#curlyinktordem

[becauseplot]

Hi!! Inktordem!! Totally didn’t forget!! I’m only a few minutes late!! Have a quick and dirty character study!!

Spoilers for the finale of OPC!

DAY 4 — RELÍQUIAS

Getting Kian and the Relics secured in the São Paulo base was priority, of course. Construction of the new safe room was projected to take three days. Arthur has been in and out during that time, splitting his hours between resting at home, coordinating people at the base as they arrived from Italy, checking in with his friends, and handling his part of the funeral arrangements.

He hasn’t seen his guitar case since he handed it over at the airport. It arrived before him, traveling separately due to its contents. His sniper went to weapons storage, where Ivete eventually cleaned and repaired it. Meanwhile, until the construction is completed, the safe behind Veríssimo’s desk is where they’re currently holding the Magistrate’s mask and Joui’s sword.

He’s…doing okay, all things considered. Plenty of things to do, plenty of people to see, and damn, plenty of hours to sleep. He’s fairly certain Mr. Veríssimo has been giving him less tasks than he usually does, but Arthur knows he, personally, needs the break, and he knows Mr. Veríssimo needs the work. Arthur spends time with Ivete and the others, chatting frequently and playing silly games of pool and reminding himself that it’s not all lost, and that the love is still there. The empty spaces in his life. The ache of phantom limbs. The people who were just here, ripped away. He tries not to let it choke him. When it’s only him at night, swathed in the silence, a bloodied, serene smile in his mind…he doesn’t always manage it.

~*~

Getting Kian and the Relics secured in the São Paulo base was priority, of course. Construction of the new safe room was projected to take three days. Veríssimo has been in the base since before construction started—the one to call in the contractor they usually trust to handle these sorts of projects. He’s been coordinating with Letícia to make sure everyone who needs a flight to Brazil gets one, coordinating with Arthur to make sure people are guided by someone when they come in, and getting his…personal affairs in order.

Aside from when he initially received it, Veríssimo has opened Arthur’s guitar case only once since it arrived. Rubens came by about a day after Veríssimo returned to Brazil and asked where the Relics ended up. Well, Relic. To assuage his concern, Veríssimo took out the guitar case and unzipped it for him, showing the Relic of Energy safely stored inside. All Rubens asked was if it would get a proper safe like Kian. When Veríssimo told him that construction was already underway, Rubens nodded, and with sparse words, left.

Veríssimo put the Relic of Energy away with a gentleness reserved only for the damned. It has been sitting, and continues to sit, in the safe behind his desk, nestled beside Arnaldo’s Grimoire and Veríssimo’s old shotgun. He swears he can feel him sometimes, hovering at his shoulder or slouched over the back of his chair as he works. Veríssimo is already well acquainted with such ghosts, though. No Relic could ever hope to mimic such a feeling. Veríssimo continues, just as he always has. There are funeral arrangements to be made.

~*~

Getting Kian and the Relics secured in the São Paulo base was priority, of course. Construction of the new safe room was projected to take three days. Rubens hasn’t spent very much time in the base at all. He came by when he initially arrived, just to see if he was needed, but when Arthur told him to go home and rest, he did. Well, he went to visit Johnny, which is just as good.

He came by a second time, after visiting Johnny, to see what was being done with the Host. Mr. Veríssimo showed him that it was being stored in the safe behind his desk until construction of the new safes was completed. A couple more days, Mr. Veríssimo said. Until then, it would be under his watch. Rubens was still doubtful, but he could feel the heat coming off it from where he stood, the way the air crackled around it, and he decided it was time to leave.

The only other time he came to base during those three days was when the team started texting about a game of pool in the Whattsap group and Balu began to demand a rematch from him. Other than that, he has been visiting Johnny, and sleeping, and visiting Johnny, and texting, and keeping his mind away from the phantom pressure around his neck and the just-barely-there hum of electricity in his sternum. Some mornings he wakes up and the roof of his mouth still tastes like blood.

~*~

They wait for Rubens to arrive before opening the guitar case. Arthur is the one to do it, the metal zippers warm to the touch. He steps aside to allow Mr. Veríssimo to lift Joui’s sword out while Rubens spins the dials on the safe. A deep thunk, and the door swings open: a long, shallow locker, with a pair of pegs at the top.

Arthur watches Joui’s sword go in, hung gently. He exchanges a look with Rubens, who has his hand on the door and seems to be waiting for something.

But there’s nothing to wait for, is there. It’s done. Arthur nods, Mr. Veríssimo steps back, and Rubens shuts the safe.

[becauseplot]

So. Today's Inktordem. Did I absolutely bite off more than I could chew? Yes. Did it turn out? Kind of! But it's written and NOT past midnight so I'll take it. Also, reminder I swapped days 3 and 5. This will definitely not be the last time I shuffle things around :]

Spoilers for OPD lore! (Not sure about which episode in particular you need to have watched...? I think up through episode 5 is enough but proceed with caution anyway.) Additional TWs for implied/referenced child abuse and implied/referenced critical illness. Let me know if I missed anything! <3

DAY 5 (3) – ORFANATO

1999

Cesar pants as he races up the hill. Running through bushes, stumbling past rocks, dodging trees. Eventually, the slope gets steep enough that the trees fall away, afternoon sun hitting the back of his neck, and Cesar has drop down onto his hands to grab old roots sticking out of the earth for help.

Dirt kicks down. A little ways up, climbing much faster, Bruno has paused to look back at him. He grins. “C’mon!” And he keeps on climbing.

Cesar adjusts his backpack and gives chase. He doesn’t manage to catch up to Bruno, but Bruno is still grinning when he leans over the crest of the hill and offers Cesar a hand up. He scrambles up the last of the incline and stands, spinning around in slow circles.

“Woahhhhhh,” Cesar whispers, taking it all in. “Bruno, this is awesome! You can see everything!”

And you can. There’s the street below, winding around the side of the hill, and Bruno’s bus stop further along it. Down the slope are the houses, the shops, their school at the edge of it; cars weaving between it all like little beetles in the grass, people walking the streets like ants; and far away, towards the setting sun, the forest at the other end of town that sweeps over the distant hills.

“Pretty cool, right?” Bruno says.

“Really cool! How did you find this?”

“I dunno, I just kinda found it. I started looking around in the bushes behind the bus stop, and then I found that trail, and then I kept climbing and—” He throws his arms out, gesturing to the horizons— “I was here! Oh, and…”

He turns and squints against the afternoon sun, shielding his eyes. Suddenly, he points. “There. That’s where I live.”

Cesar comes over and peers over his shoulder, where Bruno is pointing. He shields his eyes with a hand. “…The woods?”

“Yeah. Well, the orphanage is in the woods, obviously. You just can’t see it from here because all the trees are in the way. But it should be riiiight there.” He pauses. He turns a bit. “Or actually, there. Or there. Or—“

He whacks Cesar in the face with his arm. Cesar stumbles back. “Ow!”

“Hey!”

“What the heck!”

“You were in my way!”

They devolve into giggles, Cesar cradling his aching nose, beaming. He happens to look at the bottom of the hill, and he gasps. “Bruno! Your bus!”

Bruno’s eyes go wide. He trots to the edge of the hill, where Cesar is looking. “…Oh.”

“We can run!” Cesar says. He sits down at the edge of the hill to start sliding down the slope. “We can be quick, we can catch it.”

“I don’t think so.”

Cesar looks back. Bruno doesn’t seem happy. “Won’t you get in trouble, or…?”

“Uh…” Bruno tugs at the hems of his hoodie. “It’s probably fine. The Sisters don’t care that much, I’ve been home late before.” Bruno shrugs and gives a small smile. “I like being here more anyway. The rooms get really noisy.”

Bruno comes and plops himself down beside Cesar, shoulders bumping. Though the sun is bright without the shade of the trees, the wind is a hair cooler up here, a breath of relief in the cloying heat of the approaching summer.

“Anyway!” Bruno says. “You know my secret spot now! And no body else does. That means we can come up here and hang out, just the two of us, whenever we want.”

Cesar’s eyes go wide. His chest feels light. “Whenever we want?”

~*~

2002

“So that’s…that’s negative eight, right?”

“No. When you subtract a negative, it becomes positive, remember?”

“Rrrright.” Bruno flips his pencil around and erases his work. The eraser smudges dark across the page, staining it. “Awh, no.”

“Hold on.” Cesar puts his history worksheet down where he’s laid his hoodie out on the grass and plops his pocket calculator on it so it won’t blow away in the breeze. He rummages through his backpack and eventually finds a spare pencil sitting at the bottom of his bag. “Try this one. I don’t think the eraser is dried out.”

