by a so-called knight.” You explained, running your finger over the glass. 

“Some dragons were able to survive Malivore but as soon as they shifted… They were taken. They disappeared and left no trace.” You turned to look at Hope. The redhead stayed silent, a frown etched on her face.

“I’m sorry you lost your father. We’re working on finding Malivore and when we do, there’s a chance you’ll be able to see your father again.” Hope said softly, gaze still trained on the sword. 

“Where’s your mother? Alaric mentioned she was a vampire.”

“I was never able to meet her but.. I believe she’s dead.” You walked around the case, looking back up at Hope. You locked eyes with her, hearing her clear her throat.

“I’m sure she would’ve wanted to be in your life.” Hope offered a small smile, nails gently tapping against the case. 

“Are you being nice to me cause you need to find out more about me?” You asked, head tilting. Hope cocked a brow, eyes rolling as she turned away from you.

“Alaric really doesn’t trust me, does he?”

“He trusts you more than I do, that’s for sure. It’s just too much of a coincidence for you, a dragon, to show up when we’re dealing with monster after monster. If it weren’t for Alaric, I would’ve already done a spell on you.” Hope said as she walked around the room, features hard and serious. 

“A little witch spell wouldn’t work on me. You haven’t been trained to deal with dragons. If I was really one of those monsters, why didn’t I burn the building down and search for whatever it is that you have?” You asked curiously. Hope didn’t answer, thinking for a moment.

“Because you’d need to know if it was hidden.”

“Alaric asked if I felt a pull to this place. I suppose that means I would feel a pull towards the artifact, right?” You slowly walked towards her, a soft chuckle leaving you.

“You can kick and scream all you want, Red. I’m here to stay, whether you like it or not.” You reached out, twirling a strand of her red hair around your finger. Hope grabbed your wrist, pushing your hand away.

“You’re up to something and I’m gonna figure out what it is.” Hope sneered, eyes narrowed. She turned around, walking towards the doors. She almost bumped into a man on her way out, quietly apologizing before moving past him. The man entered the room, clasping his hands together. 

“I’m Dorian Williams, the liberian and occasional substitute teacher.” Dorian introduced himself, finding a table and taking a seat. He motioned for you to sit across from him. You did so, taking a seat and crossing your arms as you eyed him.

“I’m gonna be honest with you, (Y/N). I do have some suspicions that you might be after the artifact but.. You’re a kid. A kid who lost their father and wants answers. I’m not here to interrogate you about your intentions.” Dorian explained, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed. 

“Do the other students know what I am?” 

“News spread like wildfire here, especially amongst the students so.. Yes, most likely. I can assure you that you’ll be treated like any other student-”

“So, Hope goes around telling every student she’s gonna figure out what they’re up to? No wonder she’s not popular.” Dorian let out a small laugh, shaking his head.

“I promise Hope isn’t always like that. The monster problem we’ve been having has everyone on edge. Do.. Do you know anything about Malivore?” Dorian asked, sitting up and leaning forward. 

“I thought you weren’t gonna interrogate me.” You tilted your head, brow cocked. Dorian hummed softly, nodding. 

“Alright, we can talk about something else. The neck is a dragon's soft spot, right?”

“Depends.” You answered, licking your lips as you reached up to touch your necklace. 

“If a dragon is older and stronger, a hit to the neck isn’t gonna hurt them much. It might piss them off and they could lose their ability to speak or even stop them from breathing fire cause it’ll hurt to do so. We can still kill someone by stepping on them or snacking on them. We were on the top of the fucking food chain and humans just couldn’t deal with that.” 

“I’m not your enemy, (Y/N). I want to believe I can trust you. You’re a child and like all children, you need guidance. I see a lot of rage built up inside you. I can tell from the way you interacted with Hope and from what I heard. Landon and Rafael aren’t your enemies. They’re new and they have a rough past. The first dragon they met wanted to burn them into a pile of ashes so.. I’d say they’re being pretty welcoming.” Dorian held a soft yet stern gaze. It was obvious that he sympathized with you but at the same time, he wasn’t gonna deal with an attitude.

“Tell me about your father. What was he like?” Dorian asked softly. Your gaze dropped to the table, fingers squeezing around the key. 

“I’d appreciate it if everyone could stop talking about him as if he’s dead.” You breathed out, standing up abruptly as your eyes began to sting from tears.

“I don’t need to be welcomed into this school. I’ve been to high school before, I’m not some little kid whose hand needs to be held.” You walked out of the room, heading back to your dorm room. You entered the dorm, shutting the door behind you. You sniffled softly, walking towards the window and opening it. You stepped out, taking a seat on the roof. You brought your knees up to your chest, feeling the wind gently hitting your face. 

“The key to food is passion, remember that (Y/N).”

“I thought it was seasoning.” You grinned as you watched your father cook. He hummed, nodding with a chuckle.

“It is but food from a chef who feels no passion for it will taste bland and bitter. It’s the same with any other job. If you hate it, it’ll show and you’ll only hurt yourself. That’s why I always tell you to look for things you’re interested in.” (F/N) said, handing you a wooden spoon so you could help with stirring the soup.

“What was mom passionate about?”

“Your mother was.. She was a hurricane.” He began, sighing deeply. “She destroyed everything in her path and took down anyone in her way. Not many people have fond memories of her but I saw the good in her. I didn’t love her romantically but I considered her a good friend of mine. I’ll always be grateful to her for giving me the best gift a man could ever have.” You smiled widely, chuckling softly and rolling your eyes. (F/N) smiled softly, leaning over and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“No treasure could ever compare to you.” 

You bit your bottom lip, letting out a shaky sigh. You weren't used to being alone. Your father had always been there to back you up, to support you, and to provide comfort when you needed it.

“Christ, pull yourself together. You come from dragons and a psycho vampire.” You mumbled, carefully going back inside. You picked up the phone, turning it on and waiting for it to power on completely. You responded to a text, watching a call pop up. You clicked the green button and held the phone up to your ear.

“I thought you said it was stupid to be in contact.” You took a seat on the bed.

“Yeah, well, I was expecting you to be back by now. You do know your fathers return lies in your hands, right? Only I can help you get him back but I’ll only do that if you give me what I need.”

“I have a plan-”

“Speed up that plan before I change my mind, (Y/N). While you were on your way to the school, I bumped into some of your new friends. They were a redhead and an older man. I believe the girl went by the name Jessica but I doubt it was her real name.” You let out a deep sigh, head tilting upwards. Hope Mikaelson was gonna be a real pain in the ass.

“Yeah, I’ve met the redhead.” You breathed out, dropping your head and pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“I just need you to relax, Ryan. I’ve got it handled but I really don’t need you fucking things up for me. You just keep up your end of the deal and I’ll keep up mine. You might be able to save my father but I can also keep you from helping yours.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a fact. Don’t bother me again unless it’s an emergency.” You pulled the phone away from your ear despite Ryan continuing to talk. You hung up and tossed the phone to the side, burying your face in your hands. 

“Am I paying for my mothers crimes?” You whispered. You flinched when you heard two knocks on the door, standing up and approaching it. You opened the door, staring at Josie.

“What do you want, baby face?” You asked with a frown, looking down at the ice cream tub in her hands. Josie’s brows furrowed at the nickname but she ignored it, choosing to raise the tub. 

“I.. I kind of eavesdropped on you and Dorian and saw you rush out. Ice cream always makes me feel better when I’m feeling down, so I brought you some.” Josie shrugged lightly. You blinked, opening your mouth but nothing came out. 

“If you don’t like ice cream then I could see if-”

“Thanks.” You cut her off, watching her relax and give a small smile. Josie nodded, perking up when you stepped aside so she could enter. Josie looked around the room, humming. 

“If you want, we could go shopping for some decorations tomorrow after school.” Josie said, moving one hand under her skirt as she sat down. You nodded, taking a seat beside her and subtly turning the phone off. Josie opened the lid of the tub, handing you a spoon and giving a small shy smile.

“Well, Welcome to Salvatore School. I’m pretty sure dad is still figuring out your class schedule.” 

“Dad?”

“Oh, uhm, the headmaster is my dad.” Josie shrugged, digging her spoon into the ice cream. Your brows raised, a small smile spreading across your face. 

“Really? You look nothing like him.. Which is a big compliment.” You grinned as Josie let out a soft giggle. Things were definitely starting to look up.

[tangleweave]

Crimson Tide (Drabble / RP)

[ @illbringthechaosmagic ]

An anonymous person has been taunting Stephen that a loved one has been taken captive...

Stephen Strange was not a patient man. He didn't like it when things came slowly, but he had learned how to deal with slow processes, as long as he could be assured of rewards down the line. Even less than slow progress did he like things that threw him off his rhythm. To be interrupted in his work was to invite his wrath, and by the Fates, could he be creative with his wrath.

That had been long before the car accident and the Sorcerer Supreme thing.

But now, the odd woman who had come to him to explain to him, in interestingly explicit terminology, that Wanda was being held prisoner... not only was she an interruption, she was an active irritant. An antagonist? No... not for him. To qualify as an antagonist, there were several things that needed to happen, not the least of which being a need to demonstrate a direct threat. So far she had shown him no evidence that she posed any harm whatsoever, and certainly not within the welcoming room for Kamar-Taj, where two other sorcerers stood at polite but firm attention in the corners.

She was seated in the wooden chair dead center of the room, legs crossed, hands folded in her lap. Her dusky skin and wavy black hair shone in the sunlight that filtered through the ceiling slats. Her accent indicated she wasn't Nepalese, though she could easily be from India or some other adjacent region. She seemed curiously calm for someone in his presence who knew the things he was capable of.

Fine. If she wanted to play mind games, he could play them too. He moved to a cabinet and withdrew a pair of long yellow leather gloves, the cuffs of which were adorned with delicate sigils of black and gold. He had his back slightly turned as he began to don them.

"What now?" he heard her taunt. "Does the great Doctor Strange mean to get blood on his hands?"

He glanced towards her with eyebrow arched as he slid the second glove on. "Obviously not," he said, "otherwise I wouldn't be gloving up."

She thrust her chin out towards him. "You don't frighten me."

"Of course I do. I'm a doctor. Being attended by one is inherently frightening. It means there's something wrong with you. And there must be something deeply wrong with you, in particular, if you thought you were just going to waltz in here, declare that you're holding a friend and ally prisoner, and then not make any demands in exchange for her release." He held up his hands, palms towards himself. "Hadn't you heard? This is Kamar-Taj, where I had my operation to restore function to my hands. These are examination gloves. We don't have the kind of funds needed for single-use non-latex, so we go for longevity instead. After we're done with a particularly... messy... procedure, we use a sodium hydroxide solution to rinse off the pairs we do have. But don't worry, it shouldn't burn your skin too badly, long as I don't touch you for more than a couple seconds."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You are a doctor. Your job is to not harm others."

"Oh, I see." He frowned and tilted his head at her. "Remind me again, what year is it? 2024? That means my medical license lapsed, uh... six years ago. Y'know, shortly after that niggling little part where half the world vanished. And saving all the people that were left over, that was an all-hands-on-deck situation. Things got ugly, if you'll recall. Besides, what do you call it when a surgeon cuts someone open with a scalpel? Surely you would think that was causing harm... but in the pursuit of reducing greater harm, when removing a tumor." He laced his fingers together tightly, securing the gloves about his hands. "Wonder how many you've got." He began slowly stepping towards her.

"There is nothing wrong with me!" she protested, and her legs uncrossed. "I wished to ensure I had your attention before making demands."

"Don't worry, you have it," Stephen assured her. "And you were right about one thing, this doctor doesn't make house calls. So glad to be hosting you today. You're my first patient in months. The last one still hasn't healed up quite right."

"I am no patient!" she said indignantly, shifting in her chair as he continued to advance.

"Then we have something in common, since I'm exactly the opposite of patient," he returned, and he cupped his hands toward each other. A crackling cat's cradle of golden dimensional energy appeared, and when he pulled his hands more broadly apart, it stretched with them. Orange sparks snapped from the strands. Stephen frowned. "Well, what do you know, there's still a little hydroxide solution on the gloves after all." He shrugged. "That's fine, it should all burn off pretty quickly."

She got to her feet. "Your Cauldron of the Cosmos!" she blurted. "It is a relic stolen from the pyramids of Giza--"

Stephen whipped one hand out; the strands of energy wrapped about the woman and sizzled as they touched her, eliciting a shriek. He closed to within inches from her face. "It's an artifact forged by Agamotto the All-Seeing approximately eight thousand years ago. I'd say try again but I don't think your clothes have that kind of time. Where's the submarine?"

A crease formed between the woman's thick eyebrows at the absurd question, but the heat and crackling from the energy whips surrounding her were beginning to convince her of the threat he posed. "I... I don't..."

"Sure, sure, you don't know." He dismissed the whips, then noted the burn scarring on her clothing. "Mmm. That'll be hard to get out. I might know a tailor or two." He gestured at the chair. "Take a seat or that pantsuit's going to look like it went through a king-size waffle iron. And I don't even want to think about what it'll do to your hair."

She glowered at him but did as directed. "What do you mean 'submarine'?" she asked.

"Well, if you don't know where it is, there's not a whole lot of reason for me to explain it to you, is there?" he responded. "Sure makes you look like a schlub, though. Obviously you're not in charge, you're just following directions from whoever it is giving them to you. Whoever they are, they need to up your clothing allowance, and update their K&R policies. It's in my favor, though, they couldn't send an actual professional to negotiate for the Cauldron. I could have given the all-American line... 'I don't negotiate with terrorists.' Definitely what a Sorcerer Supreme dreams of saying to someone." He waved a dismissive hand. "That's fine, though. I've got another movie line I can hand you. 'I've got ways of making you talk.' Impressed?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I am no amateur. I have been immunized to truth serums and measures intended to force me to speak truth against my will. Even you cannot coerce me."

He scoffed and gave her a mirthless smile. "Truth? Who said anything about that? I want you to lie your ass off."

She frowned. "What...?"

He brought both hands up, fingers twiddling unsteadily in odd snaking motions, and gleaming neon-blue energy appeared in the air between them. His hands didn't meet -- one wrist hovered above the fingers of the other -- but the energy they conjured twisted unevenly in a warbling circle that settled about the chair. The thick strands of plasma braided around one another, and once the circle was fully enclosed, the space within was consumed with fierce blue light.

"A sorcerer of Kamar-Taj would refer to this as a Ring of Raggadorr. But a Dungeons & Dragons player would call it a Zone of Truth... with a Strange twist to it. While you're within it, you can't refrain from answering my questions, but instead of wasting my time trying to figure out whether you can actually resist a Zone of Truth, I've sealed you within a Zone of Lies. You're completely incapable of uttering the truth. And when I ask you questions, whatever the truthful answer is, you'll be giving me precisely the opposite one, or as close to the opposite as you're able." He flourished with one hand. "So, test question, do you know my name?"

"...no." The woman looked flummoxed at the answer coming from her own mouth.

Stephen smirked. "All right then, progress. Now, you're in charge of this operation, aren't you?"

"...yes."

"Where on the ladder are you?"

"The top."

Stephen chuckled. "Oh, honey. They really don't pay you enough for this gig, do they?"

"I am paid extremely generously."

"Yeah, that much is obvious."

She stood up from her chair and tried to take a step forward. The blue light surrounding her crackled much in the manner of a Star Trek forcefield, and she jumped back as if having been shocked. She cast a look at Stephen. "I wish to remain in this space eternally!"

Now Stephen had to raise a gloved hand to hide his widening smirk. "I'm considering it," he quipped. "This is a lot more fun than I imagined."

"I am also enjoying it immensely!" she shouted.

He poked a finger at her. "Try saying it with a sarcastic bend to it, if you can, I wanna see how deep this spell goes. Does it affect just your words? You're yelling so I can tell you're agitated, at least."

"I am not agitated! I am free to walk out of this enclosure at any time and I do not fear your powers!" She crossed her arms under her chest and glowered at the floor.

"Well, if this isn't a reflection of parenthood, I don't know what is," Stephen remarked. "But while this is entertaining, I have some actual work to do. So let's talk submarines. Your bosses work out of one, don't they?"

"...no."

"I see. And if I looked all over the world for it, there's only one place I would never find it. Where is that place?"

"...the Laurentian Abyss."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Are you telling me that I can find the submarine in the Laurentian Abyss?"

"No, that is not what I am telling you."

Stephen had to try very hard not to crack a smile. "How very Red October of you. I think the Cauldron of the Cosmos can probably help me along from here... though I'm curious why you would even want it at all. Is there anybody among your employers and co-workers in this little venture that could even use it?"

"To the best of my knowledge, everyone there could. The Cauldron is of no particular fascination or consequence to my employers. They are not at all fascinated by its purported abilities. They would prefer to have Wanda, as a person is far more stable a commodity than an inanimate object. Should you refuse to surrender the Cauldron, my employers are not prepared to brainwash her for their purposes."

He scoffed. "Thought so. You know, you actually make it a lot more convincing now that you can't even say it properly. Should've tried it like this before, you'd have gotten my attention even sooner. Tell you what, you can hang out here while I get this problem sorted out." He turned toward the east hall, which would eventually lead him to the portal door that connected to the New York Sanctum.

"Wait!"

He turned back to her with his eyebrow up again. "Yes, what?"

"I do not wish to know how you knew of the submarine."

This time both eyebrows went up and he rubbed his temple. "Vishanti help me, I'm actually starting to get used to this," he muttered. Then he looked at her more directly. "It's not what you lied about, it's what you told me truthfully. You said straitjacket and shock collar. That's how Wanda was kept secured when she was a prisoner aboard the Raft. The only people who would know that was a successful method are people who saw it in action. But the Raft is stationary. Eventually someone would come knocking. The only way to keep a prisoner like her off the radar is to keep her moving. And aboard an underwater craft, even if she breaks loose, where would she go? Especially as far down as the Laurentian Abyss. So... submarine made the most sense."

The crease in her brow only deepened further. "I understand completely how you were able to make such deductions."

"Yeah, sometimes I even amaze myself." He glanced to the other two sorcerers in the room, then gestured at the woman. "Make her comfortable while she's waiting. But you're welcome to have a little fun with that spell while it's still active."

Without another word, he stalked his way up the hall and found the entrance to the New York Sanctum. A variety of obstacles to the matter at hand pervaded his thought process. If the submarine was indeed in the Laurentian Abyss, it meant that it was so deep, opening a direct portal to its interior would be a death sentence to anyone aboard; the bends would see to that. It needed to be forced to surface, and its own crew made to decompress the interior. He chewed his lower lip in thought. How would he get them to do that?

He was five steps away from the Cauldron when he stopped in place and rolled his eyes. Duh. He'd seen the damn movie. Simulate a radiation leak. It's not as if he was a Master of the Mystic Arts and claimed control over a vast breadth of energies.

"Thank you, Tom Clancy," he murmured as he approached the artifact.

[incorrectshantaequotes]

Shantae Headcanons - Main Four

So, with the response to my question being entirely positive, I am in fact going to be writing down some headcanons. I have a LOT, mind you, so I’m going to spread this out over time. Headcanons will be tagged as such (as well as the usual “not a quote” tag) for organization, and also in the event you’re only interested in the quotes.

For this batch of headcanons, I’ll be covering Shantae, Sky, Bolo, and Rottytops! And I’m putting this under a read more because it is LONG.

Shantae:

The fact that Shantae lives in a lighthouse isn’t just to give her a lookout as the protector of Scuttle Town. It does actually function as a lighthouse, albeit a magical one - it gains an orb of light at night on the tip of its roof to guide passing ships. Shantae’s the one who added that functionality, and she’s the one who works and maintains the light when she’s not protecting Scuttle Town!

Scuttlebutt actually pays her more for that then he does for her job as a protector, which irks Shantae to no end, but since she is getting paid at the end of the day she doesn’t complain.

When Shantae can’t fall asleep for whatever reason, her usual way of trying to deal with it is to do some maintenance on the lighthouse, whether it be the structure or the light atop. She can be up doing this for hours if no one stops her. Thankfully, Sky’s trained Wrench to occasionally check in on Shantae during the night so he can alert her if she’s doing this, allowing Sky to step in and drag Shantae back to bed before she overextends herself...even if Sky ends up falling asleep on Shantae’s floor a minute later.

Has quite a bit of mechanical knowledge learned from Uncle Mimic, she just rarely gets to put it to use.

Shantae’s a big fan of seafood...which makes turning into her aquatic forms (and the entirety of Seven Sirens) a bit. Awkward. To say the least. She tries not to think about it.

Sky:

Sky’s named every single bird in her care, and is able to tell them apart at a glance even if they’re near identical. No one’s quite sure how she’s able to do this.

The reason why Sky is so peeved at Rottytops during Seven Sirens, even though their shared experience in Friends to the End should’ve improved their relationship? Well, it’s actually because of their improved relationship that Sky was more snippy with Rottytops there - when Shantae couldn’t find Rottytops, the only logical conclusion Sky could find is that she skipped out on them, which...really hurt, especially since it was just after they’d just started to know each other better, and she did genuinely want to spend time with the zombie. That hurt, combined with the existing stress of the situation, made Sky fall back on old habits, with Rottytops returning the favor.

Thankfully, the misunderstanding is cleared up by Shantae on the way back to Scuttle Town when Sky vents her frustrations to her, leading to a profuse apology on Sky’s part when they touch down on solid ground. Rottytops is surprised, but happily accepts.

While Sky’s passion is raising birds, she’s not a big fan of the fact that she has to raise them solely for combat. She’s tried promoting more domestic uses of her birds, but hasn’t found anything that sticks. Shantae and Bolo have both helped with her endeavors on this front at separate times; their ideas haven’t worked either. Rottytops hasn’t been made aware of this because of Sky’s initial testy relationship with her, but with their interactions being a bit more friendly nowadays, Sky’s considering talking to her about it because she’s running out of ideas.

Bolo:

Bolo does have a close family member he lives with, like Rottytops with her brothers or Sky with her parents (though the latter is debatable). Who is it? His mom, the Squidsmith, otherwise known as Forge when she’s off the clock. Shantae doesn’t know about this - not because Bolo’s trying to hide his relationship with her or something like that, but moreso because he rarely brings up his family in conversations in the first place. He’d be completely fine telling Shantae if she asked. Shantae does know he lives with a single mom and that she works in a forge, but hasn’t quite connected the dots yet.

Bolo’s actually quite skilled with metalworking thanks to some lessons with his mom, having made all his gear himself - in fact, his craftsmanship was what got Techno Baron to hire him in Pirate’s Curse! There is one problem though...he’s terrible with fine details, which is why he screwed up the doorknob and the targeting mechanism for Ammo Baron’s cannon so badly. When he decided to make the Spring Claw, he had Mimic help with the construction so it wouldn’t be subjected to the same fate.

