#death. and thus wants nothing to do with someone who would balk in the face of danger or even death. no;he wants only those of FIRM resolve

[dutybcrne]

Thinking and laughing a bit abt how much of a fucken shock the knights must have had when shy, never-strayed-from-Diluc’s shadow Kaeya up and became the kind of guy who would take a squad of knights to catch a criminal and purposefully set off a mechanism that at best spooked the shit out of everyone involved by the sheer risk it incurred upon the knights and their target at once bc he liked the thrill of seeing their responses to the sudden danger.

[docholligay]

"Healing is a small and ordinary and very burnt thing. And it's one thing and one thing only: it's doing what you have to do." -Cheryl Strayed

This is a very rambling sort of thing, but it’s a thing I’ve wanted to write, and as I’ve been having spectacular trouble writing anything lately I decided to go with it. Thanks to @katrani for sponsoring! Takes place in MaS. 

The sun rose in Paris. 

It had probably also, Michiru reasoned, risen in Tokyo, but she had not been able to see these things. Tokyo was where Haruka had been, and then wasn’t, and for that reason she found the entire place completely unforgivable. It is a strange thing, to have a human being own an entire sprawling city, and yet in Michiru’s heart, Haruka did. 

Tokyo. Michiru would never have stayed there but for Haruka’s love. It had belonged to her brother before it had belonged to Haruka, and oh how delightful to discover that it had been meant for someone else all along! How could Michiru have been so foolish as to imagine the bustling noodle shops with rich, thick broth and 1000 yen specials had been built for him? How could the cherry blossoms, pink as her cheeks when she blushed, be meant for a man whose soul was without beauty? He could could walk carelessly through the food halls, but Haruka prickled with delight at every booth, because they were meant for her. The sneaking alleys full of bars in Shinjuku, the kaleidoscope of lights and sounds as tourists and locals alike passed in Shibuya, even the lined streets of her own childhood district, all had been built for the pleasure of one Haruka Tenoh. 

It was a dead place, now, signifying nothing. A place where the forest had burnt to ash, and her heart was the same. 

She had left Tokyo because she had to. She could not survive it. This might have sounded cruel, considering her children, but her children were not of Tokyo so much as they lived there. Her children were of her own heart, and she could see any city in the world and be reminded of them. But Haruka was of Tokyo, and so Michiru had to leave it before the ghosts of Haruka’s love suffocated her. 

MIchiru had been here for three weeks. Haruka had always hated Paris, even before she had to attempt to navigate it in a wheelchair, and so it had always uniquely belonged to Michiru. She brought her girls here every year, to practice and shop and sip in the wine bars. It was her sharing something of herself with them, in a way she could not quite define. Perhaps she would live here forever. Perhaps she could never bear the pain of returning. 

It was impossible. She could not, she knew, so long as she was as bound to Haruka as Haruka to Tokyo. One or the other would have to uncouple in order to allow her back. But how could Tokyo, and how could she, belong to more than one person, ever? Especially that person being Haruka, who she had loved since she was a child? 

She laughed, a little. She had thought of herself as a woman in those days, like a fool. 

And so, because Tokyo had belonged to Haruka, she had to leave it. You cannot rebuild in a house that is on fire, Michiru had reasoned. She could no more stay where they had raised their children then she could wade into the into Tokyo Bay and hope to come out on the other side. There were things a human body could not bear. 

Her daughters had understood, at the least. Tokyo was burned for her, and so she had to try and grow something elsewhere, and the run rose in Paris. The sun rose, and the flower sellers painted the side streets with bright washes of color and rich perfumes in the air, and for a moment Michiru knew what it was to be a girl again, the excitement of walking the bridges and getting ice cream on the Ile Saint-Louis, hearing the tolling of the Notre Dame bells. 

Paris bubbled like champagne at her nose, the poetry of French filling her ears.

“Japanese is not much of a sea language.” She stood, wrapping herself warmly in a cashmere cape against the chill of the evening, “It is, I think, the language of a cliff face.”

“Uh,” Haruka’s face furrowed in confusion, “It’s...babe, Japan is surrounded by the ocean.” 

Michiru laughed as she passed the wine bar she frequented, Haruka’s young face clearly in her mind, allowing the pain that accompanied it, and waving it off like smoke in the darkness. 

She laughed then, too. 

“No, of course my love, what I mean to say is, Japanese is so very brisk, and sharp. It is ice, maybe, and rocks, and,” She looking dreamily out at the ocean, “defined. The sea is undulous and constantly sliding one bit into the next. It is watercolor and wave. Perhaps like French. Perhaps that’s why I’ve been happy there.” 

“I dunno if I want to give the ocean to France, just saying.” She pulled her knees up on the rock where they sat, and shrugged, “I like Japanese.” 

Michiru would have laughed, then, and told her she had experience with nothing else, but she knew even as early as it was that would hurt her, make her feel less-than, that she would tell herself she was stupid. It was true, that Haruka had never understood, even as she struggled to try and make a real show of learning English. The soul of a language, the art of the way it fell in the air, each language had a different sort of style, and to know many was to move from one museum room to the next. 

Immersing herself in the warm bath of French was like slipping into the Mediterranean sea, so different from where she had been and yet a place she always knew she would come back to. There was nothing sharp on the ear, no ending that reminded her of a certain social position or moment, nothing that echoed back the perfect syllables of Haruka’s name. 

She had divorced herself from the idea so entirely that when a pair of Japanese tourists had asked for directions, she had pretended not to understand. Rei would have snorted and called her petty, more than likely, and perhaps she would not be wrong, but it was Michiru’s life to live, in any case. To live. She had the right to go on. She had the right to do whatever it took to breathe again. 

She should write Rei. She certainly intended to. Michiru had left Tokyo so quickly, and though she had told everyone where she was going, and though she spoke to her children, always in French, which they were polite enough to make little comment of, it was simply too much to pick up the phone when Rei called. 

It was more than just Tokyo. It was more than just Japan. It was that so many years after everything had happened, Michiru sometimes still looked to her right hand, now weakened, and wondered if she’d lost the ring. A teal aquamarine, framed by the delicate swirl of silver water. Rei’s had almost seemed to belong to a queen, lacking the delicacy of Michiru’s. It had changed on their hand. It knew them. It bound them together. 

She could think of nothing else, when she spoke to Rei. She did not blame the moon for Haruka’s death, not even Michiru could be that silly, but she had been angry forevermore that she had the moon to thank for the gift of Haruka. Rei reminded her of that gift, wrapped herself by the moon and delivered in friendship to Michiru’s hands. 

But she should write her. A postcard, if nothing else. To tell her that she was doing well, that her apartment was quite lovely, and she had taken to eating at a small brasserie nearby for most of her dinners. That she had taken care to drink something other than wine, most nights. That the view of the city charmed. 

She had even purchased a postcard, some silly thing for one euro that had a filter-toned view down a small street, flowers and the red door of a bakery laid perfectly against the grey of the ancient stone. She’d purchased it two days ago, and imagined, since then, what she would say. A postcard is, of course, the most gracious of correspondence in such times, leaving you little room to have to say all the things people would like. Two sentences, perhaps. 

Still, she could not say them. She opened the door to her apartment, and scolded herself once again. When had she ever balked from confrontation? Confrontation, she laughed. Rei was her friend. She certainly wouldn’t be pleased that she hadn’t heard from Michiru for weeks, but it was ridiculous of her to assume Rei would wish to fight with her. 

Thus resolved, Michiru sat down to her small desk near the bar cart, and set the postcard in front of her. The pen was heavy and cool in her hand, stone and metal waiting to express itself on the page. 

I am well. Paris is lovely. 

She discarded the idea before she ever wrote it out. It was such a nicety as to nearly be dishonesty. She and Rei hardly had such a surface relationship, and it was an unkindness to treat it as such. She pulled a dram of gin and lillet from the bar cart. That was the entire purpose in having it there, after all. Really, it should be chilled, but if one cannot drink lukewarm gin as a recent widow swanning about a Parisian apartment, when could one? 

Paris is ever so lovely this time of year, and I have plenty of room if ever you would like to visit. 

Michiru shook her head, laughing at herself again, the foolish and selfish child she always was inside of her. She did not want Rei to visit. She had no desire to take Rei to the little cafes and shops near her apartment, to lie with her by the river and eat a baguette with some cheese. She didn’t want to take a train to London for the weekend, the two of them holed up in the Ritz, lunching with oysters and champagne. She loved Rei, and Rei was a reminder of an entire life that now cut with furious line through her, and both of these things could be true and terrible. 

Haruka has been dead for six weeks, and I cannot bear to be reminded of her. 

Michiru had meant not to write that, either, and she certainly hadn’t meant to write it in Japanese, the characters of Haruka’s name stark against the cream of the postcard, the black ink already drying, impossible to remove. She turned the postcard over with irritation, only to see that she had written so hard those characters poked through the Parisian alleyway, nestling in next to the flowers. 

She downed the gin and lillet--it wanted for a bit of citrus, but needs must--in one sharp quaff, and looked out the glass door to her balcony. It was spring, and yet still here in Paris the winter clung on at the corners, the sun lowering in the sky even in the late afternoon, slipping below the parapets of stone. Michiru touched her hand to the raised flowers, and then snatched up the postcard, flicking a match and setting fire to the edge of it before she quite knew what she was doing. She dropped the match on the desk, extinguishing it, but continued to stare at the burning card, Haruka’s name beginning to meld with the blackness of what had gone through the flame. 

She tossed it into her metal wastebin, atop the others she had failed to send. 

The sun set in Paris too, the red of it catching the city on fire, that burnt thing that would help her to rise.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 201:  Queen Against Evil Queen

He did as he was told. He went straight away to his tower and summoned images of Snow and eventually David in his mirror. She told David right away, of course, just as he'd planned for, David's reaction was skeptical, but he didn't worry about that. He was focused on working his magic. He added ingredients carefully, following the instructions of the voice in his head of the former Dark One who had known it so well to begin with. He added the hairs and then pushed magic into the brew; strong, intense, unyielding magic. It had to be so. This spell had to be strong enough to show Regina there were no other options but that Curse. It had to be strong enough to protect Snow from arrows, daggers, ropes, poison, fires, bare hands, anything Regina might use to murder the poor girl. He couldn't risk it faltering and allowing her to actually kill Snow White.

In the wee hours of the morning, his potion was done. He separated it then. He put a single drop of the deep scarlet potion in one vial and added a mouthful of water to dilute it. That would protect Snow through her little "test." The rest of the mixture he added to another vial, highly concentrated, it would work here or any world with magic for years to come…thus why living in a world without magic would block it and, of course, by the time magic returned to that land...it would have worn off. But that little fact was for Regina to learn on her own, a piece of the puzzle he had to be sure she'd put together.

He handed both vials to the Queen that morning as David glared at him over her shoulder. "One for your test," he explained handing her the pink-tinged clear one, "and one for when it fails," he stated, handing her the scarlet one.

"If it fails."

He laughed and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Whatever."

"What happened to figuring things out on our own?" David asked.

"Don't be silly," he laughed away. "I'm happy to help! And with this potion, what more could you need me for? Enjoy the rest of your life, resting assured Regina shall never harm you again."

And then he disappeared, went back to his tower, and summoned an image of Regina in the mirror. The reflective surface wasn't in her cell, probably for safety reasons, but he still had a good sight of the tower and the room that she was sitting in. From the way she sat slumped by a table, her head occasionally nodding down to her chest, he imagined that she hadn't slept that night. He couldn't blame her. The night before an execution, he doubted anyone slept well. She found small idle tasks to keep her busy, and he rubbed his face in boredom, thinking of Bae and Belle, trying to keep himself interested as he wondered how long it would take the King and Queen to make their appearance. He was waiting, waiting for-

"Your Highness."

He glanced into his mirror and saw Snow White round the stairs and approach the cell. Regina sat at a little table, playing with a candle. She wasn't unaware of Snow's presence, but she wasn't exactly acknowledging her either.

"Leave us, please."

"But I have direct orders from the Prince-"

"And now, you have direct orders from me!" she stated, raising her voice at him in a commanding tone that gave him no choice but to back down and leave her alone. But she wasn't alone; they weren't alone. David hadn't been keen on the plan Snow presented him. He was lurking somewhere, just out of sight where Regina couldn't see. It was a true test because she didn't know what awaited her. Snow looked at the sleeve of her arm, and he saw a beautiful dagger slipped not so discreetly into her sleeve. It was useful for nothing. In an emergency, she wouldn't be able to pull it easily free and use it. But the Queen would.

"First, you stop my execution, and then, you defy your Prince to see me. Should I be worried there's trouble in paradise?" Regina questioned.

"I'm not here to talk about my fiancé."

"Then why are you here?" she asked, finally setting her candle aside and looking at her through the bars.

Snow White gazed back in silence, watching her with curiosity and pity before opening her mouth. "I know you weren't always like this, Regina. The woman who saved my life all those years ago…had good in her."

"That woman lost much," she stated with a roll of her eyes, "and now she's gone."

"Maybe. But as hard as you've tried to bury her, I think she's still inside you."

Regina smiled at the notion that even he found to be childish. "No, she's not."

But Snow smiled back with confidence. "All you need…" he watched as she walked over to the door of the cell and took a pair of keys that the guard at the base of the tower had given to her. Regina's smile vanished as she heard the noises of the lock clicking free. The door squealed as Snow opened it for her. "…is someone to help you let her out."

"What are you doing?" she growled with fearful distrust.

"I'm letting the woman who saved my life go. This is a chance to start fresh, Regina. To leave the evil behind in this cell."

Regina stared in shock as she rose to her feet and walked to the door, her smile growing with every step as though she could taste that there was trickery in the air.

"Just like that?" she questioned.

He let out a small snort of amusement as Snow answered, "just like that."

"She's not the one that makes deals, dearie. I am," he commented to himself as Regina floated out of her cell, walked a short distance, and then, seeing that they were truly alone…struck.