“Thanks.” Bruno reaches up from where he’s laid out on his stomach in the grass and takes the pencil. He erases more of the page, cleaner this time. “So that means it’s negative four.”

“Yep.”

“And I have to…divide. To get X by itself.”

“Yep.”

“So uh, negative twelve divided by negative four…” Bruno starts scribbling. “…is negative three.”

Cesar tilts his head to either side, smiling a little. “Ehhh…”

“What do you—OH. Right. Right. Negative divided by negative is positive.” Bruno flops onto his front, face planting into his worksheet. “Why is this so confusing,” he mumbles into the algebra.

“I think you got it, dude.”

Bruno lets out a long groan. Cesar pats his head. Bruno whines and bats Cesar’s hand away like a particularly despondent cat. Cesar giggles.

Bruno lifts his head out of his paper with a deep breath. “Okay.” He picks up his pencil. “Negative twelve divided by negative four is positive three. Which is…” He draws a box around the answer. “…equal to X. And that one’s done.”

“Yeah! See, I think you’re getting it now.”

“Maybe.” Bruno sighs. “Thanks for helping me. I—I really don’t get this stuff, I don’t know why.”

“Of course, it’s all good.” Cesar thinks. “Though… What about the older kids at the orphanage? They must’ve taken this math before.”

Bruno looks away, picking at the grass with a scowl. “None of the older kids ever want to help me. They just call me stupid.”

Cesar frowns, a sudden anger sweeping through him. “What the fuck, that’s not fair!”

Bruno gasps. “Cesar!”

“What? It’s not! You’re smart! I mean, you get all this history stuff a lot better than I do. And you’re really good at chess! And came up with a reason for why we were late so freaking Mrs. Leite didn’t give us another detention.”

Bruno winces. “I mean, I told her you had to help me wash bird poop off the front of my shirt in front of the whole class. And now everyone’s being mean and weird about it.”

“Better than another detention.” And better than the truth, which was that he was panicking and crying behind the boy’s bathroom for the whole of recess just because the cafeteria was a little too crowded today and Bruno was there trying to help him calm down. Forget what Bruno thinks, Cesar feels stupid. “I’m so sick of doing garbage pick-up on the yard.”

Bruno picks up his pencil and spins it around. “Me too…”

Cesar swallows at that. His face gets a little hot. “You don’t have to stay when I get all…you know, panicky. Especially if it’s gonna make you late. I’m fine by myself.”

Bruno stops spinning his pencil. “But then I’d leave you alone?”

“Yeah?”

“Doesn’t that usually make it worse?”

Yes. “I’ll be fine, I mean, it always stops eventually.”

“Or I could stay, and it gets better sooner.” Bruno shrugs. “I don’t really care.”

Cesar hesitates. “But don’t you get in trouble with the Sisters? Or the Father?”

Bruno huffs, dropping his chin into his hands. “Everyone’s always in trouble for some reason. At least I’m not one of the ones getting into fights.” Bruno’s mouth screws up, eyes firmly not meeting Cesar’s. He looks out at the hills below, towards the forest. “Yeah…”

Bruno doesn’t talk an awful lot about what the Sisters and the Father do when they get in trouble, but he’s noticed Bruno sometimes comes to school wincing the day after they’re sent home with a detention slip. Cesar is scared to know what getting into fights would lead to.

When Cesar comes home with a detention slip, his mom just gets worried. She knows why he has it.

“Uh,” says Cesar, voice small. “Sorry. I shouldn’t mention it.”

Bruno just shrugs again.

Cesar’s foot bounces where his ankles are crossed. Then, he uncrosses his legs and slides down onto his front like Bruno, chin rested in his hands. Cesar stares at him. And stares at him. And stares at him.

Bruno, eventually, gets his eyes off that forest and looks at him. Another beat of intense staring, and Bruno makes a confused face. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m just looking.”

They stare at each other, contest.

Cesar blows air in Bruno’s eyes.

“Hey!” Bruno laughs. “What are you doing?”

“Thinking about the homework,” Cesar replies. “Do you wanna keep going?”

“Ehh…” Bruno scratches the back of his neck. “Only if you want to keep helping me. Don’t you have to go home soon?”

“Mom only really cares that I’m back home before it’s dark.” And it’s true. She doesn’t mind when she knows he’s hanging out with Bruno. Cesar takes Bruno’s worksheet and spins it around so he can read it. “So which one are you on now?”

~*~

2005

“…But she kept going on and on about going to the neighbor’s party, so then I just yelled at her to leave me alone and walked out. Went up to my room.”

“I uh, I take it she didn’t like that?”

“Ha, no.”

Bruno huffs a dry laugh from where he sits in the grass beside him. “Jeez. So then what happened?”

“Nothing. I didn’t come down, she didn’t come up. I went to bed and by the time I came down this morning she already left for work.”

“No, dude…”

“Yeah.” Cesar sighs. He keeps his eyes on the clustered city lights, burning bright against the black outline of the forest. “So I guess that’s why I wanted to stay out here tonight. I didn’t want to be sitting at home just…waiting for her to get back, you know?”

Bruno hums.

There’s a silence that follows. The crickets fill it. In the darkness of night, with his closest friend sitting beside him, Cesar finally finds the words.

“I just—I don’t like fighting with my mom. You know that. I feel awful afterwards. And then I start missing my dad, and then I feel even worse. I know—I know she’s just worried that I don’t have a lot of friends because it’s just her and I, you know? A-And I know she’s more stressed than usual because I overheard her talking to Mrs. Couto on the phone yesterday about how they’re doing layoffs at work—“

“Cesar…”

“—and she’s—well she’s newer than a lot of the staff there so there’s a good chance she’ll get cut first like last time…”

Cesar scrubs his hands up and down his face. “Ugh! It’s just shit right now, dude. I hate it.”

Bruno bumps his shoulder lightly. Almost as if on accident. “I’m sorry.”

Cesar sighs. “It’s fine. Thanks. I’m—I don’t know. It’s fine.”

“Is she… Going to be worried about you being out this late?”

“I’ve been out later. She’d guess I’m with you anyhow, so.” Cesar shrugs. “She won’t be worried.”

“…Right,” Bruno drawls after a moment. Cesar looks at him, confused by his tone. Bruno is grinning. “Because we’re so good at keeping out of trouble.”

Cesar gestures sharply at him. “She doesn’t need to know about the bike incident. She doesn’t. What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.”

“Like how you suck at running?”

“Dude.”

Bruno chuckles, hiding his smile behind his hand.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Cesar says, even as a smile pulls at his lips. “She can’t know, because if she does, then she’ll tell Mr. Campos and then we'll be so fucked.”

“Relax, relax, I won’t say anything, I promise. We said to the grave, right?”

“To the grave, Bruno. Or Mr. Campos will actually murder us.”

Cesar stretches his arms out in front of him. He notices that moisture in the night air isn’t quite as dense as usual. With the breeze up here, it’s refreshing. “You know, if I ever, like, smooth things over with my mom, you should come over for lunch again sometime.”

Bruno chuckles. It gives Cesar pause; it’s a sadder sound this time. “I don’t think the Sisters will be letting me out much after this.”

Cesar grimaces. Ah yeah, the Sisters’ curfew. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Yeah. I’ll just have to play extra good for a while, you know?”

No, Cesar…really doesn’t. Cesar leans back on his hands and looks to Bruno. He can’t quite say the question, but…

Bruno gets the idea. He rubs the back of his neck. “It’s…better here than it is back there. The Sisters and the Father have been really weird recently, more strict about random things. Kish says they’re trying to ‘keep appearances’ for Mister Fritz.” Bruno sighs. “Everyone’s more on edge than usual.” He looks down, picking at the grass. “And I’m…”

“…You’re what?” Cesar asks.

Bruno stares at out at the city for a moment. He stares out at the forest beyond it. He hugs his arms around his knees. “…Nothing. It’s nothing. Things are a lot right now, is all.”

Cesar suddenly isn’t sure what to say anymore. He bumps Bruno’s shoulder with his own. Something is just slightly left of everything else. Cesar can hear the wind through the trees.

“I like it up here, though,” murmurs Bruno.

“…I do too.”

Cesar tilts his head back and stares up at the stars in the sky. They can’t see many, not with the glare from the city down below, but a few break through the void, little pinpricks of light.

He looks at Bruno. “Bruno?”

Bruno looks back at him. “Yeah?”

Cesar swallows. “…Do you ever feel like you just—don’t know what to do?”