Bolo does do quite a bit of hero work for Scuttle Town - usually when Shantae is out of town chasing down Risky Boots - but is nowhere near as recognized as Shantae is, no matter how hard he tries. It really stings, especially since he’s not even asking for payment like he could (and probably should) be doing, and fuels his insecurities.

Rottytops:

As I’ve mentioned before, Rottytops’ name while she was living was Rachael.

In life, the Cadavers were a mysterious and closed-off lot, deeply intertwined with the supernatural and the darker side of the mystic arts. Unfortunately, this relationship with dark magical forces is ultimately what lead to their demise - but it did bring them back as zombies later on, and the residual knowledge from their mortal lives is why the Cadavers are so skilled with dark magic, even for creatures who can naturally wield it (don’t worry, headcanons involving magic and magical species in the Shantaeverse will have its own post).

What residual knowledge Rottytops does and doesn’t have from her past life can wildly vary. For example, Rachael was a bit of a nerd when it came to the supernatural, which can sometimes translate to Rottytops having random knowledge of an artifact she’s never seen before in her life. On the other hand, she might not remember things like what a vulture is, and those bits of lost knowledge almost inevitably lead to shenanigans abound.

The person Rottytops is closest to besides Shantae is Bolo - she can actually relate to his insecurity quite well, and they’ve had several conversations in private about it. It helps that Bolo has no qualms about zombies.

[horrible-monstrosity]

I find myself increasingly concerned with the direction Legends Arceus is taking the relation between humans and Pokemens. No, I'm not talking about the bit with Pokemans attacking the player directly when you don't have your own Pokeymans ready, that was going to happen eventually, but just... the Sinnoh myths had stories about humans and Pokemon being so close they were considered the same sort of being, there's marriages, what have you, coming from thousands of years back. But this game apparently taking place only some hundreds of years ago... and it's "before Pokemons and humans lived together uwu"? The fuck? I feel like the games have been significantly moving away from humans and Pokemon being equals of a sort who both benefit from being together to Pokemons being some superior beings who humans benefit from but not vice versa and Pokemans are the superior creatures who humans should grovel in gratitude to and put up with all the shit from while never daring to burden them in any way. See gen 7, where living in haaaaarmony means having their lives and culture corralled by some asshole fairies because people can't be arsed to fight the ultra beasts, except the trainers who're forced to become kahunas fight the UBs themselves anyway (where they're forced to become fanatical enough about fighting to become strong enough to do so, but they're not even expected to be strong to fight UBs it's to lead their community... don't try understanding it just eat fairy shit and get excited for more fairy shit I guess). Why not just have a culture of the trainers who want to be strongest, or who have the greatest talent, being lauded as UB-fighters and becoming community leaders as well? Naw man, doing everything as the fairies want is haaaaarmony. Humans can't be strong enough with their Pokemon teams to fight the UBs, but have to be strong for other reasons ordained by The System, but then the ordained stronk humans have to fight the UBs anyway. But the fairies help, I guess. I fucking hate fairies man. Fucking elves of the Pokemon world. Smug sparkling fucks, fuck em I keep forgetting about the ride Pokemon but it still feels like the humans are supposed to bow and scrape to earn the gift of basic movement services so I don't think it really counts Gen 8 I don't know as well but it seems to go like this: Doggos are responsible for all good, their trainers or whatever their human companions are might as well not even exist. The postgame story is about those eeeeevil humans thinking they have some relevance to the doggos or something, eeevil I must say, so they have to do something evil to prove that.... um, something. Just some dumb shit that feels like a strawman argument against humans having any place in this world. Grovel to doggos.

Gen 6 was around the point where the weird cynicism started to creep into the franchise, mostly ORAS's weird abandoned ship segment, but it's pretty clear of this... aside from one random ace trainer or something late in XY who asks you, humans benefit from Pokemons, but how Pokemons benefit from huamn??? huh??? You're expecting an answer from him but he's just like, I bet you can't think of anything huh, hmmm??? Grovel, human.

You compare this to gen 5, and I'm not even talking about the Plasma plot (which was clearly bait on Plasma's part to get the public's sympathy anyway), but things like using Excadrill to dig out the mines. The 'drills were getting to do what they loved- dig- and being treated well by the humans in exchange for digging this spot in that way as directed. An equitable relationship that produced resources. This sort of thing existed as a counterpoint to N and Plasma's stated beliefs that humans were nothing but horrible for Pokemon and that they could never live together... Ironically what the later games are leaning towards, except that there is a way, and that's for humans to go fuck themselves. And again, Sinnoh's old myths, as well as any other myths that involve people and Pokemon together going back thousands of years.

I'd really thought the idea of this series was that Pokemon and humans were practically made for each other, that they were together from the very beginning. Raising Pokemon allows them to have a crafted moveset including TM and tutor moves, gain EVs, use held items aside from the few random ones they find in the wild... it's baked into the game itself completely incidentally. But no, I guess it's a Pokeyman's world and humans are just intruding on it somehow. What the fuck. Sigh.

I'm hoping that "Pokemans are so dangerouse man" line is just about the red-eyed frenzied Pokemon and that we aren't going into all Pokemons attacking humans and humans living forever at their mercy and deserving to scrape and grovel just to survive their onslaught.

By the way, my autistic retard fanfiction: First off, when the wall breaks and the doggo statues are found that make everyone realise who the "real" heroes are (something we can THANK Bede for by the way, because if he hadn't destroyed a priceless cultural artifact Eternatus would have gone off unopposed... but no one ever acknowledges this, as Bede is shat on and disowned by Rose for following what Rose taught him and then forced to trune out by trunny granny. figures she's a fairy trainer, I fucking hate fairies)- the idea that the doggos alone are the "real" heroes is actually a misconception brought on by people/society's tendency to elevate Pokemon, similar to why people bought PLasma's bullshit back in Unova. So when Eternatus is starting its nukes, people are just waiting for the doggos to get going and beat it... but when Hop sees the doggo statues, his budding professor brain immediately sees the truth- both the doggos and their human trainers are needed to unlock the true power of the sword and shield items. This even makes some sense with the game mechanics, as Pokemon typically can't use items more complicated than a berry... so with Leon and co busy fighting the dynamax mons and knowing no one would listen to him, Hop turns to the only person he can ask- you, who saw the doggos in the foggos at the beginning with him, to go retrieve the items so the doggos can actually do their thing. Also, Rose was radicalised and groomed by some crazy apocalypse cult, an ironic inversion of his supposed grooming of Bede (here he actually has a heartwarming father-son relationship of sorts with him). They pushed him to push the darkest day plan up like he did, convincing him there's a desperate energy situation but secretly just wanting the maximum apocalypse-ness out of a single action (while possibly believing themselves that there's an energy crisis but that the real solution is to destroy shit so less people and things use energy). So there's that. In the end he's taken to jail, but it's not some absurdly mundane ending where he just gets arrested for apocalypse crimes, rather he's being questioned for what he can tell them about the cult, on understanding that he was coerced into this, and that he can pay for his crimes by giving information on the cult itself. Bede relates this to you with some concern for his sort-of dad. The Swordward and Shieldbert plot (I forget if that's their actual names but whatever) has the two bros asking you to aid in investigating the apoc cult while preparing to accept their destiny as the doggos' masters. You see, they've been raised for this, learning all about Pokemon companionship but having no actual close contact with Pokemon at all (to prevent any Pokemon from forming a bond with them closer than what they'd have with the doggo- your first Pokemon is special, after all). Book smart but street dumb, in other words. You know, as opposed to some inexplicable dumb shit because Mother 3 ruined an entire generation of game writers. They call on the doggos to battle the baddies and are disappointed they go to you and Hop instead of them, but ultimately accept it. Afterwards, Hop contacts Sonia with a request... soon he has the two brothers over to choose their very first Pokemon. Swordbro was going on about Swordog's nobility and Shieldbro about wanting to touch Shieldog's fluffy mane, so Hop has out a Yamper and a Wooloo, presented as a choice, but he knows exactly which one they'll each choose. This is another manifestation of his potential as a professor- not only doing the professor thing of handing out first Pokemon, but considering what Pokemon they'd work well with. Isn't that nice? Also there's something in there about Bede's long lost identical twin who's also being used as a pawn by the apoco-cult but I'll explain that later

My idea for the origin of the Pokemon world as we know it- Arceus didn't create Pokemon, or the world itself, but it is responsible for the way the world is now. Once upon a time, when humans and Pokemon were one kind of being, there was too much strife and disagreement among the groups and nobody was learning their lesson, so Arceus got fed up and split the world into two types of beings that would have to get along in order to thrive. It instated the "rules" of Pokemon battles, that attacks have set damage ranges and types have well-defined interactions, that attacks in battles only deplete some abstract hit points level instead of causing the damage they "should" for what they are (this doesn't apply to wild-on-wild predation necessarily, so it's a privilege enjoyed by Pokemon being aided or advised by a human). Outsider beings- aliens, maybe ultra beasts, etc- are "converted" into Pokemon when they enter "Earth"'s airspace, which is why even beings from the furthest depths of space follow the rules and biology of earthbound species. These "rules" require Arceus' powers but don't rely on its constant action, so it can be captured and hang out with a trainer for a while, play by its own rules to see how things are going, without disrupting the system. I'd never expected anything even vaguely like this to turn canon of course, because it's so specific and particular to the sort of ideas I tend to have, but... not like this man

[the-wardens-torch]

((About 1-2 years after the copper bell mines incident, based on a Lenormand card reading done for Fal by @adeat. The reading made a lot of sense to me, and really inspired me, but I stalled on the ending due to my usual process of waffling and wavering about locking down plot details. I think I might be ready to commit though after working on this a bit more.. over the course of 3 years *hangs head in shame*.))

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually nervous about a job, Fal.” Sunnthota’s tone was at once surprised and concerned.  “You’ve never been the type to be intimidated by people of intellect or status.”

Falerin’s shoulders slumped involuntarily as he took a seat on the polished white lacquer of the piano bench, looking at the instrument without really seeing it.

“Well, you didn’t tell me that they were all…” he raised his hand and moved it in small circles as he mentally pushed aside all the insulting names he had for pretentious academics. “Adepts of the arcane arts... I figured that it was just the usual idle rich socialite gig until I saw this place…”

Fal warily eyed his surroundings; the framed diagrams in place of wall dressings and curtains, the bookshelves in places of statuary, the artifacts under glass in place of floral arrangements.

Sunnthota shook her head abashedly. “The Mealvaan’s Gate brass needed a good piano player for an event and you were the first one who came to mind.  And I suppose I sort of assumed everyone knew that this place was a library.  I thought your accepting meant you might be ready to get serious about your arcanima studies, or that you were at least willing to spend some time around mage-folk. ”

“No, I’m not. These aren’t my people and they never will be.”  Falerin tugged at the immaculately white cravat around his neck as if to illustrate his point.

“I don’t like playing the dowdy schoolmarm any more than you like playing the reluctant student, you know.  Its silly.” Sunnthota crossed her arms defiantly, adjusting them so as not to crease her spring green taffeta sleeves.  “But perhaps you can think of it this way…I thought you’d appreciate getting away from the adventurer life and doing an old-fashioned music gig.  Every time I see you you‘re complaining about all the killing and dungeons and… near-death experiences.” There was a touch of melancholy in her last few words, no doubt referencing their unpleasant shared history as adventurers.

“Eh, you’re right…“ Fal sighed. and uncovered the keys of the piano. Not a single one was chipped, and they lay in such perfect alignment that he could barely feel the gaps between them. It was exquisite. He hadn’t had even played a piano in so long, let alone been paid to play one… And the pay wasn’t bad for simply being part of the ambiance.  “But what about Ruby…?” he said. “You yourself said you‘d be fascinated to see what her aetherial makeup is. She already gets stares whenever she‘s out, just among ordinary folks.”

Sunnthota then caught him with her scolding schoolmarm gaze. “Okay, now you’re just being ridiculous… really, most of them are so far up their own arses they won’t even notice you’re here, let alone her. Besides, arcanima is a very mercurial thing that can manifest in many forms - they’ll probably just think you’ve got a glamour spell cast on an -egi or a faerie.”

Falerin sighed, adjusting the satin cuff of his sleeve to further conceal the tiny, glowing entity hiding in it.  He realized now that Sunn was absolutely right about their schoolmarm and student dynamic, and he didn’t like it.  They’d been friends a long time and the least he could do was trust her. Besides, he’d grown quite good at hiding Ruby over the years.

“Eh, you’re probably right. I just feel like if I call attention to myself, it’d be like gathering a bunch of classical composers, trying to impress them with armpit fart noise versions of their most moving concertos, and telling them you were my music teacher.”

Sunnthota smirked. “Well, I would still call that an exaggeration, but at least you’re starting to sound more like yourself. And besides, the guild doesn’t even know I‘ve been teaching you arcanima…”  Sunnthota uncrossed her arms and raised her hand to her lips before mumbling the words …“without their permission.“  She furrowed her brow slightly before meeting his eyes again.

“I know you, Fal, and that means I know that you‘re clever enough to make it work. Remember that Monetarist party?  You sang gibberish, told them it was an old Belah’Dian dialect, and they still applauded you when you were done.”

Fal raised the back of his hand to his mouth to conceal the smile and faint nose-laugh prompted by the memory… He did consider that one of his prouder moments, and she knew it.

She smiled again and placed a hand on his shoulder, and when she spoke, her voice was gentle and sincere. “Just the same, I’m sorry to have put you in this situation. I honestly didn’t think it would make you so uncomfortable.”

“Its fine, Sunn. I‘m just being a little shit, like you said.“ Falerin ran his fingers gently over the piano keys again. He could tell by their weight and warmth that they were solid ivory, and by the lack of wear that the instrument was rarely, if ever, played. “I’m sure they wouldn’t waste their time on me, and I‘m certainly not going to volunteer anything.  You‘re just about the last person I want to cause trouble for.” He reached back over his shoulder and placed his hand on hers, realizing a bit too late that his palms were slightly sweaty.

“Just try to relax and enjoy yourself and I’m sure it won‘t even be an issue.  I should get to the foyer and start greeting people, but I’ll try to swipe a drink for you later. ” she gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before letting go.

“Much obliged, Sunn… Any requests once this thing gets started? Or when I remember how to play a piano?”  Fal asked over his shoulder.

Sunnthota hesitated for only a second. “Well, I know it’s a bit sentimental for an intellectual gathering, but how about Rose of May?” Sunnthota replied. “I haven’t heard it in ages.”

“Sure thing.” Fal smiled. “And don’t worry about what I said earlier.  I’d be a right bastard if I ever let you down over something as dumb as a party gig.”

“Thank you Fal.  I really do appreciate this!“ she said, clenching her fists with girlish excitement.  “I was trying to make you feel better with that head and arse comment, but there really are some people here I‘m just dying to talk to.” She took a short moment to clear her throat and compose herself before she ran off, her shoes drumming rhythmically on the white stone floor. Clearly she was hiding her excitement about this event for his sake… Clearly she was also quite capable of moving at great speeds while in heels.

[thebibliomancer]

Song of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 12

Song of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because I guess we’re going to Ha’rar now? Unless Kylan finds something super cool in that book he checked out from the Aughra Library.

Last times in book: Kylan, Naia, Tavra, and Gurjin visited Aughra on High Hill to enlist her help in warning all Gelfling about the Skeksis. She’s less than helpful. But she does let Kylan take a random book he picked up.

Chapter 12

Kylan reads a fun story about a flute, Gurjin splits the party

The disappointed Gelfs stop to camp and Kylan reads the heck out of the book. He reads so hard that he decides to write just for a change of pace.

To give his mind a break, he prepared his own scrolls and worked on the day’s record, recalling as many details as he could before the memories faded. In his journal, the memory of the orrery could be preserved forever. Their journey there could be smoothed over. Their interaction with Aughra could be just a stumble on their path to ultimate success. All it would take were more chapters to show that this dark disappointment was not the end, but just some dimmer part in the middle. Maybe it was better that way.

No, Kylan decided mid-etching, it is better. No maybes about it.

And so he wrote it into the diary that way to make sure that any future readers would understand it to be so.

Good attitude, Kylan!

Disappointing episodes in your life just contrast more with the cool stuff, clearly.

That said, I wonder what happens to Kylan’s journal when all is said and done in these books. That’d be a good loose end to pick up.

Naia and Gurjin head off in opposite directions to go catch dinner, because sibling rivalry.

Kylan gets back to book and Tavra makes small talk while tying up a laundry line super good.

“Found anything yet? I’ve never seen a Gelfling read so studiously, even among those who could.”

“I’ll probably never be a warrior like everyone else in my clan, but I might as well hone the few skills I have.”

Kylan tries to follow suit by praising her sweet knot tying skills but she just agrees that she has skills with which to pay the bills and then wanders off into the wood, leaving Kylan alone at the campsite.

As the suns set, Kylan continues reading the old book. Which is a disorganized experience. The book is all jumbled up with little apparent rhyme or reason. It’ll jump from recording a feast at a village to a detailed study of the biology of a suri-wing including diagrams. And its in several languages, of which Gelfling is just one.

But Kylan finds a passage that at least puts a name to the writer.

Mother forgot my name today.

I had to remind her: “Raunip. Raunip, Mother!”

I cried, “The name you gave me!”

How could she forget?”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Raunip!

Aughra’s son!

Talk about drawing stuff from Creation Myths!

I think most people reading this post know his deal and also maybe its going to be a plot twist in this book where his journal has become a hot topic.

She has been consumed with the heavens. The heavens, and the shard, buried deep underground. She will not admit that neither above nor below will heal this sickness. Only we of Thra can be the antidote; and to heal our world, we must purge it of those outsiders who have taken our heart captive.

Good ol’ Raunip and his pretty xenophobic tendencies actually.

Kylan gets so into reading the book that he forgets that he was reading it for a reason. But he comes to a passage that brings him to his sense.

“The song of the Heart of Thra can sing the hollow bone from the bell-bird wing.”

That is so close to a title drop. Its just super close.

The passage talks about a Gelfling called Gyr the Song Teller who crafted a firca (a forked flute, like the one Jen has) from the forked bone of a bell-bird’s wing. Then Gyr the Song Teller played on this firca in the Caves of Grot.

Playing this special firca caused the words to every song Gyr knew to be dream-etched across the walls. And the Grottan Gelfling protected the songs, and the other lore of the Gelfling people.

Hey, keepers of the lore isn’t a bad clan hat to have!

The story smacks of the fantastical to Kylan since dream-etching is a painstaking and slow process and the bell-birds long extinct. He considers that the story is a mythologization of the invention of writing.

But what if it were real?

He feels like it could be real.

He decides to tell Naia about this. It could be the random hope they were hoping for.

After dark, Naia and Gurjin return, and have a fish measuring contest. Since Tavra is still gone, Kylan shows Naia and Gurjin the story.

“It was used to do a hundred dream-etchings at once in the Caves of Grot. Gyr the Song Teller did it just by playing the firca. The music echoes through the cave and etched the words on all the stone it touched.”

“Is this a song, or truth?” Naia asked. “If it’s true... Kylan, could you use such a thing to write our warning about the Skeksis? We wouldn’t have to do it one message at a time, we could do so many at once. So many the Skeksis wouldn’t be able to stop every one.”

Isn’t there still the problem of most Gelfling being illiterate? I guess maybe you could do it in pictures. I’m pretty sure dream-etching can do pictures.

That said, the firca of Gyr the Song Teller is a pretty cool magic artifact for the setting, huh?

Cool bard from ages ago made a flute out of a bird and it lets you write multiple things at a time. It’s not the one ring of power or Mjolnir but it feels like it fits well with the setting.

The book says the firca was left with the Grottan and there’s an entrance to the Caves of Grot not too far from where they are. Its a pretty convenient thing, really.

Although Gurjin is wondering whether the Grottan are even still around.

They’re even more reclusive than the Drenchen, and are practically considered a myth themselves.

There’s no solid evidence that the firca (or the Grottan) are real but Kylan decides to trust his gut like Naia taught him.

“It’s possible the bone firca doesn’t actually exist, but maybe Aughra knows better. Maybe she sent the book with us for that reason... Or maybe it has nothing to do with Aughra. Either way, I just have the feeling that we should go. I wish i had more proof, but the feeling is all I have.”

Naia agrees that they should go.

So I guess Naia isn’t going to Ha’rar after all! She may never go there at this rate, ha.

This is putting me in mind of playing a game like Skyrim and just getting way sidetracked with all the sidequests. Can���t go to the throat of the world, there’s a magic flute in a cave, you understand.

Anyway, Naia and Gurjin have come to another decision as well.

They’re going to split the party!

Dangit, I like having Gurjin around!

But Naia raises the point that if the Skeksis are going to be coming after them both for their twin goo, there’s no sense in making it easier for them by having them in the same place. She just wants Kylan’s opinion on it.

Kaylan [sic] felt touched that she sought his opinion at all, even if he hardly knew what the say after being ambushed with their bold plan.

Kylan asks where Gurjin would go and Naia says he’d go back to the Sog where he can hide with family and recover with Momdra Laesid’s super healing. And not stated but the Skeksis have pretty much never been to the Sog and probably won’t start now if they can help it.

It’s hard to traverse on foot, as Tavra found out.

Plus also, if the Skeksis are chasing after Rian, they’ll be heading to Ha’rar, pretty much the opposite direction of the Sog.

And Gurjin’s familiar enough with the Dark Wood that he can travel through it and avoid the Skeksis. Naia will even send Neech with him to help him out.

Good plan, twins!

Kinda bummed still that we’re losing Gurjin and Neech to this good plan.

For a while, I thought it was going to be a rad journey with Rian, Naia, and Kylan. Then Rian ditched and Tavra and Gurjin showed up. Now its going to be Naia, Tavra, and Kylan which is also a hilarious grouping.

The reason why they don’t want Tavra to know is that she’s going to kick up such a fuss. But if Gurjin is gone before she knows it, she’ll have to choose between chasing Gurjin or chasing Rian and Rian is going to Ha’rar where Tavra wants to go too.

“She’ll be mad we didn’t have her approval, but I think you’re right, and maybe she’ll understand once it’s done. If Gurjin can get back to Sog, then at least someone will have made contact with the Drenchen.”

Gurjin and Naia nodded in unison.

“I’ll leave tonight, when it’s my watch,” he said. He extended his hand, and Kylan took it. “It was very good to meet you, Kylan the Song Teller. I’m glad my sister met you.”

Aww!

And hey, good additional point! Gurjin can start spreading some truth treason against the Skeksis.

Great plan, twins!

Tavra returns and Kylan feels nervous having to keep all these secrets from her but feels more like its her he’s nervous about more than the lying or obfuscation. There’s something just off about her and Kylan hopes that there’s some cure in Ha’rar for what the Skeksis did to her.