The girl had been grinning like a fool. It was a grin that a parent might have had as they watched their child take their first steps into the world, it suggested hope and new beginnings, a fresh start for a new life, but the second Regina looked over at her and saw it, she put her hand around the Snow's neck and slammed her against the wall.

"You make change sound so easy," she hissed as Snow choked. Oh, the protection spell she had given her assured that she wouldn't die, not from strangulation, but there was never any promise that her body wouldn't feel the effects. After years of honing her skill and learning to protect herself when her life was on the line, she reacted as any person would. She reached for the knife she'd hidden away in her sleeve, but Regina was quick to stop her from using it and take it from her.

"Did you really think this would protect you?" Regina taunted with a smile as Snow's struggle lessened. Ah, yes. Now that the surprise and the shock were over, she'd be remembering how safe she was. Too bad Regina didn't realize it as she eyed the dagger in her hand like it was a delectable sweet. "Since I can't use magic, I can think of no better way than to kill you with the blade you had meant for me. Goodbye, Snow White."

"No…" Snow warned, but Regina had already taken the blade stabbed her in the belly, making Snow let out a shriek. She'd heal. Her body would knit together quickly with that potion, too quickly for any damage to be done. In fact, it probably already was, but the pain she still would have felt. He absent-mindedly rubbed his leg, the one he constantly used magic for so that he'd never have to feel that pain. Wasn't magic wonderful.

"Yes…" Regina hissed as she watched Snow's face with determination. He'd been watching that woman pull hearts from chests ever since he'd first taught her. He knew what she was looking for now; it was death. She was waiting for the light in Snow's eyes to go out. What a shock for her to discover it didn't.

"No," Snow finally breathed, taking control of the pain and shaking her head. Regina removed the dagger from her step-daughter's side and stared down at it, mystified. It was clean.

"That's impossible!" she balked, dropping the knife to the ground and backing away from the woman.

"No, that's magic." There were footsteps on the stairs, and David, as well as several guards, entered the chamber.

"And this time, it wasn't thanks to fairies." He held up the blindfold that he'd taken the hairs from and showed it to her. "Rumpelstiltskin. He took one of your hairs from this and used it to fashion a protection spell," he explained.

"No…"

"Now there's nothing you can do in this land to hurt Snow or me. You're powerless against us."

That wasn't entirely true. That protection spell would only protect Snow White, not him. Unless, of course, they shared it, but he couldn't see her Charming make that sacrifice. But he supposed that David hadn't been there for the conversation that he'd had with Snow, so it was easy to see how he could mistake things. Or, of course, he knew it wouldn't, and he was bluffing. If it was a bluff, it was convincing. He'd said it easily enough to be believed.

Regina, on the other hand, was not taking the news easily. The poor girl hadn't looked so bad since Danial's resurrection had failed. "You tricked me," she cried.

"It wasn't a trick. It was a test–one that I had truly hoped you'd pass," Snow corrected.

"We wanted to give you a chance to change, Regina," David finished.

"Regina, you are banished," Snow pronounced officially and awkwardly in front of the guards. "Banished to live alone with your misery."

"As long as you're alive in this world, you can't hurt us," David repeated, again, a fact that wasn't strictly true, but he wouldn't tell.

Snow left David's side and strode over to her step-mother. She looked into her eyes, and Regina looked back, two women, not even a decade apart in age, two Queens by two very different circumstances, eye to eye, equals…it was chilling.

"You saved my life once," Snow stated, "and now I've saved yours. So we're even. And if you ever try to hurt anyone in my kingdom again, I will kill you." She turned her back then, and David gave the guards a signal to escort her down the stairs with them.

"Outside, your father is waiting to take you back to your castle. Keep it. Keep all you possess. But these Kingdoms are now one and under our rule. And if we ever see you again, we can't guarantee your fate will be the same as it is on this day. Go."

He watched as two guards roughly dragged the woman to the stairs and then down them, before practically shoving her in the carriage at the bottom. That had been foolish. The Queen was protected from Regina, but they weren't. Her magic wouldn't be gone long, and he did not doubt that Regina was going to push the Queen's threat of murder. He wouldn't want to give her easy targets.

[ladyemberswrites]

“Picking Up the Pieces”

                 [Keith Leaves and Lotor’s left picking up the pieces]

                                                    -

Dotu! Lotura

1k+

Warning!: Features references of Abuse! and implied Character Death!

                                                        -

Lotor knew heartbreak when he saw it. When Kogane left he broke her, tore her heart to pieces and left him to clean up the damn mess he made. 

It's funny, he thinks how it's always him that has to fix what others break. It was him who tended to Lora's injuries when his father struck her bloody. It was him who brought her meals when she no longer had the energy to leave bed. It was him who combed her hair, and tended to her clothes when she no longer had the strength.

His father broke Lora and he was left to put together the shattered pieces of her soul.

The situation was reminiscent of his childhood. And though Kogane would never do to Allura what his father did to his mother he still hurt her all the same by abandoning her and breaking her heart.

He heard her cry at night, he didn't sleep much these days and wandered the castle, so he became rather intimate with her grief. Listened to her sobs until she exhausted herself. Seeing her enter the dining room with red rimmed eyes and slacked shoulders and anguish written in crystal blue eyes; It was his youth smacking him right in the face once again. Unwelcomed, Unprecedented, unremorseful.

Allura tilts her head and smiles in the way Lora did to ward off questions. They knew. He knew. When she kissed his cheek and told him everything was going to be alright despite half of her face being marred black and blue by Zarkon's fist. Lotor excused himself from the table and ended up vomiting what little he ate that morning. Cursing and heaving, he felt his face moistened. Strange, he thinks he can't even remember the last time he cried. It must've been eons, ages, he lost count over the years.

It’s apparent to him that Allura reminds him of Lora in the worst possible ways.

It's why he almost breaks Coran's neck the moment he overheard him and Allura's nursemaid discuss marrying her off despite her protests. Without Kogane, Voltron cannot be formed and thus they're ripe for assault. Someone is needed to fill in the gap the captain left. In their genius, they decided up a complete stranger; a King from a close planet.

Lotor nearly sees red. How can they be so damn careless! Have they any idea what he might do to her? She'll be used, she'll be beaten and degraded. Trapped within a cage that she'll never be able to escape. 

Will they clean her rags and bandages? Will they help bathe her when she’s far too wounded to move? Who will feed her when she can no longer feed herself any longer? Who will read her books and stories at her bedside to assuage her worries at night? OR sleep by her side when she’s ailed with nightmares and fevers?

Coran calls him a hypocrite.

He doesn't answer that "then give me the key." He says vehemently and Coran balks, Nanny says he has no right to make demands "I'll be the Black Lion's pilot if it means Allura isn't sold off to be some bastard's broodmare."

"You can't be serious?"

"I'm plenty serious. I've never been anything less than serious."

"You'll go to Doom with Voltron's secrets"

"Daddy dearest wants me dead." He counters with an open palm, silently demanding the key.

"You'll bargain" he snorts sardonically.

“You do not know my father then? Secrets or no, he'll slay me regardless. He has no honor, he is loyal to no one but himself. In his eyes I'm no more than a tool. Give me the key. I'm best the warrior Arus has to offer, better than Kogane. I know the inner workings of my empire which can be useful for your cause"

He can see the wheels in the adviser's head turning "and what do you get out of it?"

"My throne. My birthright. With it I'll help end this senseless war" 

"Coran!" Nanny cries "you can't be considering this monster's proposal!?"

"Allura has the key, not I"

"Coran!" 

He storms away to find Allura in her garden. She's watering and tending to the various rows of herbs. She nearly jumped at the call of her name, she swung around with eyes still red rimmed. Instead of pink, she's adorning a blue gown and Lotor finds his world falling off its axis again. Catching himself he decides it's better to be straightforward. Allura hates dawdling, so does he.

"I want to be your new pilot" 

"I don't understand-"

"Allow me to be the Black Lion's new pilot" 

Her lips part, her shock is pliable, she's motionless for a few seconds "w-why?"

"Because I want to fight for Arus" 

she frowns at him"You’re not being very funny" .

"It is not a joke. I mean it, let me be your pilot, let me fight for you." Her eyes lower, she drops her watering pot and finds a seat on a stone bench. He follows her, kneeling before her in all sincerity, to make his point clear.

"I-I don't get you, Lotor" her hands curl in her lap "when I think I understand you, you turn around and do this. Why should I trust anything you say-"

"You said before that I was a senseless brute. That I cared for no one but myself." She eyes him cautiously "let me prove to you the depth of my feelings for you"

"Is that what this all about?" The image of her beaten bloodied chills his body, he's reminded of his mother's dying breaths, reminded of having to watch her waste away into nothing but a shell of someone once human. Even if he cannot have her as he wants, the thought of her sad and miserable tears at him. If she’s smiling and happy-then he can accept that at least, as long as she’s safe he can be satisfied. 

"No" he admits. Maybe the reason is more selfish than he realizes, but he does not know if he could withstand seeing what happened to Lora, happen to Allura if he can help it. He's not a helpless child any longer.

"Perhaps, not"

"Then what is it really?"

"Does it matter" she fidgets "you're down one pilot and I'm a fugitive with nowhere to go."

"How can I trust you?"

"Trust can be built" 

"Not on a shattered foundation." She argued.

"You can always start from the beginning again"

"How do we do that?" 

He ran a hand through his hair "I wish I knew" that earned him a genuine smile, the first he's seen in months of Kogane's departure. The first he's seen directed at him. It warms him in a way alcohol could never hope to achieve. 

"Your odd, Lotor." She says.

"Am I?" 

"The strangest man I've ever met. So far at least" she murmurs.

"Will you let me pilot?" She goes quiet again, rolling the question around in her head.

"The others won't like it"

"I do not care much for their opinions." 

"They'll hate me"

"That's their issue"

"Why did he leave…." his first answer would be that he was a coward and a fool. But, that would be cruel to say to her right now "I thought-I thought-" her voice cracks.

"I thought he'd always be here fighting by my side. I thought everything was fine, he always told me everything was fine and that I should rely on him…." She sniffs "and then goes on and leaves me. How could he do that?" Lotor has no answers. He has no idea why Kogane left and honestly he could care less. She leans over letting her head fall in the crook of his shoulders, sobbing into the leather of his armor. Lora used to do that, when he was small she'd gather him up in her arms and wail so quietly, if he wasn’t so close and his senses weren’t as acute he wouldn’t have heard a thing, clutching him to her chest in an iron grip, as she rocked them back and forth. In return he cradled her head while she cried, despite kneeling he still towered above her, though the position was hell on his joints, but he didn't dare move. If he did he was terrified she might crumble in his grasp.

When she comes to, she wipes her eyes and face "Do you really mean it, you'll fight for Arus?"

He grabs her hands and squeezes "Yes, I will"

With her tears drying over her red cheeks she gives him one last cautionary glance "the  boys really aren't going to like this" 

Once again the cycle repeats only this time, he's determined to change the outcome.

[bluepenguinstories]

Remoras Full Ch. I: Ray of Sunshine

Blankets of darkness spread across the Arctic, just as it did every night. Violent gusts of wind permeated through the air, and me? I was humming a nice little song.

See, I had too much to be joyous about. Even if a gentle darkness blinded all walks of life on the icy terrain, my spirit was as bright and warm as it could ever be. Just ask anyone, my wife, my patrons at the diner, they’ll all tell you how I just love a good rumor. Oh yes I do. Little legends cropping about, little anomalies here and there. Anything to scratch that itch. There was sure an itch as of late, too! Something about a certain bit of activity…

...That I was about to witness in action.

Call it intuition, a hunch, or the idea that I may have already known, but something was telling me to go ahead and sit down next to that huge chunk of rock next to me. As I crouched, I went ahead and removed my glasses, took out a handkerchief, and wiped the fog off. What a big mistake on my part. The utter fool inside me had awakened as while I took to cleaning, gunfire erupted.

“Ah, so I see it has begun,” I muttered, a grin spreading across my face. My excitement couldn’t be contained.

Off in the distance lay another person, also beside a rock. This other person had aimed their rifle at a pack of arctic wolves and took one out. My sympathies for the wolf would have to be extended, as that initial yelp of pain from that canine caused a tear to fall down my cheek. Something about cats and dogs, y’know? When they let out those cries of pain, my maternal instinct kicks in and I feel the strong urge to jump in and protect them. However, being as that I wasn’t a mom, and that instead, I was a dad, I would have to hold said instincts back. Besides, I didn’t quite want this hunter to know my presence yet.

So instead, I continued to enjoy the spectacle and gave my guilty conscience a rain check.

After the initial wolf went down, the pack scattered about and ran toward the hunter.

Glad to see they got protective instincts of their own. Saves me the trouble.

One by one they ran, but the hunter’s motions were quicker. The rifle reloaded and fired one of them in an instant. The other two, still toward the hunter, decided to split and take their chances charging at each end. Smart, if I do say so. But the hunter had a trick; the rifle itself split. Right in two it detached to form two smaller firearms. Just as she did so, that was how I knew I found who I was looking for.

Confirmed.

Sunny would be amazed at my findings, especially after she was so convinced that such a person couldn’t possibly exist given all that was logical in the world. Ah, but I said, “rumors don’t lie, honey bunches.” She then proceeded to call me “my sweet ray of sunshine” and the back and forth of pet names began. She would’ve said that she won, and she definitely won on the sweetness factor, but I think I got the most pet names in.

...What was going on again?

Oh right. Hunter. So, this hunter lady shot the wolves with her firearms, without missing a shot, and the whole pack then lie dead.

I watched as she reassembled her rifle, only to disassemble it further, piece by piece, and stuff it all into her backpack. Then, she stood, peering down at the massacre.

Her short dark hair blended in so well with the night sky, her multiple layers of heavy coats may have seemed peculiar to some, but it was the arctic. Some things you didn’t question. However, why she chose not to have her hood up was something worth questioning. Something that added to the mystique of it all and made you wonder if what you were seeing was instead some sort of ghost, or a monster out of folklore. But, as we all know, ghosts didn’t exist.