~*~

2007

First he had to make up that quiz, then Mr. Medina wanted him to run those packets down to the main office, then Marcos stopped him in the hall about fucking math club again—it’s always everything at once, isn’t it? Cesar is huffing by the time he starts to climb the slope, passing his hands over the roots as he darts up.

“Bruno!” he calls ahead. “Sorry I’m late, I swear I…”

But the hilltop is empty. Just the grass and the late afternoon sun. Cesar stands at the edge of the slope heaving for breath, backpack falling off his shoulders, and stares at a little sheet of paper tacked to earth with the sharp end of a bent paperclip. Cesar stoops over and picks it up.

Sorry I missed you. I had to head back to the orphanage. I know you said you wanted to hang out, but you know how it is with curfew. (A short, scribbled-out phrase. “I can’t something.”) Maybe some other time.

—Bruno

It’s the most words Bruno has “spoken” to him in the last several weeks.

Cesar stares at the paper in his hands. He crumples it and throws it at the ground. Then he picks it up and un-crumples it and sits his ass down at the edge of the slope and does not cry about it. And then he goes home.

(Maybe some other time?)

~*~

2009

Cesar climbs the slope, beads of sweat on the back of his neck. It’s easier if you run up the side, let the momentum carry you part of the way, but…he doesn’t feel it today. Everything inside him is shaking, his breath thin.

And yet he climbs, and he sits down in the dewy grass, not giving a damn that it soaks through his pants. And he pulls his legs up to his chest and plants his face on his knees and wraps his arms around his head and tries to breathe.

The doctor’s appointment went awful. The disease has only progressed. His mom will only get sicker as time goes on. They’re looking at treatment options, what could make her healthier before it can get worse, and what could be more effective in the long run; they’re not the same thing.

It’s just the two of them.

It wasn’t always this way.

He wasn’t always this way.

Cesar takes a deep breath and lifts his head. There’s the street below, winding around the side of the hill, and the bus stop further along it. Down the slope are the houses, the shops, his old primary school at the edge of it; the traffic congesting the arteries of the city; and far away, towards the setting sun, the forest at the other end of town.

Cesar tilts his head to the side. There’s smoke coming from somewhere in the forest, staining the afternoon sky an ugly brownish-grey. Probably some dumbass kids and a campfire gone wrong. Cesar lies down on his back, folds his arms over his eyes, and waits for something to feel better.

[becauseplot]

Hi yall! I'm back from my little three-day break :D It's Inktordem time again! This time, we're doing something a little different. AKA, I'm subjecting you all to one of my AUs. I've talked about it a bit on here (god I need to make a masterpost of my AU rambles) but there will be basic details under the cut.

Spoilers for OPD Episode 6!

DAY 9 — MORTE

90 Seconds to Midnight AU. Thiago survives Santo Berço, but the Symbol is still branded into his mind. It starts off as nightmares of the Symbol that he and the others suspect are just that, nightmares. But then, as the months progress, he starts to zone out while he's awake, sucked in by the Symbol for seconds, minutes, even hours at a time, if no one is there to pull him out of it. He's roommates with Liz, who has been on a downward spiral herself, drinking more and diving deeper into her investigation of the Desconjuração with a growing disregard for her own health and safety.

~*~

Liz paces back and forth in her cell, arms folded tight and head ducked low. Her skin still burns with the fresh tattoos, but it’s a distant thing in her mind.

He’s not back yet. Why isn’t he back yet?

Facts of the case swirl in her head. There is something that ties them all together, something she isn’t seeing. After months of searching, she feels like she’s on the brink of discovery. She just needs to dig a little deeper. Why was Leonardo’s body so mangled? Why did Eva Van Gloss’ research turn up something about the Desconjuração, whatever that is? What does Santo Berço have to do with it? Why are these occultists so interested in it?

And why isn’t he back yet?

Liz should have thrown Thiago out the moment he showed up at the apartment. She should have slammed that door in his face and not opened it for anything, because anything would have been better than this—captured by occultists, tortured with nightmares, experimented on with these strange tattoos that she can’t make heads nor tails of. 

She thinks of Thiago going through what she did. She thinks of his mind, under so much stress, being swamped by that Symbol as a result. And considering that his nightmares and lapses of awareness have just been getting worse and worse over the past month—this is the last thing he needed, to get roped up into Liz’s mess.

Thiago was taken for…whatever it is these vermin are doing to them before Liz was. When she was thrown back in their cell, it was empty. She doesn’t know if that means he’s gone twice while she’s only gone once, or if he’s simply taking longer, or if he’s dead—the last of which she can’t even begin to consider, because that would be another person dead because of her. And for it to be Thiago, the one she watched fight for her all those decades, the one who continues to fight to stay here despite the memories of the Symbol eating his mind, the one who means everything to her—

Liz runs her hands into her hair. Her heart hammers in her chest. Oh god. Oh god he needs to be alive. Everything will be okay so long as he’s still alive. Liz can still save them so long as he’s still alive. He needs to be alive. Please be alive. Please be alive. Please be alive. Please be alive.

She continues to pace with her head swirling in desperate pleas. Her shoes hit a steady beat on the concrete, the only sound. Minutes melt into meaningless treacle. 

And then, footsteps that aren’t her own. 

She doesn’t hear them over the roar of her thoughts, not until they land at the door to her cell. Something is being dragged. She freezes and whirls around in time to see, in the feeble light from the cracks in the walls, a dark heap being tossed into her cell. The door swings shut and locks faster than she can blink, not a word spoken.

“Hey!” she shouts at the door. “Where do you think you’re going!”

The heap shifts. It groans.

“Thiago?”

Forget the fucking occultists. She’s at his side in an instant, dropping to the ground so fast it hurts her knees. She gets her hands to him and rolls him onto his side, checking his head for any bleeding from when he was thrown in. She pauses to tilt his face towards her. The slivers of light reveal that his skin has been written over with tattoos as well. “Thiago? Thiago are you alright? Are you with me? Does anything hurt?”

No answer save for another soft noise of pain. 

“Thiago? Are you hearing me?”

Nothing. He’s limp through it all. Weak. His head lolls on his shoulders, as if asleep, but she can see that his eyes hang open, vacant. He looks…

No, she won’t say it. She won’t even think it. He’s still breathing, albeit shallow, and his pulse is steady, albeit slow, and his skin may be cold, but it is not the chill of the cadavers she’s become so familiar with. 

She recognizes this look on his face. He’s still here. Just lost. It happens with him sometimes, especially when he’s under stress—the Symbol takes him away for a while. He just needs some help finding his way back.

She doesn’t want to force him to sit up in case he’s injured. She shrugs off her coat, bunches it up, and carefully slides it under his head. Then she cups his face with one hand, thumb rubbing circles under his eye. Then she takes one of his hands in her other and squeezes.

“Hey,” she says, her voice clear. It doesn’t tremble. “We’ve been here before. I know you can hear me. You always do, eventually. So listen to me…” 

Come back. You’re not done yet. Come back.

“...Your name is Thiago Fritz. You live with me, Elizabeth Webber. You and the others just call me Liz…”

She keeps talking. She talks about where they live, that Santo Berço has burned, that he destroyed it; where they are now (as best as she can), his work at the Order, anything she can recall of the last time she spoke to any of the others, weeks ago now. Whatever she can think of that might pull him back and ease his anxiety when the disorientation sets in.

At some point, he starts to squeeze her hand back. And his eyes open, just a little wider. 

Liz pauses in her speech. “Thiago…? You with me?”

His eyes are moving now, flicking side to side. He blinks a few times. He breathes in, and he breathes out. “...M’with you.”

“And you’re…” Liz wants to be relieved, but she looks over his expression; calm. “...You’re feeling okay?”

Thiago hums. “Tired. Where are we?”

This is strange. This is very strange. Thiago is usually much more agitated when he comes out of the Symbol, panicking because he can’t recognize anything of his surroundings. “I’m not sure. The occultists took us, remember? We’ve been in this cell for a few days now, I think.” Thiago nods a little. “And you’re sure you’re okay? Does anything hurt?”

Thiago shifts and winces, exhaling. “Some. But. It’s not bad.”

“Did you hit your head?”

“No.”

“Do you remember what they did to you?”

“...Something on my skin. I remember nightmares, I think.”

“The same as me, then,” Liz murmurs. “You didn’t hear anything else they said? Anything about where we are, what they’re doing, or…?”

“No.”

Liz stares down at him. She squeezes his hand a little tighter, and she considers the facts, and—this isn’t right. Not at all. His voice is too damn flat. His words are too damn short. She doesn’t think it’s an effect of the drugs, because his speech doesn’t sound slurred, he just sounds—listless. Weirdly disinterested, like finding out anything about what these occultists want from them is hardly a concern for him.