*cough* spiders

Anyway.

... she sat on the far side of the fire and began weaving her damp hair into a braid. In the firelight, her single earring cast sparkles on her pale neck, and Kylan wished he could find the right words to untangle whatever caused the animosity radiating from her. If only there were a song that could touch her heart, the way one had touched Rian’s -- but not every problem could be solved with a song.

Lies.

Also, earring still making me super suspicious.

Kylan anxieties himself to sleep worrying whether the future truly is immutable and whether Tavra will arrest them for treason for letting Gurjin sneak off but is woken up by Gurjin putting a hand on his shoulder and dreamfasting with him before he sneaks away.

Until we meet again, brother Kylan. Be safe.

Awwwwwwwww! Best friends!

[purplebass]

Girl’s Night In

For @lucieblckthorn 💜

Characters: Emma Carstairs, Mina Carstairs, Kit Herondale Rating: T Type: AU. In this story Emma is Mina’s sister and Mina is only two years younger than Emma.  Prompt: “Girl’s night in?”

Emma and Mina want to have a girl’s night but Kit presents them with the possibility of having a different kind of night. Of course it backfires. 😂

“Girl’s night in?”

Mina was lost in her book when her older sister Emma interrupted her. She considered reading sacred, and she hated when anybody dared to pull her back to reality while she was focused on the pages of a book. She raised an eyebrow, almost annoyed, but also relieved. “This book I’m reading is bad anyway. What do you have in mind?”

Emma hurried towards Mina’s bed and sat down. “Slumber party?”

“Em. Aren’t we too old for that?”

“I’m not talking about the typical slumber party with mundanes. I’m talking about a slumber party with downworlders?” Emma wiggled her eyebrows and smirked.

Mina crossed her arms on her chest and puffed. “And how we’ll call the downworlders here, let me see. We can’t.”

“I have the solution to that,” somebody said from the doorway.

“Kit, you’re obviously not invited,” Emma protested.

Kit entered the room with confidence, and he had something in his hand which caught Mina and Emma’s attention. “Even if I have this?”

“What’s that? Don’t tell me you’ve stolen something from the London Institute again, Kit, or I –“ Mina began, but Kit didn’t let her finish.

“What are you gonna do, Mina? You’ll tell Jem?” Kit wondered with a mischievous expression painted on his angelic face. “I can put it back where it belongs in no time. You know I can.”

Mina shook her head with impatience. “Come on, tell us how this damn thing works,” she conceded.

Kit sauntered in front of the girls and showed them a small object that looked like an old phone, but it obviously wasn’t a phone. “This, my dear sisters, is a downworlder sensor. I found it in a golden box at the Institute. It caught my attention on the spot,” he explained with a smug grin.

“As usual,” Emma rolled her eyes, but Kit glared at her.

“Yes. But you know why I took it? Because a guy named Christopher Lightwood made it.”

“Kit, your narcissism is showing,” Emma commented. “Come on, show us how this thing works.”

“It’s not narcissism, Em. He just likes that a guy named like him made that thing, that is all,” Mina tried to intercede for Kit, but Emma was already glancing at the weird object and stopped paying attention to her younger sister.

“I think you need to push this button.”

“You think? Kit, does this thing really work?” Emma wondered, which made Kit roll his eyes. He hated when Emma couldn’t keep her mouth shut and criticized whatever he did.

Kit glared at Emma and observed the small black thing in his hands. It looked dead to him. Heck, he didn’t know about his namesake who made it, but he believed he created it several years if not a century before. He pushed the red button in the middle of the artifact and waited. They all waited for something to happen. After more than five minutes, nothing changed.

“This thing is broken, Kit. Otherwise…” Mina started again, but like a few minutes before, she was interrupted. Her room, which was painted in lilac hues, suddenly turned darker when the lights dimmed as if they were in a seedy nightclub. Then the walls started to shake, and the empty spaces filled with bodies, different bodies. Some of the people were so tall that their heads touched the ceiling, while some were dwarves most likely, because they were shorter than them. At the same time, a techno tune started blaring from invisible speakers.

“What the –“ Kit gasped, mesmerized.

Mina put her book on the nightstand and gazed at the twenty or so people who had appeared out of nowhere. She didn’t know whether to be afraid or just shocked, surprised, or to start dancing with them.

“By the angel, the music taste is horrible,” Mina commented, frowning.

“Who cares, we have our party now!” Emma said, grabbing Mina’s hand and pushing her in the middle of the crowd.

Kit followed the girls and started to dance to the music. He had to admit the song was indeed very terrible, but who cared. “There is a damn downworlder party in da house! I never thought I would say this out loud.”

Emma and Mina laughed, then they closed their eyes and tried to be transported by the thump thump of the song, as much as it sucked. They felt in another world, in another time. They felt free, careless. Emma hated parties while Mina tolerated them – when she didn’t have her head buried in a book, of course. They gave their all as they danced barefoot, not caring that they were wearing their jammies and there was a bunch of strangers in their home.

But it was short lived.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Three heads turned at the same time when their heard that voice. “Papa, we…” Mina started, but damn, she was probably unlucky that night because she couldn’t finish her sentence. Again.

Jem took the device from Kit’s hands and pushed the red button. As if they had been conjured by magic, all of the people in the room disappeared at once, leaving the three teenagers and their father in a room that looked bigger than it already was.

“So that’s how that thing worked?” Kit wondered with interest.

“Your ancestor Kit Lightwood made it,” Tessa explained. The kids hadn’t noticed she had just entered the room, since they were enraptured by the shitty music. “He created it, because…” she frowned, looking at Jem as if silently asking him something. “Because once an Iblis demon sent love letters to him and he wanted to look for him and thank him.”

Emma, Mina and Kit exchanged glances, and they couldn’t keep their serious and shocked faces on because in all honesty, the whole thing made them laugh.

“Don’t laugh. You still shouldn’t have called for downworlders. They weren’t real, but just a projection. What you saw was a random retreat of theirs,” Jem explained.

“Ah, so they weren’t actually here,” Mina realized.

“No, but there could have been somebody who could have had the sight and could have crossed the border between that illusion and this place,” Tessa told them. “You need to be careful.”

“I’m going to take this back to the Institute tomorrow,” Jem announced. “But I just want to know one thing. Who had the brilliant idea to throw a downworlder party in our household? I’m curious. It’s for science.”

The teenagers could tell that Jem wasn’t angry, he was just amused.

Emma and Mina looked at each other and they didn’t need words to understand what the other sister was thinking. “It was Kit’s fault!”

Kit glared at them as he always did, while Jem and Tessa gazed at each other and started laughing.

[sparkie96]

Rick is pregnant with Alex and he has cravings. Like SERIOUS cravings. Getting up in the middle of the night, and even waiting in front of that bakery down the street to get those scones he loves. And Jonathan and Evelyn just gotta deal with it.

(I kind of went off track and made it plotty by accident)

Had he known his cravings were going to be this bad...well, Rick still would have had Jonathan’s pup. Though, technically, Jonathan was the surrogate and the pup would be Rick’s and Evy’s. Still, the cravings Rick got were insane and kind of ridiculous. Like, he would never have thought that he would be craving scones at two in the morning, nor would he have thought that he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he got one. 

So, here Rick was, standing in the kitchen with a tall glass of milk and a scone in hand...in the dark. Cleo, the cat, meowed up at him curiously, as if wondering what one of her humans were doing up at this hour. 

Rick put a finger to his lips, shushing the snow white feline, “Don’t tell Evy or Jonathan, alright? I promised them that I would stay on a healthy diet...but I really don’t want to give up scones...they’re pretty damn good.” 

The cat merely blinked and yawned before jumping up onto one of the stools at the counter before curling up and falling asleep on it. Rick merely smiled and shook his head at the feline as he continued to munch on his late night snack. 

There was a ruckus from the front parlor, voices could be heard coming in from outside, more specifically the voice of a babbling man and a giggling female. Rick froze on the spot, not moving an inch and hoping that he was not seen, as if willing some higher power to turn him invisible. Who the hell was stumbling in at this ungodly hour of the night? He sniffed the air, his sense of smell having heightened since becoming pregnant. He smelled a familiar scent of an Alpha...almost like Jonathan. The other was unknown, a female Beta. Now that he listened closer, it sounded like Jonathan. 

“So, I says,” Jonathan began, stumbling in with an expensively dressed woman on his arm, “”Oi! Listen here, you! I’ll send you back to your Mummy, mummy!” And then, I read the book and sent that bastard back down to his sweetheart in the Underworld!” 

“You’re so brave!” The woman cooed, kissing his cheek before looking around at the large home, “And so rich!” 

Rick rolled his eyes and wrinkled his nose in disgust. Of course Jonathan got smashed at Poker Night and brought home another Beta Floozy. Rick didn’t particularly care for the company that his brother-in-law/part-time Alpha brought home, but at the same time he really couldn’t say anything. The Alpha was older than him and was a grown man, he was allowed to do whatever and whoever he wanted. 

“Oh!” The woman exclaimed as her eyes fell on Rick, Jonathan having flicked the lights to the kitchen on, “And you even have one of those Nanny Omegas carrying your young!” 

Rick gave an insulted look, but Jonathan shook his head, “No! Rick here is my little sister’s mate! And sometimes I gotta take care of him because he’s pregnant with my pup.” 

“Scandalous!” The woman gasped, looking between the two, a hand covering her mouth dramatically. 

“Ah, no. His sister and I can’t get pregnant, so he volunteered to be a surrogate.” Rick explained, “He sometimes helps out with my heats…” 

“Oh! I would love to see that!” The woman purred, eyes raking over Rick’s appearance, making the Omega shudder in disgust. 

“Well, you’ll have to use your imagination.” Rick snapped, picking up one more scone before heading upstairs. 

Although he couldn’t see them, he did feel a smile creep on to his lips as Jonathan lightly scolded the woman, saying that that was no way to talk about Rick. The woman continued on with her “Anti-Omega” ravings, saying that they were few and far in between round these parts, so surely they would be into anything. Jonathan scolded her again, telling her to have some respect for Rick. That the Omega wasn’t like that and was just like any respectable adult. 

Rick gently shut the door behind himself, Evy roused from sleep and looked up at him through squinted eyes, “What are you doing up, dear?” She asked in a quiet voice as she rolled over to face him.

Rick wiped the crumbs from his hands and lips, washing down the last bite of the last scone with the cold milk, “Uh...just...wandering.” 

She eyed the milk before looking up at him with a knowing smile, “Wandered right into the kitchen and found some scones, did you?” 

Rick gave a guilty smile as he climbed back into bed, “Yeah. It was nice and quiet until Jonathan came home with another woman.” 

Evy scoffed at that in annoyance, “For heaven’s sake! I thought he was done lying around and bringing home every bird in London. Seriously, the last one broke a priceless artifact and then stole some priceless gemstones from our last adventure. When will that pillock realize that every woman who winks his way is not looking for a sweetheart?” 

Rick listened but raised his brow at certain words, trying to remember exactly what “Bird” and “Pillock” meant. He had to repeat them back to himself in order to search his own brain for their meaning, sometimes looking to the ceiling in confusion as though the answer was there. While doing so, he did not hear Evy as she continued on with her tired ramblings. He did eventually give up and listen once more, rubbing her arm in order to coax her back to sleep. 

“Honey, relax.” Rick coaxed, “It’s just a one-night thing, and then like the others, she’ll probably be gone by morning.” 

“I know…” Evy grumbled, eyes fluttering as she fought to stay awake, “It’s just...I thought he would grow up a bit…” 

Rick chuckled as he reached over and brushed curly brown locks from her eyes, “He’s allowed to still have some fun. He’s a grown man.” 

“With a baby on ‘way!” Evy protested tiredly, “He promised to…” she yawned, “..help.” 

“How about I talk with him tomorrow?” Rick offered, “Try to knock some sense into him?” 

“You’re gonna need to hit ‘im hard…” Evy said with one final yawn before dozing off back into Dreamland. 

The sun rose as it did any other morning, though today was nicer outside than it had been yesterday. Evelyn had gotten up a little bit earlier than the sun, having received a phone call from the British Museum to discuss and plan for the latest exhibit. She still gave Rick his early morning kiss and even had breakfast with him. Before she had left, she reminded him about their conversation earlier and Rick nodded, promising to talk with Jonathan. The Omega waited until she got in the car and saw her off before seeking out Jonathan. 

To his surprise, the Alpha was up and walking around as well, Jonathan standing in the mirror and fixing his tie. Rick did a once over of the bedroom and noticed that Jonathan’s companion was nowhere to be seen. 

“Where’s that lady that was here last night?” Rick asked curiously. 

“Who?” Jonathan asked as they met eyes in the mirror, “Karen? Oh, I sent her home in a cab last night. Awfully beautiful but also awfully dreadful.” 

“What happened?” Rick asked as he sat on the side of the older man’s bed, looking up at him. 

Jonathan patted his tie and gave his reflection a nod before turning around and facing Rick with a smile. He explained that Karen’s views on Omegas were frankly unappealing and she said quite a few nasty things about same sex relations. She seemed to share the same views as the rest of “Jolly Ol’ London” about the topics, but he and Evy were not considered “normal members of boring ol’ society”. They both loved Rick very much. 

Rick’s brows raised in surprise, “And...how did your lady friend take that?” 

“She threw a temper tantrum and demanded I pay to have her taken home.” Jonathan said, “So, I did.” 

Jonathan knelt in front of Rick and took the man’s hands in his own, Rick wearing a slight blush at that. The Alpha explained that he and Evy did love and care for him very much and had been aware that Rick had felt the same. The Omega had changed their lives since he had moved in with them and he meant the world to them. 

“And I’m not gonna tolerate someone insulting one of the best men I’ve ever met.” Jonathan finished, Rick feeling touched by his words, “Now...how about you and I sneak downtown to that bakery and get you some fresh baked scones? I won’t tell Evy if you don’t.” 

Rick chuckled and nodded, nuzzling Jonathan’s forehead with his own, “Alright, let me get dressed.” ____________________________________

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[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  Breaking the Curse

Chapter 3:  Keep Your Associates Close

Right on time, just like he always did after the rent was collected, Gold's favorite associate walked into his store with a blue duffle bag in one hand.

"Brought you the rent," he muttered, setting it up on the glass case between them before taking off his sunglasses. He opened the bag to find Mr. Gold's favorite thing in the world. Money. Heaps of it. There was a small pouch for the personal checks, just like always, but for the most part, it was cash; bills that he knew his associate had spent the night already counting and bundling in exact amounts, neatly for him. On top was a piece of paper with names, amounts, checks, and various sums on it. He smiled as he looked at it. He was going to enjoy ruling Regina's world.

"Thank you, Mr. Dove," he grinned, finally looking up into a face he hadn't seen properly in decades.

Remy Dove…not Pirithous. Not the son of Theseus and Mary, heir to their Kingdom, no, not here. Here he was the son of Theodore and Maria. And here Theodore and Maria were not King and Queen but rather retired, living in a high-end retirement home free of charge, because of their son's connection to him. He allowed it for this very reason. Whether he was Pirithous, shapeshifter, or Remy Dove, well-muscled intimidator, he served his purposes. And that deal he'd made with Theseus all those years ago, it had secured him the loyalty that he couldn't easily acquire, loyalty he was going to need as he continued in his journey here in Storybrooke. Of course, here, that loyalty came with a price that he was always happy to pay.

Before he zipped the bag up, he reached inside and removed a bundle of money he knew would contain $2000. He knew it would contain exactly that because it if didn't, Mr. Dove knew that he'd come and find him, probably with one of Dove's equally large, easily bought cousins. Dove's loyalty could be bought cheap, his own, on the other hand, that was priceless.

"For your continued loyalty," he smiled, handing it over to his associate.

"Until the end," he commented, taking it. "Here for anything you need, Mr. Gold."

"Indeed," he muttered. Now that he thought about it, he rather preferred Dove to Pirithous. He was less curious and mouthy and far more compliant than his counter-part. "Were there any issues this month?"

"Nope. Had a few that didn't want to pay…I convinced them it was in the best interests of their health."

Ah. There were always a few who complained. Mr. Gold, much like himself in the Enchanted Forest, never really cared for their excuses. He left Dove to deal with it as he saw fit. If they didn't want to complain but had the money, he tended to "remind them of their health," if they truly couldn't pay, then Dove heard their sad stories and brought the summarized version back to him, where he offered them deals they often couldn't refuse.

The Curse suddenly left him breathless as he realized just how much like himself Mr. Gold was. It was a masterpiece, truly it was. The Curse had changed a lot, but it appeared there was more that stayed the same. He was Mr. Gold. And he was Rumpelstiltskin. He was both—a clever way to think of it and a smart thing to remember given his current situation.

"Very good. I'll do the books and have it ready for you to pick up tomorrow to take to the bank. I'll give you the other half of your pay when the job is done."

"As always, Sir."

As always. That was the routine. He needed to stick to his routine. His. Not Gold's, but his. Rumpelstiltskin Gold, he could be that person.

"Anything else for me?"

Dove smiled and leaned against the glass count. "Have you heard of the new girl in town?"

"I have, actually, but funny you should mention it. Out of curiosity, what have you heard?"

Dove shrugged. "Scarlet says she's staying at Granny's. I hear she rented a room for a week. Word on the street is that she's the biological mother of Mayor Mills' son. You helped her with that, can you confirm?"

Scarlet…Will Scarlet, one of the town hooligans that Dove had a tendency to hang around with in his time off. He always had money, but as far as he knew, he didn't have a job other than helping Granny out at the diner on occasion. Everyone in town seemed to know that he was engaged in less than legal activity though he never seemed to be arrested. Not that it mattered to him, the man paid his rent on time, and he'd never asked him for legal advice, so he had nothing against the boy. And what Dove did on his own time was his own business. He wasn't his father, and nor was he Scarlet's. But Dove, keeping his eyes and ears open for important information he might profit from, and Scarlet, who was apparently an observant man, often had information that Dove could pass along. Like him or not, the situation worked for him. If only he knew who the hell the man was in their realm, he might feel a bit better about trusting. But, he supposed, that so long as Scarlet had no memories of his former life, then he was only who he was now. An insignificant detail in his associate's life.

As to the rest of what Dove had said, what he was asking now…he couldn't give away all his secrets that easily.

"I served as her lawyer Mr. Dove, which makes that information confidential. It would be clumsy of me to confirm it."

"But you can't deny it," he raised his eyebrows in interest.

"Couldn't say one way or another," he shrugged, purposefully leaving him to draw the proper conclusion. "What else do you hear on the matter?"

"Just that the girl is worried about the boy. He ran away to Boston, and now she wants to make sure he's 'okay' or something like that. I suppose she thinks that she can do that in one week."

"How optimistic."

"Yeah. Mayor is on edge, though. She wants the girl gone."

He paused and took a breath. There was at least one thing he wanted to hear. "'On edge,' you say? How so?"

"You know that apple tree the Mayor keeps at her offices? Supposedly the new girl took a chain saw to it a bit ago."

"Supposedly?"

"Haven't seen it personally. I just hear things."

Yes. And there was the problem with no magic in this world. Dove didn't know it, but he'd once been the perfect spy. The mind of a human in the body of a dove, he'd easily been able to insert himself into almost any situation inconspicuously and deliver to him report after report of accurate firsthand knowledge. He'd seen and heard everything.

But now, here he was. Grounded. He was "dove" only in name in this place. He could no longer hide out amid branches and spy has he once had. He was limited to what he heard from friends for news, and his ability to be somewhere and watch was minimal compared to what it had been. But still, with his notoriety around town, not to mention his ankle, Dove could at least get some of it done better than he could. He'd have to live with that for now.

"Before you go, there is one last thing I'd like to discuss. It's a small job in addition to your current duties but obviously comes with an appropriate pay increase as long as I'm kept happy."

"Always happy to help in any way I can, Sir."

Of course, he was. He just didn't know why.

"I want you to keep an eye on the girl. Keep your ears open where she is concerned, keep me in the loop with anything you should hear or see regarding her."

"You smelling something fishy, Boss?"

"My reasons are my own. You know better than to ask questions like that."

Dove shrugged in agreement and took a step away from the counter. "Consider it done. I'll be in touch with your requested information, and I'll be back tomorrow to take your payment to the bank."

"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Dove. As always."

"Same to you," he waved before slipping his glasses back on and heading out the door.

He smiled as he took a look around the empty shop, at all the artifacts he'd spent his time gathering and collecting and sorting through. This shop was his treasure trove. It was filled with assets that would help him break this Curse and get back to Baelfire. But while he was taking stock of those assets, he'd be a fool not to consider Dove one of the greatest.

[tim-stonker]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, mentioned Georgie Barker/Melanie King Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Elias Bouchard, Melanie King, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, mentioned Basira Hussain, im sorry queen it was a 5+1 and u were number 6 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, more like AU elias isnt a bitch, 5 Times, Mutual Pining, implied Nonbinar Jonathan Sims, he's gnc, Getting Together, Comfort No Hurt, bc we need that, Just Pals Being Soft, dimples as a plot point Summary:

5 times people didn't see jon's smile plus the 1 time someone did

i wrote some gay shit about jon smiling and it became this. whole thing is under the cut, check it out on ao3 if u wanna !

-5

Jonathan Sims was an unexpected candidate for the position of Archivist, following Gertrude Robinson’s rather abrupt retirement (Elias still wasn’t sure if she was actually telling the truth when she said she wanted to spend more time travelling with her grandson. He didn’t even know if she actually had a grandson.) When word got out that there was an opening for head archivist, it surprised both Elias and Jon’s manager when he put his application into the pool. While Jon wasn’t the highest position in Research, he wasn’t at the lowest tier either, and everyone knew that being Head Archivist was much like being the mayor of a ghost town. Sure, you had a fancy title, but not much else. The Archives were in the basement, they were cold and dusty, and typically, if a budget needed to be cut, it was the Archives that took the brunt of the slashes. But, Jon was organized, faked his confidence well enough, was willing to put in the work, and, if Elias was being honest with himself, there wasn’t exactly a queue out the door to take over the vacancy that Gertrude left. 

The interview went well enough, though Jon was clearly filled with nervous excitement. He kept reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ear - it was too short to stay in place, but much too long to not be a bother. His voice almost echoed in Elias’ office, strong and precise, even when he struggled with some questions that Elias asked about his strengths and weaknesses. Elias appreciated the way that Jon carried himself, the slight aura of grandeur and pride that he seemed to give off, contrasting starkly with his awkward attempts at being personable. 

Though Elias told Jon that he’ll be in touch within a few days to inform him whether or not he’ll be transferred to the Archives, he’s already certain that there’s no better candidate, and, if nothing else, he loathes having new hires from outside the Institute. He can overlook a few missing qualifications if it means he can cut down on the number of interviews he has to conduct. 