So, I picked myself up and made my way toward her, this living person, with slow steps. She either hadn’t noticed me yet, or was choosing to ignore me. Well, if it were the latter, I could understand. Her distaste of others was part of the rumors I so heard of this hunter.

“Bravo! Bravo! Encore, I say, encore!” I called out to her. That sure got her attention as she took to her backpack, reassembled her rifle, and pointed it at me, all in one quick motion.

“Whoa there!” For someone whose life was on the line, I couldn’t help being so jovial. I hadn’t been so giddy since the last time I cooked an elegant seafood dinner. All I could do was wish she hadn’t misinterpreted my excitement as hostility. “I come in peace, lady! All I want to do is have a little chit-chat!”

I continued walking, my hands up, a sign that I meant what I said. She must not have bought it. She lowered her rifle just a tad and fired, the bullet having landed just a couple steps in front of me.

I looked down and scratched my chin. Mhm. Was due time for a shave.

“I see. So you took out those wolves with no hesitation, but you’re choosing to let me off with a warning.”

“Correct,” she spoke. Her voice low, a sort of baritone drone. Emotionless sounded too harsh a descriptor, but cold? Ah, yes. There we go. Deep and icy. Just like where we stood.

“How merciful of you. I’ll be on my way, then.”

I turned around and started walking away, but I was really hoping that she’d say something like “wait. Tell me what you want,” but that didn’t happen. Oh well, I knew better than to conflate hopes and expectations. So, I turned my head. She remained where she stood, her rifle still pointed at me. What I expected was for her to have vanished into the wind. There we go. Double whammy. Neither hope, nor expectation, fulfilled.

Sunny had warned me about this:

“Hun, even if she does exist and is residing around these parts, why would she want to talk with you?” We had discussed one night when our humble establishment lay empty.

“Because, dear, as we all know, I am quite the charmer.”

“Mm...I’m not so sure about that,” she disagreed, but her voice was as perky as her spirit was. “But the idea that you think so is rather charming.”

“Oh, hun, you know me too well,” we rubbed our cheeks together. “So you ought to have a little more confidence. People ‘round here don’t call me a ray of sunshine for nothing.”

“That’s because that’s your name, silly-willy!”

“Oh, Sunny, my warmth, my light, what did our last customer say about me?”

“Hmm...something like ‘that Ray, always treated me like a close family member’?”

“Ding ding ding! You’re right on the money! You’re so smart, dear!”

“You’re smart!”

“No, you!”

“All right, all right. I’ll trust you. But this person sounds dangerous. I’d rather you not get any owie-wowies.”

“Promise! No owie-wowies here!” Thus, we proceeded to hug, rub our faces together, then we went our separate ways. Her back at the restaurant, me, off to find this rumored hunter.

Her gaze was burning into mine. That icy, cold stare. Damn, I sure had to work up my charms before I really did get an ‘owie-wowie’.

“Before I go,” I grinned. “I’m just a wee bit curious.”

“What?” She replied. I was taken aback. Not just that she replied, but how that one word sounded more of a continued threat than a genuine question. Ah well, I’d just treat it like it was one.

“About a year ago, a body was reported found atop the roof of a financial office building. Torso slashed open, dried blood, a matchstick in her mouth. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Why would I?”

“No reason. If you don’t know, that’s okay. I’ll tell you a little more about the case. Seems there had been some fight that broke down. The body belonged to that of someone going under the alias of Clara Waters. There was a rifle, similar to yours, found at the scene.”

“Are you implying I killed this ‘Clara’ person?”

“Oh, heaven’s no! Besides, who do you take me for? Some kind of officer? Here to arrest you, am I?” I gave a bit of a chuckle. Couldn’t help myself. The idea of me working for such an institution. Ah, I may have been called a bastard once or twice in my life, but my interests lie elsewhere. “Besides, bold of me to imply that your existence would have anything to do with her death.”

“Well, lay your implications to rest. I have no interest in true crime stories.”

Was that a joke or something? If so, her delivery was rather flat. Still, had to roll with the punches.

“Don’t you think it’s the least bit peculiar that hers and your weapons happened to be so similar?”

She bared some fangs. If I wasn’t mistaken, I could hear a growl.

“Something tells me you were implying something, but not that I killed her.”

“Relax. I just came to chat, not here to make accusations.” Damn, it was hard defrosting this hunter, but I was giving it my all. “Maybe all I was getting at is that you knew the manufacturer of said weapon. Or maybe I just wanted to relay a tale to a stranger.”

She held her finger against the trigger, but didn’t quite pull it.

“I think I have more than a little reason to be suspicious of you,” she growled, a slight intensity raised to her snarl.

“And I of you, seeing as you just shot a pack of what is considered a protective species. Have you no shame, my lady? Couldn’t you find it in your heart to think of those poor animals and their species’ threatened existence?”

“They stole my kill. I’ll have to pray for forgiveness later.”

“So that’s what it boils down to?” I glanced to my right, where a mangled elk lay on the icy ground.

“I’m a hunter. I hunt for food. It’s what I do.”

“Very well, Ms. Hunter! Forgive this nosy house-husband!” I started to do a little spin, an eccentric act I seldom did, but my excitement was still in full effect. “I just have one more question: are you cold?”

She balked. “What kind of question is that? We’re out in the Arctic.”

“Mm...fair point!” I replied. I didn’t know what I was thinking with a question like that. Wrong time, wrong place.

I turned once again to leave her to her own devices. I waved a hand up in the air goodbye. Of course, an intense stinging sensation followed by a burst of pain and blood trickling down followed. She had shot me square in the middle of my palm.

It took every muscle in me not to break down and shout, to burst into a flood of tears from the pain. Oh, if Sunny were here, she’d chew me out for sure. But she weren’t, and I’d have to keep my dignity intact for when we reunited.

“You rubbed me the wrong way. Be grateful I didn’t aim for your head.”

I held my bleeding palm with my clean one. If the pain didn’t get me, the freezing temperature would. I took out the handkerchief and wrapped it around my wounded hand, then gave the hunter a weak smile.

“Ah, yes. I’m quite grateful for that. Very well, then. I thank you for this chat, and now I’ll be on my way.”

Just as I was about to part, the ground beneath us started to rumble and I could hear ice cracking in the distance. We both stared in the direction of the commotion: far off where the first wolf had been killed. There was a mountain beside the fallen beast, but that mountain soon split and what emerged was a splash of water, fish flying out onto the icy floor, and a beast taller than the mountain itself rising up.

Its fur a solid white, like snow. Like a polar bear. It stood bipedal, its fur standing on end, giving off the impression of a gargantuan arctic porcupine. If one were to assign a name, ‘yeti’ would seem most appropriate, but I felt it a disrespect to actual yetis (though being unconfirmed rumors, I don’t want to assume that they just exist), as this creature had facial features closer to that of a wolf, with sharp fangs, to boot. Then, there was the fact that this thing emerged from the ocean, as if some ancient aquatic being.

“Well, that’s a new one,” I remarked.

“Shit!” She hissed. “That was my last bullet.”

“Maybe this is one of those fabled frost giants from Norse mythology! Or, or, it could be something new! Something undiscovered! But it came from the sea! Like something aquatic! Fish, maybe? No, possibly mammalian? Or maybe reptilian! But a reptilian with fur? Hm…”

“Is this really the time to be ogling at that thing?” Her words fell on deaf ears. She just couldn’t understand.

“I’ve heard rumors of such a thing. Great creature that comes from the sea, defender of the arctic, but I never had any evidence to substantiate it!”

The creature roared a mighty gust of malice. We both shivered in our boots (yes, both she and I were wise enough to wear boots in these harsh conditions). Its face lowered as it peered down at the both of us.

I looked over to see her reach into her backpack.

“Maybe I could try taking it out with my fists,” she murmured, pulling out a pair of metal claws to attach to her hand.

Next to me, a shine sparkled on the ground. I recognized it as the bullet that pierced me and picked it up.

“You didn’t strike me as the reckless type,” I observed. “As if you could really slash something like that to death.”

“I have to try something,” she continued to murmur while averting my gaze.

“Maybe try using this?” I suggested, holding up the bullet in my good hand. She looked up and glared.

“Give it here.”

“Nu-uh,” I shook my head and reeled my hand back. “What do you say?”

“Really? We don’t have time for this. That thing is going to kill us both.”

“Oh, so now that it’s your life on the line, you want my help? How interesting.”

“Shut up!” She leaped forward, trying to grab it from me, but I swerved out of the way. “How about we make a deal? I give you this bullet and in return, you have to come with me to my diner.”

“I can’t believe I’m accepting help from a man,” I heard her say under her breath.

“Hm? What was that?”

“Fuck you. It’s a deal. Satisfied?”

I grinned. “Of course!”

I tossed her the bullet, which she caught, then loaded it into her rifle. As I waited for her to get it all set up, the creature took a mighty step, which knocked me off my feet. Just as the creature was about to lean forward, the shot was fired and landed right between its eyes. The force knocked the creature back and it fell back into the destroyed mountain, slain with a single bullet.

“Huh. For as big as it was, it was sure easy to kill,” I remarked.

“Get up,” she instructed. “As much as it pains me to say it, I made a deal. So take me to your diner.”

I grinned. Wherever Sunny was, I hoped she could sense the good news. Across land and sea, I was sending her the most positive of vibes.

We had made our way inside my humble establishment.

“So, Ms. Hunter, are you thirsty?”

“Got any liquor?” She groaned.

“Of course. All home-brewed, as well. We pride ourselves of only the finest--”

“Less talk. Ale. Strongest you got.”

I grinned. “Very well, Ms.”

In truth, the diner my wife and I owned was a little more than humble. Neither of us got to the position we were in by sticking with the ordinary. Back in the kitchen, there was a basement, which underneath, lie a brewery. It was the pride and joy of our establishment, and I figured if I were to show our hunter guest some hospitality, I ought to bring her only the finest.

“Now, let’s see...she wants the strongest...should I go with vodka, maybe? Whiskey?” Knowing her, she’d want a cold drink. But something that could knock her dead with alcohol poisoning, that was the tricky part.

“Ah!” The little imaginary flashlight above my head lit. I was at the very end of the brewery, with a giant keg that had a biohazard sign on it. “Perfect!”

Do I really want to kill my guest? Well, of course not! The biohazard sign was more of a decoration. Or, more there as a necessity in case one were to die upon drinking it and a lawsuit was filed. Think of such a warning label as a sort of unsigned waiver!

After pouring a mug of the infernal liquid, I brought it back up and served it to her table. She sat, her arms crossed, shivering.

“Are you cold, miss?”

“What do you think? We were just out in the tundra and you wanna ask me--”

“The heater’s on,” I pointed out.

“Still. We haven’t been in here very long.”

Heh. I was quite enjoying this. If only honey bunches were here to share in the pleasure of having such an honored guest.

She took a sip of the drink, then wiped her mouth.

“Vodka?”

“Only the finest,” I placed my hand on my chest.

“It’s okay, I guess. I’ve had stronger.”

I walked to balk at that, but then again, I wanted to believe she was bluffing. Yes. That would’ve been more likely, wouldn’t it? But the most likely was that she wasn’t bluffing, considering who she was. Or who she resembled, anyway.

“So cut to the chase,” she spoke after another sip. Her voice just as low and icy as before. “What business do you want with me?”

“Simple, really. My wife and I heard rumors of a peculiar hunter who roamed around these parts and we thought you would make a great addition to our team.”

“What? At this restaurant? That’s it?”

I sat at a stool, back to the counter, elbows leaned back against it, looking rather cool and laid back. “Hm...well, that’s not quite it, but...yes.”

“No.”

“She thought you might say that. She did say you were one tough nut to bust. Then again, I told her she didn’t quite know you. Then again, I don’t quite know you, either. We’ve just heard things here and there between the two of us. After an exchange of cutesy adjectives, I convinced her that I could get you to say yes.”

“You must be out of your mind, then. I’m a hunter, not a food service worker. I only cook the food I hunt, I can’t stand people, and I don’t care to clean anyone else’s place but my own.”

“Oh ho ho! That’s not quite what we had in mind!”

“What, like prostitution?”

I spat out. “What kind of person do you take me for?”

“You’re a man. I despise men.”

“Ah, yes. So I’ve heard.”

“There you go again. Saying you’ve heard things about me.”

“Mm-hmm. Maybe not ‘you’ you, but an image of you all the same. By the way, I didn’t think you’d have such dark red hair. Almost looks black. Rather, I thought you were described to have light blue hair.”

“People have said things about me, huh?”

I nodded. “Yep. How there’s some hunter about stirring up trouble, striking fear. All that silly little nonsense. I’m sure in reality, you’re more a hermit just trying to get by. Am I right so far?”

“More or less.”

“Some, particularly, in the criminal underworld, have spoken about someone who matches your description. Light blue hair, cold as ice, a seasoned killer, and poor social skills. Got me to wonder if there was something to that. If you might happen to be the infamous figure known as R--”

“Remora.”

“Hm?”

“I’m Remora.”

“Ah. So that’s what you’re calling yourself these days.”

“I just love how you can talk shit about someone you don’t know about.”

“Whoa! Easy there, killer!”

“The only thing I kill is fish. Sometimes elk, if I want a big meal. Wolves, if they happen to be trying to steal my elk from me.”

“Ah, you’re a fisherman. Er, sorry, fisherwoman. Also, that’s quite a few things.”

“Life out here isn’t always easy.”

“No,” I shook my head. “No it isn’t. Tell me, what are you doing around these parts?”

“I have a home I built for myself.”

“Somewhat of a hermit, are you?”

“I prefer my privacy, yes.”

“Perfect place for self-exile, as well. The Alaskan wilderness, Nunavut, the Siberian wastelands. All viable options to get away from everything. So then, why here?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Not much, really. You could say I’m just a cat waiting to get killed by my curiosity.”

“As if that wasn’t already self-evident.”

I gave a chuckle to that. Let it be known that Remora wasn’t without her humor.

“I like to keep a positive attitude about everything. Helps in such a bleak environment,” I smiled my warm smile. “Figure everyone could use a ray of sunshine every now and then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, right. Ray Sunshine, at your service. Or as you could say, I’m just a regular Ray a Sunshine.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sounds too similar to my old name. I would rather just call you Mr. Sunshine.”