Dread suddenly begins to pool in her gut. No. Liz refuses to consider what it means. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks him after a moment. “Is it something to do with the Symbol? You seem off.”

Tell me I’m overreacting. Tell me I’m fussing too much. Smile and give me a reason to be wrong.

Thiago doesn’t smile. He looks away. Even with all of the nights of lost sleep he’s had over the past few months, the circles under his eyes have never been deeper. “Just… I’m just tired, Liz.”

“You can rest,” she replies. “I can keep watch. I won’t let them take you—”

“No, it—”

They both stop.

A small eternity stretches between them. Liz watches the rise and fall of his chest, and feels the rise and fall of her own. The only sound is the sound of their breathing.

“What?” she whispers, piercing the silence.

“...It doesn’t matter.”

“No, you can tell me—”

“I am.”

Liz pauses. Thiago’s other hand creeps up and finds her knee. Tethered.

“It doesn’t matter,” he continues. “The Symbol has always been in my head. It’s in me, Liz. It’s everywhere. I’m tired. I can’t…”

Her stomach is sinking. The walls are closing in. She stares down at him, searching, Give me a goddamn reason to be wrong, Thiago. “You can’t what?”

He doesn’t answer. Liz feels a sudden dampness running along the side of her hand, the one cradling his face. He’s crying.

No. No no no no no no— “No no no, hey.”

Liz hooks her arms under him and pulls him to her chest, hugging him tight. To hell with the possible injuries, this is more important right now. Nothing could possibly be more important than this right now. “Thiago, listen to me—you cannot give up on me. That Symbol can’t take you. I’m going to get us out of here, I swear. You just need to hang on a little longer, okay? We’ve made it this far, we can make it a little further. I’ll get us out of here, and then we can go home and rest.” 

She’s aware she’s gripping the back of his jacket hard enough to make her fingers hurt. She’s aware that she’s crying now, too. She shifts her other hand to cradle the back of his head.

“We have to have hope, right? You promised me we’d have hope. It’s not over yet. We’re still here. We have to have hope.”

Please don’t go. Please don’t go. Please don’t go.

One of his arms shifts up to her back, returning the embrace. It’s weak, but it’s there. It’s something. 

Thiago takes a deep breath. “I’m with you, my dear,” he murmurs into her shoulder. “Do what you need to.”

She holds him tighter. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

“We’re leaving this place together,” she promises. “Okay?”

Thiago nods.

“Okay.”

Liz continues to hold him. Thiago continues to lean into her. The cell is dark, and they both wait—for answers, for daylight, for whatever is yet to come.

[becauseplot]

I don’t usually do October prompt challenges, but Inktordem exists and I miss writing! No promises on the length or quality, or that I’ll do every day, or that I’ll write them in order, or that I’ll use exclusively the prompt list (I have a list of alt prompts in my back pocket), but I’m gonna try.

I wrote this yesterday but it was 20 minutes to midnight and I was sleepy so I’m posting it now.

Spoilers for lore revealed in OPD ep 18!

DAY 1 — SANGUE

Agatha runs her tongue over the front of her teeth, feeling the pinch of her fangs, and licks her lips. She presses herself a little deeper into the corner. Hands fisted at her sides, she watches as the tall fucker—it’s always him nowadays; she hates his stupid face—makes a show of looking through the instruments on the table. She can see him in the sickly yellow light of the single bulb: picking up the pliers, setting them down, picking up the hammer, setting it down, picking up the knife, setting it down.

He does this every time. Trying to wind her up, trying to thicken that chilling fog. She hates that it works. The anger bubbles up inside her just as quickly as the fear does, a violent, roiling boil that she swears spills around her like her blood that’s spilled all over that stupid, shit-fucking symbol painted on the floor. She can feel it sticky on her skin.

Finally, the fuckhead makes a choice. He picks up the skin rake. God, Agatha hates the skin rake.

He turns towards her, quick. She flinches. He chuckles, mocking. Agatha snarls, and swallows, and sucks in a breath, and grinds her jaw, and heart pounding in her ears, she presses herself further into that corner, as if she can mold her body into the wall by force, ache of unfeeling bricks against her back, grating the skin through her threadbare shirt, bursts of pain against the knobs of her spine and ribs and elbows and shoulder blades, and—

—she hates that fucking skin rake. She hates it so much. She hates this fucker so goddamned much she wants to throw up. She wants him dead. She wants him more than dead, she wants him flayed into sad, disgusting pieces all over the floor. She wants him screaming like she’s screamed all these days, weeks, months until his vocal cords snap into a gooey glob in his throat and he chokes on it and—

—he reaches for her—

—NO NO NO NO NO NO NO—

—she throws her whole body with the motion, chest and and legs and arms and head and grabs his arm and bites with everything she is—

—blood bursts in her mouth. Coppery and thick. It splashes up her cheeks and her nose and even into her eyes. Her fangs hit bone, easy, and there’s an audible crunch.

And he screams.

Agatha lets his arm go laughing. Her whole body trembles with it. Even as bile creeps up her throat she laughs, satisfaction at the sight of him screaming and scrambling away from her crashing and swirling with the hatred and fear, fear, fear.

She’s fucked, she’s so, so fucked, but for now she howls in sheer delight as he howls in agony, the skin rake dropped on the ground.

Agatha runs her tongue over her fangs. Metallic tang. Bright red vengeance, all over her lips. She grins at him, all teeth. See who’s laughing now, dickface. See who’s laughing now.

[becauseplot]

I continue with Inktordem! A bit longer than I thought it would be, but it’s done :D

Spoilers for basic story setting stuff revealed in OPD ep 1.

DAY 2 — SACRIFÍCIO

The trill, beep, and thunk of the Tetris machine is the only sound in the new Suvaco Seco. Kaiser’s hands fly across the controls, and his eyes flit back and forth across the screen. He’s riding a thin line this game. The stacks of colored blocks are dangerously close to the top and restricting his ability to maneuver them, but with every block he places, he punches his score up a little closer to Samuel’s.

He’s so close this time. A few minutes, and he’s secured his crown again, easy.

There’s sudden, heavy footsteps from the door that leads down to the base. Kaiser tenses a fraction of a second before a lightning-fast glance tells him who it is.

“Hey Kaiser.”

“Hey Arthur.”

Kaiser’s eyes are squarely on the screen again by the time he says it, sending a few pieces to the far side to get them out of the way.

He hears Arthur approach. Then he feels him at his shoulder. “How long have you been at this?”

“‘Bout an hour. Fourth attempt.”

Arthur whistles. “Samuel beat your record again?”

“Not for long.” Kaiser flicks a piece too far. “Shit!” He scrambles to fix it, desperately clearing a line. Then, three more, bam bam bam.

Arthur lets out a low chuckle. “Man, your hands are moving! No time to pause and help me put away the bar stock they carried in this morning, then?”

Kaiser pauses to focus. A piece, another piece, swap that one out, line cleared. He glances at the score. “Nnnnnnngive me five minutes.”

“You got it. I’ll just get things started, then.”

Arthur leaves. Kaiser clears three lines at once, then hurries for a fourth, then swaps out his piece for a fifth. “Thanks!” he remembers to say.

“Of course!” Arthur laughs.

A quiet descends upon the bar again. Now, the sound of his thunk-click-thunk on the Tetris machine is accompanied by the sound of Arthur shifting boxes up by the front door, humming things under his breath. Kaiser feels a tension melt out of his shoulders, and an easy smile form on his lips. Somehow, he thinks his piece-placing gets faster.

Arthur passes behind him a couple times, depositing boxes on what sounds like the counter to sort the stock. On the third pass, Arthur stops at Kaiser’s shoulder again, the bottles in the box clinking.

“Ooh,” drawls Arthur. “You’re close!”

“Yep.” Kaiser says it tightly. Riding that thin line again—close to the score, but towers close to the top as well. He doesn’t have to play the long game anymore, though, he just has to at least make it to the finish line. “Nearly there…”

Arthur bounces on his heels beside him, chanting, “Kai-ser, Kai-ser, Kai-ser, Kai-ser—”

“Dude!” Kaiser laughs.

“What?”

“You’re freaking me out!”

“I’m just trying to cheer for you.”

“Cheer quietly! In your head! Leave me alone!”

Arthur cackles, shoulders shaking with it, and then— “Oh shit—“

The bottle rattle loudly. Kaiser just barely spots the violent motion of the box out of the corner of his eye before he whirls around and dives down and throws his hands at it, fingers catching under the lip just in time to keep all the glass bottles inside from tumbling out onto the tile.

“Arthur?” Kaiser says as he watches his friend get a better grip on it with his one available hand. “Are you good?”