Elias waited a few more days, finished up more interviews, and found his suspicions were correct. Jon - despite the roughness around his edges, and his lack of a library sciences degree (an aspect that makes Rosie raise her eyebrows at Elias when he mentions it) - is the best fit for the archives that Elias has. He calls Jon into his office again, watching as Jon delicately maneuvers into the chair on the other side of Elias’s desk, fingers picking at the sleeves of his cardigan.

“I’m happy to tell you, Jonathan, that after much consideration, that you have been promoted to Head Archivist. Your transfer from the Research department will be put through promptly, and - unless you have any objections - you can begin your new role as soon as next Monday. Congratulations.”

As Elias spoke, he watched as Jon’s eyes widened, eyebrows raise, as the tension melted out of his shoulders. The corners of his lips seemed to flicker, wanting to curl upwards, but not quite able to.

“I, oh, wow. Thank you, Elias. I, uh, I’m really excited to be working in the Archives.” Jon stammered out. His voice had less of the confident bravado that it had during his interview, and while that would usually make Elias reconsider his choice, the fact that all of Jon’s nervous ticks seemed to have disappeared sated his concern.  

Elias nodded, hummed, and launched into the less fun aspect of promotion, namely discussion of new contracts, pay raises, the fact that Jon would be able to ask some of his co-workers to become his assistants, but any vacancies will be filled at Elias’s discretion. Jon nodded along and asked the appropriate questions at the right time.

Perhaps he’s just bad at expressing emotions, Elias thought, though the thought is both fleeting and insignificant. It gets pushed out of the way, quickly, and is discarded, not to be thought again. 

When the meeting was over, Elias stood up to show Jon to the door. Just before Jon left, Elias stuck his hand out, and once again said, “Congratulations, Jon.”

Jon looked startled for a second, before reaching out and giving Elias a hearty handshake.

“Thank you, Elias, really,” Jon replied. While saying that, the corner of his mouth twitched once again, and for a moment, Jon’s face began to break out into a smile. Eyes excited and bright, before he schooled his expression back into one of vaguely happy neutrality. 

Elias released Jon’s hand, and when his office was once again empty of everyone except himself, he briefly wondered why anyone cares enough about smiling to prevent themselves from doing it.

Like most intrapersonal thoughts, though, Elias waved it away, going back to his own work, just glad that he didn’t have to get Rosie to put up any more job listings on Linkedin. 

-4

Tim was surprised when Jon approached him with the job offer. Sure, he and Jon had worked together for a few years and Jon frequently complimented Tim on his work and whenever Jon actually showed up to work get-togethers, he seemed to awkwardly stick to Tim’s side like glue until the event was done. But Jon always declined Tim’s invites to non-work social gatherings, and sometimes it was hard to tell if the snark in Jon’s voice came from malice or…. Something else. 

Tim had chalked all that up to awkwardness or to Jon’s work ethic, but for some reason, he never thought that Jon actually considered Tim to be a friend, even though he did tentatively think of Jon as one. So it was rather shocking when Jon marched up to him, a small stack of papers in his hands at the end of the workday, and announced, 

“I’ve been promoted to Head Archivist.”

“Oh, well, congrats, Jon,” Tim said, smiling. He clapped Jon on the shoulder. “Yeah, I heard you put your application in.” Tim didn’t mention that he heard because some of their co-workers were making jokes about hoping to see the last of Jon, with his insane work ethic and snappish remarks. 

Jon nodded. “I’m also allowed to pick my own assistants since many of Gertrude’s have quit or been reassigned since her absence.”

“That’s cool.”

“I was wondering if you would like to join me in the Archives, Tim.”

“Oh,” Tim said, eyes widening. Jon looked straight at him, unflinching, though his hands were curled into tight balls at his sides. This was certainly unexpected. 

“I think we work well together. You do really good work, and while I’m not exactly sure what… extra work transferring to the archives will entail, I’m that your presence will be beneficial.” Finally, Jon broke Tim’s gaze. “Also, I… quite enjoy your company.”

“Wow, well, thank you, Jon,” Tim managed to stammer out. He looked at Jon’s now sheepish expression and how his cheeks had taken on a slightly red tinge from the honesty. “Uh, can I… think about it? For a few days? It’s just… kind of a big change.”

“Oh, of course, Tim,” Jon nodded earnestly, passing Tim the stack of papers, which Tim now saw as a would-be employment contract, with different sections highlighted, presumably the parts that Jon thought Tim would find important. Jon made like he was about to turn to leave before he paused and said, “Also I. I won’t be offended if you decide to stay put.”

“Oh, I know,” Tim said, even though he wasn’t sure why he knew. Jon nodded again.

“Well, see you tomorrow.” And with that and a brief wave, Jon walked away, leaving Tim to stare at the employment papers and to think about what to do. And Tim did consider it. He had a pretty good thing going on in the Research department. He was well-liked, and many of his managers said that he could probably get promoted to a higher position with a better salary in a few years, and though the entry position of archival assistant was better paying than his current gig, Tim knew he was never going to get promoted from that role. 

Tim had friends in Research, but he also had friends in artifacts, and finance, and HR. The more he thought about it, it wasn’t like his work-social life would end if he went to the basement. And, as much as his co-workers liked to poke fun at Jon, Tim did genuinely enjoy his company. He liked his wit, and snark, and the way he tried to play off his awkwardness and usually failed. And despite his somewhat clumsy attempts at socializing, anytime Tim talked about his life outside of work, Jon listened, made jokes, and was friendly. 

Jon was also quite easy on the eyes, in his own strange way. 

Tim found it wasn’t really much of a hard decision after all. So when he walked into work the next day and tossed the signed contract on Jon’s desk, all he said was, “It better not be as dusty as everyone says it is.” 

Before walking off to his own desk to finish up his own projects, for a moment he thought he saw Jon duck his head to smile. But when he looked back, Jon was just holding the contract, and though his eyes were happy, his face was straight. 

-3

Sasha enjoyed her work as an archival assistant, despite all the dust, and Jon’s moodiness, and the strange errands that the statements sent everyone on. It was an unorthodox job, cleaning up the decades of bizarre filing that Gertrude left, hunting down follow-ups from people who were clearly drunk, sick, or delirious at the time that these ‘occurrences’, well, occurred. 

She certainly enjoyed her co-workers, basement dwellers that they were. While archives and research had many employees and had been on floors where different departments mingled, the four of them - Tim, Sasha, Martin, and Jon - were stuck down in the cool basement, surrounded by files, and books, and old foundation. While she had been on amicable terms with Tim before, the forced proximity brought them much closer, and she was happy to meet and befriend Martin. Pretty quickly the three of them began to go out for drinks after work, plan dinners, and movie nights, and get-togethers on weekends. They sometimes invited Jon, but the answer was also unanimously no.

Still, despite Jon’s rebuffs at having a social life, Sasha always felt like her relationship with him was… different than the others. While Tim and Jon had prior acquaintanceship, Sasha only briefly knew Jon in research; and Jon was either oblivious or blatantly ignoring Martin’s crush on him, rebuffing his attempts of flirting and courtship with harsh words and mumbled, unfocused ‘thank yous’ when Martin brought him tea. 

It surprised her how highly Jon thought of her, and how well they got on. 

“Here’s that statement you were after,” Sasha said, after knocking on Jon’s office door. Jon turned in his chair to face her, hand outreached to take the folder when she got close enough.

“Thank you, Sasha,” Jon said, as he grasped the folder. Sasha nodded and was about to let go when she glanced down and saw Jon’s hand.

“Is that nail polish?” She asked suddenly, voice coming out more accusatory than she intended. Jon snatched the folder away from her, curling his fingers into his palms as soon as the paper hit the desk surface. He still wore his face of neutrality, but his jaw was tense. Sasha was surprised at how defensive, and how quickly, Jon reacted to the question, but immediately saw she needed to remedy it. She quickly added, “It looks nice.”

As soon as the compliment was said, Jon seemed to relax a bit. His jaw unclenched and slowly he unfurled his fingers. His nails were a simple black, though it was a messy job and they were already chipping. 

“Oh, thank you.” He said softly.

“Did you do them yourself?” Sasha asked, even though she couldn’t imagine Jon asking for help to do his nails.

“Yes, er. As a child, I always wanted to paint my nails but I couldn’t, so.” He held up his hands, wiggling his fingers. “They’re not very good, are they?”

Sasha shrugged. “Pretty good for a first time, though. Next time you’ll want to push your cuticles back first, and you should probably get a varnish too. It’ll stop them from chipping so much.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you, Sasha,” Jon said, clearly not expecting advice. Sasha gave one last nod, and a, “No problem.” before leaving Jon’s office. 

After that - or maybe Sasha just noticed it more afterwards - Jon seemed to come to work ‘prettied up’ more often. He seemed to listen to her nail advice, and while he often sported plain, black nails - sans chipping, thanks to the nice clear coat he put on - a few times he came into work with blue, or red, or green nails. While Martin and Tim always complimented them, if they noticed, Jon began going up to Sasha to show her every fresh set. Often it would be a week or two between appearances; Jon seemed to just let the previous coat chip off completely before repainting them, approaching Sasha with his hands curled in a way so that he could view his own nails before showing them off to her. Sasha always made sure that she seemed excited to see them, even if they weren’t always that good. The way that Jon seemed to loosen after every compliment, the way his face would soften just a tad made it worth it. 

Soon it became their little routine, even as Jon’s habits changed. While it started with nails, soon Jon would awkwardly approach her to show off the fancy braid he just learned how to do with his growing hair. Often, they were messy and uneven, large strands falling out of the cheap hair ties, but Sasha would say it was nice, before offering to fix it for him. Jon always declined, disappearing into his office and coming out later, braid abandoned and hair in its usual neat bun, but Sasha always offered. For a while, Jon had taken to looking at the clothes Sasha came to work in, awkwardly complimenting her on whatever coat or blouse or shoes she had worn. It took Sasha a few times to realize what he was saying - or at least thinking. 

“I like your skirt,” Jon mumbled one day, as he and Sasha walked into the archives. “It’s very pretty.”

Sasha hummed, looking down at it. It wasn’t anything fantastic, just a black a-line skirt with a vaguely plaid pattern, long enough to be work-appropriate without annoying her. She mostly wore it because the growing pile of dirty laundry in her flat left her few other options. 

“Thank you, Jon,” she replied, before pursing her lips. “You know, I think you would look quite nice in a skirt.”

A bold move, Sasha knew, but after Jon sputtered for a moment, he managed to choke out, “You… you do?”

“Oh, yes. You got nice, slender legs, and if one a little longer it would just add to the frumpy librarian look quite nicely.” Sasha laughed a little, unable to resist the urge to tease a little. Jon gave a polite chuckle and nodded. 

They repeated this process a few more times, over a few weeks. Jon would give Sasha a sincere, if not a bit bumbling compliment on her wardrobe or appearance (often for items Sasha did not care for that much) and after thanking him, she would flip it around and say, “I think this lipgloss colour would suit you better than me” or " a blouse like this would make your collarbones look good” or even being as bold as saying “You should get a dress like it, then we can match.” 

Jon would brush the comments off with a laugh or a denial, but Sasha could see the wheels in his head-turning, the way he would occasionally look at whatever pair of pants he was wearing that day and frown. 

Eventually, Sasha’s hard and not-so-subtle work paid off when she saw Jon shuffle into the archives, not in his usual attire of plain cardigan and button-up, tucked into a pair of boring pants, but with a new look: a cardigan and plain button-up tucked into a shockingly boring skirt. It suited him, though; the long grey fabric skimming his ankles, the way it would flow behind and the way his feet would kick it in front. Jon’s fingers seemed to be absent-mindedly twisting themselves into the fabric, as he made his way towards his office.

Sasha was right; Jon did rock the frumpy librarian look.

“Good morning, Jon,” Sasha greeted, cheerfully. Jon looked up.

“Morning, Sasha.”

“New wardrobe?” She asked, nodding at his outfit. Jon seemed to falter a little, standing still, waiting for her assessment. “I like it! Really suits you.”

And while that was a bit of a lie - Sasha found it to be a bit boring, and she would never have even considered buying herself, though it did quite Jon wonderfully - Sasha couldn’t bring herself to feel the least bit bad, when she heard Jon mutter a soft, “Thank you,” before hurrying to his office. For a split second, Sasha would have sworn that his lips were pulled into a smile, thought for a moment she saw a flash of his teeth, but he was opening and closing his office door before she could confirm.

-2

Despite all her grumbling, thrown insults, and jabs, Melanie didn’t actually dislike Jon. Well, no, she did dislike him, immensely. He’s smug, and rude, and has a know-it-all attitude, and he absolutely did not take her show seriously. But, behind all of that, he respected her abilities and her competence, if not the way that she uses it. She thought of it like she wouldn’t want anything to hurt Jon unless it was her giving him a good slap around the head. 

Still, when she ended up hanging around the Archives more - and shockingly, no one, not even Jon, tried to stop her - after her show fell apart and took most of her professional network with it, she’s surprised how much common ground she shares with Jon. At first, they needed someone else in the room with them, to grease the wheels of conversation - either Sasha siding with Melanie every once in a while, or a well-timed joke from Tim, or Martin’s placating tone - but every time they found themselves able to stand each other without any assistance, even starting their own conversation. Without her show, with its staged dramatics and clickbait titles to feed Jon’s antagonisms, they find that they have similar opinions and histories with the supernatural. 

“Most statements and stories are completely false,” Jon had repeated many times. But soon he began to add, “But the ones that are real are… deeply concerning, and hard to come by.”

More than a few times Jon had caught Melanie digging through filing cabinets, looking for a statement with a shred of truth in it, anything to follow up or make a story out of. After the third time that Jon threw open the door to the filing room and nearly gave himself a heart attack when the light illuminated Melanie’s hunch over figure, reading through a pile of folders that she most certainly was not going to put away properly, Jon sighed and asked, “Why don’t I just give you some statements that seem real.”

Melanie looked up from the file in her hand that she was about to discard. “You’d do that? Isn’t that against ‘policy’ or something.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “I’m sure it’s no more breaking rules than allowing you in here in the first place.” He eyed the pile of statements on the floor, the open drawer with crumbled papers shoved in. “Besides, I’m tired of having to spend an entire day refiling after you pop in.”

And so, Jon started keeping track of statements he believes. First on sticky notes, then on looseleaf paper, and eventually in a notebook so that Melanie can keep track as she goes along, Jon wrote down the name and case number of what he believes are credible cases, and Melanie dug them out of their dusty tombs. Even if she didn’t put them away - which she rarely did, can’t go making Jon’s life too easy, she thought with a grin - it was clear that he appreciated knowing exactly where they came from. She still browsed around, skimming through statements that Jon doesn’t believe, but she puts those ones back where she finds them if they weren't worth her time. 

Their strange friendship continued like that for a few months. They steered clear of personal topics, even, no, especially,  as Melanie began going on dates with Georgie. Occasionally, a personal detail would slip in; Jon mentioned that he hates denim skirts after telling Melanie about a statement that, for some reason, explicitly mentions them (“And what makes you an expert on what women should wear?” Melanie asked, annoyance clear in her. 

Jon furrowed his eyebrows. “What? No, I’m talking about me. I hate wearing denim skirts.”

“Oh,” Melanie says, the wind coming out of her sails. “Uh, me too.”). At one point Melanie mentioned that she loves artificial blue raspberry, which made Jon scrunch his nose in disgust. Before they knew it, Melanie and Jon knew about the other’s thoughts on movies, books, fashion, the weather, politics, animals, food, and whether or not Rosie is dating that one woman from HR.

It was a slow and gradual shift, one that caught both of them off guard. But neither was anxious to prevent it and really, Melanie was kind of interested to see where it would go. It’s with that thought in mind, seeing how this will go, that she throws a folder onto Jon’s desk. He hadn’t looked up when she knocked and entered without waiting, but with the manila folder obscuring whatever paperwork he was doing, he sighs and lifts his head. 

“Yes, Melanie?”

“This statement was misfiled,” Melanie said, glee and gloating oozing out of her voice. She cackled when she saw Jon scowl, arms crossing automatically. He glanced down at the casefile.

“It most certainly was not,” Jon huffed, picking it up. He doesn’t even mention how it wasn’t a file he gave her, so keen to prove her wrong. “It was filed by year, 2006, subsection ‘non-human creature’, subsection ‘false’ and-”

“Exactly,” Melanie interrupted. “It’s not fake.”

“What do you mean it’s not fake.” Jon narrowed his eyes. “It’s about a bloody sea monster!”

“A sea monster which is described in another statement from 1984,” Melanie threw another folder onto his desk, which Jon hadn’t noticed in her hand in his haste to disagree, “And, one that causes damage similar to this accident report,” Melanie unlocked her phone and shoved it into Jon’s face. His eyes crossed and squinted as he tried to read the news article on the screen. “Which, by the way, all occur in the same region of the Barents Sea.”

Jon lifted his eyes from the phone screen, still slightly glaring at Melanie. He looked away after a second, raising a hand to scratch the side of his face.

“Well, then, I guess we will have to look into it some more,” his voice was different than what Melanie was used to. Behind the movement of his hand, Melanie thought she saw some falses of teeth and saw a slight twinkle in his eye. He quickly dropped his face, expression and voice back to normal, “But, this is not permission for you to go back to rummaging through my files!”

Melanie grinned wolfishly, putting a hand on her hip. The gentle voice and expression were already leaving her mind. “Like I ever needed your permission, Jon.”

-1

It was almost surprising how well Daisy got on with Jon. She supposed it was because they were both a bit quieter than the people around them, got a bit more drained from human interaction than others, a bit more like old souls. Only, Daisy was more of an ‘old soul’ because the thought of all the therapy she had to go through years ago still made her tired and because she was literally about fifteen years older than everyone else in the Archives. 

“Why is it that your joints hurt more than mine even though you’re a baby?” Daisy asked, after finding Jon laying on the floor of his office, hair and dress fanned out on the floor. When she had questioned his state, he just mumbled, “m’back hurts.”

Calling him a baby made him grumble more. “I’m not a baby, I am a grown man-”

“More like an old man.” Daisy joked, sitting down cross-legged by his head. “Seriously, you’re too young to be aching this much.”

Jon shrugged, shirt rustling against the carpet. “I’ve always ached. I guess having a desk job just made it worse.”

Daisy nodded. She couldn’t really relate; all her old aches hadn’t been physical, and before the archives all her jobs involved in a lot of moving - whether it was fast food as a teenager, or retail as a young adult, and then the police. 

“You should go to a chiropractor, get a massage.” She suggested.

“Chiropractor and masseuse are two different professions.”

“Piss off, you know what I’m saying.” Jon rolled his eyes and squirmed a bit on the floor. 

“I don’t like the thought of someone… massaging me.”

“It feels really good,” Daisy replies, thinking back to the few massages she had gotten in her life. “And chiropractors don’t really massage, they just snap your joints back into place and then give you weird exercises to do.”

Jon shrugged again and didn’t say anything. Daisy wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t have anything to say, or if his previous movement made something along his spine twinge. After a minute of silence, with Jon’s face occasionally morphing from boredom to discomfort, Daisy got an idea. 

“Stand up,” she said, getting to her feet herself. Jon looked up, startled.

“Why?”

“Just do it,” Daisy stuck her hand out for Jon to take. With a little effort, Jon sat up, groaning a little, before taking her stand to stand. As soon as he was upright, Daisy reached down to hold Jon from under his armpits.

“Uh, Daisy, what are you doing?” Jon asked, arms sticking straight out, stiff, as Daisy brought his body closer to her.

“I’m going to reset your back,” Daisy said, as Jon’s face squished against her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ve done this a few times, it usually helps.”

Jon mumbled something, before yelping when Daisy stood closer to her full height and he was lifted a few inches off the ground. Jon’s arms instinctually went around Daisy’s shoulders, even though she was fully supporting his weight. 

“Okay, you gotta relax your body, untense your muscles- Jon that is the opposite of untensing. There you go, okay, you’re going to hear a crack,” She said, before squeezing Jon into her body, forearms pressed across different parts of his back. There was a loud crack as she felt Jon tighten his arms around her and give a little yell into her shoulder. 

She loosened her grip, but still held him close for a second, just in case. She felt his mouth move against her shirt, and at first, she thought he was mumbling something, but then the movement ceased for a few seconds. Another small movement, and then no motion once again. Finally, she lowered Jon to the floor and released him. He stood, and quickly went to smoothing out his shirt.

“How’d that feel?” Daisy asks, noticing how he wasn’t automatically going back to lie on the ground. Jon stilled for a second, before saying,

“It feels a lot better. Thank you, Daisy.”

+1

Martin knew he wasn’t subtle, at least not when it came to Jon. He knew practically anyone who came down to the Archives could tell he had a crush, knew that his attempts to coddle, and talk to, and make Jon proud were just about as sly as painting a banner that said: “I WANT TO DATE JONATHAN SIMS.”

He almost couldn’t help it. Sure, he had gotten a bit better at not letting Jon treat him like a doormat over the years - sometimes Jon even seemed pleasantly surprised when Martin told him off for being mean - but there was still an undeniable urge to be gentle with him, to treat him kindly, to make him smile. 

Not that anyone had any recollection of Jon smiling - hell, Tim even made a few jokes that Jon was probably in a terrible accident as a smile and ‘broke his smile muscles, but left his annoying muscles intact’. It wasn’t very funny, but Martin and Sasha still laughed. 

Still, in some masochistic kind of way, Martin enjoyed this prolonged courtship. And even though his friends were sure that nothing was advancing, that Martin was still being a pining fool (which wasn’t an inaccurate description) and Jon was still being an unrequiting idiot, Martin was sure that he was making progress. Jon and he were having more… moments. More times where they would make eye contact and Jon’s face would soften, more conversations where Jon would ramble off-topic, at ease and relaxed, before remembering himself and Martin and roping him back into the conversation. There would be times where Martin would pass Jon a cup of tea, mug angled so that Jon could easily grab the handle, and yet Jon would take the mug in such a way that their fingers would brush. Sometimes they even lingered there, the heat of ceramic burning his hand, almost unnoticeable in comparison to the heat of his face as Jon glanced at him through his eyelashes, saying, “Thank you, Martin.”

Maybe it was just because no one else was privy to these moments, or maybe Martin really was just a yearning fool, desperately grasping at anything that suggested Jon returned his affection, but no one else seemed to understand these moments or take them seriously. 

“Your crush is getting out of control,” Tim said one day, after watching Martin bring Jon tea in a mug covered in hearts. “Like, legally speaking, I think it’s too much.”

Martin rolled his eyes. Jon had stared at the mug for a few seconds before taking it, and even though it was still piping hot, much too warm to comfortably drink, he took a sip as soon as it was in his grasp. “This is lovely, Martin. Thank you.”