I wanted to spit out my (lack of a) drink (so spit...spit?) because of how funny that was. “So it really is you, huh?”

“I’m Remora. You could say I had a similar profession as this person you keep mistaking me for, but that’s behind me. I’m just someone who wishes to be left alone now.”

“Ah, forgive me, then.”

“Forgiven. At least you treated me to a drink.”

“Of course. My wife wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if I didn’t. Not after we both wished to see you in person.”

“Is that so? Where is she, then?”

“Out catching fish.”

“...What I should be doing right now,” she groaned.

“It’s a joint effort, you see. Running this place. She brings home the food and the supplies, take stock of inventory. In turn, I cook the food and serve the drinks and put the inventory to good use.”

“Sounds like she does most of the work,” she remarked and propped her legs up above the table. Then, she took another swig of her drink.

“If you wish to see it that way,” I smiled. Some may think I ought to be harder on her, but every guest is important to me, and she was as much a guest in this home as any other patron who may walk through the door.

“Here,” I pulled out my phone. “Wanna see pictures of me and my wife? We’re so adorable together! I just love her so damn much!” I started swooning just thinking of all the pictures we’ve taken of us together.

“No thanks,” she said, but I knew what she meant to say was “yes, of course! I just love such sweet sweethearts!” So show her, I did.

“What the fuck?” She remarked, that time it being her turn to spit out her drink. She wiped her mouth. “How did someone like you nab someone as pretty like her?”

“A regular Lancelot, are you?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m just stating facts.”

“Well,” I chuckled. “We were both high school sweethearts! We met on a sunny day, rays of sunlight hitting our faces as we stood on the bleachers after school hours. All the sports teams were off season, so we had the whole field to ourselves.”

Actually, that wasn’t quite how it was.

“Erm, to be more precise, we didn’t quite meet on that day. Rather, it was a rainy one, and I was alone that day, having heard about the fair in town. Being young and superstitious, I wanted to consult a psychic and ask if I could learn the secrets of the universe. While walking through the crowds of the fair, however, I happened to bump into a girl from my high school. We turned to face each other – me, a bespectacled lad with shaved dark hair, and a little bit of stubble, much like you see today, only a lot younger. Then there was her – a curly light brunette haired beauty with a fair bit of melanin and a smile that could light up the darkest of rooms.”

“Is this a long story?” She groaned.

“Of course not! Nothing is too long when describing the love between me and my sweetheart!”

Remora rolled her eyes. I went on.

“We introduced each other. ‘I’m Ray Sunshine,’ I told her. ‘I’m Sunny Reyes,’ was her reply. It was at that moment that we both knew we would be together forever. Do you believe in soulmates?”

She looked like she was about to open her mouth. I didn’t give her enough time to answer.

“Well, we were young, we were in love, and we were just a tad too superstitious for our own good. Because of our similar names, we became a couple and right after high school, we got married.”

“...That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard.”

“Maybe so, but love is a ridiculous thing!”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Just as Remora uttered such words, the front door opened and a gust of wind blew in. The wind wasn’t the important bit. What was important, or rather, the most important thing in the whole world, was who entered. My lovely little honeycomb herself.

“Hello, my ray of light!” She greeted, her words glistening with joy. Held over her back was an arctic lamprey which she must have dragged out from the depths of the seas herself. “One of our patrons requested this. You know what to do.”

“I’ll help you to the freezer, darlin’. After all, we have a special guest with us.”

“You don’t mean!” She gasped.

“I’m right here, you two,” our special guest groaned once more.

We both looked at Remora, wide-eyed.

“Indeed!” Both Sunny and I gave a synchronized gasp. The sign of true love. “What a catch, indeed!”

“That lamprey isn’t too shabby, either, my sunny day. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one so long!”

“Oh, and it was attached to a whale shark, no less! But the damn thing got away!”

“You two are disgusting. Being here is exhausting. Can I leave already?”

“Oh Remora, you don’t need our permission,” I crooned.

“But!” Sunny chimed in. “My husband and I would love if you heard us out!”

“Didn’t I already do that?”

Sunny, with the full strength of her luxurious beauty, threw the lamprey into the kitchen and I watched it land right in the sink. I knew such a gesture as “that fish can wait. We ought to talk business.”

“Remora, if you come with me, I promise my husband will cook you the best meal of your life.”

The hunter shrugged. “A free meal is a free meal, I guess.”

I beamed. I was willing to take whatever I could get.

The three of us walked together and behind the kitchen was another doorway where once opened, revealed the second half of the diner: our home.

What stood before Remora, Sunny, and I was a lobby. Rather plain, with a cubicle in the middle.

“Every independent business needs a side hustle, y’know?” I gestured to the secret beauty that was our home.

“What is this, an office?”

“Hehe, like a manager’s office? As it turns out, the only people who work here is me and my wife.

“I have been wondering about that. You mean you have no wait staff, no other cooks, no cleaning crew?”

“Nope!”

“...Do you even get any customers?”

“A few here and there. Researchers, long time friends, shady individuals in the criminal underworld.”

“What was the last one?”

I gave a hearty laugh. “We’re sort of a rumor, ourselves. Our little establishment, that is. The rumor of a diner in the middle of the arctic circle where a patron may request any dish and it shall be served. Likewise, a patron may request any little thing, in secret, and we may oblige, for a price.”

My wife must have sensed the air in the room grow stiff, as she spoke up. “Oh, but there’s nothing like ‘kill this person’ or anything else of the sort! Mostly, it’s just ‘investigate this place’, ‘find this ancient artifact’, et cetera.”

“So a sort of mystery hunter?”

“You may think of it as such,” I thought confirming such a thing would be a reassurance. “Of course, any request you accept and accomplish, you are entitled to a cut of the commission.”

“I have no need of money.”

“Everyone needs money. It’s just the world we live in,” I argued.

“My old job gave me more money than I ever needed and it still couldn’t cure me of who I am.”

She sure was good at dropping hints that she really was the one the rumors described. If I wasn’t mistaken, the truth was just as harsh as a world dictated by money.

“There are some things that do not go away,” I replied. “Like a persistent feeling you cannot shake. Or one’s past life.”

Remora nodded. “Then you can understand why my answer is still no.”

Heartbroken as I may have been to hear such words, I had to accept that such a thing was a definite possibility.

“I can, yes.”

Damn. She sure could make the air around her thick. If I wanted such a predicament, I’d have gone outside. But, the atmosphere was already what it was, and I had to respect a guest.

“It was nice to meet you, Remora.”

Both Sunny and I watch her take off. But something wasn’t quite right. I couldn’t just let her leave without letting her know where she stood with us. I ran after her, back into the cold.

“Hey!” I called to her.

“What?” Her tone sent chills.

“You’re welcome back any time! We’ll cook you any meal you want! Or, for the right price, we’ll fulfill any request you may have!”

She gave no reply, but I hoped she would have at least given a nod before she faded from view.

Once she was gone, I went back inside. On the counter of the diner was a note left by Sunny:

Dear My Ray of Sunshine,

Better luck next time, huh? Sorry, hun. Really. But I still think you did a great job! You managed to get her to come in and you even confirmed that she exists! Give yourself a pat on the back! As for me, I got pulled away once again. This time to a place in the South American rain forest. When I get back, I will be sure to shower you in lots of hugs and kisses and all that good stuff, so hang tight, my ray of sunshine!

Be sure to keep the diner clean for me, and make sure to keep a note on any interesting rumors so we may fish them out together! Best of luck out there!

Sincerely,

Sunny Reyes

P.S. You had better cook that damn lamprey! Save some for me, too, will ya? Know that you can call me any time and whenever I have reception, I will send you many heart emojis! Love ya lots!

Ah, that Sunny, the sunshine of my life. She sure could be gone for long periods of time, but whenever she returned, it was like another honeymoon. That’s why we dubbed one of the rooms in the back the ‘honeymoon room’ just for us.

As for me, you may find my little discovery disappointing, after she turned out to not be interested in our deal, but I had a feeling that the rumored Remora would appear once more. After all, call it my intuition, superstition, or a combination of the two, but I had a tendency to be right about such things.

[captainmazzic]

So every now and again I get a message in my inbox asking about what I thought about such-and-such a thing in new canon, or if I’m intending on writing any meta or analysis on a particular subject in Star Wars. And sometimes I keep those messages sitting in my inbox for months (one has been sitting there for a little over a year), because I think, maybe I will feel comfortable doing in-depth meta again and I’ll wish I’d remembered what this message had asked. But as time goes by I don’t think that’s going to happen.

Okay. Real talk for a minute here. Bear with me as I’m long-winded and I don’t really have a concise way of communicating this. Potential political views and personal opinions on certain points in cinematic history below.

Short backstory first. I’m an older Star Wars fan. I was a tiny child when the last of the original trilogy came out, and both my parents are sci-fi nerds so I was practically raised on Star Wars. They are also tabletop RPG nerds so I was also raised on D&D and the like. So naturally when Star Wars tabletop RPGs were floating around I snapped them up and consumed them like candy. The novels were a natural extension of the RPGs, and I consumed those just as enthusiastically. The Expanded Universe was my bread and butter, and to this day I’m very nostalgic and fond of it even if most of it is quite laughably terrible.

Where am I going with this? Everything is a product of their time. The original trilogy was created when George Lucas was a young liberal-minded fresh-faced director looking to change the world and make his mark. This was the 70s, war was awful, the government was evil, hippies and protests were everywhere, and the only thing that seemed to have any hope of changing the world were small bands of spunky misfits with a mission and a message. And that mentality is one that shows, in the original Star Wars films. Lucas designed the Empire as a representation of the United States circa the Vietnam War, just dressed up in the fashion and ceremony of Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union. (Sources: Chris Taylor, How Star Wars Conquered the Universe, Pp. 87-88; Michael Ondaatje, The Conversations: Walter Murch and the Art of Editing Film, p.70) The message of the original trilogy boiled down to “the ability of a small group of people to defeat a gigantic power simply by the force of their convictions… no matter how small you are, you can defeat the overwhelmingly big power.” (quote: Walter Murch). He really struggled to get Star Wars onto the big screen, with a lot of setbacks and rejections, and many times when he thought it would never happen. But it did, and it was wildly successful. And I think in part it was because that message really spoke to people, and it didn’t hurt that it was wrapped up in a package with cool laser swords and explosions and space battles.

But then the 80s happened. And the 90s happened. And through that, what happened to Lucas is what happens to many people as they gain success, wealth, and fame as they grow older. The system started to work for him instead of against him. Suddenly the Powers That Be weren’t trying to suppress his ideas from getting to an audience; suddenly all those organizations that seemed so hell-bent on keeping him out were now enabling him to get and stay in, to conserve and gain influence; suddenly his opinion counted for so much it almost seemed god-like, especially in this galaxy far, far away that was unflowering under his direction and all-seeing eye. I guess the system isn’t so bad after all, eh?

And thus we have the Prequels. They can be a rollicking good time, but their message is muddled. Before them the books and the RPGs seemed to try as best they could to hold on to that earlier message of underdog vs. the powers-that-be (with the RPGs succeeding more often, imho), but they couldn’t continue in the face of their Ultimate Creator coming back in to make more SW movies. With the Prequels, suddenly the Old Republic is portrayed as noble and struggling instead of corrupt and dying, with a lot of hand-waving and “something something well actually” in regards to the role of the Jedi, the nature of the Senate, etc. There’s mixed messages where sometimes we get the old Star Wars back, with energetic groups of activists and freedom fighters trying to bring down the oppressors, but there’s also a lot of storytelling awkwardness where the audience is implored to trust the authorities and rely on the judgment of those with power over you within the same breath. This trend continues throughout the Clone Wars animation, and it is there that it becomes often so cognitively dissonant one wonders how you don’t get whiplash trying to follow whatever garbled message they think they’re communicating. And I think that’s where the Star Wars franchise really began to become a monster in its own right. Big businesses are hulking entities unto themselves, functioning like capitalist plutocracies within their host nations, and the Star Wars franchise is no exception. Whatever garbled message Lucas tried to send out with the Prequels grew amplified and even more confused with the Clone Wars, spread into the video games and the books, and continued to infect Star Wars as the franchise was turned over to the quintessential mega-plutocratic-empire, The Walt Disney Company.

And here we have the Sequel movies, the New Canon, and all of the disasters that come with them.

Disney walks a fine line between well-meaning family-friendly sugar and spice, and ruthless all-consuming hypercontroller of everything from arts and entertainment to food and clothes and government lobbying. Their bottom line is the dollar and the influence on – and power over – people’s lives that the dollar brings with it. Handing them a story whose original message was about people resisting the very kind of mammoth force that Disney embodies, and hoping that they will try to stay true to said original message, is hopeless and foolish at best and utterly disastrous at worst.

With the Sequels and subsequent movies, Disney pays good overt lip service to the original trilogy with things like Rogue One and the Rebels animation, which on the surface certainly do look like the same sort of message as the original trilogy. But scratch just below that surface and Disney is all about communicating that submitting to the authority of, say, higher Rebel command and following their orders even when it goes against your gut feeling (ex. Ezra Bridger in the Rebels animation), or that rebelling against an unjust government is only valid if it is done according to a strict but nebulous set of arbitrary rules and only if it is done in the service of a different unjust government that just happens to be slightly less evil than the one you’re trying to overthrow (ex. any iteration of the Old Republic ever, but I’m especially and particularly looking at you, Sequel-era Republic/Resistance and SWTOR Jedi/Republic).

And here is where I balk about ever doing meta on Star Wars again. I hate that this is the direction Star Wars is taking. I hate that New Canon feels like propaganda to me. I hate that I can’t enjoy any of this stuff if I take it for what it presents itself to be. I hate that the only way I truly can enjoy Star Wars now is by cherry-picking all of the tiny bits of window dressing that was pretty enough or interesting enough for me to want to look at it again, and very deliberately and consciously throwing out all the rest.