“I’m—“

And a dreary trill plays from the Tetris machine.

They stare at each other.

“Oh,” says Arthur.

Kaiser closes his eyes and tips his head back. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck, man—”

“Kaiser I am so sorry—“

“I’m gonna cryyyyyy—”

“Oh my god I did not mean to do that I am so sorry—“

Kaiser whines, long and drawn out. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” he mumbles. “Better than all of Ivete’s bottles breaking after her order finally came in.”

“I really am sorry, Kaiser,” Arthur rambles, “I should have waited for you—”

“It’s fine Arthur, really,” Kaiser emphasizes, because Arthur really does look like he might cry from this. Kaiser kind of wants to as well, honestly, but if he cries then Arthur cries and then they’re both sitting here crying and it’s awkward. For Kaiser, at least. He pulls together a smile, albeit pained. “I can beat Samuel’s record another time.”

Kaiser shifts the box from Arthur’s awkward one-handed grip into his own arms. “So, where did Ivete want these?”

[becauseplot]

Inktordem!! More of a plot-y fic where I toy with some fun ideas I had, less character-driven. I am. So sleepy hfjdks.

Spoilers through early OPC episodes. (Probably through 1-ish, or 3-ish.)

DAY 7 — NEVE

Dante saw the dusting of frost crystals along the bottom frame of his window this morning, but getting hit with a blast of icy air when Ivete opens the front door is a whole other feeling entirely.

“Goddamn!” she exclaims. “They weren’t kidding when they said ‘cold snap’.”

Arthur sighs. “And not even any snow to show for it.”

“Shame,” Dante remarks, pulling his coat a little tighter around himself. His usual cape is underneath it, and he’s suddenly grateful for the layers. “As fun as it would’ve been, though, it’s probably for the best.”

“Oh probably. I don’t think São Paulo is equipped to handle snow.”

“Or ice.”

“Or ice. Damn. At least we wouldn’t have to drive in that to get to base.”

“Come on, come on, keep moving,” insists Ivete. Dante hears her head down the short steps to the sidewalk. “We’ve got to shut the door to keep the heat in.”

Dante feels Arthur move forward down the stairs. He follows after, his own hand finding the railing—cold and slick with moisture, a feeble frost that dies instantly under the heat of his skin. Dante makes sure he’s got a good grip on it before he brings his white cane in front of him and heads down the steps with practiced ease. And perhaps just the slightest bit more of caution.

Ivete’s arm finds his once he’s on the sidewalk, their elbows linked. Ivete shivers a bit. “Damn the cold.”

Dante smiles a little, pulling her closer. “Got the door, Arthur?” he asks.

“Yep.” There’s a telling thunk and a jangle of keys. “All set here. Let’s go.”

“We’ll warm up a bit when we start walking,” Dante says to Ivete.

“We better.”

They get to the main thoroughfare soon enough. Dante tilts his head. He can hear…more cars than usual? It sounds busier. Not as many willing to walk in the chill, he supposes. Dante’s never been a fan of the colder months—the orphanage was “drafty�� at best, and his apartment with Jasmine and Leo wasn’t much better; but when the worst of the cold is a brisk 20 minute walk and an underground base that gets a little chilly sometimes, it’s not so bad.

He can enjoy the novelty of it now, he supposes. Frost decorating the window when he woke up, bundling himself up in a coat, walking tucked a little tighter to Ivete’s side than usual as they head to base together. It’s not so bad.

~*~

“Ohhhh, hey, hey!” Dante hears Agatha spin off her chair in the back of the ritual room and come trotting over. “See, this is what I was talking about—people are posting videos about the snowfall south of here.”

“Yeah?” Arthur’s chair creaks as he leans, likely to look at Agatha’s phone. There’s the rustle of papers as he sets down his case files on the table. “Oh yeah, look at that.”

“Look, there’s one of someone nailing their friend on the back of the head with a snowball from like, twenty meters back.”

“Oh seriously?”

“Yeah! Dante, you wanna watch?”

Dante pauses his fiddling with the artifact in his hands—the arrangement of its etched sigils has some intricate pattern with the hum of the Paranormal beneath the surface of its chain links—and shrugs. “If you think I should.”

“I do, I really do think you should. It’s important.”

“Alright.” Dante opens his eyes, and the veil is parted in a swirl of imperceptible shadow, and he Sees. His head takes a second to adjust to the sudden stimuli as usual, but the shape, color, sharpness of Arthur and Agatha sitting at the table before him settles in his mind quick enough. “What am I looking at?”

“This here,” Agatha says with a grin, scooting closer so Dante can see over her shoulder. She has a different sweatshirt today, he realizes; black with a faux wool lining inside the hood. He moves his cane out of the way so he can get closer. “Look look look, it’s funny, I swear.”

They’re four silly videos into a hashtag of people dunking snow on each other’s heads when there’s a knock at the door. “Come in!” Arthur calls.

Samuel pops his head in through the door. “Morning, all. You guys busy?”

“Ehh, not really?”

“Depends on how you define busy,” Dante provides.

“You wanna watch someone get snow poured down their shirt?” Agatha asks.

“Uh, in a minute,” replies Samuel, a small laugh in his voice. He sobers a beat later: “CRIS might’ve picked up some activity, and you guys are the only ones in this early who aren’t already wrapped up in something.”

Dante feels the air in the room shift immediately. “Occultist?” he asks.

“Hard to say, but…I don’t think so?” Samuel opens the door a little wider and points towards the computer room. “I can show you guys, if you want.”

~*~

What Samuel wants to show them, apparently, is more videos from Twitter. They aren’t like the ones Agatha was showing them, though. These ones were all taken during the previous night when the snow rush hit: videos from people sitting at bedroom and living room windows, showing the wild tempest of swirling snow outside, the rattle of it against their windows, the roar of it against their walls. Porch lights were shattered, a few people lost power, and someone even lost their whole satellite dish to the winds.

And there is one video in particular showing, through a window, a strange glow from somewhere in the darkness, bright and blue-purple-orange around its edges. The person who posted it initially thought it was a broken power line, but when they checked this morning, the power line seemed intact.

“All of these posts came from the same town,” Samuel explains, a heat map of location pins pulled up onto his second monitor. “And the thing is, I’ve looked at the official reported weather patterns in the greater region, and what you see here is way more intense than what it should have been.”

“And then there was that glow,” Arthur says.

“And the ‘roaring’ sound from some of videos,” Dante adds. He looks at Arthur. “That didn’t sound like wind to me.”

Arthur considers this. “Soooo, creature causing a blizzard?”

“Could be. Or feeding off it. Either way, it’s worth checking out. Has anyone from the region been reported hurt or missing, Samuel?”

“Nnnnnot that I’ve seen…” Samuel says slowly. “There might be more in the database of the local police, but I haven’t seen anyone post about anything like that other than like, normal accidents that probably happened as a result of the sudden power outages. Nothing major.”

“We should try to keep it that way,” Arthur decides. “There’s nothing in particular we’re needed for here, so Dante and I can go check it out.” Arthur looks his way. “That is, if you’re up for dealing with some more of the cold?”

“It’s not so bad,” Dante replies. He feels his own smile somewhere in it. “When do we leave?”

[becauseplot]

Inktordem!! Posted at a reasonable-ish hour!! I have a feeling I’m gonna have to take a break for a bit so I can make more fic ideas, I need to give my idea doc a bit of a stir. We’ll see how the next few days go though.

Spoilers up through OPD finale!

DAY 8 — BIBLIOTECA

Two days. He’s put this off as much as he reasonably can. The report needs to be written, and the longer he waits, the more details will slip from his mind. Details that could be crucial later down the line. Details that could save lives later down the line. He knows this. That’s why they write reports in the first place. And he’s the one who has to do the writing because Dante’s gone blind and everyone else…

Everyone else.

That’s the thing, isn’t it.

Remembering hurts. It hurts a lot. And it doesn’t stop hurting—it never does—to remember the Liz’s lips spilling over with blood and anguish, Bea’s bright, brilliant scream and Dante’s desperate pleas, Joui’s trembling fingers around the mask, Erin’s hollow smile consumed by the flames, Luciano’s face disappearing into him, Fernando’s last kiss, Kaiser’s—

Arthur puts his pen down and drops his face into his hands, sucking in a tremulous breath. He didn’t think he had any more tears left to cry, and yet…

It’s a few minutes later, when Arthur has wiped his eyes and set the blank report sheet in front of himself again, that he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. It’s Samuel, standing in the doorway between the hall and the main room of the base, where Arthur sits alone at one of the long tables.