“Leave it alone, Tim, it’s fine,” Martin replied, going back to sit at his desk. 

“No, it is getting a bit ridiculous,” Sasha agreed. “I mean, how long have you been after him? Like, I love Jon, trust me, but he’s either oblivious or ignoring your, uh, flirting attempts.”

“He’s not ignoring them.”

“So he’s just oblivious?”

“I don’t think so.” Sasha and Tim looked at him strangely. He sighed. “Look, things are fine, okay? It’s fine, just let me… do my thing.”

“Fine, we will ‘let you do your thing’ but, for the record, you probably could have gotten with at least three people in the time that you’ve been lusting after Jon,” Tim said, earning a laugh from Sasha. 

But it was fine, whatever he and Jon had. It was certainly more than what he had been getting before, and even though he wanted more - chest aching at the sight of a frazzled or tired Jon, feeling the need to brush his hair out of his face, to press tender kisses to his eyelids, the near unbearably desire to just hold him, and care for him - Martin wasn’t unhappy. And somehow he knew Jon wasn’t either. 

Sometimes Jon even sought Martin out, intentionally leaving his stuffy office only to walk over to Martin's desk and chat with him for a few minutes before returning. Often he would have to return a minute later, muttering about leaving a pen or a pencil or a hair tie. (One time, as Jon turned around to leave, Martin saw the pen on the edge of his desk, and said, “You left your pen.”

Jon had turned around, looking almost disappointed. “Oh. Yes, thank you, Martin.”

He collected his pen and returned to his office. Martin didn’t see him until he said goodbye for the night. The next time he saw Jon dropping something at his desk, he didn’t mention it.)

When Jon actually remembered to eat lunch now, he would only come out to eat if Martin hadn’t eaten already, as he had taken to sitting either across or directly next to him during meal times. If Jon was sitting next to him - usually because Melanie or Basira were sitting across the shifty breakroom table - Martin could feel Jon gently, almost shyly, pressing his knee against Martin’s leg. Jon’s face was always blank, but if Martin made any move to shift away, Jon’s head would snap towards him until contact was either completely broken or restored. 

Of course, there wasn’t an easy way to explain this to anyone else. How could Martin have possibly hoped to quantify glances, and touches, and the new intonations when Jon said ‘Martin’, the name now completely different than what Jon used to call him, despite no letters changing. How to explain it when no one else seemed to notice the magnitude of these changes if they noticed the changes at all?

So Martin rolled his eyes and made jokes with the others as they teased and prodded him about his ‘crush that was going nowhere on the boss’, and hoped, like so many times before, that Jon couldn’t hear them through his office door.

As pathetic as it sounded, Martin was prepared to play the long game, to continue this dance he and Jon had begun as long as it took, to tolerate the unbearable loneliness that crept up on him at home so long as he got to see Jon at work, to keep bringing him tea every day until, well, until something happened, or until one of them left the archives. Martin had made peace with that fact, though he loathed to admit it, even to himself. 

And then, Jon asked for his help one day. 

“Can you stay late with me this evening? I need some assistance looking into a statement.” Jon had been formal, professional when he asked. 

“Of course,” Martin said, if not because any time spent with Jon was a good time (usually, not even Martin was in deep enough to enjoy some of Jon’s moods), then because he did take his job seriously. “Anything you need.”

“I can stay behind too if you need extra help,” Basira offered, turning to look at Jon.

Jon nodded at her. “Thank you for offering, but I’ll only be needing Martin.”

And he has to admit, hearing that did bring warmth to his face and to his chest.

The help that Jon needed was minimal. Some of it was just reaching a file of a self that was too high since the stepladder that he used to use had broken, and Martin knew that Jon had too much pride to ask for help reaching something when everyone was in. Otherwise, all he needed assistance with was looking over a few files to see if a name popped up in all of them. All in all, it only took about half an hour, including the time it took to re-sort the files and put the relevant ones on Jon’s desk. 

As Martin was preparing to leave, Jon approached him one more time, also clad in his winter coat and bulky scarf tucked under his chin. He stood in front of Martin, looking intently. Martin waited for, well, something. Jon took a deep breath.

“Would- Are you- Do,” Jon scowled at himself, took another breath and reached up to tug his scarf lower again so that more of his face was visible. “Martin, would you like to go out to eat with me?”

“Yeah, of course,” Martin replied, cheeks reddening slightly. Jon paused for a moment.

“I mean this as a date.”

Martin looked at Jon, bundled in his winter wear, hair slightly tangled, fumbling over asking Martin out!

“I knew that’s what you meant,” Martin said with a smile. He looked down at Jon’s hands, clenched tightly into themselves. He reached a hand out and carefully brushed a finger along the knuckles of on. “Of course, I would like to go on a date with you.”

And when he looked up, he saw Jon smiling, and it felt like seeing the stars for the first time. Jon always said he looked much older than he was, which Martin was inclined to agree, but when he smiled, he looked more his age. The tiredness and stress that plagued his expressions disappeared under the glow of his grin, eyes crinkled, and. Dimples. 

Jon had dimples, nestled in between his smile lines, a secret that Martin knew he was now the only one in the Institute besides Jon who knew they existed. 

“You have dimples,” Martin said, a smile creeping onto his own face. “They’re cute.”

Jon sputtered a, “No they’re not!” and Martin could see he was trying to return his face to its usually impassive expression, but it seemed that every time he got close, his grin would break through. Eventually, Jon tugged his scarf up to cover his mouth, but Martin still saw his eyes crinkled, somehow still felt Jon smiling through the layers.

“They’re cute,” Martin repeated, wanting to pull Jon’s scarf down again. This want was different than what he usually felt, a desire not tinged with sadness or loss. Maybe it was presumptuous, but Martin knew that this urge would be met. Maybe not now, but soon. 

And Martin thought about Jon’s smile, even when he asked, voice muffled behind the layers of wool, where Martin wanted to go to eat, and would Martin like to walk, transit or take a cab there, and, and and.

Martin thought about Jon’s smile, knowing he was one of the few people to see it, knowing that he would get to see it again

[renegade-skywalker]

Out of the Abyss, Chapter 20

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2  / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17 / Chapter 18 / Chapter 19 / Chapter 20: Sole Survivor

After years in exile, ex-Jedi General, Eden Valen (now going by Vale) continues to clean up after Revan and Malak’s mess of a war, only to find herself forever cursed with their unfinished business. As an ill-fated lead brings her to Tatooine, Eden finds that Revan’s mysterious plans go beyond the Republic, beyond the Outer Rim, and into the utter unknown. (A novelization of The Sith Lords and beyond)

Chapter Summary: Atton returns to a changed Peragus, fearing now for his life as well as his record, and Brianna catches Atris up to the Exile's whereabouts.

Also found on AO3 | fanfiction.net

3951, Peragus Mining Facility Atton

"Anything you'd like to report?"

"Um, excuse me - what?"

"Anything you'd like to report, sir? In your luggage?"

Atton was good at smuggling, or at least he had been, given his current performance. Not used to being flustered, Atton mustered as charming of a laugh as he could and considered even winking at the Peragus intake officer looking him deadpan in the face.

"Ah yeah, actually," he answered finally, desperately trying to sound casual but failing miserably, "Got a new jacket, some boots, and-"

"Alright then, just log them in here, here and here," the woman cut him off as she thrust a datapad at his chest, before he could flourish his half-lie with something even stupider than what he'd already said. The new jacket wasn't a lie, nor were the boots… but what was inside the boots, well, that was another story.

Atton restrained himself, careful to keep his dumb mouth shut, and took the datapad from the officer's impatient hands. Doing as she asked, he logged the new duds and… nothing else. Smiling still, he handed the pad back to her, her expression unchanged.

"Okay, now I just need you to sign this waiver-"

"Waiver?" Atton held up a hand to stop her, "I signed a waiver when I signed on with this outfit, why do I need to do it again?"

"New company policy," she shrugged, seeming more annoyed than anything. Atton watched her for further reaction, but after finding none snatched the datapad back from her and scanned the waiver now displayed on its screen. "Says here the hazard pay's gone up. What's that about?"

Atton's heart skipped a beat once his brain processed the technical salary increase but knew better than to get his hopes up.

"Haven't you heard?" the officer said, rolling her eyes, "Whole outfit could blow any minute now, what with the up in mining accidents."

"But there are always mining accidents," Atton answered, "Isn't that the whole point this job is what it is?"

"Not like this," she replied, sighing and raising her brows as she glanced at his file open on another datapad at her fingertips, "We lost ten miners since you set off, it looks like."

"Lost? As in… died?"

The woman nodded, solemn despite the clear annoyance still painted on her face.

"Damn. Does anyone know why? I mean, accidents happen, but any idea why there are so many?"

The woman shrugged again.

"Management won't tell us anything, just that it's under control. Whatever that means."

Atton huffed in snark agreement, "Of course."

Signing the waiver finally, wondering just how harrowing his next four years here might be, he was suddenly feeling better about the contraband hiding in near-plain sight in his carry-on, almost forgetting the deal with the Exchange lackey that forced him into this mess.

One down, four to go. Though if everything went as planned, he'd be off this rock in no time.

 -------------------------------

3951 BBY,  The Polar Regions of Telos The Last Handmaiden

"And that was the last you saw of the Exile?"

"Yes, Mistress," Brianna's voice echoed through Atris' chambers, even the quickness of her breath reverberating off the stark walls that surrounded them. "Is there any more you wish from me?"

Atris remained silent, her fingers steepled in thought as they cradled her porcelain chin upon her desk, considering Brianna's words. Atris betrayed no emotion as she considered the Last Handmaiden's account, though she already knew what happened from the reports Brianna had sent. After a few agonizing minutes, the woman shook her head. "I believe that will be all for now. Good work."

Good work?

Brianna would hardly call it good work, and though she was glad for her sisters' unusual accolades, nothing of what had transpired over the last standard week felt good to her.

"I sense some uncertainty," Atris said, a wan smile crossing her pale features as her gaze lifted to meet Brianna's inquisitive stare. "If you have any grievances, please share them."

Brianna was unsure if this was a request made in earnest curiosity or one meant to draw out her ire.

"Perhaps I misinterpreted your instructions, Mistress. I was under the impression that I was to continue to pursue the Exile, even after she left Nespis."

"Ah," Atris said, her voice soft and soothing. Mistress uncoupled her hands and pressed them to the desk as she stood, her white robes billowing as she swept across the room to Brianna's side. "That was the intention, yes, but the Force has since shown me another path."

Brianna stiffened as Atris placed a hand on her shoulder, both afraid there was some unseen reprimand yet to come though inwardly pleased at the closeness, her Mistress' smile an almost motherly welcome.

"As their only other living witness, you have further confirmed my fears that the Sith have returned. It is only a matter of time before they reveal themselves in true and wage war on the Republic as we know it. But for now we must rest and await their arrival."

Brianna nodded, tempted to mirror Atris' serene smile though finding she couldn't at the thought of the man with the violet saber back at Anchorhead, perturbed that Atris seemed so sure that the Sith would continue to emerge from anonymity, finally making themselves known.

"Tell me what to do next, Mistress," Brianna bowed her head, reverent, awaiting her Mistress' next command, unsure of what else to do.

"I have something for you," Atris answered after a moment, her voice soft but aloof now. "See that plasteel container by the door?"

Atris removed her hand from Brianna's shoulder, the Echani's arm suddenly cold at the absence of her Mistress' touch. Brianna glanced back in the direction Atris indicated, finding a demure box waiting by the exit to the study, hardly distinguishable from the other packages piled up along the walls - undoubtedly housing artifacts yet to be examined, items yet to be logged into Atris' never-ending inventory.

"I would like for you to take it with you when you return to your quarters. Think of it more as a test than a gift."

"Yes, Mistress."

"You would do well to consider your Echani oath," Atris continued, hooking her hand beneath Brianna's chin and guiding it so that she looked at Atris again. Mistress' angelic smile remained, her eyes warm despite their iciness. It was a wonder Atris was not Echani herself, given her appearance, though it was clear she revered the race highly for their discipline as well as for how well their faith coincided with that of the Jedi. "I will need all the protection I can get."

"Y-yes, Mistress."

Atris removed her hand from Brianna's chin and Brianna bowed her head again, wanting anything but to look Mistress in the eye.

She knows.

"Speak with Orenna about blocking," Atris said, returning to her desk and immediately busying herself with a datapad, as if Brianna had only just interrupted her and had not been speaking for the last hour, detailing every leg of her journey. "And try not to take it personally, or anything your sisters say for that matter. I believe it was sentimentality that ultimately led your father to his unfortunate demise."

Atris was not even looking at Brianna as she said this, her voice almost casual and nonchalant as she continued. Her father was murdered by the traitor Revan, Brianna and everyone else knew that. But she knew what Atris spoke of, if not indirectly - the thing that haunted her every waking moment, the mistake Brianna never made but was born with the burden to bear. Brianna the Bastard. The Last of the Handmaidens.

"You would do well with some guidance," Atris said with some finality, an edge to her voice as her eyes rose to meet Brianna's - briefly - before smiling softly and returning to her work without another glance. This was meant to signal Brianna's dismissal and mark her uncouth exit from Atris' chambers to again consider the sins of her father, ad nauseum.

Brianna waited for a moment, almost hopeful that Atris was not yet finished, but when her Mistress continued to read her datapad without so much as another upward glance, Brianna nodded, bowed, and retreated, picking up the plasteel container as she went.

Once out of sight of Atris' chambers and clear of the long, somber causeway that separated their Mistress' quarters from her Echani advance guard, Brianna stopped mid-stride and leaned against the wall, letting out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

Her fingers prickled, cold almost, as if she had been out on the mountainside. Brianna's knuckles were white against the plasteel container still in her hands, and with a trembling grip, she opened the box to see what was inside.

At first, she saw nothing, just the black nothingness of an open box. But as the light adjusted, she saw it - grey fabric on grey fabric, shades upon shades of grey. The box nearly clattered to the floor as Brianna extracted the cloth in its entirety from the container, what little color she had drained from her face at the sight. Jedi robes.

Oh, she knows.

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

3951, Peragus Mining Facility Atton

"So, do anything interesting off-world?" the new-hire beside him asked, but Atton only shrugged, trying his best to keep his mind focused on the data running across the screen in front of him. The mining droid on his other side twitched as it idled, as if awaiting Atton's command with impatience - which only made Atton want to punch the thing square in the module that looked most like a face.

"Really, nothing?"

The young humanoid was eager for Atton's opinion on all things Peragus, including the quality of the food, the linens the bunks were outfitted with (Atton couldn't help but snort when he said the word 'linens'), and of course, what their once-a-year leave would consist of once he qualified for it.

"Played some cards, ate some take out. Stuff we can't get around here, that sort of thing. Enjoyed the peace and quiet," Atton answered reluctantly after a moment, doing what he could to be as vague as possible while still giving a meaty enough answer in hopes of shutting the kid up.

The new recruit was fresh-faced and new to the job - quite literally. Having only just arrived that morning, Atton's shift manager thought it best to have him shadow Atton first thing once his paperwork was signed and ready to process. Fresh from the dire warnings that management bombarded the poor kid with during orientation, he was likely looking for a ray of hope, hungry for any indication that this outfit wasn't so bad. Atton didn't want to outright depress the guy but he also didn't want to lie, though ultimately Atton preferred not to have to talk to him at all.

"Aw, really? Didn't meet up with friends or family or anything?" he asked.

Atton almost laughed.

"Don't have either, though plenty of the others do. The company can arrange for family visits if that's what you were trying to get at."

"Ah, yeah, I was wondering," the new recruit said, shifting now as he watched Atton work from over his shoulder, completely oblivious to how uncomfortable it made him, "Trying to help my family win back their estate on Coruscant. Since we couldn't afford to send any of my siblings to school, we sort of ended up finding odd jobs around the galaxy."

"And you got sent all the way out here?" Atton asked, trying to mask the agitation in his voice as he tried to ignore the kid at his back the droid beside him, still twitching.

"Tough breaks, right?"

"Eh, it's not so bad once you get used to it. There are worse things you could be doing."

'Worse things' is putting it lightly. Atton eyed the corner of their work station, nestled into a bit of rock at the base of the current excavation site, at the satchel he left unattended by the entrance. All workers carried their equipment to and from their work sites, but they also carried a satchel with any nonessential gear like water or other provisions they might need for their shift. Atton's satchel had been equipped with only one nutrient bar and a water canister that was now attached to his hip. The rest of the satchel's contents would hopefully only be discovered by the man intended to pick it up, per the Exchange's orders, during the next shift change. The drop-off would be seamless, if all went as planned. And no one would be the wiser.

"I'm only here for a year, so it shouldn't be so bad."

If he was lucky.

"So, how long have you been here?"

Atton gritted his teeth, doing his best to ensure his work was accurate while he fished for unimportant answers and the droid continued to hum beside him uncertainly.

"A while," he answered absently, punching in a code that should keep the droid happy for a while. After hitting the execute button, the droid began mining as directed, and Atton sighed as the kid beside him laughed, clapping on needless congratulations.

"Whoa, that was awesome!"

"Uh, yeah sure," Atton said, checking his chronowatch. Only twenty minutes and he would be in the clear. His immediate future was already so clear in his mind - lunch scarfed down in a minute flat followed by a much-needed nap in his bunk. Once the drop off happened, he'd feel a lot better. And he could finally get back to paying off his debts, worry free.

"So you're good with numbers, huh?" the kid asked, returning to Atton's shoulder, scrutinizing the program he just entered into the datapad. Atton could only roll his eyes.

"Sort of, it's just a basic equation. Once you learn the ropes here, you'll see, it's just a programming spec meant to-"

"Hey, is your datapad working?" A voice interrupted from Atton's other side. He spun around to meet the sound, his eyes falling on a short red-haired woman running up beside him and his undesired intern.

"Uh, yeah why?" Atton answered, instantly forgetting the woman's name despite having been assigned to the same shift as her for the last six months.

"I dunno, mine's acting kind of funny. Won't take any commands. Do you mind taking a look?"

Atton minded, but didn't want to voice as much. After quickly eyeing the unattended satchel in the corner again, he nodded, knowing it would be best if he acted as normal and unassuming as possible - even if normal for him meant avoiding everyone at all costs. And to his dismay, his little sidekick fell into stride once he agreed to follow along and see what the problem was.

"I'm no expert or anything," Atton warned them both, putting up his hands as if in surrender, "But let's see here-"

The woman's station was on the adjacent wall, her datapad propped up against a jut in the metal paneled wall. After punching in a few codes, it was clear his co-worker's data was sound, her programming even more polished than his if anything.

"Huh, that's weird," he muttered, punching in the sequence to run diagnostics. "Everything seems clean. Perfect, even."

The woman beamed at his side but bit her lip once she caught sight of her droid again, clearly malfunctioning beside them.

"You don't think-?" she started, but she trailed off. Atton side-eyed her, her brown eyes meeting his for an instant before she shook her head. "No, nevermind. I'll figure it out next shift."

She powered down the droid and nodded at Atton in thanks before taking her datapad back and submitting a Help Desk ticket.

"That happen often?" the new kid asked as they walked back to Atton's station. Atton couldn't help but eye his own assigned mining droid with suspicion, content it was doing as it was told but uncomfortable with how it had been acting earlier - not to mention the rumors running around the station since he'd returned from Citadel Station.

"No, not really."

"Weird."

They worked in silence until the end of the shift, to Atton's relief, the new recruit only asking him about trivial things like how many suits they were issued and if they were allowed seconds at meal times. He kept glancing back at the woman from before, her droid thankfully slumped and still powered down since she willed it to be so, unmoving.

"So, are there designated 'lights out' times or-?" the new kid asked just before the shift change was signaled. "Oh, what's that?"

"Shift's over," Atton said, packing his datapad away and making a point to not look at his abandoned satchel. As they approached the elevators, Atton watched as the next shift filtered past them.

Once inside the lift, he couldn't help but look back, knowing that his gaze would be indistinguishable among the rest of the group waiting for the elevator up. Watching as the new shift took their stations, Atton saw a man kneel down and snatch up his abandoned satchel, slinging it over his back as if it were nothing. With close cropped hair and sharp blue eyes, Atton didn't recognize the man - only knowing that he fit the sorry excuse for a description the Exchange provided. And for now, that would have to be enough.

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

"Did you hear about the explosion down in Sector Two?" a Twi'lek muttered, idly moving the food around her plate with a fork.

"I thought it was in Sector Eight? Sector Two is way too close to the administration level," her companion said.

Atton did his best to keep his head down and eat as fast as he could, still eager to nap before scheduled rec time and making the most of his sentence on this rock, but he couldn't help but get sucked into the gossip already on fire at the table he was unfortunately sitting at.

"No, I'm serious. Sector Two! And management isn't doing anything about it!"

"How do you know about it, then?"

Atton's eyes volleyed between the two women, the second one a humanoid with blue markings dotting her gold face. The Twi'lek sighed and glanced about the dining hall again, apparently uninterested in Atton, who was hopefully doing a decent enough job of pretending to be equally uninterested.

"My bunkmate is stationed there, said she was lucky to make it out alive."

"You should file a formal complaint. The least they could do is ignore it, right?"

"I think it was fake," the Twi'lek said instead

"Fake?"

Her companion nodded, grave as her eyes scanned the room to spot any eavesdroppers, lowering her voice and leaning forward as she continued.

"It was planted, for sure. You heard about the ship they found last week, right?"

The other woman shook her head.

"I hear they found some people on it, salvaging the rest, I guess. Not sure who though, but they must be important because there've been a ton of inquiries."

"Inquiries?"

The Twi'lek shrugged. "Why else would people care?"

"What do you mean by inquiries, though? Like, is it someone we know? Or-?"

"Not sure, but I have a feeling it has something to do with money."

The other woman chewed as she considered the Twi'lek's words, narrowing her eyes as she mulled it all over. "You don't think it's a Jedi do you? I heard there was a bounty out for any found alive."

"Psht, they don't even exist anymore, Mara. I doubt it's a Jedi."

"I dunno. I mean, the bounty's pretty high. And you heard about someone trying to smuggle frag grenades onto the station, right?"

"What?!" the Twi'lek exclaimed, though managed to keep her voice somewhere in the range of an urgent whisper. "No way. That's the dumbest thing someone could do."

"Yeah! Or, I don't know, might have been a blaster rifle or something or other, but either way, I hear that's why they've ramped up security since yesterday."

"Ugh, they just want to make it look like they have the situation under control when they really don't. Why would these explosions keep happening, anyway?"