The experience of Star Wars that I create for myself is escapist and isolating, because it is so very tailor-made to what I can enjoy out of it now. When I go see a new Star Wars film or play a Star Wars game, I don’t actually see whatever story the franchise is trying to actually tell. I see bits and pieces that I can put together into something I can cope with better, something I can actually enjoy.

Examples include:

In Rebels, when the official franchise’s story killed off Maul. I cannot and will not acknowledge that, or function as though it happened. And I can’t really give my opinion on how not having Maul around will affect the future story, because I very literally do not care at all about any Star Wars where he is not in it.

In The Clone Wars, there are so many instances of Anakin Skywalker having agency and making decisions independent of the Jedi Council or without having their insipid code squarely in mind, where if he had made those decisions in a more realistic setting they would have turned out quite well, but what we get on screen is ominous background music and FoReShAdOwInG.

In The Last Jedi, I cannot fathom any reason why Yoda would be given the role that he was given, and find it a complete affront to Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker, who had every motivation, every reason, every right to have that role instead. So I can’t see that scene without him in it. I just… I don’t see it. It didn’t happen that way, and I find I cannot discuss it as it’s presented on-screen. I have nothing to say.

In the Sequel media, both books and movies, Supreme Leader Snoke is portrayed as a one-dimensional Saturday morning cartoon villain whose intended role in the story is blurred as the story progresses, and his death is completely nonsensical in regards to the buildup of information that we as an audience have gleaned about him. We see pieces of evidence that he could have actually cared about Kylo Ren that go nowhere in the actual story, and he ends up just being a scapegoat that gets thrown away halfway through the second sequel movie. I choose to see more in his character than what we were given in Actual Canon™, and thus see him very differently than what common discourse would allow. Because of this, if I discuss Snoke in mixed company I know that I will be called out as someone who advocates for only the limited cardboard-character that is portrayed on screen, instead of for the internalized view that I have personally built for him.

I know everyone’s personal view of a character or characters is different, because we all have different points of view. But there is often some sort of vague common ground in their portrayal that the author or storyteller was originally going for, that most people usually pick up on and base their opinions around. But what if some of the key characteristics that make up a character are just… things you choose not to see or are incapable of seeing, and your own personal view of that character becomes almost entirely different from the “original”? Probably the most benign example I can think of is Hera Syndulla. If I take what I see of her in canon, she infuriates me with how she treats her crew. But if I just decide that such-and-such a conversation never happened, or her decisions on such-and-such a mission were different than the on-screen one, she essentially becomes an alternate-universe version of herself. Only that this version is one that I can tolerate, and it is the only version I see anymore.

How does one communicate that my entire experience of Star Wars is as an AU?

And on and on it goes. Discussing meta and Actual Canon Events™ as portrayed on screen and on printed page has become nothing but a migraine headache to me. I cannot engage in discourse, because I am very much not seeing what everyone else is seeing and talking about, nor do I care to. I just… I can’t keep talking about the same stupid things over and over again. I can’t keep screaming into the void about the unsustainability of the Sith or the Jedi, about the complete inequality and corruption that would have to be absolutely omnipresent in the Republic for it to even be remotely realistic even by cartoon standards, about the inevitability of the Republic turning into an Empire, about the weird dissonance given to the concept of the Force that would end up making both the Jedi and the Sith’s case baseless and weak, etc. etc. ETC. It’s exhausting, it’s stressful, and for something that I’m here to try to enjoy, it’s not even remotely enjoyable.

The very core of the matter is that I love the Star Wars universe. I love the worlds, I love the aliens, I love the ships and the droids and the technology and the concept of the Force. I love the characters. I love all of these things, and sometimes I even love the plots and stories (thank you Chuck Wendig and Timothy Zahn). But I just can’t enjoy digging into the meta of it anymore.

So if you like what I post of my own personal Star Wars-brand AU, by all means dig right in. But I don’t think I can do anymore general meta or discourse. I’m sticking with fanart and fanfic.

[alistonjdrake]

Part One: The Rios Queen

Queen Isolde ana’Juliano Rios Mother to: Prince Cidro and Prince Leonides Born: Year 1725 after the fall of the Saints Died: Year 1751 after the fall of the Saints

While Queen Isolde is perhaps the most famous of the Harver queens, the least is known about her. 

She was born in Graza as the first child to Queen Marisol and King Juliano. She was recluse as a child, paying more attention to her studies before eventually joining court at the age of 13. Grazan court culture was vastly different under King Juliano than it would be under King Frederick. Most of the nobility tended their own land and palaces, and thus Graza was full mostly of King Juliano’s closest allies and attendants. The atmosphere was more strict and the palace, massive as it is, was mostly empty. So, Isolde never grew close to her peers or those her own age. She was very popular among her father’s men.

People say when her father died, everyone was in a panic about the lack of an heir and the country was in chaos. This was not true. Her father’s men immediately bowed to Queen Isolde and she was crowned such in the palace chapel on the second morning after. It was the nobles of Escan who held issue, and many were split on their dislike for their new queen. There were those who would have favored a son instead, and those who mainly did not like the queen’s notable lover.

Many aren’t sure when or where Queen Isolde met Leonides an’Emilio Barraza. While he shares a family both with Queen Marisol and some of her father’s closest allies were Barraza men, he was not well liked by his family, supposedly not welcome in court, and ten years older. Isolde had spent time in Orrasas when she was younger, but had only visited Ovango once (where Leonides called home). This must have been where they met and eventually letters were uncovered dated from when she would have been seventeen. But this would have been three years after her short trip to Ovango. Leonides was not well liked. He was famous for his gambling debts, his utter disrespect of high society and its rules, and his greed. Since King Juliano’s birth, the Barrazas had been called the “uncrowned kings” of Escan by being. But there were those who did not want a true Barraza king even if the family could also trace their line back to the Espinars. Leonides stained their reputation, and once Queen Isolde made him public there was so much fighting within the family that they perhaps didn’t find the time to focus on Frederick in the north and the amount of ships and carriages arriving from Oskya. 

The story follows that Arturo an’Román Harver called upon Queen Isolde formally while she attending her small court and asked her to deliver on the promises of her father. She rejected Frederick publicly but most say she was polite and mostly balked at the notion she had to do something when it was not in writing. Arturo’s story is often embellished with tales of the humiliation of her laughing at him. Either way, in a fury he returned to Tadrus. 

Queen Isolde is also known for turning Frederick away at the Navanese border while he was just trying to make a diplomatic visit to discuss any possible terms of an engagement between them. The Harvers also can trace lineage back to the Espinars, and more recent marriages also made them have Rios blood. On one side, we are told Frederick traveled only with his mother, Prince Vadik, and naturally, a few guards as Oskyan princes go few places unattended. On the other, we are told Frederick showed up with an army and Queen Isolde reacted the only way she could have. Whatever happened at the border, it sparked a struggle between them, enough for Frederick to claim he’d been wronged and called for alliances. He looked towards Nava and disenfranchised nobles of Escan. Queen Isolde, losing popularity with her own people, looked south towards Sceoque. 

The Oskyan army worked faster than words. Gates opened up for them on sight. Nava had no standing army, neither did Escan and with most power so firmly in the hands of the noble class their numbers depended entirely on how much effort the Escana nobles put into rallying troops for her cause. No one wanted to fight the Oskyans. And more and more likened to the idea of Frederick marrying Queen Isolde. An invader perhaps, and Tadrune, but at least he wasn’t a Barraza. 

Her famous last stand was in Graza. She’d locked herself in Alda and shut the city gates. It was said she spent the night devising plan after plan with her men. Some even say, as a last ditch attempt, she exchanged vows with Leonides before retiring to bed. Whatever happened, around midnight her men turned against her, pulled her from her bed, dragged her to where Frederick camped, and begged her to surrender. She did, but it was still said she bit his hand while he tried to help her up.

Terms for a formal surrender were drawn on neutral ground. Whether or not anyone brought up her fleeting marriage to Leonides is unknown. It would not have been considered legal as they did it without the Saints’ blessing. Some say Lady Helena, the Vipress, had a long talk with Queen Isolde and it convinced her to see reason. King Frederick and Queen Isolde married in the main cathedral of Graza some days later on the same day he was coronated, and she received a second and more public coronation. 

It was no secret that their marriage was loveless. Queen Isolde kept her lover close, and as King Frederick took quickly to changing Escan and wrestling power from her hands and from that of the other nobles, he paid little attention to her. Frederick had no lack of lovers either. 

So, it came as a surprise when the queen announced pregnancy rather early into the marriage. This sparked rumors that it was not Frederick’s child, and when Cidro was born seven months later it seemed only to convince people further. He was born too early. Frederick himself never doubted the child was his, and Lady Helena was known for announcing how pleased she was with both of them for putting their differences aside to perform their duties. There were others who were less sure. Leonides had not been banished from court, many claimed to see him enter and exit the queen’s chamber as he pleased. Frederick is quoted to have laughed when asked what he thought of his wife’s lover. So much as saying “he and I are brothers bonded in marriage.” But they were never seen together. It was an odd family.

Things changed when Prince Vadik finally left Escan. He was called back to Oskya on the death of his uncle and king and was called to take his place. He left. And with him, his army. 

People say the only fearsome thing about King Frederick was his Oskyan allies. But they forget how many people hanged in the early days of his reign. He spent the first months weeding out dissenters, building a council of loyal men, rewarding those who aided him and handing harsh punishments for those who hadn’t. Even so, when the Oskyans left, rebellion sparked. 

The Barrazas had reunited. If there was someone they disliked more than their embarrassing kin, it was surely King Frederick. Lady Helena, although she was a cousin to the Barraza family herself, could only call so few loyal. It was through her King Frederick learned of the plot against her, and her who convinced him hanging Leonides would help quiet them. He had not publicly turned a hand against the Barrazas as of yet. They were a large family and it was better to mind their insults and tiptoe around their playing field. Lady Helena said it would better for all of them. Remove the threat and the man who distracted the queen.

As it was not a public hanging, none can be sure how Queen Isolde reacted. Some say she followed Frederick there, attacked him, dragged herself after him and wept. Others said she watched coldly and said nothing. She went into a period of mourning after his death that lasted months. She willingly went into confinement, wore a veil over her face, and would not speak. So, it came as another surprise when she finally reappeared and announced she was pregnant once again. Again people questioned if this was King Frederick’s child. No one can say for sure if he visited her during her solitude, and they surely hated each other. The baby was born. Another boy. Lady Helena was said to have left the birth chamber in tears, remarking that he looked just like her son. 

She named the boy Leonides, and much to everyone’s surprise, King Frederick did not protest. 

After the birth, Queen Isolde spent little time in public. She was known for saying she despised her husband and his court. She despised the nobles who now called the palace home. She wrote in letters she would leave behind for her youngest son that she even so much as despised Escan, as it was no longer the country she knew. Her health began to decline rapidly, and as if she knew she was going to die she started leaving things behind for her son. Some wondered if she’d been poisoned somehow. Queen Isolde had never shown poor health before. 

Queen Isolde was the first to die on a rainy day. No one would know what possessed her to crawl from her sickbed to an empty hall of the palace, but she was found the next morning by a servant. 

King Frederick did not weep. In a letter addressed to King Vadik of Oskya, he is known to have written:

My dear friend, it is like a dark cloud has finally passed and I can breathe again. 

[zenosanalytic]

Discovery: Lethe II

Ok so, first off, I just want to say that this was Everything I ever wanted Trek to be :|

Intimate, ambiguous, detailed examinations of non-human cultures

POLITICS >:] >:] >:]

diplomacy as heroic and dangerous

A Starfleet and Fed where Feelings and mental health are just as important and valued as strategic or tactical concerns.

relationships and The Personal tied directly to principles, institutions, and larger events

exploring relationships, personalities, ethics, and what it means to be alive in the World through symbolic, fantastical situations

positive, life-affirming, sympathetic, casual sex portrayed without objectification or exploitation

tortuously sympathetic villains

damaged people behaving badly and portrayed with nuance and sympathy

Trauma affecting people, affecting the World through people, and people dealing with Trauma in various ways with various levels of success and healthiness

AMANDA!

Sarek being a bad Dad

Sarek being locked in a glass-case of Emotion

People being called out on their Shit

Science officers being all “Fuck it; let’s get Weird!”

Concise, confident, tight sci-fi writing. For example: the basic idea of the mind-meld-machine is established clearly and crisply, and doesn’t degenerate into technobabble, or rely on magic disguised as tech(quantum! nano! tachyons! etc, etc). Everything clinks together, everything runs smoothly, nothing snags, contradicts, or confuses

This ep really impressed me with how incredibly savvy the crew making this show is, and how much they think about how the fanbase will potentially be reacting when they see the eps. There were moments in previous eps like this, but Lethe is repeatedly fan-conscious, and without ever endangering the 4th wall. The “Disco” sweats can be explained -it’d be easy for NBC to promote “Disco” as the preferred nick in the fandom without seeming to- but the writing for Ash in this ep, and how it interacts with the theory that he’s Voq, is just so obviously aware that people would suspect this.

The rest of this got kinda long, so I’m putting it under the cut.

Catching Ash

When Lorcas says “you fight like a Klingon”, Ash responds not by joking or treating it as a compliment(which you might expect given his ingratiating lie about his kill count), but by trying to explain it away and apologize for it, like he was worried by the comment, and in a way -“Klingon guards beating on me for 7 months, I was bound to pick something up”- that emphasizes his awareness and toughness; calculated to appeal to the sort of person Lorca has shown Ash he is. The things he says to Burnham about loss and death; the potential irony of having him, twice in the episode, emphasize and explain humanness; the way his concern for Burnham conveniently ingratiates him to Lorca(by following his orders over the mission) and builds an emotional bond with someone Lorca obvsl considers an asset; all of these have both innocuous and foreboding interpretations. There are even these little subtle touches to his performance that aren’t entirely out of the realm for a human, but oddly Klingon-aggressive: how he hits the table to emphasize the here-and-now when talking to a stranger; his sarcastic dismissiveness towards Tilly and Burnham’s discussion of her emotions. And then there’s his speech about death, failure, and loss to Burnham, something that could have easily come out of the mouth of a Voq trained to act like a human.