“Hey,” Samuel greets. His voice echoes a bit. It’s late enough that most people have gone home to rest, save for Mr. Veríssimo, who never seems to leave his office in times like these, and Marcela, doing a final vitals checks on the wounded before she heads home too. “Uh… All good?”

“Yeah,” Arthur exhales. “Yeah, just—writing this report.” The paper is blank. Arthur taps his pen. “You? How’re you…?”

“Eh,” Samuel says. His mouth does a funny thing, like it can’t decide if it wants to grin or grimace or…something else. He clears his throat a bit. “Holding up, man. Holding up.”

Arthur nods. He can understand that.

There’s a beat of silence just a bit too long. A bit too big. Arthur opens his mouth to ask…something, but Samuel thankfully fills it first.

“Anyway,” says Samuel. “I just wanted to stop over here because—well. I was going through some of the files on Kaiser’s computer.” (Arthur’s chest tightens at the mere mention of the name. He adjusts the grip on his pen.) “Getting his projects archived and all that. And I found this one file that’s… It’s giving me some trouble.”

“Trouble how?”

“It’s got this password and—“ Samuel steps away from the doorframe and motions him forward. “I think it’s easier if I just show you.”

Arthur follows Samuel into the computer room. Only Kaiser’s monitor is on, as are the overhead string lights; Kaiser’s chair has been rolled aside, replaced by Samuel’s own. Samuel moves it aside so Arthur can see the screen better: a display listing many, many, many Python files that Arthur couldn’t even begin to understand the significance of, as well as…

“There it is,” Samuel says, pointing to the pop-up box in the corner of the screen. “I clicked on some file he had I’ve never seen before. It’s just labeled ‘Important.’”

“There’s a password hint here,” Arthur says, pointing to some text below the prompt box. “That’s what that is, right?”

All it says is: “Post on 15/04/20”

“Yeah,” replies Samuel. “That’s what I thought too. I just haven’t been able to figure out what it means. I thought ‘post’ like some sort of post online, so I checked his Instagram and his Twitter, but nothing I can find under his activity from that day works. In fact, he barely has anything on that day at all.”

Samuel sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I could just hack into it,” he continues, a murmur, “but it feels kind of wrong, you know? If the password turns out to be something only he would understand…”

“I get it.” Arthur exhales. “Kaiser…liked his privacy.”

“Yeah.” Samuel makes a sound, a half-attempt at a laugh. “Even if I did try to hack it, knowing him, it’s probably pretty air-tight. It might take me a while, so… any ideas? I’ve—I’ve tried to think of anything I remember about Kaiser and that day, anything he said to me, anything we did, any plans, or—or jokes, or movies, or something, but I’m drawing up a blank.” Samuel gestures to the computer helplessly. “I mean, I-I didn’t even know him at that point! We met back in May—”

“Easy,” Arthur says, putting a hand on Samuel’s shoulder.

Samuel visibly takes a deep breath. He lets it come shuddering out of his mouth and scrubs his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. “Sorry, I…”

“It’s alright. Let me see if I can think of something.”

Arthur tries to remember. April 15th. That’s… Well. What would have been his show night in Carpazinha was April 13th. He remembers that date well, looking forward to it for weeks as he traveled home. Then life went in a direction that he never could have ever imagined. Some terrible mix of nostalgia and longing and hurt aches in him, remembering the spider in the woods, Chris dying, his gang dying, his father dying, everyone, dying, Virgulino and the drench of red over his vision, the hospital, the mansion, the cemetery, the bar, laughing with Thiago and Liz and Joui and Cesar, Kaiser…

Wait a minute.

Arthur whips out his phone. He has one post on his Instagram from April 15th, and he didn’t make it.

“Here,” Arthur says. He holds his phone out to Samuel. “Do you think this might work?”

Samuel looks. He gives a small laugh. “It might.” He takes Arthur’s phone, sits, and starts to type.

“hAccked by thE ANgel of teh Niightx!!!!”

The file opens.

Arthur can’t breathe. It’s a library of cellphone photos. Photos, upon photos, upon photos. Samuel scrolls through its contents, stopping every now and then to look: A photo of Jennifer, curled up in the arm chair with Ivete. A photo of some colorful graffiti on an alley wall. A photo of Joui, who looks like he’s trying to steal the phone out of Kaiser’s hands as he takes it. A photo of a sunrise through the curtains. A photo of his Polaroid with him, Cris, and Cláudia close enough to see every detail. A photo of his high score on the Tetris machine. A photo of Samuel in his chair at his desk, throwing up a peace sign to the camera, and Kaiser’s hand just in frame mirroring it back. A photo of their neighbor’s flowers in bloom. A photo of Arthur on his bed with his guitar balanced in his lap. A photo of a mug of coffee in front of his gaming set-up at home, either late at night or early hours of the morning.

Photos of lunch last week. Photos of the rain in the winter. Photos of their boxes when they first moved into their new house in São Paulo. Photos of Carpazinha, the original Suvaco Seco, their smiles and laughter, frozen in time…

Kaiser’s everything. Cesar’s everything. All of his memories. Remembered here.

“Important,” says the file.

Not a detail lost.

[becauseplot]

Inktordem time :D Fluffier nonsense to make up for yesterday I promise. I’m using one of the prompts on a list of alt prompts @factorialsotherfandoms and I came up with. This word is one of his! The “alienígenas” prompt will go on the alt list in case I think of anything later down the line and want to use it.

Spoilers for basic OPD episode 1 stuff.

DAY 6 (ALT) — BELLS

It’s one of those rare lulls where reports of suspected paranormal activity have slowed down. As such Kaiser doesn’t have to spend his time in the computer room at base playing IT for investigation teams or helping put out fires when things go sideways. He’s done nothing but work on improving CRIS’ Twitter sweeping algorithm for the past two days.

Arthur came into the computer room at the Order about an hour ago and dragged Kaiser home, saying he and Ivete were planning on making a late lunch soon and yeah, Kaiser should probably have something other than takeout.

It is nice being home. Ivete threw on some talk show for background noise while she and Arthur sort out their ingredients, and Kaiser is flopped over the couch, letting the noise wash over him. He can feel how about every joint from his neck to his hips is decompressing after he’s spent so long hunched at his computer. It’s good. Here, at home, without the constant anxiety of being needed by the Order turning his nerves to live wires, Kaiser can finally do something like relax. The TV is droning in the background, Ivete and Arthur are murmuring to each other in the kitchen, filling pots with water, chopping things, and Kaiser is…

He’s…

Tired…

…and theRE IS SOMETHING ON HIS BACKHOLYSHIT—

“AI!”

“MEROW!”

Kaiser slams himself up on his elbows and kicks away, gasping. “What the f…”

Sitting up now, he just barely catches a glimpse of a black and white spotted tail disappearing over the arm of the couch.

“Kaiser?”

His eyes flick to the kitchen. Ivete and Arthur are staring at him.

“Are you alright?” Ivete asks. There’s a confused smile on her lips.

“I…” Kaiser watches Jennifer hop up onto one of the barstools, staring at him with her tail flicking. He swallows his heart back down his throat. “Yeah, jeez, I—I think Jennifer crawled on my back and it scared me.”

“Jennifer scared you?” Arthur says, laughter in his voice.

“Dude I was nearly asleep. I didn’t hear her coming.” Kaiser groans, scrubbing his faces up and down. “Holy shit, that got me. I swear my soul nearly left my body.”

“Mm, she’s lucky she’s quick,” Ivete notes, returning to her chopping. “You just about launched her clear across the couch, boy. That poor thing.”

“Poor her? Poor me!” Ivete is grinning now. “I’m the one who nearly died over here.”

“Hey, you know she’s skittish,” Arthur defends. “You really could’ve scared her.”

“Ugh!” Kaiser flops back onto the couch. “Fine! I’m sorry Jennifer! When’s food ready?”

“Twenty-five minutes” Ivete replies. “Twenty if you want to come in here and help with the chopping.”

Kaiser sighs. He might as well, seeing as he’s very awake now. Kaiser mourns the loss of his afternoon nap and gets off the couch.

~*~

“So we finally got the table re-assembled,” Arthur says, adjusting the guitar in his lap. “And well, that was a lot of work, obviously, but Marcos was still determined to have a game of pool tonight regardless.”

“But the pool balls hadn’t come in, right?” Kaiser asks. He’s got half his brain on this match of online chess, and it’s honestly going terribly, but he’s doing what he can. Sort of.

“Well, turns out it had changed from ‘delayed’ to ‘failed’. The order got lost somewhere, apparently.”

Kaiser scoffs. “How does that happen?”