Atton wanted to hear more, suddenly nervous about whatever the hell he just smuggled onto this Maker forsaken rock, but instead reluctantly relinquished his seat for the next hungry worker, getting up swiftly as if he hadn't been listening and deposited his lunch tray at the end of the hall. Glancing back, he found the two women conversing still, heads bowed together now, eyes darting about the room. But they weren't the only ones, he noticed. Nearly the entire hall was flush with the sound of hushed whispers, charged with an unseen energy that Atton felt without question. He was anxious when he returned from Telos for the unchecked cargo he brought with him, partially against his own will, and while that anxiety never faded it quickly fell in line with the anxiety already running rampant throughout the station, though for reasons that were still mysterious to him. And everyone else for that matter…

"Hey! What's all this talk about accidents?"

The new kid from before sidled up alongside Atton as soon as he entered the hallway, bustling with other workers as they changed shifts, each sector switching over according to a staggered schedule. Atton rolled his eyes, his irises glimpsing so far as the contents of his brain. Atton had originally planned his quick lunch and equally swift exit ahead of time, though not for the express purpose of running into his incidental-protege. Instead, the idea had been to beat the lunch crowd back to the dorms so he could sneak in a nap while he remained the bunks' only occupant. Only now his chances of success were diminishing.

"Remember the hazard pay they had you sign off on?" Atton said, sighing. The kid nodded, though he still appeared confused.

"Why do you think that number's so high? Because it's boring here? You do know what 'hazard' means, right?"

"Of course I do, but-" the new kid paused, looking about the hall for another sympathetic face and finding none that could read his mind, "I dunno, it all seems wrong though, doesn't it? Hazard pay or no?"

Atton wanted to agree but he also wanted to be alone in his bed with only imaginary Pazaak cards for company.

"Just- don't worry about it, okay?" Atton conceded, "Everything'll be-"

But before he could finish his sentence, he felt it. It. That tingling sensation at the base of his neck that always managed to tell him when everything was about to go sideways.

"Shit."

Before the thought could properly register, Atton's senses exploded, suddenly hyperaware of everything around him - the new kid turning at his side, the bustle of people walking in the opposite direction, a deactivated mining droid ahead of him and a shipment of food being delivered to the dining hall behind him as it swerved to avoid passersby - and just as time sped up to meet his senses, an arm reaching out to cover his face of its own accord, a very real explosion blew Atton off his feet, sending him straight into the wall at his left.

Skull, shoulder, and hips collided with tempersteel as all thought rushed out of Atton's head, his limbs acting out of instinct to protect himself on impact. Several bodies crashed into his other side as the air in the hall exploded and then compressed, a dull, faraway ringing replacing all sound.

Atton collapsed, his senses on fire, his muscles jelly, when his mind suddenly reached out, all objects in the hall somehow visible in his mind's eye: every person, every machine, every piece of debris as it swirled through the air around them as if in slow motion. And that's when he sensed it – the second explosion.

Without thinking, and still unable to feel his extremities, Atton scrambled into a blown open service closet just ahead of him, ducking inside the moment the second explosion hit.

Everything went black.

Silent.

And then… ringing, low murmurs. Energy swarmed around him. Time passed, though he knew not how much.

It was almost like waking, treading the space between dreams as they bled into the real world, only prolonged, as if Atton were half-awake and hardly aware of everything around him but only marginally so, half of his brain straining to sleep and the other half urging him desperately to get up - GET UP.

"I think this one's stabilizing, finally," a voice came into focus from the void.

Atton's entire world was still a swirling blackness, but the voice grew clearer, closer.

"Can't say the same for the rest of them."

"Damn it, really?"

A low beeping resonated through the space around him, Atton's senses slowly returning, everything hurting and dialed to eleven.

"Lost this one."

"This one, too."

"Shit, why does this keep happening?"

"Has management said anything? Are they launching an investigation? Or-?"

"Management doesn't give a shit about us," another voice huffed, Atton's vision now surging with light, the waking world still a blur, "I think this one's waking up. Hey? Hey! Can you hear me?"

"Hm?" Atton's lips were numb, tingling if anything, but he could feel them, or at least sense the lack of feeling in them, which was better than nothing.

"Good, good, now just keep talking, stay with me here."

"What happened?" Atton heard himself say, his voice about as dumb as it was hoarse.

"You were hurt pretty bad, there was an explosion down by the cafeteria a few hours ago. Do you remember anything?"

A few hours ago?

"I remember…"

It had happened so suddenly, yet Atton could dissect his every second as if he were watching a play-by-play, each frame pausing long enough for him to register all present information, and it still only felt like moments ago, his brief coma lasting longer than it seemed.

"It's okay, take your time," the medic slowly swam into Atton's sight, kaleidoscope vision slowly merging into one as Atton continued to take deep breaths, his mind still reeling with what just happened. A woman stood over him, a wan smile on her face as she observed Atton - the rest of the medbay slowly coming into focus behind her and her halo of honey brown hair. "Just keep talking to me, keep talking."

"Uh," Atton muttered, his lips still unfeeling, his entire body a senseless mass, both amorphous but painful all at once, "There were two explosions, I think."

"Two?" the medic pressed, this time jabbing an intravenous needle into Atton's forearm, a warm hand briefly checking his forehead for a temperature, "Are you sure?"

Atton nodded, finding that his head pounded with the action.

"Take it easy, easy now," the medic steadied him, a gentle hand on his strapped-in arm, the IV draped over his wrist and already pumping strong with a hell of a painkiller, Atton's limbs suddenly euphoric as his mind cleared.

The medbay was full. And Atton was the only one conscious, save for the medics.

Beyond the medic at his side, several charred bodies lay on slabs beside him, white cloth barely covering their corpses. Other medics rushed about the room, medical droids buzzing at their sides.

"Two explosions," Atton repeated, unable to say more as if his mouth were suddenly full of cotton.

"No idea?"

Atton shook his head. The play-by-play was clear, but his brain couldn't yet decode the images, his mouth nowhere near as caught up to speed as his memory.

"We're losing them-" a voice said from the other side of the room, panic rising in their throat. The medic at Atton's side turned to look, and upon looking at Atton again began wheeling him out of the room, the stretcher beneath him lurching as they went.

"What happened before the explosion? Can you tell me that?" the medic asked, clearly trying to keep Atton's attention away from the room they just exited, strong with the smell of burnt human flesh. "Do you remember anything, no matter how small?"

Atton tried to nod, but his head only swayed, heavier than he anticipated. It lunged to his left, and as they barreled down the hallway Atton glimpsed into another room full of kolto tanks alight with an ethereal blue-white light, like hyperspace. Each one housed a body, floating ominously in the viscous cerulean fluid, each tank's vital bars flashing orange with urgency. Atton tried nodding again as the door closed, his body still not entirely his own, only managing to shake his shoulders as the medic wheeled him into the auxiliary holding room usually reserved for workers awaiting blood tests.

"Take it easy," the medic said again, her brown eyes coming into focus as Atton finally stilled. "Don't wear yourself out, you've been through a lot."

"What happened to the others?"

"The others?"

"Yeah, there were a bunch of people in that hallway. I-"

"Hard to say," the medic responded, almost too quickly. "Can you tell me anything else?"

Atton's mouth slowly regained feeling - his lips were chapped, and he tasted blood.

"I-"

She had been like this just before she died, right before Atton killed her. The Jedi. Her lips parched, dry except for the blood bubbling from her throat, still smiling despite everything.

You can feel it, I know it, she'd said. You are a survivor, through and through. Your allegiances tell as much. But it is your connection to the Force you must thank, for it is the reason you yet live.

She was trying to teach him a lesson, his third eye finally opened, only Atton wasn't interested in seeing what was on the other side.

"No-not sure," Atton choked, the metallic taste of blood slithering down his throat as his senses continued to return.

"It's okay, it's okay. It's over now," the medic soothed, though the panic was clear in her voice. They were now in a silent room, but Atton still remembered the room they'd left and the one they passed along the way. The Twi'lek from earlier had mentioned an explosion in Sector Two, maybe the bodies were from that accident? But if the station's kolto tanks were already full, then where did that leave everyone else?

"You don't remember anything suspicious, do you?" the medic pressed again, "Was it a mining droid again?"

"Hard to say, I think the explosion came from right next to me. A cart was being pushed. Food, I think. For the dining hall."

The medic considered him, her expression growing graver by the second as she checked his vitals.

"You're one lucky bastard," she laughed, though the seriousness was clear in her voice, "You were the least injured of everyone we managed to pull out of there."

"Managed?"

"Half the hallway collapsed, there are still miners trying to get the rest of the survivors out, or at least recover any bodies- er, I mean, anyone else that might be stuck under the debris."

A survivor through and through.

Atton's chest lurched, launching his torso forward as he began to retch.

"Oh frack, here-" the medic balked, swallowing her surprise quickly enough to shift back into doctor mode and bring Atton an empty canister to shove his face in. "The meds might make you sick, forgot to mention that. It doesn't usually affect humans this strongly, but-"

Atton knew it wasn't the meds, though he thanked whatever nonexistent gods might be listening for their existence as the medicine coursed his veins, numbing the rest of his body from whatever hell he managed to avoid for the time being.

"Is this the only one?" Another medic approached them while Atton's head was still extended into the empty canister, his lunch thankfully remaining in his stomach despite the nausea that now roiled through him. "Just got the word from the infirmary."

"What word?!" Atton's attendant pulled away, her voice growing softer as she assumed an urgent whisper in response, "I just came from the infirmary."

The adjoining medic only shook his head. "The others are gone. None of them made it."

Gone. In minutes.

Atton retched again.

It is your connection to the Force you must thank, for it is the reason you yet live.

"What?!"

The other medic only nodded in response as shock painted both of their faces. Atton's attendant buried her face in her hands before raking her fingers through her hair, taking a sharp intake of breath. "Call the security officer. Now."

"What? Why?"

"They need to launch an investigation. This is getting ridiculous. No, we're well past that-"

"Yara? Yara!" Another medic came rushing into the room at a light jog, pausing only before she was close to her colleagues, glancing at Atton cursorily before continuing, still out of breath. "Did you order another round of medication to be distributed to the kolto tanks?"

"What? No, I've been in the infirmary, and now here. Why?"

"Then you need to come see this," the woman said, now nodding at the second attendant. "You, too."

All three medics looked at Atton apologetically, as if they owed him anything, the drugs now in full force as he felt both heavy and weightless at once.

"Someone will be back to check on you shortly," the second medic assured him as the three clinicians rushed out of the room.

And just like that, Atton was alone again.

[sistersin7]

Just because it’s tradition…

Dearest @notallwonder,

 I'm so sorry your present is late.

I wanted it to be all the wonder you asked for and did my best to include humour, snow sports, unconventional holiday traditions, mathematics, general nerdiness and tuxedos.

I hope there is enough wonder to justify the wait.

Here's to an utterly splendiferous 2020.

 (thank you for being part of this fandom and thank you for reading and thank you @kla1991 and @bering-and-wells-exchange arranging our exchange!)

 (This is a divergent AU where Myka and Helena always were and nobody died and they all Warehouse happily ever after.)

 I.

 A pothole in the road jolts the car, which, in turn, bounces Myka’s head against the car window. Neither object is made for impact, and the force of the collision shocks Myka awake from a nap she didn’t realise she was having. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, though, because the dream in which her psyche was investing her involved an underwater artifact rescue, from the clutches of a mythical creature with enough tentacles to calamari a hungry village for a day, if not two.

She shudders, as if to shake the last remnants of the images of long, slimy appendages flailing fluidly around her in frozen, dark waters. Now that she fully alert, she quickly scans her surroundings. She’d recognise the outcrop of the mountains that slowly amble past the car window anywhere - that was the profile of Colorado Rockies, travelling west on Magnolia road, from Boulder towards Twin Sisters Peak.

She’d know this road any day and twice around Christmas, because it was the road that takes her to her augmented Warehouse family, and the lodge in which they spend the few days between Christmas and New Year’s, just the core of them, the Warehouse's Gang of Eight, the longest serving members of the Warehouse to date (if only one dared to call Mrs. Frederic “a serving member” without being killed by the caretaker’s icy daggers’ worth of a stare).

Myka clenches her teeth with a small wince and a barely audible grunt, as she realises just how uncomfortably her body had wedged itself between the armrest and the door while collapsed in a sleepy state.

Helena glances from the driver’s seat. “Good afternoon, my darling,” she whispers sweetly without taking her eyes off the road. “Are you feeling rested?”

‘Rested’ hints at having had a peaceful sleep, which would not best describe Myka’s frame of mind, conscious, semi or otherwise. She recalls her dream, the submarine, the giant squid-like creature. The flailing. So much flailing. “I think so,” she mumbles while promising to herself, this is the last time I believe Pete when he talks about the merits of graphic novels.

“No flailing-limbed hellscape adventures?” Helena persists, but gently, smile still sweet and caring.

Myka tries to think what makes Helena ask that very question, but she’s too tired to get into any of that, and would really rather not bring back images she’s still trying really hard to remove from her consciousness, so she deflects. “Afternoon?” She straightens in her seat, as much as her seatbelt allows. “How long have I been asleep for?”

“Enough for the time to tick past midday,” Helena enunciates through a bright smile.

Myka hears the arrogance in Helena’s answer, and even though she thinks she’s choosing not to engage, her ego gets the better of her. “I was wide awake when we drove through Boulder,” she retorts.

Helena bites her lips shut to strangle a chuckle, and looks in the rear-view mirror, at Leena, who is smiling sweetly in the back seat, knowing full well where Helena is going with all this.

Helena raises her eyebrows with a question, and Leena shakes her head lightly with an aloof smile of her own.

“Wide enough awake to greet the surprise passenger we collected?” Helena is all but mocking.

Myka squints and pouts, sourly pushing breaths through her nose, knowing Helena could feel her piercing, probing gaze.

“You can look in the back, if you like,” Helena looks at Myka briefly, still not taking her eyes off the road for more than a second. She knows better than that.

Myka’s eyes still fixed on Helena, she breathes evenly, weighing her options. Does she play the game? What are the odds she’s made a fool of - again? What will be the implications if she was?

But again, her ego gets the better of her and she fixes her stare at Helena’s profile as she recalls driving into Boulder. She recalls driving through the centre of town. She recalls pulling into the Target parking lot, for them to get the last of the supplies required for the next few days of festivities. She remembers staying in the car while Helena went in. She recalls the number of doors she heard and felt shut. She does not recall any voices whatsoever. She remembers checking with Helena that the online order was fulfilled, and that Helena confirmed, and she remembers clocking the “Thank you for visiting! Come back soon!” sign on the 119 West as they left town.

So while she has absolutely no recollection of anyone else joining them in Boulder, Helena’s tone certainly insinuates that they have. Unless, of course, the whole of it is just one more of Helena’s games, the kind that Myka never seems to win, no matter how hard she tries. The kind which sole purpose is to poke fun at her, and then become the running joke for their stay, until New Year’s Eve. It’s become a tradition now.

“Remind me again…” Myka asks, her voice steeped in sarcasm, “Where’s the fun in going through these complicated, ridiculous mind games?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Helena gasps, mock offended.

“It feels like a lot of trouble for you to go through just to tease me,” Myka gripes, ill-humoured, “and there is absolutely no fun in that.”

Helena’s cheeks flare in an instant at the thought of teasing Myka. Granted, perhaps not the sort she’s presently engaged in – the taunting, mocking, jape-hooting sort of tease currently underway, but rather one of a much more intimate kind.

Teasing Myka happens to have become Helena’s favourite pastime over the years they have been together. Helena’s investment in this hobby was such, that one might consider granting Helena the degree of Mastre of Tease. Helena’s practice had long since surpassed the realms of small-hand craft and launched itself into the realm of Art. High Art, as well, depending on Helena’s investment in the aesthetics of her scenes of seduction and ecstasy.

And now her neck blushes a bright red and she begins to perspire as she hides a small squirm as she drives, because a handful of such scenes flash before her mind’s eye, and - goodness gracious - they still have a hold on her.

She collects herself with a shake of her hair. “Your accusation is nothing if not hurtful, my love,” Helena looks at Myka again, feigning mild emotional bruising. “Honestly, darling, take a look in the back,” Helena motions with her head swiftly.

Myka examines scenarios and calculates probabilities: scenario one: she looks back and sees nothing - in which case, Helena wins, and will mock her for falling prey to the ploy; scenario two: she looks back and sees one of her friends, one of her family - in which case, said mystery person would have been party to the exchange the whole time (even by staying silent), showing participatory culpability, and Helena wins again, and Myka will be mocked by both Helena and the traitorous friend; scenario three: she doesn’t look back at all. In this case, Schrodinger’s Hitchhiker is both in the back and not at the same time, and it will be up to Helena (and/or the quantum-state guest) to alter the state of the traveller by observing it, which leaves Helena only 50% chance of winning (if Helena was telling the truth), and Myka with a 50% chance of not being mocked at all (if she wasn’t).

Given the three scenarios, it’s clear which one she will opt for, even though the odds are overwhelmingly against her. “How do you always get the better of me?” Myka asks in a huff and slumps back in her seat.

“Oh,” Helena breathes and she catches Leena’s eyes in the mirror. “Because if I don’t, the tentacles will.”

And Leena silently, gently, touches the tip of her index finger to the back of Myka’s shoulder, and Helena nearly tips the car off the road due to Myka’s ear-splitting shriek and lunge to the footwell of her seat.

   II.

 The morning after Myka gets to have her comeuppance as they all gear up for a day in the snow. Helena despises dressing in layers, more so when the layers are predominantly synthetic fibres, and compounded by the graceless, utilitarian design of outdoor apparel and what she considers an abominable glut of zips.

After breakfast, when everyone disperses to their rooms to change, Helena is eerily silent as she puts on the under-layers and tops, only hissing hateful barbs whenever she does or undoes a zip, hoping the dreadful shrill sound of the plastic fastening will mask her curses.

“Can I help?” Myka asks and her face contorts as she pointlessly attempts to stop herself from smiling - from snickering - at Helena’s miff.

Helena turns her head sharply, her eyes spitting every bit of venom as her lips did not a fraction of a second ago. “No, thank you,” she mutters ominously, knowing full well that she is yet to pay for yesterday’s tentacled joke. So if she were to suffer the cold due to a mishap of the garmentary sort, she would rather it be done by her own hand, rather than Myka’s, and thus claimed to be payback for a Helena’s well executed practical joke, even if she does say so herself.

With that, Helena turns back to re-zipping the waterproof trousers at the hip, then zipping the ankle zips, then unzipping them (thinking she will need to open to do her ski boots up), then walking two steps towards where her coat is, then grumbling at the trousers, which (according to Helena) in their current state, are plotting to see her tumbling down the stairs or a hilltop or a cliff, so she seethes as she zips the damn things again, to take battle with her gloves and coat.

“You know, for someone who’s so dextrous, you sure are struggling with something so basic,” Myka comments.

Helena wants to say ‘Zip it’, but her disdain to the fastening method is too great for her to use it metaphorically. “I know you are finding this comical, Myka, but you know that all this…” she gestures loosely at herself, “clothing,” she utters, with notable scorn, “is nothing short of the first circle of hell for me.”

Myka watches quietly, doing her best to make not a single sound, all the while reminding herself to stop finding Helena so endearing in her anger, because she is missing out on opportunities to get back at her.

Claudia’s call from the bottom of the stairs shakes the tense silence. “Will you two knock it off for, like, an hour, so the rest of us can have fun with you?”

Myka can’t help the sniggering snort that escapes her.

Helena exhales tensely, attempting to calm herself.

“We’ll be down in a minute, you guys,” Myka shouts back, which irks Helena even more, as she now loses her concentration altogether. “We’re having some glove issues,” she giggles.

“Love issues?” Claudia pretends to not have heard very well.

Helena looks at Myka, all but breathing fire, and stiffly points to the door. “Out with you,” she spits.

Myka bites on her lips and tiptoes to the door. “You sure you don’t nee--”

“Out.” Helena emphasises the ‘T’, and Myka slips out the door, closing it silently behind her, only to rush down to where Claudia is biting on her mittens and Steve is smothering himself with a scarf - all in a futile effort to mute their laughter.

   III.

 Full retribution, however, doesn’t come until the day after. The team take turns with each other’s favourite sloped activities: snowboarding, skiing and sledding, as they do every year. Helena struggles with these, as they all involved what she had considered high-speed, low control activities, which were neither her forte nor her favourite.

So she spent the past year campaigning relentlessly to add a biathlon course to their list. She wanted to have one choice she thought she would excel at. Helena is, after all, an exceptional marksperson (even if she does say so herself, again...), and cross country skiing is just about the legitimately slowest way to move across a snowy surface, bar, perhaps, having your toboggan pulled uphill by a small child.

The team’s stance on the matter was less than enthusiastic. They didn’t really like the idea of having to brandish weapons while they were on leave. Helena thought that Steve, with his ATF training, would appreciate an opportunity to train in a more relaxed environment, but to her surprise, he took a particularly harsh position on the matter, which may (or may not) have been at Myka’s behest, to give the tall agent means to get back at Helena for something she will have undoubtedly done to her by that point in their annual trip to the Rockies.

After half a day’s worth of mastering the slopes, Myka finds Helena sitting on a wooden bench outside the visitor’s centre, after a failed third attempt on a children’s training course. Helena doesn’t notice Myka heading her way, due to her aggressive shaking of her skiing gloves. She had managed to get snow in both her gloves during her last, and rather spectacular tumble.

Myka’s skis crunch against the packed snow as she breaks a few feet away from a preoccupied Helena. She kicks the bindings loose with ease and lifts her kit from the snow. “Was it really that bad?” she calls as she walks closer to the bench, lifting her goggles up, revealing a faint ski tan.

Helena looks at Myka, trying to hate her for how at home she seems to be in this harsh, frozen, alien environment. But the twinkling smile in Myka’s eyes and the sunburn-come-frostbite on her cheeks and nose just make her so devilishly adorable. “I had just managed to aptly calculate the velocity, when there was an unexpected vector change with significant mass ---”

“Well, dash my wig, Peter,” Claudia exclaims as she grinds her skis to a halt nearby, and comes off her skis so quickly it looks as though she bounced off them, “the surface of the snow does not appear to retain its shape!”

Myka bites on her lips and looks down, knowing that the rub is not only about to land harshly, it is also about to be dealt by people other than Myka, and not orchestrated by her. Whatever Pete and Claudia come up with in a moment, is all them, a fact that will, not doubt, double the insult value.

“I shall hypothesise that the warmth of the sun and possibly other people’s movement across it may be the cause,” Pete puts on his best worst-British accent.

“I shall hypothesise further,” Claudia begins scratching a formula into the snow with her ski pole, “that these are the conditions necessary to maximise the flailing rate on a positively tentacle-y fall."