Even the title of the episode can be read as playing into this. Titles so far have been thematic; sometimes even used in the episode themselves. Lethe, of course, is the River of Forgetfulness in Greek Myth, on the shores of which the Dead leave the memories of their former life. But who is “Crossing the Lethe” here? Who is doing the forgetting; who is putting their past life behind them? The ep is about Sarek and Michael’s memories and bond, not the denial or loss of them. The final scene in sickbay establishes that Sarek has not forgotten the Meld which saved him in the nebula anymore than the past which binds him to Michael; he lies to avoid the shame of his betrayal, of facing the harm he’d done to Michael(a person he loves), and all the emotions that act and knowledge dredges up in him(not a terribly Vulcan way to behave, lying to avoid consequences).

The point of Michael’s role in all of this is that she hasn’t forgotten any of it. Nor has Lorca forgotten or placed anything behind; his inability to forget and refusal to heal is the engine of his subplot, of his trauma, and of his villainy, in the ep and in the series as a whole. Lorca’s attachment to the Pain he has Chosen drives him to manipulate a friend, to abandon her to torture and degradation, to push, manipulate, and oppress his crew, and to sleep with a phaser under his pillow at night.

But, if Ash is Voq, all this talk about his humanity and about what is is to be human, is a rejection of his Klingonness; a kind of forgetting. It is the final step in a deliberate, decisive setting aside of his past life for the sake of his mission to save and unify the Klingons under T’Kumva’s philosophy. And there’s another aspect to Lethe, too, which could potentially play into this; lethe also means “concealment”, and is the negated element within the Greek word for truth, alethia(lit. “unconcealment, unoblivion, unforgetfulness”). Lorca and Sarek are both concealing and dishonest in this episode but, if Ash is Voq the Torchbearer, it would also apply to him as well. It’s a very nice meta-element to the ep, a kind of non-subplot-subplot, and their deliberate cultivation of it shows an awareness of and desire to engage with the fandom which I appreciate.

Ok, so WOW; that’s a lot of text!, but I’m not done yet.

Our Faces, Our Selves

This ep had some truly great Tilly moments. The gesture she does when she says “personality” was Endearing and characterizing as Hell. Whether it was written in or if Wiseman added it herself, it’s a wonderful example of the non-aggressive physicality her performance has displayed so far. Also -though technically a Burnham moment as well- the contrast between her natural stride and the precise form Michael runs in was both Fun and Great. “Computer, green Juice, extra Green”; Perfect u_u “*whispered* computeraddsalsa... Ohmygod you are so scary!” Magnificent u_u u_u “Oh Kaaay >:|... He actually is, though.” Majestic u_u u_u u_u

The intent to make Cadet Tilly the “Emotional Heart” of the show is extremely obvious, but it actually works because of just how well executed in basically every respect(even something as small as allowing her face to be blotchy and blemished invites audience attachment) it is. And because her personality is basically that of a puppy-dog, and puppies aren’t terribly subtle either, the obvs intent doesn’t grind up against her characterization, or Wiseman’s performance. Her humor is effortless, natural, youthful, and casually disarming. The interlocking web of support between her and Burnham -Burnham teaching her the discipline of excellence and pushing her to pursue it; Tilly engaging her emotionally, sometimes even pushing, without being disrespectful- is convincing, earned through time and interaction, and endearing. That she is simultaneously in awe and protective of Burnham, yet cognizant enough of her weaknesses, and at ease/trusted enough with her, to prompt socialization when she balks out of anxiety, awkwardness, and shame, is entirely believable. And her FACE! The ways Wiseman uses her face, the subtle little things she does, in this episode are just... So Wonderful. I kinda feel like going back over the previous eps just to see if I missed similar work in them.

Frain’s face work as Sarek in this ep is equally impressive. We see more of it in the third contact, but for some reason it’s the stuff in the second contact that stood out most to me. At that point it hasn’t yet been made explicit that Burnham has an incomplete understanding of the event and Sarek’s reactions to it but here -in the minor hesitation and stony, unnatural setting of his jaw and torso as he too slowly turns away from the director; his blinking look and respectful nod to Michael; the blink-and-you-miss-it shaking of his jaw and lips; his emotion-controlling intake of breath before he breaks the bad news; his gulp and the tension in his eyes as he looks at Amanda, the pleading tone as he offers his dishonest explanation; the sorrow on his face and shameful lowering of his head as Burnham asks to leave- we see the first signs that things aren’t as they appear.

And then the third contact. In the initial struggle with Burnham his eyes are particularly important, though the angle obscures them somewhat so this is mostly done through blinking. When she asks “is it worth dying over” there is a flash of stubbornness -he opens his eyes wider, raises his head to look at her straight- followed immediately by a lowering blink and assessing rove of his eyes over her face. As she says “let me in” he blinks and looks down, considering. As he says “I never lost faith in you” he rapidly blinks two or three times, then squints. Finally there’s this little tongue-flick he does on “I will show you”, a mannerism usually associated with consideration or nervousness, that just really stood out and sold his discomfort to me.

Then his talk with the director! When Frain says “Acceptance with honors is her due” there is this wonderful chain of expressions, starting with a raise of the eyes and forehead on “Acceptance” and ending with a slight clench and drawing back, then jutting of the jaw on “due” that just screams pride, assurance, and arrogance. Sarek knew that, by the logical terms of Vulcan society, Burnham had more than earned her place. Then the blinking drawing back of his head at encountering the Director’s racism; his contained, hidden affront at not just the personal insult to his child, and thus to himself, but at the illogic of the Director’s bigotry, yet obviously too common and accepted to challenge publicly if he can voice it so openly to someone of such high social rank. So Sarek dodges the subject; moves it back away from race and the personal onto ideological grounds, hoping to turn the situation around by trapping the Director in the essential contradictions of his position while subtly seeking to defuse his anti-human bias by dehumanizing Burnham via discussing her as a work rather than a person. His face conveys this too; he turns and dips very slightly it to the left, looking partially side-eyed and from under his brow at the Director, conveying cleverness but also a self-satisfaction, as if he’s looking both at the Director, and above him at his vision of wedding Human and Vulcan cultures. The Director out-maneuvers him by turning his argument around; bringing Spock into the discussion. At “Twice” Frain snaps his head up, as if struck. Questioning Spock’s relevance his head shakes, his eyes tighten. At “Non-Vulcan” Frain gives an almost relieved negation, shaking his head, closing his eyes with brows angled down, saying “Spock is” only to be cut off by “Half-Vulcan”. Then the deepest cut; the Director, smirking, goes on to call Spock “another one of your Experiments”, not only insulting him by dehumanizing his children, but also through sarcastic irony; the Director’s tone and face expresses a suspicion Sarek is emotionally attached to them, thus his statements are also mocking these “unVulcan” feelings Sarek might have for them. And then Frain’s wiggle of the lips and blank eyes at “not-quite-Vulcans” just... DAMN!

Ok that bit was... also very long, so I’ll stop there X| But, like I said, EXCELLENT face work, both enough to convey to the humans watching his feelings, and the sort of Vulcan disciplined suppression Trek fans would expect, and I was really impressed by it. But before moving on, I just want to point out a clear but subtle irony here. Green’s performance as Burnham is far more controlled in her reactions to witnessing this racism and anguished betrayal, keeping it mostly to her eyes, and the ever-present tension between her brows. The rest of Green/Burnham’s face remains disciplined and contained in a way Frain/Sarek’s does not, nor that of the Director. Basically, her self-possession out-Vulcans both of the Vulcans present, disproving the Director’s racist arguments. Just really excellent physicality in this ep, even on the smallest details.

Sympathy for the Devil

This was a really great ep for Lorca, too.

I feel like it’s pretty clear that Lorca’s the central villain of Discovery(as much as any one person is “The Villain” rather than nebulous concepts like “misunderstanding” and “arrogance” and “cultural chauvinism”), but he’s a very well and ambiguously written, sympathetic villain. That, inevitably, invites the audience to sympathize with him and forget that he’s the villain. With the Tardigrade set free and Spore-Drive Displacements no longer getting top-billing it’s been awhile since the audience has seen  him directly harm other people. It’s been two weeks since we saw him goad his crew by playing the anguished, fearful, dying screams of human colonists over the com. And last week we saw him being friendly with SF Command, being captured, having his weaknesses taken advantage of to torture him, and seeming to think his way out of a terrible situation with insight and daring. We also saw him betrayed by Mudd, and learned his tragic backstory. All of this invites sympathy, and the forgetting of his past misdeeds.

And at first the ep reinforces that. We see him testing and extending his trust to Ash, showing concern for Burnham, risking his ship to both save a long-loved character(Sarek) and protect the protagonist, and finally reconnecting with an old friend through nostalgia and positive, respectful, mutual affection.

But under all of this -except re: Burnham and Sarek- there is a disturbing tremor. The angry, cold and calculating way he crushes that cookie; his private order to Ash; how quickly and masterfully he makes his meeting with Cornwall about their friendship, then escalates its intimacy, step by seducing step. And, just as inevitably, that tremor eventually explodes into a quake that shakes it all down. Rather symbolically(this series LOVES symbolism ^u^) it is Cornwall’s tracing of his scars which triggers his breakdown. In an instant his facade of control collapses, and Lorca goes from driven and in-control to a shaken man on the edge of breaking, sweat-sheened and begging not to lose his ship.

His trauma, in itself, only sympathizes him more of course, and how he deals with it -suppression and bluster when he can hide it, frantic deal-making and pleas when it is revealed- does so as well, to a point. Lorca is revealed once more as a manipulator, but he hasn’t yet harmed anyone. His renewed professions of concern and respect for Burnham sound like Sarek’s manipulations in reverse, but it takes the last scene -the camera panning to focus on his phaser after Lorca had abandoned Cornwall to the Klingons, paraphrasing her own words to justify it to Saru, the audience knowing that she was the only person who knew how far he had fallen and could remove him from command- to retroactively make them, and his scenes with Burnham at the start of the ep, Sinister. By casting aside an ally, friend, and lover the moment she became a threat to his power and ambition, the show reminds the audience of just how villainous and dangerous this tormented man truly is.

There’s a lot more to talk about here -I particularly think this was a very insightful episode about how this show conceives of Vulcan culture- but I think I’ll give the other issues their own posts.

[jeichanhaka]

And Carried Me Away: Ch. 8

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 8:

"Oh, god, this can't be happening." Catherine Joyce mumbled, her cheeks streaked with tears, her hands shaking. Around her were the oppressive sounds of the local precinct - the chattering, footsteps, phones ringing all rolled together. It was excruciating, sitting there thinking about Melissa, wondering what the monster was doing to her stepdaughter.

She'd helped raise Melissa since the girl was four, she was her mother in every way except biologically. It horrified her to sit there and think about what was happening. Her brain kept telling her she needed to go out and look for her stepdaughter, that the police didn't know anything when they insisted she stay to be questioned by the FBI. What the hell good would that do?! She wanted to scream. Melissa had been brutalize the first time by the son of a FBI agent, why the hell should she trust them?!

It made no difference to Catherine that the agent's son had been switched at birth or kidnapped or whatever according to an article she'd read. The bastard who had attacked Melissa nearly sixteen weeks ago was an FBI agent's son, and parents instinctively protected their children. No matter what. Even if it is against the consequence of their own actions.

Catherine had protected Melissa from responsibility so many times through the years, she knew it was true. And she imagined it would be more true if the bastard had been kidnapped as a child.

"...Mrs. Joyce?" Tara Lewis approached the woman, followed closely by Cam Fitzgerald. Both women took out their credentials and showed Catherine. "I'm agent Lewis and this is agent Fitzgerald. First, let me assure you we're doing everything we can to find Melissa. And it would help if you could answer some questions. Do you think you're up to it?"

"Do you work with that bastard's father?" Catherine snapped, her eyes narrowed. Her response surprised the two agents, though Tara quickly realized who the woman referred to and replied back calmly.

"Mrs. Joyce, the man who attacked your daughter in New York almost four months ago is still in prison, and he will remain there indefinitely. He is not behind this." Tara kept her tone calm, though she noticed Cam tense up out of the corner of her eye. She wondered if it wouldn't have been better to have a different agent join her. Though she barely knew Cam Fitzgerald, she had heard the young agent viewed Rossi highly, and it showed in her body language now.

"That doesn't answer my question." Catherine hissed, crossing her arms. The stubbornness that had always been part of her nature on full display in her face. "Do you work with that monster's father?"

"Mrs..."

Cam, glaring at the woman, cut through Tara's measured response. Her tone clipped and harsh. "Look, all right, we can sit here and waste time or we can help find your daughter. If you don't want to help, tell us now, that way we don't waste the time we could be using to find the current son of a bitch who has your daughter on trying to crack through your damn obstinacy."

Catherine returned the young agent's glare, but at the same time grew pale. Her stubbornness and distrust was dwarfed from her fear for Melissa. "I...all right. I'll answer whatever questions. I don't know if they'll be much help, but...Just find Melissa, please."

Tara nodded, her eyes widened slightly by Cam's outburst. It had been a foolhardy thing to do, since it could easily have caused Catherine to refuse to speak to them. She once again wondered if it'd been better if Cam had gone with one of the others.

"All right. We'd like to try something called a cognitive interview. Close your eyes, please." Tara waited a moment while Catherine did so. "Think back to the restaurant. What it smelled like and what sounds there were. Was there anything that stuck out? A person or a sound? Maybe someone paying too close attention to Melissa?"

"No. There wasn't anything...like that..." Catherine replied, her certainty trailing off as she remembered. "Wait, the server who brought us our food. There was something about him. Something...I'm not sure. He seemed to linger longer at our table, and he kept glancing at Mel." Catherine grimaced, her eyes still closed, and mumbled a comment about how the stares weren't so unusual since what happened to Melissa in New York. "This was different though. I'm not sure..."