“Don’t know! But it did. So Marcus of course is already looking up places where we can go buy them, and we find a games store down the street that has them—but it’s closing in about ten minutes.”

“Oh no,” Kaiser drawls. He hears Arthur that another cord on his guitar, fingers plucking idly, and watches him shift where he’s sitting on Kaiser’s bed. Kaiser puts his rook forward. “Because of course it’s closing.”

“Exactly. And the store isn’t far, but it’s far enough, and traffic is bad at that hour, you know?”

Kaiser watches the opponent take his bishop. Ah shit. He moves his pawn. “Soooo you ran.”

“Yep!” Kaiser snorts. “Sprinted all the way down the street, Marcus nearly got run over. It was great.”

“And did you—“ Check on his king. “Oops.”

“What?”

“Hold on I’m losing.” Kaiser moves his queen forward and knocks out their rook. Out of check. “So did you get there in time?”

“Well, kind of? The guy who owns the place was literally walking out when we got there. But then we started explaining—completely out of breath, to be clear—and the guy was so, uh, amused? With our sheer determination to play pool tonight that he let us in and sold us a set, with the long sticks too.”

“Well, that’s cool of him.” A little more out of check now. His opponent is really taking his time. Kaiser skims over the chess board for his options. “I’m glad Marcus didn’t get hit by a car, that would have WOAH—“

Kaiser jumps when he feels something touch his leg and slams his knee up into the top of the desk.

“Kaiser?”

“Ow ow ow ow—“ Kaiser hisses and rubs his knee with his hand. Fuck, he wasn’t even wearing his long pajama bottoms this time, ow.

“Mrow!” Jennifer slinks out from under his desk and jumps up onto Kaiser’s bed, padding over to Arthur.

“Shit,” Kaiser exhales. “She was under my chair. Brushed up against my leg and scared the shit out of me.”

“Oh yeah she just came in,” Arthur says, waving his hand at the bedroom door behind Kaiser. “Guess you didn’t hear her.”

Kaiser keeps rubbing his aching knee. “Man, she is always doing that. I swear she’s a ghost…”

Arthur puts his guitar aside to free up his lap, which Jennifer immediately crawls into and curls up in. “Awww sorry, baby,” Arthur murmurs. “Did Kaiser kick you?”

“I didn’t kick her.”

“Hm?” Arthur scratches her behind her ears. She leans into it, eyes closed. “Poor baby. He’s so mean, huh?”

“What.”

“You just want him to like you, right?”

“What the fuck.”

“Kaiser, why are you so mean to her?”

“I’m not mean to her! She just keeps giving me heart attacks!”

Arthur bends his head down, kissing her head and grinning. “I know, he’s so rude like that, isn’t he?”

Kaiser slumps back in his chair. “I can’t believe this.” Opponent’s queen towards his king. Checkmate. “Fuck.”

~*~

Fixing his sleep schedule, Kaiser has found, is a completely pointless endeavor when he knows that his work at the Order and his own habits will just upend it again within forty-eight hours.

Playing LoL at night while hungry, Kaiser has also found, is a good way to get angry and shout something and accidentally wake up the household because hey, he lives with other people now. And he’d much rather not do that.

Hence, the creation of 3 am cheese time.

Kaiser slips out of his room and tiptoes over to the kitchen. He slides in and navigates around the counter by touch and the dim glare of a distant streetlight through the window. With one hand braced on the side of the fridge, he eeeeeases the door open and nudges some containers aside.

Bag of cheese slices. Bingo. Kaiser holds the fridge door open with his hip and opens the package, peels out a slice of cheese, folds it up and half-shoves it in his mouth. Then, he closes the package, seals it up, leans out of the fridge, and closes the doo—

Two eyes staring at him in the darkness.

Kaiser gasps and inhales cheese. He chokes and spits and covers his loud coughing with his arm, eyes watering, what the fuck…

“Mrow!”

Oh you’re kidding.

There, sitting on the counter, eyes reflecting the light from the fridge, is Jennifer.

Kaiser coughs one last time and swallows roughly, panting. “When did you even get in here??” he hisses.

Jennifer tilts her head at him. She jumps down from the counter, silent as a shadow, and starts sniffing at the cheese he spit out onto the ground. After a moment, she nibbles it.

Kaiser stares at her. “Yeah you know what. Fine. You can have it.” Kaiser closes the fridge and heads off to bed.

~*~

Kaiser unlocks the door and shoulders it open, grocery back in his other hand. “Hey, I’m back!”

“Hey!” Arthur calls in the living room, waving from the couch. “You took a while, what happened?”

“Had to make an extra stop.” Kaiser hefts the grocery bag onto the counter. “Is Jennifer with you?”

“Uh yeah, she’s right here. Why?”

Kaiser pulls a little paper parcel out of the bag. He heads over to the couch and plonks himself down, right next to Jennifer, who “mrrp!”s unpleasantly at the disturbance.

He opens the package. A tinkling noise rings out. Kaiser unclips Jennifer’s collar and fastens on a new one—pink, with a little bow and a bell dangling on the end of it.

[becauseplot]

First time I’m messing with the Inktordem prompt list! Swapping days 3 and 5 because I started writing what I have planned for the “Orfanato” prompt and realized I simply don’t have time for it today. Have this instead!

Spoilers for general OSNF lore!

DAY 3 (5) — PINTURAS

It has to be perfect. She dips her brush into the pot of paint and brings it to the canvas once more, dragging it in long, branching arcs. Black runs on black, beads trickling down until they are swallowed by the darkness.

It has to be perfect. The paint soaks the canvas, and yet the black never seems to penetrate deep enough. She knows what it’s meant to look like. She sees it so clearly in her mind, the mouth of the Cave, the Cave, the Cave. Nothing ever like it, and yet she is compelled, more than compelled, to capture its likeness on the canvas, to help it grow.

It wants to evolve. It has to be perfect. She dips her brush into the pot of paint and brings it to the canvas once more, dragging it in long, branching arcs. Black runs on black, layered on thicker and thicker, darkness reaching deeper and deeper.

It has to be perfect. Wider arcs open it up, close to its Bigness in her mind, swirls along the edges, then painting over those as well.

She can make it perfect. She wants to understand. She can make it perfect. She needs to reach deeper. She dips her fingers into the pot of paint and brings them to the canvas once more, dragging them in long, branching arcs. Black runs on black, the whorls of her fingerprints swallowed more and more with each lap around the canvas. The Cave, the Cave, the Cave opens itself up to her, waiting, knowing.

It has to be perfect. She dips her hands into the pot of paint and brings them to the canvas once more, dragging them in long, branching arcs. Black runs on black, creases of her skin leaving streaks in their wake. Dynamic to the darkness. New. Closer. She’s closer. Get closer.

Get closer.

It has to be perfect. She dips into the pot of paint and brings herself to the canvas once more, dragging in long, branching arcs. Black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on

.

.

.

With the chatter of Liz and the others behind him, Thiago observes the last painting in the gallery, arms crossed. The opening of the cave has spilled over. The paint is visibly dripping down the canvas and pooling, dried, on the floor. If he squints, he can just barely see the outline of her shoes where she stood—“Lurdete,” according to the signature on the previous paintings. There is no such signature on this one. If there ever was, it’s been swallowed by the cave.

Thiago gets closer. He squints at the paint. He thought it was just splatter, someone taking a bucket of paint to the canvas with manic abandon, but he can see now that there are individual brush strokes. The black runs on black in thick layers, reinforcing the arcs over and over. They’re meticulous, perfectly curved. Even where the paint drips seems to be by design.

Or maybe he’s reading too much into it

[becauseplot]

Back on my bullshit with another AU for Inktordem! Jesus Christ I need to start making these prompt fills shorter BUT I had a lot of fun playing with ideas :D Debating how much background I should give you on the AU, hmmm...

Spoilers for character stuff revealed in OPD: Episodes 1 & 20, but nothing on OPD lore itself.

DAY 10 – RITUAL

Loneliness AU is an AU wherein Kaiser (once "Cesar") was introduced to the power of the Other Side at a young age. At the time of OSNF, as well as the winter following it, he's an Energy occultist operating in the criminal underground. He uses his coding and fabrication skills, in his conjunction with his Paranormal know-how, to work "by commission."

~*~

Kaiser taps his soldering iron against the wire frame and leans away from the fumes. He can’t hear the hiss of it over the music pounding through his earbuds—a lot of synth and a lot of noise, too much to let his brain make thoughts, allowing his hands to do all the thinking for him. He spares a moment to turn the dial on the heat down a notch, then eases right back into his rhythm.