Pete bursts out laughing and Myka just about manages to keep her composure, while Helena slams her snowed gloves on the bench and walks over to Claudia. As she walks past Myka she slips on an icy patch and instinctively grabs on to Myka, who instinctively grabs on to her, only to grunt in frustration, straighten herself and pace determinedly towards Claudia, where she can scrutinise the maths.

She inspects Claudia’s work for a few minutes. She mumbles to herself, points to the snow, scribbles meaninglessly in the air, only to look at Claudia (who’s smug as a St. Bernard who’s got the Brandy), jeer “Damn you all to hell,” and fall flat on her backside as she walks back to the bench.

   IV.

 For New Year’s Eve, the penultimate day of their stay, the Gang of Eight invite significant others to join them. These are rarely romantic partners, but rather family members and good friends - people who may not know the specifics of the Warehouse, but know the people involved and know by now not to ask too many questions.

It is always assumed that Myka and Helena - a self-contained Warehouse unit - do not bring significant others, something Helena finds irritatingly assumptive.

"I still think it is unfair that if I wished to invite someone here there would be raised eyebrows," she complains from behind the closed door of the bathroom, where she's been holed up for over 45 minutes.

"I don't think anyone will really care, Helena," Myka answers, distracted, making use of this rare idle time to play an arcade game on her phone. "If anything, the guys will probably be more worried about what your inviting someone else means for you and me," she continues absent-mindedly.

"What was that, darling?" Helena asks, raising her voice.

Myka lets her phone fall in her lap and thinks about what she just said. Fearing it will open a can of worms, she changes her tack. "Since when do you care about rules? And what do you care what other people think, anyway?" she says, notably louder. "And when will you be finished in there? I need to get this stupid tuxedo on,” worried she will be late to open the festivities of the evening, seeing as she’s the host.

At the end of each of their annual retreats, the Gang elect the host for next year’s NYE celebrations, as they do the theme for the soiree. This year, Myka chairs the events, which theme is The Twenties (pun intended), and as the ringmaster, so to speak, she must dress for the role, in keeping with the theme.

Even though Myka appreciates the wealth of source material she could draw from (a narrow waisted gown of the 1820s, or an extravagant silk and velvet coat with sleeve trims of golden lace from the 1720s; A Puritan suit of the 1620s or early Tudor dresses with oversized, puffed sleeves), there is only one fitting option for her, given she is the MC.

With a nod to the 20s of the previous Century, she has traditional White Dress tuxedo, with a white bib-fronted, wing-tipped collared shirt, a white bowtie, white low-cut vest and slim waisted, high-cut tailcoat with velvet lapels.

Myka loves a tuxedo once it’s on her. It inspires slick sophistication in her which she otherwise struggles to embody. But once in that shirt and bow tie and tails - the dashing, smooth charm is effortless.

Helena likes her in a tux as well, and she has a plethora of hard evidence to prove it. Some of that evidence is in the form of a paper trail, when she had to pay for damaged returns (which is also the reason why the tuxedo Myka was waiting to put on was her own). And other evidence were the physical sort that would heal within 4-7 days (depending on the depth of bruise or scratch).

Myka’s lips curl to a sweet, nostalgic smile, remembering the last time Helena enjoyed her in her tux, which makes it easier for her to focus on how the evening will end - not only because it will be most pleasurable (irrespective of how the party actually goes), but also because she hates the beginning of it. Much as she loves a tux, she hates putting the damn thing on. The shirt is always too stiff and the bow tie is always a battle, and she always gets frustrated and sweaty doing it up. It's a lot of hard work, but the prize, she knows, is worth it.

And that's why she's eager for Helena to get out of the bathroom already, so she can get the crappy portion of tuxedoing out of the way.

She isn't at all prepared for what Helena has in store for her, though.

Helena opens the bathroom door, hiding behind it. "Are we ready for the grand unveiling?" she asks mischievously.

Myka knows she isn't ready, and her anxiety turns up a notch as she begins to contemplate the many ways in which Helena is about to prank her. Out of the thousands of possibilities, she's just about ready to put her money on a tentacle-inspired hairdo and that terrible corset Helena wears when she wants to assert her superior mechanical skill and historical authenticity.

And in all that, Myka wishes that they didn't keep this silly tradition they've picked up over the years, whereby they treat each other as colleagues when they’re out here, with the Gang, between Christmas and New Year.

This tradition started halfway through their first trip, when everyone in the Gang, Mrs Frederic included, had commented on how together-y Myka and Helena were. It was then that they mutually agreed that for 4 days every year they will treat each other the way they treat the rest of the Warehouse Family - with great care and affection, and with an equal measure of banter and playfulness.

Myka steels herself with a long breath, preparing for the climax of this year's running joke.

But then Helena steps from behind the door.

And Myka forgets to breathe out the air she inhaled to steady herself.

Helena wears a tuxedo that matches Myka's, white vest and bow tie and velvet lapels and all. She wears her hair down, a giddy smile and only the faintest hint of makeup.

Myka's reaction is precisely the one Helena had hoped for, so she takes two sauntering steps towards Myka as she bites seductively on her lower lip.

Myka's jaw drops.

"Do you approve, darling?"

Myka tries to speak but can't, now that Helena's stepped even closer to her and placed an open palm on Myka's chest, just above where her heart is pounding like a roll of drummers.

"Are you well, love?" Helena asks with a smattering of concern. Perhaps she overdid it? She'd always fancied herself a suave debonair, and she knows just how much Myka fancies her when she's at her most dapper. "Is the outfit too much?"

"Uh… nuh… no," Myka manages to utter. "The outfit is…" she tries to come up with words to describe just how utterly perfectly, deliciously, amazingly, stunningly mesmerising and sexy Helena looks that very moment.

Helena would have liked to hear the excess of superlatives of how breath-taking she looks, but she doesn't need to. The sheepish grin stamped on Myka's lips and the rose tint that her cheeks don are all the signs she needs to know that every bit of Myka approves.

"This is not what I thought you'd have on," Myka smiles, bewitched and bewitching, and bites on her own lip while placing her hands on Helena's hips, wanting to kiss her so badly.

"Dare I ask?" Helena's voice drops as she brushes her nose against Myka's.

Myka chortles lightly and leans into her lover's irresistible touch, not at all wishing to entertain any memories of the multi-limbed creatures that haunted her in the past few days. "I thought you'd stick to our holiday tradition."

"You know me," Helena brushes her lips against Myka's and luxuriates in the shiver she sends down Myka's body, "I'm not one for rules."

[ergomaria]

The Past is Gone (but something might be found) Preview Pt. III

Somehow, the text from the original post was deleted when I tried to edit the tags to make this easier to sort. I’ve restored it. Once again, I’m just posting this as a reminder that I’m alive and still trying to write!

PLOT: Vann, Meetra, and Carth touch the wrong thing at the wrong shrine and are turned into themselves at 18. Alek finds himself paying his penance to the Force when he has to simultaneously watch over the trio while trying to figure out how to restore them to their proper ages.

Now saddled with three teenagers and very few clues, Alek nodded in acquiescence as he trudged back towards the Hawk. Luckily, they were all fairly well behaved during the walk. Once they reached the ship the real fun began.

“So, do any of you know the codes to get back on the ship?”

There was a long bout of uncomfortable silence during which it became clear that no adult knowledge about the freighter had stuck with the teens. The worst part was that Alek did know the codes but couldn’t admit that fact without seeming suspicious. The next best option was to rewire the door panel and go from there.

“Alright, here’s a better question. Do any of you know how to rewire a hatch?”

Predictably, it was Deran who raised his hand. “Obviously I can, at least if I have the correct tools. Unfortunately, I don’t have my normal gear…”

The amount of places that Vann had broken into or out of during his search for the Star Forge still grated on Alek’s nerves. He knew for a fact there was a multitool tucked somewhere in that worn black jacket, but it was yet another fact he couldn’t openly share. “This might sound absurd, but everyone check your pockets. If your clothing originally belonged to spacers, and it looks like it did, the original owners may have left something useful behind.”

It was a risky gamble since there was always a chance that one of them had identifying documents on their person. But Alek was hoping they’d left those behind to perform a mission as covert as hiding a highly dangerous Sith holocron. Onasi’s civilian clothing was the best indicator that this might be the case. For once the Force was on his side and the search produced nothing but various odds and ends. An extra reload for the blasters, a few credits, a ration bar, a medpac, and finally a multitool that Vann had definitely purchased illegally.

Deran was predictably pleased to find the item and immediately set to work rewiring the door to his own ship. Meanwhile, Alek quietly filed that irony away for later. When the exit ramp slid open with a smooth hiss, Onasi practically cracked a tooth in his desperate attempt to not look impressed.

The inside of the Hawk was in partial disarray, though it was hard to tell if this was from whatever had transpired to turn three adults into teenagers or the mere fact that it was Vann’s ship and thus naturally full of clutter. Either way, the mess made it easier for Alek to order the teens to remain in the main hold where it was neater and theoretically ‘safer’ while he ‘checked’ the rest of the freighter. As soon as he was sure they would stay put, he moved into the cockpit to look for further clues.

Despite his tendency towards random piles of mechanical parts, Vann was absolutely fastidious when it came to researching locations and making notes about what he discovered. Before the original trip to Dromund Kaas he’d compiled an entire datapad full of files on the history of Sith purebloods, their laws, and their customs. While Nirauan had significantly less information recorded, there was still a pad with multiple paragraphs discussing the planet’s connection to both the Rakata Infinite Empire and the Force itself. It seemed that the crew was aiming to land near a series of suspected Rakata ruins that had a notable presence.

Datapad in hand, Alek peeked into the main hold to inform his charges of his next step. “Just so you’re aware, I think I found a series notes mentioning that this planet has a strange connection to the Force. I don’t know if it has anything to do with your current situation, but we can’t rule it out. I have a friend who might be able to untangle the few clues we currently have, so I’m going to comm her using the ship’s unit. Just wait here until I’m done.”

“Is she a Jedi?” Meetra was sprawled across two seats looking dangerously bored.

“She was at one time, but she’s since left the Order. However, she’s very knowledge about certain subjects and I feel that her input will be extremely helpful.” One of the subjects she had a great deal of experience with was being a Force prodigy and another was ancient artifacts from the Infinite Empire, currently making her the galaxy’s only authority on the situation. When there were no further questions, Alek hurried away to contact Rakata Base in the hope of begging Bastila for assistance.

“Vann?” The young woman’s face immediately darkened when she saw who was on the other end of the call. “Why are you there and where is Vann?”

“I’m here because Meetra contacted me when there was a complication with their current mission,” Alek hissed as quietly as possible. Noting the concern that immediately overtook Bastila’s face he assured her, “Everyone is healthy. I hesitate to say ‘fine’ because, well… Somehow, through a combination of some Rakta ruins and a Sith holocron, all three members of this crew are currently teenagers with no memories of their adult selves. I’d estimate them between seventeen and nineteen, if I had to guess.”

The incredulous glare was absolutely scathing. “You’ve picked a poor time to develop a sense of humor.”

“Why in Sith hells would I joke about this? I currently have three teenagers in the hold of this damn ship who are convinced that I’m a Jedi Sentinel named Naver who happened to sense a disturbance in the Force. Since it’s blatantly clear that my creativity it lacking, you can be sure that I couldn’t make this bantha fodder up if I tried!”

“Dustil, can you please come here? Our former ‘master’ is on the comm and he believes that he’s being hilarious. Perhaps you can convince him to tell me what’s really going on.”

“What the hells is going on now, Malak?” The younger Onai looked supremely irritated, which actually mirrored how Alek was currently feeling.

“That’s not my name.”

Appearing unbothered by the correction, Dustil sneered for a moment before snapping, “What kinrath nest did Vann get my dad into this time?”

“Oh, did he not tell you? Supposedly through the will of the Force, Vann, Meetra, and your father are now teenagers with no memory of their adult lives.” Bastila looked equally unamused. “Funny, yes?”

“Hi-kriffing-larious.”

Alek was about two second from hanging up and hoping that Rand would be more helpful, if only to get Meetra back into her proper body, when a slender figure crept into the room just within view of the comm unit.

“Um, Knight Naver, I apologize for bothering you but…”

There was a loud pop of static from the other end of the comm, which turned out to be Bastila covering the microphone with her hand so that she could curse for about thirty seconds straight.

“Yes, Deran? I was actually just telling me friend Bastila a bit about you and the others in the hope that she’d be willing to assist us in figuring out what happened. Perhaps you’d like to speak with her about your current situation? It could be useful.”

It was hard to tell who was more bewildered by the entire scenario. Luckily, Deran’s natural curiosity quickly took hold and he slipped over to the console and situated himself before the camera. “Hello, Bastila was it? What did you want to ask me?”

“Oh stars…” The young woman was doing a poor job of disguising her surprise, though she still managed to stutter, “I apologize for my lack of manners. You just… remind me of someone I know. No matter. Actually, Deran, I was just wondering how, ah, how old you are.”

“You really aren’t a Jedi, are you? Sorry, that was rude. It’s just… everyone in the Order always seems to know everything about me. But uh, I turned eighteen a few months ago.”

“Two years before Knighthood…”

“Bastila, be careful. You don’t want to scare the boy!” While it was technically true that Deran became the youngest Knight in the order at age twenty, that wasn’t information his eighteen-year old self knew. It wasn’t until nineteen that his trials actually began.

Plastering on a false smile, the young woman quickly stammered, “That’s just a guess on my part. Though, of course, I could be wrong. It’s not like I can see the future and you’re so very… young.”

Unfortunately, just the mention of Knighthood had made Deran’s back go stiff, his jaw ticking in the corner even as his expression remained stoic and proper. “Well, that’s for the Council to decide. They know best.” Even at this age he sounded thoroughly unconvinced. “What else do you want to ask me?”

“That’s… that’s it.” Turning to Alek, Bastila stated, “I believe you and I’ll do whatever I can to help. Just tell me what you need.”

“I’ll send you all of the data I have in a minute. Let me just find out what brought Deran in here in the first place.”

“I came in to let you know that Carth and Meetra left the ship. They said that they got tired of waiting for you and decided to explore on their own.” The teen winced slightly. “Also, they may have been flirting? I’m not always great at telling that type of stuff, but it’s possible they just went to go and… you know.”

The snort of hysterics from Dustil was all the confirmation that Alek needed to know that this entire situation was his punishment from the Force. Part of him considered letting Meetra and Onasi do whatever they wanted. Someone else could deal with the fallout. But he also needed to get Deran out of the room to prevent him from snooping. “I’m concerned that they’re going to get themselves into trouble. There are some very powerful ruins on this planet and I’d hate for them to make the current situation even more complicated. Can I trust you to find them and bring them back safely?”

It was an underhanded ploy. Alek was fully aware that Deran’s facade of teenage bravado combined with his crippling fear of failure would make him agree to almost any task without question. But the former Sith didn’t have time to chase two teenagers down, all while trying to keep a third from learning that he was currently speaking with his own kriffing Padawan.

As expected, Deran immediately nodded. “Of course. I’ll bring them back as quickly as possible.”

It wasn’t until the teen’s footfalls disappeared off the ship that Alek sat down with a sigh, his head pounding from the sheer mental acrobatics required to keep this situation moving forward. As he uploaded the information from Vann’s datapad he grumbled, “For Force sake, Dustil. I thought your father would be the responsible one!”

The damned kid was still laughing. “Just checking, but is Meetra the teenager as pretty as Meetra the adult? Big blue eyes and wavy blonde hair?”

Attempting to be objective about the attractiveness of someone who was like a sister to him, Alek shrugged. “I suppose? She was more petite at this age, almost willowy. I honestly think she looks better with some muscle. Less delicate.”

“I don’t care either way, it’s just… My dad kinda has a type. Or, at least he did at that point in his life. My mom was petite with wavy, honey-brown hair. They met when he was twenty.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope, you can look up the files for Morgana Onasi if you want. I um, I have. Just to see her, you know? It helps me to remember her face…” Shaking away his melancholy, Dustil cleared his throat. “Ah, anyway, at eighteen my Dad was really responsible when it came to official things. Training and studying? He was incredibly dedicated. But when he had time to himself he kind of… let loose. Nothing really bad, just a lot of drinking and fooling around with his fellow cadets. Put a bunch of bored, horny teenagers in the same dorm and stuff happens.”

Alek had lived in the Jedi dormitories during puberty and was well aware of what could happen. He winced.

“The good news is that my dad definitely liked men at that age as well… Please don’t ask how I know this. It was a really awkward conversation that only happened because I got mad at him and… ugh. But the good news is that he might rediscover how amazing Vann is. He is really great at this age, right?”

“He’s actually an anxious mess who likes to pretend he’s confident, which just comes off as arrogance. It doesn’t help that he’s actually good at whatever he does. Honestly, I think your father currently wants to throttle him.”

“Ouch. Well, maybe they’ll lose all memory of this once they get restored to their actual ages!”

“We can only hope the Force is that kind.” Rubbing his forehead, Alek asked, “Bastila, have you looked over those files I sent?”

“I’m reading them now and I’ll run them through the Rakata archives when I’m done. But you should be aware that, while we have a significant amount of information on the Infinite Empire, we don’t have much else. Vann tries to update what he can, but it’s still nothing compared to what the Jedi possess.”

“Do your best, it’s still more than I have access to on this ship.”

“I do have an idea, but you’re not going to like it one bit.” Upon noting Alek’s hopeful expression, Bastila sighed...

[diveronaevents]

The people of Verona were content. The bridge was in ruins, the city was at war, and still they tucked their children at night without fear in their hearts. Their fingers did not tremble as they touched their toddler’s cheek, and their dreams were full of promise and hope for a better tomorrow. The quietness that lingered in Verona - covering the city like a weighted blanket that cannot be shrugged off - had become a comfort to its citizens. 

But there were still people who had not forgotten the horrors of the festival. There were still those who know to sleep with a knife between their lips. Survivors knew, after all, that ruin was most dangerous when it wore the face of peace.

On a night where the moon did not shine and the stars were all that kept the city from plunging into empty darkness, a clandestine meeting was held. From the shadows, a single pair of bright eyes glowed and studied the room. It was nearly barren, with only four single chairs arranged around a circular table and nothing else. 

He was the first to arrive, but he would not be the first to expose himself. Not until the one who had personally invited him appeared.

“Orion.” Behind him, a familiar voice of velvet sounded. “Darling, were you waiting for me long?”

He emerged, stepped into the light with a cat’s smile. “Hardly.”

Before Mona had the chance to respond, the front door opened. The ringmaster of their circus, the summoner of them all, had arrived. Behind her, a single companion trailed with a storm in his eyes.

Orion’s lips quirked, but the ghost of a frown fled before it could be seen.

Loretta stood behind a chair, claiming it for herself and laying a somber gaze upon them all. “We may begin,” she said, her voice a command and far from a question. 

Mona raised her brows but made her way to the chair across from Loretta. The others followed suit, and a suspicious silence fell over them once they were all seated. 

“I thought you were dead,” Orion quipped.

Felipe narrowed his eyes. “I am.”

As if they had all been waiting for that short exchange to be complete, Mona clasped her hands together, gaze drifting to a shadowed corner where she imagined their invisible ally would huddle. But he wasn’t here. Alexander had already played his role. He had already given his word. All that was left was for Mona to see if it would prove worthy of her rarely-given trust.

Her gaze returned to her companions. Her thoughts returned to what was at stake. “Enough small talk. We have a daunting task ahead of us.”

                                                                         —

Cosimo knew his home best when it was in despair. It was what he had grown up with; it was what he had profited from, time and time again. There was beauty in despair; there was promise and even profit in calamity. This was his gift: optimism. But even he had trouble grappling with the current state of affairs. The Montagues had pushed his pride to the edge and thought to see him fall off the precipice. They thought to turn his affections against him, going after his adopted niece and his trusted advisor.

They thought wrong. He had watched Rafaella grow from a spiteful little creature to a woman worth fearing. He had watched the fear in her eyes turn to something terrible, and knew she would outlast them all. Still, he could not have his leadership insulted. He could not have his own advisor kidnapped without retribution.

It would be much easier to think clearly without his daughter’s fury filling the room.

“We will bring her back. No matter how many soldiers it takes, they will not take my cousin without paying for it.” The principessa was shaking with rage, her cheeks flushed with the force of it. 

“And what do you propose?” Vivianne asked, a beacon of reason and logic.

He needed them both. He needed both Juliana’s ferocity and Vivianne’s clear eyes. With his back turned towards them, staring off into space, Cosimo listened.

“A rescue.” Juliana’s eyes were on Vivianne but she spoke to her father’s heart and his pride. “We show them we are smarter and stronger by taking her back. We come together as one to find her and bring her home.”

Vivianne turned her eyes towards Cosimo. Juliana followed suit. They waited patiently for him to speak. 

“And you would lead it?” 

“Yes,” Juliana bore her eyes into her father’s back, knowing he would meet hers and be proud of the purpose he saw in them. “I will bring her home.”

Cosimo turned and felt only some strange loss of the principessa. The more and more he spoke to her, the more he saw the beginnings of a regina. 

“Very well.”

                                                                        —

Overall, Damiano might consider himself content. The Festa Dell'amore had not made a major dent in their revenue streams, and Genevieve had expertly shifted the winds to undo any damage control. Perhaps the Montagues were not the glowing heroes of Verona as he had hoped, but the people were forgetting the horror of that night the Witches took their last breaths.

Even better, the night ended with Rafaella in their grasp and beneath their heels. The Dark Lady’s information had already proven valuable, with potential threats quietly eliminated and new leads secured. And for all its unfortunate surprises and mishaps, the Festa Dell'amore had been a success.

Yet, the Montagues were growing unruly and restless, eager to see the Capulets in rags and willing to take revenge into their own hands. He had to admit: it was tempting to see how far they would go to control fate and change the tides. His hands itched to loosen the reigns and to give the Montagues over to their every whim and fancy.

It was precisely why he invited the Dark Lady to meet him. There was no one better suited to the task.

“On one condition,” Mona smiled and bent her head forward, her earrings caught the light and sparkled. Each movement was intentional, crafting an illusion she intended - needed - for Damiano to buy into. “It will be a gala to celebrate Verona, the city that brings us all together.”

“And who might you mean by us all?” Damiano asked dryly, knowing fully well what her answer would be.

“Why, the Montagues and the Capulets alike, of course. Verona’s elite. The only ones who are capable of understanding each other even while they are at odds. As a patron of secrets to both, I must extend an invitation to both as well.” She flashed a smile and played her final card against him. “It’s only right, as hostess to your grand party.”

                                                                        —

With Damiano Montague’s blessing granted as a tribute to the newfound alliance with the Lady of Whispers, Hotel Emelia has been put under her reign for one legendary evening, dedicated to the hosting of a gala unlike any other that Verona has ever seen. Montagues, Capulets, and an assortment of Verona’s elite have been invited to celebrate the city and all that unites them - power, glory and blood - in an event designed around the very notion of reveling in it all. No expense has been spared and no restrictions have been imposed in this diabolical dream the Dark Lady has crafted. And all of Verona shall succumb to it. That is the promise of its mistress -- and as it is known... she never goes back on her word.