The woman paused, her face scrunching up and her body tensing. Even though Tara prompted her to remember more, Catherine remained reluctant to continue.

0With a clenched jaw and glowering face, Rossi stared at the file Cam had brought to Hotch. He barely registered a word he read, his thoughts split between the BAU's current case, and how James was back in solitary. Neither of which he could help with. Perhaps if he hadn't almost gone ballistic on the prison warden once he'd heard his son had been placed in solitary confinement, he...

The senior agent sighed, grumbling as he realized that even if he had kept his temper in check, he still wouldn't have been able to question James. They needed an unbiased, accurate interview, and it was highly probable that James would've done everything he could to rile Rossi up. Such an interview wouldn't have helped anyone.

He glared back at the file he held, his brain focusing on the info it contained to avoid thinking about being unable to help on the current case. Cruz had been on the fence about taking Rossi off the James-copycat case for the possible conflict-of-interest, since the older man was a seasoned agent. The moment the section chief learned about the unsub sending the gruesome package to Rossi directly however, he'd ordered the senior agent off investigating the case. It was either that or giving the case to another team.

Rossi, still reeling over learning James had been thrown back in solitary, had nearly gone off on Cruz for the decision. Something that Hotch noticed quickly, and had curtailed by suggesting Rossi help with the case Cam had brought.

-"Linnet claimed to Fitzgerald that one of his victims was her mother." Hotch spoke after grabbing the older agent's arm. It took only moments for the irritation on Rossi's countenance to shift to concern.

"Cam's mom? Linnet killed her...?" Rossi took the manila file Hotch held out, flipping open to the top page. His attention flitting between it and the unit chief.

"Fitzgerald asked the team to look into Linnet's claim, before we got called in. Perhaps you could do so?" Hotch suggested, knowing from Rossi's concern for the younger agent that he would agree to the suggestion.-

Rossi massaged his forehead, reading the file on Violet Brant - the woman Linnet claimed was Cam's mother. There wasn't a photo of her from before her body was discovered in an abandoned construction site, and her wounds had been extensive enough that any identifying facial features had been obscured. Though judging by hair color and skin pigmentation, as well as age, it was possible the woman was related to Cam.

That alone proved nothing, however. If the woman had heterochromia like Cam, it'd be more definitive, since the trait was rare and possibly genetic. At least Rossi presumed so from what he recalled years ago when Spencer had commented on Cam's heterochromia. Still, the woman not having it didn't disprove her being the young woman's mother.

"Hm." Rossi's dark-chestnut eyes shifted from the crime scene photos, to the notes written by the M.E. It all fit with what they knew Linnet did to his victims, and as such he nearly missed catching an odd detail noted in the autopsy report.

-Cause of death: asphyxiation. Bruising indicative of hesitance.-

"What?" Rossi mumbled, shaking his head. He thought about the man they caught nine weeks ago, and about the other victims. Not once did Linnet show any remorse. That the monster would've showed hesitance was baffling, it hadn't even been his first kill. "That's impossible. Unless he got someone else to..."

The senior agent drew in a sharp breath, his eyes widening. A moment or two of silence passed as he reread the sentence, then the date written on the report. His gut tightened.

This victim had been murdered around the same time Alsie had been in Linnet's custody. And while a seasoned serial killer like Linnet wouldn't have shown hesitance in the kill, a child would.

"The fucking bastard..." Rossi cursed, feeling sick as he realized what the hesitance suggested. Linnet hadn't killed this woman himself, but had forced someone else. And unless there'd been another person, thus far unknown, there at the time, it seemed likely Alsie had been that someone. "...she'd barely been around nine or ten..." He mumbled, followed by a few bilingual swears.

'No wonder she still balks at remembering her time at Linnet's. If he forced her to kill...' He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he thought about Alsie and what she'd told Hotch, about how the real Allison Schmidt had died. That it'd been an accident, the two girls had been playing by a well and Allison had fallen in.

Rossi rubbed his chin in thought, shifting his thought to the incident between Alsie and Shelly. The confrontation had resulted in the latter woman's death, though it had been in self-defense. At least they'd presumed it was. Alsie's alter Emmie had admitted to attacking Shelly after the woman threatened her, and it'd been likely Shelly had been ready to kill Alsie.

That had been self-defense. Or under mitigating circumstances.

Though what were the odds that Alsie would've been involved in someone's death on three separate occasions?

Rossi shook his head, chasing away the suspicion as being outrageous. Though Linnet may have forced Alsie to kill at least one of his victims, it didn't mean the petite woman would kill others. Forcing others to kill didn't turn them into murderers - just look at James, Somerfield had spent decades trying to turn Rossi's son into a cold-blooded killer and it hadn't worked! The only time James had deliberately tried to kill someone, it'd been trying to mercy-kill Alsie in the hospital. A twisted act, but one meant to be a sort of kindness to the grieving mother of his child.

Rossi sighed, placing down the folder. He rubbed his eyes, not enjoying how his brain kept attempting to profile not just his son but the mother of his grandchild. It was unnecessary. His son was in prison, without any chance at parole, and Alsie had been through enough shit in her life. She didn't need him profiling her. Besides, she was Spencer's twin and Jemma's mother, making her part of the BAU family. The no-profiling rule extended to her.

'...Linnet knew Jemma's name though.' Rossi mumbled, half in his thoughts and half aloud. 'Either Alsie or James had to have told him. And James...he thought that Somerfield...'

Rossi tensed, shaking his head against the suspicion. It was ludicrous! Just by watching Alsie's reaction when she was reunited with Jemma, he knew she was a loving mother. She would never have endangered Jemma or herself, and getting in touch with Linnet would've done just that.

Nor would Emmie had done so. Not when that alter had attacked Shelly in response to her disparaging comments about Jemma. And Ana wasn't a...

"Shit..." Rossi mumbled. He hadn't been present at the time, but had learned later about Ana having attacked a nurse. There was another alter Alsie had, who called herself Leigh. He had witnessed her himself during a visit over the last few weeks. It'd been brief, but the glare she'd given had been chilling. None of which meant any of Alsie's alters were murderous, but...at least one was violent.

Yet Alsie herself wasn't, of that much Rossi was sure. Further, she was getting help to control her D.I.D and to deal with what happened to her growing up.

'I should focus on Linnet's claim. Not on what Alsie or her alters may or may not have done.' Rossi mumbled to himself and focused once more on the file Cam had brought. His uncertainty continued to linger though, even as he focused on the file.

0The door clanged shut loudly behind him, the guard leaving him alone to spent privately with the lawyer. A man with dark hair, and eyes that studied him closely, sat at the table already. Once he saw James he gestured to the chair across from his.

James gandered at the stranger. His brow furrowed, not sure what to make of the other man, though he wasted no time in sitting down. Despite not knowing who the stranger was nor why or how he suddenly had a lawyer visiting him, he wasn't going to jeopardize it. Not when it could mean being sent straight back to solitary.

"...you're James Rossi. David Rossi's son..."

James glowered at the stranger, trying to place him. As well as trying to figure out why the man was here. He certainly hadn't retained a lawyer, nor did he think his father would on his behalf either. There was no need to anyway - he'd plead guilty to all counts levied against him, and wasn't eligible for parole. So unless someone was trying to get him judged incompetent or whatever, for whatever reason...

"...and Jemma's father." William Reid muttered, studying James. He recognized and expected the confusion on the thirty-six year old's face - it wasn't like he'd informed the man of his visit. Hell, he hadn't even expected to visit the man ever, and had been content to avoid thinking about him. Despite being the father of his granddaughter, James had no connection to him.

"...you know about...who are you?" James hissed, feeling tense. Wary even, not recognizing the stranger despite the feeling he was familiar. "Why are you here?"

William hesitated, not sure how to answer. His brain focused on what his daughter had asked him in the hospital.

-"Could you visit James and ask...ask if he kept his promise?" Alsie asked in an unsure voice, holding out a small photo of Jemma. "If he knows..." She mumbled the last bit to low to hear, but simply bit her lip rather than repeat it. "He'll understand. I...and please let him see Jemma's photo. I asked Rossi to give it to James, but...something James said made him angry...and he ended up giving it back."-

"...who sent..." James started to ask, becoming angrier and tenser. His gaze flitting from the man's face, to the door, then to what was in the stranger's hands. It was small, a paper or something.

"Elsie wanted me to ask if you kept your promise." William blurted, caught between wanting to just do what Alsie requested and leave, and wanting to question James for his own ends.

"...Alsie sent you?" James sat up straight, less tense but more aware. Especially as William's words registered to him. He grimaced, immediately knowing what promise was meant. It'd been the only thing he'd ever promised her. "...are you the lawyer her grandmother used?"

"You mean Mary Schmidt? No." William shook his head. "I'm William Reid. Elsie's father."

James' eyes narrowed, anger scrunching up his face. "Are you...the bastard who molested..."

"No. Hell no." William growled, livid at the accusation. "That was the bastard that took her as a baby. Crawford."

"Oh...what?" James drew back, confused.

"...Tobias Connell sold her, like he did you, as a newborn." William replied, glowering as he thought.

James' eyes widened. It was evident that no one had informed him much about Alsie and that she too had been a victim of Connell and Somerfield's scheme. Before he could digest the information and formulate a reply, the older man repeated his earlier words as an inquiry.

"So did you? Keep your promise to my daughter? Did you keep your promise to Elsie?" William demanded, his eyes glaring at the man across from him.

[ruffsficstuffplace]

The Keeper of the Grove (Part 43)

For Weiss, the worst thing about Trance Addicts was how they would often be found after they disconnected—by their own choice, by someone or something forcibly severing their connection, or by a “Hard DC,” collapsing from exhaustion, malnutrition, or even death.

Gaunt faces, hollow eyes, deep bags in under their eyes from having stayed conscious for hours if not days at a time—the worst of them boasted weeks, with the dubious realm record being little less than a month. Bodies stiff, aching, and oftentimes filthy and abused in some way, largely because of the sorry state of the “Trance Dens” that the poor, the desperate, and the criminal liked to frequent for the strict limits on trancing in homeless shelters, or to escape the watchful eyes of their guardians, supervisors, and landlords. Oftentimes only able to get back up on their feet or even just move with outside assistance, unable to speak for dehydration, weak from starvation, minds wondering what hellish reality they had suddenly entered.

And instead of cutting down the hours of their trancing sessions, they just found new, admittedly clever but still disgusting and disturbing ways to avoid or delay the pitfalls, arrangements to “tag-trance” with fellow addicts, and illegal dens boasting of how many amenities they had for “trancing till you drop.”

It made Weiss tremendously sad that long after Candela had put a stop to the Resource Wars of 200 years ago, Trance Addiction numbers had only gone up—though instead of people in every city state trying to escape the chaos and the despair going on all over the realm, it was people who couldn't afford to immigrate to Candela, or who had watched their lives fall out from underneath them when the “Shining Beacon of Hope” utterly vaporized centuries-old business empires, academic institutions, and social organizations.

Thankfully, the Fae had much more self-restraint and stricter regulations, and Weiss found herself back in the real world laying comfortably on her back, being gently helped up by a uniformed attendant, with another waiting with water and snacks.

<Well, that was fun!> Blake said as they got up and began to leave. <Anyone want to go eat something we don't have to kill ourselves, for once?>

“Blake is--” Penny started.

“Wait,” Weiss said. She paused for a moment. “Blake is… asking us something about food?”

Penny smiled. “That's correct. To be specific, she's asking if we'd like to go eat out at restaurant, or one of the many food stalls.”

Weiss nodded and turned to Blake. With great difficulty, she said something she intended to be, <Yes, I'd love to.>

The attendants' professional demeanor broke for a moment.

Ruby snorted. “Oh my gosh, Weiss...”

Blake snickered. “Wrong werd, not close 'nough.”

Weiss turned to Penny. “What'd I say?”

“Well, you used the Fae word for expressing affection towards other sentient beings and not objects, so what you said can be easily mistaken as a popular euphemism of an intimate nature.”

Weiss blinked. “What exactly does it mean...?”

Blake snapped her teeth at Weiss, then made a sexy animal noise.

Weiss blushed bright red then buried her face in her hands.

Penny patted her on the shoulder. “Do not worry, Weiss; as your grandfather said, 'Learning is a process of trial and error, but mostly error.'”

He had said it an interview asking him about his numerous misadventures in experimental water purification, and the almost always awful aftermaths thereof.

“Let's just get some lunch already!” Weiss said as she got up off her pillow and made her way out, hiding her face from sight.

Blake smiled and went on after her.

“Me and Penny will catch up to you guys at the station!” Ruby called out. “I just need to ask her about some complicated math stuff!”

“We'll wait!” Weiss yelled back, still blushing.

Weiss and Blake passed the time at at the Tube station by practicing the latter's Nivian, putting common phrases and sayings into a translator.

Weiss was impressed by how a simple word like “Friend” had several different alternatives in Actaeon; it could be just a friend; an extremely close companion whom you consider no different to a blood-sibling; or someone you have less than friendly feelings for, but consider a friend nonetheless. The characters they used were similar except for distinct features that could easily tell them apart from each other when written, and the pronunciations varied in interesting, almost musical ways.

Met with much less enthusiasm was the discovery after they reversed the process, and started translating Nivian metaphors and phrases into Actaeon.

“It's puns!” Weiss cried. “It's all puns!”

“FUCK! It iz!” Blake cried, equally distressed.

They tried several more phrases, words, and even song lyrics, but almost every machine translation ended up coming out as a pun, a metaphor, an allusion, or some other form of cheesy wordplay.

Weiss and Blake looked at each other, before they closed the program in disgust.

“Yang makes so much sense now...” Weiss mumbled.

“Yeah...” Blake said. “Nevurr re'lizet!”

“Can I see one of your books? The black market translations.” Weiss asked.

Blake pulled up one them. Weiss flipped around until she found a disclaimer, in Nivian and Actaeon:

“For purposes of style, clarity, and coherence, the editors and translators have changed, modified, or outright replaced many Nivian passages. The following is NOT a loyal, word-for-word translation of the original text, and thus should not be used as an educational material for any sort of serious study.”