It's the last section before this wire circuit mesh is complete. Not an overly complex design, but they’re a little different every time. That’s the fun of it, after all: no two flash drives are the same. He cannibalized two of his old meshes for the base of this one—about the size and shape of a small dinner plate—then added a scatter of new connections by tossing a fistfull of copper wire strips over it and soldering the ends more-or-less where they landed. The wires have been bent to resemble the familiar shape of the symbol of Energy, and a few of the old connections have been cut to solder new ones.

He solders one last connection. He waves away the vapors and gives it a once over. He has no idea what he’s just made. Perfect. Kaiser puts his iron aside (remembers to turn it off this time; no more burns on his fingers, thank you) and leans forward. He peeks through the abandoned office’s window and looks down at the old warehouse floor below.

Valéria and her “Bloodhounds” are still beating each other to shit downstairs. Well, actually, it looks like they’ve moved on to beating each other up to ganging up on some random guys Kaiser’s never seen around here before. Probably “enemies” of theirs they dragged in, or something. 

Kaiser doesn’t keep up with their politics too much, he just keeps up with whatever rent Valéria wants him to pay. Last time it was knuckle knives with electrodes installed in their tips. And then fixing said knuckles when she broke the capacitors trying to clean them.

Kaiser watches as one of Valéria’s guys shouts (or laughs; he can’t tell over the music in his earbuds) and swings a punch at one of the victims, an explosion of blood chasing after his knuckles as the other hits the ground, hard. They try to get up, and another kicks them square in the gut, once, twice, three times.

Oh, yeah. They’re definitely laughing now. I looks like they’re having fun. Kaiser thinks they won’t really care if he fucks with the power for a minute. But he also knows that Valéria likes a heads-up. Kaiser fishes his burner out of his pocket and sends a message.

You (23:44)

ritual soon. lights might get funny. -k

Kaiser watches the floor. Valéria, standing off to the side and cheering for her Hounds as they beat the victims to bloody messes, suddenly reaches into her pocket and pulls out a cellphone. She begins to type.

Unknown Number (23:44)

Kk!! <33

Have fun!!

Kaiser pockets his burner. He leans away from the window and spins out of his chair, grabbing his mesh as he goes. He swings around, shoes sweeping through the fog settled over the ground, and kicks away the ratty, bloodstained rug.

The transcendence symbol painted on the filthy, cracked tile stares up at him. He stares back. He flips it off, steps into it, then drops down to one knee to lay the mesh square in the center.

First piece in place. Kaiser bounces up onto his feet, stumbles, and looks through the tables of broken laptops and warped metal scraps for wherever he tossed his backpack when he came in.

The chair across from his workbench, of course. He rifles around in it looking for his box of etched flash drives. Well, no, first he rifles around looking for his spare box of cigarettes and lights one up for himself because he can already feel the shake in his hands coming back and he knows it’s only going to get worse the closer he gets to actually doing this and he still needs to be able to arrange the other pieces. 

So. Cigarette first. Once he’s taken a couple drags, he pulls out his box of flash drives, each with the Energy symbol already etched into the plastic, along with a few other Sigils. He plucks one from the bunch, clicks on his laptop, and sets the files uploading. Eight whole gigabytes worth of code that goes nowhere: variables that accumulate based on random number generators, recursion loops that fold in on themselves, and generations of parent-child classes that have become Theseus’ ship in terms of the functions they inherit—plus some uncompilable code ripped from files of various video games, for flavor. The curse will need something in the flash drive itself to latch onto, after all.

As it uploads, Kaiser checks his helm. He used his soldering iron to weld the spider web cracks in the plastic casing along the side, then left it to charge. He reaches under the jaw and feels around for a switch. Some of the purple LEDs in the side come on, and Kaiser counts the lights: seven of ten full, the eighth flashing. Not bad. Assuming nothing goes horribly wrong and he’s out of here soon, he should still have a decent charge on it. 

Just as he’s thumbing over his other patch jobs, mulling over if he should just get a new visor for this thing already, his burner vibrates in his pocket.

Unknown Number (23:47)

Ya kno, u should totally come down here sometime

It’s fun!!

I think some of the guys here have literally never seen ur face lol

Kaiser raises his eyebrow. He looks at the dark, one-way tint of his helm’s visor.

You (23:47)

that’s kind of the point

Unknown Number (23:47)

HA 

You know what I mean tho

Files uploaded. Flash drive is ready. Now the last part—where the fuck did he put that box. He puts his burner in his pocket to sift through his boxes of junk components. A second later, it buzzes again. He picks it up as he keeps rummaging.

Unknown Number (23:48)

Like I know ur not big on teh ring fights but Geraldo and Tati are literally just playing cards out back

When ur done up there they can deal u in if u want :D

Kaiser pauses to tap out an answer.

You (23:48)

busy. maybe some other time.

Yeah right. Kaiser tosses his burner into his backpack before he can see Valéria’s nagging replies.

After a little more rifling, there it is. Box of used, broken Gameboys and Gameboy cartridges he bought (yes, bought, with his own money this time) from the second hand store two towns over. The guy working the counter practically gave them away, to be honest; they were junk to him. Kaiser had been over the moon. He’s since modified the Gameboys, tossed aside their back paneling (if they had it) and soldered in connections between their motherboards and USB adapters.

Would that actually work if he were to plug in his flash drive and power it on? Hell no. But all that matters is there’s some sort of channel to have the Paranormal talk between the save files of the used game cartridge, the heart of the Gameboy itself, and Kaiser’s nonsense code.

Kaiser plucks one out. This Gameboy had probably been owned by a little girl, given the peeling heart stickers on the back. There’s a name written in purple marker that’s half-faded, half missing with part of the broken casing. Kaiser can make out “E-L-I–” and then nothing more. The cartridge is too busted to see what game she was playing. Kaiser hums, plugs in his flash drive, and scoops the whole thing up into his hands. 

Onto the mesh it goes. A tangle of cables arranged carefully so the flash drive sits in the middle, exposed wires of the Gameboy wrapped around key junctions in the circuitry of the mesh. Kaiser steps back and looks at it all, listening to music and smoking for a minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Four. 

Kaiser taps his heel. He taps his finger against his thigh. He puts out his cigarette on the table—clearly doing nothing for him, not that it matters—and goes to fetch the cable.

His heart is already picking up when he finds it. That’s fine. It’s fine. Part of the process. The cable was ripped from an old vacuum cleaner. It plugs into the wall, and its other end is stripped so the wires are exposed. Connection point. He grabs it by the casing and drags it over to the transcendence circle.

He kneels down in front of his flash drive. He shrugs off his hoodie and tosses it somewhere, then pulls out his earbuds (whiplash from the vacuum of sound; he can hear echoing shouts from downstairs, words he won’t parse) and tosses those with his mp3 onto his hoodie.

Only one thing left to do now. The fog curls around his knees. His hands have long since started shaking again. He’s sweating.

Okay. Deep breaths, Kaiser. Part of the process. He picks up the cable again. His other hand lays over the flashdrive, the old Gameboy, the mesh. The heel of his palm connects with the transcendence symbol painted on the floor. 

He concentrates on it. His fingers quiver around the cable. He feels slightly light-headed. He concentrates. He remembers everything he doesn’t want to remember. He lets it drive his heart rate faster, lets it kick up a hum beneath his skin where the old wires still lay, watches as the glow traces up his arms and chest like veins, hot and sparking. 

He concentrates on the symbol. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and touches the exposed wire of the cable to his wrist.

Energy fires through him. Bursts of exploding stars behind his eyelids, the supernovas revealing every regret, every possibility, every road not taken and every choice not made and every road that can be taken and every choice he can make firing through the synapses of his brain like a switchboard; a screeching in his ears, a blazing under his skin, a reality too big for his own body being forced through him regardless; all of it coalescing into the image of an ever-changing, violent specter that screams with the voice of a little girl, taken and ripped to shreds and patched together with distorted 8-bit music, given new life, new form, new pixels, new beginning, new memory, new, new, nothing lost, new, breathe again, breathe new, breathe—

Kaiser gasps. He blinks the sparks and tears out of his eyes. He coughs like he’s choking on a bad drag of a cigarette. The glow under his skin begins to fade, the heat and the hum of electricity with it. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his throat.

But when he lifts his hand from the mesh, arm twitching in the aftershocks, there lays a flash drive with new etchings in its surface that look like they were carved by a lightning strike. The Energy symbol sits like a brand in its center.

A new flash drive. A new creature. Kaiser thinks of the ear-piercing scream it gave, and a creaky laugh bubbles out of his throat. Good fucking luck to whoever’s gonna have to kill it, because it sure as hell won’t be Kaiser.