Within the invitation, Mona has included the layout of the event. Each spectacle is intended to entice the senses, drown the heart and immerse each and every guest in the possibility that awaits them all. They are as follows, each of them taking place in a designated area in the hotel:

HALL OF HEAVEN: The sanctum of the event and the heart of the promised revelry. It overtakes the dining area of the hotel which has been refurbished to serve as both the central location within the gala and the first stepping stone paving the way for the decadent journey that awaits. No one knows the value of a first impression better than the Dark Lady, and thus she’s ensured that the crowning jewel of the event would take one’s breath away from the moment their toe dips into its threshold. Ornate decorations sprawl across every wall and line every corner. Gleaming chandeliers bathe the crowds in spiraling gold. Opulent sculptures and awe-inspiring artifacts can be found guarding the pillars and cradling the stage -- but that’s not all. The hall is not only a sight for sore eyes, but also fodder for restless appetites of all kinds. Magnanimously lined buffets are available to cater to the guests in every way, multiple live performances are scheduled to occupy the stage throughout the evening, and secluded corners are fitted with seats and tables for the reticent and the weary alike. With all that it has to offer, one can be expected to wander through it for hours and hours on end.

DEVIL’S ALLEY: While the hall embraces the weary, this area was made for the wicked. Ever familiar with the ravenous inclinations of Verona’s lost souls, the Dark Lady has designed this area to cater to their every whim and thrill. A shadowed doorway in one corner of the hall leads to a sprawling staircase that ends in an unused kitchen on the lower floor. Vacated of all cabinets and appliances, it’s been cleared and decorated to house the gala’s very own fighting club. A miniature yet no less brutal version of Measure by Measure. Any guest who’s consumed by restlessness or bloodlust alike need only climb down that flight of stairs in order to reap their instincts for all they’re worth. Bookmakers can be found nudging their way through the hollering cluster of spectators as they take bets and keep track of the ensuing fights. An overseer is also stationed nearby to make sure that things don’t get too ugly, but you can rest assured; they won’t be holding anyone back so much as they’ll be ensuring that no one topples into an early grave sooner than Verona dictates. That would sour the mood far too much for the Dark Lady’s liking.

KISS IN THE DARK: None could claim that an experience is of the Dark Lady’s creation if it wasn’t meant to stoke one’s desires and rile their slumbering demons, and it's for that purpose precisely that this section of the event was designed. Along the same floor where the Hall of Heaven is stationed, a room of the most enticing, stirring nature can be found. It’s unnerving upon first glance; as dark and sightless as an abyss, with amplified echoes to every trickle of sound and a heady, coaxing aroma in the air. A single push is all it takes for one to be plunged into this delectable nightmare. Only to realize that it’s no nightmare at all when the fall is suddenly cushioned by the plush, smooth velvet of an unseen recliner. When the fear is slowly chased away by the drifting touch of an awaiting lover -- or an array of them. There are no restrictions and no bounds in this bottomless cocoon of bliss. There are only possibilities, and the Dark Lady is more than happy to provide each and every one of them to any starved soul that comes knocking on the door.

STOLEN EDEN: No journey into Heaven is complete without a taste of the Eden it harbors, and that’s exactly what one would find upon venturing through the ornamented doors that mark both the end of the hallway and the finish line for one’s expedition through the Dark Lady’s crafted dream. What was once a broad, royal suite, is now an elaborate garden; with artificial plants and greenery along the walls, flowers of all kinds and scents dangling from the ceiling, with the smell of incense in the air and the taste of peaches on the tongue. Meant as the final resting place before guests ought to make their return back into Verona’s dreary realm of terror, the suite is nothing short of a tropical slice of paradise. With a charming fountain cradled in the heart of the garden, recliners and cushions scattered all across the room, and beautiful servers that idle around, keeping the guests company and tending to their every desire, with the promise of flesh if they so wish it and an endless reprieve lining the trays they carry, in the form of cigarettes, drinks, and every drug that Verona has to offer. It’s difficult to imagine how anyone could be persuaded to leave after such an endeavor, but then again, there’s no one that they would find awaiting them at the door to escort them to the exit. Merriment of this nature is never-ending in Verona, after all, and so long as the people ask for more, the Dark Lady shall continue to provide.

                                                                       —

OVERVIEW: Welcome to the gala, Veronesi! Queen Mab was absent from the chaos that overtook La Festa Dell’amore, but now she’s back to take Verona by storm. She’s hosting the gala in collaboration with the Montagues in honor of the newly-established relationship that she’s now formed with them, for the purpose of giving the city some room to breathe after all the ruin that it’s recently witnessed -- or so she claims at least. As we’ve all come to learn by now, in Verona, nothing is ever as it seems, and there seem to be stirrings of something big and dastardly on the horizon. The Montagues are focused on finding unity and creating order in their scattered ranks, and the Capulets are roiling over the loss of Rosaline and working to ensure that they retrieve her as fast as possible. All while a certain set of individuals lurks in the shadows and fiddles with a scheme so wholly their own. We can do nothing but hold our breath, and await what is meant to unfold.

As you’re aware, LADY ANNE and FLORIZEL are included in the event despite the fact that they are now open. Due to the crucial roles they play in the event, and for the sake of not disturbing our pre-determined plans for the plot, we’ve decided to make an exception for them. For the duration of the plot drop, they will be treated as NPC’s and you’re free to explore their involvement in your threads. But we ask that you please refrain from godmodding them or doing anything bigger than mentioning or referencing them in your threads if you wish to do so, as we have to be mindful that they are still open for applications. You can now date your threads from MARCH 4TH through MARCH 15TH -- with MARCH 15TH serving as the night of the gala. Have fun!!

[lula1991]

My Jewel

Summary

   An ancient spell causes a millenary young lady to weaken, it is up to Larry and her friends to help her find the key to return her to normal while a stranger pretends, along with three already known individuals, to take over a captive jewel somewhere in Egypt with the in order to proclaim it “yours.” (The shock of all the chaos in her).

   Objective? The guard and the exhibits must prevent it from falling into the wrong hands while between Ahkmenrah and the girl, a romance will slowly emerge that will bear fruit over time.

Genre: Adventure, comedy, romance, fantasy

Warnings: None

Chapter 1

  About 61 years ago, a group of archaeologists began a very important search dedicated only to the tracking and possible discovery of a mummy. It was the year 1940, approximately..

  The man in charge was 19 years behind the above, however over time he could never find that longing, until his young son fell with what appeared to be a sacred place but it was dark and with the low light of sunset that entered through the hole that was produced by this action, they were able to see walls covered with pure gold, hieroglyphs, stone sculptures, corrupted colors and two lackeys that guarded the entrance of said house where their masters remained in the eternal dream..

  Inside there were three ornate sarcophagi, they were two adults, a pharaoh on the right, his wife on the left of the king and his daughter or perhaps son in the middle, the coffins made of the same golden material and surrounded by riches is what he could see the young teenager with the lack of clarity offered by the rays of the god of heaven..

  The young man went inside and when he turned on his flashlight he could detail that place more closely, his eyes were mesmerized by the gigantic room from the wall full of ancient inscriptions to a built-in jewel that rested on the dark back wall, jealously guarded by Egyptian texts around, narrating the victories of royalty..

  He wanted to speak but he was so amazed that he could only hear his breathing rumbling softly when the silence of the room welcomed him..

“Son, are you alright?”

 The man, who was his father reliably, looked worried..

“Yes, I'm fine!“ he replied as he smiled.

“I'm going down!”

  Going into the ruins, he observed his son safe and sound so that this anguish ceased to take step by step until he reached him..

 “Yes!” he raised his arms, completing his happiness. “I searched for this tomb for so many years and what did you do? You fell right into it.” he raised his son in his arms.

“Look dad..”

    He turned his eyes to the walls, lighting the immensity of the delicious art engraved on the wall when his father detailed the scriptures loving the discovery..

“It's beautiful, just beautiful..”

“And that jewel..”

  He pointed in the direction of the relic assuming his father walked there followed by the young man. They advanced leaving behind the mound of sand scattered around that grave and once being close enough that boy tried to touch it but the scream of a man prevented him..

“Mr. Anderson?!”

  But another elderly man burst into the lapels of the young man's shirt and shook him, scaring him when his father protected him..

“Hey, what's going on with you?!” Mr. Anderson asked.

— la! la tlmsha! 'aw sawf tahadath 'ashya'an fazieatan..

“Ahmed, what is he saying?? What does it mean?” Mr. Anderson asked again.

“He says “ Do not! Do not touch her! Or horrible things will happen..” Ahmed answered.

  Also that they should leave there immediately since he who desecrates and unless they leave the abode of their ancestors in peace, an ancient spell would be unleashed..

  The young boy was a little scared when he slowly illuminated that same valuable golden object with a carved central winged beetle in blue stone .. Being warned by an old Egyptian prophet, we must not ignore the sayings of who knows what consequences will occur by acts of desecration..

— From now on, you should know.. 

  That man warned with the little English he used. Mr. Anderson was not superstitious but..

"And then to the one who dares to desecrate the tomb and the most precious possession of the queen, an ancient spell will be unleashed and upon it will fall its end.."  Mr. Anderson translated the hieroglyphs to perfection.

  The companions in the expedition of Mr. Anderson looked at each other while the native men of that country waited for some of them to pay attention. His son looked at his young father somewhat fearful but that archaeologist did not believe much even having heard and read the same warning..

“Bring the trucks..” ordered Mr. Anderson.

“Mr. Anderson, there is no time. A storm is very close..” said Ahmed.

“Then hurry up. Come on, work! I want them to load everything..” Mr. Anderson said.

   The father of the young boy committed to making history, arranged for the treasures to be arrived in the vehicles and due to the strong sandstorm that broke out, it was not long until he ordered for the second time that the artifacts were loaded into the trucks as quickly as possible, thus obtaining most of the objects that they could collect from said discovery that in the future they would surely be displayed as invaluable pieces in a museum..

   And the phrase was repeated again by Ahmed, a tall man with definite Arabic features..

“Her end will fall on her..” 

   Ahmed said while observing a beautiful bracelet with clothing and terminations that a female figure used in his time of office in Ancient Egypt..

Nowadays..

 After graduating as a teacher, he was able to move to get another good job, however Larry still worked the Natural History museum, after all he is a hero for his friends of wax, metal and polyurethane, so to speak..

"Everything is just as it was last time ..." Larry walked happily through his workplace.

"It hasn't changed much, Larry. Except for one detail .." Teddy said.

"I've been out of the museum for more than three years because of my studies and I'm not very aware, what is it about?" Larry's curiosity was answered by Mr. Roosevelt by pointing to a museum room. "It's new, I hadn't seen it before temporarily withdrawing from here .."

"She is a lovely young lady." Teddy commented with acceptance towards her.

"So that detail is Ahk and the Egyptian girl .." Larry smiled looking at the scene.

"It has not been skipped a day since she appeared. They are equal to two young people of this time playing to fall in love .." Sacajewea was tender to the king to spend hours hidden behind the plants of Africa spying on that someone in particular.

"I still remember the day that the boy first saw the young woman .." Teddy smiled watching the two teenagers.

**** Flash ****

A month ago..

  It was night, and there was a small party, maybe it was that Larry continued to attend night classes to get his master's degree..

  Nothing particular happened as long as King Ahkmenrah came down from that balcony leaving Jed and Octavio in charge with the music..

  Since Dr. McPhee already knew everything that happened with the table, it was no wonder to see a figure come to life, so wandering next to one of them was also not considered nonsense..

  It turns out that this above was a beautiful Egyptian, with light skin, hazel eyes, brown hair, sandals, a thin, long, tight kalasiri (dress) with two straps that covered her bust made of real white linen with golden bows to your waist He also wore a kind of short coat covering the shoulders, a two-piece cylindrical snake bracelet adorning his left arm, a small crown with a cobra calf, a delicate usej in the form of winged beetle in ranges of blue, turquoise and green with three ankh charms completing the outfit of the young..

  Ahkmenrah's face said it all, it seemed that everything was happening in slow motion in his mind..

"Wow .." Ahkmenrah whispered as if she were seeing a wonder of the ancient world. "For Ra and all the gods .." Ahk's face lit up when he was dazzled by the bubbling girl with light brown hair. It was as if he were in a dream.

  When he saw her speak willingly with the Museum Director on one of the stairs, he was fascinated. No matter what she was doing, he smiled and his eyes filled with love and wonder..

  The boy was indeed enamored, and although not every woman managed to shake his heart as the Sheikh of a harem in the past, she flecked it instantly or as the cliché is said vulgarly, love at first sight..

"I had not seen a more impressive museum than this one, it is amazing." she was so happy.

"I am very happy that she feels comfortable. I will leave her with the figures of the establishment so that she knows the place. Miss .." Dr. McPhee said goodbye with respect and she made a slight inclination allowing her to retire.

  Ahkmenrah didn't miss a single movement of the pretty girl, she was standing by the desk watching her with a half-twisted smile and her gaze was as if billions of stars were lit inside her eyes..

— ‘Ah freak out..  Le freak, c’est chic ..  Freak out ..  Ah freak out ..  Le freak, c’est chic ..  Freak out ..  Ah freak out ..  Le freak, c’est chic ..  Freak out ..  Le freak out, c’est chic ..  Freak out .. ‘

  Glamorously down the stairs like an Egyptian goddess, the girl moved exploding sensuality and with a comic touch when everything happened in slow motion to the rhythm of the background music. She ran her hair back with one hand, blinked flirtatiously looking around while some exhibits threw roses at her, worshiping her presence and she greeted with a very overwhelmed and grateful smile as she slid down the hall, looking like a model from 1999 BC..

  And to all this Ahk thought that she was addressing him with that hip wig, enlarged her smile but it was not so. He continued long and he continued absorbed in his thoughts without taking his eyes off each line of his toned and fine figure, wandering in them when Mr. Roosevelt's voice made him get out of that trance..

"I don't want you to be the same as me." Teddy spoke solemnly.

"What do you mean?" Ahkmenrah was half fool trying to spin his question well.

"In the sense that I have spent more than 50 years observing and not daring to say a word to my dear Sacajewea until Larry's arrival prompted me to do so. Do not hesitate or let her escape, Your Majesty." Teddy advised wisely while the boy sighed looking at the Egyptian girl.

  The young woman with an unknown name, detailed every corner and never noticed that those green eyes did not lose sight of her. It seems that Mr. Roosevelt's words encouraged the king to arm himself with courage, inflate his chest, accommodate his deshret (crown) and approach him to relate, establish a bond, perhaps..

"This is so beautiful .." she whispered fascinated looking at the divine building and how the party continued with its magic.

"Hello .." he said finally with real elegance behind her.

  She turned on her axis delicately as she was distracted watching the constellations forming mirror balls illuminating the room with a soft blue..

"Hello ..." and the pretty girl received him with a kind smile once they were facing each other ..

"What is your name?" Ahkmenrah asked.

"I'm Larempteh .." she introduced herself and Ahkmenrah raised an eyebrow detailing her peculiar appearance at a considerable distance, she hardly possessed makeup. Just a little soft brown shadow that accentuated her sweet eyes and her thick eyelashes, kohl for a discreet black and carmine lipstick, privileged to possess the fleshest. Beautifull. "High Blue Sapphire of the Nile, fourth queen of the fifth great king, ruler of the reign of my pharaohs. It is a pleasure .."

   Larempteh was not presumed, only that the way of presenting himself in the ancient world was that way when you were belonging to the descendants of Upper Egypt. His voice was a caress with words for him. The girl was cordial, warm and very respectful, as well as sweet and having that mixture between shy and intellectual. It illuminated the whole place only with its presence ..

"What a beautiful name." It was hypnotic and Ahk's eyes could not detach from the young woman for any reason. "Excuse me, I don't look at the girls like that .."

"Don't worry, that's fine. For that you have sight, you appreciate what you see .." Larempteh apologized by releasing a pleasant laugh.

"Besides, your English is perfect, where did you learn?" Ahkmenrah asked intrigued.

"I went to the University of Cambridge." Larempteh reported and Ahkmenrah was stunned with a smile.

"Were you in Cambridge?" Ahkmenrah asked.

"On display .." Larempteh spoke to continue his dialogue.

— The Department of Egyptology? — and both agreed in prayer with surprise.

"Yes, that's right! What a coincidence!" Ahkmenrah was surprised.

"Have you been there too? Wow, that's great." Larempteh said at last.

"Is it your first night at the museum?" Ahkmenrah asked.

"No, I came here in 1958 from the Giza expedition." Larempteh reported without further ado.

"How come I have never seen you before?" Ahkmenrah was intrigued.

"Well, they had me away in the warehouse until I created my showroom right in front of your showroom and I've been in my sarcophagus for 61 years, so I went out tonight. I've had so few visitors interested in the ancient world that everything this time I have been around my exhibition and I never dared to abandon it, custom, melancholy maybe .. It is difficult to get off Cambridge once you belong 18 years. " Larempteh said.

"Indeed. It feels weird." Ahkmenrah said.

"It would also be because of the fame of little docile nature that they instilled in us and I didn't want to be feared by the other exhibits." Larempteh said.

"I understand you." Ahkmenrah said softly.

"I must add that it may be due to destiny, I would say." Larempteh said beautifully.

"And why were we in different temples?" Ahkmenrah inquired funny.

"Or maybe the gods had prepared our meeting for a suitable moment and I think it worked today .." Larempteh shrugged a shoulder nicely.

"It's wonderful and you believe in destiny, that's fabulous." Ahkmenrah said and she gave him a smile.

"And, you're from around here I guess or .." Larempteh spoke.

"I belonged. I am a limited time conservation." Ahkmenrah explained and she was stunned.

"Limited time conservation?" Larempteh asked.

"Yes, I am part of the treasures of the British museum; but it is a long story that I will tell you." Ahkmenrah responded by giving her a beautiful smile.

"Okey .." Larempteh said quietly.

"Dynasty XX? I guess .." Ahkmenrah watched her carefully.

"Yes, how did you know?" Larempteh laughed with sophistication. She was charmingly curious to put a strand of hair behind her right ear, revealing one of her shiny rings with a triangle design and an elegant nail varnish in burgundy.

"On the above, is that you have a little seen face, my guess is that by chance you are familiar with Nefertari Meryetmut or maybe it is because she has reincarnated in you and it is impossible for you to go unnoticed." Ahkmenrah said.

  Dazzled, he winked giving her a warm smile by indirectly telling him how extremely beautiful it was. Perhaps the young man hinted that the girl would be descended from the most important queen that Egypt had, making her an extremely attractive goddess for her taste and reach..

"No .." Larempteh kept thinking. "I don't think it's that way. Well, one knows who descends to reincarnate in a living god on Earth, but one of my parents may have been the continuation to the offspring of Nefertari. Some grandson of the many children who she had .. " she continued.

"The hundreds of kings who claimed your love should tell you." Ahkmenrah supposed.

 And as? If she radiated sweetness and owner of an exquisite exotic image; how it would not be possible that the kings would not discuss the hand of that venerable woman ..

"No, it was my older sister who received all those courtships." Larempteh let out a natural laugh.

"Sister .." Ahkmenrah was not interested, rather he was unsuspecting. Shocked by the fact that her beauty is not praised.

"Yes. You see, my dad wanted two rulers, one who was a strong pharaoh and who knows how to command the kingdom and another who was a champion in the battles, especially in Kadesh. But he had my sister and me. Yes, he had more secondary children but she and I were of pure lineage with direct access to lead a nation. " Larempteh commented raising his brow with a smile naturalizing his story.

"And why her and not you, how is it possible?" Ahkmenrah used a tone of Real disbelief.

"It was very beautiful .." Larempteh simply shrugged one shoulder in a beautiful way continuing the thread of praise. "Although she was somewhat crazy .." she added without further ado.

"I am sure it does not overcome the honey in your voice or your delicate presence." Ahkmenrah said gallantly.

  The young woman did not know where to look, and how not, Ahk's electric eyes dared not detach from her youthful features, she was intimidated by those lovely courtships and tilted her face a little to the side hiding her faint blush while maintaining a thin smile while he tilted his head and then watched him ..

"And what's your name?" Larempteh asked.

"I am Ahkmenrah, fourth king of the fourth king, ruler of my parents' lands and the pleasure is all mine." Ahkmenrah bowed bowing before her presence, showing him cordiality when he kissed her hand, she could not believe that this kind of young man with 18 years of age, a classical conservation of 4000 years, was real. How the man who dreamed all his life. "Sorry for my daring but I couldn't stop watching you since I saw you. You are more beautiful than the pyramids in Cairo." Ahk flattered her and the girl felt another strong blush seize her face.

"How divine." Larempteh was stunned by all the praise she got from him in a delicate tone with a slightly strange smile.

"I spent 54 years wrapped in bandages and dirty linen, locked in a sarcophagus and after waking up 61 consecutive nights to meet you, that is divine. You are a beautiful, beautiful creature." Ahkmen after that compliment, smiled sideways showing his immaculate teeth, without showing lasciviousness or perversion, it was like a seductive tactic in him.

"Thank you?" Larempteh laughed with elegant confusion.

"The pharaohs tend to have an aggressive and unkind image ..." Ahkmenrah commented recovering her position of getting straight.

"I'll be careful then .." Larempteh's whisper was a little less than what is called suggestive, maybe being mysteriously insinuating was a sound seduction tactic to start the game of romance. "Although if someone comes between you and my beauty, probably the king of 4000 years ago, maybe make an exception. But as long as none of that happens.." Ahkmenrah said.

"I knew how the pharaohs were in our time. Nothing tolerant, only in tiny exceptions .." Larempteh said.

"I'm kind, don't believe it in me unless .." Ahkmenrah leaned back, bringing the female hand to his lips and then straightening and winking again. 

— Laaa, no!" Do not touch that! Those are not headphones! It's a defibrillator!

Tilly's voice was heard as she ran around Laaa in the lobby.

  That stir caused Rexy to get scared and make sounds, scaring the crowd minimally, causing Larempteh to avoid how he could alpacas, llamas, terracotta soldier and Vikings fleeing in his direction. There was a moment that he lost his balance by their action, it was there that he fell into Ahk's arms that held her tightly by reflex, that caused her to sink her face into the hollow of the king's precious and soft neck, forming an electricity This was done in the face of the clash of skin against skin and at that moment a spark ignited between them when they looked at each other ..

"What divine eyes you have .." Ahkmenrah praised their color by giving him a soft grin on her lips and she watched him behind her eyelashes smiling tenderly, losing himself in his. **** End of Flash ****