Blake sighed. “No wonder so s'pensive...”

“How so?”

Blake showed her the store page on her comm-crystal.

Weiss balked. “This is robbery!”

“S'worse fur--” Blake discretely made a sexy animal noise.

Weiss gestured for her to show her. Blake looked side-to-side, and sure that no one would notice, opened up a separate page.

Weiss' jaw dropped. She looked at Blake, wordlessly asking her HOW they could charge so much compared to the already costly books.

Blake blushed and hung her head. “Kno' will buy it an'way...”

Weiss was starting to understand why most of the reading she'd been lent in jail were mass-produced, cheap novellas, and stories lifted from pulp publications.

“Hey Blake, hey Weiss!” Ruby said as she walked up to them, Penny in tow.

The two of them smiled and greeted her back; they both frowned as they noticed something off.

“Something happen, Ruby?” Weiss asked; Blake looked at her, wordlessly asking the same question.

Ruby smiled. “Oh, nothing! So, any place you guys want to eat at? My treat!” she said, before giving a shorter version of it in Actaeon.

Blake looked at her in worry. <You sure about this, Ruby? I can help pay.>

Ruby waved her off. <It's fine!> Her voice broke slightly. <I won't be buying any thing else any time soon...>

Weiss and Blake discretely looked at each other, before they decided to drop it.

They headed off to the Trader's Guild for lunch. The mood quickly improved after they ate, and Weiss insisted they head to the “Fae-orina's” and get triple chocolate cake shakes for dessert.

“Oh, Eluna...” Ruby muttered as she laid her head on their table, her glass empty and licked clean. “How have I never had any of these before…?”

“Like humans, Fae very easy to fall into familiar patterns and previous choices, than expend the effort to look for alternatives, even if they could be objectively better,” Penny explained.

“We definitely need to go on a food safari one of these days then!” Ruby said.

From beside her, Blake made an affirmative noise as she enjoyed her shake. She took slow, deliberate sips, her ears and face perking up in delight as soon as it came up to her mouth. The shake flowed back down while she was enjoying herself, and the process started all over again.

Weiss smiled as she savoured her glass. “Just have Penny point me to all the restaurants here that make copies of what they offer in Candela, I'll tell you which ones are worth getting.”

She stopped as she noticed the brief flash of sadness in Ruby's expression.

Weiss frowned. “Okay, something is definitely up—Ruby, come on, tell us.”

“Eh, it's personal stuff, I don't want to bother you guys with it...” Ruby said as she picked her head up from the table.

After Penny translated, Blake put her straw out of her mouth and put a hand on Ruby's shoulder. <That never stopped you from helping us with our problems, though.>

<I can put in a request for chronicle footage of all the instances that you persistently offered assistance to others, if you would like!> Penny added.

Ruby looked at them both uneasily.

Weiss reached across the table and put her hand on hers. “You've helped me out plenty, let me return the favour for once.”

Ruby sighed, then smiled. “Alright…” she looked around warily at all the people in the busy restaurant. “… But I'll tell you guys about it later, when we're back at Keeper's Hollow.”

“Fine,” Weiss said as took her hand back, “but you better not try to weasel your way out if it then!”

A weasel Fae from a nearby table over shot Weiss a dirty look, she apologized.

Ruby and the others giggled, before she said, “I won't, I promise.”

Ruby told them of Yang's plan and the mystery tickets later at dinner, when they were all gathered outside and having a barbeque of Weiss' vegetables and prime boar cuts, before it was “back to heated up stews of all the crappy parts.”

“… And they just happened to receive both free tickets and air-fare, just like that?” Weiss asked as she basted the meat and vegetables on the spits. “I'm sorry, Ruby, but something about this is really suspicious.”

“Well duh, but it's still my only chance to ever see Yang again!” Ruby replied. “Probably both in-person and over the Honey Den...”

“Sorry to say, Rubes, but the timing couldn't have been any worse,” Qrow said as he turned the spit. “The Eve's just a week away, and the price for a ticket is only going to get even more jacked the closer it gets.”

“How much is one going for right now?” Weiss asked.

“57,750 Shinies, and rising,” Penny said. “And that's not including an allowance for spending Urochs inside Candela.”

Weiss balked. “Why so much?”

“Fake ID's and made-up Info-Grid histories for background checks aren't cheap, and neither is maintaining our back-doors into Candela,” Qrow explained. “The less time you give our folks on the inside, the more they're going to want because of how much farther they're putting their asses over the fire.”

“Ah… right...” Weiss said.

“And speaking of which...” Qrow took sip from his flask of “jungle juice,” before holding it over the meat.

Weiss stepped well back.

Qrow poured.

Fwoosh!

The barbecue pit's flames exploded with renewed vigour. They let it burn uninhibited for a while before Zwei gently blew on it, and lowered it to a safer temperature.

“Pitch 'n fur fund...?” Blake asked. “Wan' t' help.”

“I'm afraid we can't do that,” Penny said. “With this household's general lack of savings, our recurring expenses, and the time-frame of the return of investment for Weiss' garden and skill training, the Eve of the Ether will be long over before we can safely splurge on such a large expense.”

Ruby sighed, her ears drooping. “I guess I'll just have to spring for a phone call or a message, tell her why I can't go...”

Weiss dunked her basting brush back into the bowl, splattering marinade on her apron. “No. We'll find a way. Can't we take out a personal loan?”

“Nope!” Qrow said. “Ruby's too young; you, Penny, and Blake are all disqualified for different reasons; and my credit score is so shitty they'd just laugh at us, before getting security to chase us out.”

Weiss thought while she took the vegetables off the fire. “What if we put up something very valuable as collateral…?” she said as she laid it on a banana leaf laid in front of the others.

“Like what?” Qrow asked. “If you haven't noticed, princess, none of us can pawn off any of our stuff. Even then, they're not worth much.”

“And my sister's Eluna plushie...?”

Ruby's eyes widened.

Qrow thought as he turned the spit. “… Yeah, that could definitely work! Even if she does smell like tears, snot, and despair, Ellies are so rare folks would kill to have one in general, so long as she's not as beat-up as the one we have at the Roost.”

“The last recorded private sales in both the Codex and Info-Grid are well in excess of the price of a ticket to Eve of the Ether, yes,” Penny added.

“Weiss!” Ruby cried. “You can't just give away her away like that!”

Weiss sighed as she returned to opposite end of the spit. “Well, we don't really have much of a choice, do we?” she smiled ruefully. “Besides, I don't think Winter will mind, and I literally owe you my life, don't I?”

Ruby sighed. “This still sucks...”

Blake nudged Penny and told her something. “Blake is asking if we can't all pitch in to repay the loan, so we may eventually get the plushie back.”

“We could, but where are we going to get the money?” Qrow asked. “We're paycheck-to-paycheck here,” he said as he tested the meat.

“From me,” Weiss replied. “Is there anything I can do to help us earn or save money?”

“You can attempt to distill your own alcohol for Qrow's consumption, as that particular expense consumes a large chunk of his wages,” Penny replied. “It's not illegal to produce it for personal use, and there is no need for licensing nor fees so long as you can prove you can make it safely, and in small enough amounts.”

“Don't worry about the taste,” Qrow said as he and Weiss prepared to take the now-cooked boar off the spit. “All I really need is for it to get me good and fucked up.”

“Then it's settled then!” Weiss said as she and Qrow hauled it to the banana leaf. “Tomorrow, we're pawning my Eluna plushie, and getting Ruby a ticket to Candela!”

“And after that, we all help her get it back!” Ruby added.

“An' fur now, we eat!” Blake finished.

They all dug into the food, eating, drinking, and having fun, for it was going to be a long, long week for all of them...

[cranberrytaboo]

The Journal, Part 1

Author’s note: My god I can’t believe I’m writing Death Note fic, but w/e. This is a stream of consciousness, a journal from Near’s POV while he’s at Whammy’s House. It’s also entirely self indulgent, so ignore any poor characterization lMAO...

December 5, XXXX

 Normally, I would not keep a day journal, but the librarian, Ms. Penwick, insisted. Naturally, I explained that it would be detrimental to maintaining anonymity, should anyone come across it. She argued that no one was going to find it, and that the greatest of detectives all keep day journals to look back on for reference, in case one small detail could lead to a breakthrough. I highly doubt L writes in his diary, but I agreed to indulge her, since she is kind enough to let me stay in the library no matter the hour.

As far as I understand it, I am meant to write interesting happenings in here, but nothing of particular interest happened today. Classes were uneventful as usual, I stayed in during break, and no one bothered me.

Maybe I’ll only write on interesting days. That seems like a fair compromise for Ms. Penwick.

-N

 December 8

             At lunch today, the new chef on staff spilled beans all over my plate, leaving nothing untouched. Most of the staff know the dietary ticks of the students, but since she was new, she did not know any better. I refrained from saying anything, and just ate around the borders, making sure not to eat anything that was touching anything else. It still felt like I could taste beans on everything.

           I think I am learning how to manage myself rather well, though. When I first came to Whammy’s house, I would not have eaten it at all. I can reason with myself, bargain, and make compromises now. I still refuse to eat the fat of meat, though.

 December 13

             Matt is one of the most intelligent people at this school. He does not apply himself in any of his classes. However, today, he managed to compromise the school’s computer system and gain access to most, if not all, of the information stored within the system. Everyone seemed to think that Roger was going to have an aneurysm, but once he calmed down, he was actually quite proud. Now the technicians are working towards building stronger defenses, which I am almost certain Matt will be able to crack again.

           I overheard Mello asking Matt why he did it. He replied that he only wanted to see how his grades were, and if he could afford to skip classes a few more times before the semester was over. There is only a week left of classes.

 December 19

           Classes are finally over. I do not mind going to school, but I also like being able to schedule my own day. I have a small day planner in which I write in what I would like to get done at what time each day. Meals, unfortunately, have set times, but most other things are open to my discretion.

           I planned to stay in the lounge outside the dormitories around five in the evening. Most of the students are outside at that time, so I can usually have the room to myself. However, today Linda and some of the other children were having a small celebration for the end of the semester. I tried to retreat, but she saw me and told me to come join them. I reluctantly did so, if only to not hurt her feelings. I had already turned down her invitation to play outside several times.

           I sat with them for a while, and luckily none of them seemed to pay much attention to me. Linda kept trying to engage me in conversation, and in my defense, I did answer her, but she eventually gave up on it. I left not too long after.

 December 20

             I woke up this morning at about five, so I looked out the window and watched the sun rise. The clouds slowly shifted from red, to pink, to white. After a while, a car with tinted windows pulled to the building.

           When I finally stepped out of my room to the dining hall, there was almost nobody there. All of the kids were in a clamor near the entrance of the orphanage. Eventually, the caretakers were able to establish some sort of order, just as the door opened. Watari himself walked inside, followed by a tall figure who kept his appearance shielded. The children immediately went quiet.

           Watari and the figure with him, who I knew by this point was L, made their way out of the foyer and towards the main office of the building. A few kids tried to follow, but eventually balked.  

           It was quiet again for a while. I went back to the lounge and started putting a puzzle together. Once it was complete, I ran my fingers across the surface, paying close attention to the glossy surface and the small gaps between the pieces.

           Roger stepped in and called me to the office. When I arrived, Mello was there as well. Roger told us that Watari and his friend wanted to speak to us. I asked if Watari’s friend was L. Roger responded with a slight pulling of his lips. Maybe he was trying to smile.

           Watari entered the room, followed by L. L had entered the orphanage wearing a dark hat with a large brim and a long, black coat, but now he was simply dressed in a long sleeved, white shirt and a pair of jeans. I was quietly glad that he was not in a suit.

           He also looked like he had not slept or showered in a few days, and his hair was a mess. I assumed he must have been working on a case the past few nights.

           Finally, he spoke. “You two are Mello and Near, aren’t you? I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that I’m L.” I swear I saw Mello’s eyes shine, but he kept quiet and listened intently, gaze fixated on L himself. “I am also the famous detectives Coil and Denueve.” Mello’s mouth opened and closed in surprise.

           L continued his speech regardless. “It has come to my attention that, within the coming years, I might die. Therefore, it is essential that I ensure an heir can take my place should that happen.”

           “It has come to my attention that you two are at the top of your classes, and outshine even the most experienced students in the school. Thus, Watari and I have decided that my heir will be chosen between the two of you.”

           I felt a strange weight in my chest. Of course, I understood what that meant. Mello seemed to get it too, but spoke up, as if to clarify. “So, what you’re saying is, Near and I are going to be competing for the top?” L nodded.

           “I look forward to see how you two face the challenges ahead of you.” L smiled, but it didn’t seem particularly genuine. I did not speak, and Mello seemed unsure how to respond. Roger lead us out of the office.

            I turned to Mello then and told him I had no interest in competing with him. He gave me a look that seemed to suggest that he was not in the mood to talk about it. He just said “I’m not gonna lose to someone younger than me, especially not you.”

           I have no interest in competing with Mello, or anyone, for the title of L. My feelings towards L have become more complicated, I think. I feel that I will come to resent the fact that he has essentially pit Mello and I against each other.

 December 21

             Mello went to the library immediately after we met with L, and has been there ever since. I think that the pressure is giving him a complex. I saw him as I was returning a book about the Japanese toy market during the post-war occupation. It seemed like he had dark circles under his eyes, despite only being awake for one night. It is weighing on him.

           I found a book about criminal psychology that Mello had not selected in his mad scramble for information, so I took it with me back to the dormitories. It was a slow read, but informative nevertheless.

           After I finished it, I settled on the carpet of my room for a while. I ran my fingers across the top, then dug my fingertips into the fabric. It was scratchy, but not unpleasant. After a while, I started putting together a toy robot instead. The clicking of its limbs snapping into place was particularly satisfying.

           At dinner, I ate around the parts of my food that were touching again. I was not really full, but it was fine. Matt had convinced Mello to stop holing up, and they ate together. Mello looked in my direction, made a face, and said something to Matt, who just shrugged and kept playing on his handheld. I appreciate how predictable Matt is.